It was only the middle of May, yet Lucio could feel the fatigue beginning to overwhelm his mentality. Never had he imagined that he could be more mentally knackered than physically. He only had a few more papers left, most of them being his science subjects. And for the past few weeks, his brain had been solely focused on revision, though a particular someone did keep resurfacing into his head, never quite leaving him alone.

It wasn't that Lucio was thoroughly distracted by the mere thought of the older boy. Sure, he missed him. Aunt Fabia missed him - what with her persistent questions on why Pelham hadn't come over as of late. But the thing that seemed to stir him and keep him awake in the dead of night, even after bidding Pelham good-night on the phone, was the seemingly perennial ache that was pressing at his heart, tearing at his guts, weighing him down. If it was some kind of affliction, Lucio sure wasn't concerned by it.

There was no point fooling himself into surmising the feeling as something else other than something that he had so cautiously avoided for the past few months. Funny, he thought, just how the previous year, having a crush on Pelham Nixon had been something mild, like watching your favourite fictional character move and talk and live on a TV series. Now it was something else entirely; something deeper and more precarious, like treading on thin ice. And Lucio knew perfectly well what it was.

Though, he didn't know whether Pelham was ready to hear it. He couldn't tell - not really. All he was aware of was that the older boy had been looking numb nowadays - either from the tension coming from the exams or from life itself, he couldn't decide - and Lucio didn't suppose the boy could bear another revelation.

Is it a revelation, though? he had so often asked himself, unsure of where the answer lay.

Of course, Pelham had shown more than a mild interest in him. Infatuation, thought Lucio, his stomach flipping at the mere concept of it. But he couldn't resolve whether those kisses and cuddles they had shared were the implications of Pelham wanting something to soothe his internal affliction or something more unfeigned - like the ardent feelings Lucio had for him. Not that he knew whether Pelham was the type of person to use someone else simply to feel good.

Still, perhaps it was a bad idea after all.

Aunt Fabia had asked him whether he and Pelham were really together now. As a matter of course, having had come upon them snogging for more than a couple of times, she was bound to ask again. But he had given her a shrug in response, and when she - being the tender, solicitous aunt she was - asked why, he had simply told her. He had long since grown jaded of holding it back. Everything that had been kept inside him had gushed out, as though Aunt Fabia didn't already know how head over heels he was.

"I think it's time you tell him how you really feel," she'd adviced him.

"What if he freaks out?"

"What if he feels the same way?"

Lucio had gone quite then, not quite mulling over the rest of the outcomes.

She'd put her hand on his shoulder, her thumb drawing circles on the fabric of his shirt. "Either you two keep doing this or figure it out," she'd said. "What do they call it nowadays? DTR?"

"'Diurnal temperature range?'"

"No. Define - discuss - determine - the relationship." she'd gotten up and walked out of his room then, leaving him there, apprehensively tugging at a loose thread on his shirt.

Lucio knew she had a point. But amid the hassles that were making a great deal of rampage in his head alone - ranging from his parents to his exams - he couldn't seem to find the time to do it; to confess. Really, there was nobody to blame here. After all, he and Pelham were both busy with their exams. Still, the more he put it aside, the more irrelevant it seemed to become. And he didn't want that.

"Stupid feelings," Lucio murmured to himself in agitation, plunking the piano keys flat with his palms, carrying with it a set of discordant sounds that pierced even his ears. "Stupid stupid stupid ..."

He had long since abandoned his textbooks and revision papers in his bedroom, having had enough of them and going into this room instead to clear his mind. Of course, being greeted by the sight of his studio piano, sitting alone at the far edge of the room, Lucio simply couldn't help but give in to his own inclination to play it.

What was supposed to be a ten-minute break from revision had turned into a two-hour piano session. Not that he was regretting any of it.

"That just sounds horrible - I thought you were good at piano,"

Lucio whipped his head around and was instantly met with the sight of Vanessa, who stood leaning against the door frame with one hand tucked inside the pocket of her skinny jeans. "How did you get in?" he asked, stunned.

