(hi thanks for readin', vote if u do so wish to thank youu; tomatoes are a fruit, scientifically speaking)
somniphobia (n.)
som‧ni‧phob‧ia
The fear of falling asleep and staying asleep.
_________________________
My mother was the first person who taught me about nightmares.
It'd been several months after my halmoni had died, and I woke up to screaming.
I was young so I panicked. Screaming could mean a lot of things when you're older, but when you're younger, it usually either meant hunger, danger, or you didn't get a toy. And at three in the morning with half my brain awake, it didn't take much to dwindle it down.
I had raced to my mother and father's bedroom, only to burst in on my mom crumbled on the floor, black hair stuck to her forehead with sweat, face sickly with eyes better fit on a ghost than a person. My father had been crouched next to her, hands frantic.
"What's wrong?" he cried. "What happened?"
My mother just mumbled, hands sinking into her thighs as she tried to steady her breathing, tried to speak only to choke. She gagged. She clutched at her sleep shirt. Her body shook and pulsed with heat, sick with fever rotting from the inside out.
"I can't," she gasped finally, after my father had nearly begged her. "I can't."
I never moved towards her, too stunned and too scared. Even years later, I never found out what she meant.
I had clutched at the doorway for what felt like hours before my parents noticed me. By then, my knuckles were sore to the bone and my own skin clung to my shirt with dampness, with the faint remnants of the same, sickening fever.
My father rushed at me, trying to push me out of the room as my mother remained gasping on the floor.
"Seohyun," he said, because he called me that back then. "Why are you awake?"
"Umma..." I trailed off. Or maybe that was my entire explanation.
What's wrong with Umma?
His dark eyes were frantic, were regretful and panicked and darting and desperate. Like I had walked in on a murder with his hands stained red.
"You need to go back to bed," he said. "Go back to bed. Jigeum. Ga."
"Is...is Umma okay—"
"Umma is fine," he said. "She was just startled. Go back to bed."
"Appa—"
"Go back to bed now, Seohyun."
I went without a word.
It was one of the only two nightmares I'd ever seen my mother wake from. The others were left to my imagination with the audio of muffled wailing and my father's pleas to help mold them. My father never spoke of them to me, and if I asked, he brushed it off with a half-hearted excuse and a sharp turn of conversation I couldn't track back from.
My father never spoke of a lot of things, in hindsight.
Hindsight
It's always hindsight.
I wonder if that's what haunted my mother, what spiked that fever in her body that now haunts my own head. Maybe I caught it that night, seeing her crumpled on the hardwood and choking on air she couldn't grasp. Or what haunted my father, low-grade and insidious, unnoticeable until it ate away nearly every part of him with nothing but 'hindsight' to kill the rest.
I used to want to ask my mother what her nightmares were about. If she dreamt of murky things or fine-lined things or things that never happened or things that constantly did. If they were like mine: violent, noisy, full of people I couldn't see again and things I couldn't take back. Regretful. Honest.
Maybe I could've known if I had asked her earlier. Maybe it would've been helpful, or maybe it would have only hurt more. Maybe, maybe, maybe.
To this day, I still didn't know what killed faster: never knowing at all, or knowing too well.
And I hoped desperately that the third step would tell me.
I had nothing else left to ask.
_____________________________
"I am, like, eighty two percent sure I can cut an apple."
Haru stared. I cleared my throat.
"Sixty five percent. Or maybe sixty. I mean, it looks like a small apple. I say sixty three flat."
He shook his head. "Do you eat any fruit? At all?"
I frowned at that inquiry-disguised accusation. "Obviously," I said and pointed at the netted bag of tangerines adjacent to the cutting board. "Tangerines."
"Other than that."
"I ate a box of raisins last week."
Haru pinched the bridge of his nose. I said, "I think I ate a pear at some point in March, but it could've been a papaya."
"Those look and taste nothing alike."
I shrugged. "I don't discriminate. Papayas and pears, all fruits welcome."
"What color is a papaya?"
"Trick question. Yellow...ish."
Haru turned back to the cutting board. "I'll just do it. I don't trust you won't cut your finger off."
We were in my kitchen now, appropriate food put away and the rest strewn out in disorganized organization on my tiny counter. I insisted we order the reliable pizza, but Haru said I had to learn to cook a meal at some point and promptly hid my phone somewhere in that flannel that—good looks be damned, Haru—had way too many pockets for its own good.
Haru also insisted we have at least one healthy snack among the snacks we brought in case we 'needed a break from all the junk food'. I had to say, as great as Haru was, it was immensely disappointing to find out he was the carrot stick kid.
I told him so too as he began to skin the apple.
"You're the carrot stick kid," I said.
Haru didn't even look up. "Considering you called me a walnut already today, I'm not even going to ask what that means."
