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chocosvt · 3 years

Text

⚬ pairing: mingyu x fem!reader ⚬ word count: 54K (grab ur popcorn) ⚬ warnings: alcohol, drinking ⚬ genres: SLOWBURN, back and forth PINING, angst, summer romance, spice/nsfw mentions and smut, eventual friends to lovers, brief high school!au, fluff, slight love triangle, lots of teasing/flirting.

✧✎ synopsis: when you graduate high school, you realize you’re not really going to miss anyone, apart from a cute boy who doesn’t even remember your name. five years later, after accepting an offer to pass the summer at a friend’s lake house, he’s standing right in front of you. the universe doesn’t give second chances very often. you’re not going to let the honey boy slip away twice.

✧✎ a/n: MY LONGEST FIC YET. i did think abt uploading this as a series, but this feels like something which should be uploaded all at once. i actually did include “chapters” so that it’s easier to find the spot where you left off! ALSO, pls do not feel obligated to read this entire thing! if halfway through you’re like “this isn’t for me” then feel free to step away. i understand perfectly well that it can be difficult to stick with long stories, especially if the plot doesn’t grab us. that is natural and i don’t want anyone feeling guilty abt it. i also included some oc’s which i rarely do, but i thought it might further submerse the reader. thnk you sm for being patient!!

*! i’ve been made aware that there are certain terms which can be used to sexualize and or exotify those with tanned skin, such as the term ‘honey boy’ itself. this is absolutely not my intention nor is kmg sexualized for his skin tone in this story-- however, regardless of intent, it’s important to acknowledge the real consequences these terms can have on poc! it is definitely something to keep in mind for those of us whose fanfic includes artists/oc’s of colour. !*

some final notes:

⇢ here is this fic’s inspo playlist ⇢ smut chapter is marked so it can be skipped ⇢ taglist included in final author’s note ⇢ i rly hope u guys enjoy it!

CHAPTER 1: THE DOT

It’s graduation day, and you’re standing in the main foyer of your small high school, next to a table that is lined with different platters and refreshments. The line moves slowly as the students fill their paper plates. You keep staring at the gold tassel hanging off the back of Joshua’s cap, how it bobbles from side to side while he balances the plate on his arm and stacks it high with wafer cookies, flavoured in vanilla and strawberry. He grabs the last chocolate milk carton and you sigh quietly. It feels weird. You’re never going to see Joshua again once he relocates for business school.

In fact, you’re never going to see approximately ninety-eight percent of these students again. You look at some people, and you’re fucking relieved. Then you look at others, and there’s a dull disappointment. It’s not that your companionship was anything extraordinary, but there was gleeful memories and conversation and turning around in your seat for the hundredth time to ask for another pencil lead. The line continues to shift forward and you start reaching for a cupcake, but the person behind you darts much quicker, plucking it without a second thought.

You sigh again. It’s not worth it.

By the time you escape the line, your plate is rather sparse: some dry crackers, a couple pieces of cubed mango, and a juice box. The longer you stare at your plate, you come to accept that you’re not even hungry. Thankfully, Soonyoung slips by like a minnow following a shiny lure and you manage to stuff the plate into his arms. He’ll eat anything.

At the opposite side of the foyer, the yearbook committee are making their sales. You buy a yearbook and flip through the laminated pages, scoffing at a few photographs, impatiently skimming by the ones that you could care less about, until you come to the end of the book and there’s some blank pages meant to be inked with signatures. Joshua signs your yearbook, adding a poorly coloured-in heart beside his name. Soonyoung signs too, his handwriting slanted awkwardly across the paper, crumbs falling from the cookie shoved in his mouth which leaves grease on the surface.

A few others write their messages, and you think you could be satisfied. Jane, your chemistry partner for the entire first semester, just finishes signing the book when she spares a quick glance over her shoulder. She scribbles her name down in an indiscernible ribbon, pushes up her thick, foggy glasses, and calls out,

“Mingyu, wait! Let me sign your yearbook!”

Jane doesn’t even lend you a smile before she’s hurrying away. You want to bristle at how little she cares, but the indignance never reaches a boil, not when she had perfectly good reason for treating you like wadded bubblegum stuck in a wrapper.

It is Mingyu after all. He pokes above all his friends, pressing their yearbooks to the wall so he can sign them. When you look at Mingyu, something inside you flutters. At times, you smother the feeling in a crushing grip. And other times, you allow the feeling to bloom, a garden of often misconstrued, adolescent emotion.

You approach Mingyu and wait until the crowd thins. He laughs at an inside joke that Jane had written in his yearbook, to which you see that his braces are now removed, teeth straightened and pearl-white. He licks at his right canine as Jane plays with the end of her side-swept braid and reads the note that he scribbled for her.

She cups a hand to her mouth, “I still can’t believe we did that.”

Mingyu huffs a little too pridefully. “It was mostly you, but whatever.”

“You instigated it!” She laughs, hitting his chest.

Eventually, Jane wanders elsewhere in the foyer. The only two people in the corner are you and Mingyu. He squints at you transiently, then rubs his nose. You feel a bit like a criminal asking him to sign your yearbook, like it’s a grave offence, prompting the enormous lump in your throat as he takes hold of the book and clicks his pen. The point touches the paper, but leaves only a black dot.

“Damn... Uh… Sorry ‘bout this. What’s your name again?”

Oh.

The air becomes dry. It settles like powder. Irritable, chalk-like powder. Mingyu studies you patiently, his gaze gentle, mouth slightly parted while he awaits you to say anything really. The words start piecing together through your stutters.

“T-That’s okay. I-It’s—”

“Mingyu!”

Out of nowhere, Mingyu’s best friend was grabbing at the collar of his black cloak, jerking him away from the corner with a babble about how he was requested at the gymnasium, quote unquote, principal’s orders. Unable to sign your yearbook, Mingyu returns it without so much as an apologetic glance, instead swept away by Seokmin into the sea of mingling graduates. Alone in the corner, you look down at the paper, where there is nothing but a single dot. A spot of ink. The start of an affection and its blunt, unrequited end. You close the yearbook with your third sigh.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.

CHAPTER 2: UNDER THE BRIDGE

Over the summer, you and Jane form a friendship.

She asks you to come over one afternoon since her parents are away, that her older sister had left some liquor for Jane on top of the fridge. You shove a few belongings into a travel-sized backpack, limited to a toothbrush, lip balm, and a pair of shorts. For a little while you sit together on the couch skimming the television, slices of cold watermelon in a container between you.

You like Jane because she has a mellow atmosphere.

At first glance, she seems to be a studious individual, with her dense glasses and the tight weaving of the usual braid that falls over her right shoulder. She says that braiding it is easier than combatting the frizz, as her hair texture is coarse and wavy. A scar from her childhood cuts over her nose bridge, a slightly paler marking compared to the umber of her skin. Apparently it was from a rollerblading accident. She always wears a long-sleeved shirt, though it’s to hide the tattoo she got without her parents’ permission; two butterflies along the soft inside of her right arm.

When it starts getting late, Jane moves a chair from the dining table next to the fridge so she can retrieve the heavy liquor bottle. You hold it for her while she drags the chair back, titling the bottle to feel the liquid slosh around inside, a golden colour, one that tastes like a mouthful of unappreciated youth and flames.

As you down shot after shot on her bed, the sun sets beyond her window, to which you observe how the sky fluoresces with lavender. Jane grasps the bottle in her quivering hand, pouring out another shot that she’s much too eager to swallow, and throws the liquid straight into her mouth. She’s past the point of grimacing. Instead, she slaps the glass onto her nightstand and grins wickedly, scooping her phone from the bedsheets. You’re not nearly as inebriated. There’s a spinning sensation at the back of your head, and your tongue is burning, but you’re not yet floating through the atmosphere.

“Let’s text someone.” She giggles, tapping at her phone.

It takes a moment before her voice clicks.

“What?” You question. “Like who?”

“Dunno… Oh, wait. I know who.” Jane’s eyes begin to gleam and she nearly cackles. “The perfect person!”

Curious, you scoot next to her on the bed and peer at her phone screen. Except, you don’t cackle or turn loopy in a smile, rather your eyeballs nearly engorge from their sockets. Jane opens her text conversation with Mingyu. Like a metal pendulum, your heartbeat swings. You don’t know what to say, so you reach across her lap to grab the golden bottle of liquor and drink straight from the spout.

“Hmm… What to open with.” Jane mumbles. “Oh, I have a good one.” But when her fingertips press the screen, her text is a gigantic spelling error.

“Maybe you should type.” She slurs, passing over the phone. “Tell him meet under the bridge by the old paper mill. Just— He’ll get it.”

She leans against your shoulder as you send the text.

“Now, since we’re waiting, let’s text some other people.”

Around one in the morning, Jane is fast asleep on her stomach while you stand in her bathroom, brushing the liquor’s potent taste from your tongue. You swish some water between your cheeks, spit into the sink, and examine your face in the mirror, looking over the whorls of your oily skin and the thickness of your pupils. Not yet exhausted, you sit next to her on the bed while the ceiling fan spins in a dull whirr. A moment later, and Jane’s phone lights up with a ding. Everyone had replied to your texts apart from Mingyu. His name is beaming as you take Jane’s phone in your hand.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : sorry missed ur text.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : why though? that was a one-time thing lol.

[ MINGYU | 1:06 AM ] : are u drunk? i saw a bottle in the back of ur snap.

You don’t know why you do it. Maybe it’s the liquor fused with your blood, or the temptation that attaches when the honey boy crosses your mind. Opening Jane’s phone, you read Mingyu’s texts again and start typing a reply.

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : i was a little bit.

Somehow, there’s not even an inkling of guilt.

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : crazycrazy girl.

Like the tails of a fluttering kite, you clamp tight to the string and reel him closer.

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : why are you only replying now?

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : was hanging out with seokmin at the park.

[ MINGYU | 1:07 AM ] : the one where u ate it on those rollerblades lol.

Your toes start anxiously curling, and your stomach knots itself horrendously.

[ JANE | 1:07 AM ] : you didn’t have to say that.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : yes i did.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : ur such a lightweight how are you even awake rn?

If you don’t force the phone down, you know you’ll continue to text him the entire night. For a moment, it felt wonderful to be someone Mingyu liked.

[ JANE | 1:08 AM ] : fine then i’ll go to bed, ur no fun anyways.

[ MINGYU | 1:08 AM ] : kk. goodnight sweet janey. dream of me :)

When you read Jane’s nickname, it’s like a slap to the face. Obviously, you’re not Jane, and you don’t even possess a fraction of her closeness to Mingyu. You think back to the graduation ceremony just before he signed your yearbook, and the genuine mist of his countenance when he asked for your name. No matter what, that dot is always going to be on the paper. Nothing is going to erase the fact that your crush since eleventh grade looked you square in the eyes and drew a complete blank. You set Jane’s phone back on the nightstand and lie down next to her, staring at the dark ceiling.

The next morning, Jane doesn’t emerge from her bedroom until ten o’clock, a blanket draped around her shoulders and one side of her hair matted. You make her a bowl of cereal, and tell Jane about your texts with Mingyu, that you might’ve let the alcohol sway you in the wrong direction.

She brings the bowl to her lips and sips up the small bit of milk, mumbling that it’s no big deal. In fact, you two spend a good half-hour rereading your tipsy messages, laughing in embarrassment and shuddering shamefully. Yet, neither of you regret sending a single word.

Once Jane returns the bottle to the top of the fridge and cleans out your shot glasses in the sink, you ask her a question that seems awfully random.

“What did you and Mingyu do exactly under the bridge? By the paper mill?”

Jane becomes smitten and attempts to subdue her smile. “Stuff.”

“Like… what kind of stuff. What category of stuff?”

She shrugs, but you suspect that twinkle in her eye has witnessed far more than you ever will at your age. Not wanting to seem desperate, you drop the subject. It itches at you for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER 3: THE HONEY BOY

—Five Summers Later.

When you see Jane standing in the parking lot at the motel, you run towards her, pulling along your suitcase after handing the cab driver his pay. You embrace each other like sisters, her thick hair rubbing against your cheek as you hold her close. Though you’ve seen Jane regularily over the years, her appearance since adolescence hasn’t changed too dramatically.

She’s switched her glasses for contacts, her long, dark locks now swallowing gracefully around her head. There’s another tattoo on her hand, an intricate cross that a close co-worker of hers, Jeonghan, had designed. She stuffs your suitcase into the trunk of her car.

Next to the motel, there’s an attached diner that’s unusually crowded. Last month Jane sent you a lengthy text about whether or not you’d be game for a summer away from home. A friend of hers owned a house along Silver Lake.

You agree to come, even if you were hesitant at the very beginning, mulling over the thought of losing familiarity and experiencing a summer that wasn’t just sitting on your apartment terrace and taking the occasional trip to the local pool. Jane reached out to a few other people, which prompted a slight chain reaction in invitations. Upon entering the diner, you were acquainted with a multitude of new faces: Seungkwan who was spreading raspberry jam across a warm biscuit, Chan who had to pop the jar open for Seungkwan, the owner of the beach house herself, Caroline, who gave a soft handshake yet maintained a very professional, accomplished air.

You’re unable to meet everyone.

Jane had slipped away from your side, to which you glance toward the doorway and realize she’s on her tiptoes, hugging someone tall, someone with skin the colour of honey, someone who speaks with a small lisp in their pronunciation and has canines for teeth. Like a fist had just curled into your stomach, you nearly heave. Jane turns around, catching your eye, and beckons you off your stiff pedestal.

“Mingyu, you remember her, right?” Jane tucks her arm around your side, smiling.

He glances at your face with a furrowed brow. The worst part is, Mingyu is trying hard, he’s trying inconceivably hard to put a name to your face but there’s a missing piece that prevents it. Jane sighs at his ineptitude. She gives your name, scolds him for failing to recall that you even went to the same high school, and you half-expect his gaze to light up. Still, he’s lost.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Mingyu blurts, “I’m terrible with names.”

You shrug. “No, it’s okay. It has been five years.”

It feels like twelfth grade graduation set on repeat. Even Seokmin steps into the diner.

Except, Mingyu isn’t scrawny and yet to figure out how he can coordinate his awkward height. His hair isn’t a shaggy, untrimmed bowl that constantly falls over his eyes nor are his cheeks blemished with those red bumps. Mingyu is muscular. He’s sharpened like the edge of a steel blade. Glowing like a handful of sunlight. Maturity has finally settled in the deep sea of his eyes and it suits him.

“I can’t describe how nice it is to see you again.” Jane sighs.

Mingyu pulls her into another hug. He squeezes her with practiced delicacy, as though she’s a being made from petals. Seokmin then steps forward to offer his embrace and he sparks up a long-awaited conversation with Jane.

You fold your arms across your chest, looking off to the side. Mingyu rubs beneath his nose and checks the time on his phone.

“Did you ever go through with that baseball scholarship?”

“Hm?” Mingyu hums. “Oh, nah. I’m doing Film Studies.”

You nod your head and utter stiltedly, “that’s nice.”

He flashes a lop-sided grin, the kind that indicates he’d rather be wiping up the crumbs from Seungkwan’s breakfast or talking to some dust bunnies.

Mingyu then pats Seokmin’s shoulder and says, “I’m gonna grab some breakfast.”

You step aside to let him pass you, biting hard into your bottom lip. There’s a crumbling feeling inside you and it tastes sour.

Sitting in the front seat of Jane’s car, you wait for her to finish using the washroom. The parking lot trickles with the faces that’ll be accompanying you at Caroline’s beach house for the summer. You grab the journal placed on the middle compartment and slip the elastic loop from over the button. Flattening out the pages, you steal a pen inside Jane’s cup holder to scrawl the date at the top margin. For your last birthday your mother had gifted you a journal with a textured, brown leather covering. Being able to document the significant days as they slipped by had become an almost irritating habit, to the point where you couldn’t part from the journal without feeling incomplete.

Finally heading for Silver Lake today.

There really is no room to back out now, so I better just roll the window down and enjoy the drive I guess. Mingyu is here too. I haven’t seen him since high school. He still didn’t remember me. He looks good though.

After redoing the elastic around the button, the journal rests in your lap and you look out your window into the motel’s parking lot. You spot Mingyu sitting on the hood of his car while talking to Seokmin, holding a styrofoam box that he jabs his fork into. The summer sun enchants his complexion much too fondly, and the very sight of him tugs at your heartstrings. It’s been five years.

Mingyu shouldn’t affect you anymore.

You shouldn’t feel the way you do when he brushes the black locks from his forehead or draws his tongue over his pink lips. However, something withers in your lower tummy when a girl you hadn’t seen before takes a seat behind Mingyu. She tucks herself in close and slides her arms around his waist, her chin snuggling upon his shoulder. Mingyu turns his head and smiles. He presses a kiss to her cheek, then takes his fork and feeds her a bite of his crispy hash browns. You feel a sharp, almost nauseating sensation develop inside you, disseminating quickly, like a nasty fog.

Is it jealousy? A misplaced tang of betrayal? Or is it an unbeknownst pain that you’re experiencing for the first time? The driver’s door swings open abruptly and you lurch in your seat. Jane laughs as she shifts into the car. It’s only then that you realize how deeply that pain had distracted you.

“Who is that?” You ask, pointing at the girl who clings to Mingyu’s back.

“Oh, Suri?” Jane responds. “She’s Mingyu’s girlfriend. She’s staying at the beach house with us.”

CHAPTER 4: ARRIVAL

Caroline’s beach house on Silver Lake is a magnificent stretch of property. Even as you stand in the driveway and lug your suitcase from the trunk, you can hear the distant, rhythmic waves soaking the shoreline. The air is mildly aromatic and a shade of blue that’s pale like sea salt colours the sky. Caroline is direct but helpful, and she points out some of her favourite aspects to the house: the brightness of the open living area, different paintings her mother had created over the years, but she seemed most proud to describe a tall and sparkling sapphire vase that had been an heirloom passed over for generations. You’re surprised she was even lending the house.

Caroline guides you to a corridor that contains a few of the bedrooms. Jane suddenly envelopes your hand, jerking you toward the last door on the right.

“We have a balcony.” Jane says.

When you enter the room, you discard your suitcase at the end of the bed, then nearly trip over yourself rushing toward the glass door. Jane pushes you through the threshold and onto the balcony, where a burst of summer wind greets you with a gentle sweep against the face. The trees that mottle the pathway to the beach are just low enough for you to observe the expanse of pale sand. The waves glitter so brightly beneath the afternoon light.

Just below your balcony is the back porch. A hot tub is cozied to the left while lounge chairs are to the right. You can already taste all your acrid, upcoming hangovers. Jane’s hand touches your shoulder. Apparently, she promised Seungkwan help with carrying his suitcases since Chan had opted from doing it, and she leaves you alone on the balcony. You admire the view for a moment longer, then slip back inside to open your suitcase and check the empty drawers. As you pack all your cloths away, you hear voices reverberating from different levels of the house, elated footsteps and laughter and quite possibly Seungkwan hauling his luggage up the stairs.

Deciding to find Jane, you exit the bedroom. However, you come face to face with Seokmin and his backpack instead.

“Hi.” The word tumbles from your mouth before you can think.

Seokmin says something that surprises you: “Hey. Wow, you look way mature. I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Heat prickles across your face. The only class you shared with Seokmin was hospitality, in which he famously burnt the crepes your group was supposed to present, the pan billowing with enough smoke that your teacher was forced to run outside and bury it deep in the snow. Similar to Mingyu, the boy has bloomed into his features, and you wonder how they both got so goddamn lucky.

For some reason, he apologizes to you.

“Sorry. I meant to say something at the diner, but I got distracted with Jane.”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter… Honestly, I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Really?” Seokmin seems astonished. “I’m pretty good with faces.”

Petrified of an awkward silence, you cling to the first thought in your head.

“Are you looking for a room?”

Seokmin nods, his fingers squeezing around the straps of his backpack.

“Yeah. Gonna room alone actually. Which is fine since I’m a sleep-talker.”

Cocking your head, you can’t help but ask, “not with Mingyu?”

“Nah.” Seokmin huffs.

You don’t miss the shade of vexation that flashes in his eyes.

“I thought Suri was gonna room with Blair. Not sure if you met her yet, but she’s Suri’s best friend slash clone slash - anyways, “ he hurries his pace, trying not to ramble, “Suri changed her mind last minute. He’s her boyfriend, so it’s fine.”

Swallowing thickly, you admit, “I’ve never met Suri.”

The boy slips past you, laughter rumbling in his chest. He tries the door across from yours and smiles when it opens, revealing a bedroom that’s a reasonable size for just one person. Seokmin announces that he’s going to unpack and politely shuts his door, leaving you to stand alone in the hallway.

CHAPTER 5: A GUILTY BREAKFAST

During your first few nights at the beach house, you have some difficulty falling asleep. Jane always drifts away so easily, while you’re condemned to staring at the dark ceiling, listening to Seokmin’s half-yelped mumbling from across the hall and the tide crash against the bank. At night the water seems louder, and you knew it was a sound that might take a few days adjusting to.

Today you manage waking up early enough for breakfast.

Most have already slipped into their bathing suits and are testing out the water, or they’re taking a small hike into the forest trails that carve their way throughout the forest. When you enter the main living space, Chan is sprawled across the couch watching television while Jane and Mingyu are sitting at the kitchen island, their plates speckled with crumbs and syrup. The moment Jane notices you pouring a glass of juice from the fridge, she smiles and quickly beckons you over, to which you instantly regret not fixing your hair in bathroom before you came downstairs. Mingyu hardly spares a glance as you slide onto the stool, holding the glass close to your face like it’s a shield.

“Finally,” she sighs, “did you sleep well?”

You nod, “better than yesterday.”

Jane spears some blueberries on her plate and drags them through the syrup. She then mumbles around the fork in her mouth, “I forced Mingyu to stay and make extra pancakes for you.”

When you look over your shoulder at the stovetop, you notice a plate next to the burner, layered with three pancakes. Grabbing some utensils from the drawer, you retrieve your breakfast, coming to sit back down with Jane and Mingyu. You spread a square of butter across the first pancake while they resume their earlier conversation, then drizzle some syrup and sprinkle a few blueberries that Jane let you borrow from her plate. Jane asks Mingyu about how he’s finding his film major, but it somehow turns into Mingyu teasing her about Jeonghan, how he’s always texting her and asking her what she thinks of his tattoo sketches. You listen without intervening, only smiling whenever Jane laughs and keeping your eyes away from Mingyu like it’s a sport.

Their conversation takes yet another turn, and suddenly they’re talking about high school. Jane mentions your name, to which you finally stare at something that isn’t your plate.

“I was just thinking about this a couple days ago actually,” Jane says, “remember that chemistry lab we did with the pH strips? And I dropped my pen in this really acidic solution?”

“Yeah,” you huff, smiling wide, “and you made me take it out and I had to go to the nurse to get tested for a chemical burn? I definitely remember that.”

Jane shakes her head. “But you were fine. At least I think you were.”

“I was. Nothing serious.”

Mingyu rolls a blueberry across his plate with his fork and scoffs blatantly at Jane. “You’re so fucking stupid.” He then looks at you, “this girl got my arm stuck in a vending machine over a granola bar.”

You can’t help but snort, a hand covering your mouth as you glance between them. “Really?”

“I’m stupid?” Jane chuckles, astonished. “I didn’t force you to stick your arm in the machine!”

“In a way, you did.” Mingyu snuffs back. “You looked like you were gonna cry. C’mon, I was just trying to be a good friend.”

Jane stands from the island, collecting the utensils onto her plate. She’s grinning on her walk over to the sink, ruffling the soft fronds of Mingyu’s hair.

“You are a good friend. But you’re as dumb as I am.” Jane coos.

The acknowledgement that Mingyu and Jane have history spanning almost a decade creeps back into your head for the first time in months.

Vaguely, you remember the dating rumours that sparked in eleventh grade, when you were new to the school and trying to memorize the plethora of faces. It was safe to say that Jane definitely had a crush on Mingyu in your high school days, but he never seemed to return the affection and eventually Jane had to move on. Now she has Jeonghan, the co-worker you’ve only heard stories on but never met, wrapped in a little coil around her finger.

The weird thing is, even after all this time has passed, you still theorize about what happened between Jane and Mingyu under the bridge by the paper mill. You wonder if they even remember it.

“I think they’re playing volleyball down at the beach,” Jane calls from the sink, “I’m gonna get changed and go join. You guys can come if you want. Just don’t choose Seungkwan’s team.”

As Jane disappears upstairs, you immediately reach for your juice and take a long, slow sip. Hell, the last time you were alone with Mingyu was five years ago, and you could barely handle that without stuttering like a broken record. It turns quiet enough that you finally hear the laugh track from the television show Chan is watching. Slicing the last pancake into pieces with your fork, you gulp and thank Mingyu for preparing an extra breakfast. He picks up his phone and shrugs, saying it’s no big deal.

“So... do you like cooking? O-Or working with food?” You ask while cringing at your own flustered behaviour.

He sniffs like he’s uninterested. “I don’t know, I guess. Shouldn’t everyone learn to cook? Kind of indispensable.”

And you impossibly swelter, afraid that you had just asked the dumbest question in history. Sticking a sweet blueberry in your mouth and feeling it squish between your teeth, you let yourself cool down.

“I’m not really a great cook, but I do have three signatures: macaroni, grilled cheese, and rice. Oh, I’m good at french toast too. Well, I used to be.”

Mingyu glances up from his phone, watching you count each one on your fingers. He nods, agreeing that your list is reasonable.

“I taught Jane how to make french toast,” he smiles, scratching the side of his head like he’s pulling out a memory, “she’s terrible at it.”

“Or, maybe you’re not a good teacher.” You make sure to laugh afterward, so he knows you’re joking.

“Don’t expect any lessons then.” He chuckles.

You want to maintain the conversation, but you can’t even think due to the sudden congregation that files into the living area, all gleaming skin, sticky tank tops and the smell of pine. They’re returning from the hike, to which you immediately hold your next comment when Suri bids goodbye to her friends and wraps her arms around Mingyu, pressing a kiss to his temple. Her face is dappled in perspiration, the edges of her hair slick with sweat, yet you’re still astonished at how beautiful she is.

You’re not at all shocked that her and Mingyu are a couple.

Mingyu puts his phone down and angles his head to look at her. “How was the hike? Did you have fun, baby?” His voice softens when he talks to her and it causes your heartbeat to somersault.

“It was really fun. Aw, you should have come with us, Gyu. What kept you?” Suri pouts, combing away the fringe from his forehead.

Though it goes undetected, you freeze upon recalling Jane’s earlier words, how she mentioned forcing Mingyu to stay so he could make your breakfast. You slowly place the last forkful of pancakes and fruit into your mouth, staring straight ahead. Somehow, you steep in guilt.

“I don’t know, I was feeling kinda tired,” Mingyu replies. He then takes Suri’s hand and buries kisses against her palm. “I promise I’ll come next time.”

She proceeds to lilt with a glint in her eyes, “or you could strip down and come swimming with me to make up for it?” When Mingyu agrees, she hugs him again tightly before disappearing upstairs.

The second she’s gone, Mingyu sighs and starts gathering his dishes together. There’s a distracted nature about his face, yet, when you attempt to take care of your plate, Mingyu stops you.

“It’s okay,” he picks it up, stacking it on top, “I got it.”

You shrink back into your seat, squeaking out a thank you as Mingyu cleans up the kitchen island. He doesn’t say anything, but stares at you with a faint curl to his mouth. The second breakfast is over, you rush upstairs to grab your journal.

Seokmin is really loud when he sleep talks.

But I think I’m getting better rest. I woke up early enough to eat breakfast with Jane and Mingyu. There are some people in the house I haven’t talked to yet. Maybe I should work on that.

CHAPTER 6: FIZZLE

Down at the beach, you help Seokmin grab some rocks from the woods to create a circle for the fire pit. It’s close to evening, for the open sky flushes a faint hue of peony. Deedee helps too, and together you kneel in the sand, pushing the rocks together. Tommy steps in his bare feet along the pathway, carrying a large sum of chopped firewood that had been stored underneath the back porch. You don’t know much about Tommy, apart from the fact he’s a close friend to Suri, and that he desperately needs a haircut. His locks are a sooty-brown colour – smooth – but flop and curl down past his ears and the back of his neck. You quite like his eyes, a sparkling green. If you had never known Mingyu, then you might have had a crush on Tommy.

However, you think it’s fairly obvious Tommy likes Deedee. When you asked him earlier if he wanted to help making the firepit, he waved you off as he was sprawled across his lounge chair, soaking up the sun.

But as soon as Deedee offered to help, Tommy insisted he was only joking and hastily agreed to collect the firewood.

Seokmin appears from the jade undergrowth carrying another rock. He bends down beside you to fill the last gap in the circle and dusts the grit off his hands. Deedee sprinkles some crushed leaves into the centre before Tommy lets the logs tumble from his arms, falling into the pit with a loud thud.

“I’m thirsty,” Seokmin sighs, pressing his fingers to his throat, “I’m going up to get water.”

Tommy joins him, leaving just you and Deedee at the firepit. She’s tired also, and collapses down onto the cool sand, puffing some of the hairs from her eyes. You sit beside her to watch the waves lap against the shoreline, the push and pull not as aggressive compared to the night before. In fact, the lake is rather still. It reflects the gentle light of the sky and emanates a pink glow. You dig your toes into the sand, asking Deedee if she’s been swimming yet and she nods her head.

“On the first day, I ran in. It was cold but it felt nice.”

“I haven’t swum yet,” you tell her, “maybe tomorrow. Except I never even thought to bring two pairs of bathing suits. I hate getting into them when they’re all wet and cold.”

Deedee tucks some of the wispy flyaways behind her ear and grins. “I hate that too. But I’m sure you can buy another one in town.”

You like Deedee. She’s more soft-spoken compared to the others, and somehow, she always smells like marigolds. Her hair is thin, beach-blonde, cut sharply at the chin. She reminds you of the doll your mother use to keep in her bedroom. For a moment you quickly ponder whether or not to ask her about Tommy, if she has any inkling that he might like her or if she has any reciprocated feelings, but at the sound of footsteps blundering down the stone pathway, you both look over your shoulders to see Suri. The wind ripples the sheets of her black hair, so long it reaches past her waist, a stark contrast against the white-lace dress she wears. You haven’t had any conversations with Suri yet -- you’re not even certain that she knows your name. Deedee gulps, instead turning away and staring at the lake.

“I’m loading the coolers and wondered if maybe you guys wanted to help?” Suri pitches, smiling.

Since you wanted to familiarize yourself with more people in the house, you agree. You bid goodbye to Deedee and brush the sand grains off your legs. In silence, you follow Suri up the walkway and into the kitchen, where there’s two large ice coolers waiting to be filled with drinks.

“I think I’ve seen you a couple times, but I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Suri.” She comments while taking the plastic off some bottles of grape vodka.

“It’s okay,” you smile, giving your name in response, “I’m slowly getting to know everyone too.” You shove a couple beer cans deep into the ice, then pull out another package from the fridge.

“Right? I thought I met everyone. Thanks for helping me with all this.”

“Are you going to get drunk tonight?” You chuckle. “I heard Seokmin say he wants to pass out.”

“Of course he would say that,” Suri rolls her eyes lightheartedly, “I’ve seen him when he’s like, beyond hammered. He just cries.”

“Really?” You can’t help but snort. “How long have you known him?”

She hums, biting her lip. “Since I met Mingyu, so for about five months.”

The question jumps from your tongue a little too quickly, “where did you meet Mingyu?”

“Well, I do modelling. We met because I asked him to take my pictures.”

Settling the last few cans amongst the ice, you realize that Suri and Mingyu’s paths seem like they were meant to cross. There’s a small twinge inside your chest, but you aren’t sure of what, rather you can only compliment that modelling suits her and Suri beams. She thanks you with a blush colouring the apples of her cheeks. You grasp onto your cooler while Suri takes hers, and together you carefully navigate down the stone pathway until you emerge onto the beach. A crowd is beginning to form around the firepit as people lay out blankets and get comfortable with some snacks they grabbed from indoors. Looking down at your shorts, you want to change for when the wind cools.

Suri smiles at you again, brushing the silk hair from her shoulders. “I know I already thanked you and everything, but I appreciate it.” She retrieves two cold cans of lemon-lime Breezer and hands you one. You each pop the tab and take a long sip, the foam tingling at the back of your throat.

“If I’m not exhausted, I might hike again tomorrow. You should come.” She invites.

Sipping up more of your alcohol, you nod. “Maybe.”

You recall the twinge you felt earlier, and how you should’ve squeezed that envious pang out the second you experienced it. Suri is far too pleasant for you to formulate any jealousy toward her. Besides, your crush on Mingyu is only that – a crush. Similar to what happened with Jane, you’ll learn to let it go. Like the bubbles melting on your tongue, it’ll fizzle out eventually.

CHAPTER 7: THE YEARBOOK

“Can someone please get Seokmin to his room? Please?”

Muffling your laughter with the half-empty bottle of Blackfly, you watch as Chan heaves a sigh and pushes himself off the blanket. He wraps an arm around Seokmin’s waist, stopping him from venturing any further toward the loud, crashing waves that strike the bank. He’s like a zombie whose brain has spent a month in decay, and as Chan guides him toward the walkway, it marks the end of the night at the beach. Most people have retired indoors. The fire was once so brilliant that it could burn the underside of the moon, but now it’s a deteriorated pile rife with ashes and scarlet embers. Only the strongest flames survive against the wind that howls off the water. Jane crushes her can of cranberry alcohol and sighs.

“I’m gonna help Chan take Seokmin upstairs. He’ll need an extra pair of hands if he wants to strap him into bed.” Before she leaves, she shoots an attentive glance in your direction.

