"Does the sky look funny to you, too?"

"It looks like the stars are falling onto me."

"You see a shooting star?"

"No. It's like the stars are just coming at me and about to crush me, except they disappear right before they do."

"Hm. Yeah, alright. I can see them dazzling in front of my eyes."

A few seconds of silence.

"I don't think we should've drunk that sixth jar. Or was it the seventh?"

"I don't know, Thomas. Lost count halfway. But it's nice to be drunk," I say. "Sometimes. At least."

He hums. "You sound experienced."

I shrug. Rub my nose, which is getting a bit cold from lying in the damp grass at two AM. "I like to get drunk. But not when it's sad drunk."

"I don't understand."

"Neither do I."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"That's sad."

"Yeah."

"So are we sad drunk?"

"I don't know. Do you feel sad?"

"Now I do."

"Then we're sad drunk."

"Damn."

I stare at the stars a little longer. I don't see any shapes in them or anything. I'm not searching for them, either. And if I were, I wouldn't be able to because they're all dancing in front of my blurry eyesight.

"What did you do that caused you to end up here?" I ask, curious.

"Parents divorced, got reckless for a year, send me here when I was fourteen, I got sad I didn't see the friends I made for a whole year, and got sent back the next summer," he explains quickly.

When I'm drunk, I'll only understand basic words, so it's awesome that he explains it like this.

"Hm. So you don't mind being here?"

"Well, I hate Janson. And the chores. And the no phone thing. I hate everything here except for my friends. And Teresa. Wow, Teresa. Have you met her yet? She's so beautiful."

I shake my head, both at how awful his love for her is and to reply to his question. Yet a stupid grin is on my face. "How'd you meet her? Was it here?"

"She came here with me. Actually my neighbor. Used to be best friends, then we grew apart. My parents divorced, her father died. Mother stopped caring about her. Sent her here. We talked again, but not as much. We still don't. I don't know what that means."

Short sentences. I love it.

"Maybe she likes you too. And finds it awkward because she doesn't know you like her. Just like you think she doesn't like you."

"But I love her."

"Well, then love her. Like, love, what's really the difference? Good for you."

Thomas turns his head to look at me, but I don't look at him. The sky's too beautiful tonight. "You don't love anyone?"

"I love Lyndon and my father," I say.

"And that's it," he states slowly.

"Yeah, that's it. I can't love my mom. I never knew her. I have friends at home, but I'm kind of the backup plan for them. I don't mind, though. I go out with them and that's it."

"Wow." He lets go of a breath, silenced for a few seconds. "I love my friends a lot. On my father's side, I have a cousin, Brenda, and on my mother's side another one, Chuck. I love them, too. And I love my parents, though they sometimes suck."

"Mostly your mom, though."

"You don't even know her—"

"Never mind. Your parents have broken up," she mutters to herself. "Pretend I didn't say that. I don't why I did. Probably the alcohol. I say stupid thing when I'm drunk. Say stupid things in general."

"Well, not everyone can be good with words."

"But I flop out bad words. Hurtful ones. Not being good with words is not knowing how to explain things."

"You don't know how to explain things so you get frustrated and try to explain them with bad words, but no one understands those bad words because they're not directly meant as an explanation. More like... hints."

"I've by now figured out you are good with words."

A chuckle slips from Thomas's mouth. "Not always. Not to my dad. Or Teresa. My dad always overpowers me and Teresa makes me nervous."

"Everyone makes me angry."

"I've noticed."

"And I don't know why."

"We're really sad drunk."

"I do crazy things when I'm sad drunk to make sure I get happy drunk."

"Like what?" 

"Take a pill."

"I've never taken a pill. Except for when I was a kid and was sick."

"I mean drugs, Thomas."

"I know. And I was referring to the only pills I've ever taken. Pills you need to take," he says. After that, he's quiet again.

It's quite peaceful to sometimes talk, then rest, then talk again, about deep stuff, but never finishing the talk.

"Are you addicted to it?"

"If Lyndon didn't exist, I would be," I say in full confidence, because I've had this thought before and pulled this conclusion. "He's the best brother ever. I'm not a very good sister, he always has to watch me, but if he wouldn't, I maybe would be addicted."

"Is it a nice feeling?"

"Not always. It makes me happy, but after that, I'm super sad but also feel guilty for taking that pill. The sad part makes you want to take more. It starts the addiction."

"But you held onto the guilt for Lyndon."