"Means you have asthma and a gluten allergy and tell people to be quiet because you have a soccer game in the morning but still stay up till midnight solely to correct people when they say 'today' and you say 'but it's tomorrow, Thomas' and then ask Mrs. Jenkins in the morning if the butter for the box pancakes are vegan."
Haru set the apple down to give me a completely bewildered and mildly annoyed look. "What in the world is in your drinking water?"
"What? It's a common analogy."
"Angel, I think all that MSG in the ramen has gotten to your head."
"See? What even is MSG?"
"Monosodium glutamate, and likely the reason you've lost it." Haru shook his head. "I don't even know a Thomas. Or a Mrs. Jenkins. Who are these people?"
"Valid examples," I argued because what the hell was monosodium glutamate anyway.
Haru sliced the apple into even cuts, knife dull but practiced in his hands. "Who stays up just to say 'it's tomorrow'?"
"Don't know. You tell me."
He waved me off and I cackled, moving to check on the boiling pasta on the stove. Spaghetti was the easiest option as it guaranteed the least amount of casualties in its wake. Haru promised he'd show me how to cook the chicken later, but considering I was getting anxious just over boiling noodles, the offer seemed doubtful.
I grabbed one of the bags of chocolate, popping it open to toss one in my mouth.
Haru opened a resealable container to place the apple slices in. I said, "Hey, I have a question."
"Is it about Thomas?" he muttered.
I smirked. "Thought you said you didn't know a Thomas."
"Just ask the question, Angel."
I popped another chocolate into my mouth, caramel and wafer crunching between my teeth. "When did you like me?"
He paused. "Like you?" he said, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"You know. Like me. Like-like me," I said, gesturing as if it would help my point. "When did you realize it?"
Haru tossed the scraps into the trash, leaning over to check on the noodles. He went about the kitchen for a few moments, grabbing the box of cherry tomatoes and setting several onto the cutting board.
"The Open Arc," he said. "Maybe then."
I hummed. The memory of the piano came to me in stark recollection. "Ah, that," I murmured.
Haru sliced the tomatoes with an elegant hand. "What about you?"
I shrugged. "Maybe forever."
"What?"
"I'm kidding. Probably at Cloud."
"Bowling?"
"Yeah. Although I gotta admit the 'realization' part didn't kick in until last week." I quirked a brow at him. "With your brazen confession and such."
Haru's ears went red as the tomatoes he was cutting before tossing one at me. I caught it with a laugh.
"It's true!" I said. "I mean, you just came at me—"
"Please. Stop." Haru looked ready to bang his head into the nearest wall. "I did not come at you." He sliced the last of the tomatoes, red circles falling neatly into a pile onto the board. A pan made its appearance on the stove as Haru poured some oil into it and tossed the fruit in. He paused as he reached for a spoon. "Did I?"
I cocked my head from side to side, grinning. "Angel, Angel," I mocked. "Angel, I got a secret."
Haru buried his face in his hands. "Oh, my God."
"Angel Angel Angel, really, you can't tell anyone—"
"Stop that. Stop."
"'S a secret," I slurred and pointed. "You gotta answer."
Haru groaned, waving me violently away. I cackled, gasping for breath at the memory. Haru was less amused. More murderous, I'd say.
"You're horrible," he snapped.
I pushed my hair back and gave a brimming grin, winking. "You're wonderful."
Haru gawked. I kept laughing, startlingly alive and immediately real.
He grabbed the jar of sauce and pointed at the pot of noodles without looking at me. "Just go get that."
"Aw, don't be bashful, Haru."
"I'm completely ready to back out of this month if you keep this up."
"Whoa, you get a thirty day free trial and you're giving it up a few hours in?"
"If you keep making me regret the past eighteen years of my life, yes."
I lifted my hands in surrender. "As my duty as your Suicide Buddy, I shall stop."
"I told you to stop calling it that."
"All right. As your Honey Teddy Bear—"
"Never mind."
I grabbed the pasta noodles to bring over, snickering.
He dumped some of the sauce into the pan, stirring it with the tomatoes. He gestured for me to put the noodles in.
"How much?" I asked.
"How much do you eat?" he replied.
I put it all in.
He stirred it in while I watched. The sizzle of the sauce and the pasta filled the gaps of silence under poor lighting and Haru's focus. From violin solos to late homework to impromptu pasta, always focused.
You really do nothing by halves.
I rested my cheek on my hand. "When did you learn to cook anyway?"
Haru considered that, turning to grab two plates. He placed them next to the pan. "Ten, maybe?" he said. "I've always liked to cook." He handed me a savory-smelling plate. "Here. Eat it while it's hot."
I took the plate with a grateful nod. He took his own plate, and we made our way towards the island table. I pushed aside a stack of mail and unopened packages before settling in my seat.
"What about baking?" I asked.
