Evan had pretended to be fine when trees blurred past us and raindrops cascaded down the windows. There rested uneasiness, covering the silt of the moisture and the grip of his fingers around the steering wheel. I wished I'd made the sight up, but he looked upset.

"Let me know if the project becomes overbearing." I'd paused while walking to my curb upon hearing that. "I'll help you."

Of course you will. I sighed when he raced out of my sight, rain barely wringing my clothes. It was a pitiful view to be getting drenched on the pavement outside of my own house—perhaps I'd have been on the dramatics any other day—so I shook the dread and hurt behind me and hurried through the door. I might've been heartbroken, but that didn't give me the leverage to exploit it and get ill a day before my exam.

I was glad to be sane enough to reason that.

Stella's name jumped on my screen before I could even hop out of my shoes. She had texted: Hope there's no trouble in paradise!

I leaned against the door for a bit, peeling the bag around my shoulder and shoving it rudely in a corner. My breath was like a scoff when I texted, it was hell.

Then I proceeded to prance around until I had found a chocolate bar, torn it open, and munched a bite. Right now, my heart was pretending that the past hour did not happen. Mind: entirely too buzzed to care. It was amusing how I was distracting myself from feeling the imminent gloom all while bracing for it to hit.

I prayed it never did. Then again, my pleas seldom worked.

You're home? Her words sounded concerned. I could picture her eyes squint—an action she did so often so comically. What happened?

When I finally fished out the television remote from under a billion cushions, I typed back: nothing, Stels. what was supposed to happen?

I could hear her condescending laugh through the screen. ??? everyone but u knows what the hell was supposed to happen.

I narrowed my eyes when the three dots reappeared. Another text bubble surfaced. You truly sound like u want to snap someone's neck in half. Want me to call?

I ignored how blatantly she'd called me violent. I did use physical violence as a threat at times, but they were empty warnings. Mostly. And I was tired of going about it the roundabout way, so I figured I'd just let her know things how they currently were. That way, she could move on to another topic for discussion without calling me and making it a big deal, and my heart would stop plummeting to my feet.

My fingers hovered before I sent the message. He isn't so single anymore.

My own phone ringing in my own hands gave me a near heart attack.

I should've known there wasn't an easy way out after letting her know. What was I thinking five seconds ago?

"What?" Her greeting to me was punctuated, as if she couldn't believe what information I'd let her in on. "Unless by your last text you're insinuating—"

"I'm not insinuating shit," I rolled my eyes. "He's seeing someone."

"Like a hallucination?"

"Oh my God, Stella," I almost choked on the snack I had disgracefully chomped on. Bless us both for being the dumbest idiots on planet. "What would make you to say that?"

She groaned, and I could hear the exasperation clear as day. "Why not? It's hard of a thought to digest."

Ah, of course. Evan Parker and his model-looking face only screamed eligible bachelor to me. The nation suddenly had buttons for eyes. Pigs could fly. Aliens were taking over the earth.

Why was this a shocker to everyone?

"His sister told me." I said instead of being properly theatrical. "And that's not true. You never know who you'll meet."

She ignored me. "You didn't even hear it from himself."

I held back a snarky: do I get points for trying?

Every second that stemmed a conversation about him was now having a full-blown impact—making my gut twist into bite-sized knots and heartbeat race, and not in a good way. It was making my anxiety tenfold. Disastrous was the word for the time I'd spent with him today.

The imminent gloom (alternatively known as the consequences of my own actions) had arrived.

She continued when I fell into silence. "Laura? You there?"

My spine straightened when I saw Liam storm out of his room, another affair enough to give me a heart attack.

I wasn't sure if today was just cursed, or my heart was legitimately growing weaker.

I'd known he was home. It had just slipped my mind with every other thought I carried on my way back. And he looked slightly amused, because I had never given him such a reaction upon merely seeing him—arms and legs turning into steel and face going pale. In my defense, I was worried he must've heard. I wasn't specific, but neither was I discreet.

