"Minho."

Terrified, I look up. "Yes?"

Dariel's gaze isn't as piercing as usually. I'm not sure what it is—his expression is nearly blank, and so is his voice. The seriousness adds in when he continues, "Can we talk?"

My heart sinks. "About?" I peep.

"Multiple things." He glances around. Dad's sitting at the kitchen table. "Come on. We'll go upstairs."

"So you can beat the living shit out of me?" I mumble, falling backwards onto the couch with a groan.

"No. I've come to realize that perhaps it's better we talk about things for once. We might be able to sort this out."

"Sort what out?"

"As I said, multiple things. Come with me and I'll tell you."

"What if I say no?"

"Then you'll only make things worse."

Sighing, I get up. "Okay, but you stay at least ten feet away from me."

"Whatever." Dariel walks in front of me, his pace way too slow—people who walk up the stairs that slowly, like him, are insane. I have the urge to push him forward.

It shouldn't have taken that long, but we eventually make it to his room. The walls are gray. It's like a sad aura with a few pictures here and there. His computer is almost the same size as his desk—for when he works at home. His bed is in the corner. He bought a kingsize bed once he started dating Luciana.

"Sit down."

I point at the desk chair he's sitting on. "I want to sit there. I'm not touching that bed."

He trades spots as he rolls his eyes. "Okay. First of all, are you okay?"

Surprise makes me halt. "Me?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, I'm fine," I assure. My eyebrows begin to scrunch. This does not feel right. This is not Dariel...ish. "And you?"

"I'm alright. Just slightly worried. You've been acting weird lately. That thing at the kitchen table—"

"That was a joke," I deny.

It wasn't. I fell asleep again. In my dream, I was no longer talking to the police. No, they were putting me in a cell. Locking it with dozens of keys. Staring at me as if I'd murdered a room full of people.

"It was not," Dariel states. "Don't lie to me."

I hate how fast I break.

"Okay, I just fell asleep. That's it." I cross my arms over my chest like some kind of shield to protect me from whatever he's about to say next.

"You weren't asleep, Minho."

"How would you know—"

"Your eyes were open."

My words ebb into a silence. This shit creeps me out. I don't want to talk about it, especially not with Dariel. "I thought I was asleep."

"You weren't," he says worriedly. "So you don't know what it was?"

I shake my head.

"What did you feel during that moment? Did you see anything? Dream? Or do you only remember waking up?"

My lips part, but I'm unable to bring out any words. The dreams are strange, but unimportant. They won't change the situation I'm in.

"I only remember waking up."

"Alright. Well, if it happens again, tell me or Mom. We need to go to a doctor. It might be a seizure, dissociation, or micro sleep. Or catatonia."

"Why do you know what that is?"

"Did some research."

I motion at myself, dazzled. "For me?"

"Yeah." My brother's eyes squint as he looks at me. "I'm not going to ignore a dangerous situation like this."

"Oh. Eh, thanks, I guess." I almost want to smile at him, but then I remember he wanted to talk about multiple things. "Anyway, I should probably go now—"

"Minho."

"—because I still need to shower and make homework and—"

"Minho," he repeats, louder this time. "Sit down."

Fearing death, I shuffle back to my seat. "So," my voice is high, "what else is there to talk about?"

"You know what."

"Do I?" I rub my neck. Frown, and remove my hand. A sign of nervousness will not calm Dariel down.

"Lucy," he states.

"What about her?"

His eyebrows raise.

It makes my stomach twist.

Dariel tilts his head slightly. "You tell me."

I huff, rolling my eyes. "Dude, if you have something to say, just say it. You're acting creepy as hell."

"Fine." He exhales, resting his forearms on his knees as he leans forward. "I want to know what's going on, even though I already know damn well."

"I can't talk to her without you thinking there's something 'going on'?"

"It's not the talking," Dariel says, voice lowering. "It's the way you look at her. It's the way your friends just..." he trails off. "It's everything at once."

My pulse stutters. "What is that supposed to mean?"

He holds my gaze. I can't escape it. It's terrifying, piercing. Intimidating. "I see it, Minho. Every time you look at her, it's like—" He exhales sharply. "You look at her like you—" Like you love her.

He doesn't say it, but I hear it anyway. My throat feels tight. "That's insane," I mutter. "You're being paranoid."

"Am I? Then tell me. Be honest with me, just this once—do you have feelings for her?"

I nearly laugh at how ridiculous this is. I should be able to say no. I should be able to deny it with ease, to roll my eyes and call him a dumbass for even thinking that.

"I won't get mad," he promises. "It won't even be news. I just need confirmation. So we can solve this."

"No," I force myself to say. "I don't like her."

If I tell him the truth, all my chances with Luciana will be gone.

I keep my face blank, my hands still, my voice steady. I will not break.

