༺ THIRTY - THREE  ༻

"Shut the hell up, Newt!" Sonya throws a pillow at our brother, her face bright red.

He attempts to save himself by holding his arms above his head, but it only results in Sonya hitting him even harder with the material. "I didn't even- ow!"

"You snuck into my room with Minho?" She's almost yelling by now, her cheeks even redder.

"What, you're telling me you've got something to hide?" He finally manages to take the pillow out of her hand.

"No!" She peeps. "But Minho doesn't have to see all the mess in my room!"

A-ha. Sonya has never, not once in her life, given a single shit about how messy her room is. "So Minho's the problem?" A grin forms on my face.

She might overheat from either embarrassment or anger soon. "It has nothing to do with Minho! I hate you both. Good night!"

I chuckle at her behavior, and Newt sighs.

"She likes Minho," I say. "She must!"

"The bloody trouble it would cause if she and Minho ever get together. You know how often I'd have to see his ugly face then? And the idea my sister and best friend would be- ew, I don't even want to think about it!"

Well.

Look..

I- well.

My whole face gets red.

"Would be what?" I manage. Of course I know what, but maybe if he means something else, it would be more reassuring since I did—

"What do you think?" He grabs his book off the table. "The nasty crap."

I kind of wonder what will happen if I just tell him I never stayed at Teresa's right now. Oh my god, if he ever finds out about the shower—

"But if they like, or love, each other...?" I pull a face. This is my chance to investigate some more! See how he'd react to Thomas and I.

"As long as they ain't clingy 'round me."

Does making out when he doesn't look but is just a feet away count? In the kitchen?

"So you'd be okay with that," I say.

"I don't know. I guess! Would you be?"

"Minho's not my best friend."

"Alright, then imagine me dating your best friend."

"But you're—"

"A male best friend, then." He runs a hand through his hair. "Well?"

"Eh, I'm not sure if I really have male best friends."

"You and Tommy are close."

My eyebrows raise up. "And?"

"What would you think if I start dating Thomas?"

Boyfriend stealer and bloody cheater...?

"Newt, that's really weird to ask, because Thomas is your friend."

"Yes, I am aware." He palms his face. "I mean like, if he weren't my best friend. If he was only yours."

I shake my head, heavily. "Alright, enough. It's making me uncomfortable."

"Sorry." Newt stretches his legs along the couch. "I had this drink with alcohol before. Minho and I tried to create something, but eventually it was almost pure alchohol and now I'm a bit tipsy."

I'm not very interested in drinking alcohol right now, otherwise, I would've tried it. "How'd you make it?"

"An old friend of Minho had this crazy recipe. Never shared it with Minho, but he spied a few times. Still, he said it doesn't completely taste like the original drink."

I hum. "Nice. I hope y'all ever find the real recipe. Why is it an old—"

Before I can finish speaking, Mom and Dad walk into the living room. They've had their dinner. It's a thing they do. A monthly date, so they also have time together and won't let their relationship fall apart. So they can catch up on everything without three kids around.

"Oh, hi!" I smile. "How was dinner? Where'd you go?"

"Awesome." Mom kisses my forehead, then Newt's, who pulls a face. "We went to get Chinese food. Next time, we might go to Mamma Mia."

"Maybe I'll serve you," I say. My smile brightens at the idea. I'll show them how amazing Thomas and Luca are. "I hope."

"I hope, too." Dad places his coat over a chair. "Mind helping me take the garbage out, Rose?"

I get up, shaking my head. "Sorry we have so much. Probably because we baked and used up all the packs of flour and crap," I say.

Dad wraps an arm around me. "Don't worry, love." He laughs. "Come on. You take the plastic?"

I obey, carrying the two bags outside. The cold, almost November breeze hits me. I hate it until I remember that we're getting closer to Christmas, which I love.

"Everything alright?" He tosses some garbage in the bigger can.

I look up. "Yeah. With you?"

His eyes light up when he smiles. "Oh, I'm good."

"Why're you asking?" I hand him another bag.

"Just wondering. You've been... off lately."

Genuinely surprised, I frown. Yes, I have the diet, but I really don't think my behavior changed. "In a good or bad way?"

He shrugs. "I'm not sure. But you're less talkative and I have the feeling you're not as... positive. And I don't mean that in a bad way, of course. It's okay to change, or go through things, or just don't always feel like talking, but I just wanted to check up."

I swallow. Chew on my lip. "I'm alright."

