A few days before Dariel's birthday, I come back from the gym once again. Minho helped me again, and I can admit it was pretty fun. He told me he had to work, so I drove to his mom's house on my own. Dariel is the only one at home for now.

"Hi." He opens the door before I can even ring the bell.

"Hi, there." I press a kiss to his cheek. "Everything alright?"

He steps aside, welcoming me into the house. "Yeah. How was the gym?"

"It was okay. Difficult, but I did it." I kick off my shoes while Dariel takes my coat off. Both of us walk over to the living room, where I continue telling him about the gym.

That ridiculous shower incident happened two weeks ago. In the meantime, Minho often trained me and I showed him support by texting now and then, asking if I should bring him a coffee too, and making time to talk to him for a minute whenever I come over for Dariel.

"Hey, can we talk?" He asks out of a sudden, nearly interrupting my story.

"Oh, sure." I frown slightly, even though I know it can't be very serious. "What is it?"

"Well..." he takes a breath. "I would... I'd..." Dariel also frowns, but his is much deeper than mine.

I rest my hand on his arm. "What?"

"I'd... appreciate it if you'd hang out with Minho a little less," he says slowly, carefully. "I don't want to forbid anything, so let's just calmly talk about it."

"Right," I respond slowly. "Why is that?"

"First of all, I believe he's still in love with you—"

I open my mouth—

"Ah." Dariel holds up his finger, stopping me. "It's keeping him stuck. Won't make his crush go away. Second of all, I one hundred percent trust you, but I feel uncomfortable with the amount of attention Minho is getting from you. Relationships require balance and I don't want to feel like I'm competing with Minho. Thirdly, Minho might become more depended on you. Emotionally. Fourthly—"

"I'm sorry, but this is ridiculous. Why do you have a whole list with reasons why I shouldn't hang out with your brother?"

"Luciana," Dariel sighs out. He rubs his eyes. "Please. Just... just try to see it from my point of view. I don't think you'd like it if I spend all my time with Teresa."

"I go to the gym with Minho four evenings every week and now and then either bring him a coffee or take him along to get a coffee," I argue.

"Just hear me out. Fourthly, I think Minho should also learn how to cope with his epilepsy on his own. You won't always be available and he needs multiple sources of support." He pauses. "I don't want any resentment to build between our relationship. Constantly worrying about Minho isn't good for your health, either. And I really am trying to be understanding, but it feels unfair towards me."

"I don't agree with you," I say calmly, yet my insides begin burning. I've been hanging out with Minho for three weeks, that's it. I've made enough time for Dariel. He's the one who keeps forgetting to pick me up from rehearsals or ends up working instead of coming over like how he told me he would.

"Okay. But would you be able to set a few boundaries with me, at least?"

"The gym is because I want to work on myself, Dariel. Minho happens to be good at things like that, so he coaches me. The coffees? Yes, those are to cheer him up, and that's it. I'm not trying to hint at anything else."

"I understand. Still, I don't like the idea of him being around you that much."

"Then you should tell him."

"I thought I'd be able to talk to you about it, but you get this offensive for what?" He fidgets with his fingers before glaring up at me. "I guess this is what your parents meant when they said you're not old enough yet."

My whole body stiffens. I blink at him, my breath caught in my throat. "What?"

Dariel exhales, rubbing the back of his neck, but he doesn't take it back. "You are young, Luciana. Sometimes you don't see the bigger picture. You get defensive instead of listening. You're proving their point."

I feel something hot rise in my chest—frustration, anger, something else I can't quite place. "I am listening, Dariel. I just don't agree with you. There's a difference."

His expression hardens. "No, you're just refusing to admit that I might have a point."

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize 'having a point' meant telling me who I can and can't talk to."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"That's exactly what you're doing." My voice rises slightly, and I can feel my pulse speeding up. "You don't like that I spend time with Minho, so now you're trying to twist it into some moral issue. Like I'm doing something wrong by caring about him."

I know I'm being unfair. I don't know why. Maybe I'm trying to gauge a reaction from him. See the truth behind all this calmness.

Dariel exhales sharply, his hands clenching into fists before he forces them to relax. "Luciana. This isn't about you caring about him. It's about how much you care about him. It's weird."

"Oh, it's weird now? You make it sound like I'm cheating on you."

"That's not what I'm saying—"

"You're acting like Minho being my friend is some huge problem!" I throw my arms out. "Like it's some threat to you."

"It is a problem, Luciana."

"Why? Because you don't trust me?"

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "No! I told you, I trust you. I don't trust him."

"Minho isn't some predator, Dariel. He's your brother."

"I know that," Dariel snaps. "But you're not just some casual friend to him. He wants you, and you pretending that's not the case is just making it worse."

I shake my head. "You don't get to control that. You don't get to tell me who I can be friends with just because Minho has feelings."

