Later that night, I knock on his door.

There's no response.

"Minho?" I try. "It's me."

I hear movement, then the door creaks open just enough for me to see him. He looks exhausted. His eyes are rimmed with red, like he's been rubbing at them for too long. His shoulders sag.

"What?" he mutters, voice flat.

I glance behind him. His room is dark, just a single lamp casting a dim glow. His bed is unmade, the blankets twisted.

"I just wanted to check on you," I say. "Can I come in?"

He doesn't move for a second. Then, reluctantly, he steps back and lets me inside.

I sit on the edge of his bed, but he stays standing by the door, arms crossed, as if keeping himself safe.

I take a breath. "You don't want us to move in together, right?"

Minho looks away. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't deny it.

I wait, letting the silence stretch. I know Minho well enough by now to know he'll speak when he's ready.

Eventually, he mumbles, "I don't want you to get hurt."

I feel my stomach twist.

So he knows.

I don't ask how. Maybe he noticed the tension. Maybe Dariel told him. Maybe he saw it happen. Or maybe Minho just put the pieces together on his own.

"I'm not going to get hurt."

He doesn't look convinced. "You don't know that."

I slowly walk over to him. "Minho, I'm not naive. I know what happened was wrong. And if I thought for a second that it would happen again, I wouldn't be doing this."

"How do you know it won't?"

Because Dariel promised. Because he's trying. Because I love him. I can't say any of that. It won't mean anything to Minho.

"I just do," I say instead. "But if I'm wrong... I promise I'll leave."

Minho's brows furrow. "You promise?"

"I promise."

He exhales. He doesn't believe me. Not completely.

I reach out, squeezing his arm gently. "You're not going to be alone, Minho. No matter what happens. And you can always talk to me, okay?"

"Yeah. You, too," he responds.

"How're you holding up?" I wonder in an attempt to keep the conversation going.

His hesitation says enough.

"Do you need anything—"

"No, no." Heavily, Minho shakes his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Just... busy. Yes. Erm, anyway." He clears his throat. "So, uh... how was Colombia?"

I blink at the sudden topic change but let it happen. "It was nice. Really nice, actually. I think I needed the break."

Minho nods. "Yeah. You look... different. Happier."

A small smile tugs at my lips. "I feel happier."

"That's good," he says, then adds, "Did you do anything fun?"

I tell him about the beaches, the food, the little market streets I explored with Teresa. Minho listens intently, and it only makes my smile widen. He's listening. Like, really listening.

"I saw some crazy birds, too," I add. "Bright red, huge wings. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it."

Minho tilts his head. "Like... a macaw?"

"I don't know bird names," I laugh. "Maybe?"

He huffs out a chuckle. "I could look it up. I mean, if you ever want to know."

"I'll take your word for it."

He straightens a little. "We should—uh, I mean, if you ever wanna—" He stops, clears his throat again. "I was thinking... maybe we could go somewhere sometime. You know, like— I don't know. A celebration to your new home."

I blink. "Oh. Like what?"

Minho scrambles. "Uh... I don't know. Maybe we could—" His eyes dart around the room, landing on his desk. "Watch a movie?"

"A movie?" I repeat, amused.

He nods. "Yeah. Or, I don't know, go for a run? Or—" He hesitates. "Well, I know you like markets and stuff. We could go to that one in the city. Walk around. Get something to eat. If you want."

It sounds nice, actually. But the way he says it, the careful way he offers it, makes it seem more significant to him than I can fully understand.

I smile. "Sure. Maybe once you're less busy."

His face lights up for a split second before he remembers himself. "Yeah. Yeah, definitely—wait, really?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I chuckle.

For a second, he just stares at me, like he can't believe I agreed. "I mean, obviously. Hanging out with me is always fun."

I snort. "Right."

"Hey, it is." He grins. "Just wait. You'll be saying it's the best day of your life."

I roll my eyes. "Sure, Minho. Anyway, I better get going—"

"How's Grease going?"

Some kind of alarm explodes in my body. I freeze in the spot. "I'm so glad you ask!" I peep, stepping away from the door. "It's going amazing. I mean, the energy is just insane. The cast is so talented, and rehearsals are so much fun. We're finally running full scenes now, and oh my God, the dance numbers?" I let out a dramatic sigh. "I thought I was in decent shape, but I swear, my legs feel like they're going to fall off after every song."

I grin. "Oh! And speaking of suffering—guess what? I have a quick change. A nightmare quick change. Like, full-on panic mode, two people helping me, praying I don't trip and die on stage."