You weren’t expecting to have such a myriad of drinks, and while you aren’t nosediving into the same stupor as Seokmin, the stars spin when you catch them at the corner of your eye. Jane asks if you feel okay, to which you simply smile and nod your head. She then looks at Suri tucked in Mingyu’s lap, who had fallen asleep around the time that Tommy was attempting to scare everyone with his lacklustre horror story. If Mingyu hadn’t polished off a whole bottle of straight liquor, then she might’ve left the girl fast asleep against his chest, but considering that Mingyu isn’t in the right state to carry her upstairs, Jane decides to wake Suri up.

“Where’re you taking her?” Mingyu whines, sitting up slightly as Jane helps Suri to her feet.

“To bed.” Jane replies. “You’re gonna drop her. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in ten minutes, probably.” She holds onto Suri’s hand and mumbles something about feeling like a babysitter.

Once they disappear, Mingyu slowly collapses back against the log you two are leaning against, pouting like a child who just gotten their lollipop taken away. Not wanting to waste your Blackfly, you gulp the remaining alcohol, even if it makes your stomach feel as though it’s bulging.

The wind fans against your warm face and you admire how it trembles the last flames of the bonfire. Usually, you would feel the pressure of being alone together, that skip in your heart and the cold sweat on your palms. The alcohol rubs against your nerves until they’re blunt and numb. When you look at him, you note that Mingyu’s eyelids are low. The breeze rummages through his hair and for a moment you aren’t even sure if he knows you’re beside him.

“Are you tired?” You question.

“No,” he turns his head and catches your gaze, “are you?”

“No.”

Mingyu’s eyes are somewhat tinged red as he blinks at you. Even though he didn’t claim to be tired, there’s a fading nature to his expression, a type of haze that indicates one half of his brain is somewhere floating while the other entreats for the consciousness to speak with you. In the soft firelight, you learn that you love to look at him. He’s much like honey, for you sink deep into the thick sweetness every time. Mingyu squints at you, his lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe I don’t remember you.” He mumbles, though it sounds like he’s talking to himself.

Your feet push underneath the sand.

“It’s been awhile. I’m not surprised.”

But Mingyu shakes his head. “No, I feel like I should remember you, but I don’t.” He sighs heavily and lets the back of his skull thump against the log. “Fuck, why can’t I remember?”

The boy pushes his hair back, the moonlight raining against his puzzled face.

“Well, I’m not sure if this will help,” you croak, “but on Graduation Day, I asked you to sign my yearbook. Seokmin came out of nowhere and pulled you away, so you never wrote anything.”

Mingyu is staring at you again. Something revolves in his head, and then his eyes light up. “Wait— that girl, was you?” he breathes out, “fuck, I do remember that.”

“Really?” You perk up much too energetically, yet you can’t contain your thrill.

Glancing into the night sky, Mingyu pieces together his memory like the stars piece their constellations. “I had to go to the gym because Mr. Cesar wanted to talk about my baseball scholarship.” He turns to you, his brow wrinkling empathetically. “I felt so bad I never got to sign your yearbook… I tried to find you after, but you disappeared or something.”

Your nails dig into the blanket sprawled across your lap.

“I left early… I had no idea you tried looking for me. I always thought you were like ‘whatever’ and that was it.”

The boy frowns, his gaze softening. “I’m sorry if I hurt or upset you or anything. I really didn’t mean to.”

“N-No, you didn’t—” Mingyu tilts his head and raises an eyebrow, prompting you to swallow your pride and admit, “okay, it did hurt a little.”

When he chuckles at you, his lips slightly peel back and you catch the glint of his canines. “Well, I’m sorry.” Mingyu sighs poignantly. “If you had it here, I’d write something in it.”

You smile at him. The past tang of the Blackfly in your blood seems to be rapidly dissipating, and you aren’t sure if Mingyu’s effect is just so potent that it can clean your senses with ease. After recalling your graduation, you continue to silently reminisce. You remember that summer day at Jane’s house when you were still teenagers, how Jane had to push the chair against the fridge in order to pull down that bottle. Embarrassment flashes beneath your cheeks when you remember texting Mingyu using Jane’s phone. And then you’re thinking about the secret. You aren’t sure if Mingyu is willing to spill, but you might never get the opportunity to be this inquisitive.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice is hushed.

Mingyu meets your gaze, the black hairs fluttering over his eyes. He nods.

“I’m just wondering… What happened between you and Jane under the bridge by the paper mill? I mean, you might not remember… And if you do, you don’t have to tell me.”

Suddenly, Mingyu is grinning. He throws his head back and his laughter echoes far across the lake and deep into the trees. His eyes are a bit glassy when he stops slouching and sits up properly.

“You want to know about that?” He snorts, running a hand through his hair. “Jane never told you?”

“I asked a really long time ago. She wouldn’t say anything.”

The boy smirks at you, his lids hanging low and his eyes gleaming against the orange embers. “Do you really want to know the secret?” Mingyu almost taunts, his tone descending an octave.

Once you swallow coarsely and nod your head, he beckons you closer with his hand. You shift across the sand until you’re right beside him, to which you can smell the faint, citrus scent of the alcohol on his clothing and see the pale redness that stains his gaze. You feel nervous. You feel so electrified yet so tense. But then Mingyu is holding the hair away from your ear and something inside your chest soars. He leans in, his lips pressing to your skin and his breath warm. You’re fearful of what that throaty voice could confess. How bad was it really? What could they have even done?

“We kissed.”

A second later you’re choking on your own saliva. “You what?”

Mingyu chuckles against your ear and the vibration has you shivering.

“We kissed.” He whispers once more, then moves away. “What’s wrong?” The boy hums, his gaze dark. “Not dirty enough for you, is that it?”

“N-No,” you stutter, “Jane made it seem like you guys did way more… I just wasn’t it expecting it to be a kiss from how she acted.”

He keeps a close proximity to you, smirking. “It was a big deal then, when we were sixteen. She kept bugging me about how she wanted to have her first kiss. I told her to meet me under the bridge and I gave her a peck. That’s it.”

You look down at your lap, attempting to comprehend that five years of mystery and seemingly hopeless wondering had brought you to this moment. No wonder Jane once harboured such a massive crush on Mingyu – he kissed her just to soothe some unnecessary worry, to fill some tiny hole in her heart. If it had of been you, this boy would be the sole thing you ever thought about. You think about him enough already despite never having kissed him. Upon facing Mingyu, your chest swells. He’s staring at you much too openly. Your head weakly drops again and you can’t bother containing your small, nervous laughter because what is happening to you right now? You feel like sun-warmed clay malleable to only Mingyu’s hands and you hate that he might know it.

The boy tilts up your chin with a soft touch, peering down at you through the thick fog in his eyes. Your soul leaks back into the earth. You wonder if he’s going to remember this. But then you hear the sound of footsteps pattering on the stone walkway and Jane’s voice that shatters between the trees. You move away from Mingyu hastily, and smile at her as she hops onto the sand.

“Sorry,” she huffs, “it took some coaxing, but Seokmin’s out like a light now. It’s almost three in the morning, you know. I really think you guys should come inside.”

Your knees crack as you stand from the ground. Mingyu stretches and rubs his neck. Jane has a point. If you stay up any earlier then your days are going to start beginning at lunchtime.

Before bed, you pen out a quick excerpt in your journal.

It didn’t hit me how nauseous I was feeling until I came inside.

I can’t tell if I need to throw up. I’m writing this next to the toilet while Jane is fast asleep. I can’t believe the only thing Mingyu and Jane did under the bridge was kiss. I feel stupid. And kinda jealous.

CHAPTER 8: CRUSH

Walking up the stairway to the deck, you make sure to wipe the soles of your feet against the wood in order to dislodge the damp sand grains. That evening you went swimming with Deedee.

As it was your first time in the water, the coldness invited bristling skin and gritted teeth, but at a gradual pace your body adjusted to the temperature. You had even let the silver waves sweep over you from head to toe. Now, you’re wrapped in an orange beach towel while the droplets bead at the ends of your hair. You and Deedee stand by the lounge chairs, where the sunlight directly strikes, absorbing the warmth like scaled reptiles. Tommy and Mingyu are sitting at the table across the deck, listening to music on a small speaker.

It belongs to Adrian Cluett, though everyone refers to him by his last name. He’s a bit strange, but ultimately carefree. One night you had spotted him in the downstairs bathroom, running a razor along his scalp until he gave himself a buzzcut, and you even noted a stud on his nose which hadn’t been there a few days ago. Never looking like he got enough sleep, he could somehow function properly, and it seemed to give him great joy to annoy Suri.

Together, they’re eating some fried rice from the pickup store in town. Suri sits on Mingyu’s lap with her arms around his neck.

After coming indoors the night before, you spent an awful lot of time slumped next to the toilet. You thought it was due to your indulgent drinking, but the longer you sat on the floor staring at the pages of your journal, you realized it hadn’t anything to do with alcohol.

Instead, your body felt so nauseous, so fluttery and engorged by adrenaline because of Mingyu. He seemed to have injected this immeasurable high into your blood and marrow, so that when you reached the very peak, you would slam hard, as though gravity had a blazing vendetta and you were its target. When you awoke this morning, you still remembered each and every detail of the bonfire, and as you stare at Mingyu from across the porch, how Suri clings to his neck, how he laughs at something Cluett shows on his phone, how he pokes some rice into the corner of his cheek, you wonder if he remembers too.

Mingyu glances around the deck for a moment. His eyes shift right past you. Not in an evasive or pretending-you-don’t-exist way, but in a way that expresses he doesn’t take note of you – that you’re not someone worth noticing to Mingyu. This is a crush, you think, not anything more. But undeniably it hurts. It hurts because you don’t mean to him what he means to you.

CHAPTER 9: DOUBLE SIDED

The surface of the paddleboard is a hard plastic. Slippery-flat, white-green, and particularly difficult to balance on as you drag the oar through the water. Suri stands at the front, near the curved nose, accomplishing most of the direction as she switches her oar from one side to the other. She looks tinier than usual in that bulky, bright yellow life jacket, a fluorescent splotch against the blue which engulfs you inescapably. She knows what she’s doing, that’s for sure. Off in the distance, another paddleboard strokes by. It’s Deedee and Zaria.

A stiff breeze hits your skin and it prickles. It’s cold, but smells fresh. Like summer, wildlife, a type of freedom that you never find during the spring or autumn, and definitely not the winter. For the most part you’re paddling around aimlessly (even if Suri is doing more than half the work while you’re attempting not to lose footing) and you feel like you could stay beneath the sky all day.

“You’re good at this,” you commend Suri, moving your oar to the other side of the board, “have you done this before?”

Suri doesn’t look back, and you stare at the loose, black strands of hair that dance around her tight bun. “I was a camp counsellor in eleventh grade,” she says, “I did a lot of paddle boarding. Almost too much.”

“It shows.” You sigh, wondering why you can’t simply control your end of the board as well as her. “I’m definitely useless right now, aren’t I?”

“Oh, please,” Suri laughs, “nowhere near as bad as Mingyu. One time he sat there and made me do all the paddling. Then he pushed me off the board and stole it from me.” She looks over her shoulder, smiles comfortingly, “you’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.” It rolls off your tongue sounding gentle, but surprised, like you hadn’t expected Suri to assure you.

She talks about the incident with Mingyu in annoyance, though you can interpret there’s fondness too, a treasured memory, and you absolutely yearn to know what such a closeness feels like. Allowing the board to glide smoothly through the water for a couple minutes, leaving a wake of ripples in its path, Suri turns around and sits cross-legged on the board, arms stretched out behind her, the oar lying across the slick plastic.

You mimic her actions, letting a leg plunge into the cool water.

“I see you and Jane are pretty close,” Suri says, “from what high school?”

“Erm, just a small one actually. Sacred Heart.”

Suri twirls a loop of hair around her finger, eyes wide and reflective. “Sacred Heart? For real? Mingyu went there!”

“Yeah,” you nod, and it feels like your neck needs oiling, “all three of us, we went there together. Seokmin too. Well – I was new, kinda. I didn’t come until the eleventh grade.”

“Difficult,” she hums, “usually at that point, you already have a friend group, you’ve known all these kids for years, now you have to just get up and leave.”

“It was nerve-wracking.” You raise your leg out from the water and tuck your knees in close to your chest, bracing against another nippy wind. “I was terrible at talking to people. Jane? We only became friends because the chemistry teacher forced her to leave her group so I could have a lab partner.”

You mash a hand against your face, groaning, “it was super embarrassing.”

To be frank, you aren’t sure if Suri would earnestly understand what that experience felt like, and what it entailed for an insecure adolescent who was nothing more than a fish wriggling on new land. There’s this inkling you have, that Suri’s time in high school was rather different.

“Oh, yeah,” her mouth tapers in a strange smile, like someone who was never taught empathy, trying to be empathetic, “I went to Ash Hills. So did Blair and Tommy. Deedee too.”

“That’s cool you kept those friendships. Not that many people talk to more than two people from their high school after they leave. Even three is pushing it.”

Suri chuckles, nodding her head in agreement.

As she takes her oar and stabs it into the water, propelling the board a little further, she says, “I don’t think about those days much. It was just drama. Who-stole-who’s-boyfriend. Back-stabbing. Total weirdos everywhere.” She shudders, like a chill had suddenly wracked her body, and places the paddle back over the board. “Was it like that for you?”

Staring down at the zipper on your lifejacket, you flick it a few times with your finger, trying to word things delicately. “Not—um, not really? Sacred Heart was small compared to Ash Hills. I mean, I definitely heard rumours but I didn’t—I never started them or spread them. They were just things I heard. People forgot mostly.”

Suri scoffs. “Every day at Ash Hills was a reality TV show. Someone started a rumour that I made this anonymous account just to post gossip about people, and I almost got suspended over it.” She rubs her bottom lip. “Hmm, who was the girl who started saying that? I don’t know, Scarlet something. She used to tell me I was an airhead for wanting to be a model. But now she probably cries herself to sleep every night or something. Scarlet Tack. I remember her now, though I got everyone to call her Tacky Scarlet instead. She was a real bi—”

But then Suri stops herself.

This shadow seems to have covered her face, despite the afternoon sun beaming with such radiance. The dark contours clear away slowly, like a drifting cloud, and a moment passes before Suri smiles again, shaking her head. You could feel your heart thumping against the lifejacket for some reason.

“Ah, forget it,” she says, grabbing the paddle and returning to her feet, “let’s start rowing again. We’ll beat Deedee and Zaria back to shore.”

CHAPTER 10: THE FEELING OF SLIPPING

“Can you slow down a bit? I’m losing my goddamn breath.”

Jane pauses next to the base of a tree truck swathed in bright green moss. Carefully, you slide off the boulder’s large precipice and drop onto the mulch below. Travelling downwards proved to be significantly harder than upwards. The forest floor is still slippery with dew and tree roots are hidden between the long grass. Mingyu is already too far ahead, and he can no longer be seen through the undergrowth. You figure he’s moving rather quickly because he promised Suri he would return before lunch for some sort of date. Jane implored him to come hiking at breakfast since he hadn’t yet reached the third summit, and promised he would have enough time to freshen up afterward.

“Be careful where you’re stepping.” Jane reminds as you navigate over the winding roots. “It’s gets really bad in these areas, especially going downhill.”

Finally, you reach the mossy tree trunk. Unzipping the small pouch attached to your back, you retrieve your water bottle and hastily empty it. Despite the trees blocking out most of the sunlight, the air remains balmy, uncomfortable. A breeze seldom trickles between the dense brush and you detect a bead of sweat that rolls slowly down your neck. You pat it away using a tissue from your bag, laughing almost unbelievably.

“This is just reminding me how lazy I am. Can we only go the second summit next time?”

Jane tucks the loose strands of her ponytail behind her ear, smiling. “The first climb always kicks your ass. Trust me.” She then sighs. “I was gonna say we catch up to Mingyu, but maybe not.”

As you two continue through the forest, Jane maintains the lead until you arrive at the stream, where the water splashes and bubbles over the slick rocks. She goes first in order to test which are shakier than others, but warns you nonetheless to be cautious of their slipperiness. However, your concentration isn’t enough to keep you safe, and it seems as though bad luck engenders your right foot to slip off the edge of a rock and sink straight into the water. Pain flashes hot against your ankle and something beings throbbing, though you only mention it to Jane once you cross the stream.

She curses under her breath and has you rest on a fallen tree trunk. Squatting down to her knees, she places light touches to your ankle, listening for any discomforting noises. Jane announces that you’ve been scrapped a little by the rock. She then squeezes gingerly near the base of your ankle where the throbbing is most apparent, to which you instinctually wince and draw away from her fingertips.

“I’m not sure what’s wrong,” she admits, frowning, “you might’ve twisted it.”

“I think I can walk back. I just need a minute.” You reply, feeling around the tender area yourself.

But Jane quickly tuts in disagreement. “No way. You can’t agitate it.”

“What are we going to do?” You sigh, bracing your palms against the rough tree bark.

Jane brightens with an idea and cups her hands around her mouth. Inhaling a deep breath, she shouts at the top of her lungs, “Mingyu! Get your ass back here!”

By the time Mingyu manages to retrace his steps through the forest and the overflow of its emerald undergrowth, he doesn’t look very enthralled, rather his brow is pinched together in a scowl and mouth is clasped tight. He wipes the hot glimmer off his forehead, arms folded over his chest while listening to Jane’s explanation of what happened at the stream.

The boy drags a hand through his black hair, dishevelling the roots as he mutters, “so what am I supposed to do about it?”

She knocks him on the side of his hard bicep. “You’re all big and muscular. Carry her.”

You suck in a wheezing breath and almost double over on the fallen tree log, the sweat lining at the back of your neck. Mingyu’s gaze, a sunray in itself, singes at your body with the intent to scorch. It’s the most logical option no doubt, but that doesn’t exactly tame your unrelenting heartbeat nor does it amplify the notion that he is purely a crush. When you glance up at Mingyu, the light pours between the leaves and spreads smooth like butter across the gold of his skin.

But he doesn’t attempt to put up an argument and neither do you.

Before you know it, he’s giving you a piggyback, your fingertips digging into his shoulders while your thighs plump around his big hands. Jane starts to lead the way and your chest is pounding. The world seems so different when you’re perched on his back.

Mingyu advises, “you need to hold on tight.”

Seeing as you’re already gripping his shoulders for dear life, you’re not sure what he means. He grunts at your lack of activity, suddenly grabbing onto your wrist and pulling you forward. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he says, “and lean all your weight. Trust me, it’s easier.”

“Are you sure?” You squeak with the certainty of a mouse, though you slowly curl your arms around his neck just as he asked. His hair tickles slightly at your face, entwined with a sharp, pine scent, and as Mingyu begins to follow Jane along her pathway, you pipe up again.

“I don’t wanna tire you out.”

Stepping over a huge root, Mingyu shakes his head. “My motivation is the sparkling shower that’s waiting for me. There’s jets in that thing, y’know? They spray from the side. All angles. It’s real fancy.”

“We don’t have a shower like that in our room.” You realize. “It’s just a regular shower. No fancy jets.”

“Oh, you’re missing out,” Mingyu grunts as he steps over a large root, “there’s a bench too. I send my emails from there sometimes. Read a couple books. Do the dishes. You know, the usual.”

You bury your laughter in his hair, sensing a strange rush of heat to your cheeks which feels like countless pinpricks.

“Anyways,” the boy readjusts his grip on your thighs, “what did I say about holding on tight and leaning all your weight?”

“Sorry, I just really don’t want to tire you out.”

“I’m not tired,” Mingyu assures as a breeze manages to penetrate through the forest, basking wonderfully against your skin, “I could carry you the whole day.”

“No you couldn’t.” You’re unable to repress your smile.

It feels unfamiliar to banter with him, but you aren’t opposed to the idea of it becoming a regular thing.

“Bet on it then. Winner gets rights to the fancy jet shower. Swear.” The words slither cockily between his teeth and you just know there’s a small, pink smirk on his mouth.

You hum in false contemplation, only to respond with, “absolutely not.”

The boy gives your body a slight jolt as though he’s pretending to throw you off him, and you yelp in a haze of fleeting fear and laughter. Jane peers over her should with a quirked eyebrow only to be smiled at toothily by Mingyu, therefore she shrugs and turns back around. Your arms curl even tighter around his neck and you’re somewhat concerned that he might feel your heart drumming wildly against his spine. Mingyu adjusts his hold again. Talking with him distracts you from the swelling at the base of your ankle, and as you continue to follow in Jane’s footsteps, you let your cheek press against his hair while the summer wind caresses your face.

“That’s why you hold on tight.” He snickers.

“You could have given me another busted ankle!”

Mingyu merely laughs it off, though you feel his hands grip tighter to your thighs. You hide your flustered expression in the fluffy tufts of his hair. Your insides feel too much like cotton. Something in you aches and pulls and twists and you realize that you’d give anything to always have Mingyu like this.

When you return to the beach house, Mingyu carries you up the back porch as Jane opens the sliding glass door. He sits down on the edge of the couch, allowing you to unpeel your body from his back, and while the muscles in your legs are still sore due to the beginning of the hike, you can’t help but lean forward to inspect your ankle rather than relax. You tug off your shoe and immediately press your fingers against the swollen skin, where the heat practically radiates like an asphalt blacktop. In the kitchen, Jane busies herself with fetching you a cup of water and a cool pack for your injury.

“Here,” Jane hands you the water and leaves the cool pack on the couch, “I’m going to run upstairs to our washroom. There might be a bottle of Tylenol in the cabinet.”

You take an eager gulp of water to soothe your parched throat. Mingyu picks up the blue cool pack and inspects it for a moment, only to ask if it’s okay that he wraps it around your ankle. You sip more water, nodding appreciatively.

He’s very attentive as he begins adjusting the cold plastic. It’s instinctual that you wince, even when he applies the lightest pressure, for Mingyu’s big brown eyes keep fluttering up to check that your face isn’t too warped by pain. He has it wrapped in a snug position and holds it. The cooling liquid squeezes around the inflammation and nothing has ever seemed to bring such relief.

“Does that feel good?” Mingyu hums, his palms collecting condensation from the plastic.

“Yeah,” you respond, exhaling, “so much better.” Nervously, you lick your lips and add, “thanks for carrying me. I mean, I could’ve walked but Jane wouldn’t ever allow it.”

Mingyu shrugs, squishing the cool pack. He meets your gaze with a small glint and a grin. “You think you’re all tough or something?” You giggle at him, and Mingyu shakes his head jokingly. “It’s alright. Seokmin twisted his ankle when we went hiking a few days ago. I had to carry him too.”

You start to laugh and cup a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. Seokmin definitely appears more robust compared to you, or at least more skillful when it comes to hiking and enduring the swelteringly hot walk to the third summit.

“Really?” You chuckle. “I mean, I hope he’s okay.”

Mingyu maintains your shining glance for a moment, only to admit, “nah, I’m joking.”

Sighing lightheartedly, you loll your head back and take another gulp of water, though as it slides down your throat you nearly choke.

“You’ve got a real cute laugh.” Mingyu says, readjusting the pack.

Suddenly, Jane returns from upstairs with a tiny white capsule in her hand. She joins you on the couch and passes over the pill, which you quickly swallow. You alert Mingyu that he doesn’t have to hold the cool pack anymore and replace his hands with yours, squeezing the gel inside. Jane can’t help but to sweep away some of the hairs sticking to your forehead while she babbles about your injury, how it’s best you don’t move around too much for a few days, at least until the swelling subsides. She’s asking you way too many questions, all in her tender-hearted nature, as she continues to part the stray hairs; however, you’re staring at Mingyu who’s staring at you. But it’s not in a way where your glances connect, rather it’s the boy examining your face with the kind earth of his eyes.

You don’t know why he’s looking at you like this. It’s causing you to panic. It’s causing you to melt on the inside like an ice cream cone beneath sunlight. His gaze stops at the crest of each cheek, your glistening forehead, down to your lips. But then Mingyu meets your timid gaze directly.

“Mingyu,” Jane says, “shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

He flinches like he’s been snapped from a daydream, dully responding, “what?”

“Y’know, your date with Suri? At that lakeside restaurant in town? The one you were freaking out about being late too? Ring a bell?”

Immediately, the contours of the boy’s face submerge in colourful realization and before you can even take your next breath Mingyu is throwing himself off the couch. He sprints up the stairs, cursing about how he needs to shower, what he’s going to wear, how he’s going to make the date and not be embarrassingly tardy. Jane watches him dash away while rolling her eyes.

“He’s so weird sometimes,” she sighs, “he never forgets anything with Suri.”

CHAPTER 11: HOW TO PRETEND

Later in the evening, you relax against the pillows plumped behind your back, alone in the upstairs bedroom while the slight gap in the balcony door invites a breeze to stir the curtains. With your journal splayed in your lap, you open to a fresh page and scrawl the current date, then take a look at your foot which had been wrapped in tensor bandages by Jane.

The painkiller worked momentarily to reduce the pulsating, but little by little the ache returns. You merely sigh and take hold of your pen, jotting down the events of your day as you usually would, listening absentmindedly to the distant waves and muffled conversation that rings from the hot tub. As the pen whisks away and you start a new line, you think about Mingyu, about his equivocal behaviour, how one moment you’re nothing but a phantom and the next he’s gazing upon you like a gem discovered deep in the heart of nature.

You don’t know what it means, apart from that it bestows the strangest, most addictive rush you have ever known.

Is a crush not supposed to be frivolous?

Then why do I feel like this? I can’t tell if I’m okay with being a shadow, seen one moment but invisible the next. Now I’m wondering, how did Jane get over Mingyu? I wish I could just rip out the part of my chest that doesn’t know anything else but him.

There’s a gentle knock against your door.

Shutting the journal, you call out for their entry, only to be greeted by Deedee whose cheeks are the colour of pomegranate from the heavy heat. She smells somewhat like sun cream and her typical marigold.

“I heard about your ankle,” she frowns, sitting down on the bed, “are you okay? Have you iced it?”

You smile at her, pulling up the bedsheets that swallow around your leg to better examine the injury. Though it’s unfortunate you won’t be able to swim or hike or join the others on adventures around the small town beyond Silver Lake, there’s no sense in agitating it.

“I iced it as soon as I got back,” you tell her, “I wouldn’t be worried. I think it’s just twisted.”

Deedee tucks some hairs behind her ear, sighing with a sweet smile. “I’m glad nothing worse happened… Well, can’t say the same for Mingyu and Suri.”

“Hm?” You giggle. “What does that mean?”

During your time at the beach house, you couldn’t help but note the peculiar tension between Deedee and Suri. You remember how Deedee turned away from the girl when she asked for help with preparing the alcohol coolers. In fact, Deedee won’t even sit at the kitchen island during breakfast if Suri is making her morning coffee or hugging Mingyu’s back while he cooks. She won’t stay in the living room for movie night if Suri comes downstairs, she won’t hike if Suri is part of the group, and despite how much Deedee adores the water, she’ll avoid the beach completely if Suri is already there sunbathing. Every conversation you’ve had with Suri has been pleasant. She is quite talkative and it’s hard to get a word in, but you find most of her stories interesting anyways.

“Oh, y’know…” Deedee mumbles, looking to the side, “She’s very… Um… You just have to know her.”

“Oh, right. You guys went to the same high school and everything.” You respond, though attempt not to seem pushy or prying.

For a moment, there’s a disconcerting silence. Deedee’s thumbs are twiddling and it appears as though she’s revealed the tip of an iceberg, one that peaks only an inch above the water, yet amasses so far down that it disappears through the blackness. She doesn’t seem willing to unlock, so you don’t interrogate, rather you wave a hand in dismissal and thank her for checking on your health.

“I’m going to put a strawberry Poptart in the toaster. You want one?”

“Sure.” You nod, watching as Deedee slips off the bed and clicks your bedroom door shut.

Alone once again, the murmuring of the waves and the conversation at the hot tub has died down. You catch a glimpse of the sky between the curtains, lavender and clementine colours smoothened like wax. Just as you begin to reopen your journal, something buzzes. When you inspect Jane’s half of the bed, you note that her phone has slid between two pillows, and when you pull it out, something intangible slams against your chest and you feel a shortness of breath. Mingyu’s texts are lighting up the screen.

It’s an all too familiar memory.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : Suri will not stop fucking complaining about how late I was.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : She always holds onto things like this. I don’t get it.

[ MINGYU | 8:35 PM ] : Doesn’t care what I have to say either? What the fuck am I supposed to do?

[ MINGYU | 8:36 PM ] : Pls help me Jane I clearly need ur wisdom.

Licking the leathered texture from your lips, you flip Jane’s phone upside down and leave it on her pillow. If you heard correctly, then Jane’s voice was definitely amongst the plethora that echoed from the back porch below your balcony. You open your journal and ready your pen, yet the rest of your sentiments never translate into ink, rather they helplessly deflate. Her phone buzzes again, but you don’t turn it over. Instead, you sit and stare blankly at your journal until Deedee returns with your pink Poptart sitting on a saucer. You eat together, trying to forget ever reading those messages.

CHAPTER 12: COOKIE OR CREAM?

Your ankle has seemed to improve and you feel close to recovery. Even Jane, despite her once adamant proclamations that you need to exercise it as little as possible, is beginning to warm up and allow you out of her sight. She’s dreaming soundly beside you while you’re wide awake, gazing across the midnight blue ceiling, hearing the crickets that chirp from the forest and the sloshing water. You release a sigh that isn’t much of anything, toss the bedsheets aside, and walk with a slight limp into the kitchen downstairs, your ankle still bundled in tensor bandages.

Upon turning on the light, you start to rifle through the cupboards.

Balancing on your healthy foot, you stretch your arms up high and reach for a shelf above the dish wrack, where you spot the package of Oreos Cluett had bought this morning. You attempt to bat the cookies off the top shelf, and you nearly succeed, until you hear the dim patter of footsteps and there’s a voice thick with tire that asks if you need help.

When you turn around and see none other than Mingyu, dressed in only his black sweatpants, the firm muscle and tone of his upper body completely bare to your eyes, his black locks swept about carelessly and hands stuffed in his pockets, you ponder if you’re dreaming. As the weight returns to both feet, you hardly note the dull throb in your ankle. Mingyu comes next to you. He easily reaches onto the top shelf and grabs the package of cookies. You’re trying inconceivably hard to meet nothing but Mingyu’s face, swallowing the stick in your throat while you accept the Oreos from him.

“Shouldn’t you not be on your feet?” He questions.

You aren’t sure how to feel about it considering the fact you’re both awake past midnight, standing in the kitchen with exhaustion ripe under your eyes and failed sleep ruffled into your hair.

“Why are you awake?”

He blinks, then rubs under his nose. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.” You confess.

Your heart is much too susceptible to the manner in which he smiles at you. It’s a tender smile, and suddenly you can’t bear to look at the honey boy because everything feels like it’s blaring.

Instead, you slump onto the kitchen floor and lean against the cupboards, ripping open the plastic in order to grab a cookie and shove it whole in your mouth. Mingyu slides down beside you. His hand dips into the package and takes an Oreo. When he stretches out his legs, they reach almost to the kitchen island. Mingyu is close enough that you can smell the airiness of his faded cologne and a fragrance that is somehow reminiscent of opal, and you know it’s Suri’s scent.

Setting the package onto your lap, you remove another Oreo and twist off the top of the chocolate cookie. You scrape the white filling off with your teeth, though a slight laugh wracks your body as you do so and you find how little you’re fathoming this situation. Sitting on the kitchen floor with this boy you’ve pined after since eleventh grade, a boy who couldn’t spit out your name when he acknowledged you for the first time. A boy who forgot you even existed until Jane reminded him. He casts you an inquisitive glance, his brow raised.

“What?”

You shove the rest of the cookie into your mouth, laughing rather deliriously.

“Nothing, nothing,” comes your unconvincing response, “just, nothing.”

Mingyu flashes his teeth and huffs. “C’mon, don’t be that person.”

“It’s really nothing,” you insist while breaking apart another cookie, “I was only thinking about how Seungkwan stubbed his toe on the barbecue.” It was the sole excuse you could muster.

However, Mingyu brushes it aside without a second thought. “No you’re not,” he deadpans, taking his second Oreo from the package, “liar.”

“What?” You gawk, staring at him wide-eyed and jaw agape. “And you know I’m lying how?”

“You’re fronting.” Mingyu murmurs, his voice a bit raspy. “Of course I know.”

Somehow, that delirium thins from your brain and the fog shimmers away with it. Moonlight floats in from a nearby window and strikes the side of Mingyu’s face, his neck and shoulder, where you spot a few bluish-purple bruises that have been suckled and nipped fervently into his skin. You discover a nick in his bottom lip, another glimpse at a hickey blotched just above the waistband to his sweatpants, scratches carved bold against his hard bicep. Mingyu smells like himself, a breath of something fresh, coconut butter and a summer breeze, but then he smells like Suri. A fragrance that cloaks his every inch and grips onto your collar and reminds you that Mingyu doesn’t care about you the way you care about him.

Looking down into your lap, the mood tensely shifts.

“You don’t know.” After a tight swallow, you practically whisper, “you don’t know me at all.”

Mingyu remains silent, watches you wriggle out another Oreo and twist off the chocolate cookie. He doesn’t speak or attempt to correct you because he knows you’re not wrong. The bare bones are exactly that. As you scrape off the cream and eat the remaining halves, the soft grit of Mingyu’s voice touches at your core in a way you never felt before.

“Okay, so I don’t know you all that well.” Mingyu admits, bending his knees and propping his elbows on them. “But wasn’t the point of coming here to try something different? Like getting to know new people?” He licks his lips, then glances back at you. “Maybe you’re not new, but I can still get to know some stuff about you, right? Better late than never.”

You can’t look at him, and you decide that you won’t. It’s fortunate that the darkness masks most of your details because you’re petrified Mingyu can see how you’re shaking, fearful that the kitchen will collapse into nothingness and you’ll slam awake in bed, that this dream will escape your conscious. Clearing your throat, you retrieve another cookie and repeat your routine of breaking off the top layer.