"Pretty much," I say, and scoff. I'm so ridiculous. "I've got debts because of pills now."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. My 'friends' and I spent too much of a man's pills. Now I have to pay him back. Friends ran off like babies. That's why I went out even more before I got send here. To pay him."

"I imagine a guy with a beard, cigarette smell, messy house with junkies, and three million women around him."

"That's exactly him." I blink a few times. Drunk confessions, man. I've never told anyone about the debts, and now I have. But I have never told anyone of the things I told Thomas tonight, actually.

Because there's only two people I love and I don't bother telling them all this crazy shit.

"We should probably head to bed," I eventually decide. "I have alchohol in my bag if we really need it."

"Okay," Thomas agrees. Holding onto each other, we manage to get up. Everything feels funny again as I walk around, but I can't get myself to laugh. It feels so wrong to have confessed so much to a total stranger.

But he's as drunk as me, so we'll barely even remember it tomorrow.

"I don't like to walk through the dark though," he says. I agree with him. Walking through the dark is fine, but not if it's through woods. There could be so much behind those trees.

"Lyndon's gonna be pissed." I manage a laugh at the thought. "I left him to go to that field with you and now I'm completely out of his sight."

Thomas groans. "Newt's not gonna like this either. We call him Mama Newt. Sometimes."

I snort at the image of Newt and Lyndon as parents, trying to hold their kids back. AKA us.

For the following minutes, Thomas and I are silent. We probably look crazy right now. Sometimes, I have to pull him up because he tripped over a tree trunk and he saves me from walking into trees.

At some point, Thomas screams. And I scream because he did, jumping back from whatever danger he saw.

"Dude."

Thomas takes a deep breath. "Jesus, Minho. Don't ever appear like that again. What the hell are you doing?"

"I was heading back to my hut. Unfortunately, it seems like I can't steal Blake's bed now that she's also here."

"I have a first name."

"I know," he says. "But I'll stick with Blake."

Thomas makes a sound. "Planning on taking her last name already?"

I roll my eyes. "Come on. Let's just continue walking. Got a flashlight, Lee?"

"No," he says, his tone as if I just asked the rudest thing ever.

"What were you even doing here?" Thomas mutters.

"I just told you. I was heading back, dumbass."

"I seem to have trouble remembering things when I'm drunk."

Minho turns to me with a sigh. "And you? How drunk are you after chugging a few drinks down? Reminder, I won."

"No you didn't," I snap. "And I'm not very drunk. I can take a few drinks. Also, you're really not as big and cool as you think you are."

I think he's five feet ten. I'm five six. Not a giant difference, and I've met smaller people than me.

But honestly... his height, and the muscles, plus his face, does create some good looks. If only he didn't make a competition out of everything. Or keeps picking on me.

"Oh, yeah I am. And you know it." When he winks, I give him a push.

But even in the dark, Minho doesn't fall over and actually catches the jar he held before.

"Good reflexes," I say. Though I mean it, my tone's sarcastic.

"Good legs," he says back, clicking his tongue. "Anyway—"

"Finally." Thomas throws his hands in the air. "I'm kind of sick of this flirting already."

"Flirting?"

"Dude, you just said she has nice legs. But yeah, anyways. Let's move on to something else."

"Teresa?"

"For example. Not a bad idea at all. I tried to talk to her at the bonfire, actually—"

"You didn't."

"Okay, maybe not. She just looked so pretty—"

"Then walk freaking up to her and start a conversation. Hellooo? She's your childhood best friend. It's really not that weird. Give her a compliment. Ask her out..."

"As if you're that good with girls," Thomas murmurs, his shoulder colliding with Minho's. "I don't need your advice. It's not that easy!"

"Yeah, it is, man."

"I can become friends with Teresa. If I invite her to hang out, I'll invite you too."

"That's actually a great idea, Blake."

"Absolutely not," Thomas grumbles. "That's using Teresa. I'll wait. Unless you become real friends with her, I don't agree."

I shrug. Bite my lip, unsure what to do because I've never been good at becoming friends with someone, while Teresa does sound like fun person.

But hey, I already have Thomas as a friend, don't I?

"We'll see, then," I say. "Minho, are the people you sleep in a hut with nice?"

"Alby, Zart, Gary, and Gally... hm. Not the worst. Alby and Zart are cool. Gary and Gally aren't really my friends." A pause. "Why?"

I hate that I'm doing this, but he did genuinely seem disappointed to hear he couldn't spend his summer in the same hut as Thomas and his friends. "Well, if those boys aren't too bad, then I won't mind switching places."