"Since forever," he said with a small grin. "My sister used to make cookies for this end-of-the-year banquet my church has every year, and when I got old enough she let me help roll the dough."
I hummed. "So your siblings weren't always awful."
Haru shook his head. "My siblings aren't...awful. They just grew up."
"Grew up kind of wonky."
He gave a dry laugh. "My parents just wanted them to be successful."
"Ah, it starts at the root, then," I said. "Do you like your siblings?"
He paused. "Sometimes," he settled on. "Sometimes I don't. But that's all siblings." Haru spared me a quick look. "You ever wish you had siblings?"
Sometimes desperately. Sometimes not a bit. Many times witheringly.
Siblings, from what Haru's experience was, might be a pain or even burdensome, and family always haunted you no matter what. But every now and then, I entertained the idea of having someone who understood being under my family the way I did, from an inside perspective. Maia tried, Rae didn't even know, and Haru was too novel and too coveted to corrode with it. There was no guarantee a sibling would give me that, but there was a what if.
Always what if's.
I scraped at my pasta. "I don't know," I said, shrugging. "Maybe if I don't wanna do an errand."
"Do you have cousins?"
"No. All relatives are either single or don't want kids," I lied. "You? Any decent cousins?"
Haru softened at that, eyes focused on the red noodles in front of him. He rested his head on his hand as if thinking. "I had a few, but they're all sort of unbearable. The only one I ever liked lives in Tokyo."
"You ever see them?"
"Not anymore," he said. "They got caught up with their family."
"Always family," I murmured, then, "How often do your siblings come down anyway? I thought your sister was busy in Manhattan. Your brother's up north?"
He nodded. "My sister comes down a lot because her job allows her to work from home sometimes. My brother is doing an internship and going to graduate school."
"Where does your brother go?"
"Stanford," he said, and I coughed on a noodle.
I scrambled for re-composure. "Damn," I murmured. Haru picked at his plate. "Your sister?"
"MIT," he said and shit.
Maybe not having siblings wasn't so bad after all. No wonder Haru interacted with his family like he was negotiating ransom. With siblings like that who talked to him like they did, how could he not?
"That sucks," I said.
Haru gave a mirthless scoff. "Yeah, sometimes." He rolled his shoulders. "Guess it's what makes Yale all the more worthwhile."
"Forever one-upping each other?" I asked.
"Maybe." Haru cut a noodle with his fork.
When he left it at that I figured that section of the conversation was done. He picked at the pasta further, and a heavy guilt settled on my tongue like tar. The one good meal I'd had in weeks with one of the few people that didn't make me hate everything, and it was souring into something awkward.
I swallowed away the heaviness, and tried to salvage the earlier atmosphere.
I cleared my throat. "What's the first thing you remember baking?"
He paused, furrowing his brow. The tension faded a bit from his shoulders when he said, "Cookies."
"Alone, that is."
"Oh. Cupcakes." He laughed to himself. "I used to make them in elementary when we brought treats for the class on our birthday."
"What kind?"
"Any. It was usually chocolate, vanilla, funfetti, the usual. I did blueberry cheesecake once."
I perked up. "Cheesecake, huh?"
"Yes."
"I'd like to request those for my birthday."
He laughed, and it got a little more familiar every time. "Sure. What's your thing with cheesecake anyway?" He turned off the heat. "You don't strike me as sweets kind of person. With your plain donut and all."
"Don't hate on the plain donut," I said. "And I just like specific sweets, like cheesecake along with dark chocolate and bungeoppang."
"You'll have to have me try that one day," he said.
I twirled a bit onto my fork, glancing over at Haru. He busied himself with not glancing over at me, and I stared him down for a solid minute before he finally said, "Yes?"
"I didn't say anything."
"Okay."
"Thanks."
"For what?"
"The pasta," I said. "And the month."
Haru finally looked up at me, then gave a tiny grin that crinkled his eyes a little. "Right. That."
"We could say two months," I suggested, shoveling the pasta into my mouth.
"A month is plenty," he said.
"Oh?"
"A lot can happen in a month."
I gestured at the pasta. "This is fucking great." And, "What kind of 'a lot'?"
Haru raised a brow at me. "Dunno. Never dated anyone."
"You've watched Glee before though, right?"
"No, and it doesn't sound like a reliable source for relationships."
"It's disastrous," I said. "Which is why it's accurate."
Haru gave me a funny look. "You're aware that...doesn't help your case."
I hesitated. "All right, I'm just trying to give you a rundown. Let me finish. Disastrous but very romantic."
"That doesn't—"
"For example. You ever build a pillow fort?"
"Is that part of the disastrous but romantic Glee guidelines?"
"They did a mattress commercial once."