"The chimney,"

"Right, because Aunt Fab greets everyone at the chimney,"

"Who taught you sarcasm?"

"Life,"

"Sounds plausible," she nodded.

"So, what're you doing here?" Lucio asked, removing his fingers from the keyboard and addressing her. "Aren't you supposed to be doing some revision?"

"Aren't you?"

"I'm only taking a break,"

"Sure," Vanessa said, sounding unconvinced. "So you're aware that I'm having my Spanish paper tomorrow ..."

She didn't continue. She simply looked at him, urging him to finish the sentence himself as though they both could perform a telepathic interaction. At first, Lucio gaped at her uncomprehendingly. So what if she's sitting for her Spanish paper tomorrow? he thought dully. But then realisation dawned on him.

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Vanessa, rolling her eyes. "Oh."

"I thought you were good at Spanish?"

"Please, I just need you to check these essays"- she slung her bag around her body and zipped it open (Lucio had just noticed that she had her bag with her) before rummaging through its contents, finally extracting a folder from inside -"that I wrote."

"All right," Lucio fished his phone out of his pocket. "Just because I'm born Spanish and have been raised there for fourteen years doesn't mean I'm any good at Spanish literature."

"I still don't know the difference between 'quite' with T-E and 'quiet' with E-T. So you're not alone,"

Lucio smiled, unlocking his phone as he did so.

"What're you doing?"

"Texting Pelham that I'll be busy till evening,"

One of her eyebrows rose. "What, is he supposed to come by? Today?"

"Not really," Lucio could feel himself flushing. "He just told me earlier to tell him whether I'll be busy till evening or not."

"So he is supposed to come by," Vanessa said, her eyes flashing with amusement. "Isn't he? Not just for some maths session, I take it?"

"Shut up, Nessa,"

"You're blushing," she observed, a hint of smirk playing on her lips.

"No, I just happen to have rosy cheeks,"

"At the thought of Pelham, that is,"

"Vanessa,"

"Is this where you tell me to shut the hell up or you blurt out the fact that you are indeed in love with him?"

If Lucio's cheeks weren't red before, he sure felt like a tomato now. No point hiding now, he thought. "The latter."

She pointed a finger at him. "Called it."

"I have been for a while," Lucio said offhandedly. "That a crime now?"

"No, right now I'm just trying to arrange a double date,"

"We're not dating,"

"Not yet,"

"Here I thought we were supposed to discuss about your Spanish writing skills,"

"I don't know. Your relationship with your future spouse sounds a lot more interesting right now ..." she pointed out.

"Because you and your girlfriend don't have a juicy love story."

"Oh, it's juicy enough, all right." Vanessa winked, laughing afterwards at the horrified look on Lucio's face.

*

Pelham couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being watched.

He had been sitting by himself in the park for nearly an hour now, on a bench that faced a marble water fountain, its water spurting out of the statue of a flamingo's mouth, creating rivulets down its lengthy neck and gently lapping along the marble basin. It was the same park bench where he had first come out to April and broken up with her.

Quite a handful of people were present today, most of whom were simply passing by, not really staying like Pelham was. Initially, he had thought that he was going to be the only one sitting there to clear his head, having had observed that nobody had cared to pause and sit down to wallow in the serenity of being on their own. But that had been before his eyes rested on a dark-skinned old woman - who looked around her early sixties - with a grey-streaked hair tied into a tight bun behind her head, munching on a sandwich. Every now and then, she would feed the pigeons around her with some bread crumbs. And every now and then, a blind man with a walking stick would approach her and talk to her. And she would smile at him.

She had been sitting on the circumference of the fountain basin when Pelham first arrived at the area, his ears plugged in with some Linkin Park music, the hood of his jacket yanked low over his head. Not that her mere presence was beginning to tick him off - what with her sitting directly across from Pelham, with only a five-metre distance seperating them. He simply grew more self-conscious as the minutes passed by, and couldn't help but feel as though he was being critically judged.

