Dariel sleeps with the windows open.

Even when it's cold, even when the wind makes the curtains dance, he leaves them open, just enough for the air to slip through. I noticed it the first time I stayed over.

I had curled into his sheets, pulling them up to my chin, and shivered at the way the cold snuck in. I asked him about it, half-asleep, my voice muffled against his pillow.

He hummed, arm draped lazily around me. "I like the noise," he said. "The cars. The wind."

Because he thinks the silence is worse.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I wake up before him.

The room is still dim, bathed in the weak light of morning. Dariel's beside me, lying on his stomach, his face turned toward me.

I watch him for a moment. He looks different like this. Right now, he's just a boy with ruffled hair and an innocent expression.

Dariel shifts slightly, his face scrunching up before relaxing again. His hair is a mess, sticking up in odd directions, and his arm is still lazily draped over my waist.

I smile to myself, then carefully, I reach out and push some of his hair away from his face. He groans at the touch, burrowing further into the pillow, but he doesn't wake up.

I stifle a laugh. "Dariel."

Nothing.

I poke his shoulder. "Dariel."

A deep sigh. Then, muffled against the pillow, "No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"Don't have to," he mumbles. "It's too early."

I shake my head, pressing my forehead against his. "You have work. You told me to wake you up if I woke up before you."

He finally cracks one eye open, staring at me like I just betrayed him. "Are you kidding me?" He groans dramatically, but his arm tightens around me for a second, pulling me in before he releases me and rolls onto his back. His gaze flickers to the window, then back to me. "It's cold."

I grin. "Yeah. Whose fault is that?"

Dariel smirks sleepily. "Yours. Obviously."

I swat at his chest, and he catches my hand, bringing it to his lips in a lazy kiss. His fingers trace over my knuckles. I watch as he finally drags himself out of bed, rubs his face, and makes it to the bathroom. I hear the water running a second later. I take that as my cue to get up too.

By the time Dariel's ready, dressed in his usual work clothes—black jeans, a fitted sweater, the watch I got him for his birthday—he's already halfway out the door. He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to my lips before grabbing his bag.

"I'll be home late," he says. "Busy day."

"Alright. See ya." I smile widely.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I don't even have time to process the morning before I hear a knock at the door.

I frown, glancing at the clock. Dariel just left—he wouldn't have forgotten something already, would he?

I pull open the door.

It's Minho.

He leans casually against the frame, dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. His hair is damp.

He grins. "Hey."

I blink. "Oh, uh. Hey?"

He tilts his head. "What, I'm not allowed to visit my favorite almost-sister-in-law?"

I roll my eyes. "Stop the cheesiness."

Minho walks past me, flopping onto the couch like he owns the place. "Wow. I just got here. Calm."

"What do you want, Minho?"

There's a playful glint in his eyes when he looks at me. "Hang out with me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Don't you have school?"

"It's Saturday."

I blink again. "No, it's not."

"It's not?" His jaw drops. "Erm, whatever. The damage is already done."

I sigh. "Minho—"

"Come on, Lucy." He leans forward. "I'm bored. You're bored. Let's do something fun before I get a seizure."

"Don't use that as an excuse. Besides, you're always bored."

"Exactly! So help me fix it."

I exhale, but I can't help the small smile tugging at my lips. "Fine."

His face lights up. "Really?"

"But if I find out you're skipping something important—"

"I promise I'm not." He raises two hands. "I'm just a poor boy in need of entertainment."

"Alright, what do you wanna do?"

Minho's grin widens. "You ever been to that new arcade downtown?"

I narrow my eyes. "You just wanna destroy me at racing games, don't you?"

"Luciana. I would never."

I stare at him.

"Okay, yeah, I would."

"Whatever. Let me grab my stuff."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The arcade is loud—neon lights flashing, kids shouting, machines buzzing with sounds. Minho walks beside me, hands in his pockets.

"You ready to lose?" he asks.

I scoff. "You talk big for someone who's never seen me play."

Minho hums like he's considering that, then tilts his head. "That's true... but I feel like I already know you suck at this."

I nudge him with my elbow. "Such confidence. Maybe I'll surprise you."

He gives me a look. "Yeah?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Yeah."

"Alright, Luciana. Surprise me."

We start with a racing game, sitting side by side in the plastic seats, gripping the steering wheels. The countdown starts.

I take an early lead.

Minho grunts. "No way—what the hell—"

I laugh as he moves wildly, trying to catch up."

"I was clearly lied to," Minho says. "I thought I was coming here for a fun, lighthearted game, but no. Turns out Luciana Agnes is a selfish competitor. She doesn't care about friendship. She doesn't care about my feelings—"

"Oh my god."

"I don't even know who you are anymore," he sighs out.

"You're so annoying."

"At least I'm not boring like Dariel."

I open my mouth—then close it. Because what am I even supposed to say to that?

My brain short-circuits just long enough for Minho to pass me at the last second, stealing the win. I blink at the screen. "Wait, what—hey!"

Minho leans back, hands behind his head like this was all part of his master plan. "Oof. That's tough."

I turn to him, eyes narrowed. "That was so unfair."

"Was it?"

I clear my throat, shoving him lightly before standing up. "Next game."

Minho follows, laughing under his breath.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

When we get food, he steals a fry off my plate without asking, popping it into his mouth like it's the most natural thing in the world. "This is why people hate you."