"I don't even know what that—no, I haven't." Haru chewed thoughtfully on his pasta, then pointed at me with his fork. "How do pillow forts play into relationships? I'm pretty sure that isn't on the requirements."
"I thought you said you didn't know," I said.
"I said I've never been in one, not that I'm dense about them," he argued. "I'm pretty sure I know the conventional basics. And I'm pretty sure pillow forts don't play into them."
"Hate to burst your bubble, Haru, but we are not exactly the most conventional pairing." I gestured expansively. "Suicide buddies? Pre-mid-life bucket lists? Plain donut?"
Haru laughed. "At least you admit the plain donut isn't normal."
"Har har," I muttered. I leaned towards him, gaze focused on his. "Point is, we didn't really have a meet-cute. No bickering on a road trip after college, no reaching for gloves, and no weird cursing in front of the Prime Minister." When Haru's blank face met my references, I gaped. "Don't tell me you've never watched any of these."
"How many rom-coms do you watch in your free time?" Haru asked.
Whether it was rhetorical or not, I still answered, "Enough."
He shook his head. "All right."
"What? You've never watched a rom-com before?"
"I have," he protested, frowning. He waved me away. "What's your point here?"
"My point is, unconventional calls for unconventional."
"I don't think pillow forts are that—"
"Don't rain on my parade yet, Haru." I shoveled another forkful of pasta into my mouth, waving my finger at him. "I hope your weird mechanical engineering aspirations will come in handy for the fort though."
"It's not weird."
"Kinda weird."
"Plain donut."
"I just like the taste better."
Haru laughed. "All right," he said. "It's on your list so I can't protest."
I grinned. "Correct. Both are on the list."
He frowned, pasta mid-way to his mouth. "Both?"
I swallowed another mouthful of pasta, steaming and pleasant and better than any microwavable meal I could ever find in the aisles.
"When's the last time you pulled an all-nighter, for fun?" I asked.
________________________
There was a physics to pillow forts, as physics liked to get involved in everything these days.
The pasta was finished off quick enough, mostly thanks to me as I was skilled in devouring large amounts of carbs. I discarded the dishes to the sink for later. Chores had no place here, no matter what Haru nagged me about.
"I think I tried to build a blanket fort once when I was young," Haru said as we made our way to the living room. "But I think it fell on me."
"Well then, consider this a chance to redeem yourself." I turned around to evaluate our options.
My uncle was gone for the night as he had decided to stay at one of his 'friend's' houses—which either meant a quick fuck or a drunk coworker—which meant little to no worries about having to face him with any kind of household disaster until noon tomorrow. Which meant rearrangement for the perfect fort was completely on the table and completely my first option. No good fort was ever built without substantial exertion and no forethought.
"I say," I began, rolling my sleeves up to place my hands on either side of the coffee table, "we start with this."
"You want to rearrange your whole living room for this?" Haru asked.
I glanced around my living room. A dirty carpet, a well-used couch, an armchair that probably had more dust than my textbooks, and a small expanse of windows that faced brick walls and half a crevice of the city below with dirty curtains to cover them. If you asked me, I'd say there wasn't much arrangement to mourn.
"Come on," I said. "It's the fun of it."
Haru pursed his lips, but sighed. "All right," he murmured and went on the other side to help me carry the table to the opposite wall out of the way.
I brushed myself off. "So, what's the best way to do it, genius?"
Haru rolled his eyes at that, but still examined the contents of the living room and kitchen. He hummed. "We could use the chairs on either side and the couch for the main support. You have sheets?" I nodded. "We could pin one on the curtains and drape it over."
When the visual made me scrunch my face, Haru beckoned for me to follow him. He grabbed one of the chairs from the island and dragged it over towards the window.
I copied with another chair, the back facing away from me and the two lined up side by side. "Now what?"
"Let's move the last chair here and the couch over there."
The other chair wasn't too bad, but the couch begged some serious effort. All that box lifting might've prepared me for some decent weight-lifting, but pushing an old couch with Haru's less-than-prominent arm strength proved slightly more difficult.
"Are you even pushing?" I said.
Haru, who looked ready to keel over across from me, glowered knives into my eyes. "Are you even pulling?"
"Put some anger into it."
"I thought I was the brains of this, not the brawn."
"As flattered as I am that you find me that muscular—"
"Angel."
"—I'm not to the point I can pull an entire couch by myself." You couldn't build that kind of muscle running on black coffee, occasional cheesecake, and microwavable ramen after all. "Pretend you're trying to push someone you really hate off something."
Haru looked me up and down with a glare. "I can manage that."
I blinked. "Okay, switch. I'll push."
It went much faster after that.
We pushed it opposite the three chairs and I slumped against it to let my muscles rest. Haru did the same and I scoffed.
"What're you tired for?" I asked.
He held up a hand. "Don't even."
'Don't even'. Psh. I couldn't even. The dude was lucky he was cute.
