I try to keep myself from sobbing, but it only leads to biting my lip so hard I eventually taste blood.

I press my head into my pillow. That helps, except it does make breathing harder. It already was.

I know that if I had a phone here, My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco would be blasting in my ears. I'm not sure if that would help, though. This time, it would make me feel worse.

My kind of woman is in fact not a woman. I wish it was.

But it isn't. It's Newt. It's been Newt the whole time– I've known the whole time. And I've denied the whole time. I don't want it to be a boy.

Don't want to tell every girl lingering around me that I'm only interested in boys. Don't want half of my family to hate me. Don't want anyone to look at me differently. Don't want anyone to treat me differently. Don't want to prove those boys right.

Mom's culture won't accept it. That doesn't mean she won't accept it, Lyndon. I try to tell myself that, but it's hard.

It all makes me cry. I hate myself for it–not just the crying–yet I can't stop. I don't even stop when I hear someone zipping the tent open and walking in.

"Lynn?" I can sense he's crouching down next to me. I know exactly what he's going to do.

Newt doesn't say anything else after scanning my state. His hand goes to my back, where he rubs it up and down. It's meant to be reassuring and it is, but it isn't.

"Stop," my voice comes out hoarse. "Don't touch me."

I'm so stupid.

He takes his hand off. Of course he does– I didn't expect anything else.

"What's going on?" Newt asks softly.

I don't know what to tell him.

So I shake my head, hoping to indicate I either don't know or don't want to tell him. I am not sure which one is the right answer.

Lelia would've known. And she wouldn't have been crying for sure. I sometimes do really wish I'm more like her, especially in situations like these.

"Do you need me to leave you alone?" He then asks.

I shake my head again.

Like a freaking baby who's pouting and refuses to communicate in words. Toughen up.

"Well, sometimes a good cry is nice," Newt starts. "You don't need to have a reason. And touch can be too much, indeed–"

"I do have a reason," I blurt out.

Now that is what always happens when I tell myself to toughen up: I blurt the things out.

"Alright," his voice remains the same. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shrug, because I don't want to be rude either. Newt has done nothing wrong, so he'd have the right to know, if only the thing I'm worrying about hadn't been being in love with Newt. It would be crazy to straight up tell him that. Even crazier is that I'm crying about it.

I don't think I'd be very happy if someone was crying about liking me, at least.

"Lynn, you can tell me anything," he says. I expect the hand to go back to my body, but it doesn't. "Alright? I won't judge."

I would be fine being in love with Newt, if it didn't mean being in love with a boy.

I can tell him that, though. That I've finally admitted to my sexuality (leaving out the part that I was staring at him when I realized), and find it hard to accept it.

But the problem is, I have never felt attracted to another boy before, so I don't even know if I'm gay. Can't I be like, I don't know, not labeled gay since I only like Newt?

Okay, too far. Now I'm making myself crazy again.

"Lynn. Sit up."

I do as he says. I'd really be a baby if I didn't.

Newt wipes the tears off my cheeks with his sleeve. No more tears follow, even though it feels like that. There's a lump in my throat and my hands are trembling. I hide them behind my back before he'll worry too much. Automatically, I start picking at my skin.

I'll have to calm down before I blurt the next stupid thing out.

"Did anyone hurt you? Say something to you?"

I shake my head.

"Okay. If it's ever like that, you tell me. Yeah?"

I nod. I should probably say something, but I don't know what. Not to mention how nice and comforting his words sound, yet how they also make me feel so weak.

"Alright. Do you want to tell me what's going on now? 'Cause I'm getting bloody worried."

I stare at him. I can indeed declare the worry in his eyes. The confusion in his brow: a slight furrow that also makes his nose scrunch. His head is tilted to the side a bit, as if he's trying to read me.

I just know he can't. Well, he might be able to, but before I figure out how my mind works, I don't think anyone will. And I don't think I even want to know how my mind works.

It might help, though. Knowing why I feel certain ways about certain things and why I keep zoning out... right. Zoning out.

I blink a few times to get myself back in reality.