I've been losing my habit of seeing things on the positive side, though. But not everything has a positive side.

Well, I also didn't really think about Aris slapping Janson. I was mostly embarrassed he even had to stand up for me in the first pl—

He stood up for me. I don't know why, but it only hits me now. He stopped Janson's comments and I didn't even thank him. I might be oblivious sometimes, but I'm not that dumb. Even I could tell that these were no longer tips. Just things to humiliate me.

I try not to consider he was speaking the truth. I don't want to hear his words repeat in my mind again.

"Do you think I've been thinking too much about myself lately?" I mutter, frowning deeper.

I'm not sure if I mean that I'm selfish. But I'm not thinking about others like I used to. Have I been that busy with losing weight and diets?

"It's good to take care of yourself too," my father says. "You can't take care of others before you take care of yourself. It's like giving plants water with an empty cup."

He has a point.

"So if you don't feel good, I don't think you're supposed to worry about others too much either. You'll only feel worse. And once you're doing okay, then start spending energy into helping others. Emotionally, I mean."

I do feel good. And I do take care of myself. But that just takes a lot of time and thoughts and decisions for me, only to find out what I want. Which must be why I'm not really 'like myself'. I'm thinking too much.

Dad squints an eye at me. "Do you feel good about yourself? Because I'd like to help if possible."

I shrug. My mouth opens, then closes, and then I open it again. "I guess... sometimes. I don't know. I feel like I'm losing control over things I always had control over in the UK. My words, ballet, what I do and how I spend my time..."

There's one thing I can control. That's why it's so addicting. The number. I can make it go up and down and in the last two months, I've learned exactly how to do that. It's why I can't stop.

"Here, let's go inside first." He takes my arm and transports us into our warmer home, sets himself a coffee and me a hot chocolate that I take with an awkward smile, and then we sit down at the dinner table.

It's not weird to me, to talk about things like this with my father. Well, sometimes I prefer talking to Mom about how I feel because she's a woman, et cetera, but I can't imagine what it must feel like to have no parents to be there for you. No experienced people that help.

"How about we calculate the time you spend on ballet and work in one week?" He suggests. I'm not sure what the plan is, but I go with it.

"On Monday, Wednesday, Tuesday, and Friday I have ballet at thirty past three, to thirty past five. Then work from six to nine. Saturday, ballet from two to four, and Sunday, work from ten to one."

He notes it on a random paper. "Alright. That's quite a lot, but you've got plenty of mornings, the whole Tuesday, and Sunday's afternoon to do whatever you want."

After Thomas and I got together, we're spending even more time with each other, but he doesn't always have time and I don't want to make anyone too suspicious by seeing him every second of the day. Which is why I'm frequently bored.

"I jog and stretch a lot," I say. "I jog every morning, and stretch before ballet. Besides that, I don't really know what to do."

"Not that I enjoy a high water bill, but you could try to take a longer shower—"

Ha. Can cross that off. Very relaxing, I must say.

With Thomas, please.

"—or maybe even a bath to relax your muscles. You make money, so perhaps a massage would help make you feel better—"

Well.

No real massager is gonna give me a thousand minute one for free.

"—and you could hang out with your friends more often. Socializing is good," he says. "And don't overwork. You can't dance well if you've stretched your muscles out too much before, or if you don't have enough energy."

I nod. "Alright. I'll take all of that advice for today."

He smiles at me. "Great. Let me know if anything is wrong, okay? Anything at all. I'll be here, along with your mother."

I nod again. "Got it. Thank you, Dad."

We get up, and share a long lasting hug.

"You don't mind that I'm not going to a university or anything, right?" I wonder. After finishing high school, I immediately went for ballet. "Newt's going to be a teacher, Sonya is going for police after she's done... and I dance."

"I'm proud of you no matter what," he tells me, pulling me closer. "You dance beautifully. We'll support you, and you show you also care by making a bit of your own money."

I nearly get tears in my eyes. "Thank you," I say again, this time quieter. "Good night."

✵

A/n:
What do we say... do we want the Minho x Sonya to happen, or is she really only pissed off Newt got inside her room??

Also, why is it so hard writing a character?? It's hard to keep their personality there and then I'm like "hm, the people in the comments would likely do the same, though I know they might get angry at the OC for this" and then there's another comment about something and I'm like "damn, I missed that detail! She's a golden retriever type, she should care more" but it's harddd

Anyway, had to get that out :) Hope you enjoyed!!
x Vera