I conveyed a lie so Stella would hang up. She did, albeit reluctantly and on a promise to call me again, but my eyes were trained on Liam, analyzing him.

"What?" He was annoyed with just me looking at him.

"Were you eavesdropping?"

Boredom masked his face. "Yeah, right. I fell asleep."

He did look disoriented, so I let him off the hook. Evening was inching closer to night-time, so I decided to grab something to eat—precisely, more chocolate—and rush up the stairs.

"Hey, that's mine," he pointed at my occupied hands. I had taken more than I came for, but my solution to revising Physics was a shit-ton of sugar. Some called it unhealthy coping mechanisms, I called it a lifestyle. "Stop eating all the chocolate in the fridge."

"I'll buy you more tomorrow." I was already out of the kitchen, feet bouncing on the linoleum with loud thuds. "Sorry!"

He sighed, but I could see his smile from the corner of my eye. He was barely home anymore, and it was rare finding him hunting for food in the kitchen. In a way, I'd missed my brother lurking around, doing things which would probably drive me out of my mind on a regular day.

We'd just not talked much recently.

I wasn't sure if that was entirely my fault. I didn't want it to be. The last thing I wanted to realize was how I'd started to push my family away.

I paused with a foot mid-air, swiveling a complete one-eighty. A thought sparked my mind, wholly impulsive.

Rushing upstairs could wait.

Liam turned his head around again, staring at me as if I was going insane. "What now?"

I rushed down, two steps at a time, and then proceeded to lean on the counter. "Hey, Li," I gathered his attention, and then grinned. "Long time no see."

He rolled his eyes. "You're one to say. I've barely seen you in the house this past week."

"Exam season, I guess." I rubbed my hands, feeling sheepish. "Have I. . .been distant?"

He looked perplexed. "I'd say it's more like you're prioritizing school. Why?"

"It feels like we haven't talked in a minute." I admitted. "And I'd hate to take all the blame for that."

He huffed, as if I was being stupid. "Oh, don't cry yourself to sleep because of that." He tossed me a bar of Snickers. "We'll catch up once you're on a break."

"Still." I toyed with the plastic wrappers. I wanted to talk right now. I had a question only he could help with. "Anyways. How. . .are you?"

His mouth twisted upwards. "Cut it out already. You've clearly got something on your mind, and there's not enough time."

I knew nothing could escape his eye. Foolishness lined every action of mine today, because I must've been delusional to think it'd take him any more than one look at me to figure it all out.

Might as well ask, I figured. His mockery would come before anything genuine.

I thinned my lips in conclusion, words wavering. "I, uh. I have a question."

He rose an amused brow. "Ask away."

I fully expected him to laugh now. "Hypothetically speaking," my words deliberately dragged, edging on criticality. "If you're interested in someone you're friends with and they do not reciprocate the feeling, it's better to keep it to yourself. Right?"

He didn't need to know all this doubt was very real. And if he did, it was fine as long as he didn't rub it in my face.

"Hypothetically speaking," he sang, continuing to be interested. "Depends. However, keeping to yourself will hurt, while confessing might bring some sort of closure. If they're disinterested, it shouldn't matter to them either way."

I pressed my palms to the wall I was leaning against, soaking in the coldness. "Hypothetically speaking, yeah. But it wouldn't hurt them. So, what would be a reason for them getting angered when you're trying to protect your own sanity?"

His lips turned animatedly. "Angered?"

I nodded. "Plus upset, and it's confusing because it isn't about them, and it frankly has zero effects—"

"Laura." His laugh cut through my unabashed train of thoughts like hot iron. He grinned like he was shaken by my absurdity, as if I'd spit the most outrageous of words. "Are you sure they aren't lying about being disinterested?"

"Yes." My face was heating up. "Because they're seeing someone. Hence, they don't—shouldn't—care. I was told that by. . .a trusted third person."

This was no good. Liam looked thoroughly entertained, eyes flashing. "Seems too elaborate of an event to be hypothetical, don't you assume?"