After a long moment, he sighs. "Fine. I'll believe you. I gave you a chance."

Relief floods my chest. I swallow it down before it shows.

"But if I ever find out you're lying to me," Dariel continues, his tone no longer as kind, "you and I are going to have a serious problem."

I nod stiffly. "Got it."

He studies me for another second before nodding. "Alright. You can go."

I don't need to be told twice. I shoot up from the chair and make my way to the door, my heart still hammering, my skin prickling with sweat.

I reach for the doorknob—

"Minho."

I freeze.

"If it happens again," Dariel says quietly, "tell me."

I don't ask what he means, I just nod. Then I leave.

And as soon as the door shuts behind me, I let out a shaky breath, pressing my back against the wall.

Fuck.

He gave me a chance, which I dismissed, and even though he would've killed me anyway, he will now do it painfully.

After regaining some strength, I make my way to my room. My thoughts keep slipping to her—everything about her and especially that dream. I'm not sure how I feel about it. Well, I mean, the image was there. I just feel like a little pervert waiting until no one else is around.

My hands automatically reach for my phone, but I put it back down almost immediately. What am I even going to tell her? That I found another sock?

'Hey, I might be losing my mind. Also, I'm in love with you.' Yeah, great.

I should focus on homework. Not her. Nor Dariel. Just... homework.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I can feel my phone somewhat exploding with messages in my pocket, yet I ignore it and continue watching the kids run.

They're the first to see me on my birthday. Mom is probably one of the people spamming my phone, upset about the way I left the house before she even saw me. Family will come over in an hour or so—I don't know what to think about that—and my friends also wish to see me.

The kids keep running, their laughter ringing through the track field. I sit on the bench, legs stretched out, hands tucked into my hoodie's pockets, watching them. The second Jorge found out about the fact it's my birthday, he told me to go home. When I insisted to stay, he forced me to relax instead of teaching the kids. Free money, I guess.

I should be at home, helping Mom set up, making sure she doesn't burn herself out trying to make this day perfect even though the only thing I need to prepare for is seeing Luciana and Dariel together once again.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Biking home feels longer than usual. The closer I get, the heavier my body feels. My head starts to ache, the sun suddenly too bright, the distant noise of the town too sharp.

By the time I reach the house, I can already hear voices inside. Laughter, conversations, the sound of dishes clinking together. The party has started. I don't even know who Mom invited. Most likely an excessive amount of people.

More presents, though.

"Minho!" The moment Mom sees me, she pulls me into a tight hug, then immediately pulls back to smack my arm. "Where were you?"

"At work."

She sighs, shaking her head. "You could've at least told me. I was worried."

I nod, offering a small, guilty smile. It works—her expression softens, and she cups my face. "Happy birthday, sweetheart."

"Thank you."

She kisses my cheek before letting me go. I barely take two steps before I'm caught in another hug.

Aunt Shirley. She's already rambling about how much I've grown, how she remembers when I was a toddler running around in nothing but diapers. I nod along, pretending I'm listening, my eyes scanning the room.

There they are. They're standing together, laughing at something one of my uncles is saying. Dariel's arm is around her waist, fingers resting lightly on her hip. It's just a touch, but it makes my throat tighten anyway.

Her dark curls are pulled back, showing off the slope of her neck, the curve of her jaw. She's wearing a dark green dress that hugs her waist just right. She looks effortlessly stunning. The worst part is that she looks happy with him.

I wonder if Dariel complimented her looks. Probably. Unfortunately, he's good to her. That makes all of this so much harder.

I swallow and look away.

"Minho!" someone calls, and I turn just in time to get tackled into another hug, this time by my cousin. More greetings follow, more hugs, more smiles.

I feel like I'm stuck in a Mario game, trying to get to Luciana. Obstacles of people everywhere, wishing me happy birthday while I just want to reach her. Did she get me something? Maybe. Or her present is also from Dariel. I wouldn't mind if she didn't get me anything, though.

"Hi, Minho." She waves when I finally arrive in front of her. She has to look up, but just slightly. Her lips part before she says her best words, "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," I say, trying to sound casual.

"Did you like my gift?" she asks.

Gift? I blink, confused, until she gestures toward the neatly wrapped box sitting on the table with dozens of other presents.

"I, uh—haven't opened them yet."

She grins. "When you do, I hope you like it."

I nod. My jaw clenches at the sharp stab inside my head. Too much movement. "Thank you. I'll let you know."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just... tired, I think," I say.

She reaches out. For a second, I think she's going to touch my arm. My skin tingles with desire, a pathetic reaction I pretend not to notice.

But before she can, Dariel appears, slipping an arm around her waist again.

"Happy birthday," he tells me. I nod in appreciation. Silently, we agree not to hug. He just shakes my hand.