Newt raises an eyebrow. I think he has the best patience in the world. I mean, there's been few people who didn't get annoyed by how slowly I reply. How long would Newt be waiting for a reply already?

Gosh, I'm only making him wait longer.

"Uhm."

He keeps waiting. So patiently.

That's it. You think you like him because he is patient and tries to understand and does his best to help, says one part of my brain. Not true, says another part. You like him for more than that.

I want to press my hands to my ears. But I don't. Last time I did, Dad brought me to a child psychologist. Twelve year old me, who didn't understand any of it, wasted the full hour by asking what the things on the walls were. The hard words, the posters, why it looked like a kindergarten, why a strange woman asked me what I'd change if I had a magic wand, why she offered to play with me and Dad, why the books weren't in order of the authors' last names, why, why, why...

I almost replied I'd make the voices disappear with the magic wand, but I ended up saying I'd wish for my little sister to always be happy, because I figured the first option was selfish.

"Lyndon. Stop." The sudden use of name and sharpness in his voice startles me, and I feel my chest heave. "Whatever you're thinking, try to stop. You're making yourself crazy."

Sometimes being harsh is necessary, so I nod. "Sorry."

"No. Don't apologize either. Now please do tell me what's going on because you're really starting to worry me."

Say it, it urges. Just say it rather than being this weak–

"I like boys."

Ohmyfreakinggod. I wish the tent walls had been hard, so I could slam my head against them. Hopefully shake my mind better, and get rid of the two in one intrusive-thoughts-and-words package.

At first, Newt's eyes are wide. Then his gaze softens a bit, and he nods. "Alright. That's good to know. And good you figured it out."

I nod. "Yup."

"And you were crying..." he then slowly adds. "Not happy?"

And just like that, at the softness of his voice and the reassurance in his eyes, I tell him about it all. The boys, Mom, my fears of it not being accepted or treated differently, and everything but the way I figured it out.

Then Newt tells me about his experiences and that it really isn't as bad as it sounds, especially coming out to his family and friends. I may assume our friends won't treat me any differently as they treat Newt. I won't have to tell Mom and Dad right now.

"I don't know if I immediately want to tell everyone," I say slowly. "Not even our friends. Is that bad?"

"No. Not at all. But it is bad if you keep it a secret for too long. You'll start to feel locked up. Trust me, you'll feel good once you've told the people you care about. And I think telling people and seeing their reactions will be good for you. Because, no offense, it's clear you have internalized homophobia."

Good to know. Thanks.

"Many people have it," Newt says, probably because of my expression. "It's not weird to have. Just... quite toxic."

Understanding, I nod.

☀︎︎

As if yesterday didn't go bad, I somehow manage to tell Lelia in the same way.

"I'm gay," I blurt out... again.

She looks up from her suitcase. "I know." And turns back to finding a good outfit.

I stare at her for what feels like forever, trying to get those words through my mind.

Then she looks back up. "Sorry. That was meant positively."

It's okay, I wanted to say. Don't apologize, I wanted to say. But instead, "Well, it did take me a crazy lot of crying and thinking to figure it out, so I would like a reaction that makes it seem like you're at least a little proud of me."

Jesus— "Sorry," I quickly say.

"No. Don't be. You're right," she says, getting up to wrap her arms around me. "I'm proud of you. I really am. And it's good you figured things out."

"It was very clear, wasn't it?" I murmur dryly.

"Just for me. I know you that well," she assures.

"I also know you very well. So I can see when you're lying."

"It's not that clear," she defends. "But when you get to know you better, or see the way you look at Newt, it is."

If she's right about it being clear after knowing me for a while, Mom at least hasn't kicked me out of the house yet. That's good!

Yet I still let go of a yelp. "It's clear that I'm in love with Newt?"

She turns back to her suitcase. "Now that you've confirmed it, for sure is."

My mouth is close to dropping open. If I go around and blurt this exact thing out, I might as well just confess already.

"Don't tell anyone else yet," I say. "Neither about Newt nor my sexuality."

And she looks up again. "Of course not, Lyndon. I'll keep my mouth shut."

