My Best Friend Claimed My Heart

"Then don't stick to it. Wouldn't you rather just lie at home and scroll your phone?"

"…"

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Then it clicked.

"If you come with me, I'll buy you drinks for a month."

He actually smiled. "Just one month?"

Ha, men.

"The whole summer."

"Huh?"

His smile faded; he frowned, not entirely convinced.

I bit my lip and leveled up. "A year."

He sighed, about to respond, but I cut him off, scolding, "Don't be unreasonable!"

Then he laughed again. "Actually I was going to say I'll reluctantly agree."

Me: "…"

"You'd still be reluctantly agreeing?"

I looked distressed. "Do you know how much I have to give up for a whole year's worth of drinks?"

"No big deal. At worst, I'll treat you next year."

Oh, never mind then.

When our parents heard our plan, they fully supported us, praising our ambition and happily drinking a few more to celebrate.

And so our summer was set: morning prep classes, afternoons doing prep work. Blissful, right?

On the first morning of class, on the bus, Evan held his backpack in his lap and tilted his head, staring out the window. His lids drooped; he looked tired and lost in thought.

I sat beside him with a vocabulary book in hand, studying aloud.

Halfway through, I felt his weight press on my right shoulder.

Evan had rested his head on my shoulder; the soft strands of his hair brushed my neck and earlobe. Suddenly my grip on the vocab book felt shaky.

He seemed oblivious. His eyes slid over my book, slow and lazy, and he murmured, "Ah, I've memorized this page."

…Then why are you propped up here?

Reviewing again?

Isn't that weird behavior?

I asked myself. Had he ever done this before?

Oh, yeah — so it's fine.

By my logic, if he'd done it before, it counts as normal. Feeling weird would be the weird thing.

I kept the oddness down and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "You're secretly studying behind my back?"

No response. I tilted my head and realized he'd fallen asleep on my shoulder.

Oh, this is just great.

I seriously suspected he'd stayed up late playing games again.

I looked at the fine bangs on his forehead, his long lashes, the slight pout of his mouth and found sleeping Evan absurdly adorable.

Plus he was clutching his backpack.

It made me want to… tease him.

I even thought about pinching his nose, just to watch the confused frown when he woke.

…What am I thinking?

Is this the sort of thing a decent, upstanding me imagines?

I sat up straight, gripped my book, and tried to get back to vocab.

But I couldn't focus on a single word.

After struggling a while, I poked him by name.

He woke slowly, lifting his eyelids, voice soft and hoarse. "Are we at the stop?"

"No," I said.

"Oh." He shut his eyes and dozed again, nuzzling his head against my shoulder.

I pushed gently. "Did you stay up late gaming again?"

The more I pushed, the more he leaned in, nearly collapsing into me.

"I'm not…" he said, sounding wronged and loose, "you're blaming me."

I didn't want to argue about games, so I said seriously, "Staying up late is bad for you. Don't do it again."

"Mm, I won't."

He tried to rest his head on me again. "Don't move. Let me sleep a little longer…"

Me: "…"

So I'm basically a human pillow.

This time, Evan sat beside me in the prep class — we were deskmates again for the first time since third grade.

Seeing we were placed in different homerooms for high school made me sigh.

Evan's language arts sucked, especially his essays. In middle school his writing was practically legendary — as a long joke.

My language arts, on the other hand, was decent. My essays were well-known in a different sense.

I started tutoring him in language arts in freshman year, and somehow I climbed to first in the grade while his essays became legendary for being hilarious.

I sometimes wondered if I was the problem.

After he tutored me in math, my grades shot up. But his language skills seemed stuck. The only progress was that his comedic timing in essays got better; the jokes multiplied.

The prep teacher was stumped by his essays and noticed that his deskmate — me — wrote well, so the teacher begged me to help.

Teacher, you might not believe it, but I've been helping him for three years.

You don't want the details of how those three years went… sorry, tangent.