I patted him on the shoulder. "Let's get the sheets."
He followed me towards the storage closet where all our appropriate linen was stored up top over old coats or shoes or forgotten boxes. I scoured our (very) limited selection, and Haru stood on the tips of his toes to gaze at the display.
I snickered. "Need a lift?"
He hit my shoulder. "Just grab a few sheets."
"You wanna grab them? You can get on my shoulders—"
"I'll crush your shoulders."
"Considering that couch completely winded you, I'm pretty sure the only thing you'll be crushing is a fly."
"It's genetics. You can't blame me for genetics."
"There there." I patted his head. "I'll get it for you."
He took a long inhale, ears as pink as his hair, walking away from me with a grumble that was something half Japanese and half I'm still older than you. I watched him go with a snort.
I grabbed three flat sheets and a two thick blankets I mainly used in the colder end of the year. Haru was eyeing our set-up with a calculating set to his face.
I set the stack down. "Next step, chief?"
"Don't call me that." He grabbed one of the sheets, a bubblegum pink with tiny floral prints that strikingly matched his hair. "We should pin this to the window, make the roof higher so we can layer the other two on top of it."
I took the sheet, snickering. He sighed. "How old are you?"
"A month younger than you," I sang and he swatted me away. "You know, you're a very angry boyfriend."
"You're a very cheeky one," he murmured.
I snapped my fingers, poking him. "Hah! You didn't deny it."
"Just hang it."
I obeyed, opening the window with a resonating creak just a little bit to tuck a chunk of the sheet into it before slamming it shut. Haru took the other corners and laid them over the couch, tucking it into the cushions' crevices. The other corner stared at him and he looked to me. "Do you have anything heavy?"
"Textbooks," I said, crawling under the sheet to head to my room.
Haru followed me. I glanced behind me. "I have a question."
He didn't look even remotely surprised. "Awesome," he muttered.
I pushed the door open to my room, kicking aside a discarded hoodie or two to make my way towards the bookshelf. My abandoned textbooks sat nestled in the bottom corner shelf, sad and thoroughly unused.
As I crouched down to get them, I said, "Why'd you dye your hair pink?"
I grabbed my pre-calc textbook and my literature guide workbook. When I got up to put one in his hands, he was pulling at his pink strands as if trying to recall an answer himself.
He took the workbook. "I...wanted to do something different."
"You seem more like a highlights kind of guy," I said, pulling out my economics textbook. "Why pink?"
"Thought 'drastic' might be better," he said. I piled the two textbooks into my own arms and gestured for him to head out. "I think it's the only form of rebellion I've managed to escape with."
"I'm surprised your mom didn't throw a fit over it," I said, shutting the door behind me.
"She did," he said. "I only got away with it because she couldn't wash it all out." He grinned to himself, almost secretively. "I keep the bottles in my room and if I ever need to re-dye it, I do it in the middle of the night."
I laughed, the sound bursting out of me in fireworks. "Haruki Nakamura, being rebellious? Never thought I'd see the day." I shook my head. "You genius."
He gave a sweet laugh, real and raw. "Minor rebellions."
He draped the sheet over the chairs and we placed the books on the seats to hold it in place. I helped arrange the last two sheets on either side to create a more curtain-like effect, leaving the opening like a dim pink gateway. I opened my hands for the blankets.
"What about you?" Haru asked me, handing me one fluffy white one.
"This is my natural color, thank you," I said, folding the blanket to shove it underneath the cotton roof.
"I meant that hoodie," he said with a chuckle. "You wear it all the time. Where in the world did you get it?"
He handed me the next one, a thick purple one, and I draped on top the other one to create something of a pseudo-mattress. I got to my feet, stretching out my shoulders to return to the linen closet.
"It's from an old summer camp I worked at last summer," I explained. A wide expanse of pillows stuffed in the corner stared back at me and I grinned, grabbing as many as I could possibly hold. "Camp Cowbell."
Haru's laugh rang low. "What is that?"
"Some boys' camp," I said, tossing him a few to grab the last ones. "I was a counselor but I kept sleeping in and the food was horrible and we always went to this farm that had the most aggressive looking chickens I've ever seen in my life. And then one of the boys asked me if I had a girlfriend, and I told him about some guy I gave a blowjob to at some party." I snickered. "They looked traumatized, although one of those kids was a little too interested in the story, if you know what I mean. Long story short, I got fired at the end." Okay, partially true. Out of order, maybe.
Haru gaped at me with ears redder than the marinara we had just had on our pasta, cheeks spotting with it too. "How old were they?" he exclaimed.
I grabbed the last pillow, a long body one that had a Sharpie-d face on one side I probably drew on during one of my feverish nights of delusion. "Dunno. Twelve?"
"Angel. What is wrong with you?"