Relieved, I smile at her. "Thank you. Also, why does it take so long to find an outfit? Is there a special occasion I don't know of?"

"I'm going out tonight."

"Oh, God. Don't get drunk, please. I don't have the motivation to follow you around today."

She shrugs casually. "Who said I'm going out to a club?"

My eyebrows fly up at that, curiosity increasing. "Where are you going?"

"Now that, is none of your business."

"With who are you going? Can I at least know that?"

"Nope."

I cross my arms before plopping down on the bed I think is Thomas's. If it's important, there are no sheets or anything with Teresa's face on it. Then I stare at my sister again, eyes scanning over the delicate blush on her cheeks. But delicate or not, she for sure is blushing.

"You're blushing. Who's this guy you're going with?"

"I'm so in love with myself that I'm blushing," she says. "Because I'm going on my own."

"No, you're not. And I'll figure it out, trust me."

"Oh, yeah? I heard Newt was planning on having a game night. You wouldn't want to miss that, would you?"

I jerk off the bed. "What? Why didn't I know of that? Who—" then I see her grin. "Very funny, Lelia."

One of those laughs escapes her mouth before she holds up an outfit. "What do you think of this?"

I trail my eyes over the denim shorts and yellow top, frowning.

"Never even mind. Why am I even asking you?" She goes straight back to finding something else.

Offended, I pull a face. "What's that supposed to mean? I have great taste in clothes."  

"You dress like a grandpa."

"So what? That's nice! Grandpa sweaters are amazing."

"They're like Christmas sweaters." She hums at something she picks up, throws it on the bed that's in the middle of the room, and continues looking.

"Christmas is amazing, so the sweaters are, too." I pause shortly. "If you keep throwing things on that bed, whoever sleeps on there will eventually find your undergarments or something."

"Thomas is head over heels with Teresa and the rest for sure loves the rainbow," she says.

"Don't assume things like that."

"Even if I do, I'm not telling them. And if I would, I'm not mean about it. Or I'll make it sound like a joke."

I cross my arms. "Still."

She no longer replies and starts putting whatever she chose on. "You should ask Newt for a game night."

"Why?"

"So you can be a little social. I know you'll be lying in bed at like six if you don't."

"So? Sleep is lovely."

"So is Newt, don't you agree?"

I hum. My stomach does an automatic flip at his name— it always has been doing that. But I've always been ignoring it. "For sure. But I don't always enjoy games. I remember you threw the whole Monopoly box at me when we played it."

"We were young," she informs.

"You were fourteen," I say. "That's not young. How much do you even remember of our youth?"

"Surely not as much as you. I don't remember every single detail about every single thing."

"I don't— well, maybe."

"If I just ask you something like... I don't know, how many times Dad and I ended up fighting because of money I wanted to lend, and how long I held a grudge for, you'd know it."

She started begging for money at twelve. At fourteen, she started getting pissed when she didn't get it. "Six times," I say.

"See?" She throws her hands in the air. "You know it all. That's creepy."

"You know what else is kind of weird? That you're bratty enough to ask for money and then get angry if you don't get it," I blurt out.

She huffs. "I had my reasons. Whatever— what do you think of this?"

She is wearing white shorts and a white crop top, covered with a button up that has white and blue stripes. Pretty nice, I guess.

"I have never seen those clothes before," I say. "When did you buy them?"

"I didn't. Just tell me what you think?"

I somewhat jump off the bed again. "You stole?"

"No, jeez. Minho got them for me." She palms her face for a second, then pushes me back down on the bed with a smile. "Well? What do you think?"

My eyes squint. "You started smiling when you mentioned him. Does that mean—"

"Hey." She snaps her fingers right in front of my face. I think it made me look cross-eyed. "Focus. What do you think?"

I wave it off. "Looks nice. And I bet you're going somewhere with Minho."  

"Careful with your words, Lyndon. I can tell Newt how much you love him."

"Stop threatening me all the time," I say, offended again. Luckily, this is just Lelia. I think my reaction would've been a tad different if it was someone else. "But you got defensive, so you're going out with Minho."

"No, I'm not."