“It’s a secret.” You tell him, referring to your abrupt laughter from earlier.

He reaches into the package. “I told you that secret with Jane and I.”

While Mingyu has a point – he did fulfill your longest itch to know his business with Jane beneath the bridge – your secret isn’t as lightweight compared to a teenage kiss. You have this pang in your gut that if you catch his gaze, he’ll be able to read the secret from your eyes like it’s been written by his own hand. You separate your next cookie with a complicated sigh.

“It’s not that type of secret… I can’t say. And you won’t get it out of me.”

The boy nods, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Okay,” he pits plainly, only to completely change the conversation a second later, “why do you always take off the icing first?”

A faint smile crosses your mouth. “Is this your way of getting to know me?”

“Fuck, I need to start somewhere.” Mingyu then grabs the package from your lap and slides out three cookies into his palm. “Maybe next time we should have a tea party.” He purrs, bumping his knee against yours.

You grin so widely that it hurts.

CHAPTER 13: Q&A

While the day is cloudy and the sun is sheltered, humidity grips unapologetically to the air, muffling any breeze that rolls from the water until it reaches your flesh with the most piteous strength.

You feel brushed in a layer of liquid heat and discomfort.

Beside you, Jane lies against your shared beach towel, a magazine over her face. Just to be sure she hasn’t perished from dehydration or heat rash you slightly lift the edge of the magazine. You had never met someone who could sleep through any condition. Jane could be burrowed into the stifling underbelly of a ship amidst a thunderstorm and never stir once. You drop the magazine and let her be. Instead, you continue to watch the clouds with an arm tucked behind your head.

But then you hear all this chortling, a harsh scream.

You shuffle onto your elbows to see Blair stumbling out from the water after Suri had given her a teasing shove. Blair is Suri’s best friend, and you’ve talked to her on one occasion, though she had been difficult to click with since her attitude constantly flip-flops. She has the same long, dark hair and glimmeringly pale skin as Suri, and at a distance, they almost look like twins. Blair seems to have a crush on Seokmin, for whenever he came around it was like she’d been sprinkled with a ditzy-dust. You watch as Blair twists her hair to squeeze out the water. Mingyu drags himself out from the waves and Seokmin is close behind. Not wanting to be caught staring, you drop back onto the towel, hearing their conversation become clearer.

Blair realizes she forgot her towel on the back porch (though you aren’t certain forget is the right word), to which you can hear the pout in her words as she implores Seokmin for his t-shirt. He picks it up from his towel and hands it over, his lips pressed in a tight, unwavering line, prompting you to assume that the girl’s wheedling isn’t exactly yearned over.

Suri flaps out her towel before wrapping it snug around the curves of her body. With your head titled to the side, you can’t help but observe how she stands on her tiptoes, whispering something into Mingyu’s ear. He grins in return, then softly grips her chin and captures her mouth in a quick, sweet kiss. Your chest balloons with a sigh, one of hopelessness, displeasure. Seokmin announces he’s going inside for a beer and Blair sticks to him like a bandaid. Suri follows, though she stops upon noting Mingyu’s resistance.

“You’re not coming, babe?” She hums, combing a hand through her damp hair.

For a split second, Mingyu catches your eye. Petrified, you turn your head back and search through the clouds as though you’ll find an escape.

The boy scratches under his nose. “Can I have a few minutes?”

Suri shrugs, then hurries after Blair and Seokmin up the pathway.

An instant later, and Mingyu is bending over you with his necklace dangling and a water droplet collecting at the tip of his nose. He pushes back the wet locks splayed to his forehead, grinning at you rather mischievously, fangs shiny and sharp digging against the rose of his mouth. A fire takes light in your abdomen and absentmindedly your teeth are grinding together.

“What?” You huff, ignoring how your fingers curl at your side.

Mingyu rubs away the droplet and smirks. “Are you hot?”

Gulping the dry air in your throat, you attempt not to cough. “I guess.”

“Come swimming with me.”

You sit up, then glance at the t-shirt swallowing your body. “I thought you were going inside?”

“I will go inside,” Mingyu reasons, “but I want you to swim with me first.”

Looking to Jane fast asleep with the magazine covering her face, you sigh as though this is a complicated decision for you, as though your entire chest isn’t screaming for the breath to agree and steal glances at how the water ripples against the grooves of his muscle. By the time you comply – faked reluctancy and all – Mingyu is already pushing into the water until it laps against his waist. He turns around, smiles at you who stands uncertainly at the shoreline, and gestures for you to follow him. Each step you take is met with a shudder, a grimace, though there is something equally soothing about how the heat is unable to gloss your skin when the water nips it away.

Mingyu groans at your apprehensive pace, though his eyes glint tenderly.

“C’mon, are you always this fucking slow? Today would be nice.”

“It’s cold!” You shout at him. A particularly rough wave soaks through your t-shirt and touches your bare stomach, engendering you to shiver like you’d been sparked by an electric current.

However, Mingyu isn’t so patient that he can wait for your waddling, rather he starts rushing toward you with a wolfish smile as the boy curls his fingers around your wrist. He gives you a solid jerk. You fumble into the water; you shriek and feel your whole face contort as the cold licks mercilessly at your skin. Mingyu lends one final tug that has you gliding between the waves. He’s pulled you into his chest, and it takes a moment before you recognize the water rocking at your collarbone. You sniffle, spellbound by the proximity of his gaze and how it burns you up, how your heart is utterly swollen just by examining the droplets that bead at his lips. Your nails claw into Mingyu’s shoulders until he starts to hiss.

“Fuck, can you ease up?”

“W-What?” You stutter, swallowing thickly. “Ease up? You grabbed me!” In a flash of thoughtlessness, you slam your palms against his chest to push him away. He hardly budges.

“You’re welcome.” He grins.

Because you don’t want him to hear the satisfactory chime of your laughter, you sigh tersely while treading a current. But then Mingyu is sighing too, and you’re narrowing your expression at him.

“And that means what?” You ask.

Mingyu shrugs. “You tell me. I’ve never seen a person sigh so much.”

Notably flustered, you run a damp hand over your face.

“Do you keep a tally of that or something?” You quip, though when you think about it, you realize Mingyu isn’t wrong.

The fact he’s even picked up on a trait that had been invisible to you is a bit jarring. He swims in closer. Immediately, you look the other way, to some trees dotting far along the distant banks.

“I’m just curious.” He replies, and there’s a softness to his voice that sounds awfully genuine. “Are you upset about something?”

“No.” It leaps from your tongue embarrassingly quick and you realize it’s made you look guilty.

If you told Mingyu what’s been making you upset, then this budding between you would get squashed, you’d lose everything like a flame that had been snuffed out to the wind. Suddenly, a forceful wave gushes against him and he allows himself to be pushed even further toward you, though you know your fragility quite well and swim back. You need space to breathe, space so that your mind doesn’t run rampant with thoughts of licking the droplets from his pretty mouth.

You sink lower into the water, now able to appreciate its coolness, and wonder aloud, “can I ask you something?”

Mingyu gives an open look, and you take that as your cue to continue.

“Can you…” Attempting to act timid, you let your voice trail off and make a show of nervously nibbling your bottom lip, “can you get me Seokmin’s number?”

He opens his mouth wide, then closes it. You feel your entire body wriggle with laughter, though you’re gasping a mere moment later when Mingyu thrusts a heap of water against your face, the flavour of duckweed and moss stuck against your throat. Coughing up the unpleasant taste and wiping the blur from your eyes, your eyesight manages to focus again, where Mingyu is glaring.

“Are you being serious?” The honey boy gawks.

“That was kind of a little bit unwarranted,” you ignore his question.

But Mingyu doesn’t seem in the mood to respond jokingly, rather his eyes reflect a certain staidness and that smirk which always lingers has turned into a frown. You didn’t expect him to feel so strongly about such a frivolous comment.

“Are you being serious?” He repeats. “Do you really want Seokmin’s number?”

You shake your head. “I’m joking, Mingyu.”

“Do you like him or something?” His question slams you like another wave and your heart is suddenly hammering.

“N-No, I don’t—I think he’s a good dude but I don’t like him as in…”

“As in dating?” Mingyu finishes your sentence. “You don’t want to date him?”

“I don’t.”

That baleful look in his eyes returns to a cordialness you recognize. The strings of your heart pull in different directions. He seems relived, but then you wonder if your brain is leaping to the conclusion that will belie a false sense of comfort, some inaccurate delusion that maybe Mingyu…

No, you won’t even think it.

As the clouds roll further into the distance and as your fingertips begin wrinkling like dried fruit, you wonder if Mingyu remembers what he earlier relayed to Suri: can I have a few minutes? Because, clearly, it’s been more than just a few minutes. But you’re inclined to lose yourself in the conversation while Mingyu is much too eager to instigate it, and the notion that someone could be interested in even the most mundane parts of your life comes as a staggering blow. Yet Mingyu asks about anything and everything. He asks where you got the small bonsai tree sitting on your windowsill, who’s apartment sitting during your absence, what you usually eat for breakfast when you’re late to class but you can’t resist stopping at the nearest coffee shop. You don’t know why he cares.

He even questions about your journal, though you play your cards close to the chest.

“I just write about my day and stuff.” You explain very ambiguously.

Mingyu rolls over from floating on his back. “Like a diary?” He persists.

“If you want to call it that.”

“Give an example of something you’d write about.” Mingyu encourages.

“An example? Uh, I’m not sure. Maybe the fact it’s really hot today.”

He groans immediately. “You’re writing about the weather? I’m not trying to make you feel bad, but that’s lame. That’s lame as hell.”

You gawk at him. “Obviously I’m not gonna spill all the details! Some of it’s personal, y’know? It’s not for the world to read.”

“Am I good enough to be a topic?” Mingyu asks, ignoring your commotion.

If only you knew, the words echo in your head.

“Hardly.” You spout instead, tightening your lips into a snide smile.

He swims a bit closer to you, the sun igniting his beautiful skin tone.

“What would I have to do,” the boy speaks with intrigue, “to be mentioned? Like, what qualifies me to be written about in this special journal?”

Honestly, just being you. That’s enough. Breathing even.

Again, you voice a much different thought.

“I don’t know, Mingyu. I really don’t. Maybe if you did something weird. That night when I could hear Seokmin sleep talking from across the hall, I mentioned him in my journal. Because it kept me up. There’s a better example.”

“So, you’re saying my best friend gets an entry, but I don’t?”

You splash him with a little flick of water. “Pretty much.”

After his questions having met a brick wall, the boy finally seems to give up trying to pry any information about your journal. Which you’re somewhat relieved about. If Mingyu truthfully knew how many times he’d been a topic, then he certainly wouldn’t still be out here with you, bobbing in this vast, deep blue water with the sun glimmering in the waves around you.

“This is gonna be difficult, isn’t it?” Mingyu says, tilting his head.

“What is?”

Returing the gesture from earlier, he flicks some water into your face.

“Figuring you out.”

You roll your eyes, a lazy smile stretching across your mouth. “I’m not some case you need to crack. If it’s too tiring anyways, then don’t waste your time.”

A strong breeze blows in from across the lake. Sinking lower into the water, hiding from the cold, you watch Mingyu shake his head.

“I don’t think I’m wasting my time.” He replies, sounding confident.

Out of nowhere, this sigh rises in your chest, and the next words you utter are mostly meant for yourself, even if Mingyu hears them.

“I wonder if you’ll still be saying that by the time we leave this place.”

But then Mingyu is puffing out his chest too, and attempts to mimic your facial expression, one of blankness yet slight contemplation.

“Are you going to do that every time?” You inquire, yet the boy merely replies with a smirk.

Jane is still fast asleep beneath the magazine cover when you and Mingyu trudge through the waves and onto the shore. The air isn’t nearly as sticky. In fact, there’s a breeze that finds its strength, even carries the crisp scent of a patio barbecue toward the beach.

As Mingyu pats his face, you realize your only towel is occupied by Jane, therefore you curl your arms tight around your frame in order to preserve heat. But Mingyu notes that you’re definitely shivering after spending such ample time soaking in the lake. You hold your breath when the honey boy steps in close, when he takes the cloth and drapes it behind your shoulders, his hand then rubbing up and down your arm.

Another shiver tingles beneath your skin, but it’s not from the cold.

“See you around.” He says, leaving you bundled up in the towel that smells a bit like him.

You watch him walk along the stone pathway holding onto his sneakers.

That evening, everyone gathers outside to eat the barbecue and roasted vegetables Cluett had taken upon himself to cook. As you sit on the stairs in between Jane and Deedee, drinking an orange soda, you can’t shake this odd sentiment that someone is staring at you. Curious, you look over your shoulder, and something drops into the pit of your stomach when your gaze clicks with Mingyu. You have yet to discard his towel, which didn’t go undetected.

He brings a beer bottle to his lips and takes a sip, eyeing you blatantly, as though to poke fun at the fact you haven’t gotten dressed; however, you turn around and merely tug the towel further over your shoulders, trying hard not to foolishly, foolishly smile.

CHAPTER 14: THE PROBLEM WITH KINDNESS

Even though Chan assures he’s going to wash the dishes after breakfast, he’s coincidentally the first racing toward the back door when Mingyu suggests the idea of paddle boarding. While they’re enjoying a foggy morning on the lake, you’re scrubbing Chan’s cereal bowl containing all the dried remnants of cinnamon apple oatmeal. To make matters worse, the main living space is soon invaded by Suri, Blair, and Tommy. It’s not that you dislike them, but you’re fairly sensitive and easily agitated during the early hours, and Blair’s abrasive voice is like a fork to a plate.

Suri engages her two friends with another tale of modelling in Berlin, how dearly she misses the pillaring architecture and the taste of black forest gateau and wandering between the high arches establishing the Brandenburg gate. During her storytelling, Cluett enters the kitchen, grabs a slice of bread, and smears it with peanut butter and honey. You can’t imagine that he’s is one to be fascinated by modelling, especially as he slaps the bread on a plate, writing his name across the peanut butter using the honey bottle.

Blair is baring this tight, almost painful smile that you imagine is more envy than intrigue. At one point, Cluett laughs.

“Have you ever considered running for Miss Universe?” He asks Suri.

She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously. “No, why?”

Cluett folds his bread slice and takes a bit from it like it’s a taco.

“Becauff—” he mumbles, mouth full of food. One dry swallow later, he continues, “you talk like you’re the centre of it.”

She scoffs, pushing the hair off her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t even want to waste my time being mad at you, or your dumb comments. Now, you should take that sandwich down to the bathroom and give yourself another chainsaw trim, which is the nicest way I can describe it without hurting your feelings.”

“You couldn’t hurt my feelings.” Cluett counters, taking another bite from his snack. There’s a persuasive calmness to his voice which makes you think he’s right.

Blair smiles. “I think your buzzcut looks good, Clu.”

Pulling out her phone, Suri pits blandly, “I don’t know if I’d say that with this layering you got recently, but you didn’t want to take my recommendation anyways.”

Cluett walks past you as though you’re an apparition, not even visible to his sight. He pours himself some orange juice.

“Thanks, Blair. I’m pretty handy with a razor. Scissors too. Can’t say the same for a chainsaw. Maybe if I really honed my craft, I could look as passable as Suri.” He smiles a wide, toothy grin, and looks directly at the fuming girl from across the room, “which is the nicest way I can describe her without hurting her feelings.”

After Cluett leaves the room, Suri looks like she could explode. Pop. Just like a shiny bubble. They don’t make their resentment toward each other very discreet. Cluett is simply too outlandish and individualistic for Suri, while Suri is too absorbed and narrow-minded for Cluett. They’re almost so different that in an alternate reality you could see them liking each other. Tommy cracks his knuckles, shaking his head aimlessly. He doesn’t seem to grasp the root of their dislike, which is no surprise to you entirely since he’s quite easygoing.

“You have to let stuff like that go,” Tommy says to Suri, “learn to forget about it and ignore him. Water and oil can’t repulse each other if they don’t mix.”

Sliding a glass into the upper cupboard, you nod your head despite your lack of presence in the conversation. He’s got a point.

“That’s impossible,” Suri grumbles, “I can’t ignore him when he says idiotic things. It’s like he’s begging to get insulted.”

Tommy lays out his palms and starts explaining to her as though he’s a school teacher. You think it must be exhausting, having to dilute things so much and taper your words. It’s like no one has ever told Suri one piece of advice in her life. Everything has to be sugarcoated.

“You’re letting him rile you up. And he knows he can do that. If you just ignored him, Cluett wouldn’t even bother. I’m just telling you—”

“Ugh,” Suri interrupts him, her brow pinching down furiously, “you’re starting to sound like Mingyu when he thinks I need a lecture. Forget it, Tommy.”

“I’m only trying to help y—“

“I said forget it!” Suri raises her voice at the boy as she attempts to leave the main living area. It sounds like she had purposefully bumped into him too.

You can hear Tommy stumble, then he seems to collide with something. Blair screams and there’s loud, splintering shatter. As though time has stopped, you freeze. Silence swallows the living space in the worst way possible.

“That’s the vase!” Tommy gasps, causing you to turn around. “You made me knock over Caroline’s special, stupid, fancy heirloom vase!”

The tall, deep blue vase that had been a generational emblem to Caroline is now disembodied in shards across the floor, the one possession that Caroline was most aglow presenting, a jewel to the house as she worded it, now separated into sharp, jagged fragments. Suri covers her face like the entire scenario is nothing more than a shameful nightmare. You aren’t sure what to do. Leaving the tea towel on the counter, you slowly walk into the living space where the sapphire vase is scattered.

Blair licks her lips and squeaks, “should we tell Caro—"

“No, are you kidding?” Suri barks. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?” You aren’t sure that Suri even knows you’re there, and quite frankly, she seems too livid for you to intervene.

“How is that going to work?” Tommy gulps.

Suri snaps her fingers. “Let’s just sweep this all into a pillowcase or something. We’ll leave it in a drawer. If Caroline does find it, then hopefully we’ll all be out of the house by then.”

Something in you lurches, and you’re quick to dismantle Suri’s idea.

“C’mon, you guys can’t do that and let Jane take the hit. I think Blair is right, just tell Caroline.”

Tommy gasps. “Have you met Caroline? She’ll kick us all out if she knows!”

You shake your head, “I’m sure she won’t. You don’t even have to tell her the entire truth! She’s strict, but she’ll appreciate honesty. I really don’t think covering this up is… I don’t think it’s fair.” Under your chest, your heartbeat is shifting each rib like tectonic plates. Suri looks to the floor again, at the expensive chunks of blue glass, biting her lip pensively. But then she’s looking at you, and her eyes flash in a manner that can only be illustrated as conniving.

“Wait, I know what to do.” Suri hops over the couch and collects your clammy hands in hers, squeezing them. “Okay – just – consider this.” She entreats to you openly. “You’re close with Jane, right? Like best friends? So… if you were to say you broke the vase, then Caroline totally wouldn’t get as mad. Caroline will trust you more since you’re Jane’s best friend. You’ll pretty much get off scotch-free.”

“What?” You can’t help but gape, and attempt to shift from Suri’s grip. “I-I don’t know—”

“No, please,” Suri pulls you back, practically pressing her nails into your skin, “you know how annoying Cluett is. He’s always bugging me! Plus, if I fess up then Caroline will make this hell.” Her eyes glimmer like winter chestnuts, and her voice is nearly shaking. “Please?” She whispers. “We’re friends. I would totally cover for you whenever.”

It’s not right. You know that Caroline will be disappointed no doubt that such a significant item has been broken, and maybe she’ll admonish Suri more than if you were to have taken the blame, but upholding responsibility matters. Suri is crushing your hands, though you don’t at all take note because you’re contemplating. Even when you shouldn’t be. And you hate it. You meet Suri’s gaze again and something inside you falters, snaps, like a brittle twig. Exhaling deeply through your nose, you squeeze her hands in solace and nod your head.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

Blair looks happy, though Tommy shifts uncomfortably.

While one piece of you painfully disintegrates, another is kindled with meek fulfillment as Suri pulls you into a hug and mumbles into your hair about how much she owes you. Tommy grabs a broom and dustpan from the closet to begin sweeping up the broken vase while you help Blair search for a vacuum in order to clean the smaller pieces.

“Do you think we should throw this stuff out?” You ask, looking to the debris in the pan. “Maybe Caroline will want to keep some of it. This seemed really important to her.”

Suri shoves her phone in her pocket, slouching on the island chair. “It’s broken, okay? She’s not gonna want any of it. If anything, seeing the pieces will just make her angrier.”

At first, you hesitate standing next to the garbage with the dustpan in your hand. But then Suri gestures for you to just dump them in. You plaster a cheap smile to your face as the glass shards tumble into the garbage.

After the deed is done, you hide upstairs with your journal.

Why am I taking the fall for Suri?

She says we’re friends and that she’d do the same for me. I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe it’s because I want to actually be her friend? I really can’t tell.

At first, Jane doesn’t believe you broke the sapphire vase.

In fact, she even laughs, right in your face when you’re under the covers that night, just before turning off the lights. She suspects that Seungkwan might’ve bumped it and that he’s somehow convinced you to take the damage. But then she scraps that idea a moment later because Seungkwan’s heart is nothing but a fragile pearl, and if he were to have broken it then he’d already have a handwritten apology prepared. Jane turns onto her side, a hand beneath her cheek, and asks if Tommy broke the vase.

It feels like there’s a stone sitting in the base of your windpipe as you croak out, it was me, I’m serious. The smile fades from her face, and at last Jane believes you. Sleep doesn’t come easy. You continuously toss and turn, stick your leg off the edge of the bed only to pull it back a second later. From your stomach to your back, one arm tucked under the pillow, two arms tucked under the pillow, your entire head tucked under the pillow, it’s the most restless you’ve ever been.

The absence of the vase is easy to note. It’s a big discussion piece the next day, and you handle the brunt of it while Suri holds her tongue. Tommy finds you on the back patio writing in your journal. He doesn’t sit down, just spreads his hands over the glass table and leans in close, whispering about how thankful he is. It’s funny how often he apologizes for something that wasn’t even his fault. No matter how many times he peppers you in his gratitude, and no matter how many times you give an indifferent nod and reassure him it’s completely fine, you never feel any fuller.

A few minutes later and Suri walks out onto the patio. In each hand she holds a mango spritzer. For some reason you think she’s going to pull up a chair and slide you a drink. Instead, Suri flashes a weak smile, then disappears rather hurriedly down the stairway and toward the beach.

CHAPTER 15: RAINY DAYS

Today is the day that Caroline visits to perform her weekly check of the beach house. You feel sick, lightheaded. Your heartbeat tremors your entire chest, your toes won’t stop curling, and you’ve taken no more than a single bite from the strawberry toast Jane handed you at breakfast. Rain pounds against the house. It was thundering much earlier, but you had already been awake.

The morning light is a common wake up cue, yet with a sky so gloomy and stroked in a grey pallor, most people remain in bed. You grab the toast again, only to realize how cool it’s become, and nibble off a tiny chunk that feels awfully hard to swallow. As though you’re attempting to hypnotize yourself, you repeat over and over that it’s no big deal.

So what you’re taking the blame for Suri?

You shift uneasily when Mingyu and Seokmin come into the kitchen, laughing amongst themselves. Seokmin shakes some honeycomb cereal into a bowl while Mingyu pulls out a cold carton of chocolate milk from the fridge. Judging by the slight shower-dampness to Seokmin’s hair and the fact that Mingyu hasn’t switched to his contacts yet, you suspect they woke up not too long ago. As you poke around your toast on its plate, you listen to their conversation, something about how Mingyu wants to get photographs of the lakeside town for a portfolio. Seokmin starts walking upstairs with his cereal bowl, though he nods at you before disappearing.

“Hey,” Mingyu stands next to you at the island, “you want the rest of my milk?”

You huff through your nose, and push away the carton with your finger. “No, I don’t really want the rest of your milk, Mingyu.”

He scoffs, taking back his carton. “You know you’d be delighted to have it.”

Rolling your eyes, you bury your teeth into the toast and take another bite. It’s unbeknownst why you keep forcing yourself to eat when your stomach is twisting and gargling like this. You love the taste of strawberries, but now they’re causing you to feel nauseous.

Mingyu scrunches his nose, pushing up his thick, circular frames. “Stupid innuendos aside, are you sure you don’t want the rest of it? This is the only chocolate milk left. I’m just asking because I see you drink this stuff all the time.”

“It’s fine,” you flash him a torpid smile, “I’m not really hungry. Or thirsty.”

The silence that settles in the air is like a patchy dust.

Mingyu swats the carton between his hands for a moment, then sniffles. “Is everything alr—”

Suddenly, you hear the front doors swing open from down the main corridor.

Hurrying in from the rain that spits angrily at the earth is Caroline, dressed in a pink, plastic coat that looks a bit too small and swinging around an umbrella. You feel inexplicably dizzy. Grabbing the edge of the counter, you mutter out a greeting that sounds feeble and afraid while Mingyu bids a good morning. Caroline closes her umbrella and rests it against the wall, then unbuttons her coat. She smiles at the two of you, though you sense that white hot sliver of lead drop into your stomach when she begins glancing around the main living space, skimming over the pedestal where the vase once stood.

“How’s everything been? I hope you’re liking the annual rain storm that blows in every year. I’ll have to lob Adrian in the head for taking my black jacket and forcing me to wear this inadequate pink thing.”

“He’s upstairs somewhere,” Mingyu chuckles, completely unphased by the fact that Caroline had just called Cluett, Adrian. “And it’s perfect actually. I’m gonna take some shots and footage whenever Seokmin is ready.”

“Oh, your portfolio! Is this the personal one?”

Mingyu scratches a hand through his hair, still a bit puffy from sleep. “Kinda, but I’ll save a few really good moments for my new semester.”

Caroline folds her hands together and looks at you expectantly.

“How are you?” She asks.

You don’t even think to engage in small talk, rather you practically stumble off the kitchen stool and meet Caroline face to face. She seems concerned at your appearance, to which you can only assume your anxious colour is gleaming much too bright. You dig your fingernails into your palms.

“Caroline, I’m not sure how to say this but, you know that heirloom vase you showed us?”

She folds her arms over her chest and nods tersely.

“Well, I was um, I wasn’t really being careful,” you take in a deep, quivering breath, “I-I bumped it, and it broke. I’m so, so sorry. I know how important that vase was to you and that this isn’t at all what you want to hear. But I can reimburse you if it helps! I’ll—”

“And what did you do with it?” She cuts in, her voice sharper than flint.

“W-What?” You stumble.

Gesturing impatiently with her hand, she demands, “the pieces? Did you throw them out? What did you do with the pieces?”

You fumble for the words, and Caroline pinches her brow. “Please don’t tell me you threw them out.”

The only thing you can think about is standing next to the trashcan, holding the dustpan, contemplating on whether or not to let those shards fall into the plastic. Yet, you listened to Suri rather than your own gut, and now you have to tell Caroline there’s absolutely nothing left.

“I-I threw them out… I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You trashed everything? All of it? That vase has generations of history, it’s one of the only ties I have to my gra—,” Caroline presses her fingers against the side of her head, looking off into the corner with gloss in her eyes. She groans, grabs her chin and stares for a moment at the floor.

“Fine, fine, alright,” she bites, and the utter disappointment in her tone is a claw to your vulnerability, “I’m going upstairs for a while. There’s been too much going on this week and— I just don’t want to think about it. Damn it.”

She begins to brush past you. Just as you squeak out that you’re willing to reimburse the cost, Caroline turns around and shakes her head, her arms slapping defeatedly against her sides.

“It’s not necessary.” She heaves and it sounds almost choked-up, “I mean, this is my fault too. I let Jane use the house this summer. I guess I was too naive about certain things. There’s no need to repay me. No amount is going to replace what that vase meant for my family. Do you at least understand that?”

You give a solemn nod.

Her footsteps begin pattering upstairs. By the time Caroline has vanished, you finally unstick your fingernails from their brutal indents against each palm. You know the feeling of disappointing someone, and yet you’d never experienced such culpability, even though you technically hadn’t done anything at all. Heat dissipates rapidly across your face and pulls achingly tight to your skin. In fact, you nearly forgot Mingyu had observed the entire debacle until you turn around and spot him with a rather disoriented expression.

Mingyu flicks away his container of chocolate milk and cocks his head.

“C’mon, you didn’t break the vase,” he speaks confidently, “who’re you covering for?”

“No one.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not, Mingyu!”

Unable to confine this instability that dwells inside, the hot tears begin to leak down your face. When you suck in a breath, it embarrassingly wobbles. You don’t expect Mingyu to understand why you’re crying, nor do you expect him to continue thinking you’re someone he wants to be around.

“Hey,” Mingyu frowns, and he rushes toward you, “hey, hey, you don’t have to get so upset.” His hand gently slides to cup your cheek. He tries to find your wet gaze but you adamantly avoid making eye contact. While you shudder in your place, the boy’s thumb catches every tear, and he swipes tenderly to remove them. “It’s okay,” Mingyu murmurs, “it’s not the end of the world.”

“She’s so disappointed.” You lament through the congestion, teetering on the edges of your feet. “I can’t believe she’s gonna think this lowly of me.”

Mingyu shakes his head. “You didn’t break it.”

“I told you I—”

He presses his thumb down firm against your bottom lip, effectively silencing you. “Say it all you want, but I know you didn’t.” Mingyu maintains his verdict.

“Don’t try to argue either,” he leans in closer to your face, pulling his thumb away, “because I won’t believe you, alright?”

You’re only fit to nod. Mingyu removes his comfortable palm, and he taps your hip. “You need to get out of the house. Come with Seokmin and I. We’re going to take some shots of the town.”

At first, you shrug. “It’s raining.”

“So?” Mingyu isn’t convinced. “Nature’s cleansing. And you’re gonna come. For real, I’ll drag you out of this house if I have to.”

CHAPTER 16: BITTERSWEET

You sit beside Seokmin in the diner’s fabric booth, poking at the remainder of your hash browns with a fork. Despite the dreary, unpleasant weather that looms over harbour, a cold drizzle and a chilly breeze, most people are unbothered and shuffle through the doorway in their raincoats just for a cup of coffee. Mingyu is across the table clicking the buttons on his camera, examining the newest pictures he’d captured of the sailing boats and the open, misty waters. There were a few joke portraits where Seokmin had ran to the end of the dock and squatted down for a picture, half his face veiled by the large hood on his jacket, throwing his fingers up in a peace sign.

Mingyu’s espresso is so far untouched, and the steam curls gradually into the air. Seokmin angles the last slice of buttered toast into his mouth, swallows, and clears his throat.

“Are you gonna drink that?” He asks, eyeing the boy’s fresh espresso.

It’s quiet at first, Mingyu focused on his pictures. He lowers his camera slightly, mumbling, “I don’t know. You want it?”

“I’ll take it so you don’t have to waste two dollars and thirty cents,” Seokmin responds, picking at the base of his fingernail, “unless you want it?” He then casts a glance toward your corner.

“It’s all yours.” You shrug, watching Seokmin slide the mug across the table.

With your head leaned against the window, you grin teasingly at Seokmin. “Are you still burning breakfast crepes or have you finally mastered the art?”

Each slope of his cheek ripely pinkens.

“Now, let’s not bring that up,” he says, holding the mug close to his face, “those were very scarring times, and for me to only get a seventy-something after months of nearly suffering third degree burns? Now I don’t remember much, but I should’ve let those crepes go up in flames.”

“A seventy-something isn’t the worst,” you tilt your head back and forth, biting down on the inside of your cheek, “I remember you made great cheddar biscuits. Even if they were a little hard.”

Seokmin pits a disgruntled scoff. “I had to have been adding too much flour. All the labels on the measuring cups were rubbed off. What did you get?”

You resume stabbing the cold hash browns and murmur, “I think it was… a ninety-five.”

As he takes a sip from the espresso, Seokmin receives a mild scalding and puckers his face.

“A nifftey-fife?!” He exclaims, clasping the sore tip of his tongue between his fingers.

“It was a bird course!” You point you, smiling sheepishly. “Honestly, you could’ve got that if you didn’t dick around so much with Soonyoung. I can’t even count the amount of times I saw you two sword fighting with the garden carrots and chasing each other with the oil vats. ”

Still pinching his tongue, Seokmin excuses himself and hurries toward the counter to ask for a glass of water. You stare out the window, toward the dewy harbour across the street. There’s something strange about mentioning Soonyoung’s name. The last you saw of him was when he signed your yearbook in the front foyer, a double-chunk chocolate cookie in between his teeth. You haven’t even thought about the boy in five years. Is he still close with Seokmin? Did he ever succeed in his wish to start his own dance studio? Did he dye his hair platinum blonde like he always bragged he would?

Wherever Soonyoung happens to find himself in such an enormous world, you hope someone as colourful as him is doing well. Off in the distance, there’s a baritone rumbling of thunder and the rain splatters the windows in loud taps. A second later and you hear a distinct shutter.

In the midst of your daze, you see Mingyu lowering his camera with a pert smirk.

“Did you just take a picture of me?”

He casts you an obvious expression, a small glimpse of his tongue curling at his lip. “Yeah. You had a really pensive look going. Wanna see it?”

You shrink into yourself demurely, accepting Mingyu’s camera as he passes it over the table. Your first instinct is to wince and bite the iron in your mouth because your hair is a mess of humidity, there’s clearly an oiled sheen off your forehead from forgetting to wash your face, and the delicate crescent beneath each eye has yet to lose its puffiness due to your earlier tears.

Shaking your head, you return the camera.

“I look like I just cried. And potentially got mauled.”

His fangs dig into his bottom lip, and his laughter is raspy. “You did cry. So you’re not wrong.” He agrees, leaning back against the booth.

You pull up the hood on your jacket and quickly flesh out the drawstrings, feeling the fabric tighten around your face. Merely from his smirk, you can tell he’s still examining your picture, and a part of you wants to get swept away down the street like the slick rainfall.