"Hey, they're gonna have to learn about it one day or another." I made my way towards the fort. "Besides, it wasn't even true. Or it was, but not the way I told it. I might've exaggerated some elements."
"You're not good with kids then," he muttered, shaking his head.
"I'm good with kids I like," I corrected. "In my defense, they were brats."
Haru buried his face in his stack of pillows. "Oh, God," he muttered.
I patted his arm. "Good memories. You can think of it every time you look at this hoodie."
"Spare me," he said, and I threw my head back to laugh.
I crawled atop the blankets, pushing the pillows into every available crevice. Haru handed me them one by one. By the time I got to the last one, all the corners had been filled to the brim.
I crawled back out, standing back to admire our handiwork. My arm slung around his shoulders.
"You genius," I said. "Looks great."
Haru hummed. "Good to know you're happy. Go change out of that hoodie. It's tainted now."
"Whoa, the judgment."
"Judgment? You scarred those poor kids!"
"Poor kids who? If anyone is the poor kid, it's me." I steered us towards the kitchen. "C'mon, grab your goodies. I'll get a flashlight."
Haru gathered up all our snacks, mumbling to himself over something about cows and their sinful meaning, taking the donuts with him and making his way over to the fort.
I knelt down towards the corner of the kitchen where a tall cabinet sat. It was a bit of an emergency cabinet, a first aid kit nestled in the back with a box of matches, a utility knife, and two bottles of water. Between the two, almost completely out of sight, was a flashlight and a tin which was much less a tin of cookies and more a tin of emergency get-the-hell-out money. The cabinet had been something I'd been building over the past four years ever since I made a fateful decision to give myself every opportunity to have the quickest getaway possible from my uncle if need be.
Every now and then, I'd take something out just for conventional purposes. But even with those mundane tasks, just looking at the cabinet got me antsy. The only reason I'd gotten away with it was because my uncle didn't even know the cabinet existed, too out of sight and out of reach for him to spot.
Just in case.
Just in case a 'what if' becomes 'when'.
I grabbed the flashlight, clicking the inconspicuous cabinet shut with a quiet click.
I flicked all the lights off as I went, the entire apartment shutting off with a shuddering darkness that came in a sudden, single second. Haru made a noise of surprise, and I pushed the switch on the flashlight to let gold-white light beam out in a beacon.
The glow highlighted the path to the fort and I pushed aside a pack of gummies to sit across from Haru, who was already nestled against one of the pillows with a bag chocolates open in his lap. I pushed the flashlight to a wider setting and placed it between us, letting it illuminate the fort in soft shapes of light.
Haru pushed himself up. "I haven't pulled an all nighter since I was fifteen."
"What were you up for?" I asked, popping open the donut box to grab my plain one. "And don't say studying."
"Practicing," he replied, crossing his legs. "I had a competition the next day and it was a piece I kept messing up at the very end."
I cocked my head to the side. "That's a boring all nighter," I said.
Haru scoffed. "More like stressful." He pushed his pink bangs back, rare forehead exposed. A chocolate popped into his mouth and he gestured at me. "What about you? I doubt you've never pulled an all nighter before, considering you seem to have a pre-planned outline for it."
Never by will, I wanted to say.
My all nighters came either in reluctant draws or, less commonly, in wild and uncontrolled flashes. They came with the same fever my nightmares did, only I was fully awake through it all. They made appearances over courses of days, exhaustion relegated to the back of my brain and only accompanied by a strange, discordant energy.
Maia had once saw me during a season of them, when all I could think of was what I had to do and what I wanted to do, and even if it was only briefly, I don't think I could forget the look on her face till the day I die.
"Something's wrong with you, Angel," she had said while backing away, when I showed up at her doorstep in the dead of night, wide awake with broken glass, un-alive and barely seventeen. "Something's really wrong with you."
Something was. I just didn't know what.
I hadn't encountered another incident since, but the memory of it haunted me when nights would find me sleepless, and I feared I'd descend into the strange fever again. And Maia, for once, had never spoken to me once about the incident.
Being haunted by it was enough, I suppose.
So maybe pulling one with Haru would give me a better memory to replace it.
I shrugged. "I only pull them with Rae or Maia for last-minute projects or movie marathons," I said. "But usually only during winter break."
"Why winter break?"
Off-season. Less chance to risk. "They're less busy."
Haru hummed, taking that without question. I cleared my throat.
"So," I said, taking a bite of the donut. "Haruki Nakamura, spending an all nighter in a pillow fort. How is it so far? Feel rebellious yet?"
He grinned at me, a genuine thing. "Maybe. I have to admit, this is a first." He chewed on another chocolate. "My mom would kill me."
I leaned against one of the pillows beside him and my arm brushed his blue jeans. My eyes peered up at his face, moon-white and cut in shadows by the flashlight's glare. He looked painted, and intangible.