Minho smiles widely. "Sounds fun."

"It's not. It's traumatizing. But also kind of thrilling? Like, the rush of it is insane. One second, I'm Sandy in a poodle skirt, all sweet and innocent, and then bam! Black leather, red lips, the whole thing. You think I can pull that off?"

"Oh, definitely."

"You better come see it."

"Obviously."

"And you better cheer the loudest."

"I don't know. I think Dariel might beat me there."

"Oh, please. Dariel's terrible at cheering. He claps like, twice. That's it."

"Got it. I'll be the star of the crowd."

"Perfect." I beam, then gasp. "Oh, and my favorite part—so, you know that final scene?"

"The one where Sandy turns all cool?"

"Yes! Okay, so I get to do this dramatic entrance, right? And I have to saunter on stage, all confident and badass, and then I put my foot on Danny's chest, pushing him up!" I demonstrate, striking a ridiculous pose with one foot on his desk chair. "And the first time we ran it, I tripped."

Minho's eyes squint from laughing. Even his dimples appear. 

"It was so embarrassing," I groan, flopping back onto his bed. "Everyone broke character. Even the director lost it. But I've got it down now! I think. Okay... anyway! You have to come. It's non-negotiable."

"I will!"

"Front row."

"I'll be there."

"With a sign."

"Promised."

I laugh, stepping toward the door. "Alright, alright. But seriously, Minho, you'll love it. I can't wait for you to see it. You've seen Grease, right?"

"Yeah, duh." He shrugs. "I can't wait, either."

I flash him one last smile. "See you! Maybe I'll see you at rehearsals someday? You can come look before or after the gym? I'll try extra hard."

"Prepare yourself." He waves slightly.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The apartment smells like fresh paint and something slightly burnt—probably the toast Dariel made earlier. The furniture is mostly set up, but a few boxes still clutter the corners. It already feels like home, but not quite yet. Like a new pair of shoes that haven't molded to your feet.

I drop my bag by the door and stretch. "I'm so tired."

Dariel, sprawled on the couch, glances at me with a lazy smile. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." I kick off my shoes and join him, resting my head against the couch's back. "Rehearsal was brutal. We ran 'You're the One That I Want' like, ten times. My legs are going to fall off."

Ever since Minho asked how Grease was going, I can't shut up about it. It's as if I only just realized I'm free to talk about it with others. Plus, the show is in a few weeks. My nerves are beginning to come.

Dariel chuckles, reaching for my knee and giving it a squeeze. "At least all the dancing means you're getting in a workout."

I roll my eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean." He smiles.

"It's just... so much fun. The final scene is my favorite. There's just so much energy. The costumes, the lights, the music—everything comes together, and it's euphoric."

Dariel hums. "Yeah, I bet."

"And the quick change! I swear, I blink and suddenly I'm in leather pants, wondering how I got there. Minho says I can pull it off. Do you think so?"

"Definitely." He chuckles. "Sounds intense."

"It is! And Gally? He's killing it. He just gets the character, you know? It really helps." I tuck my legs under me. "You're coming to the show, right?"

"Obviously. Front row."

"With a sign?" I ask, just like I asked Minho.

He snorts. "Not a chance."

"Flowers?"

"Don't spoil it for yourself." He shuts me up with a kiss.

I smile. "Alright, alright."

"So, besides rehearsal, how was your day?"

"Pretty good. You know, I visited your mom and Minho." Slight hesitance creeps into my voice. Even after he hit me during the argument, I haven't really stopped hanging out with Minho, which was Dariel's request in the first place. I guess it's different now he's alone all the time.

Dariel raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? How's he doing?"

I hesitate. "He says he's fine."

"Which means he's probably not."

"Yeah..." I chew the inside of my cheek. "I think he's just... overwhelmed, still. He seemed tired." I turn to Dariel. "Do you think he's okay? Like, really okay?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know the epilepsy thing has been rough on him. But you know Minho—he doesn't talk about stuff unless he wants to. We'll notice if something is very wrong."

"We can check in on him. Make sure he's good."

"I already did. Maybe tomorrow," I suggest.

A beat of silence passes before Dariel nudges me lightly. "Hey. You just moved in. No stressing about my brother, alright? We have a whole new place to enjoy."

I force a small smile. "You're right."

"You wanna celebrate?"

"Celebrate how?"

"Maybe a movie?"

"A movie sounds nice."

"Alright, movie night it is."