“Wait, you’re actually keeping it? What good’s it for?”

The boy drags a hand through his black locks and puffs out his chest. “It’s just nice,” he smiles, to which your heart skips a beat, “you’re very pretty.”

I’m very what?

Now you’re beginning to feel as though you’ve just been scalded. Out of nowhere, Seokmin is sliding back into the booth with a half-empty glass of water and some lifesavers he probably scooped from the candy bowl when no one was looking. Inside, your chest flutters like a gust of petals on a windy day. Mingyu begins zipping his camera into his backpack, though his phone is suddenly vibrating against the table and somehow you already know who’s texting him.

He flips the device over. The earth of his eyes instantly cracks.

“Fuck,” Mingyu grumbles, tugging on his bag, “I need to call Suri. Be right back.”

After squirming out from the booth, Mingyu steps outside beneath the small overhang. When you specifically angle your head, you can see him through the window. He’s making exasperated gestures with his hand and mussing up his hair in an anxious tick. You have not a clue as to what they’re discussing, but the brute tension assures that you want no part in it anyways.

You face Seokmin with a sigh. “How’s your tongue?”

“In pain,” he glowers, tapping his fingers against his ceramic mug, “I think I lost a couple taste buds.”

A waitress stops at the table to begin gathering the dishes. Once you help Seokmin stack the plates, he hands them to her while she collects the cups in her other arm. She notifies the bill will be coming shortly. You sneak another glance out the window. Mingyu’s mouth is hard-sewn into a thin line and you can tell he’s attempting to listen and not interrupt.

The rain seems to be easing as you huff, “I hope everything is okay.”

“It’s hard to tell with those two.” Seokmin remarks, tearing open a grape-flavoured lifesaver.

His response prompts you to wonder how much Seokmin knows.

Mingyu’s car is parked across the street, right before the long, wooden docks that stretch from the pier, side by side like a series of floating sticks. Since Seokmin had downed his apple juice, the scalding espresso, and more water in compensation for the coffee, he’d hurried into the washroom after Mingyu came back inside and pitched a generous offer to pay for breakfast. You lean against the side of the car with your arms folded. Rather than unforgiving bullets, the rain has faded to a pleasant spray which brushes the harbour with moisture and a pale shimmer. The faraway shorelines are still shrouded by fog, but over the rolling hills you’re able to see a distant, glowing light in between the clouds.

Once the boy had finished packing his camera equipment into the backseat, Mingyu accompanies your leisurely stance, his messy locks fanned back from his forehead with the help of the precipitation. Digging your sneaker into the wet grit, you resist asking him about his odd phone call.

“Well,” Mingyu mumbles, stuffing his hands in his jacket, “did you have fun?”

Your corner lip twitches to form a smile.

“As much fun as I could have on a day this depressing.” Though the comment is satirical, you glance at him appreciatively.

“So… Are going to tell me now who broke the vase? Or later?”

“Gosh,” you roll your eyes, “can’t you just let it go?”

The boy wipes some dew from his cheek, then raises his brow at you. His honey skin glistens as though it’s dutifully polished glass.

“You’re a very secretive girl,” Mingyu laughs, “I’ve been talking to you for weeks now, and I feel like I haven’t made much of a dent.”

“What do you want me to do?” You look to him with a facetious expression. “Spill my heart out?”

“That depends on whether or not you have something to tell me.”

Worrying that he’s captured you in a metaphorical scope, you break eye contact, instead watching a small fishing boat that putters back to one of the docks.

You fold your arms tighter. “I feel like you’ve got way too many people who’ve spilled their heart to you.”

“What’s that mean?” He questions, but his ever-present smirk betrays him.

“You know what I mean.”

Tucking some of the loose, black hairs behind his ear, he grins. “One moment, you’re sweet. The next, you’re ready to take down an entire village.”

This is the hardest you’ve ever bitten back a comment. In fact, you can almost taste the copper-like tang of blood on your lip as you sink in your teeth. Of all people to be pointing out your inconsistent behaviour, you figured Mingyu should be looking himself in the mirror. Besides, you were only inconsistent when it came to him. If you let your guard down every single time, then undoubtedly, he would have penetrated you like a needle straight through its pin cushion. He would have already known your embarrassing crush, how your knees turn to gelatine just thinking about him, how tiresome it is for you to meet his chocolate eyes and not crush your mouth to his in the messiest kiss. Sometimes, when it comes to you, Mingyu acts like you don’t even exist.

You want to think it’s for likewise reasons, but in doing so, you merely torture yourself.

Curling your fingernails into the mesh of your coat, you release a long-winded sigh. But then Mingyu is sighing too, as he usually does to press your buttons.

Except this time you elbow him. He hesitates for a moment, and you squeak when he gently shoves you back. Your eyes widen at him as though to wordlessly convey, do you really wanna start this right now? There’s a delinquent smile upon your face as you lean into Mingyu’s side with all your weight, pushing him until he falters in a slight stumble. It’s not much considering he’s as solid as a rock, but you feel a piteous amount of victory. However, you don’t foolishly wait to be reciprocated. You try running to the opposite side of the car, but Mingyu doesn’t let you escape. Instead, he latches onto your wrist, and with a powerful tug he has you spun right into his chest.

“H-Hey!” You giggle in short breaths as the boy curls his arms firm around your waist, lifting the tips of your shoes from the earth. “P-Put me down, Mingyu! I’ll curse you out!”

You cling harshly to his shoulders, until Mingyu is pressing your backside against the metallic car. The blood pumps under your skin as though it aches to pour free. His hands squeeze your hips, and never have you been this close, close enough that you can count the individual bulbs of dew on his cheeks and smell the sweet coconut from his neck. He’s so close that you can’t think or speak, or even breathe. He presses you harder into the car, and you gulp the fire-radiant pulse in your throat. Your hands are trembling as they slide over his damp jacket, down the muscular contour of his chest.

“Curse me out.” Mingyu speaks with velvet, his hands curving possessively upon your hips. “Trust me,” he purrs, moving closer to your ear, “I want you to.”

But you can’t say anything because your voice will stammer.

It will babble and shake and Mingyu will know that he affects you in ways he shouldn’t. You aren’t sure if Seokmin’s timing is a blessing or a curse. As soon as he emerges from the diner, Mingyu pulls away as though he weren’t just holding you brazenly against the side of his car. You sit beside the boy’s camera equipment in the backseat during the drive to the beach house, your legs crossed tight.

The second you burst into your bedroom you’re flinging yourself into the shower. A hot shower. One that fogs up the whole washroom.

CHAPTER 17: REALITY CHECK / NSFW WARNING

Jane hasn’t come to bed yet despite the fact it’s nearing midnight.

Seungkwan convinced her to act as his support system once Tommy pushed play on his favourite horror film – it’s one of the Insidious chapters, and even from upstairs you can hear the boy’s jarring screams. Knowing Jane is going to be anchored without remorse to Seungkwan’s side, you open your nightstand to retrieve your journal. Every word has been penned by your own hand, yet, as you cascade through the thin pages and gauge the name Mingyu scrawled over and over, you’re rather shocked.

He’s like a sticky burr that gets caught in your hair, then on the back of your shirt, along the seam of your pant leg. Whenever you think it’s been removed, it somehow manages to appear again. You feel exhausted and incapable of writing even a sentence, but you grip your pen anyways and try harder than you ever have before to not think about Mingyu.

About the honey boy. About that brown-eyed, noodle-armed, toothy-grinning boy you first saw in the eleventh grade.

About the boy who’d matured, obtained all his muscle and trim, learned how to cook and capture an entire feeling through the lens of a compact camera. Only that morning were you at his side, and now you miss him intensely. Something digs in and pinches at the most sensitive region your heart has ever borne. The thing is, you don’t just want Mingyu in the morning, or in the nighttime, or under the thick clouds of a stifling afternoon.

You want Mingyu always. Even if it’s selfish.

What would have happened if I kissed him?

The pen drags away from the paper when you note a cool breeze. Jane must’ve been outside on the balcony earlier and forgot to tug the door completely shut. You’d become so acquainted with the push and pull of the waves that you didn’t hear the water until you decided to. However, once you slide the curtain rungs toward the corner, revealing the open door, you hear something else. It’s a voice, soft, a bit muffled so that you were unable to decipher the words.

Stepping onto the balcony, the night breeze sweeps against your skin in a ragged, almost foreboding caress. It’s a shiver and a clenched jaw, your arms hugging tight to your frame. The soft voice echoes louder, followed by a grunt, notably deep. When you look over the edge at the deck below, it feels like the moon has illuminated you in a blinding stage light, as though you’re an actress who has emerged into her pivotal scene and the audience is looking with a sharp taste of dramatic irony.

In the hot tub, Suri is seated in Mingyu’s lap, one hand sliding down the boy’s cheek, his tongue filling her mouth as they exchange their venereal kisses.

You’re frozen, and you can’t look away. Mingyu pulls at the string on her black bikini top and flings the article across the deck. Her laughter is devious and silky. He bites along her neck, scraping the razor edge to his teeth, and you hear her whine his name as he starts guiding the smooth gyration of her hips. You feel breathless as Mingyu catches her mouth in another kiss. Suri takes control in her grinding, and Mingyu is pleased, fervent and giddy.

He groans against the girl’s ear, “keep going, baby. Just like that.”

And then you slam hard. Gravity seems to have finally attained its vendetta. You’ve been tipped over that high, and now there is only vacant space for you to plunge through. Upon shutting the door, you feel stuck in a relapse.

Rather than looking to your journal with a sense of escape, there is nothing but heartache. Because almost every page is owned by him. This is why you always fought so hard to crush that fluttering sensation, why you always smothered the delusions that maybe, just maybe, Mingyu could glance at you and understand something beyond your friendship. Maybe, you’re just not in the stars.

And you never will be.

CHAPTER 18: THE FOUL JEWEL

Standing before the body-length mirror in your bedroom, you nitpick at the discontent reflection which faces you. It’s a simple dress with a floral print, matching the warm tones of summer. This isn’t your first time wearing it. You had always loved how the dress bounced at your thighs and exposed the tender stretches of each shoulder, how the fabric twirled with your hips when you danced, drawing the whole room’s attention like a passionate flame. But now, as you tug at the hem and adjust the low-rounded chest, the dress doesn’t invigorate you to the same degree.

However, there’s nothing else you packed which would suit tonight’s party. Jane comes into the room and meets your gaze in the mirror. Her expression fawns with the utmost sweetness.

“That dress,” she gushes, skipping over to stand beside you, “I haven’t seen it in forever, but it’s even prettier than I remember!”

You thank her, and return the compliment to Jane’s appearance. She flourishes in a form-fitting, short dress, a sultry shade of red, accented with a lacy shawl that droops around her back.

“How do you feel?” Jane asks, sensing your disproportionate quietness.

Turning to your reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing yourself one last time, you sigh. “I don’t know. I mean, I think tonight will be fun and everything, but I can’t tell if I’m missing something.”

“Hm,” Jane slides a finger under her chin, eyes narrowing, “I think you need a nice necklace. Did you happen to bring any jewelry?”

“None.” You respond. “I was lazy and didn’t want to sort everything into baggies.”

“That’s the same reason I didn’t pack any either.” Jane laughs. But then her expression lights up and she’s already guiding you toward the door.

“Go ask Suri, I know she has tons!”

You’re stumbling into the corridor with hard reluctance.

Since you witnessed the hot tub make-out between Suri and Mingyu, you’d been avoiding the couple more than usual. The next morning you had skipped breakfast, even when Mingyu caught your eye over his bowl of Fruit Loops. In fact, that entire day was an agonizing chicken run of ducking into bedrooms and tiptoeing like a thief down corridors and grabbing a fistful of snacks before scurrying back upstairs.

Not allowing the obvious pattern to continue, Mingyu ambushed you after an evening swim. You refused eye contact. One glance and you’d be returned to the balcony, remembering the glowing tone of his skin, the depth to his groans, how commanding he was. Inevitably, you’d have to think about Suri too, that Mingyu couldn’t be further away from ever wanting you more than a brief summertime conversation. So you looked at his collarbone instead. It didn’t help that a large area of his upper half had been spotted by Suri’s hickies.

“I’m not an idiot,” he’d said, “I know you’re avoiding me. What did I do?”

“You did nothing. And I’m not avoiding you, Mingyu.”

“C’mon, just tell me. Please? I miss eating breakfast with you.”

“So I didn’t sit next to you once. You’re fine.”

He was acting like an injured puppy. Nonetheless, you had missed him too.

Mingyu and Suri share a bedroom, though he’s downstairs while Suri prepares her makeup and clothing for the party. When she opens the door, there’s a shower towel wrapped around her head and a white bathrobe tied to her thin body. You feel guilty, almost afraid, about interrupting her. The way her faded eyebrows raise and her mouth presses together doesn’t interpret as welcoming.

“Hi Suri, I don’t mean to intrude or anything, I was wondering if you had a necklace that might go with my outfit. Jane and I, we don’t have any jewelry. Too lazy to pack, y’know?”

As she steps aside to let you into their room, there’s a subtle burning in your chest. Your gaze wanders to Mingyu’s half of the bed. His two eyeglasses are folded on the nightstand next to a sketch pad, the black frames and then the thick, circle-lensed pair. His camera equipment sits on an armchair in the corner, for you recognize the backpack he’d been carrying on the rainy morning you went into town together. Their closet is partially left open and you see his hoodie hanging inside. You wonder if Suri knows her own luck.

She struts by her vanity that’s lined with sterling-silver jewelry boxes and to her dresser. After rummaging through countless articles of clothes, she shuts the drawers with a sigh.

“You’re interested in jewelry for your outfit? What will your outfit be exactly?”

“Um,” you gulp, looking down at your dress, “this.”

“Oh!” Suri keens, shaking her head. “Right, right. Sorry, you’re wearing that.” She places a hand onto the vanity and taps her fingers for a moment, the other balled at her hip. “Well, of course I’d really love to lend you something, but these collections here,” she gestures to the shining boxes lined before the mirror, “I’ve garnered all this while I was travelling, you know, all these different places. I just—I want to lend you a piece! I really do!” Suri crosses the room and takes your hands in hers, squeezing them. “But if something happened to any of those pieces, I-I don’t know,” she rests a palm over her heart like she’s a mother in distress, “I’d be so crushed. Like, it makes me anxious to lend them.”

Your mouth opens, but merely a stutter climbs out.

“And like, you’re clearly not a jewelry person so it’s fine, maybe you won’t get where I’m coming from, but I just don’t think it’s possible for me to let any of these pieces from my sight, y’know?”

“No,” you nod at her, pulling back your hand, “I get it. It’s not a big deal.”

She sighs gratefully. “Oh, you’re the best!” Then, she gives a small pat to your cheek. “Can’t wait to see you at the party, it’ll be so fun.”

Somehow, you leave Suri’s bedroom feeling worse than when you arrived.

You can’t tell if you’re appreciative or insulted that she had to let you down so gently. What you do know is that your eyes are stinging, watery, and you’d rather be outside with the breeze against your face than standing pointlessly at Suri’s door. When you come downstairs, you see the snack bowls prepared on the kitchen island and the beer pong table being carried into the recreation room. Mingyu is slicing some fresh lime wedges for the alcohol with Seokmin. The boy meets your eyes for a split-second, but you’re already hurrying down the corridor to the back porch.

The sky is pale orange and warm like a fresh clementine. There are no clouds, but a wind that dances with pleasing rhythm . You listen for the waves that somehow synchronize your breaths, and those tears which could not be either frustration or misunderstandings are nothing more than a shiny watermark to each cheek. The air is cooling down and you feel like you’re standing in your own shoes again. And just as you expected, the sliding glass door rolls open.

“Attempting to avoid everyone as usual.” His voice sounds from over your shoulder. “So, thinking about another evening swim?”

You turn around. “Depends on if you’re going to ambush me.”

Mingyu stuffs his hands in his pockets, and his gaze constricts, though you can’t tell if it’s from sheepishness or gratification. He glows in the light of the descending sun, and his complexion is a beautiful compliment to the pearl blue, cream and gold patterning on his shirt.

“Well, you see,” Mingyu takes a few slow steps in your direction, the breeze fluttering his hair, “the point of an ambush is that you don’t know about it.” The boy leans in close to your face. “So why would I tell you?”

As you’re calculating how much trouble you’d be in for kissing him, he seems to have spotted the slight glisten to your dried tear tracks. Both his hands are cupping your face and he’s brushing them away with such fragility that you feel like a flower.

“Now, what’re you actually doing out here? Gonna scream at the universe or something?” Mingyu asks, his hands back in his pockets.

You huff at him amusedly. “Scream at the universe? Where’d you get that?”

“Dunno, that’s just the impression I got.” Mingyu rumbles, taking a step beside you to look at the evening lake. “You make me fill in the pieces.”

“I think you like doing that.” Unable to keep your eyes off him, you speak while glancing at the side of his face, how this brilliant aurora seems to have been brushed over him by the sun.

“Y’know,” the boy leans against the wood railing, points a finger at you for a moment, “one of these days, you’re gonna get tired of this closed book act. And I’ll be there, and I’ll see it.” He grins. “And you’ll come running straight to me, tell me everything. Oh Mingyu, I should’ve just told you at least one thing so I didn’t have to keep it inside, slowly self-deprecating while I pretended everything was always fine. Oh, I’m so grateful you’re here!”

You snort, almost double over with laughter. “Is that supposed to be me? It doesn’t sound like it!”

He just raises a brow, then dares to present a bold smirk.

Quickly looking down at your feet, you shrug.

“I don’t... pretend,” you enunciate using quoted fingers, “I don’t think I have to concern everyone all the time, with stuff that is sort of just a me-problem.”

“Oh, I get it,” Mingyu says, raising his hand again, “you don’t want to concern people with your thoughts and feelings. Right, those stupid things. Got it.”

You crinkle your nose at him. “That’s not what I said.”

But Mingyu doesn’t budge. In fact, he looks rather serious for once, maybe even a bit concerned for you. The atmosphere turns deathly quiet and you attempt to redirect the conversation.

“Jane told me I should have a necklace to go with this dress, but I don’t have any jewelry and neither does she.”

Mingyu stares for a moment. Then, he’s reaching behind his neck to undo the clasp of his own necklace, a silver chain with a tiny bead pendant. Never having seen him remove it until now, you’re rather speechless. You sense Mingyu’s presence close behind you, a shiver tracing down your spine when he gently moves the hair from the back of your neck. Once he slips you into his necklace and closes the latch, he guides you to face him again. His fingers slide under the chain as he readjusts the pendant to sit at your collarbone.

You release a shaky exhale while peeking down at the necklace.

The thought of wearing something that belonged to him always seemed like a fruitless daydream, but now your entire chest is soaring.

“If only you had taken a picture of me when I looked this presentable,” you chuckle, “instead of, y’know, when I just woke up and didn’t wash my face and also cried my eyes out.”

Suddenly, Mingyu is stepping backward and frames you in a rectangle made by his fingers. He then makes a clicking sound between his teeth, pretending to take your photo.

“How do I look?” You play along.

He focuses on the imaginary camera, squints for effect, tilts his head even. You laugh at him, and inside you sense warmth. It’s slightly painful to know only he can make you feel such things.

“Very, very beautiful.” Mingyu states firmly, sliding his hands in his pockets.

There’s nothing you can say to him, because your heartbeat has stifled the wind in your throat. But as soon as he returns back inside, your hands immediately cover your face and you nearly scream.

CHAPTER 19: COLD IN THE SUMMERTIME

Mingyu reaches for the glass shaker. Jolting it once, twice, salt tumbles onto the curved top of his wrist, which he then lifts to his mouth and licks up. Straight from the square-based bottle, Mingyu welcomes the tequila, swelling fire in his mouth. His head tosses back, the dark line of his brow pinches together, and the cartilage in his throat demonstrates a sharp, grimacing bob. After a hard swallow the bottle slams back on the kitchen island, the boy’s fingers now digging into a wedged lime rind, forcing the green fruit to flower so that he can worry in his teeth and suckle the bitter juices.

At last, Mingyu wipes his lips, throws the chewed rind to the marble with a splat, and looks at you expectantly.

You’re frozen in place, wide-eyed like a panicked rabbit, knowing that Mingyu has just subliminally nudged you to stop treating this party as though it’s a funereal and get a little loose. It’s true, you haven’t had much luck relaxing. One of your favourite songs is pounding through the surround-sound system at a decibel that could rival their live concert. People are dancing and drinking and watching the night sky morph with illusion as intoxication floods their bodies.

Mingyu slides the tequila bottle over the counter, until it stops in front of you.

“At least one shot. I’m tired of you walking around this house like an uptight little principal.” He knows his influence to a damaging extent, like a magnet fiddling with a compass needle.

“Excuse me?!” Your face drops. “I haven’t been walking around like an uptight little—” your hands start crumpling and you glare at the shining, ice bottle of liquor, “like whatever is was that you said. People don’t enjoy things all the same.”

Mingyu doesn’t bite the limp excuse, rather he huffs, rolling his eyes, and for some reason he takes the top button of his patterned shirt and pops it. He undoes the next button, allowing the material to flap open generously at the plane defining his smooth, amber chest. You refuse to look so willfully that it’s obvious you’re restraining.

“Really?” He leans a casual elbow onto the counter, his head falling sideways, the shirt slanting with his body. “I saw you clean some dust off the cabinet by the Reading Room. That’s enjoyable, huh?”

“I was just—I was trying to—” Unfortunately, your words mush like a soaked tissue.

Pushing off the counter, Mingyu steps in close.

The boy imitates you, “I was just, I was trying to.”

At first you back away from him, turning to his inspection your warm cheek, though Mingyu doesn’t permit you to escape very far and you feel a domineering tug at the chain hanging around your neck. His two fingers are curled with the thin, silver string. Another tug, and Mingyu reclaims the nervous fluttering of your gaze. You can only hope that Suri isn’t camouflaged amongst the bodies in the main living space, that Jane hasn’t already spotted too much from a well-hidden nook, perhaps Deedee as well if she remained by the couch where you’d last seen her. Yet, you’re uncertain if you truthfully care, or if you’re attempting to fool yourself into caring.

The necklace twists again, and you hear the rasp of his soft remark, “I’m joking.” He then loosens his careful grip on the chain, your eyes drawn to his mouth when he says, “I’m not forcing, but something’s clearly been bothering you, and I wish you’d forget it and have some fun.”

You don’t deny him. He already witnessed the pearlescent stain to each cheek when he caught you on the back porch. Through the atmosphere, you sense an ache, and when you connect with Mingyu’s stare, a glistering one at that, you wonder if at last it’s him that’s aching for you.

“Okay,” you sigh, pinching at the splashes of scarlet colour that stain your dress, “pass the salt.”

He smirks in triumph.

Once Mingyu releases the necklace and hands over the glass salt shaker, the pendant returns to its mold in between your collarbone. You upend the container with a few small thuds, watching the grains coat the top of your wrist. The boy’s eyes are concentrated, unwavering, when you slowly lap your tongue against the salt so that the saliva slicks the inside of your mouth. In a quick twirl, the bottlecap spins from the tequila, and the grooved rim sits snug against your bottom lip as the liquid gushes in. It’s much too astringent. A lime wedge is used to mitigate the intense, burning flavour, for you chomp into the pulpy skin until its drained to the rind.

The shrivelled wedge is tossed next to Mingyu’s on the counter. You wipe your sparkling chin and take a breath. Already, you sense the music vibrate your bones against each other.

“Impressive,” he eyes your lips, swollen from suckling the lime, “was that gulp bigger than mine?”

“We are not making this a competition, Mingyu. I like being able to walk straight.”

The citrus flavour has rendered the inside of your mouth sensitive and welting. Your tongue can’t help but swirl, rubbing against one raw, tingling cheek then poking deep against the cushy other. The boy is staring at you rather blatantly, so you wipe your lips again, assuming there might’ve been some untouched pulp or a gleam from the alcohol.

But then he’s staring at something else.

“Looks like your friend’s getting comfy with Tommy.”

“Who?”

You follow Mingyu’s eyeline.

Deedee, who had at one point been sitting, squished against the arm of the couch clutching to a grape wine bottle while Tommy prattled her ear off, is now flush to the wall. Her fingers disappear through the soot curls of Tommy’s hair, tugging and dishevelling as he colours her jaw with kisses that drift and mark. A bruise the same shade as the wine bottle flashes against her neck, a notable contrast to her moonbeam pale skin. You pull a tart, stunned face. It’s not that you’re surprised the reserved Deedee has a promiscuous side, that Tommy could crack her shell after weeks of pining, more so you seem to be the only one who can’t ever get what they want.

And you wonder why. Are you not straightforward enough? Are you a pushover? Is there a lock inside you that automatically snaps shut when it comes to exerting yourself?

“I guess they have a thing.” You shrug, acting unbothered, though your reach for the tequila and another stinging swig draws Mingyu to even more suspect. He takes the square-based bottle from your hand, sips and braces against the clear fire.

You watch as Tommy loops his arms around Deedee’s waist, hoists the tiny girl up like she’s a feather, and begins carrying her down the corridor. If Mingyu abandons you tonight, then Deedee’s company is off the list. Considering Jane’s fling with the unknown Jeonghan, she most likely won’t be in the arms of another unless she wants to break that mystery guy’s little heart. Maybe you could find her.

“Considering what just happened, could be a bit more than a thing,” Mingyu reasons upon their intimacy now whisked away, “she doesn’t really give off the impression of liking anyone though.”

“Deedee?” You question.

“Mm,” he spins the bottlecap to the liquor, “she’s very to herself. Avoids everyone a lot. Kinda like you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Like, every time I see her, and she sees me, she gets up and walks off.”

“Just you?”

Mingyu stops flicking the bottlecap and raises a brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, are you by yourself?” Nervously tapping your foot against the floor, you laugh while teasing him, “I know you like to think it, but I’m sure not everyone adores you.”

He doesn’t react much apart from a huff, but you know his mind is turning, and he smacks your inkling right on its head when he says, “I’m not usually alone. Suri’s pretty much always with me.”

And Suri is everywhere, you think. Instinctually, you look over your shoulder, but you see only Chan sitting on the counter with his hand plunged into a bag of chips while Seungkwan animatedly chats to someone over the phone. However, you don’t suggest anything to Mingyu.

“Hm, guess it’s hard to say.” You shrug.

Mingyu squints at you, like he’s reading microscopic font, and says, “do you know something?”

“Nope,” you pop the syllable, “nothing. Why?”

The bottle returns to his lips. Another sip down, a lesser reaction, his palate adjusting to the bitter formula. “Never mind, doesn’t matter.”

“Wait, do you get to play that way? I thought only I could do that.”

“Hm?”

“Avoid all questions and pretend nothing’s wrong,” you say, “I thought that was my role.”

Mingyu tosses a half-assed smile. You had never pinned him as the evasive one, yet you catch something in those eyes, like they’re oiled and wanting to slip from your inspection.

“Anyways,” your hand flicks dismissively and you return to adjusting the necklace, “thanks. I really did need a drink.”

Brushing through his hair, Mingyu chuffs, “I think that was obvious.”

Proceeding to fill a small cup abandoned on the counter with more tequila, you use it to hide your smile, because you could have spent the entire night standing in the kitchen with him, observing the party and emptying the icy, square bottle and feeling his gaze trod each patch of your skin.

Tilting some of the alcohol into your mouth, you ask from behind the cup, “what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get back home?”

Mingyu slides his hands in his pockets, “I don’t know. Probably fuck all.”

You swirl around the tequila. “I’m using all my energy to unpack. I’ll probably check my bonsai tree, because I doubt my friend is watering it enough, and then I’ll take a nap. Or maybe i’ll just nap first.”

The song switches. It’s rather upbeat compared to the last track, for its rhythm is strobing and jerks at your foot to start tapping and your fingers to begin drumming against the cup. It summons a mass into the main living space. You spot Jane dancing with Chey, a girl with ash lavender hair and arms wrapped in tattoos. She’s a co-worker who arrived to the beach house just for the party.

“You really can’t think of anything?” You ask him again.

“Nothing cuter than you and your little bonsai tree.” He shrugs. “What’s it like taking care of one of those things anyway?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stutter, distracted by his comment, “I just water it every day, especially if it’s really sunny out. It’s not hard. You could do it.”

“No, it would definitely die if I were looking after it. My mom tried growing this sunflower patch when I was a kid. When she came back from vacation - all dead. Just a sad, dead, grey patch of sunflowers.”

“Hmm,” you begin sticking out one finger at a time, “you’re a great cook, you have an artistic eye, you’ve definitely struck the visual gene pool lottery, you could have scored a professional baseball scholarship, and you’re dating a model. Guess lacking a green thumb isn’t too much of a waste.”

Mingyu only grins, then drags over an empty glass and pours himself a thin layer of tequila. “Thanks for the pep talk.” He winks.

You jerk the cup toward your mouth, hoping to muffle a dreamy sigh.

The boy bumps you elbow. “Have you drank any water tonight? Make sure you do.” Mingyu advises softly. “You dehydrate easy. And I might not be around later to get you any crushed ice.”

Flickering memories move you backward to a longwinded night on the porch with Jane, Mingyu, and Seokmin. One too many cans of alcohol and not enough water, a screaming hangover spent on the couch, too weak to move to the washroom, Mingyu kindly nourishing you with a cup of crushed ice and pressing a dampened cloth against your forehead when everything felt too hot.

You look at him and sigh again. Of course, you know what’s coming.

Mingyu returns your gaze and huffs out his chest.

“Oh, finally! There you are!”

It’s peculiar, and you don’t know how she does it.

One moment, the air is vacant, and then the particles seem to rearrange, revealing Suri who burns into existence like a blinding star. Mingyu flinches, surprised at the arms which curl around his neck from behind, feeling a kiss bury against his nape. She smiles from ear to ear, slips herself right at his side, and catches his mouth to imprint another kiss. Her presence crowds the kitchen and unconsciously you begin to distance yourself from the couple, as though you’ve been hit by a cold, dismal storm. You aren’t certain, but Mingyu appears tense. He doesn’t melt like usual when she touches him.

“I thought you might come to the patio,” Suri hums, “I was wondering what kept you.”

His bottom lip pushes out. “Did I mention coming to the patio?”

She chuckles, and it sounds oddly brittle, “that’s where I said I’d be, babe.” Suri pats his chest.

The atmosphere yields something smouldering and itchy.

You announce your retreat. “I’m gonna go sit on the couch.” Then, a small wave. “See you guys around.”

Not once you do allow a second glance at Mingyu’s eyes. You swore they had glistened, a pitiful glisten, one that might have entreated you to stay. But you don’t linger, because if you’re wrong and his eyes might’ve just been duller than wood, it would be another slit to the heart.

Instead, you shrink into yourself on the couch, like a tulip bud engulfed by the shade. Everything that surrounds you bustles. Chey and Jane clasp their hands together, jumping in a circle, Seungkwan belts with passion to the lyrics while Chan giggles uncontrollably behind his phone. The new faces which had been invited for the party are a mixture of glowing cheeks, wildly dilated eyes, and fast-paced motion. It’s a blur beyond your comprehension. Even the red cup in your hand is starting to look unfocused, fuzzy. The tequila mottles most things, exempt from Suri pushing Mingyu to sit on an island stool, so she can claim her favourite seat on his lap.

Her tongue must be an angel’s sweet gold, because once she turns her head to kiss him, Mingyu grins and reciprocates the pressure. Despite appearing so impervious earlier, he licks into her mouth with thirst. You shouldn’t continue to watch. You don’t want to watch. You need a distraction.

And then Seokmin attempts to flit by.

“Hey!” You shout.

He stops, angles a finger at himself in question, and approaches you with an unexpected sobriety. You know he hasn’t drunk much, as his skin is absent of its pink flush.

“What’s up?”

Your mouth hangs open and you begin to drawl, for your plan wasn’t well concocted. “Erm, I just noticed that—that you were walking by, so… I wanted to say hello.”

Seokmin glances at the alcohol in your hand before his gaze reverts back to your face. “What is that? Vodka?”

“Tequila,” you smile at him, “I’m not drunk, if you’re thinking that.”

He blinks. “I wasn’t.” And then he notices something, so he leans in, staring at the glint off the necklace. “Is that… Wait, is that Mingyu’s?”

An ocean roars inside you. It’s panic and toxins between the salt of the waves, a lurch to the first thought which materializes like a vapour: “do you want to dance?”

And poor Seokmin whose heart is more benevolence than artery and blood doesn’t get to weigh the options, because the obliging crinkles beside his eyes always speak before his tongue.

“Okay,” he laughs, reaching out to take your hand and pull you from the couch, your solo cup deserted on the coffee table, “let’s dance.”

You manage to find a pocket of space in the main living area, which grants just enough breadth for you to move without banging into any bodies. However, the rhythm doesn’t find you straight away, rather in the back of your head there is a deep pit, and it’s filled by thoughts of Suri coiling her fingers through Mingyu’s hair while he clutches her waist and kisses her hard. Seokmin’s hands press against your lower back, your palms to his shoulders, and together you swing awkwardly to the energetic beat. There’s a shift in your position. Now, you have a direct beeline to Mingyu and Suri at the island. She pecks his jaw twice, then sits back in his lap with a smile.

“Hey,” Seokmin twirls your bodies again, and the couple escapes your sight, “is everything okay?” You hadn’t recognized it before, but his hands are fidgeting nervously at the back of your dress and you must have been wearing a moonfaced expression.

In the moment, you nearly sigh, but then it’s bitten back.

“Sorry, was I spacing out? I think my head is just lost.” You make sure to warmly flit the edges of your lips, hoping to look engaged.

“You know, this is a fast song,” Seokmin says, eyeing between you and the fumbling, wriggling bodies in the surrounding, “and we’re dancing like mud.”

“What does that mean?” You ask, half in laughter, half in questioning.