During break, Evan leaned over with a grin, propped his arm on the desk and rested his chin. "Come on, Ms. Lin, help me."

I flopped my head on the desk. "I'm a mere mortal. I can't teach a deity like you."

He matched my pose, tilted his head, eyes locked on mine with a smile. "You're a role model. How can you give up on your student?"

I thought for a beat. "Like I told you, essays can't be too literal. You have to embellish. Some parts should be a little unreal, you know?"

He looked puzzled. "I'm not unreal enough?"

I sighed. "There's a kind of tasteful unreality — yours is the kind that makes people laugh."

"…"

He sounded displeased. "Show me what tasteful unreality looks like."

I rolled my eyes, helpless. "I've shown you a dozen times."

He sat up. "Doesn't matter. Show me again."

I paused and looked into his eyes. "Your eyes are beautiful."

He blinked.

"…How beautiful?"

"They look like mountains, like rivers, like sunlit days and starry skies."

A fanciful line popped into my head. It sounded over the top, but looking at him in that moment, it felt oddly true.

All the world's beauty hides in a boy's eyes.

Too bad this boy was a goof.

Evan was silent a long moment. "Are you sure that's beauty and not comedy?"

My tiny poet mood shattered at his words.

"How is it not beauty?"

He frowned. "It sounds pretty far-fetched. How did you see so much?"

He leaned in, earnest. "My eyes only have you."

My breath caught.

My heart skipped a beat.

…Little heart, don't go wild.

I sat up properly. "If you really can't get it, then just keep it simple: ignore all the flowery stuff and just say, 'Your eyes are nice.'"

He nodded. "So are my eyes all you think is nice?"

I was taken aback. "…You're good-looking all over."

He chuckled. "By your logic, my eyes see mountains and rivers, so my eyes are beautiful, which means the rest of me, being seen by my eyes, is even more beautiful. If you're looking at me and you have me in your eyes, doesn't that make you even more beautiful than me?"

Me: "…"

You're such a twisted logician.

Summer was more than halfway over. I had filled Evan's schedule from morning to night and convinced his parents to forget the idea of taking him on trips.

Perfect. Utterly perfect.

Evan definitely wouldn't go all obsessive on me, and one big worry was resolved.

I felt light and giddy. I even dragged Evan to the movies.

After much deliberation, I picked a film with an upbeat poster and an inspirational title.

Halfway through, I sighed. Turns out it was an inspirational film wearing melodrama. But with attractive leads, I was still into it.

Evan slouched in his seat, sipping milk tea and snarking every few minutes.

After chattering to himself for a while and seeing me still staring at the screen, he scooted closer. "Can you pay attention to me for a bit?"

I glanced at him. "The mood's building. Let me watch first and you can complain later."

He huffed.

"If you don't pay attention, I'm going to fall asleep."

He rested his chin on my shoulder. "This movie is so boring. Watching it is worse than—"

I watched the onscreen leads inch toward a kiss and cut him off. "Wait. Don't say anything."

He clammed up. I was about to relax when suddenly a hand covered my eyes.

Warmth and instant darkness stunned me. I turned my head toward him out of reflex.

"What are you doing?"

Even blind, I could hear the smile in his voice. "Can't watch. Rated R."

Me: "…"

You're teasing me.

I've seen worse things, haven't I?

I've even read my share of smut!

…Oh no, why did that pop into my head now? Why am I remembering that?

My brain flashed some inappropriate scenes involuntarily.

Why — why can I recall those lines so clearly when I can't even memorize English words?

I swallowed the awkwardness and asked, "Why can you look but I can't?"

"I'm not watching the movie. I'm watching you."

"…"

The moment he said that, I felt his gaze like something tangible, wrapping around me along with his breath, and it made me all kinds of off-balance. Even the lashes under his hand trembled restlessly.

He only said it casually!

Little heart, what are you freaking out about now?

I sat frozen for a moment before finally pulling Evan’s hand away from my eyes. He drew his hand back, eyebrow raised in mild surprise. “You actually stopped looking?”

