Weekend mornings were never peaceful—especially with Liam's head peeking through the doorway every two hours. Despite work and college sitting heavily on his face in form of slight rings at the bottom of his eyes, he hadn't managed to slip past one opportunity to make me bounce on my feet in sheer panic.

A pair of baby blue leggings toppled down to the floor. I breathed, shut my eyes, and stared.

"Liam—God. Get out."

Begging to God did nothing when you had walked headfirst into purgatory, apparently.

"Not the answer I require," he took a single step into my territory, and I suppressed a groan. "So, are you?"

I liked to think that one's thoughts didn't necessarily make them evil, but their actions did—except if my thoughts of murder right now were ever exposed to the world, I'd be behind bars for the very purpose of being a potential threat to the rest of humanity.

"Where I am going is none of your business, so stop being annoying," I forced a pair of jeans onto a shelf. Two hours remained until I saw Evan, and I was barely ready. "If you keep this up, I'll go on a million dates just to piss you off."

Now that the sentence rested in the air, it did sound like I was insinuating something.

He was quick to take note, lips quirked. "So, it is a date."

"Not—" I crossed my hands in front of his eyes, emphasizing my point. "—a date. Not."

He grinned. Picked up a book kept on my table, and knocked on it twice. "Alright, captain. I just had to get this back from you."

When he didn't leave at once, my eyes narrowed. He gave me a two-finger salute, words anything but genuine. "Enjoy your non-date, then."

I sure will, my eye roll countered with. Then the room fell quiet again, and the voices in my head started to overpower painfully, as if mulling over ways to take my mind hostage without a plan to hand it back. Even when my eyes were dead set to focus on nothing but my clothes, the box to the left of me was hypnotizing at a single glimpse—last summer flashing in fractions of distorted realisms: of what ifs and what nots and whys, until breathing had become unfeasible. I almost called out for Liam, just so his voice could float in the background and snap me out again.

My heart had felt heavy and compact all morning, as if it would both sink into the earth and dissemble all it had held to place. So I switched my gaze to the door, covered the box so nothing could be seen, and then waited for time to greet me to Evan.

▂

"To sum it up," I drew out a long breath, and his eyes caught mine in keenness. "You were travelling due to work—specifically, modelling gigs— and had barely landed at the airport that day I called you, and the first thing you did was rush to my place?"

Evan Parker was insane. Possibly a little (lot) farther from that, because even the term seemed to fall short of the absolute madness which ran through his being. He'd prioritized me over any form of rest despite being overburdened the week before, grabbing medicine and food for me and coming over to my house. He was the embodiment of recklessness and disorder and mayhem, even when he shone bright.

He was insane. So undeniably insane, that the heat that had risen to my cheeks wouldn't evaporate, like it had been tattooed there.

He rose a single brow. "You got that right," flipping through a couple pages, he leaned against the bookshelf and didn't bother looking up as he smiled. The library suddenly felt as if it were devoid of any oxygen.

"Evan," I half-gasped. "You. . .why did you. . .?"

"You wouldn't have let me stay if I told you then," he continued, ignoring my poor attempts at conversing. "That was the only reason I lied. That, and the fact that I feel safer telling you all that in a public place. Can't commit manslaughter in front of all these people, can you?"

He'd said that on purpose after seeing me restless, and I knew. I could guess his little antics now. "I wouldn't underestimate my skills if I were you right now."

He teased. "I won't be an easy kill, Edwards."

"Good," I grabbed the book his fingers were wrapped around and pulled it to my chest, scowling. "I never took you for one."

When his lips curled into a grin, I realized that my favorite hobby was doing whatever it took to bring out that beautiful smile of his. "Christ."

Maybe it was the gleam in his eyes or the heat emanating his palms which now encased mine, because the warmth on my cheeks tripled and tripled until I had shaken his grasp in slight panic. The blush disappeared, but so did the latent heat from every inch of my skin.

"Hey," he complained. "Finders, keepers. Give that back."

Right. This was about the book—not how he still held my hand and refused to let go.

I recovered quick. Perhaps I was learning, which was a feat. "You can't just dodge my questions forever," I pushed the book out of my now clammy hands. "That day, there was no need. . ."

He didn't answer. Didn't even drop a glance, eyes caught in the web of words on the yellowing pages. I poked his arm, but to no avail.