"I'm not trying to control you!" His voice rises now, frustration pushing him to the edge. "I'm trying to make you understand that this isn't healthy for any of us!"

"Like you know what's healthy."

His expression darkens.

I glare at him. "You don't show up when you say you will. You neglect your family for no reason. You tire yourself out with work."

"I'm doing that for you."

"It's not healthy and I don't like that."

"Then you should tell me that," Dariel says harshly. "I can't read minds." He exhales, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

"I'm just helping out someone who needs support."

"I know that, but there's a line. You're acting like Minho only has you, like you're his only lifeline. He has Mom. He has his friends. He has me."

"Oh, right," I scoff. "Because you two are so close."

"That's not fair."

I shrug. "Neither is you making this into a problem when it isn't one."

His eyes flicker with frustration. "Luciana, come on. It is a problem. You just don't want to admit it."

"So what? You want me to just stop talking to him?"

"No," he says quickly. "I never said that. I just don't think you need to be texting him all the time, buying him coffee, making him your responsibility. You're my girlfriend, not his, nor are you his caretaker."

"I never said I was his caretaker," I snap.

"You're acting like it! Every time you come over, Minho comes up. Every single time. Do you realize how frustrating that is?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. "You're twisting this into something it's not."

"I'm twisting things? I think you're the one refusing to acknowledge how weird this situation is."

"Minho needs people. I'm not abandoning him just because you feel uncomfortable."

"That's not what I'm asking—"

"That is what you're asking, Dariel." I glare at him. "You're insecure over your own brother."

He loses his grip. "Oh, screw you, Luciana. That's not what this is about."

"Oh, isn't it?" I throw my hands up. "You don't like that I give Minho attention. You don't like that he still has feelings for me. You don't like that he and I have something separate from you."

Dariel's lips part like he wants to say something, but he stops himself. "You act like you're perfect, like you never do anything wrong, like I'm just supposed to sit here and let you do whatever you want while I watch."

"Listen to yourself." I stand up, taking a step back. "You're literally making helping your brother into a crime."

"No, I'm making you ignoring my feelings into a crime." His voice is sharper now, cutting through the air between us as he also stands. "I have tried to be patient. I have tried to explain myself. And you just keep acting like I'm overreacting."

"Because you are! You're making this into something huge when it doesn't need to be!"

"Jesus Christ, Luciana, you're so goddamn stubborn—"

"You're infuriating! You never let anything go, you always have to be right—"

"At least I don't act like I'm some perfect saint," he snaps back.

I feel heat rise to my face. "At least I'm not paranoid like you—"

A sharp sting against my cheek.

Complete silence.

I stare at him, my ears ringing. The heat of his palm lingers on my skin, burning.

Dariel's face drains of color. His chest rises and falls, his expression twisted in horror. "Oh my God."

My lips part, but no words come out. My brain can't catch up. It's not the physical pain that I feel.

"Luciana," his voice is hoarse, desperate. "I—I didn't mean to—"

I take a step back, my breath shaky. His hands hover in the air like he wants to reach for me, but he doesn't.

"I—" His voice cracks. He looks sick, paler than ever before, his eyes so wide that it looks like they're about to pop out.

I've never seen someone look this disturbed by their own actions.

"I swear, I didn't mean to do that."

I don't move. My heart pounds in my chest, my skin cold despite the heat of my cheek.

Dariel runs a hand over his face, his fingers trembling. "I'm sorry," he breathes. "I'm so sorry."

My mind is racing, a million thoughts colliding in an instant. Is this how he's always felt? Is this what I've been missing, the cracks in his calm? Or was this just a moment of anger?

"I swear to God, I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry," he repeats, his voice cracking. His whole body seems to sag, defeated, as if this one thing has ruined his future. "I don't know what came over me. I wasn't thinking. I'll never do it again. I lost control, I'm so sorry—"

"You... you can't just put your hands on me when you're angry," my voice trembles. "I need to leave."

His face crumples in pain. "Please, Luciana. Please don't—don't say it's over. I'll do anything. I can't let you leave. Let us talk about it—"

I want to scream at him, vut instead, I feel hollow, like all the fight in me has drained away.

I can see the regret written all over him. "I love you, I didn't—"

"Love?" I interrupt. "You love me, and you slap me? Is that what love is?"

"No! No, that's not love. I—" His voice falters, and he looks like he's trying to find the right words, but they're all failing him. "Please. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Luciana. I never wanted to hurt you. I'm so sorry."

His words, though desperate, don't take away the sting of what happened. I know he's sorry. I know he regrets it. But that doesn't change that he did it.

I step back again. "

His face pales. "Luciana, please don't leave me like this. Please."

Every instinct in me tells me to run. To never see him again before any of this happens again, but then I remember that this is the only issue I've ever had with him. For the past year, it has been perfect.

"Just... give me some time to think while you cool down. I'll be upstairs," I whisper.