Warmth crawled all the way up to my ears. "It's a story," I prattled. "Like, a long story. But basically, my friend, uh, needs advice with a guy. Yeah. And so, a boy's perspective is helpful. Therefore." I pointed to him. "You're helpful. So. What do you think?"

He hummed. "Well. Firstly, no third person will help here. Communication is key. Go speak to him directly," his words sharpened, and so did his gaze.

My mouth pressed in a straight line.

"Ever heard of being honest?" He smiled lazily. "There's nothing to lose if you disregard your ego for a while."

It was no longer ego that played part, at least not for me. And I had barely noticed Liam get back to business, elbowing the door of the fridge in my face. "So," he looked at me slyly. "Will you speak to him instead of terrorizing your brother? I know I give pretty good dating advice, but I'll let you know it doesn't come for free. And I'm not a fan of that crush of yours, so your fee triples instantly."

"I. . .," the words registered at snail's pace, and my eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. Embarrassment crawled right back into my chest. "You knew." And didn't stop me.

I wasn't sure if I appreciated him or hated him in this instant, but at least I had started formulating a plan.

One I was to execute after tomorrow's exam, that was.

"I'm your brother." He rolled his eyes. "Thank God not as dense, though."

I slapped his arm. He tried to grab my hands, but I'd already escaped the kitchen and was jumping on the stairs, a small smile on my lips. "Thank you, you dimwit."

▂

EVAN WOULD HATE THIS, I GRASPED A LITTLE TOO LATE. Showing up without any calls or texts, not one heads-up. I knew I would have despised a visit as spontaneous as that, no matter the person. I hated people showing up without me being ready, because it took me a while to get adjusted to the company.

I had a plan, however. It just wasn't bulletproof. What in life ever was?

The only excuse for me standing inside of his house was the English project. Since that was the only thing he promised to help me with, I had to utilize it to the best of my capabilities. And he had emailed me all that he could—the research he'd done, the parts he'd highlighted by hand, even attached extra links to the websites I would find helpful—but that wasn't enough.

I needed the boy.

We had to talk.

Rosalie looked baffled in her own living room, and I couldn't help but let out the dorkiest smile. "Uh, hello. I know you're surprised, but this was kind of last moment. . .is there any chance Evan's home?"

Her brows pulled together. Again, I found myself comparing their features, the curve of her eyes to the narrow slits of his son's gaze. "He isn't home right now, but I'm sure he's on his way. How about you wait for him to arrive?" Her sincere smile resurfaced, and I found myself calming down. "I'll get you to eat some cookies this time."

"I'd love that." My lips upturned.

The universally dreaded small-talk began then, and I pressed my hands to my knees. The chocolate chip cookies helped. The grandiose didn't. I didn't even want to get anywhere close to the sofas, nose at unease because of the overpowering smell of fresh leather. It was fine, I reminded myself. I hadn't come to see Evan for comfort in the first place. The rugs were different than last time, some patterned with abstract lines while some donned solid, bold colour. Alexander Parker did seem the type to switch rugs over a singular drop of tea spill, but that also seemed like every rich person's first decision.

That still wasn't what unsettled me.

The only thing slightly distressing was how—despite the rugs and vases and too many precious relics the walls roofed—Evan's home felt strangely empty.

My mom always spoke our ears off about how a home always had a soul. That houses could be built by stacking bricks, but a home was to be nurtured and preserved and taken care of. I'd never truly gotten behind the sentiment despite agreeing with it, and here I was, staring exactly at what she'd meant.

When I glanced back at Rosalie, it was like she'd read my mind. Her eyes drifted to the floor uncomfortably, fingers brushing her dress. "What brings you here, Laura?"

I observed the way she poured me a glass of water. This had to stop. I was overthinking all of this today, and a little too much. "It's schoolwork. I need some documents he has. He took them when we researched together, and I'm having trouble compiling everything without them."

The project was the lamest excuse, but I'd do anything if it led me to him.