This boy and his sickening audacity. "Hey."

No response. His finger brushed over the titles a shelf way above my head—one only in his reach—and he stopped before sliding one book just a bit, pausing unsurely. I took the moment to step in. If he wasn't going to look at me, I'd force myself into his vision so all he could see was me. "Evan."

If only he hadn't backed away. If only I hadn't looked up. If only we weren't complete fools, deranged and unhinged—

The edge of the book hit me square on the forehead. His face paled, and for a second, I thought I was dead. Just a miniscule second, though, because he was hastening in my direction until my forehead met his palms and then his chest and then his thumb, rubbing the spot which now sat sore. The pain hadn't even settled before it was easing out, a sporadic pattern of ebbs and flows.

"Oh, God," he pressed my temple. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Satire was my only cover, especially if enemy had infiltered the base long ago. ". . .Who are you, again?"

His eyes enlarged a little, but I had already erupted into laughter. "Kidding, kidding," he stood just as close, warm breaths hitting slightly above my forehead. "I don't forget assholes that easily."

Involuntarily, my fingers reached out to my forehead, drawing circles. He hadn't taken any of my words into consideration, hand still caging me. "Still hurts?"

It didn't, not that much. But his gaze was heated, as if he won't let me escape if I said what I had planned to.

"Well, it's better now," I hesitated. "And it's going to be okay—"

The action was freezing: his lips brushing against my skin. Fervent yet meek. Red-hot. Eyelashes fluttered amid my hair and fingers still held my arm, because Evan had slumped his head just enough for his lips to brush the exact spot on my forehead gently. As gentle as the wind that came and went by through the bleak opening of the windowpane beside. As brisk as the dwindling sunlight that streamed into the cracks of the shelves before clouds took over the sky.

"There," he flicked my temple nonchalantly. Like he hadn't just done that. "That must make it better."

My body was overheating.

He took a step back. Two. I counted until he had taken seven, and was ushering me to walk. "Come on," he had said, smiling. "We've got to go back before it starts raining."

That must make it better, the words rang.

There was nothing which had made my heart beat worse.

▂

Chance encounters with the rain was a hazard when it came to us, because the pouring didn't seem to stop for the ten minutes we stood in a slight jarring silence. It wasn't awkward, no—the air was just damp and sticky and so was my right arm, because the shed on top of us wasn't all that waterproof. He was quiet beside me, the unnerving kind, so I presumed he didn't want to talk and started looking through my phone to pass time.

And it would've been okay if the rain had given it a rest. I could pass ten minutes scrolling through nothing in particular on my phone, but I was starting to get impatient now. Again: the rain couldn't care less. If anything, the droplets came down more furiously, and our sighs met the air in unison.

He noticed my unease. "We can make a run for the car," he suggested. "I'll drop you. We don't need to wait for it to stop."

The car was parked a good distance away. Driving seemed terrifying when the sky was trying to pour all of itself down, so I shook my head, throat tightening. "Let's wait it out."

He messed the dampened curls with a hand. "Sorry," he'd said, but I was too preoccupied staring at his face. Not because he was easy on the eyes (at least, not entirely), but because he still had that look of fatigue in his gaze. "It's because of me you're out here in such a weather in the first place."

"Forget that," I waved my hand, because he was being a little too polite for me to stay aloof. "Have you not been sleeping well still?"

At that, his face relaxed. He drummed his fingers onto the metal rim of a shut window I was standing right in front of, like he was embracing me from the shoulders. "Would you tuck me into bed if I said no?"

I glared. "Never mind."

And we fell into silence again. Only this time, my mind had voices of its own—much like how it had been in the morning—and I was slowing learning why. There were things I was finally wanting to tell him. They kept resurfacing to the brim and caused a tinge of raw bitterness every time I forced it all behind, but I simply didn't know how to begin. Maybe beginnings could be easy if I had the strength to bring up the talk from the depths it had rooted itself to.

For months on end, I'd kept this to myself and myself alone. For the first time, I wanted to get it out. To him. I didn't trust anybody as much as I had started to trust him, and the thought was so relieving, I almost couldn't breathe.

He noticed. I couldn't comprehend how he always did. "Laura?"

"I want to tell you about something," I blurted out, and then dropped my gaze. "If. . .that's okay."