“Slow, sludgy, like we’re stuck in the earth ‘cause we’re hardly moving.”

“I’m not really that good at dancing,” you admit, sliding your hands a little further over Seokmin’s shoulders.

The boy grins, and it reaches his eyes effortlessly. “Well, you’re in luck. I happened to take a few couple’s dance lessons in high school,” he boasts as though it’s something commendable, “so allow me to lead and let your body loose.”

Before you relax your muscles, you chuckle, “what sixteen-year-old takes a couple’s dance lesson?” which is curtly dismissed when Seokmin mutters, “not important” as he tucks one firm arm around your waist while his other hand interlaces with your fingers. You’re trying not to laugh at the thought of this scrawny, adolescent boy having to parade an instruction dummy around a classroom packed with middle-aged adults, outwardly embarrassed but inwardly enjoying it (because it’s Seokmin after all), until he suddenly begins to guide you in a series of merry step-by-step circles.

You gasp unexpectedly and grab the back of Seokmin’s shirt in order to better stabilize your motion. Your interlaced hands rise high up, then groove back down, high up, then groove back down, while your feet fumble slightly, attempting to keep pace with Seokmin’s expressive weaving and twirling. Eventually, the rhythm sticks, and you feel an immeasurable sort of energy as you dance together in the midst of the living space, catching glimpses at Chey’s lavender hair and Seungkwan’s heartfelt singing and some stranger whose flicking their head back and forth. The tequila takes light in your system like a match striking its chemical strip. You yelp excitedly when Seokmin flings your body out, then curls you right into his chest with his arm bracketing you snuggly at the waist, to which you smile at him so pertly.

“I know I was laughing before,” you tell him, somewhat breathless, your mind racing, “but you’re actually really good at this. I-I feel like—I feel like I’m alive, or that I can do anything. I can feel my blood in my veins. Is that weird? Is that weird?”

“Did you just say ‘is that weird’ twice?”

“Did I? I don’t know.” You’re a rattling cauldron bubbling over with laughter, leaning into Seokmin’s chest like there’s suddenly no floor for your feet.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” the boy shouts over the music, his eyes bright, “but I think you’re a little tipsy. Let’s enter the cool down.”

You nod your head, “yes, the cool down, let’s enter the cool down.”

The next song isn’t so riveting. It still pops and heightens into these powerful synths, though you and Seokmin slow your rhythm. However, a second later and your pulse seems to mimic electricity. Mingyu is staring right at you. For how long, you have no idea, but he’s staring with a sort of emotional blankness that has your spine prickling and toes curling. He seems in a daze, and doesn’t immediately note that you’re staring back, not until Seokmin places both his hands to your hips and angles your bodies again, moving Mingyu from your vision. But you still attempt to look, watch intently as the boy whispers something into Suri’s ear before delicately removing her from his lap. He walks into the wide, marble-tiled corridor that leads to the front entrance of the beach house and slips out the stained-glass doors.

“Whew,” you whistle, smiling at Seokmin, “this was fun, thank you.”

His cheeks glow beneath the light, and he simply nods his head. “How are you finding the cool down? It’s the most important part.”

“It’s great,” you say, though start to chew on your bottom lip, “and… There’s something I have to do, right now. I’m gonna step outside for a few minutes.”

Seokmin’s grip falls from your hips. He then bows to you satirically, though still polite in his nature, “thank you for this dance.”

You bow to him as well. “Of course.”

And then you’re treading carefully in between bodies, reaching the marble-tiled corridor which leads outside, outside to where Mingyu is. Somehow, that fire you experienced earlier hasn’t dimmed, and without its flame, there is no way you would be marching straight into the shrapnel like this. But you don’t even think to consider the aftermath, for if you don’t say anything now, it’ll sting forever.

Compared to the stifling body heat inside, the night is pleasantly cool and clear. The scent of lemongrass that seems to come alive beneath the sunlight is replaced by the undergrowth from the forest. You hear crickets and water and lazy buzzing. Mingyu is at the top of the stone steps, leaning against a thick, white pillar that stretches to the roof’s arch. He’s looking down at his phone which is lurid in the dark purple night, tapping something with his thumb, and you know the longer you stand in silence the more your nerves will consume you. Inhaling a breath to announce your presence, you take a few steps.

“It’s getting pretty warm in there.” You comment, kicking a pebble from the stairs and watching it disappear into the grass.

Mingyu looks to you, smiles very dully, and continues tapping on his phone. “Yeah, stuffy,” was all he said, his intonation oddly grey.

“It’s super stuffy. And hot. You’re right, I should’ve had some water.” It’s not obvious to him, but your prevaricating is making you sick.

You have to just say it.

But then Mingyu is at last sliding his phone in his pocket, and he glances at you with eyes drier than the dead sea. “Did you have fun with Seokmin?” He asks, and you know Mingyu had been watching you dance with his best friend.

But you don’t want to talk about Seokmin right now. Your heartbeat is like open shutters on a windy day, slamming back against the house, loud and brittle and acting like they might break.

Taking another step toward the honey boy, you tell him, “do you remember when we were sitting on the floor together, and I had that secret I wouldn’t tell you?”

Mingyu tilts his head to the side, recalls, and nods his head. The light from inside sparkles through the stained glass and creates a complex piebald of violet, crimson and gold against the side of the boy’s body. Your voice hitches in your throat. Your fingers twine together nervously. Your knees are shaking.

“Well, that big secret I couldn’t say… I-It’s that I have a crush on you. A big crush, and I’ve had it ever since the eleventh grade.” You slip in a rapid breath, continue speaking, ignore the fact you might faint. “Then I didn’t see you for such a long time, and I thought that my feelings went away. But since we started hanging out, I realized that they didn’t go away at all. I still have a crush. And the reason I’m saying crush even though it’s childish is because I don’t know how else to say it. And I know you have a girlfriend and that I probably just made everything weird and I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way. But I can’t not say anything.”

In two breaths, everything that you’ve been bottling inside flows free like a spilt can of paint. How liberating it feels to loosen a string so close to your heart, yet it’s frightening too, for no matter what you wish, there is nothing that can retract those words back into your mouth, no amount of scooping and scraping that will collect all the paint back into its can. The stars wink down at you from the night sky, and the crickets turn silent, as though nature is quieting itself to hear Mingyu’s response. You stare at him with a twinkling eye, watching how he bites his lip hard, then licks over the bruise using his tongue, his hands in his pockets.

“…O-Okay.” He stutters, nods his head. Nothing else follows.

“Okay,” you repeat, stapling on the brightest, most broken smile that has ever crossed your mouth, “I guess I’m gonna head back inside now. Later.”

But you don’t cry. Not a tear. Not a sniffle.

Not even an unsteady, shaky breath that one exhales through parted lips when they’re attempting to suppress a sob-story. Your eyes merely shine, like coins rubbed brand new by vinegar, and you twist through the bodies in the main living space while they dance so vivaciously. For some reason you return to the Reading Room. It’s much quieter in that neck of the house, and the music is greatly muffled through the door which you shut with a slow hand. There’s a king-sized chair with soft leather that you sink into, in between two shelves of dust-ridden books that look like they might contain witchcraft or imprecations that leap out the second you open the cover. And for the rest of the party, you sit in the cold chair, in the darkness, staring emptily at the light beneath the door.

“Okay.”

It feels like that dot in your senior yearbook. It hurts more than that dot in your senior yearbook, because this time you’re not a stranger.

Mingyu practically held a clove of your heart and it still ended all the same.

That night, your journal experiences a tearful entry.

I told Mingyu how I felt.

I guess he just doesn’t see me like that. Which is fine. You can’t force someone to see you more intimately or more platonically or more romantically, whatever it is. I feel like I should be happy I was open for once. But honestly, I feel the worse I’ve ever felt.

CHAPTER 20: GOLDEN HOUR

Lying awake in bed, you can’t fall asleep. Jane is in the washroom cleaning her face, the garnet dress and shawl pooled in a clump on the mat. You roll onto your side and blink at the nightstand, where your journal sits, the most recent page blotched with tear stains. Earlier in the night, you managed not to cry, but the moment you were alone in the bedroom with those papers baring their open space, a few beads poured over your cheeks. You made a promise to yourself: this is the only time I cry about this. The only time I cry about a boy.

Jane assumes you’ve already fallen asleep.

She shuffles quietly into bed, pulls the string on her lamp, and the room is swallowed by indigo. Strangely, you begin to think about your hike to the third summit. It had been last week, accomplished by you and Mingyu alone. Right before dawn, you two embarked on the pathway woven deep into the forest. It was best to hike early because the air was far less humid, more breathable, though you had to be very cautious of slipping on the dew-slicked plants. Mingyu insisted on lugging his camera equipment with him, including the oblong case for his tripod. He wanted a picture of the rising sun.

Upon reaching the third summit, there was a perfect clearing. It rose above the trees and swirled with mist, it smelled so clean yet so earthy, and the breeze swept down as a gust from the white firmament which had suddenly felt close enough to touch. While Mingyu set his camera on the tripod, you approached the lip of the cliff and gazed over the green. Against the horizon of Silver Lake, the sun broke through the watery line in a blistering, potent red. Its colour stained everything it could reach, and the sky slowly began to morph from its pinkish gleam into gold, brilliant gold, a shade so warm it cleared the mist. It melted over you, smooth and alive.

“Hey,” Mingyu called, jerking his thumb, “move your ass.”

You stood behind him as he took pictures. In that moment, with the sun casting its molten rays, he truly was a boy made of honey.

Once Mingyu had packed up his equipment, you asked, “satisfied?” with a big, comfy smile on your face.

He promptly flashed a smaller camera from thin air, pale blue, blocky-looking, with a very round lens, and it was a kind you had only seen in magazines. Placing the camera up close to his eye, Mingyu snapped a photo of you, wearing that smile and the golden light in your eyes.

“Now I am.” Mingyu had said. “Let’s head back before it gets too hot.”

But then you tossed onto your side, trying to shake the memory away.

CHAPTER 21: THE IMPOSSIBLE BREAKFAST

Eating breakfast at the island is quieter than usual, and you suppose it’s the early morning grogginess and exhaustion from last night’s party. Chan is practically hanging over his bowl of steaming, sludgy oatmeal, his cheek slipping off his fist for the third time. Jane blinks sleepily at the biscuit she smears with cold cream cheese, her hair still matted and flattened to the side of her head. You sit across from them, staring into your cereal, swirling around the remaining pink and green Fruit Loops with your spoon. Jane’s biscuit crackles when she bites into it. You scoop out a pink Fruit Loop and let the flavoured milk flow past your lips.

“You disappeared for a bit the other night,” Jane mumbles, swallowing the biscuit coarsely, “I couldn’t find you.”

“I was there,” you respond, completely lacklustre, “I was just… floating around, doing what I do, you know, all that.” The lights above your head reflect in the milk, small orbs, glowing, which you distort with a drag of your spoon.

“Oh, well, I guess I might’ve missed you.” Jane says.

“I saw you,” Chan croaks, looking up from his oatmeal, “talking to Mingyu by the counter, doing tequila shots.”

“Fun.” Jane smiles, covering the inside of her warm biscuit with more cream cheese. “I didn’t drink a whole lot. Just a few beers. But I think I must’ve thrown my shoulder out or something dancing, because it really hurts today.”

Chan finishes plucking an empty spoon from his mouth, his eyebrows raised mischievously, “or you’re just an old ha—”

“Shut it.” Jane deadpans, thumping him in the back of the head. “I’m only a year older than you. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Usually, you laugh at their trivial antics. Jane has an older sister type relationship with Chan, and especially Seungkwan, and they tend to bicker innocently like siblings. But today is just not a day where you feel cordial. You don’t want to think about what happened between you and Mingyu outside or else you’ll fall into this sticky cobweb of self-loathing, regret, other destructive sentiments that will positively ruin the rest of your summer days here. Besides, it was foolish, wasn’t it? Revealing a secret like that despite knowing Mingyu has a foundation with Suri. You had said it to get this weight off your chest, and while you want it to be nothing more, deep inside there had been this glimmer of hope that Mingyu would admit to likewise feelings. Having expectations can be crushing. Even when they’re tiny.

You begin to wonder if the universe hates you, for Mingyu comes downstairs and makes his breakfast. While he shakes the Fruit Loops into a bowl and collects the milk carton from the fridge, him and Jane strike up a conversation, one you try not listening to the details because currently, you decide Mingyu doesn’t exist. It’s not for eternity, but until you have the courage to face him again after being hung out to dry. He carries his bowl to the island. The closest stool is the one right beside you, and you don’t suspect he’ll take it if he can sense the tension you’re sensing, because it’s pretty damn palpable. But he chooses that stool anyways, and you lean ever further over your bowl, close enough that your tired face reflects in the milk.

“… And I guess she just thought ‘screw it’ since she had a designated driver and no place to be. Well – not until Saturday. She has to be back to work at the tattoo parlour by then.” Jane finishes her story, setting down the metal cream knife.

“So that’s why I found her passed out in the washroom.” Mingyu chuckles.

“Yeah, I was supposed to keep track of her but then Seungkwan got a piece of gum stuck in his hair and he made me spend an hour detangling it. It was gross. I did catch Chey this morning and she looked like death. I think Tanya picked her up.”

You don’t mean to listen, but you do anyways. From your peripheral vision you can see Mingyu poking into his cereal while Jane talks, how he continuously brushes through the black bangs that flop over his glasses, the manner in which he chews his bottom lip. It’s uneasiness, restlessness. He feels the tension too, but rather than pretending you don’t exist, he’s pretending this awkward air is nothing at all. It’s audacious no doubt, to merely wipe away the events of the night before, like taking a hose and watering away the dust of chalk drawings left on the street.

“So,” Jane scrapes off her knife against the cream cheese container, “how was your night? I saw you and Suri sucking face as usual.”

There’s a freezing drop in the air that only you and Mingyu can detect.

He’s stiffened, uttering out a dull, “it was fine,” like a tired high schooler who’s trying to avoid small talk with their parents.

“That’s it?” Jane tilts her head. “Sounds like you either had the worst time of your life, or someone sucked your soul out with a vacuum.”

The stool releases a cracking sound as you shift in your seat. You hardly maintain the appetite to finish your breakfast, and instead you feel sick. Neither you or Mingyu are going to come clean about last night, which has established an invisible barrier that Jane is slowly beginning to press her hands against.

“Are you looking for a play-by-play of the entire night?” Mingyu questions, sounding sharp and impatient, a harsh contrast to his usual behaviour.

Chan, definitely sensing the unease at the table, sees an opportunity to slip away when Cluett walks by with his skateboard. He leaves his unfinished oatmeal by the sink and rushes outside with the buzzcut boy.

“Oh, so you’re in one of your infamous, cranky moods I guess.” Jane mumbles, squishing her cheek against her fist. “I’m done pestering then, swear.”

Mingyu has spooned up his cereal so hastily that he finishes at the same time as you. Jane scrolls through her phone, abiding by the promise to no longer pester her best friend. Sitting in the centre of the table is a plate with one last blueberry biscuit on it. You reach for it, at the same damn time as Mingyu, and when your hands accidentally brush you’re surprised there’s no visible stab of pure lightning. There’s enough energy in the air to lure Jane’s attention, who stares between you with a quirked, questioning eyebrow.

Mingyu is about to say something, probably a courteous offer for you to take the last biscuit, but you’re already hurrying off the stool.

“It’s yours.” The words are practically thrown out from your mouth.

“Hey! Where are you sprinting off to?” Jane calls as she watches you leave your bowl in the sink.

Down the long corridor next to the staircase, you spot Deedee fitting into her sneakers.

“I’m going to see Deedee!” You shout back, leaving the awkward breakfast behind, wiping the last glisten of milk from your mouth.

“And I’m not sprinting!”

“Hey.” Deedee smiles when you meet her by the door to the back patio.

“Where are you going?” You ask, burying your hands into the pockets of your sweatpants, something you had never done before.

It feels strange, uncharacteristic, so you slide them back out and fold your arms instead. She reaches for her black wallet left on the floor, unzips it, and shoves a ripped piece of paper inside.

“Zaria is sick. So I’m gonna run to that family pharmacy down by Flowerpot Lane and get some Pedialyte. Neosporin for Tommy because he kind of fell down the deck stairs last night and scraped his elbow pretty bad. Some allergy medicine for Chan. There are other things too. I made a list.”

“He fell down the deck? Is he okay?”

“I think so,” Deedee huffs, blowing the hair from her eyes, “I thought we were going to hook up, but he didn’t want to go any further because he said I was too drunk – which makes sense, I had a lot of wine. He led me out back to get some fresh air and then slipped walking down the deck stairs.”

She pauses, stares at the floor for a second, smiling to herself. “It was kinda funny… He’s as klutzy as I remember.”

“Maybe he should cut his hair.” You giggle.

Was there a separate history between Tommy and Deedee you weren’t aware of? However, knowing Deedee tends to recline from being too open about herself, you allow the shiny anecdote to swim away. Wanting to escape the house for half an hour at most, you ask Deedee if she’d be okay with your company, and she nods her head. Digging through the closet beside the door, you throw your old, loose pair of slip-ons behind you while Deedee reveals her car keys from her pocket.

You’ll be happy to see Flowerpot Lane and explore more of the town again.

Suddenly, the backdoor shutters. Something pestilent, like stinging nettles, pricks against the inside of your gut as Suri and Blair come inside, draped in their beach towels and dripping water. Deedee, she turns paler than a pearl, her eyes nearly bulging out from their sockets at the very sight of Suri.

“Oh, hey.” Suri greets you. “Heading out I see?”

Deedee crams the list tighter into the fold of her wallet, zips it shut like it’s scribbled with secrets.

“Well, just make sure you’re not out for too long,” Suri says. “We’re planning on watching a movie tonight. The Chase, or something, I don’t know really. It’s some thriller.” She splays out a hand and starts checking her fingernails.

“Okay,” you nod, “sounds fun. We shouldn’t be too long.”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s so good. You guys won’t wanna miss it.” Blair emphasizes, grabbing at her damp hair and squeezing the black fibres.

“Oh, I’m not sure if you’ll like it that much,” Suri adds, “especially you Deedee. I still remember when we watched The Shining at Lamay’s fifteenth birthday, and you got so scared you locked yourself in the bathroom all night.” Suri stops to cackle into her hand, and for some reason, you feel the urge to slap her. “Sorry, sorry, I know you don’t like that story. Maybe you’ve grown up a bit.”

Deedee is eyeing you with sheer panic, the kind that illustrates she isn’t going to say anything. Before you can slip a word in, Blair snorts with laughter.

“No, no. I’m sure she’ll show up. Because she’ll have Tommy’s big, strong arms to fall into. She’ll be amping it up too, I bet. I’ll have to keep watch.”

Suri folds her arms, wipes under her eye. “I wouldn’t put it past her.” She sighs dismissively upon noting the horrified expression on poor Deedee’s face.

“C’mon, don’t be so sensitive, Dee. It’s just jokes.”

You want to act friendly; you want to act with grace, but quite frankly, Suri is starting to feel like a flea, and you’d rather tweeze her out now than later.

“That’s your idea of a joke?” Grabbing onto Deedee’s hand, you squeeze her fingers tightly. “I think the definition in your head is a bit misconstrued.”

Suri just humphs, her shoulders slouching. She knocks you on the arm as she shuffles past you with Blair trailing behind her.

“Don’t be getting all lame on me,” Suri huffs, “I think I liked you better as the quiet one in the house.”

As though she can sense your desire to bite back, Suri turns around and flashes a smile you had grown much too tired of seeing and excusing.

“Kidding.”

Not wasting another minute in that corridor, you pull Deedee out the back door, down the deck stairway, and take the dirt trail that leads around to the front of the house.

“I can’t believe she still talks to people like that.” Deedee grumbles.

“I can’t believe I didn’t punch her.” You reply through tightly clenched teeth, squinting against the sunlight that pierces through the tree leaves.

CHAPTER 22: MOVIE NIGHT

Suri had put you in a bad mood for the rest of the day.

It didn’t help that your breakfast was already unpleasant and ridiculously awkward, fortifying the notion that you might have just tore the fabric of your relationship with Mingyu into ugly, spindly threads. If you couldn’t be anything more to the boy, then you would have at least hoped to maintain your friendship.

You try desperately to avoid Suri. You desperately try to avoid Mingyu.

And that goes relatively well until movie night starts, and suddenly everyone is packing onto the two couches, heating up buttery popcorn in the microwave and digging out blankets. It’s a thriller movie you haven’t seen before. Seungkwan is reluctant to participate because there’s some supposedly scary scenes, so Mingyu has to coax him until he at last crams himself against the end of a couch, a blanket pulled up to his chin. Opening the cupboard, you claim the last kernel bag. Just as you’re about to use the microwave, Suri abruptly slips in front of you and throws her own package inside, slamming the door shut and setting the timer.

You keep your mouth closed like a rusted lock when she turns around.

The girl dusts off her hands, smiles at you sweetly, though it’s almost too sweet, bordering on sinister, like she’d just poisoned someone’s meal. While she hops back onto her seat at the couch, you watch the bag spin slowly through the microwave door, listening to the kernels burst open and smelling the distinct, buttery scent which has pervaded the entire kitchen. The thing is, you don’t really feel like watching a movie. You don’t really want popcorn either. This miserable cloud has been hanging over you since last night and nothing has been able to shake it away.

Mingyu is the one to retrieve Suri’s popcorn, and you assume they’re sharing a bag. Not once do you look at him. In fact, being in the same space as the honey boy has caused the cloud to become greyer and more tumultuous and overbearing.

He empties the popcorn into a bowl, then turns to you.

Oh no.

“You can take this one,” Mingyu offers, “We’ll just use your bag.”

“Thanks.” You mutter, almost under your breath it’s so quiet.

Suri’s gaze is fiercely burning into you as you walk into the main living space and take your seat next to Jane. However, you don’t acknowledge her.

You simply stuff a huge handful of popcorn in your mouth, pretending it’s delicious, that the salty taste of the butter is the most brilliant flavour on earth.

Eventually, everyone settles and Jane starts the movie. It’s completely dark apart from the television’s white glow. You try to focus, draw your attention solely to the screen, but your gaze wanders. Seungkwan, who won’t stop cowering behind his blanket even during the lacklustre scenes, while Chan occasionally shoots him a judgemental glance. Cluett, who, for some obscure reason, has a separate container for the popcorn kernels he finds in his bowl, picking them out like coins in a wishing well. Deedee, who is sitting on the opposite side of the living room, as far from Tommy as possible. Blair, who keeps whispering to Zaria about what’s happening every time the scene switches. Seokmin, who just spilled some red Fruitopia on his sweater. And then you look at Mingyu, with his arm around Suri’s shoulders. She’s laying against him comfortably, but Mingyu seems tense.

His eyes flicker in your direction, and you’ve never looked away from someone else so quickly. You feel like you could suffocate.

“Hey,” Jane nudges your elbow, “wanna do me a solid? Go downstairs to the recreation room and grab another box of popcorn?”

“Sure.” You comply, relieved to have a task that involves slipping away.

The recreation room is very large and cold. A long, rectangular shape, with cement flooring that is freezing under the feet. The walls are a plain eggshell colour, and a few carpets have been laid down, mostly beneath the game tables. Cluett and Tommy play Ping Pong and Air Hockey quite frequently, though you had learned to watch their Ping Pong tournaments from a distance after a plastic ball almost smacked off your forehead. Upstairs, you can hear the muffled echo of the thriller. There are many white cupboards covering one wall. It gives you an excuse to take longer in your search, opening each one as you try to find the extra popcorn. You discover detergent bottles, some empty laundry baskets, bedsheets, huge bags of birdseed, and deflated pool toys. But then the staircase begins creaking with someone’s weight.

Seokmin appears, wearing a different sweater.

“Hey,” he smiles, “Jane said you might need help finding the extra popcorn.”

“Yeah. It’s a mystery opening all these cupboards.”

“I think the popcorn is in this one.” The boy walks over to a bottom cupboard, third from the end.

He bends down, pulls out a red box and hands it to you.

“Well, you just saved movie night. Or else we might have had to resort to the birdseed, in this cupboard here.” You tap it with your foot.

Seokmin laughs, his eyes becoming crescent-shaped. “Hey, it’s just a bunch of seeds. Can’t be that terrible. It probably tastes like trail mix.”

You had always liked Seokmin. He has an approachable atmosphere, a trustworthy face, and it’s quite easy to converse with him. Of course, the boy has greatly changed appearance-wise since high school. For someone who had once looked unbelievably dorky – with his striped, button-tight t-shirts and straightly combed bangs and jeans one size too big – he’s become like a marble statue, someone who could be modeling expensive suits or jewelry.

Not wanting to miss any important scenes from the movie, Seokmin proposes that you two head back upstairs. However, you happen to step on a round, smooth object which instantly rolls from beneath your foot and nearly lands you flat on your back, if not for Seokmin’s instantaneous reaction. He grabs your elbow, steadying you, while the white Ping Pong ball disappears beneath a large cooler. There’s a slight flare in your ankle, the one you had injured during your summit walk with Jane.

“That could’ve ended badly. You alright?” Seokmin asks, chuckling.

“Fine, I think. The popcorn’s safe.”

“Yeah,” he smiles, his fingers still wrapped around your elbow, “thank god nothing happened to the popcorn. I’d have to ditch your chalk outline in a heartbeat.”

You both start to laugh, but then the staircase creaks again. Mingyu appears from around the corner with a flat look on his face, which transforms into the type of expression you would wear upon seeing something you wish you hadn’t. Seokmin clears his throat, and you feel his grip retract. You’re so winded by the sudden company that you don’t even realize how you’re hovering on just one foot, not allowing the aching one to touch the floor.

“Hey,” Seokmin nods, “what’re you looking for?”

Mingyu rubs under his nose, then shoots a glance at the cooler.

“Getting more sodas.” He replies, staring right past you.

You return the popcorn to Seokmin while mumbling, “I’m going to use the washroom,” feeling awfully incongruous between the two.

When Seokmin catches your hesitation to use your right ankle, he winces.

“Uh, you didn’t just flare up that old injury, did you?”

“I think it’s fine!” You practically shout, already standing inside the washroom near the bottom of the stairway.

Truthfully, you didn’t have to use the washroom.

But you shut the door anyways, spend a moment pacing back and forth and ignore the dull throb at the base of your foot. You hate that even just the sight of Mingyu disinters this nervous energy inside you, almost like a buzzing beehive sitting in your gut. Their voices sound muffled through the wall. Unable to help yourself from snooping, you press your ear snug against the door in an attempt to hear their conversation.

Your heart drops when your name leaves Seokmin’s mouth.

“She’s so pretty, isn’t she?” He says in an excited tone. “What do you think? Should I go for it?” You draw in a breath so sharp you’re afraid to exhale.

Wait, Seokmin is interested in you?

But as soon as Mingyu begins speaking, you press your body incredibly flush to the door that you’re surprised it hasn’t collapsed onto the ground.

“You wanna ask her out?”

He doesn’t sound like himself. There’s something off.

“Dunno for sure yet. That’s why I’m asking you, man! It wouldn’t be weird or anything, right? We seem like a good fit?”

You gulp thickly. The fluorescent lights shine hot like fire.

“Dude, I don’t know,” Mingyu sounds irritated, “there’s no one else you’re thinking about? What about Zaria? Or—Or Blair?”

“Blair?” Seokmin seems to have choked on his own saliva. “Do you actually listen to a word I say? Man, I’ve said so many times I don’t like her. Not even a bit.”

“So why her?” Mingyu is almost demanding.

There’s hurt in his voice, and at that moment, you feel sick to your stomach for listening in on them.

The honey boy repeats himself, “why do you need to be with her like that?”

“You’re making it sound like she’s my forbidden lover or something.” Seokmin chuckles, clearly a bit confused at Mingyu’s sudden change in tone. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just to have some fun and see if it goes anywhere… You’re acting kinda strange, you know.”

Silence envelopes the room. It’s so unnervingly quiet that you can hear dialogue from the television upstairs. There’s a thunderous crashing noise, followed by Seungkwan’s startled yelp. They must have reached an action scene.

Seokmin digs at his friend a little more. “Did you… get in another argument with Suri? Like, I know you guys seemed comfortable up there, but—”

“First Jane asks me that, now you?” Mingyu’s voice resonates with a hostile depth, and a shiver runs through you.

Your teeth clamp down hard onto your fingernail upon hearing Mingyu’s next comment. There’s anger bleeding through. An upset anger. Not directed at Seokmin, but most likely at himself. You know the feeling far too well.

“We’re fine, alright? And yeah, whatever, ask her out if you want. You don’t need my seal of approval just to know if you should get her in your bed.”

“Okay, seriously,” Seokmin has lost his confusion and now seems intent to discover the root of Mingyu’s frustration, “what’s going on?”

And that’s when you decide to pull the plug on jamming your ear against the door. Instead, you walk back into the recreation room, watching the two boys immediately lock their gazes in your direction, as though an extra-terrestrial had just waltzed out from the washroom rather than a human being. The disturbed air caused by their conversation still hovers, but you pretend not to notice it. With a smile, you simply invite Seokmin back upstairs with you.

“Unless you need help with the drinks, Mingyu?” You ask.

The boy shakes his head, reaching into the cold mist which hisses and crawls over the edges of the cooler. He meets your eyes directly, and you flinch, like a blazing hot spark had just landed on your skin.

“No,” Mingyu says, throwing you a very strange, very perplexing smile, “you two should go back up.”

CHAPTER 23: CHRYSALIS

A few days pass. The air is different. It’s cooler, and the simmering days of July drip to a bittersweet end.

Away from the beach house, you revisit the harbour that Mingyu brought you to explore the day he went picture-taking. Deedee and Jane poke around inside the Discoverer’s Shop, examining glass vases shaped like open-mouthed pickerel, then weathered bottles and pearl necklaces discovered at the bottom of the lake. You had wanted to join them, but you opted to stay outside, plopping yourself down at the end of a dock, holding a long, forked twig you randomly picked up from a flowerbed. Sticking the forked end into the water, you trace the twig back and forth, watching the small current you create. The sun shines bright and strikes the water with clarity, allowing you to see the large rocks fuzzy with algae. You like having an empty head.

Not full of thoughts or concerns but rather an infinite plain, like swaying grass in a meadow. Leaning further over the water, you observe a long, slim bass slowly emerge from beneath the dock, the colour of pine needles, blipped with black stripes. It hovers at a forked end of the twig which you now keep still, fluttering its fins, until a shadow casts over the water and suddenly the bass darts away like it had never even been there. When you look over your shoulder, you see Caroline, her straight, dark brown hair laying over her cheeks, her mouth flat as usual. She tends to look intimidating but today you find her seeming warmer, more so when she sits next to you and passes you a chocolate bar.

“Jane told me you love these.” She says.

“Thanks.” You reply, though place the bar aside to continue playing with the twig. “Did you just get here? Jane said you might stop by.”

“Well, I went to see her and Deedee in the shop first,” she explains, sliding her hands over her knees, “but I actually came to see you.”

You’re surprised, pulling the twig from the water. Since the incident with Caroline’s heirloom vase, you attempted avoiding her as much as possible. Sometimes when you close your eyes at night, you still hear that disappointed note in her voice and find yourself staring into that wildly upset expression she gave you.

“What for?” You ask, watching Caroline tuck some hair behind her ear.

“I don’t mean to go digging up the past,” she begins, and this sinking feeling folds your stomach like dough, “but when I came for a check-up of the house last week, Mingyu pulled me aside. It was strange. I had never seen him so… serious, I guess you could say. He told me, ‘Caroline, I know who broke your vase, and it’s not who you think it was’ and he rambled to me with these big puppy eyes a story that made a lot of sense.” She pats her hands against her thighs, then raises a knowing brow at you. “The vase wasn’t your fault. You were only taking the blame.”

You don’t respond, but you clutch the end of the twig so tightly in your palm that you feel the wood cracking. Caroline sighs, staring out across the lake.

“This isn’t Jane’s first time inviting friends to my lake house. I love that girl to death; she’s family to me and I trust her with a lot of heart. She brings this Mingyu kid to my apartment when she was a high school senior and I was on my last year of university. He’s all banged up because he got in a fight with this weirdo who kept following Jane home after school. Safe to say, that was the last time it happened.”

You vaguely remember Jane filling you in about that ordeal. Mingyu had walked her home every day since then, until graduation.

“And as I bandaged him up, gave him a bag of frozen peas for his black eye, I knew he was a good kid, that he was like Jane. Someone who also became family to me, someone I could trust. So when Mingyu told me Suri had pushed Tommy right into the vase, I believed him.” She gently sets her hand over your wrist, squeezing softly. “And I want to apologize for snapping at you. I’m sorry, dear. I hope this chocolate makes up for it, even a little bit.”

“B-But—,” you stutter, meeting Caroline’s copper eyes, “I never said who did it. I didn’t say anything to him.”

She shakes her head. “I think he was onto something. Probably did some prodding and got the truth out of Suri.” With a sly smile, Caroline leans in closer to you, lowering her voice, “also, Tommy is a terrible liar. I’m sure that’s where he started.”

Your heartbeat flares up dramatically, “did you talk to Suri yet? Because if you haven’t, please don—”

“I’ve said nothing.” Caroline replies, and you breathe out in relief.

It’s less from desiring to keep Suri happy, and more from wanting a summer that ends in as little tension as possible.

“In fact, I don’t think Suri even knows that Mingyu came to me.” She admits.

“Why is he keeping it so secret?” You mumble, mostly to yourself as you circle the twig through the water.

“I suppose for the same reason you did,” Caroline looks at you with confidence, “to keep people from feeling hurt and upset.”

A huff blows through your nose. “I don’t feel either of those things… Really, I was handling it on my own. Karma has to work somehow.”

You hear a slight laugh from beside you.

“What?”

Caroline presents an admiring grin. “Nothing really. I like that you’re so certain of yourself.”