He hadn't been doing much but read online article extracts from his phone, looking up only when his eyes were beginning to itch from scanning small text passages for too long. But now he just set there, his earpieces had long since yanked off, coiled around his phone, which was sitting on the empty space beside him.

He wondered what he must look like from the old woman's point of view; some forlorn young adult with an unkempt hair and wearing a black hoodie and dark jeans along with a pair of Converse sneakers, just sitting there on the bench in a slouched manner and staring at the cobblestoned footpath.

"Rough day?"

Pelham's eyes flickered upwards, and was immediately met with the old woman's open gaze. She had a carefree smile on her face as she addressed Pelham, tossing bread crumbs to the birds around her while doing so.

Pelham cleared his throat. Of course she had been observing him. "Exams. Life. Whatnot," he said. "You name it."

"Well, you're still young,"

"Too young for this life to attack me," he murmured his partial assent.

He heard her release a small chuckle. "Believe me, chap, life will always attack you from every possible angle,"

For some reason, hearing those words pleased him. "Gotta brace myself, right?" he said, feeling the corner of his mouth quirk into a small smile.

"Always do," she nodded. She jerked her head towards the empty space next to Pelham. "May I?"

It didn't take him long to acknowledge her query to sit beside him. "Sure," he replied, scooting aside as if to give her more space.

She got up from the fountain's marble circumference with an astonishingly nimble manner - especially for someone who looked fairly thin and frail - and walked towards the bench. A faint grunt escaped her throat as she sat down beside Pelham, her weight rocking the bench gently. "Quite rare to see you adolescents relieve your stress by sitting here nowadays," she said, eyes staring into the distant. "Normally they ... do stuff."

"What kind?"

"Oh, you know," she waved her hand as if to flourish the examples, "play video games, bother other people ... do drugs."

"My friend watches kitten videos on Youtube to relieve her stress,"

"Animals are saviours," she nodded. "What about you?"

"I'm right here," he stated a matter-of-factly. "Like the exception that I am."

"You wish to say something?" she asked, looking at him. "You're bubbling up. I can tell."

He chuckled. "Not sure you'll understand,"

"Maybe I won't," she agreed. "You don't look so good."

Pelham almost huffed. "Tell me about it,"

She was chuckling again. "It is very obvious when someone is under a great pressure," she noted. "So great the pressure is, that it casts a shadow upon your face."

Pelham didn't say anything. He didn't mind her. Not at all.

"I am a mother to ten children, and I'm always - always - there for them when they need to let out some emotions," she said after a while. "Even strangers. Quite a plethora of conflicts out there, huh? Sometimes people just want to be listened."

"Only thing is that not all mothers are listeners like you," said Pelham.

She cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He sighed. Let it out, Pelham. It's your chance. Let it out. "My mum ... we used to talk," he began, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. "But one day, I said something, and she shut me out without bothering to listen to me. The same goes - went - for my best friend when I said the same thing. He apologised a few weeks ago, though. I guess I'm not mad at him anymore, but I'm not sure if I've forgiven him completely - not that he asked for it. Sounds immature to stay mad, though, don't you think?"

"I'd say it's better if you try to reconcile with him. I personally think that everyone deserves a second chance," the woman said. "Though, not everyone agrees. People have their reasons to disagree, and it all depends on how severe the outcome is. I, on the other hand, only seek for the goodness in people. I like to give them chances to prove to me that they're not the people who I think they are, just because something bad happened between us."

Pelham felt a burst of affection towards her.

"So what of you and your mother?" she continued.

"Me and my mum?" he almost laughed. "It's different. I guess she tried to reconcile with me. I don't really ..." Pelham shook his head, not knowing how to form a decent sentence to describe this thing happening between him and his mother. "I still love her. I do. But she hasn't been fair with me. Not really. And it hurts me - a lot. A few weeks ago, she tried to talk to me or whatever. I let her. But I haven't really responded that much, 'cause I honestly don't know what to say. It's been weeks. She's still awkward around me, but at least she's trying. Guess I'm just letting this flow take us to ... wherever it's going. To forgive someone you love who has turned their back on you is quite the challenge. I guess I kind of have forgiven my mum and my best friend. They're not bad people, see. Though, my ex ..." Pelham laughed softly. "She looks like she wants to kill my best friend."