“I thought you’d immediately yank my hand away,” he added.

I put on an air of calm. “Because I just realized you’re right — this movie really isn’t worth watching. Let’s not watch it. I’m going to the bathroom.”

My escape looked pretty pathetic, but at least my decisive abandon-ship move to cut losses on a garbage movie probably looked kinda handsome.

I’m not okay.

Why do I sometimes see unspeakable words in his head and feel like some dirty old perv?

Am I the weirdo here?

Walking home, night had fully fallen. I quietly stared at Evan beside me.

He was looking out into the dark, neon lights reflected in his eyes, expression calm and unreadable.

I sighed inwardly. Don’t stare.

After doing that a few times, he stepped in front of me and bent down to meet my gaze. “Do you know how weird you look when you stare at me like that?”

“What’s weird about it? What’s wrong with me looking at you a few times?” I shot back.

He studied me for a long beat. “Definitely something’s wrong.”

I sighed and lied without changing expression. “Okay, fine. It’s because you’ve been getting handsome again lately and I don’t want to accept that fact.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “Really?”

I sighed again. “Alright, actually — what do you want to do in the future?”

He froze for a second, surprised at how abruptly I pivoted topics, then said, “Huh, I haven’t decided yet.”

I suddenly remembered: in the original future, Evan becomes a doctor.

When a smutty little novel makes a point of its protagonist’s job, it means something. In that fanfic version, Doctor Evan knew what drugs could make a person powerless to resist, how to break someone down and make them crave and obey. Because of his medical knowledge, he knew how to get someone completely addicted and undone.

Ugh, what a creep.

But that’s not the point. The point is: being a doctor is hard and exhausting. Evan should pick something else.

“What are you usually into?” I asked. “Think about it.”

He thought a moment. “…Playing video games?”

I thought too. “Then you could be a gaming streamer.”

“I’m kidding, why are you taking me seriously?” he laughed.

He smiled a little. “I remember writing in an essay when I was a kid that I wanted to be a doctor.”

Okay, he’s the kind of person who sticks with his childhood dream.

Most kids write police officers, doctors, teachers in those essays because they’re easy to write. Few actually grow up to do exactly what they wrote.

Turns out Evan might be one of the few who did.

I offered a candid opinion. “Doctor’s a great job but it’s tough, stressful, and busy…”

“So what do you think I should do?” he asked.

Uh—asked me out of nowhere, I had no instant answer. I smiled, “I believe you’d do well at anything.”

Smooth.

He beamed a little. “What about you? What do you want to be?”

I thought, “A reporter.”

“I want to interview all kinds of people, record lots of voices, and use my writing and words to help people understand society better.”

He looked at me for a long time; his eyes seemed bright with something and I went a little lightheaded. Finally he smiled. “Then let’s both work hard, Mia Lin.”

After a whole summer of cram classes, I felt great about myself and floated into high school.

Yes, I still had a dream of being a top student.

One day while I was grinding toward that goal, a few girls from class ran over to drag me to watch basketball. I grabbed a vocabulary book and leaned over the railing with them, murmuring the words and chiming into the conversation occasionally.

“Mia Lin?”

A girl from my class approached, surprised. I looked up and said hi.

“Why aren’t you going downstairs to watch?” she asked.

It would be clearer down there; a crowd circled the court and cheers erupted now and then. The atmosphere was electric — and hot.

…Besides, I wasn’t even there for the game.

“It’s so hot down there,” I replied.

She looked at me like she wanted to say something else. I asked, “What’s up?”

She leaned in and whispered, “Isn’t your boyfriend playing down there?”

“Huh?”

My friends: “What?!”

Why are you all louder than the whisper—how did you even hear that?

Friend One: “You have a boyfriend?!”

Friend Two: “You actually have a boyfriend?!”

Friend Three: “Since when do you have a boyfriend?!”