"—and he bought you those clothes. Obviously he has bought you clothes he likes, too. So why worry about your outfit? He must like it."

Her head cocks to the side as if she only now realizes that I do have great value in her life. "Hm. Smart."

"Ha! So you are going out with Minho."

She shrugs, which confirms it, and my smile grows in victory.

Then it fades. "You're going out with Minho," I repeat, slower. "Why the hell are you going out with Minho?!"

"For Christ's sake, Lyndon, because he's my boyfriend." She sighs so loudly I'm almost offended again. How was I supposed to know that? "And don't tell anyone. I keep your secret, you keep mine."

"What?" I jolt off the bed for a third time. "You're his girlfriend?"

A roll of her eyes. "Yes. Any problems with it?"

"A lot of them."

She gives me a glare. "He's not that bad."

"Last time I checked, you hated him."

"I still do. But I also really like him," she says, eyes growing bigger and more... twinklier. "And I guess over the time, I'll start to like him even more."

"True." Once I'm calm enough, I sit back down on Thomas's bed. "Did you know you barely trust or like anyone? I don't think you ever even told your old friends your birthday. Does Minho know when your birthday is?"

"My birthday was literally here, at the camp," she says.

My eyebrows gain a wrinkle. "How come I don't remember a lot about your birthday this year?"

"Because you were drunk and making out with Harriet." Lelia puts her hands on her hips, sighing.

My eyes wide so fast they almost fall out. "I did what with Harriet?"

"And you called Newt's accent cute. Minho made you stand under a shower and then showed you to Newt, so he could see that white shirt sticking to your muscles."

My frown stays. "So we didn't really make the day about you."

"It's okay," she says. "I don't want it to be about me."

"It's literally your freaking birthday."

Guilt is starting to eat me from the inside. I do remember telling her I'd give a present after the camp, because my stupid ass forgot to bring something with me and I was weak enough to not sneak out to a store.

What brother in the world does something like that? I'm awful— no. She did not mind, the good part says. She clearly didn't mind.

Then why does she look so sad?

"Did anyone give you anything?"

"Yeah. Minho gave me baby's breath and he promised to give me a bracelet, but I don't recall him ever giving me one," she says.

Alright. He scored a few more points there.

"I don't mind. The rest paid for my drinks at the club. And you were happy the whole day, so that's good."

"You say it's good yet you look sad," I point out. "I don't remember anything of that night. What else happened?"

"You went to bed. I got a taxi to go to Mom's grave. Gave her the flowers."

Just like that, the air gets knocked out of me and am so shocked yet feel so stupid for not realizing her birthday might not be the happiest day for her, because it is and will always be the same day Mom died.

"You gave her the flowers someone else got you... for your birthday," I say, slower, having to swallow deeply after that. "Oh my gosh, Lelia—"

"It's okay." She blinks a few times, then smiles. "Immediate apology and respect for Mom. And I didn't have to buy flowers this year."

This year. So she has been doing that for multiple years already. And I always thought she was just hanging out with her friends.

"I always see Dad's flowers there, too. I know he puts them down there the day before my birthday. It's a nice thought," she says.

I remember now. Dad had once asked me to come with him. I think I was eleven. I was too busy finishing my DIY birthday present. No, wait, wrong year. I'm pretty sure I ran out of paper to wrap the presents I bought in. Amina gave me other gift wrapping, but it wasn't pink, so I didn't take it because it all had to match.

I had bought a pink box, pink eyeshadow for kids, a pink stuffed animal, and more. It must've been her favorite color back then.

"No," I had pouted. "It has to be the exact same color pink."

"Alright. But I've got to finish the laundry up so she can wear her favorite dress tomorrow. You know where the store is. Not that far away. You think you can handle it?"

"I'm already eleven. Of course." I gladly took her money and then excitedly started making my way to the center of our neighborhood, when I saw him.

He was sitting on a little brick wall, staring at me. I kept my head down. I swallowed and even closed my eyes. I could've known. He always sits there. Usually with his friends, but still.

I made it to the store without him saying a word. I quickly bought the pink wrapping and even added glitters in my cart as I planned to take another way back home so I wouldn't have to pass him.