It’s as though a spark comes to light in your chest. “Really?” You sound pleasantly surprised, and fight to bat away the crooked smile on your mouth.

She gives your shoulder a tight rub. It feels like your skin has grown a little thicker, a little tougher, and you don’t shy from her firm touch.

“Mingyu never specified if I should bring this up to you. I think he believed it was easier if I took control of that choice. At the end of the day, he wanted me to know the truth, maybe to free you from this guilt that’s been bogging you down.”

“Sometimes I think you just have to live with your choices. Even the regrettable, stupid ones.” You reply truculently.

“You’ve got a point. But I’ve just met you. I’ve just met Suri. I’ve just met more than half these people. And I now know that you were big enough to take the hit while Suri was more than comfortable with accepting it. Of course that vase meant a lot to me, yet, in reality, it was some blue glass that sat on a pedestal collecting dust most of the time. I can get over some blue glass. It’s what happened afterward that concerns me most. But if you want to move on, so will I. Suri will just have to come back down to Earth with the rest of us.”

“I know she took advantage of me.” You sigh, pulling out the twig from the water, watching the droplets run off the forked ends. “But I want to bury this.”

And so Caroline nods, stands from the dock, and smiles.

“Consider it buried.” She says in her strict voice.

You then throw the twig into the water so it can float away.

Once Deedee and Jane come outside, they entertain you with the antique items they purchased. Jane presents a small hand mirror with a crack against the glass, and a chipped, pink handle, while Deedee shows a circular tin glimmering with marbles, all in different sizes and colours. They look like miniature planets, or galaxies that have been frozen in time. Deedee invites you to pick some marbles to keep. You choose a large one that’s a deep, mystic purple, almost black, and then a smaller marble that’s an aquamarine, the inside containing yellow swirls. The three of you sit on a bench and watch the harbour, all the fishing boats coming and going, the clouds rolling over the distant forest hills, birds flying to nests nuzzled into broken lamp posts.

And you take a huge bite from your chocolate bar.

Later that night, you stop at Mingyu and Suri’s bedroom. Suri is the one to pull open the door, dressed in a long t-shirt that you know isn’t hers, her features slanted into an expression that is all but affable. However, you’re not interested in speaking to her, and you don’t bother powdering your words in an attempt to keep her satisfied, rather you state that you’d like to talk with Mingyu. She pauses for a moment before biting her lip. You almost want to nip at her, no, say it, but suppress yourself, waiting patiently as Suri calls out the boy’s name and suddenly, he’s behind her in the threshold. It seems like Mingyu had been preparing for bed, because he’s in his sweats and a navy blue, unbuttoned flannel which reveals his bare chest. For once, there are no hickies or scratches covering his gold skin.

You fold your arms over your chest and nod at the door. “Can you close it?”

He steps into the dim corridor with you, and shuts the door gently.

Before he can spit out a question, you’re already digging into your pocket to pull out his chain, the one he’d given you on the back porch. It dangles in the air, then, you grab the boy’s hand, ply open his fingers, and drop the necklace into his palm. Mingyu just stares at it, like he’d forgotten it even existed.

“I meant to give it back earlier, but I forgot.”

His teeth press into his bottom lip, black hairs slipping over his eyes as he continues looking at the chain. Finally, he nods, and hides it in his pocket.

“I want to say thank you. But, also, please don’t get involved in my business next time. I could have lived with my decision; I just needed more time.”

The boy reflects a confused countenance.

“Sorry,” Mingyu quirks his head, “what are you talking about?”

“The vase thing. I know that you were trying to help, but when I don’t want to tell you something, I don’t tell you for a reason.” There’s a firmness to your tone which makes you feel somewhat like Caroline, and while you do have to force it for the time being, you can interpret that Mingyu senses the weight of your words.

He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Right,” the boy hums, “I get it. I shouldn’t have done that.” Silence engulfs the corridor until Mingyu picks up his head, his gaze connecting directly with yours. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you crying that day you told Caroline. I don’t know, it was making me mad as hell, that you were so upset about something you didn’t even do.”

You can’t help but swallow your own heartbeat, your toes curling into the carpet mat. Those eyes kill you every time, so careful and sweet.

“I kinda figured, when you kept bugging me about it.” Comes your hushed voice, and then a slow, gradual smile. “You’re a detective now, is that it?”

Mingyu huffs and smirks while rubbing the point of his nose. “It was light work. I just went to Tommy. He’ll always slip up eventually.” You two laugh together in the hallway, though quickly muffle your volume when you realize how late it is.

As soon as it’s quiet, the boy gazes at you tenderly once more. “Look, I just want to say that I don’t like at all what Suri made you do—”

“It’s fine,” you stop him abruptly, “I… I don’t really want to talk about it anymore. Every day, I’m still learning about myself, and I just feel like, right now, I need to see the repercussions to my choices head on, no interferences. Maybe you don’t understand what that means through and through, because I don’t really understand it either to be honest, but… it’s proving helpful to me. I think.”

Mingyu smiles at you, a warm smile that feels like a reassuring hug, a smile that reaches his eyes and ignites a little glint in them, like the beautiful marbles you picked from Deedee’s antique tin. It feels like you could have spoken in complete gibberish to Mingyu yet he would still find a way to make you feel comfortable with your words.

“Can we start talking again?” He asks. “I miss you.”

You nod your head.

Before he disappears back into the bedroom, Mingyu touches his hand ever so softly to the side of your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek.

“Goodnight.” The honey boy murmurs in his brassy voice.

You feel the depth in your knees, and you nearly melt into the floor.

“Goodnight, Mingyu.”

CHAPTER 24: STUCK IN THE WEB

The next morning, you eat breakfast with Deedee on the back porch. You ask her if she wants to join you for a swim, but she has to decline, having already made a promise with Cluett, Tommy and Zaria to play soccer. There’s a perfectly green field buried somewhere in the lakeside town that Cluett managed to find, exploring different twists and turns on his skateboard. The kitchen is quiet when you place your dishes in the sink, though an open window allows the sound of susurrus tree leaves and wind to freshen the air. You check the fridge just before you run upstairs, and happen to spot a note taped against a chocolate milk carton, addressed to you.

I made sure Chan didn’t drink all of it.

There’s some left for you!

Mingyu :)

Experimentally, you pick up the carton and slosh around the milk inside, then peel off the note and take it upstairs, which you stick into your journal. You aren’t sure if it’s healthy to keep pining in secret about the boy, but it feels like as long as he’s something tangible in your life, there’s no way you can release him, like throwing that twig into the water.

The beach is empty as you drop a drawstring bag into the sand. More clouds smatter the sky than usual, and the blue you do see has resorted to a very mute, dusty colour. You wade deep into the lake, pushing harder and harder while the water rises in force against your skin and suckles around your shoulders. Then you lie on your back with your limbs spread out like a starfish, allowing your body to float. It’s easy to lose track of time when the sky doesn’t seem to move, but once you plunge your head under the water and glance back to the clouds, the particularly fluffy one you’d been tracking now appears to hover over the centre of the lake. For a moment, you panic, because you wonder if you’d allowed the current to tug you so far away from the shore that it’ll look like a slit.

But you realize you hardly moved, and that you can still touch the floor under you, and that the water still laps at your shoulders.

You spot Mingyu standing at the shoreline with a towel over his shoulder. He gives a curt wave. At first, you’re confused, because you thought Mingyu would have joined Suri on her hike, unless she’s back already.

“Thanks.” You mutter as he stretches the towel behind you. “I can’t believe you’re done hiking already. You mustn’t have gone far.”

“Hm?” Mingyu questions, tilting his head. “Hike? What hike?”

“Did you not go hiking with Suri? It looked like she was leaving around the same time I came down to the beach.”

Immediately, there’s an uncomfortable gloom on the boy’s face and you begin to wonder if you’ve said or implied something hurtful. Mingyu chews his lip for a moment, and then you freeze just as you begin patting down your arm.

“Suri and I aren’t… We’re taking a break.” He clarifies, his voice raspy.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t reali—”

“We didn’t make a big deal out of it. She’s moved some of her stuff to Blair’s room. There’s no malice or anything. We’re on good terms. That’s it.”

You give him a smile, but it’s fluttery and weak, and you aren’t sure what kind of smile it is exactly until Mingyu’s pained stare settles upon you for a little too long. Is this my fault? The worry escalates into a barking cry. Is it because I confessed? Because I couldn’t hide well enough that the vase wasn’t my doing? Something feels like it’s closing in and you aren’t powerful enough to keep yourself from getting crushed.

“It’s no one’s fault.” Mingyu says, softening his tone.

“I know.” You nod, then breathe out discreetly.

“I actually went to take pictures.”

“Did you get any good shots?”

“A few,” Mingyu grins, “have you seen that huge anchor sitting at the end of Tina’s Point, with all the flowers around it? I took some pictures of that.”

“I saw it once. Isn’t that close to where the soccer field is?”

“Yeah, I stopped by and watched them play for a bit. Hey, did you know Deedee is insanely good at soccer? Her and Zaria are putting them to shame.”

You stop at the drawstring bag you left in the sand and untighten the opening, pulling out a large t-shirt you stuffed inside.

“Really?” You mumble while fitting your head through the collar. “I know Tommy is good too. She’s better than him?”

“Guess so.”

However, as you begin to dig through the bag, you notice something horrible, something which wipes the smile clean from your face and exchanges it for dread. Everything is still inside: your sunglasses case, a water bottle, an extra pair of swim shorts, and an SPF tube. Everything but the most important thing, your journal. You keep rustling through the items as though it’s going to magically appear. Certain as certain can be, you know you put your journal into the bag before you went outside. There’s no way you’re this delusional already. Butterflies, the twisting, terrible, anxious kind, explode in your lower tummy and the only thing you can think about is that someone took it, someone took it and is going to read all your secrets.

Mingyu slaps the towel over his shoulder, tilting his head in question. “What are you looking for?”

Slipping on the drawstring bag, you cast a glance up and down the beach, hoping to see that leather book abandoned somewhere, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“My journal, it’s not in my bag.” Your voice trembles, but you don’t care. “Did you take it?” You ask Mingyu, knowing how much he pestered you about it.

The boy shakes his head. “I’ve never touched it,” he says, “did you see anyone else come down to the beach?”

You grumble exasperatedly, “I wouldn’t have been able to, I wasn’t even looking…” Kicking up sand, you begin pacing, nervously squeezing your hands until they feel numb. You then bubble over and shout at the boy, “this is horrible, Mingyu! If someone has it and they’re reading it—I have so much stuff in there! So much personal stuff! What if they’re reading it and planning to pass it around to everyone and take pictures of what I’ve written and—”

Mingyu plants his hands on your shoulders, stopping you from the manic pacing. Your eyes are stinging and you want so badly to burst into tears and cry, because maybe you’d feel better if he held you or brushed the wetness from your cheeks, but you manage to keep the storm inside.

“Calm down for a sec, so you can think,” he says gently, “there are different ways we can do this. We can just look for it ourselves, we can tell everyone to look for it, or maybe just get Jane and Deedee involved. You trust them, right?”

“Y-Yeah,” you nod, wiping your nose, “of course.”

“So why don’t we start there?” Mingyu takes your hands in his, passing his thumbs along your knuckles. “We’ll get them, and they can help us look. Alright?”

You sigh greatly and agree to his plan.

“But if you find it,” your grip turns ironclad on his fingers, “please, just give it straight to me. Please don’t read anything.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” Mingyu replies, a soft smile on his mouth while he crosses an x-shape over his heart, “I promise.”

It’s probably a stupid place to look, but you can’t help it. In the dust of the quiet Reading Room, you lower to your hands and knees and peer under the leather chair, though you discover nothing apart from a blue paperclip and a felt patch. Jane and Deedee are scouring different parts of the house while Mingyu investigates outside, poking around beneath the back porch despite all the spiderwebs. You jerk back onto your knees when Zaria sticks her head into the room.

“You need help looking for something?”

“No, it’s alright,” you reply, your heart racing, “just dropped my phone.”

As you brush the dust off your hands, you sigh despondently. It’s a “finding the needle in a haystack” situation except the needle is a personal capsule detailing every blunder, intimacy and aspiration of the past year. You feel physically ill at the thought of someone reading it. For a moment you even consider rushing into the washroom to vomit. Instead, you find Jane upstairs in your bedroom, the sheets torn to the end of the mattress while she shines a flashlight under the frame. She’s just as emptyhanded as you.

“Nothing,” Jane frowns, throwing the flashlight on the bed, “we might have to do some detective work. Be sneaky and sly and try to get hints out of people.”

“How would one even do that?” You groan, slumping onto the blanket mound.

Jane thinks for a moment. “We shove them up against the wall and threaten everyone they love? I don’t really know yet. Hopefully Deedee or Mingyu are having more luck. I wish we could just bust into everyone’s rooms.”

“Yeah, but then everyone would know. I think Chan is sweet but he’d probably read my journal like it’s the morning paper.”

Jane smiles. “So we threaten him first.”

Everyone groups at the bottom of the porch, yet there’s no good news. Mingyu is only coated in shiny strings of web which Jane can’t help but pick from his hair while Deedee sits on the stairway and pouts.

“I checked the kitchen, the recreation room, two closets, and the downstairs gym,” she sighs, “Cluett’s door was open and I wanted to peep so bad, but I don’t think he would know anything. If it’s not about Leticia Bufoni then he doesn’t care.”

“Nothing under the porch but spiderwebs,” Mingyu reports next as Jane pulls a particularly long string from his back, “and I didn’t see anything on the walkway down to the beach. I’m guessing you guys didn’t score anything either.”

“If we did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” You grumble, kicking at a pebble to send it flying into the bushes.

Jane gathers her hair back and fastens it in a half-pulled ponytail.

“I think we’re all exhausted at this point. Let’s just lay low but keep an eye out, eavesdrop if we have to. I bet you’ll have it before you leave.”

Deedee grabs the handrailing and pulls herself up. “Jane’s right. We can always dig around more tomorrow. Sorry we couldn’t find it.”

“Everyone did what they could,” you smile faintly, “see you at dinner.”

Jane squeezes your shoulder comfortably as she slides past you to join Deedee up the stairs. Alone beneath the shade of the wide, over-branching cedar trees, you stare at Mingyu whose hair is still patterned with a few thin webs. You help to pull them out, letting the bits get blown away in the breeze. It feels like a day that’s been turned upside down and stretched inside out. Sometimes, you wish you could just turn back into a small child who crawls into bed and pulls the blankets over themselves, knowing that by morning, the world will somehow be normal again, and you’ll be able to sit in front of the television with your favourite cereal, worriless and content.

Some days are still similar to that, but your mind will never be as carefree. Even when you were a teenager and you hated the world for making essays and algebra and significant figures a thing, you were still allowed to be stupid and over dramatic, perhaps walk by Mingyu’s fourth period gym class playing kickball outside eight times just to see him in those red shorts.

“I’m sure we’ll find it,” the boy says, luring you from your daze, “let’s go eat for now. I heard someone ordered Chinese food.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and you walk inside together.

CHAPTER 25: THE FORTUNE

That night, after most people had gone to bed, you find yourself sinking into the hot tub in your t-shirt, holding an orange bottle you pulled from the kitchen cabinet. You aren’t sure what type of alcohol it is exactly, but it tastes citrus and tart, with enough sear to keep you mellow when in reality, you’d much rather be having a break down. A jet pulses against this sore spot on your lower back. The water ripples and steams and glows. You guide the bottle to your mouth for another sip, then let it rest on the border of the tub. Submerging deeper into the heat, you stare up at the night sky, all the stars that are spread out far in between, yet seem so clustered from where you are. You wish the stars could tell you where the hell your journal is.

Nobody had given you any peculiar or hair-raising looks at dinner. Then again, you couldn’t bear to sit in the living space the entire time knowing that someone might be using your latest anecdote as a bedtime story. You took your plate to the basement instead, which involved forfeiting your seat next to Mingyu on the couch. He tried to reach for you, but Blair quickly swept him into a conversation he couldn’t escape from. It was a bit lonely eating in the recreation room, next to the Ping Pong table, but Jane came downstairs to give you a juice box and Deedee managed to save you a fortune cookie.

“In the end all things will be known” it read.

While shoving the broken cookie into your mouth, you scoffed.

You’d hope so.

The sliding door suddenly opens. Of all the people who could still be awake, you’re surprised to see Seokmin. It seems like he might question you for sitting in a hot tub with your shirt still on and your pants thrown onto the deck, but he must have spotted the orange bottle, because his expression fades.

“Uh, do you care if I join you?” Seokmin asks, sounding slightly nervous.

Sitting up straight so you don’t get a mouthful of water, you shrug, “No.”

While your exterior feigns indifference, your heart is oddly jumping. You didn’t realize Seokmin could look so firm, and you immediately keep your head down when the boy slips in beside you, wearing nothing but his boxers. Grabbing the orange bottle, another swig coats your throat and leaves behind a tingly burn. He can’t help but eye you curiously, most likely wondering what’s drawn you to the back porch, to drink alone like a failed poet in the dead of night.

“I noticed you get up at dinner. Is everything… Okay?” He begins timidly.

“It was really hot up there. The basement was cooler.”

You attempt to place the bottle back on the ledge, but Seokmin stops you and grabs the alcohol. He grimaces at the first taste yet immediately drinks again.

“Are you not sitting in a hot tub?” The boy laughs.

“I’m not hot anymore.” You enunciate, feeling the moisture slick your neck.

“No,” Seokmin grins, “you’re just sitting in a hot tub with half your clothes on at midnight drinking this horrible tasting Sangria.”

You tilt your head back and sigh. It’s louder than usual and even more devoid of perseverance than ever before. Casting an expecting glance at the boy, you mumble, “okay, I give you permission this time, mock me.”

But Seokmin merely raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” He chuckles.

And it comes as an invisible slap to the face. Because Seokmin is not Mingyu, and Seokmin does not carry Mingyu’s irritable little habit of mimicking you whenever you sigh. Seokmin doesn’t talk with that slight lisp, or rub his canines with his tongue when he’s thinking particularly hard, or always waltz around with his hands in his pockets like he lives in the clouds. And you feel hollow inside because now you’re thinking about the honey boy and how he shot down your confession without so much as a compassionate gaze. And then you’re angry. Mingyu rejected you and yet, you still want him. For one night, you’d like to forget he exists, even for just an hour.

“Well, whatever that means,” Seokmin huffs, placing the Sangria back on the ledge, “I saw you out here and I wanted to make sure you were okay, because, you know, what you have going on doesn’t look too good from an outsider’s view.”

“Don’t people mind their business anymore?”

“You saying I don’t mind my business?” Seokmin gawks half in astonishment and laughter. “No, I mind my business. Occasionally.”

“So, you wouldn’t—let’s say read someone else’s journal if they left it?” The boy is already scratched from your list, but maybe he could have leads.

Seokmin shakes his head. “No way. Plus, I’ve kept every secret anyone has ever told me. Wanna know how?”

“Because you forget?”

“Because I’m trustworthy.” He corrects.

“How trustworthy?” You persist, leaning in close to his face. “Like, if the secret hurt someone else, you would still keep it level-trustworthy?”

The boy brushes his hair back, slightly damp with steam. He must note the wild dilation in your eyes, because he swallows tight and scratches awkwardly behind his ear. “Are we… talking specifics? It feels like we’re talking specifics.”

And then you accept the fact that Seokmin is useless—in a good way.

“N-No, sorry…” You stutter.

For a moment, nothing really happens. It’s just you staring at the boy and him staring back. But up from the mist that swathes the hot tub, you sense a push, one that directs you to slowly close the space in between you and Seokmin. Your forehead touches his and his hand cups your cheek. Just as there’s a gentle brush against each other’s lips, he moves away, looking off to the side as he bites his inner cheek.

His hand slides from your face and he shakes his head.

“It’s best if we don’t.” Seokmin advises.

You feel a little better upon reading his disappointment.

“Why?”

He looks at you again, his eyes glimmering. “Because…” the boy begins, though his words drift off quietly and you feel every inch of your muscle practically convulsing. Seokmin seems to contemplate on whether he should continue.

“Because I can’t do that to Mingyu.” He fires.

You can hear tires screeching against the asphalt in your head, the scent of burning rubber, the clutter of metal scraps bouncing away. Moving your elbow, you nearly knock the Sangria bottle from the ledge in an attempt to scoot closer.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Briefly, that conversation you had listened to in secret enters your mind, where your ear was connected to the washroom door while Seokmin and Mingyu experienced a newfound tension.

“I-I really shouldn’t elaborate too much, since I did promise him not to say a word,” Seokmin catches your eye and its intense blaze, “but if I should let you know anything then… Mingyu… He feels something for you. I mean, isn’t it a little obvious? You really don’t notice it, any of it?”

Your body has gone completely livid.

“Notice what?”

The colourful lights reflect off Seokmin’s astonished face.

“For starters, he looks at you all the time – you don’t notice any of it? When you made your breakfast yesterday, he didn’t stop staring at you once! I’m surprised he didn’t get down on his knee or something. And the pictures. He has so many pictures of you on his camera. Don’t you think that’s a bit telling?”

“H-He kept saying something about a background study…”

Seokmin shakes his head.

“Trust me, that’s just an excuse. If you can’t see it then, I’m sorry, I don’t know what to tell ‘ya.”

Your fingers are shaking, and you can hardly take a breath.

If you stay in the hot tub any longer, you fear the heat might cook you like you’re part of a stew. Seokmin watches as you stumble out from the tub, pick up the pants you had shucked off earlier, and bid him goodnight. He stays in the water, taking another sip of Sangria, wondering how you never noticed, or if you had convinced yourself you weren’t someone worth liking.

When you try to fall asleep that night, another distant memory returns to you.

CHAPTER 26: WARM IN THE WINTERTIME

It’s your first official day at Sacred Heart. Eleventh grade.

And Principal Whittaker has taken it upon himself to deposit you in the mixed gym class. But you know absolutely no one at this school apart from Phoebe and Joshua, the student duo who cordially took you on a tour a few weeks ago, just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself looking for the washroom, your chemistry class, data management, all of the above. The girls take the gym’s right side while the boys take the left. Except, you feel sick to your stomach, and rather than throw on a jersey stuffed in the back of the equipment room you take a seat on the stage.

If the gym teacher asks why you’re sitting out, you’ll just say cramps.

You can see him through the window to his office, drinking from a coffee thermos and scribbling on papers – probably written assignments he’d forgotten to grade. Out of nowhere, you spot this girl trudging toward you, her jersey tied up with a scrunchie, every single hair on the crown of her head flattened beneath a headband. You smile at her, because maybe this is your opportunity to make acquaintances with someone, even if she does look a bit scary and smells like an overbearing cloud of cheap perfume. She tightens her ponytail and folds her arms.

“Are you playing? Or sitting out?”

“I’m sitting out, I don’t feel g—”

“What?” She squawks. “C’mon, the teams are uneven now.”

“Jenna!” Another girl shouts, bouncing a basketball. “Is she playing?”

This so-called Jenna plays a dramatic roll of the eyes, whips around, and stalks back to her uneven group of players.

“No,” you hear her nip, “she’s one of those girls. We’ll just do subs.”

And at that moment you wanted to shrink. Escape. Run all the way back to your old high school where you’d be sitting in the library right about now, attempting to muffle your laughter as you played online games with your best friend (even when there was a Kinesiology assignment waiting to be done). The girls are still deciding which players will be the first substitutes, meanwhile the boys are just shooting at the net, practicing how to dribble and step-cross. There’s this one kid. He’s much taller than his friends and his jersey actually fits him. His hair is awfully lengthy, and he keeps having to brush it from his eyes, which seem soft and puppy-like.

He turns to the girls.

“Hey Jenna!” The boy shouts.

She glances at him, looking unamused.

“This one’s for you!”

After sending her a wink, he takes a lazy shot at the net, except the ball hits the rim and bounces away into the corner. He begins snickering and snorting as though deliberately missing his shot is outbreaking comedy. Even his friends are cackling with him. Jenna’s face prickles strawberry-red.

“We’re supposed to be playing pick-up games!” She yells across the gym. “It would help if you guys took anything serious.”

“Should I take another shot for you?” The boy calls back.

“Whatever, Mingyu!”

Straight away, you think he’s cute, golden at every sport he plays, and has a locker stuffed with anonymous confessions. There isn’t anyone at your old school who you’d been crushing on. In fact, it’s been such a long time since you ever admired anyone that you nearly forgot the sensation of butterflies. It isn’t until Mingyu excuses himself from their game and approaches the stage that your palms become clammy.

You realize you’re sitting right next to his backpack.

“My bad,” he says upon causing you to shuffle away awkwardly, unzipping the front pouch of his bag, “looking for an elastic—oh! Found it.”

When he places the tie between his teeth, you can see his braces. Mingyu sweeps back a decent amount of his long, black locks, leaving some of the strands to frame his face. There are two earrings in one of his ear lobes, a black stud, and a gold dot. You can feel your heart racing as he takes the elastic and fastens the hair in place, a small, curly ponytail poking from the back of his head.

“You’re sitting out?” He asks, and you hear a notable lisp.

“Um, yes. I’m waiting for lunch. I was a dumbass and skipped breakfast.”

Mingyu smiles at you. “If you look in my bag, there’s one of those apple struddles from the bakery, in a red container. You can have it.”

“Aren’t you going to eat it?”

The boy shrugs. “Not really a fan of them, honest. But what is good though,” his eyes ignite, sparkling, “are those blueberry muffins. Oh, man. They’re fucking scrumptious. Especially when they’re straight from the oven and the blueberries are all melty.” Mingyu tilts his head back blissfully. “I’m not salivating, am I?”

Somehow, this boy manages to make your first day less depressing.

“Not yet,” you laugh, swinging your legs giddily, “I haven’t been to the bakery at all. I moved here not too long ago.”

Reaching into his bag, you see the red packaging he was referring to. His friends chortle at him to stop dillydallying and return to the game.

“Gotta go,” he takes a quick sip from his water bottle, “you should stop by there when you can. Ask for the Mingyu Special!”

“What is that?!” You shout as he jogs back onto the court.

However, he gives you nothing apart from a sneaky little wink, and you feel that exploding sensation of butterflies. As you take large, hungry bites from the warm pastry, the sweet apples melting in your mouth, you begin to think that perhaps your first day isn’t going to be completely uncomfortable and awkward and terrible.

That week, you make sure to repay him. You stop at that bakery he suggested to you just before school, trekking snow and cold puddles all over their floor. You’re almost late to first period. Practically frozen solid too.

On that Friday, you catch Mingyu whisking between students toward his friends, waiting for him in the front foyer. You feel slightly weird grabbing his shoulder, but he isn’t going to notice you with his earbuds in. When he sees that it’s you, he pulls one out.

“I bought you a blueberry muffin, from the bakery,” you elaborate, “I would have asked for the Mingyu Special, but it was too embarrassing. Anyways, this is for the apple struddle thing on Tuesday.”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu mumbles, “I remember that.”

“What is the Mingyu Special?”

“I shouldn’t spoil the secret, especially to a newbie like you,” he says with a wink, “but I’m feeling generous. It’s that muffin in your hand.”

“The Mingyu Special is just a blueberry muffin?”

“Whew, okay, hotshot” Mingyu puffs out his chest, “you just got here and you’re already taking a tone.” He then raises a curled finger and starts waving it in your face, mimicking the chalky voice of an elderly man, “one more wise crack like that and I’ll put ya in yer place, you disrespectful little vermin.”

Muffling your laughter with a hand clasped over your lips, you realize he’s an absolute fool. Maybe even an idiot. But your heart only pangs for him harder.

His name echoes down the hallway, where his friends are beckoning him impatiently. Mingyu says goodbye, that he’ll see you around, and dashes to meet them. You end up tagging along with Joshua to data management, though you spend most of the class daydreaming, wondering how to make Mingyu fall in love with you.

CHAPTER 27: HOW NOT TO LIE

Beginning the last week at the lake house, you awaken with the feeling that everything is slightly slanted.

Not literally, but in a sense of imbalance and disruption, like the restless behaviour of wildlife before a great storm. Your missing journal is chiefly all you can think about. When it was received as a present, you had been doubtful it would ever be used, though such a trajectory quickly shifted when you were hired in customer service and desperately needed a space to vent. Obviously, you couldn’t admit to the customer’s face that they were behaving like a complete idiot, so you would scribble it into the journal instead. Little by little the pages morphed from hot-blooded complaints to the secrecies of your life, things that were simply easier to write than elaborate to a person.

However, the journal is gone and you feel so uncomfortably vulnerable.

The worst part is uncertainty; the fact there is no mystifying glass ball which lets you glimpse into the future, where you might spot yourself leaving the house holding onto your journal. It’s like swiping a hand across a dark wall in an attempt to search for the light switch. You want to know the truth and want to know it now.

Jane understands your fragility, and she somehow convinces you to join the small group looking to take Caroline’s canoe for an evening trip on the lake. While Seokmin struggles to find a life jacket that doesn’t squeeze the colour from him, you pick up different wooden oars and settle for the one which goes just above your hip. Cluett holds the canoe as it sits in the glittering, pink water, reflecting the hue of the sky. The canoe could fit six people, though including yourself, only five would be using it. Earlier in the day you asked Mingyu to accompany you (by latching onto his arm and shaking it like a rattle), but he said he couldn’t come.

“You’re a loser,” you told him, “and you’ll regret abandoning me.”

Mingyu had rolled his eyes. “Oh, what a creative mouth you have. I’m so hurt.”

And at that point, you closed his own door in his face.

After Seokmin let that tiny secret slip about Mingyu in the hot tub, he came up to you the next day and asked you to forget everything he said. It’s like the universe wants to squash even the potential of Mingyu having feelings for you.

Aside from the journal, you became afraid of losing something else: your friendship with Mingyu. Sure, maybe you aren’t written in the stars, maybe there’s no red sting of fate which has connected you since birth, maybe the memories of eating a baked apple struddle from his lunch and in return offering him a blueberry muffin have no significance, but at least you can be friends. You just worry that once the summer ends, you’ll fade. Mingyu will forget you. He could realize you aren’t as special as you seemed back at that lake house, and somehow, you’ll become the arbitrary dot he left in your yearbook. Painfully, you’ll have to find some way to get over him.

Suri is the first to take a seat in the canoe. She positions herself right at the front while Cluett continues holding the boat. Seokmin steps in next, settling with a life jacket that still must be too small, because he didn’t bother to do the zipper. Cluett calls the seat behind him, so you take the spot beside Seokmin. You can’t help but grimace slightly when your feet touch the cold, small puddles in the metal belly of the canoe. Blair almost whips you in the back of the head with her paddle when she takes her seat next to Cluett, though you bite your lip incredibly hard to avoid making a snarky comment. It’s not that you dislike her, but she’s annoyingly oblivious.

Once Cluett gives the boat a shove, he hops in and you all begin paddling.

“Why don’t we head toward the Lily Trail first?” Suri says. “Then we can paddle back here, break, and try the Rainbow Trail.”

Upon floating through the entrance to the Lily Trail, you note the canal is wide and quiet, with forest bracketing on both your left and right. The willow trees are white as fresh silk. They have low, drooping branches that just hover above the water. When you peer over the edge you can see the green weeds far below, and the deeper you paddle into the trail, the more lilies appear, scattered across the calm surface in spots of pale yellow and pink. You quite like the Lily Trail.

“It’s so gorgeous here,” Blair leans over the edge to touch one of the pink flowers, “must be a peaceful life if you’re a fish.”

“Stick a microphone down there and ask them.” Cluett snickers.

“You’re ridiculous.” She grumbles, attempting to splash the younger boy.

“Hey, can we not splash?” Seokmin whines. “You’re gonna throw up a leech or something. And then I’ll have to start screaming.”

Suri sticks out her tongue. “There are no leeches here, genius. They like shallow areas, so they can hide under rocks or debris.”

“You should hop in, you know, just to test it.” Cluett humours.

She tilts her head. “I’ll throw you in instead. You can swim, right?”

“How about we head back?” You interject before Suri actually attempts to drown Cluett in a water field of lilies. “So we can break and try the Rainbow Trail.”

“The voice of reason.” Seokmin chimes.

Once the boat touches back at the main shore, everyone wobbles out to stretch their legs. You would need to be quick paddling toward the Rainbow Trail as the sun is slipping lower and lower, separating the sky in luminous rips of orange. A cold breeze slithers off the water, and it draws a shiver to your spine. Cluett decides to torture Blair by hanging a slimy piece of seaweed over a stick, chasing her with it, while Suri barks about how childish they are (until Cluett flings the seaweed at her and she screams even louder than Blair). The younger boy is consequently banished to hold the canoe again, the breeze turning into a wind which he braces against.

Just before everyone settles back into the canoe, you feel a tap on your shoulder, and suddenly you’re staring at the black eyes of Blair, orange sunlight stained across her face.

“Can you do me a favour?” She asks in a whisper.

“What sort?”

“I want your seat next to Seokmin, that’s all. It’s better than sitting next to Cluett. And if we see something pretty it will give me an excuse to lean into Seokmin’s side like ‘aw, isn’t that gorgeous?’ Y’know, stuff like that. I think he likes me.”

You nod tersely, and plaster on a crooked smile. Admittedly, you had also tried not to laugh in the poor girl’s face, because she really isn’t all that receptive to anything. Exhibit A: the fact that Seokmin isn’t fond of her whatsoever.

“Oh, sure! Sit there all you want.”

“Thanks,” she sighs in relief, “I think this will really prove if he likes me.”

“Maybe,” you agree in a small voice, “but, saying how you feel works too. That way you don’t have to sit on the fence of whether or not you should keep at it.”

For some reason, Blair looks offended. Another gust of wind rushes in from across the harbour and somehow that orange sunlight couldn’t feel any colder.