"I have a question," I said. He sighed. I ignored it. "Why does your family have such an iron grip on you? You're the most successful kid I know, I mean, why're they ragging on you for everything?"
Haru picked at the hem of his jeans, frowning. "They just want me to do well," he said. He drew his knees up, resting his cheek on them, and looked impossibly smaller. "My mom grew up with almost nothing, and she made a lot of sacrifices to try and get us where we are. I don't think she wants them to go to waste."
He said it in alpha waves, soft with collectiveness. I blinked up at him, trying to remember how he had withered under their words at the Open Arc, how they had bypassed the sight without a glance. How he said it like he was explaining for them instead of against them.
"Doesn't mean she should've talked to you like that," I said.
"She knows where I can do better," Haru argued quietly. "It's annoying sometimes, but I try to understand."
"Well, what about your siblings? They're kind of assholes."
He gave a quick laugh. "They kind of are," he admitted. "But they worked hard, too." He tilted his head away from me. "They just don't wanna be disappointed."
I frowned. "You're not disappointing."
"Maybe not," he murmured, fingers still picking at the hem, threads threatening to fray. "Just some things I do."
I scoffed. "You're like a genius, or something."
He shrugged. "Not really," he said.
"Says who?"
"My family."
I propped myself up, popping the rest of my donut into my mouth. I swallowed it down and tapped him. "I think you're pretty genius."
His laugh fell away. "Thanks," he murmured.
"What about your dad?"
"My dad?" Haru repeated. "He doesn't pay much attention to me, I guess."
"Why not?"
Haru didn't speak for a long time. His hand rested against his neck. "I think he's waiting on me to do something better, like my siblings," he said, and there was a ragged somberness in that truth.
A family so indifferent to their kid's own successes sounded cruel, not hopeful. How Haru defended them was beyond me. All I could see was him wilting, pale and tight-lipped and like a lamb waiting for the slaughter, while his family sat there and watched it.
I felt phantom skin under my thumb, rough and marred and intentional.
How can you live like that?
I didn't know if it was worse to have all your family and suffer under them, or have none of them and suffer without. And I didn't know if Haru really did understand them, or if he was just desperate to.
Desperation. There was that small seed of desperation again. Haruki, always composed, always exact, but desperate.
I asked, "What do you want?"
Haru looked to me, quizzical. "What?"
"What do you want?" I asked again. I scooted closer to him, my arm against his calf. "You're willing to understand your family, follow their wishes, go by their routes, for what?" Haru blinked, and I held his gaze. "What do you want?"
Haru thought about that for a long, long time.
Then he said, "A lot of things." He furrowed his brows. "Too many things, maybe."
And that stung. Because I understood that. Because he was being honest, and I understood that.
I leaned my head back on a particularly fluffy pillow, furry and blue, to close my eyes. Haru said, "What do you want?"
I hummed. "Cheesecake," I said. "Money. Nicotine. More cheesecake."
Haru's laugh shuddered over me. "Not what I meant."
I cracked open an eye to glance up at him. "I don't know," I answered honestly. Because I was being honest, too. Haru frowned. I shrugged. "I don't think I was made to want shit, you know? Or if I was, then not for real."
"Why not?"
"Not really good in anything."
"You're good if you try."
"Don't care enough to."
"Why not?"
"Why do you try?" I asked.
Haru said, "Because I want to want something." He nudged me with his leg. "I thought we were trying to live."
"Barely," I murmured. "Although, this isn't too bad for living."
Haru laughed at that. "I guess not."
He lowered his legs, knee knocking against mine. I hooked my arm under my head, Haru chewing on the chocolates pensively. Always thinking. What was he thinking?
"I have a question," he said, and I perked up.
"Oh?" I gave a knowing grin. "I'm excited."
He said, "What about your parents?" Haru looked at me. "Or the rest of your family? What are they like?"
Ah, well, fuck.
My face must not have gave away how jarred I was by the question because Haru just waited as my mind began to race. I cleared my throat against a bitter dread on my tongue.
"Oh," I said, and gave a shrug. "They're...whatever."
"Not as controlling?"
I gave a laugh that ripped at my throat, claw marks in my mouth. "Yeah, no."
I hoped that would suffice and we could leave the conversation as it was. Not even Maia knew about what happened to my family. I sure as shit wasn't keen on Haru finding out about the disaster of it either. Haru was currently the only person I liked who knew me as a separate entity from everyone—and everything—else. I wasn't about to go and paint over that with a red brush.
Maybe it was unfair of me, because he had given such a wide window into his own home. But at least he was working for it, against it, with it. Haru's story was tragic. Mine was over.
Maia gave me her two cents on my uncle at every chance, eyes sad like pity equated to love. The last thing I needed was for Haru to see me under a darker spotlight than he probably already did.