Unfortunately, he was right outside the store when I exited it, and he stared down at the stuff in my hands. I forgot a bag because I had been so excited about going to the store on my own and giving Lils the best present I had ever made.

"Is that to decorate your room with?" He had laughed, eyes on the pink stuff. "It wouldn't surprise me."

I frowned. "It's not. But would it be so weird if it was?"

"Pink isn't for boys." He laughed even louder. The sound rang in my ears. I can still hear it if I want to. "Though I doubt you're even a real one. Acting like a girl so you can get the boys?"

My frown increased. "Huh?"

"Exactly. As empty-headed as girls are," he spat out. "Give me that." Before I knew it, the glitter got ripped out of my hands. He smashed the bottle open on a wall. Half of the stuff landed on the floor. The rest, he poured over my head.

His eyes trailed over me, hands resting on his sides and a smug smile glued on his face. "Really matches with you, Lyndon Blake."

I bit my lip to stop it from trembling. "Buy me a new one. That was for my sister," I told him harshly.

He scoffed. "Pf. Crying like a little baby as he asks it. You might pee in your pants. Do I already see a stain there?"

"That's just paint," I said. "Give me money to buy the glitter again."

"Give me money to buy the glitter again," he mimicked, voice high. "Just so you know, you sound ridiculous. You really think anyone will ever listen to you if you sound like that?"

I nearly gave him a push, but he was bigger than me, especially in width. I was really just... a stick, sort of. "I sound better than you. Pay me."

He pouted. "I don't think I will. I don't do gay charities. Give me that."

Right before he could rip the wrapping out of my hands, I took a step back. And then I started running, as fast as I could, tears spilling.

The next day, nine year old Lelia absolutely adored the little box. She hugged me, made a jump, and thanked me a million times.

"You even put glitters in your own hair to match?" She giggled.

Because of the panic that hit me, I had quickly nodded. "Yup. Do you like it?"

With a big grin, she ruffled through my hair. "Love it. It's gonna take a million washes to get that out, though."

I pointed at the shampoo I got her. A pink bottle. Shampoo that doesn't hurt the eyes, because she hated that and refused to listen when I told her to hold her head up and keep her eyes closed. "I can lend that, right?"

"Of course."

"Hello?" A snap in front of my eyes. "Are you still alive?"

I blink. Nod. Who's in front of me again? I see the white top. Right. "Sorry. Zoned out."

"Clearly." Lelia sprays some perfume on her throat. And then the back of her neck, her wrists, ankles—

"You know you're gonna smell too... perfumery, right?"

"It'll fade. That's why I need so much," she explains. "Want some?"

Before I can even reply, she has already sprayed some of it on me. I nearly choke at the heavy smell, then start coughing. "That was uncalled for."

"Maybe you stank."

I hold up my arms, sniffing. One of my worst fears is, to be honest, to smell and not notice it. "I smell okay, right?"

"Sure." She shrugs and sprays a little on all the beds.

I give a confused look. As always.

She gives me a confused look back. "Don't you ever spray perfume or deodorant on your bed? Or stinky boys their bed?"

"Eh, no. Am I supposed to?"

"Whatever. Let's go."

☀︎︎

"Hm." Newt closes his eyes for a second when I sit down next to him, a shiny lake in front of us. "You smell good, Lynn."

I can see Lelia's expression if she would've been here.

A bonfire is next to us. Our friends and a few other kids are sitting around it, but I saw Newt here. Most of the time, we are the first ones to leave. Usually because I tell Newt the smell of the fire and the heat of it makes me tired, and then he follows me back.

We're definitely not supposed to be here, but I've grown to care less about Janson, especially after the Thomas thing a few days ago.

Six and a half weeks into the camp, eight and a half more to go.

"Thanks," I say, resting on my elbows. The sand is scratchy and a bit uncomfortable, but I stay in place.

Newt takes that brown jacket off and hands it to me. "Here. Put it below you."

Immediately, I start shaking my head. "No. It's cold near the lake and there's a lot of mosquitos. Keep it in."