“I mean, I guess… But I’m really not like you. I don’t want to push myself onto other people just to get flat out rejected. I’m glad you have the self-esteem for that and everything, but not all of us can just go around—”

And at that moment, you have to stop Blair in her tracks, because how on earth would she know about any of your rejections or your intimate declines or your approach toward romance if you’ve never told her? At first, she doesn’t seem to realize what she’s done, rather she stares at you with a dumbfounded expression.

“Wait – you know about me getting rejected? How? Who told you?”

In fact, the only time you ever confessed to a person of interest was the night of the house party, though Mingyu didn’t have much to say, and while you could have interpreted his curtness in many ways, it was an obvious rejection. Nobody had known about it, no one at all, unless their prying eyes had found your journal.

Blair tries to gobble the words back into her mouth, but it’s too late.

“Well, it was just something I heard—”

“How? Because I didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t either.”

And then, the girl manages to fumble again.

“Mingyu could have said something! How would you know?”

Like someone had cradled your heart in the pouch of a slingshot and let it fly into your chest, it’s a pulse that nearly splits you down the middle. A single beat which completely flips your emotion. Cluett doesn’t understand why neither you or Blair have gotten in the boat, while Seokmin and Suri seem utterly confused.

Oppositely, for you, the fog has lifted. There’s a crackling urge in your palm to slap Blair right across the face, though you’re able to refrain.

“So you took the journal!” You accuse her without hesitance. “And you’re hiding it somewhere! I want it back, or just tell me where it is so I can find it myself!”

“I-I have no idea what you’re yelling about,” Blair stutters, “I didn’t take your journal and I don’t know where it is.”

“How can you lie to my face?!”

“I’m not! I didn’t take it!”

You shake your head. Tears bulb at the rim of your eyes.

“But you clearly read it! If you didn’t take it, then who?”

Blair wavers and avoids meeting your gaze. Seokmin has tried poking his way into the dispute, yet his questions flail and never receive a response. There is too much blinding anger for you to take note. Again, you press the girl for an answer. She doesn’t say a word, but her gaze flickers in a telling direction. You follow the trace, and stop at the girl wearing the two gold beads in her ears, her tar-black hair draping over her shoulders and feathering in the wind. Suri stands with her arms nonchalantly folded, doesn’t even realize that your incinerating eyes have fallen upon her until everyone starts to blink her way, wondering if it’s true, if she took your journal.

Her brow furrows at the attention and she bristles like a territorial cat. Blair hadn’t exactly sold her out, but she wasn’t keen to take the full blame.

Suri then bursts into laughter. “Wait—you think I took it?” She drags her fingers smoothly through her long hair. “Caroline’s house is full of fancy paintings and books and expensive knickknacks, and you think I want a journal?”

Cluett has stopped holding the canoe, though no one has noticed it slowly bobbing further and further from the shallow water. He scratches the top of his head.

“No one’s asking about your shopping list,” the boy groans, the gloomy rings beneath his eyes suddenly appearing more sallow than usual, “did you take her journal or not? This isn’t rocket science. Not that you know about it anyways.”

Suri whips around and points her finger at him, hissing, “be quiet you little weasel. I swear, you’re always making the dumbest comments.”

“Okay, what’s your great talent? Covering your snake skin with fake jewels?”

In a flare of indignance, Suri squirms from her lifejacket and throws it on the ground. She looks wild, like in that moment, if no one else were there, she would lunge for Cluett and hold him underwater. Seokmin has to slosh into the lake and stop the canoe from floating adrift, while Blair nervously keeps quiet. By the time Seokmin has half-lugged the boat onto the shoreline, Cluett and Suri are mere feet apart, nipping at each other with insipid insults which only make your head pound.

“Enough!” Seokmin grasps each person by the shoulder, hauling them apart with a booming voice. You didn’t know he could be so domineering. “This is tiresome,” he utters between his teeth, then looks impatiently at Suri, “just answer the question. Did you take the journal?”

At first, there is no sound but the waves knocking against the canoe. You feel the breeze halt the few tears which have trickled in frustration down your face, and stare intently at Suri who is pinned in the centre of a whirlpool. She doesn’t want to sink, but she can’t stay afloat either. And with a deep breath, she sighs and says,

“I took it. I noticed it had nearly slid out of your bag when you went swimming last week.” She swallows the lump in her throat. Her hair doesn’t seem to shine any longer beneath the setting sun, rather it looks stringy and dry. “But I had a reason! I thought you might’ve said something to Mingyu that would make him suggest our break… I needed to know for sure… So that’s why I took it.”

The rage you experienced earlier had hardened like liquid sugar. In lieu of wanting to grab Suri by her thin shoulders and push her down into the sand and swat at her barbarously until she apologized, you want to grovel so deep into the earth that you won’t ever be seen again. In an instant, the unspoken unity between you, Seokmin, and Cluett crumbles. You’re ambushed by doubt. How do you know Suri hasn’t shared pages with others in the house? Or made hints behind your back that referenced the journal’s content. Instead of anger, you feel tiny and so afraid.

Suri squeezes her fists at her sides. “I’ll give it back—”

“Who else read it?” You interrupt her, even glance questionably at Seokmin who had always been sweet to you, and at Cluett who had made Suri’s skin itch since the first day at the lake house. “Did you pass it around to everyone?”

“N-No, of course not,” Suri says, “I swear, I-I just skimmed it, and I told Blair a few bits but that’s it.” She huffs almost spitefully through her nose. “Look, I have it in my room. I’ll give it back to you and—”

“Did you read it?” You ask Seokmin directly, tears flooding from your eyes.

He shakes his head profusely. “No, not at all.”

Your voice trembles as you look to Cluett. “W-What about you?”

“Didn’t even know you had a journal.” He admits.

For some reason, you think about your first day meeting Suri, when you helped her move beer bottles and cans into the ice cooler. You thought she was gorgeous. She had looked so prim and emanated this accomplished glow. Through your perspective, Suri was a girl who seemed to have everything swirling in the palm of her hand. A rewarding career as a model, being photographed at the world’s most stunning places, jewelry boxes overflowing with gold and silver pieces. People couldn’t help but to be envious of her, including yourself. Mingyu had once been coiled around her finger, bending to her every whim. But now, it feels that her leashes are untying.

As Cluett said, underneath such smooth skin must be the roughest, pointiest scales. How could someone so bountiful stoop to this harmful low? For a split second, your palm crackles again. There is anger inside you, wanting to escape. It tangles up from your belly, and you know that if you stay outside a moment longer, Suri will have the red imprint of your palm stinging across her pale cheek.

So you don’t stay.

You unbuckle the life jacket and shoulder if off.

Turning on your heel, you rush to the stone pathway leading toward the house. Seokmin takes a few steps after you, though the magnitude of your emotion is enormous and pounding. He seems fearful of your riptide and his pacing stills. In through the sliding glass store, down the hallway to the staircase, up the second level, you storm to your bedroom. Suddenly, Mingyu has appeared in the corridor, though his innocuous comment of whether or not the canoe trip was any fun crinkles away the second he meets your eyes. Unbeknownst to you, the tears are running, but the sole thing you recognize is the burning urge to be alone, isolated.

“What’s wrong?” Mingyu doesn’t succeed in stopping you as you brush past him, left puzzled and a bit dazed, staring at your back.

He tries again. “Hey, what’s wrong?!”

You throw open the door as Mingyu closes the distance in between.

“Seriously, what the hell happened?” There’s a pleading tone in his voice.

At last, you face him through the threshold, ready to slap the door shut at any given moment. He swipes back the messy hair from his eyes, studies the complex range of emotion which spills to your every feature. Frustration, sadness, an urge to wither up permanently, he can’t possibly identify them all. Mingyu tests his luck by taking a small step forward, attempting to soften his worried expression.

“If I can help you, then—”

“If you want to help me,” you interrupt him, suckling back the uncomfortable oozing in your nose and the tears in your eyes, “then please, leave me alone.”

The door whips shut. A clicking sound suggests the lock.

You collapse stomach-down onto the bed, your arms threading under the pillow which your face has sunken into. Mingyu tries the handle, but to no avail. He jiggles it a few times, then knocks, jiggles the handle again, and knocks.

“C’mon,” the boy’s muffled voice leaks through the wood, “don’t block me out like this. Did someone say something? Do something? Are you hurt?”

His persistence is aching. The fact you can hear actual concern heavying his tone only forces you to shove your face deeper into the pillow, until you can hardly breathe. You don’t know how, or why, but Mingyu’s presence only encourages the emotions to bleed thicker. Rather than realize his intent to comfort you, a derisive image lies in the way.

Suri tucked under her covers before bed, flipping through the pages of your journal, reading every word, snickering and cackling and licking her teeth excitedly as though she were an evil witch. Embarrassment almost coats you to the bed. One hand clutches at the sheets and squeezes so tightly, your fist begins shaking. It feels impossible to face Mingyu knowing that Suri’s read your every heart flutter about him. And what’s to stop her from telling him? Then he’ll be embarrassed for you, won’t ever desire or rethink his choice to never speak with you again. An abrasive knock temporarily shatters the unpleasant thoughts. Mingyu has sighed heavily.

“Why can’t you just talk to me?” He croaks, and you hear the sound of his head thumping against the wood.

You lift your head from the pillow, the bedroom air feeling winter-cold against your cheeks. “I-I told you already, please go away!”

“Why can’t I see you at least once?” Mingyu sounds choked up too, and it only increases this aching inside. “Please, if you just talked to me, I could help you feel better. I’ll listen to you. You know that.”

For a mere second, you contemplate opening the door. But then you picture Suri sharing your journal with Blair, laughing at you, ridiculing you, using your most personal device as a tool for complete mockery.

And you suddenly decide that opening it would be a very bad idea.

CHAPTER 28: GIRL TALK

Throughout the night, different people come to your door.

Seokmin arrives after Mingyu, taps his knuckles gently, waits, fiddles his fingers. Accepting his fate which lacks a response, the boy utters a quiet, “I hope you’re okay”, and returns to the lower level of the house. Cluett had knocked too. It surprises you, because your relationship isn’t firm as iron, or even remarkable to much extent, but he had announced himself and pressed down timidly on the handle, only to leave a moment later. News of the stolen journal and its thief must have spread quickly, for even Chan had attempted to get you talking, though he receives the same empty air as everyone before him. Around nine o’clock, there’s shouting from the main living space.

You can’t decipher a single word, just the strange fuzziness to the words, the outrageously high pitches, and no more than half an hour later do you hear rubber turning hot against the outside pavement. Someone has clearly abandoned the house.

In the minutes that proceed, you nearly fall asleep. The blaze which had ravished your body in the evening light has shrunk to a frail ember. Tired of crying, done with feeling, your eyes close and you listen for the waves which had sounded so loud during your first night. However, before you can fade, there’s another knock.

“It’s Jane—” a slight pause, followed by a wispier voice, “and Deedee—” now back to the original speaker, “and you better open this door or I’ll bust it down.”

Jane and Deedee, at last returned from their earlier hike in the forest, are more than aware of the incident between you and Suri. After Jane practically wrangled the information free by curling her fingers through poor Seokmin’s shirt, she knew she had to get your journal back. Lugging yourself off the bed, you stare blankly at the indent your body left in the sheets, smear a hand under your nose, and then unlock the door. Jane enters the room rather explosively while Deedee trails behind with more caution. Before anything else, Jane hugs you, sets your head onto her shoulder and gives a few firm pats to the back of your hair. She smells like the wet leaves, dark soil, and the twilight breeze of the woods.

Together, you sit on the bed. Jane hands over your journal, though it doesn’t carry the familiarity it once did before Suri had read it. Instead of a release, it resembles a burden. You don’t even open it or whisk through the pages for good measure. Seeing the words will surely grasp your embarrassment by its neck and uproot it straight toward your chest, and you’ll have another death-grip on the sheets.

“Suri was hiding it in one of her big jewelry boxes.” Jane explains, shaking her head disapprovingly.

Deedee tucks a curl of blonde hair behind her ear. “Her and Blair gathered all their things and left. Just stuffed their suitcases and stormed out the front.”

You connected the nine o’clock commotion to the screeching car. At first, you aren’t sure what to make of the situation. Suri, as much as she adored to act high and mighty, hadn’t offered even the tritest apology. Blair, who had always seemed caught in Suri’s shadow, a disciple who marched a one-way street, tucked her tail and ran right along with her. In a way, it’s pitiful more than anything.

Jane taps a finger against her lip. “Tommy didn’t read it, did he?”

Deedee tucks her knees in to her chest. “Doubt it. He can’t keep a secret, and Suri isn’t an idiot. She must’ve left him out on purpose.”

Clutching her fist tight, Jane sighs. “Honestly, I’ve never met someone so insecure. And deluded. Some people aren’t worth a bag of bread.”

You manage to chuckle at that. Jane is right after all. Contorting yourself to be liked in the eyes of someone who you know nothing about, there’s something toxic that comes with it. You realize there’s no point in bending until you break.

“Deedee,” glancing toward the fair-skinned girl, her cheeks suddenly colouring pomegranate-red, you ask, “did something happen between you and Suri?”

“Well…” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a blue barrette, popping it open and closed nervously, “I’m sure you know we went to the same high school and everything. Ash Hills. Before Suri was close with Blair or Tommy, I was a good friend of hers. But… She started treating me different when Tommy came into the picture. She would try to embarrass me in front of him. Bring up old stories I hated. Then she told me I shouldn’t even talk to him. It was messy, and ugly, and terrible.”

Swallowing loudly, Deedee clicks the barrette again. “Suri always sort of kept Tommy on the outside. I think he’s seen glimpses of how shallow she is, but he doesn’t know the full extent. I’ll have to talk to him.”

Jane scratches the scar on her nose. “I’m sure everyone will jump to update him once he wakes up from his nap. Everyone’s blabbing about it down there.”

Great, you think, exactly what I need, everyone knowing my business.

Casting a sharp look to your journal, you sigh, “I always thought there was some weird tension between you and Suri. Now I know why.”

“I didn’t want to think she was still the same.” Deedee admits. She uses the barrette to pin back a thin section of hair. “But I guess she’s just an airhead.”

“Sweet at first, then awfully salty.” Jane agrees. “I only knew bits of how controlling and obsessive she is because of Mingyu. She’s totally two-faced, and I’m relieved they’re over. He can be too kind for how own good sometimes. I’m just glad she’s packed her damn bags.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle, “she doesn’t deserve to step foot on a runway.”

Jane snorts, chuckling through her nose. “Believe me, a sidewalk is the only place she’ll be strutting. As long as the universe is merciful for once.”

Glancing at your lap, you see Jane’s hand grab yours, giving it a tight squeeze that convinces you everything will pass. For some reason, you imagine the plain expression of expectancy covering Caroline’s face when she hears about this drama. She definitely has a knack for developing certain senses about people. Deedee leaves the room to investigate on whether or not Tommy is awake yet, but she places a candy on the bedside table right before slipping out the door: a crinkly gold wrapper with a hard caramel inside. Jane stays a few minutes longer, waiting to hear if there’s anything you need, if you want to leave early the next morning, but you shake your head no. Only three days are left until the lake house is empty again.

You might as well stay.

CHAPTER 29: ASHES TO DUST

Around two in the morning, you decide to give up on sleeping. Your eyes just won’t stay shut, and every minute or so they flutter open, gauging the black space and shadows. Careful in movement despite Jane’s ability to sleep like a log, you grab your journal and tiptoe downstairs. You take the matchbox which sits in a kitchen drawer.

Wandering down to the beach, your vision is able to adjust in the moonlight, though you see everything through mute and dark blue shades. At last, you stumble across the circle of rocks placed in the sand by you and Seokmin all those weeks ago, when everyone had gathered outside for a bonfire. There’s still some shards of wood, dry leaves, twigs, and moss which lump together in the blackened pit. Striking a match against the rough strip, a crackle hits the air and your face becomes illuminated. You bend down and stick the match near some dry leaves. The fire quickly sizzles across them, makes them curl and disintegrate, before slowly crawling up the wood. You stuff the small box into the sand.

Then, you open your journal to the very first page, your angry scribbling hardly readable as you ranted about that one, particularly horrible customer. It takes nothing more than a curt tug to rip out the paper. You let it float directly into the fire where the ink is charred in mere seconds. The page you just held in your hand is now completely erased, apart from a few black, smoking flecks. And the routine continues exactly like that, tearing out page after page, letting them soak in the hot, orange light until they’re gone forever. You don’t feel empty or poignant about it.

More than anything, you feel relaxed, like a key has just turned the lock on your diaphragm, and you can breathe properly again.

It doesn’t surprise you that later on, as you progress through your written entries, you hear footsteps behind you. Whenever you can’t sleep, it seems like Mingyu can’t either, which has brought him outside into the coolness, staring over your shoulder at the fire and the black water of the lake. In fact, he’s standing awfully close, close enough that his chin has suddenly nestled onto your shoulder.

“Did you hear about what happened?” You ask him, not bothering to hide the wobbliness in your voice. He already knows how you feel about him anyways.

He nods. “Mmhm, through Seokmin.”

Separating another page from the book spine, you allow it to float down onto the fire, the edges immediately searing and crumpling inward.

“And you don’t think it’s a bad idea for me to destroy every page?”

“I think you’re just doing what feels right.” Mingyu shrugs.

Compared to the evening, when he’d been outside your door banging his fist, begging to see you, for you to talk to him, he’s composed now, and it’s sort of peculiar how your emotions have always fallen into synch.

You rip out another page. “Do you want to read this one before it’s gone?” Comes your offer. “It’s about you, when you carried me back to the house after I hurt my ankle.” He’s silent at first, so you assure him you don’t care anymore.

His head lifts from your shoulder and he accepts the paper.

“Here’s another one,” you stick the paper behind you, “it’s when you dragged me into the water and kept asking about my journal.”

Mingyu holds both in his hands, reading each one.

“I’m guessing there’s more.” He says as his eyes gloss over the words.

“Yeah, you were a pretty big topic.” Dropping more pages into the fire, you chew your cheek and mumble, “big enough for Suri to think I caused your breakup.”

At that, Mingyu huffs, a short burst of laughter. The pages he’d been holding swoop down and get absorbed by the flames, adding to the black flakes which spot the sand surrounding the pit. You have yet to look back at him, until you’re setting the last few pages free. Somehow, you can feel the strength of his gaze from behind when he says those words so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing at all:

“It was because of you.”

As though he’d pulled some metaphorical trigger, you finally turn around and catch his eyes directly. He uses a finger to pull some of the black fringe from his forehead, and a small smile which you can’t exactly read has tapered his mouth.

“I didn’t really want to be with her anymore,” Mingyu admits, “even before I knew about the vase, about the journal, I was thinking it. I mean, we did have some good times together, good moments where she seemed, y’know, genuine. But then you came in. I feel things when I’m with you, that I realized I never felt with Suri.”

He tilts his head, grins, “in your words, I have a crush. On you.”

Something that resembles a lightning strike cracks inside you, full of heat and energy and electricity. You feel it in your fingertips as they start to twitch, in your toes as they begin to squirm, in your chest as it uncontrollably flutters.

Tilting your head at him, your mouth hovers open blankly for a few seconds, and then you find your words. “I don’t know if I should punch you or kiss you.”

Mingyu reaches for your wrist, grasping it softly and pulling you in close.

“I think you should punch me later,” he whispers with a smirk, his forehead nudging against yours, “and kiss me now.”

It takes a moment before his voice clicks in your mind. In fact, you aren’t even sure if this is reality. Is this really moonlight hitting your skin? Is there really a fire crackling and popping behind you? Is the dancing breeze really curling through your hair? But, Mingyu seems real. He seems firm and alive and warm. Deciding to trust your instincts, you press your mouth to his, slowly at first, like you’re testing the temperature of something that could be red hot. Your eyes shut and there is only a colourless void, sound. He pecks you softly in return. You kiss him again, stronger.

Mingyu pushes back, his mouth slanting against yours, wedging deeper, which draws you to bite his lip. It’s an accidental bite, though it’s just the right amount of gentle and erotic to ignite some sort of spark in the boy. His hand cups your cheek while the other sits tightly against the small dip in your lower spine. You drop the journal into the sand, a carcass that had been stripped of all its bones, and run your fingers through his black hair like you used to imagine in your daydreams. The texture is smooth and thick, with fronds gliding between your fingers effortlessly, until you try a sharp tug. At that, Mingyu cracks.

His arms fasten with an impressive strength around your waist. He lifts you up while you separate your mouth from his, taking a big breath of the cold night.

The next surface your back hits is his bed.

CHAPTER 30: FEVER | SMUT WARNING

You’re nervous. Undeniably.

This isn’t something you could have ever imagined, and it’s all happening so fast. As your head rests on Mingyu’s pillow while his tongue traces and swirls against the side of your neck, you blink up at the ceiling, dimly lit and fuzzy. You can’t understand why the ceiling looks like it’s been wildly smudged. But then the boy’s knee slips in between your thighs, presses right at the apex, and the ceiling scatters with these smattered dots. It’s a sign of your pleasure, you realize, a high that rushes through you like a warm flare. Mingyu returns to your mouth again. You expect the kiss to be sloppy or rushed, though your brow raises in surprise when Mingyu continues his soft pressure.

The rapid beating in your heart subsides ever so slightly, and the nerves slowly begin to trickle out. It seems that he doesn’t want to rush, like he’s giving you time to question if this is something you truly want. When his knee slips back out from between your thighs and his lips leave yours in a quiet pop, you feel this powerful ache in every inch of your body. Despite the nervousness, there’s certainty too.

Mingyu’s eyes are round and glistening as he gazes down at you.

“I don’t want you to think you have to do this.” He says tenderly.

As you wipe beside your nose to dust off what feels like an itch, you note that your hand trembles. Mingyu leans further away.

“Seriously, I won’t be upset or anything,” the boy smiles, drawing back the hair tumbling over his forehead, “It’s not even about me.”

You can’t help but laugh with the butterflies in your stomach. “C’mon, you won’t be even a little upset? What if I find that insulting?”

His head drops down, and he half-sighs, half-chuckles.

“Well, of course I’ll be a little miffed.” Mingyu sits back, still straddling your lap, and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m just trying to be a decent person, here.”

“No, I appreciate that.” You grin.

“Besides,” the boy smirks, “I still have my left ha—”

“I get it,” comes your flustered interruption, the heat licking fiercely at the underside of your skin, “I think I could assume that much.”

He rolls his eyes and smiles. Then he leans down further, pauses, leans down a little more, pauses again. With his hands still stuffed in his pockets, Mingyu is finally close enough to kiss you, a very sweet and reassuring kiss that makes you grin into it like a complete fool. He hovers just a few inches above your face.

“So, you’re down?” Mingyu asks in a comfortable but gravelly voice.

“Yes.” You nod up at him, practically beaming like the sun itself.

“One-hundred percent?”

Another nod. “One-hundred percent.”

For some reason, the boy just blinks at you, as though he’s contemplating.

“What’s wrong?”

Mingyu shakes his head. “Nothing.” However, a slow, lascivious smirk begins to dance from one corner of his lip to the other, his tongue drawing over his teeth, and you know his mind must have suddenly gushed with inappropriate thoughts. “It’s just,” he begins, “you’re going to have to be quiet. Really quiet. As in I might have to put a hand over your mouth or put your face in the pillow to stop you from crying.”

Your eyes immediately widen and the question stumbles out embarrassingly fast, a dead giveaway at your inexperience, “I’m going to be crying? Good… crying?”

“Oh,” Mingyu purrs like he’s cooing at someone rather dumb, though you can’t deny the rush that shoots straight to your core when he places his elbow next to your head and whispers in your ear, “it’s better if I show you, isn’t it?”

And then he giggles, which sounds like the tinkling of tiny bells. You can’t believe him, how easily he flips between smoulderingly attractive and an innocent puppy whose just trekked dirt throughout the house. Before you can even make one last humorous comment, Mingyu has sunk his canines into a pliable spot a little ways down from your ear. You gasp as a low burn tingles from the bite. He marks and sucks and licks his way down, has you squirming underneath him, releasing small grunts which you can’t seem to muffle in any way, even with effort.

His eyes flash toward you.

“I want to say something, but I won’t.” Mingyu remarks, his hands pushing up your t-shirt inch by inch. Your nerves are starting to return and rustle like a lump of autumn leaves. A breath has to crawl into your chest before you can respond.

“Is it a stupid joke?” You raise a brow in question.

Sitting back so that Mingyu can help you pull off your top, he juts out his lip.

“No,” he mumbles, gathering the fabric by its hem and sliding it gently over your head, “I was going to say you should be quiet, but I like your noises too much.”

The shirt falls onto the floor with a lightweight thud.

“So, should I be quiet or not?”

Mingyu shrugs. “Do you want everyone in the house to know you’re getting fucked? By me? This bed creaks enough as it is. Slaps the wall like a bitch too.”

Falling back against the sheets, your hands come to rest over your stomach while you realize the double edge of Mingyu’s words. Now that you think about it, you had heard a bit of squeaking, some light thuds every now and then in the past, that Mingyu or Suri always bore a visible hickie the next morning. The fact those tidbits were just clicking now makes you feel like everything goes over your head.

“I guess you would know.” The comments seems like it should sting, but you truthfully don’t mean it in such a way. It’s a mere observation.

However, Mingyu can’t help being so soft. The mischievous glint from earlier blips from his gaze, replaced by a gentler sheen you can’t describe. You just know it makes your stomach flip upside down and there’s some deeper emotion behind it.

“I promise I’m not treating you like some rebound, or someone I can add to a stupid body list. I want—”

Holding up a hand to stop him, you shake your head.

“You don’t have to explain yourself. If I thought that, I wouldn’t still be under you, Mingyu. Or in this bedroom.” Your lips curl in warmth and your hand reaches out to stroke his firm thigh. Visibly, you see him relax, the tension leaving his body.

Once the boy peels off his own long sleeve, his mouth returns to your neck, suckling at the flesh while his tongue softly probs and soothes the bruises. His big hands cover your chest, palms pressing down over your plain-coloured bra, squeezing, massaging. Mingyu distracts you with a heated kiss, one where your saliva mingles and your lips swell and your temperature raises tenfold. Then, a hand slips under the padding, his fingers rubbing against your nipple, a slight pinch and tug, his thumb circling around it afterward to ease the dull sting of the pleasure. When he separates your mouths, you mewl in frustration. You watch with glassy eyes as Mingyu slides his tongue across his fingertips before moving them back under the bra.

The added wetness to the contact lures another gasp. Except this time, it’s his name, whispered sharply, with a lot of breath. He rubs your nipple again, gives himself a moment to take in your knotted brow and tightly shut eyes, only to deliver a slow lick over the mound of your other breast. Needing to feel the warmth from his mouth, you undo the bra’s clasp and remove it almost in an impatient manner, like you need his hands and tongue on your bare skin more than water and food. The very second Mingyu laps over a perked bud, you begin to squirm and dig your feet into the mattress, turn your cheek into the pillow and try your absolute hardest not to whine.

He switches between flicks and flat, broad licks. You don’t think. A hand flies up to his hair and you tug at the black locks like it’s going to keep you centered.

“It f-feels so good, Mingyu,” you attempt to whisper, though your voice cracks a bit in the middle as his teeth teasingly graze the plump skin.

“Shhh,” he reminds you, palming your breasts with gentle movements, “a little quieter, sweetheart. Try to keep your voice as low as mine.”

“It’s hard.” you admit, toughly biting your bottom lip.

It doesn’t help that you make the mistake of peering down, only to glimpse at Mingyu pressing a peck to the space between your ribs, his body inching lower and lower, his kisses getting a little hotter and wetter. The dense pink shaded across his cheeks and the ruffled mess of his hair stirs the pressure inside you. Unable to imagine what his tongue might feel like, lapping right against your flesh, right against your most sensitive parts, laving and sucking and flicking. A shiver blasts like an icy breeze down your spine and you suddenly jerk. Mingyu raises his head, grinning.

“And what on earth are you thinking about?” He murmurs lowly.

Knowing you’ll melt, your eyes dart everywhere but his dark gaze.

“Something…” You scrunch up your nose. “Something very inappropriate.”

“I think I can tell what it is,” Mingyu’s fingers hook into the hem of your shorts, and his voice is thick with desire, “I’ve played this out in my head before.”

You nearly choke. In fact, you almost slam up in bed, though some unbelievable willpower keeps you glued to the mattress. He must note your struggling to remain calm, because Mingyu quickly snorts and rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, Miss Five Year Crush. Don’t tell me you’ve never pictured this.”

The pulse in your wrist almost has the vein turning bulbous beneath your skin, and you’re surprised you haven’t liquidized into a pool of goo.

“Well, I have. You’re just upfront.”

His gaze shifts like he’s looking at the ceiling corner, and then the boy is agreeing, nodding his head matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, you can say me admitting to fantasies about eating you out in my bed is upfront.” Mingyu smirks, baring his teeth before he continues. “I needed something to think about whenever I used that big fancy shower.”

“Oh my god, you did not just say that.” You deadpan.

The boy laughs deviously. “Those were some of the best showers I’ve ever taken. All thanks to you.”

Grabbing a random pillow, you bop him on the head. This sudden splurge of information will end you before Mingyu gets the chance.

“You talk too much.”

“If I can say one more thing,” the boy blows the hair from his eyes, “I should preface that this is the part where you’ll cry.”

He begins to remove the shorts, at first tugging them off your hips, then down your legs with the help of you raising your pelvis accordingly. You aren’t sure how helpful Mingyu’s warning is, because the anxious pounding from before has greatly amplified and your toes are already curling and wriggling like caterpillars. He nudges one of your thighs aside, plants dizzying, full kisses up toward the inner corner of skin, a sure damp spot already formed on your underwear. There’s this strange stickiness in your throat and you have to create a rumbling sound to clear it.

Mingyu lifts his head, looks at you with concern. The sight of him between your thighs is so jarring that you end up pinching yourself to calm down.

“I didn’t mean to scare you with that warning,” his eyes are thoughtful, considerate, “I really meant what I said before. You don’t have to.”

“It’s not that,” you shake your head, “it’s just a little… nerve-wracking to have you down there. Imagining it is a lot different from the real thing, y’know.”

The boys nod his head, smiles comfortingly.

“I know.” He mumbles in his brassy voice. The warmth of his breath touches through the fabric and you have to supress a visible shudder. “Just lay back and close your eyes,” Mingyu instructs, speaking gently, “that’s all you have to do, promise.”

And you trust Mingyu. Readjusting your head against the pillow, your eyes soon flutter shut, and you take in a big inhalation which releases the tension in your bones. Just before the boy’s mouth switches to your other thigh to place an upward trail of kisses, an intense tingling expands in your tummy when he affirms you in a voice especially deep and especially melting: “good girl.” It results in another straw of composure to be plucked from the haystack, though you merely continue to breathe and raise your hips when you sense Mingyu’s pleased with his teasing, now wanting to remove your underwear. As soon as they’re slid off your ankles, you swallow dryly.

The boy mumbles something about how pretty you are, how extremely crazy you make him, yet you don’t quite register half of it because within the next moment, his tongue drags along your core like he’s licking at his favourite popsicle. And you can feel everything. Everything. The velvet texture and heat of his tongue, how it coats your skin in a sopping wet sheen, the instantaneous euphoria as the muscle slightly pulls up at your clit and suddenly you’ve never felt anything better. His hands clutch your waist, holding onto you firmly. Then, his tongue sweeps again, this time trailing along your left fold, making a few calculated circles at your bud, and licking softly down, following the right fold. You get the impression that Mingyu has more than one technique up his sleeve, and that you better learn to bite your lip.

But it’s difficult. Perhaps even more difficult than every time you had to look this boy square in the face and pretend your heart wasn’t beating like a war drum.

It’s particularly troublesome when he angles his tongue a certain way, catching the glistened edges of your slit or ravaging your clit until you’re afraid this pressure in your abdomen will crack you in half. Though a few squeaks escape the tightly confined pressing between your top and bottom lip, you think you might just survive this pleasure without too much commotion. Of course, this possibility is deflated the second Mingyu coils his arms around your waist, a foreboding action which isn’t fully realized until he buries his face deeper into your core, his mouth then latching onto your clit. At this point, you nearly scream.

Nearly.

Sharp thinking has the flesh of your wrist wedged between your teeth, where you chomp down in an attempt to mitigate the cry. The worrisome part is the boy’s damning persistence. Mingyu continues his suckling, won’t loosen his hold in the slightest, subjecting you to a sheer amount of hedonism that has your arousal glimmering on the sheets, his rosy lips and chin. You’re forced to accept that gnawing on your own wrist isn’t going to alleviate anything, and before your mind is aware of the orgasm, this staggering high flows throughout your body in a tidal wave.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” You whine, mushing your cheek into the pillow, hoping your words are at least half-muffled.

A throbbing sensation overwhelms your core. His arms are an unbreakable latch, ensuring your pelvis doesn’t thrust too far up or that you twist away from him, because he certainty isn’t going to stop just because you’ve hit a climax. You feel his slippery tongue, how it presses a hungry lick from the honey at your entrance to your sensitive, flaring bud. Your hands cramp from clawing too harshly at the sheets.

“A-Aren’t you—Ah! God—aren’t you going to give me a moment?”

He chuckles, and the grittiness of the vibration travels straight into your core. Mingyu’s eyes dart upward for a split second, blackened and twinkling behind his messy hair. A scant remark follows, though it’s mumbled, quick, like Mingyu can’t stand even one second away from your taste, or having you mewl beneath his tongue.

“M’not done with you yet,” he grunts, “so just sit back,” he slips his arms under your thighs, gives you a hard tug which has moved your heat even further toward his face, “and let me lick this cute pussy until I��m satisfied, okay?”

You gulp, loudly, and nestle your head back into the pillow.

At that, Mingyu further exposes your core by spreading you open with his thumbs, plants a sweet kiss to your left hipbone, and then spits right onto your clit.

“Thank you.” He has the audacity to grin.