He nodded. Twice. And he knew. He knew what I was bracing myself up for, because he braced himself too. "Of course. Go on."

"No," I shook my head. "No, I don't. . .want to unpack it all on you. I don't—if it's not the right time, I'll wait."

The last thing I wanted to do was put him in a headspace he might've not been ready for. My words floated thinly in the air and rested for several heartbeats, until he had retrieved the hand behind my back and taken a step back. For a brief second, I thought he had decided to walk away—leave before he even heard a word of what happened last summer—and it stung.

He didn't. All he had done was step back and observe me. "It is the right time for you," he said, and scooted just a little closer. "I promised I'd be ready when you would be."

I simply stared, watching the rainwater drip in the pattern of beads from the frame of the shed.

"I'll listen to whatever you have to say. You can talk to me or not talk to me, but I'll be here," he looked into my eyes, his unmistakably soft. "You can lean onto me. There's no point of battling in wars by yourself if there's someone willing to be by your side, right?"

His voice travelled all the way down to my toes; words floated in the empty spaces in my chest. A part of what he said or simply who he was was settled deep into the rifts between all that comprised life and all that didn't, I was sure—and the power worth all of the supernovas knocked on my heart, deeming me speechless.

I couldn't grasp when I started speaking. My voice was brittle, words shaky. I voiced the events of that day as if it were only yesterday: Sebastian and his cheery smile the night before, and the promise of meeting over the weekend as we parted ways. Elizabeth coming over the next day. Me picking up my phone and dialing his number, knowing well enough he wasn't at home but inviting him over, nevertheless. The sky had been a darker shade of grey than today—or perhaps ink-black. The rain had poured the same. The call was brimming with sounds all through, from the second he picked up to the second the phone dropped.

Elizabeth had been wary, and even more so with the persistent rain. I wish I had been just the same. I wish I had hung up. I wish I had never called him in the first place. I wish the rain could return what it took from me, but moreover, I wish I could've been on time. Because I could have. And that fact would remain forever.

Rain was the first thing people had seemed to blame. People—never her. The hospital had been silent for as long before her cries filled in. She didn't sit around and weep, however. While the ground had been snatched from beneath my feet, forcing me to give in to ceaseless iciness, she had done what I had been doing since the second I called him.

After all, blames were easier to carry and throw around. The crash was never, not even once, the curse—for I had cursed us all before it could even pose to terrorize.

"He was my best friend," I drew-out a period of silence before uttering. Memories did not ask for permission once they invaded your mind, I fathomed. They tore down the barrages and delved head-first into all that had been veiled deep beneath. "One of the few people I would've gone to the ends of the world for."

Evan listened.

I didn't cry. Not a single tear rolled down my cheek, but my chest felt hallow, like my organs had liquified and dripped out of my limbs due to the words I had exposed to him. I was still, arms straightened to my sides and eyes unblinking. Perhaps shock had seized my features, so I made my face turn to his, eyes immediately gracing his bright, blue ones. He hadn't uttered a word throughout, knowing I didn't want him to. All he did was tilt my head on his shoulder and squeeze me into a sideward hug, and I gave in to his hold.

The heat of his body was home, I realized.

Homesickness was a feeling I was no longer wanting to fight.

▂

I want you to call Elizabeth, he'd said before I could exit his car. He knew everything by then, because I had had no self-restraint holding back things I was craving to get out for months. Yet, I couldn't believe he'd asked me for that, following up with: If you can't do it for yourself, do it for me.

We parted on a bitter note because of that comment, because he had nothing to do with this and still made himself a part while giving me enough reasons to oblige. She had tried to get in touch, he'd said, eyes determined. There're things she would want to talk about. Apologize for.

I would've been calm if he weren't right. She'd tried to get in touch with me multiple times in the past year, and her calls and messages were the only ones I couldn't stomach. It hurt—losing all parts that formed me, all at the same time. There were things that we had to talk about, else the nightmares reeling this close to reality would never truly stop.

The night was young when I got free from schoolwork and other tasks, but I called it a day anyway. Liam had dropped an inquisitive glance in my direction at the dining table, words lined with mirth. "Fun non-date, I hope?"

"Oh." I had blinked. "You've no idea."

hi! this one kinda ended on a glum note but the next one is fun i promise

question: what has/have been your favourite scene(s) so far?

i hope you're taking care of yourselves. you're golden x