"So, who was first?" Luciana wonders.

"Huh?"

"You always text people at midnight on their birthday, right? Who was first?"

Sparks of hope make my chest flutter. Does this mean she sent something at midnight? "I haven't looked at my messages yet."

"Ha!" When she throws her head back, laughing, I imagine this exact picture in a museum. "You don't care much for your own birthday, do you?"

I shrug. "Eh, I like the presents."

"Valid."

A sudden wave of exhaustion hits me again. My head pulses, vision tilting slightly before correcting itself.

I breathe in deeply, trying to shake it off.

"Excuse me." I step away from them. "Need some fresh air."

"Hey." Dariel grabs my arm before I can move any further. "Remember what I told you; tell us if something happens again. Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine," I assure, pulling away.

"You look like you're about to faint."

"I haven't eaten yet."

"Oh, there's a table full with food!" Luciana points at it. "You should go get something."

"Yes, yes, I will." Even nodding hurts.

I finally turn away, weaving through the guests until I'm in the backyard.

The air outside is cold against my skin. I inhale deeply, bracing my hands against my knees. My head is still spinning. My heart is still hammering. I squeeze my eyes shut.

Pressing a hand against my temple doesn't heal the headache. I might have to cancel my plans with Thomas, Newt, Alby, and Fry tonight.

Footsteps approach behind me. I know who it is before she speaks.

"Minho?"

I straighten up immediately. "Yeah?"

She hugs her bare arms as she steps closer. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I say quickly.

Her eyebrows pinch together. "You left so suddenly," Luciana says softly. "And you look pale. Is it really just hunger?"

I glance toward the door, half-expecting Dariel to appear and give me a nasty glare. "It's nothing," I tell her. "Just a headache. I think I need some air."

Luciana studies me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, she steps closer. "You should sit down."

"I—what?"

She gestures to ground. "Come on. Just for a second."

I hesitate, but the concern in her eyes makes it impossible to refuse. With a sigh, I lower myself onto the steps, and she sits beside me.

"Is it from school?" she asks. "You've been studying quite a lot."

She noticed? I let out a weak chuckle. "Maybe. I don't know. Just not feeling it."

"You can talk to me, you know. I still have some of the health knowledge left and—"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I quit my course," she announces lightly. "I want to focus on acting only."

Lightly because she couldn't care less about my opinion. Not lightly because it's not a big deal.

"Really?" A smile grows on my lips. "That's actually awesome. You can become a broadway star, right? And you'll do even better at Grease."

She smiles back even wider. "Thank you, thank you." A laugh.

Then the door creaks open. "Minho." Dariel. "Mom wants you inside. Cake time."

I push myself up, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Right. Coming."

Dariel doesn't move. His eyes flick to Luciana, then back to me.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say.

His gaze lingers, searching. Then he nods, stepping aside to let us in.

Luciana smiles softly as she follows. I don't move right away. The pain lingers. It faded to the background when Luciana sat down next to me, but it never left.

The rest of the day is a blur of voices, laughter, and the warm glow of candlelight. Luciana is never far from my thoughts, and Dariel is never far from me. He's keeping an eye on me. I can't tell if it's because of the Luciana thing or because of the wellbeing thing.

By the time the guests start filtering out, I feel like I've run a marathon. Mom gives me one last kiss on the forehead, beaming about how much I've grown. Dariel lingers near the kitchen, talking to Luciana, who is putting her coat on.

I snatch Luciana's present from the table, unable to keep my patience steady.

Carefully, I peel the wrapping. The paper falls away in slow folds. Inside, there's a small wooden box. My hand hesitates over the lid before lifting it open.

Inside, nestled in soft fabric, is a brown, leather bracelet. It's simple but carefully made, with a silver charm in the shape of a compass attached to it. I run my fingers over the charm.

There's a note tucked underneath.

For when you feel lost. Her handwriting is careful, slanted slightly to the right. My vision blurs for a second.

I close the box. My heartbeat is unsteady. I allow it for once. This isn't just nothing, right? This isn't just a quick twenty dollars or a quick gift card.

I don't know how long I stand there before I slip the bracelet onto my wrist. The leather is cool against my skin, the charm pressing lightly against my fastening pulse.

A hand on my shoulder that makes me jump.

"Do you like it?"

I stare at Dariel, too stunned to speak for a moment. "Did you buy this with her?"

"No. My present's right there." He points at another wrapped box. "But do you like it?"

Nodding heavily, I respond, "Love it. Is she still here? I need to thank her."

"She left just a minute ago. Had rehearsals. Was too hurried to tell you bye."

I nod again. "That's fine. Tell her I like it."

I'll text her later. Or... thank her in real life, as long as I find another excuse to visit her house. I'll see.