I fidgeted in my seat. Rosalie sighed, a sad smile on her lips. "He's taking quite some time, isn't he?" She folded her arms. "Would you like to get the papers. . .from his room?"

No part of me wanted to walk into his bedroom without his permission. "I could wait some more."

And we did. We waited until it was physically unbearable for me to sit across her in silence whilst she tried her best to engage me in a conversation about the weather and feed me too many cookies. It was only a matter of time that the cookies which were once saviours in my story turned out to be the devils. I didn't want to out-grow my love for them so soon. I had to do something.

Where was he, anyway?

I stood up. This was beginning to go terrible, yet again. "I'll just get the papers and let him know I was here."

She looked grateful, and I couldn't blame her. I smiled one last time before heading to the gigantic stairway, dropping a last glance over my shoulders.

She was still murmuring something about the cookies.

My breathing was uneven when a small gasp deterred my attention, my eyes scanning the face in front of me.

Evelyn. Her eyes were wide, confusion glazed over, but her steps were fast—as if she was on edge. "Laura?" She let out a smile. I reciprocated, but before I could explain my visit, she'd started waving her hand. "Sorry. I'm running extremely late. I'll see you when I get back? I didn't know you were coming, else I would've baked you something. Maybe cookies."

I fixated on the baking part more than how she anticipated seeing me later, which was not happening. What was this family's obsession with cookies? "Don't worry about it. Rosalie fed me enough cookies to last a month."

She laughed, eyes crinkling. "Mom seriously doesn't know when to stop. Next time, please decline to her face. I promise she won't feel bad."

She'd said goodbye before I could retaliate, feet scurrying out. And even with the small happenstance with her, so many things swamped my mind right back. How her eyes were the same exact colour as her mother, ceruleans I couldn't even begin to discern between. She was the younger version of her mom. So much so, it felt as if she'd manifested right from Rosalie's childhood pictures.

My notice plastered on how she'd addressed her, though. Evan only ever called her by her name.

▂

THIS WAS INVASION OF PRIVACY AT ITS FINEST. His room lacked colour, but looked even darker with the blinds pulled. Three guitars stood on separate stands beside his nightstand, and I was forced to wonder if he ever got hit by inspiration so randomly at odd hours of midnight, he had to have instruments surrounding him in any case. The bed was made, sheets spread and tucked in. For some reason, I'd expected nothing else of him.

He liked having things under his control. I knew that much.

It was artistic, even the monotony of the greys and whites and their idle contrast, but he could do better if he got some plants.

My eyes drifted to the other side. A table stood right under a window, a stack of books—a mix of fiction and non-fiction, majorly classics—on a corner and a diary to the other. Only the chair was out of place, pulled towards the right. He was most likely working on his desk before he left. It seemed to me like he'd left in a rush.

He could've been gone to so many places for so many reasons, and yet—my brain could only come up with the worst.

Dear Lord, I thought. What if he was off to see his girlfriend? What if he was now bringing her over?

What was I doing? Cursing aloud, I paced to the stack of loose sheets and recognized them instantly. That was what I was here for—at least what excuse I'd used on everyone. It was about time I gathered them and left. Evan wasn't returning soon. It was for the best he didn't, because I was no longer wanting to face him.

I flipped through the pages, eyes unfocused. My hands reached out on instinct, pulling the blinds, sun rays sneaking into the room in a single slithering movement. Something fell to my feet, I figured then. I'd knocked a photo frame down.

I set the papers to the side, eyes widening at the horrific realization. Please don't be broken. Please, please, please.

I was staring at the picture before I could even confirm the frame's condition. A boy, standing on the shore of a beach, barely around the age of ten. A mother, wrapping a hand around him lovingly.

If happiness was a picture, I assumed for it to look something like this. There was not an ounce of worry on either of their faces. Only immeasurable delight.

The kid had been Evan, I concluded with a grin. His curls were the same, eyes round instead of being pointed, hands around his mother's frame. His smile was ridiculously big, curving from one ear to another.