"I know you're never gonna accept from now on, so alright." Newt puts his jacket back on with a sigh. "If it's cold, let's go the fire, then."

I think we spend the next... at least ten minutes greeting all the friends Newt apparently also has, and then we finally arrive at our usual people. We sit down on one of the tree trunks that has been lain down. All four of them form some kind of circle. In the middle is another mini fire.

"You guys." Winston taps us on the knees, smirking widely. "Bad news. Lelia and Minho finished their list. We would come up with the punishment for the losers once one list was complete."

Newt groans. "Not today, Winston. We'll do the punishment, but not today."

I'm really glad he said that. Today has been tough. My thoughts have become worse, the voices are coming back, I found out Lelia is apparently dating the guy I don't always like as much, I came out (sort of), et cetera. It was quite the day.

It has made me tired.

But I should let Newt enjoy the company of his friends for once, instead of tell him I'm going to bed and allowing him to follow me like he always does. I guess the good thing is that it's his own choice and I'm not forcing him away.

I lean closer to his ear for other reasons. "Lelia went out with Minho. Do you know anything about that?"

"Oh, yeah. I helped him get ready." Newt shrugs. "Don't worry. They're just going to eat something or whatever. I'm pretty sure Minho planned to spend the night at his house, because Lelia loves his mom. They'll secretly sneak back into the camp tomorrow."

"They better watch out," I murmur back. "I think Janson is very close to building fences around the whole area. Then we wouldn't be able to have bonfires like these either."

"Come on, Lynn." Laughing, Newt nudges me in the side. "There's always a way. Climb over the fence, distract the instructors..."

"So they were right," I reply. Now I can no longer hide a smile. "You're really not as sweet as you seem."

He laughs again. "I'm very, very sweet. Anyway, want a drink?"

"Is it the one that Gally kid made?"

"Yup. Grows some hair on your chest."

Never again. That drink was disgusting. Sorry, Gally.

I've seen that boy walk around the camp a few times before, though. I don't know. Something about his body language tells me he and Lelia wouldn't have the worst friendship... but the rest apparently isn't a big fan of him.

"Nothing has confirmed that," I say.

"Oh, yeah? You did a science project on how much hair it grew?"

"Ew. No. Just saying it didn't exactly work for you."

There it goes. The next thing my two in one package says. Intrusive-thoughts-and-words.

His eyes gain a spark, but that might just be the fire. I can for sure confirm that he's now grinning. "So you admit to staring at me while I was shirtless?"

"I actually just heard a story about me being drunk, Minho wetting my white shirt, and then showing me to you. Don't be happy too soon," I tease back.

His grin gets bigger. "Yet I can recall you calling my accent cute."

"I recall you calling my hair nice. And a lot of other things."

Giving up, he throws his head back. "Fine. You win. Only this once."

I smile as my eyes go back to the fire. I watch Teresa speak to Thomas, both of them staring at each other so crazily in love that's it's a wonder they haven't confessed already. Fry is handing out food, Winston, Jeff, and Clint are drinking some of the moonshine, Sonya and Harriet are laughing with Miyoko... and a lot more usual things.

It occurs to me that I miss Minho and Lelia hating each other. Or at least annoying each other.

No— I don't miss it. It just occurs to me that it feels different without the both of them here.

"To be honest..." Newt leans closer. "I don't think the two of them are ever going to make that date a success in the first days of their relationship."

Worried, I turn to him. "In what way?"

"They're gonna lose their bloody temper on each other in some way. Because I'm pretty sure Minho planned some other things than just eating. Wouldn't surprise me if they ended up bungee jumping."

"She'd like that, though."

"I guess we'll hear the full story soon." 

Before I nod, I turn to the fire again. I hold my hands forward to feel the heat of it. I even close my eyes on some point. A few deep breaths, and the rapid mind and messy thoughts calm a bit.

Oh, I think the sleeping thing has caught up with me. I'm pretty sure I fell asleep.

☀︎︎

A/n: a 5000+ word chapter because I reached 5k followers :)) hope you enjoyed!!

Do we want more long chapters, or keep the length most chapters had before? Lmk x

Have a good day/night!!