He sounds so surprised that it surprises me, "Really?"

"Yeah, really." I jump over a trunk. "But the longer you hesitate, the longer I have to change my mind."

Minho hums. He is hesitating. Why? Didn't he go all pouty to Jorge? "How do you like the boys you're with right now?"

"They're nice," I reply. "Though I've mostly talked to Thomas."

He looks at Thomas for a second. "You've already settled in?"

"Yeah. But I can pack again. It's not a big deal."

Minho runs a hand through his hair, licking his lips with a frown. "Nah. I'll stay where I am. Guess you're lucky this year, Blake."

My stomach does a thing—definitely the alcohol—and I nod. I'm not gonna push this at all. I'm perfectly fine with Thomas and the rest. "Okay."

"You owe me now, though."

"Uhm, no I don't? I offered to switch and you didn't agree. It's not like you offered your place and I agreed."

He chuckles. "Fine. Only thing you have to do is admit that I won when we were drinking."

"Never."

"Then you owe me."

"You're a manipulative little shit, and it's not working."

Minho sticks a hand in his pocket. "Here." Holds up whatever he took. "If you admit it, I'll also give you this."

"What is it? And why is it so important that I admit you won?"

"Because I like to win," he simply says. "Well? This is a bracelet I won while playing a game. It's too girlish for me. Take it, admit I won, and we're fine." 

"How about no?"

"It has shells!" He holds it closer to my face. "Pink shells."

"This makes me think you did something to it. Is that why you want me to take it so badly? It'll explode eventually?"

"No-oh." A groan. "I'm offering this out of kindness."

Thomas, who stayed behind at some point, finally catches up with them. "Stop walking so fast— hey, ain't that the thing you stole from Ava?"

My mouth drops open. "You want me to wear that so I'll be accused of stealing!"

His mouth falls open too. "No! Now you mention it, could you, though? But I was really offering this to be nice—"

"Quiet," Thomas hisses. "Someone's coming."

"I don't hear any moa— oh, in that way." I swallow my words away, quickly hopping behind a tree to hide. Minho slips beside me.

"Get out of my way."

"I was here first," I whisper-scream. "And shh!"

I hear footsteps approach from behind the tree. I slam a hand on my mouth, afraid to be caught. It wouldn't be a real drama, but if I can convince those camp leaders I'm an innocent little girl, they won't expect me to sneak out every night.

I slam my other hand on Minho's mouth; he's breathing too loudly.

But he shows he doesn't agree by licking my fucking hand. I yelp in disgust, the sound muffled into my palm. Then I reach down to elbow him in the crotch— he shouldn't have licked me!

His groan is loud. Him falling to his knees with his hands reaching for between his legs doesn't help either, and the footsteps come closer.

"You idiot," I spit out.

"You hurt me!" He defends, a sound of pain escaping.

Panicked because we're really close to being caught and though Amina's slipper hurts, I assume this misbehavior camp has special punishments to stop kids from misbehaving, I pull him up. Slam his back into a tree, pressing my own body against his as the footsteps come from behind us.

"Stay. Still," I order through my teeth. We'll morph into the tree if that person didn't bring a flashlight and we don't move.

Minho's heart is hammering in his chest. I feel it at my cheek. The urge to slam my hand on my mouth again is big, but I feel like I'll suffocate. My breaths are already short and fast.

Minho does smell nice tho— he doesn't. He smells okay for a boy who spends his days in the woods. Yes. Not like... mint, and what I think is an expensive cologne at all.

We wait another minute, even after the person passed us. I slowly start taking deeper breaths, loosening my grip on Minho.

"If you feel the need to take my shirt off," he starts, obviously referring to the way my fists had clenched around the material of his shirt, "just say it."

"No, thanks," I say, mouth dry. "Come on, we should probably find Thomas. See if he didn't get caught."

"Thomas and I mostly run off when there's a chance we get caught."

"What?" I spin around. "And you couldn't have told me that before we did the whole tree thing?"

"One, you could've used your brain. Two, you hurt me. Why would I help? Three, I don't get a girl pushing me against a tree like that every day."

I throw my head back with a groan. Shake the redness on my cheeks off. "You think we should head back, then?"

"Maybe search for Thomas for a little bit. If we don't find him, he's probably at the camp."

"Okay."

***

A/n: Aaa, chapter 5 already!! I hope y'all are enjoying, let me know :)

Whose POV is your favorite so far? Lyndon's or Lelia's?

And are the chapters too long? Too short? Perfect length?

Thank you for reading xx