"It's just a matter regarding individual differences," the woman observed airily. "We're all unique. An ex, huh?"

"My ex who's still in love with me," he shrugged. The words were really pouring out of him now, like a cascading waterfall, and he found it difficult to stop. He didn't want to stop. "She told me so. But I don't feel the same way about her. I never do. And I just feel really really bad. Like I'm an awful person.

"I've always loved her, honestly. But only in a platonic way - even when we first started dating. I was confused back then. Together or not, our feelings about each other are quite unreciprocated - like I don't love her the way she loves me," Pelham shook his head, running his palms along his face. "She said that it's okay, that it happens, but I don't know if it is. I don't want to hurt her, but I think I am. And I don't know if what I'm doing is hurting her."

"What are you doing, exactly?" the woman asked, her tone indifferent, though Pelham caught the hint of concern in her chocolate eyes.

"I don't know," Pelham said, shutting his eyes. Let it out, Pelham. It's all right. "It's something that I can't help. It's ... it's there. It's always been there, and it's been blooming since. Don't know when or why or how. I just can't stop it, and she knows it's in me, and I don't know if it's hurting her."

"What is?"

"Thing is," Pelham inhaled, "I'm in love with someone else."

There he said it. There he admitted it; the thing that had been eating him up for months; the thing that he had so refused to acknowledge whenever Lucio Alves arrived into his head. It had been unavailing to keep the gates shut, to keep building the walls around him. It had been pointless to deny it, specifically when he himself had known about it for a while.

"A girl or a boy?"

Pelham was fairly surprised to hear this. The astonishment must be palpable on his face, because the woman started chuckling again.

"It isn't fair to keep assuming people's relationship backgrounds in a heteronormative manner," she shrugged casually. "Even if you said you had a girlfriend. Though, I am deeply sorry if I have somehow offended you by my question earlier. I just had to ask, see. But I guess-"

"No, it's okay," said Pelham. "It's ... well, it is a boy."

She smiled. "So, is this boy messing everything up between you and your ex-soulmate?"

Pelham shook his head. "No," he said. "I've seen him around school for a while - since last year, actually. He'd just moved in then. But back then I hadn't paid that much attention to him. I just know he's pretty decent-looking.

"One day, he stepped into the picture. We became friends. Hung out and all that. He's a cool boy, really," he sighed. "I thought I liked him because of that. How carefree he looks despite his own problems. But in truth, I was denying something else - something bigger."

"Love at first sight?" quoted the woman.

Pelham could only shrug his shoulders. "Maybe. I don't know. All I know is that I've been pushing these feelings away. Denying the fact that I have in fact fallen for him without really knowing why," his felt his cheeks heat up. "I don't know when it started. It just - it bloomed. And I was scared of what it might do to me. The idea of falling in love ... it scared me. There's just something about him ..."

"Love is a complicated emotion," she nodded meditatively. "It doesn't ask for your consent."

"There are many guys at my school. Just as nice, just as attractive, as humble, as smart, and I would've been attracted to any of them," Pelham proceeded. "But this one ... he's just there. In my head. Breaking all the walls."

These were words that he had been keeping imprisoned inside his head and his heart for a long while, words that contained only the truth regarding what he felt. Too deep to be dug up. Quite a variety of them, stifling him with their weight. Too many to be seized. But really, they were all teetering on his tongue, merely waiting for the vehemence of willpower to nudge them forwards, otherwise they would slip back and be swallowed.

These were the words had been inflicting pain upon himself. The truth kills.

But Pelham wasn't regretting any of it. In fact, he felt lighter.

"These problems of yours sound extremely personal," the woman commented eventually. "And to express them all to a stranger like me? Don't be too trusting, chap. I might be your social media account hacker in disguise."

"Yet you're not doing it professionally,"

She laughed.