"You don't."

I look away, but my face feels warm.

Later, we're at the prize counter, exchanging our tickets, and I'm debating between a keychain and a candy bar when Minho suddenly picks up a small bear and hands it to me.

I look at it, then at him. "What's this?"

Minho shrugs. "Dunno. Thought you'd like it." He stretches his arms over his head. "Alright, one last game before we go."

The last game we play is a claw machine.

I don't know why I let Minho convince me. They're basically a scam—everyone knows that—but he insists he's got skills. That's the exact word he uses, too, and he keeps pressing on it.

I stand beside him, watching as he lines up the claw, eyes squinted in deep concentration.

"You look very serious right now," I tease.

Minho doesn't even blink. "This is life or death, Luciana."

"It's a stuffed animal."

"Not just any stuffed animal." He shifts, adjusting his angle. "That penguin right there? That's the one. I feel it."

I cross my arms. "If you miss, I'm never going to stop teasing you."

Minho scoffs, tapping the button. "Please. I don't miss—"

The claw clamps around the penguin, lifts it slightly—then drops it.

We both watch as it flops back into the pile, buried even deeper than before.

There's a beat of silence.

Then I smile, slow and smug. "So anyway, about never missing—"

Minho drags a hand down his face. "Okay, okay, relax. This is just the warm-up round."

"Right."

He nods. "Right." Then, after a moment, he gestures at the machine. "You try."

"Oh, so now you're giving up?"

"I need more mental preparation."

I eye the machine, trying to pick something that isn't wedged into an impossible position, and finally settle on a small dog. I press the button. The claw moves, clamping around its body. For a second, it holds.

Then it falls.

I groan.

Minho lets out a laugh. "Oh, yeah. Now you understand."

I turn to him. "Okay, but that was actually a scam. It barely even grabbed it."

"Messed up, really."

"Right?"

"Stupid system."

"Exactly."

He presses his lips together to suppress a smile. "So... should we go again?"

Against my will, I nod.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It takes seven tries.

Seven whole tries, three different strategy changes, and way too much money.

But eventually, the claw finally holds, and we watch in disbelief as the small plush dog makes its way to the prize chute.

Minho is the first to react. He shoves my shoulder, grinning like an idiot. "Holy shit—you actually did it."

I reach into the chute, grabbing the stuffed animal and holding it up triumphantly. "I told you!"

"Alright, alright. I'll give you that one."

I glance at him. Then, without really thinking, I hold out the stuffed dog. "Here."

He pauses. "What?"

"You spent, like, all your money trying to win something," I say. "So... you take it."

For a second, I think he's going to make some sarcastic joke. Instead, he just looks at me for a long moment, then he reaches out and takes it.

"...Thanks," he says.

I clear my throat. "Yeah. No problem."

"Gonna name him Minho Jr."

The awkwardness snaps away. "You're so in love with yourself."

"Someone has to be."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

We decide to grab something to eat before heading back. Minho insists on trying a new taco place he heard about. I don't mind. I'm not in any rush to go back home, as Dariel will be late anyway.

We walk in, the bell above the door chiming as we enter. The place is warm, the smells of spices and sizzling meats making my stomach growl. Minho starts chatting with the cashier right away.

I can feel the smile glued on my lips. He's becoming the old one again. I don't known what suddenly changed—maybe it's just a coping mechanism—but either way, it's nice seeing him like this.

"I'm gonna get the biggest one, with extra everything," Minho tells me.

"Of course you will."

As we wait for our order, Minho casually leans against the counter, glancing over at me. "So," he says, his voice lowering just a little, "I was thinking... maybe we could hang out more often. Just the two of us, you know?"

I keep my expression neutral. "I mean, we hang out quite a lot."

"I mean, like... just us. No Dariel around. No hanging out through Dariel."

I freeze for a second. That sounds off. It catches me off guard. The way he said it, so casually,

I glance at him, unsure of what to say. "Minho..."

He cuts me off, his tone playful again. "What, you scared of hanging out without your precious boyfriend tagging along?"

"Of course not." My voice sounds steadier than I feel. "It's just—"

Minho raises an eyebrow. "It's just that you know I'm better than Dariel, right?"

I shake my head quickly.

We grab our tacos and find a seat near the window. Minho digs into his with enthusiasm. I can't help but watch the way he eats, the way he looks so carefree, as if nothing could bother him. I wish I could be like that sometimes.

"You know," he says between bites, "you've gotta loosen up. I'm not saying you don't love Dariel, but... you need a little fun, a little excitement. Don't you think? Does that dude even get you flowers?"

"Yeah. At least once a month."

"Oh." His face falls in surprise. "Well, he doesn't know anything about Grease, does he?"

"He hasn't seen the movie, but he does help me practice scenes."

"Okay, but I bet he can't cook."

"He can cook. He just lets me do it because I think it's fun."

"The word fun isn't in his vocabulary! I'm right about that, aren't I? Dariel works, eats, watches TV, sleeps, repeat. He showers if you're lucky."

"I don't need excitement to have fun," I respond. "I'm good."

He's quiet for a moment. "I'm just saying."

"I don't need more than I already have. I have everything I need."

"Everything, huh?"

I nod. "Yeah. Everything."