It's just easier this way.
I'll regret it later. Maybe later.
Haru said, "Just regular, then?"
I tapped my fingers on the blankets. "Uh," I said, because lying wasn't ideal, but neither was the truth. "Kinda." Half-lie, then.
"Kinda?"
I shrugged, nonchalant, pushing myself up to grab a bag of chips. "They're just...not around much." I popped it open, the sound crackling in my ears. I chewed on one thoughtfully. "It's whatever, though."
Haru waited for me to continue, and when I didn't, said, "Are those good?" He pointed at the chips.
Relief was cold and sudden on me. I sighed and sewed a grin to my skin. "Yeah. Yeah, they're fucking delicious."
Haru reached in to grab one, and nodded as it crunched between his teeth. "You know your late night snacks," he said. "What else do you like? If you're not a sweets person."
I took the shift of tone without a blink. "Any kind of noodles," I said. "Any kind of dumpling. Any kind of taco. And any kind of french fry."
"You're not picky."
"Trust me, I'll eat anything." I held up a finger. "Except shit with onions. Or anything with cashews."
Haru frowned. "What do you have against cashews?"
"Allergic," I said. "I found that out the hard way. You ever try and panic-yell at your teacher in the middle of class with a swollen mouth and half your face in hives? Because, let me tell you, it's so not fucking fun. I look like I swallowed a beehive."
Haru tossed his head to the side to laugh at that. "I can see it."
"Hey."
He grinned. "All right, other than food."
"The love of my life?"
"You have to enjoy something else, no?"
I considered that, then gave a slow smile. "You."
Haru pushed me away. "Stop that."
"Aw, come on." I leaned in towards him. "Just one."
Haru stared. "You're brazen."
"Brazen," I mouthed, and snorted. "You sure about that?"
"What are you—"
"Angel, Angel, Angel," I mocked, closing my eyes. "I have a secret."
"Stop. Doing. That." Haru groaned into his hands. "That was one time."
"You can't tell anyone—"
"I'm leaving."
I cackled, sitting all the way up now to pull him back as he went for the exit. "I'm kidding." I ruffled his hair, pink waves flying. "Besides, it was adorable. Don't know why you're having a confection."
He squinted. "You mean a conniption?"
"Isn't that a disease?"
He assessed me. "I know a disease," he murmured.
I winked. "A disease of love."
"No. Stop it."
"Sick with—"
"Don't do it."
"—love."
"Angel."
"And you know, the only cure to it—"
"Don't say it."
"—is a blessed kiss." I bowed my head. "By an angel himself."
"I think you make more puns out of your own name than anyone I've known." Haru pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just get it over with."
"Hey, that's no way to talk to your free-trial boyfriend," I said.
"Free? I'm paying with my dignity."
"What dignity—hey, don't pinch me."
Haru lied back against the couch with a huff. He waved at me. I laughed under my breath, and even under the flashlight's dim lighting, his ears were bright red.
I leaned towards him. His eyes were closed, like he really did just want it over with, and I tried my best not to take offense to that. Haru seemed to have a habit of being upset over things that he liked, after all.
"Just one. Promise," I murmured, and pressed my mouth to his.
There was something about kissing that they never tell anyone who's new to it, and it was that it was hard to hide when you kissed someone. Not because of what you saw, but because of what you felt and the fact that you couldn't see it.
Despite the last two kisses I'd had with Haru, this one was in slowed time. I kissed him like I had every hour and minute to spare, skin on skin and under low flame. It felt like living, like living and remembering it.
Haru's palm pressed against my shoulder, and I kissed him again despite my word. Despite his, he kissed me back. I snaked a hand around his waist, and figured I could kiss him forever. I could kiss him forever and be content with that. I could kiss him forever and never regret it.
His hand pressed harder against me and I kissed the corner of his mouth before pulling back, breath thin in my lungs. Haru's hand still rested on my shoulder.
"That wasn't one," he breathed out.
"Whoops," I said, unabashed.
He ducked his head down to laugh. "Liar."
I pushed his hair back. "Well, you could've stopped me earlier."
Haru's head hit my chest and I swore my heart tripped over itself. "You're horrible," he murmured.
I resisted the urge to kiss him breathless, opting instead for, "You're wonderful."
Haru righted himself. I kept my arm around his waist, and when he leaned against my shoulder, tried not to start playing music in my head because how cute is that how fucking cute is that.
Haru cleared his throat. "Don't say anything."
I grinned, and leaned my cheek on his pink waves. "Promise."
He smiled, and fuck it if it wasn't the best thing I'd seen in a long time.
"A month to go," I murmured.
"Can't wait," he drawled, and I laughed like I meant it.
(oof, longer chapter, I know it's sort of choppy, pls forgive me, do vote if you wish)