For certain, you aren’t going to survive this night without hot tears pumping down your cheeks. Or without making a sound loud enough to echo across the harbour. By the time of what feels like your third orgasm (you aren’t entirely sure, the pleasure sometimes bleeds together, then tingles back into pain, but slowly builds into slickness and arousal again), you’re like a limp towel. Gathering clumps of the boy’s tresses in your fingers and pulling at his scalp has turned from a tingly sting to a meekness that’s hardly even there. He doesn’t show much response to it.

A glisten stripes down your chest and sweat tinges along your hairline. Right at the slight dip in your collarbone, there’s a distinctive coldness, where your tears had dripped and collected as Mingyu flicked, swirled, and consistently rubbed his tongue until he’d brought you to the point of sobbing. Your thighs are trembling, still bracketed by his arms. It had been during your third climax, at the blurry tip, when you couldn’t mute your noises any longer. A squeal burst from the back of your throat and your spine arched from the bed. It felt as though you were not in control whatsoever, but that this rush under your skin was moving for you, making your limbs twitch and shake. Now, Mingyu cleans the last of your arousal, every little drop.

When he finally releases the strict hold he had on your thighs, the bend in your legs drops and this burning ache resembles a sensation close to pins and needles.

The boy brushes the damp hair from his eyes, licks the last bit of your cum glimmering on his chin into his mouth, and smiles like he just ate a bowl full of candy. He doesn’t even appear the least bit tired.

“I guess I should stop now, before you pass away.”

You take in a huge breath, just barely possess the energy to cock your head up at him, disbelief colouring your face. “What? Are you saying you could keep going?”

Mingyu laughs, now his turn to exemplify disbelief. “It hasn’t even been an hour yet. You just cum really fast.”

Choking on thin air, your eyeballs nearly pop from their sockets.

“I-I, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Your body just reacted to how good it was feeling. Did I make it sound like it was bad?”

Wiping the sweat from your forehead, you sigh, “I don’t know, I guess so. Is it supposed to be better if I hold off? I don’t really know how.”

The boy returns to leaning over your body. He sticks a small kiss to your cheek, then your lips, and shakes his head. You appreciate that Mingyu doesn’t seem to care about how guileless you are. Something about it eases you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that in an insulting way.” He smiles softly, his fangs poking out. “And it doesn’t matter if you can or can’t. Whatever. Doesn’t change the fact you felt really good, right?”

You nod. “Mmhm, you’re right.”

Mingyu lowers his head again, mapping another kiss against your lips. It’s a sweet contact at first, though he squeaks when you give his shoulder a smack.

“But I don’t know how you expect me to live through… through your dick. I think I’m too sensitive or something. You didn’t think this all the way!”

There’s a small pause, then the two of you are breaking into a giggle fest, where Mingyu eventually brings a finger to his lips as a reminder to keep quiet.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admits in a whisper, looking sheepish, “but even if I did think this all the way, it probably still would’ve come to this. You think I’m not gonna spend all the time I can eating you out? Really?” He makes a tsking sound.

Warmth floods your entire face.

“So what now?” You study his glowing eyes. “Grace period?”

“We could…” Mingyu trails off, sounding awfully uncertain.

“But?”

He almost winces as the words tumble from his mouth. “I’m so unbelievably hard that the most I can go without turning you around and fucking you into the bed is probably a minute if you let me. Now fifty-seven seconds. And dropping.”

Mingyu quirks an eyebrow. “My left hand is pretty good too.”

“Oh, shut up about your hand,” you swat at him playfully, “I guess I can’t make the big desperate puppy wait. Do you have a condom in here somewhere?”

“Top drawer, in the nightstand right beside your head.” He directs.

You lean over and pull the compartment open, your fingers eventually brushing against what feels like a smooth, foil packet. The second you hand the protection over to the boy, Mingyu holds it between his teeth while he removes himself from straddling you. His pants are shucked straight off, followed by his underwear, and you decide to not even spend one extra second looking toward his pelvis because it will only clog you with more nervous energy. That one split-second glance is enough, you decide. No wonder Suri was so territorial over him.

His head tilts back when he at last wraps a hand around himself, lending a few pumps which seems to alleviate his near pain. This deep rumbling emanates from his chest, followed by a sharp breath sucked between his teeth.

Suddenly, the heat from beforehand slicks your entrance again, and you realize just how badly you want this to happen, that you can relate to Mingyu in the sense that, if he doesn’t fuck you sooner or later, your sanity is going to decay. Despite the pool collecting at the apex of your thighs and the thundering in your every muscle, you still don’t spare too many looks at where his hand glides up and down. You’re lucky he hadn’t seen the initial expression on your face either. Drawing himself to a more composed state, Mingyu finally settles back over you.

He tilts his head, grins a bit empathetically.

“Seen a ghost or something?” The boy questions.

You crinkle your nose. “Definitely not a ghost… Genuinely – and please don’t laugh at me – are you going to fit? I know it sounds stupid, but…”

“Hmm, for everyone who’s asked me that,” he braces an elbow next to your head, “it’s always worked out. Just gotta remember to stay relaxed and breathe.” His hand cups quickly to the side of your face, a short but tender kiss buried at the space between your brows. “There’s nothing to worry about, okay? I’ll be slow, then we’ll see how we feel. You get me, sweetheart?”

Your arms wrap around his neck, and you smile. “I get you.”

Mingyu decides to take an extra precaution in order to help soothe you. He gently slides his index finger past your entrance, studying your countenance closely as he wriggles the digit inside you. His middle finger sinks in soon after, and you feel a scissoring motion stretch against the sponginess. It’s a weird sensation in the beginning; not pleasurable, but not uncomfortable or painful either. However, only a minute later and Mingyu’s finger brushes against a certain spot, one he has to push slightly deeper to find, and your hips jerk perfectly into his movement.

A smile has already crept onto his mouth as he lowers his head next to your ear, a whisper tickling your skin. “Think I found a nice little pressure point.”

He exercises the area by rubbing his fingertips, and your nails immediately plunge into the back of the boy’s neck. You’re even tempted to chomp on his shoulder if he doesn’t thwart his motion soon, because you sense a moan rising in your chest.

“Okay,” Mingyu slowly withdraws his fingers, coated in your slick, “I think I gave you a good stretch. You ready to move on?”

“Yeah. If there are any damages, I’ll bill you.”

His hand curls around himself, and he peers downward to help guide toward your entrance. Mingyu chuckles so casually at your comment, meanwhile you’ve just gaped in the biggest breath upon feeling his head glide up and down your core, ensuring he’s soaked in your arousal. You wonder how enjoyable it is for him to observe your facial expressions, because he’s wearing a smirk that’s almost gleaming as the head of his length runs along your clit and your eyes squinch. He repeats the action a few times, then settles himself right at your slit, just nestled inside the tiniest amount. He requires his hand to keep himself from slipping out, but once he’s situated in past the head, Mingyu takes both of his hands and interlocks them with yours.

“You’re still a little bit tense, angel,” Mingyu murmurs, nuzzling a kiss to the crown of your hair, “take in a breath, slowly, or else it’ll sting more. I don’t want to hurt you.” Audibly, you can interpret that it’s straining not to just slam himself inside.

Attempting to loosen yourself, you breathe in, then out, feeling Mingyu slide in a bit further, the pressure experienced against your walls unlike anything else in the world. There is a notable sting, and this tingling trickles throughout your entire body, warm enough to provoke the sweat glittering on your forehead. Tears prick against your eyes as Mingyu nudges himself further, though he kisses all over your face, trying to distract you. His fingers slot even tighter with yours, squeezing them comfortingly.

“M’almost there,” Mingyu grunts, proceeding to capture your mouth in a passionate kiss, “n’you’re doing so well, baby. You look so beautiful like this.”

Without issuing the act yourself, your walls clamp around him upon hearing his praises, and you lift your head to steal his mouth back, kissing the boy again, sucking on his bottom lip while you feel him push unbelievably deep inside you. Once he’s properly situated, the boy waits a moment just to be certain. His tempo begins very slowly, with soft thrusts that allow your body the time to really feel him, how he drags against your silk-like walls, the warmth of every stretch, a slight numbness which mingles into pleasure and suddenly you’re burrowing your face in his shoulder. Once he presses in to the hilt, Mingyu grinds his hips with a dizzying precision, and you squeeze around him with such a firm and suctioning grip that he laughs.

“Well,” he stares at your clouded eyes from behind the messy curtain of his black hair, “you’ve got a fucking vice grip on my cock right now, you know that?”

“I can’t help it,” you squeak as quietly as possible, “do you expect me to take you that effortlessly? I’m hardly keeping it together.”

A darkness seems to shift across his eyes, and suddenly you wish those words had never trembled from your mouth. Mingyu unlocks your fingers, instead leans above you with just one hand stamped next to your head. You feel his length being pulled out, followed by an embarrassingly wet squelch that has your neck and cheeks burning like they’ve been crisped by the glow of a fire.

“Turn onto your stomach.” Mingyu lends a simple instruction.

You’re rather slow to comply, considering each bone in your body is still plagued by the earlier orgasms from when he’d tongued between your thighs. For a second, Mingyu handles you with a bit of impatience, practically rolling you over himself and dragging you closer to him by your hips. There’s a fluttering feeling in your tummy, and you can’t deny the prospect of him manhandling you like a flimsy ragdoll has created a new pulse lower in your region. At first, you’re confused as to why Mingyu wanted this new position, though it becomes instantly clear when he begins fitting his length back inside your heat. He practically lies overtop you. One hand covers your mouth while the other settles at the back of your head.

His lips feather at the cusp of your ear, and he whispers using a tone that’s low and sickly sweet, like honey, “I know you can take it, baby. Because you’re such a good little girl, aren’t you? Only for me?”

He ruts himself into you harshly, and the bedframe whacks in a hollow thud against the wall. A loud whimper rushes up your throat, though it’s positively muffled by Mingyu’s hand clasping over your mouth.

“I’ll have to keep you quiet though,” he growls, nipping your ear, “nice and quiet. Unless I get desperate enough to hear how you sound crying my name, then maybe I’ll let you squeal. Does that sound good, pretty girl?”

His hand lifts from your mouth.

“Y-Yes, Mingyu.” You stutter, eager to feel him pounding into you.

The palm shifts back over, and you’re muffled again.

“There it is already.” The boy grits from between his teeth, his hips jerking against your skin, his length creating a delicious friction with your tightness which can’t seem to slow him down as it did before. “I think my name was made to come from that pretty mouth of yours, sweetheart, hm? I’d fucking love to hear you screaming ‘n crying for me. Makes me w’nna cum just thinking about it. That’s what you do to me, devious little girl.”

Despite your physicality, it feels like you should be a puddle, a complete puddle left to glisten on the bed. Or maybe nothing but a pile of ashes, because you don’t understand how your body hasn’t combusted from the dirty wishes escaping the boy’s mouth. He doesn’t change his pace, only deepens the groove to his thrusts, looking for that sensitive spot he massaged into before using his fingers.

A few bed thumps against the wall later, and Mingyu strikes it. He knows instantly, as you attempt a desperate whine into his palm and your body convulses beneath him, like the burst of pleasure was too much. He digs into it again, the hand braced against the back of your skull shoving your head down further toward the pillow. The beaded tears at your eyes roll onto his fingers as he continues to abuse the golden spot, nailing it repeatedly with his deep, consistent thrusts. The springs in the mattress are squeaking like they’ve been broken. Your own hands claw at the sheets, every single sound of yours drowned by the palm clamped to your mouth. Mingyu chuckles breathily from overtop. Somehow, you sense that he’s become even harder.

“Think you might cum one more time, sweetheart?” He hums, his voice right beside your ear, gritty and rough and turning your insides to mush. “It’s okay, m’gonna cum too. You just feel so good around my cock, baby. So so good. In fact—” his hand lifts from your mouth and you immediately suck in a breath of warm, muggy air. The bedpost keeps knocking into the wall, harder and harder.

“Say it,” Mingyu practically snarls, sneaking a hand underneath your body to brush circles against your exhausted bud, “I don’t care how loud you are. I wanna hear how well I’m fucking you, baby.” The pleasure which radiates from him stroking your g-spot has you starry-eyed and incoherent. Your fingers have become too slippery for even a reasonable grip on the bedsheets, and the only thing you can feel is him pulsating inside you. With one last powerful rut of his hips, you buckle.

“Mingyu!” His name tears from your throat, a sob more than a moan, as you contract around him, milking his length until he’s tipped over his edge.

“Such a good girl.” He chuckles, the strength of his voice weakening. His head slumps into the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin as he stutters again breathily, “ff-fuck, keep moaning for me, baby. D-Don’t stop.”

However, you don’t need to be told. Even without the boy’s instruction, his name is the only thing you can repeat amongst the bliss and fogginess of the high. As your clit throbs under his fingers and your arousal drips out, leaking from around his length, you spew Mingyu’s name like a broken record. Your whimpers turn increasingly softer, until you’re just barely murmuring anything, your eyes already fluttering shut in the aftermath of such a riveting orgasm. It’s hardly even noticed when Mingyu’s weight disappears from your back as he discards his condom. By the time the mattress dips, signalling his return, you’re half-asleep, fading in and out of subconsciousness. You feel a hand on your shoulder, a gentle shake.

“You’re just tired right? Not passed out?” Mingyu inquires, all the authority and lust now cleared from his tone.

“M’just tired…” Comes your slurred response.

He grabs a folded blanket half-slumped off the very end of the bed and drags it over your bodies, wrapping you up like butterflies before they emerge from their cocoons. You possess just enough energy to roll onto your side and bury your face against Mingyu’s neck, inhaling a shallow breath of his scent. Once he clicks off the bedside lamp and the room falls with blackness, the boy tucks his arms around you and pulls you in closer to his body. Ever so faintly, you feel his knuckles grazing tenderly at the bottom dip in your spine, and the kiss he plants to your temple.

You fall asleep to the sound of the waves outside.

CHAPTER 31: THE PROBLEM WITH LOVE

Everything returns to you slowly, sluggishly. As you lay in bed, painted by the dim light of early morning, your mind wavers between whether or not last night was a dream. If it had been, then it’s certainly your most erotic, vivid dream by far, and rather than instantly blurring from your memory, it sticks out like something big and bold. But as time passes, your eyes flickering open, your brain shedding its mist, you realize this is not the bed you share with Jane. The armchair you’re currently staring at isn’t swallowed by your clothes, but holds a familiar black bag and a condensed tripod. Even the blanket keeping you toasty, it’s not the one Jane packed.

Finally, it clicks. Last night was as real the breaths you’re taking in. When you turn over, there is nothing but slightly strewn white sheets. Emptiness, or maybe sadness, consumes you for a moment. What if Mingyu is out pacing in the corridor, fingers digging through his mussed locks, regretting his decision? Peering toward the washroom door, you spot a thinning layer of droplets on the mirror. Did he already shower? Pop downstairs to make himself breakfast? It still feels early, as though the sun hasn’t risen, but casts a deep blue glow across the sky in its first cracks of light and heat. The house is incredibly quiet, enough to hear a pin drop in the hallway. You don’t move a muscle, just stare at the ceiling and pluck at a thread beneath the blanket which feels like it’s coming loose. Then the stairway begins creaking.

The door knob turns, and you see Mingyu stepping into the room, holding two bowls with the spoons sliding around. He taps the door closed using his foot.

“Awake at last?” He questions, his voice still raspy with sleep.

You rub at your eye until it speckles with white dots.

“Hardly. How early is it?”

Mingyu sits on the bed, leaning back against the headboard. He’s dressed warmly, in a hoodie and his sweats, which is when you realize just how cold it’s become. But then you spot the window behind the armchair, open just a crack, filling the room with fresh but nippy air. It engenders the emptiness from before. You think about the calmness after the sex, burying your head against his neck, bodies pressed together tightly, his arms squeezed around you like he could never let you go.

“Uh, six-something,” the boy shrugs, “no one else is up yet.” He balances one of the bowls on his thigh. “Anyways, some Fruit Loops for you.”

You attempt to scoot up the bed, but this sharp ache suddenly strikes between your legs, resonates almost, like a clanging bell. Mingyu winces for you.

“Oops,” he grins sheepishly, “guess that’s my fault.”

After wrapping the blanket over your shoulders to hide from the cold, you take the cereal bowl off Mingyu’s lap, scooping up a spoonful of Fruit Loops. As much as you’d like to pout in his face or put on some adorable front to distract from the grogginess of your morning appearance, you’re too hungry to care. Skipping dinner last night is taking its effect. You shovel spoonful after spoonful of cereal into your mouth, hardly exchange a word with Mingyu until you’ve fished out every little piece and drank all the milk from the bowl. At last, you wipe the corners of your lips.

“If I’d known you’d be that hungry, I’d have made some pancakes or something.” Mingyu laughs, setting aside his own bowl.

“No sense going to all that trouble so early in the morning.” You sigh, squinting around the room, trying to spot your shorts or t-shirt. “Did you move my clothes somewhere? I need to get dressed.”

“They’re here.” Mingyu reaches down to the floor, then throws up the exact articles which he’d stripped from your body the night before.

You stare at them blankly for a moment, recalling how his kisses felt when they feathered so sweetly against your skin, how his arms weaved around your waist to hold you down while he brushed his tongue along your core. A chill pricks down your spine when you remember his words in your ear, his deep thrusts which scrambled all sense and articulacy. Afraid you might drool or shudder or portray the slightest hint as to what you’d just been reminiscing, you frame a straight face.

Mingyu sits on the edge of the bed as you slip back into your clothing, facing away from you. When he speaks, he sounds disappointed, and your heart falters.

“Gonna head back to your room already?”

The thing is, at this moment, you don’t know what Mingyu is to you, and you don’t suppose sleeping with him for one night is going to miraculously slap a label on whatever your relationship has become.

You like him—no, you love him. Are in love with him.

And it’s clear that he feels something toward you as well. Maybe if you were the same person as when you came to this lake house with Jane, then you would be stumbling all over your words, attempting to string together a single sentence which could somehow slam you two together. But you know it’s not like that. Despite Suri being shallow and sleuthing, Mingyu had still liked some part of her, some precious part that was able to shine bright enough to camouflage her ugly side. That part of Suri – the part Mingyu actually liked, loved, whatever – is not some obstacle he can simply jump over. Not some page he can immediately turn, where you’re all that occupies the next blank square.

He’s going to need to be alone. Think. And ponder if you really are the person in which he can see himself with next. Of course, it hurts. You’ve been patient, waiting, wore your heart on your sleeve the night you confessed to him. Besides, the grass is always greener on the other side. Mingyu could decide that the idea of being with you isn’t so glimmering and gold as it once seemed. But rather than crushing two things together, hoping they’ll magically stick, your connection needs to happen naturally. Perhaps Mingyu might not realize this fact right away. It could be why he sounds so disheartened that you’re dressing right now, preparing to leave his bedroom. Yet, you assume a small sliver of him understands.

Once you’re dressed, you drape your arms over Mingyu’s shoulders from behind. You squeeze him tight, feel his muscle and smell the lightness of coconut, stick a kiss on his cheek which lingers a second too long. Your heart aches terribly as he grabs your wrist to place a gentle peck in return.

“See you around.” Slides the soft whisper into his ear.

“Yeah, later.”

Walking carefully on your tiptoes, a hand against the wall to steady your movement, you return to your bedroom with Jane. She’s still fast asleep.

Exactly like you left her.

CHAPTER 32: THE NOTE

The last day. Packing day.

Opening every drawer, looking behind every cranny, bustling through your suitcase for the third time just to ensure you have all the items you came with. Really, you should have started packing the night before, though Caroline had reassured you at breakfast that it would be fine if you took a little longer than the others to leave. She had only arrived to see everyone out and lock up the whole house. You even gave Caroline a present. It’s a bracelet, with small bulbs of silver and smooth, cobalt blue stones, which you bought at the Discoverer’s Shop with Deedee. Despite the vase incident being dismissed, you couldn’t leave without gifting her at least something.

“You’re welcome back here any summer,” she had said, the rare slant of a smile crossing her mouth, “though, if Jane is going to have another get-together, I advise she invite less people. Maybe just four next time.”

Outside, everyone is attempting to properly pack their suitcases into their friend’s vehicles, like a confusing game of Tetris. You and Jane manage to easily stack your belongings in her trunk, while a few bags containing extra clothes or souvenirs from Silver Lake lump in the backseat. It’s not a very bright day. The sky is covered by the greyish, cotton-looking clouds which seem infinite and impenetrable. An intermittent drizzle sprays down, and all the edges of the house, the vehicles, and trees have droplets slowly trickling off. There’s a tiny breeze, though it’s pleasant and whisks away some of the morning humidity. You embrace the cool sensation against your cheeks as Jane slides the last knapsack into the backseat.

Cluett walks by, carrying his skateboard under his arm, wearing a large, black jacket with a warm wool insulating at the collar. The beanie tugged over his head hides his buzzcut, and for some reason, he’s eating a yellow apple. You feel a bit disappointed you hadn’t gotten to know him better.

“Who are you going home with?” You ask him.

He takes another crisp chomp into his apple.

“Caroline,” sounds his mumbled response, “after she locks the house up and all that. She really likes that bracelet you gave her.”

You’re stunned at the information. Jane pulls her head out from the car, slamming the door shut and dusting her hands off.

“Caroline?” There’s a noticeable squeak in your tone. “You guys are good friends?”

“No,” Cluett drops his skateboard, planting his foot on it, “she’s my older sister.”

Again, you’re astonished, presume he’s joking. But Jane interjects, reading the question from your face, and promises the truth in his statement.

“Wow, how did that never come up?” You wonder.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, “we don’t seem like we should be related. She’s all ‘responsibility’ and ‘intellect’. And… I’m… Well I’m me.”

“That’s right,” Jane slaps him on the shoulder, “you’re definitely nothing alike. But that’s what everyone loves about you two.”

“Everyone?” You gawk. “I was the only one who didn’t know?”

Cluett shakes his head. “Probably not the only one. You think if Suri knew I was Caroline’s brother, she would have treated me the same? No, she hated me – which I definitely knew and took advantage of. I bet if you didn’t run her out of the house, then I would have. Eventually. Hopefully.”

He takes another bite from his golden apple and pushes off on his board, announcing that he’s going to wait for Caroline by the pillar. She emerges from the house and squints her eyes, like she’s searching for him. As soon as he pops out, Caroline makes him leave his board outside. She addresses him as Adrian, which couldn’t sound any stranger to your ears. You glance around the driveway while the rain softly patters; the huge, circular driveway, the kind you had always wanted as a kid, thinking of all the space there is to run around and ride your bicycle and throw a tennis ball against the garage when there was nothing else to do.

You spot Deedee and Zaria at one car, packing the last of their bags in the trunk, simultaneously figuring out how they are going to incorporate Tommy’s suitcase as well. It pokes out slightly, preventing the hood from closing. He spins a kick at the corner, his hair flopping over his eyes, attempting to nudge it in further. When it doesn’t budge, Zaria decides that Tommy’s suitcase will just have to sit next to him in the backseat. You’re going to miss Deedee, seeing her strawberry-pink cheeks and her chin-length, luminous blonde hair in the halls every day. She’ll be very busy this upcoming semester, studying aerodynamics and all these complicated physics terms that she tried explaining to you one night, though you were utterly confused.

But she had given you her number and promised to stay in touch.

However, your most painful goodbye is to Mingyu.

He saunters over, tucked into a navy-green coat with a dark hoodie underneath, moisture glittering in his black hair. Assuming that he’ll bid goodbye to Jane first, you press yourself against the side of the car to keep out of their way.

“Let me know how that dates goes with Jeonghan.” Mingyu says like a strict, overprotective father. “Should I hide in the bushes? Maybe show up to the same restaurant and hide behind some newspaper, in case he tries anything funny?”

Jane pulls up the hood on her jacket, stuffing her puffy hair beneath it while she rolls her eyes. “I can think of better things you should be doing apart from hiding in some dusty bushes across the street. One: literally anything else.”

He laughs, rubbing a hand beneath his nose. “Hey, I’m only making sure. Just because he gave you that tattoo doesn’t mean he’s worth a million bucks.”

“I’m always careful. Always. You know that.” Jane replies, sounding resolute but endearing at the same time.

“I know.” Mingyu says. “Just looking out for you.”

He steps forward and wraps the girl into a big hug, similar to the one he gave her the day you all reunited at the diner. Still, you keep quiet, only observe with a smile from the corner of your eye. Mingyu sets a palm on top of Jane’s hood and gives her head a quick rub after they separate. It appears like they want to say more to each other, but then you hear a desperate call from across the driveway – it’s Seungkwan, and he needs help fitting his abundant suitcases. Chan hasn’t even stuffed one of his bags into the car yet. It’s like Seungkwan brought his entire wardrobe. Jane announces that she better help them before Seungkwan gets a little scratch on his pinky.

Now that you’re standing alone with Mingyu, it reminds you of something tucked into the fabric of your past.

Graduation Day. You’re able to envision the corner you were standing in, the noisiness in the foyer as it swarmed with parents and students grabbing snacks. You remember handing Mingyu that stupid yearbook which he gazed at with utter blankness, how Seokmin burst from thin air and tore Mingyu away to the gymnasium, leaving behind that black spot of ink. That dot. And you had always wondered about it. What was Mingyu going to write?

“Well,” the boy clears his throat, then sticks out his hand like you’ve just accepted a phenomenal business deal, “let’s get this over with.”

Playing along with Mingyu’s antics, you interlace your fingers with his. He shakes firmly, smiles at you and speaks in a deepened, stoic voice.

“I look forward to our professional relationship.”

You almost caw at that. Though you simply nod your head.

“Me too. This has been a great exchange.”

He continues shaking your hand. “Agreed. Positively.”

Some wet mist blows through the air, and you can feel the condensation layer your eyelashes, the baby hairs tufting around the sides of your face, the crest of your warm cheeks. Mingyu’s honey skin too begins shimmering beneath the rainy weather, small speckles beading in his strands of black hair. And you feel something rather gloomy as he at last drops your hand. He’s going to leave again. Disappear back into his regular life. Maybe he’ll never come find you. Maybe he’ll forget.

“Hug it out I guess.” Mingyu shrugs, a glint in his eyes. He slides his arm around your waist and pulls you into him. “That’s how all deals end, right?” He questions rhetorically, his chest rumbling under your palms.

You press yourself as tight as possible against his body, snuggle into his warmth like he’s the only ember aglow in a world of frost. He gives you a long squeeze, nestles his cheek against the side of your head, and you hear him take a big breath. You don’t want Mingyu to leave. It’s hurting already, as though you’ve been speared through the heart, even though he’s holding you so preciously and with every bit of strength he can muster without crushing you. He breaks away first. His hand slaps you lightly on your right shoulder blade and lingers there for a moment.

Gazing deep into his eyes, you want to kiss him, pull his face forward and push your lips on top of his. Somehow, you don’t. You just look at each other.

And then Mingyu walks away, back to his car, where Seokmin is waiting.

Most vehicles have emptied from the driveway. After Jane successfully helped Chan and Seungkwan fit their bags into the trunk, she came back to you, wiping a tiresome gleam from her forehead. Their car suddenly putters to life, and you both wave goodbye as it pulls out the driveway.

“Better get going.” Jane sighs.

As you start walking to your side of the car, you feel the girl grab your shoulder stiffly, stopping you from taking another step.

“What’s this stuck to your coat?” She asks, hearing her peel something off.

You turn around instantly. It’s a very small rectangle of damp paper, with a series of digits scribbled across it, in blue, slightly watery ink.

“Wait,” Jane huffs, “this is Mingyu’s number. He’s kept it the same for years. Did he put this on your back?”

“H-He must’ve…” You respond, sounding dazed.

Jane raises her brow at you, handing over the paper.

“Guess he’s interested.” She lilts in a sing-song voice, a faint smirk appearing on her mouth before she’s ushering you into the car, complaining about the weather.

At first, you only stare at the number. But then you notice a soft, blue tint bleeding in from the other side. Curious, you flip the paper to find a brief note:

What I was going to write in your yearbook.

END: WHAT WE HAPPEN TO ENDURE

– Two Months Later

The days of October are dreary, rain-sodden, and wonderfully mesmerizing all at the same time. As the leaves continue to morph from the lush green of summer and mottle with bright reds, oranges, and yellows, you enjoy morning walks through the city square more often, even when it’s cold and wet.

You stand beneath the thick branches belonging to an old oak tree, an easel of rich colour glimmering in the leaves above. Everything smells like soil and the sharp wind which has been howling whenever it pleases. Your hands are stuffed far into the pockets of your long peacoat, fingertips rubbing together, attempting to rid the numbness. Titling your head back again, you look at the leaves, how they rustle and twitch. You hold the pose, listening to the specific shuttering noises which seem to surround you, echoing from different angles. Click click click. There’s a burning sensation in your neck afterward, the muscles stiffened, aching.

“I think you need to start telling me how long I should hold these poses. It feels like my head is gonna roll off.”

“Poor little baby.” Mingyu juts out his lower lip, pouting at you.

“Did you at least get some good pictures?” You choose to ignore his sarcasm, instead coming over to the boy who begins clicking through his camera.

The little images reflect in the lenses of his glasses.

“In my opinion, they’re all good,” he sticks a small peck to the side of your head, an unspoken thank you for letting him take all the shots he wanted, “but I’ll slim it down to the best. And then no more photoshoots. At least for now.”

“Well, that’s cool. Oh—wait, you can’t show them that one!” Your face immediately crinkles when Mingyu clicks one image too far, uncovering a rather obscene picture he’d taken of you in the bedroom, his hand on your throat.

Heat surges to your face, your fingertips suddenly tingling and warm, though the boy simply smirks before switching his camera off, letting it hang from around his neck. No – if your parents saw that, you’d have to walk into oncoming traffic.

“Relax,” Mingyu purrs, combing a hand through his hair, “they’re not gonna see the dirty ones.” His casualness doesn’t surprise you anymore.

“Yeah, that wouldn’t make a good first impression.” You can’t help but speculate, the flame which had scorched your cheeks slowly subsiding.

This Saturday is going to be Mingyu’s first time meeting your parents. The nervous handshakes. The pained, awkward introduction. The uncomfortably long, overly prepared dinner. That’s how you’re expecting it to go, anyways. Mingyu doesn’t seem too nervous about it, though he has nitpicked certain aspects, such as his photography. Almost every day this week, you’ve been captured by a lens.

“They’re not gonna care about some ladybugs I photographed on a mushroom,” Mingyu had told you one evening while you cuddled together on his couch, half-watching a movie they boy threw on, “they want to see excellent pictures of you.”

“But I like the ladybug mushroom picture,” you had frowned in response, nearly falling asleep from his rhythmic strokes up and down your side, “and they have pictures of me all over the house anyways. Older pictures. Embarrassing ones…”

You loathe that Mingyu is going to see those pictures. He’s going to see your old bedroom too. With the pink, mermaid bedsheets that you never bothered changing because of how soft they are. He’s going to see the pastel and crayon drawings taped to the wall beside the closet. All your stuffed animals lined up along the desk. And he’ll probably want to dig out that high school yearbook still crammed onto the shelf, his big, round eyes glistening excitedly as he’ll flip through the pages.

A sigh escapes your mouth at the very thought.

Mingyu sighs back. He slides an arm around your waist, tugging you in closer to him, shoots you a curious glance from behind those round spectacles.

“What are we sighing about today, sweetheart?”

You lean your head onto his shoulder.

“The dinner on Saturday. The fact you might accidentally show my parents a nude. The fact I haven’t changed my bedroom is years. The fact my mom is going to pull out every photo album and give you the allegory to my childhood.” You take in a breath, then smile at him, feel your heart flutter at the dark gold in his eyes and how he studies your face like there’s nothing else in the world that matters to him.

“Fuck,” the boy laughs, “sounds hectic up in that pretty head of yours.”

“I guess I don’t mind.” You shrug. “I will just happen to endure it.”

Mingyu grins, though it’s not his usual, wolfish grin that suggests mischief. It’s tender and delicate and when he presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply, you realize something that’s been teetering in front of you since the day you met him.

There is much you can endure when you are positively in love.

✧✎ a/n: well.... that’s it. that’s the end! AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! i started writing this in june i think? i rly thought i could finish it by august and actually upload this as a summer fic, but ofc, that became impossible. this plot started floating around in my head last year, though i made a lot of changes to it when it was time to get the words on paper. the ‘world’ i used for this fic was actually meant for a minghao artist!au lol but i didn’t like how that story turned out, so i scrapped the fic but salvaged the setting and places. there rly isn’t much more i have to say!! just know that if you legit finished this, i’m proud of u. and i’m so freaking thankful you read through this entire thing even if it wasn’t absolutely terrific or blew ur doors off. this is the first time i’ve ever written smth of this length so i’m sure there r so many spots for me to improve on! anywho, here are all the lovely ppl which requested a tag for this scenario:

@ally-127 / @ataraxia-98 / @celestialpearls / @chanyeolparkriswu / @cloudysmothy / @dexters-slice / @dnylwoo / @emiaegi / @golden-thimbles / @hwanghyunjinx / @j-speg / @jeonshuawreads / @johnysuh / @junhuiste / @masterpiecejoonie/ @moonlightmasquerade / @mingy0u / @minkwans / @muhanuibean / @nasagyu / @revehosh / @shoshishua / @suh-younghuh / @svtherapy / @vernosaur / @vulpixtodoroki / @woozes / @wtfkidult / @xjeonwoo / @z-recs

THANK U ALL SO MUCH !!!!!!

bonus! @jeonquin made some superb thumbnails for honey boy and i wanted to put my fave one here cuz it’s absolutely gorgeous <3

#caratwritersclub #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt fanfic #mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu #seventeen fanfic #seventeen mingyu #svt smut #mingyu smut #svt fluff #mingyu fluff #svt angst #mingyu angst #svt x reader #mingyu x reader

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