I’m not—no, I don’t—don’t make stuff up…so how did you hear in such a whisper?

I stared at the girl. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Turns out I already had a rumor by month two of school.

She pointed at a guy on the court in a white jersey. I followed her gaze — it was Evan. Okay, fine. That explained it.

Our rumor had followed us since childhood.

…Wait, actually that’s a problem.

Friend One: “Phew, thank God it’s Evan.”

Friend Two: “Knew it was him. Mia still denies it.”

Friend Three: “See? More people are thinking the same now.”

“…”

I weakly said, “We’re really just friends.”

At least for now!

Friend One: “Such a scumbag comment.”

Friend Two: “Sweetie, good kids don’t become playboys.”

Friend Three: “Small-minded. She’s obviously afraid of getting caught in a relationship so she says that.”

“…”

Since military training at the start of school, Evan would come hang out with me during breaks. When people saw us going to and from school together, the rumors blew up.

I glared and scolded them righteously. “Like I’d date early! My eyes are only for studying!”

Friend One: “You totally would.”

Friend Two: “Has no one told you you look like a first-love type?”

Friend Three: “Studying is your big treasure. You can still have a little treasure too.”

“…”

I couldn’t argue them into silence. One against three, I’d been fighting for two months with little result.

I finally realized they didn’t actually care whether we were a thing. They just wanted a ship to sail.

Big yikes.

At the end of the first semester of tenth grade, winter break arrived.

On New Year’s, I waited on Evan’s balcony to watch fireworks and he shoved a huge plush into my arms. “New Year’s gift.”

I was stunned to be stuffed full of plush and then he asked, “Do you have a gift for me?”

Wait, did we agree to exchange gifts? We just ate each other’s weird dumplings and called it a day, right?

I blinked. “Um…you never said you were going to prepare anything.”

He looked at the dark sky; a few scattered stars reflected in his eyes. He pressed his lips together. “Can I ask for one now?”

I hugged the plush and glanced at him, then up at the sky, teasing, “You wouldn’t want the stars, would you?”

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t want the stars.”

I smiled back. “What do you want then?”

He started to speak. “I—”

A firework suddenly exploded overhead, brilliant and overwhelming, turning night into day for a moment.

It felt like everything loud and everything quiet at once. I found I couldn’t laugh.

The fireworks lost their charm quickly and I tugged Evan’s sleeve, pulling him into the living room. We sat on the couch with the plush between us. I looked up at him. “What did you say you wanted?”

He looked at me and said, “My mom’s birthday is coming. I want to cook for her myself. Can you help me?”

He sounded completely normal, as casual as could be. But he was lying.

He thought I hadn’t heard the rest.

I did hear it: he said he wanted to keep calling me Mia.

Hearing that made me ache a little.

I couldn’t help recalling by the river that night, how red his eyes were and how he still put me first even when he was hurting. I even remembered the more twisted, obsessive, unlucky version of Evan from that book.

He stood on the balcony against a backdrop of bursting fireworks, the cozy golden light of the living room behind him.

But he looked low, somehow small in that light.

I set the plush to the side, took his hand, and sat next to him. “Evan.”

He blinked. “…You haven’t called me that in a while.”

“That time doesn’t count.” I looked at him seriously. “I made mistakes then. I hurt someone important. I want to sincerely make amends now. I don’t know if that person will give me a chance.”

I squeezed his hand. “Evan, will you?”

His gaze softened instantly, a hopeful light in his eyes. “Mia…can I keep calling you that in the future?”

I gave him a big smile. “Of course. Let’s figure out what to cook your mom.”

And yet.

One moment tender, the next moment tragic.

I can make great snail noodles, but I’m not much of a cook.

Evan? Ha — he’s even worse.

Oil splattered everywhere from our clumsy handling. The scallions we used for flavor got burnt black. Evan’s hand shook and he dumped nearly half a bottle of soy sauce into the pan — then realized it was vinegar. After a chaotic symphony of curses and frantic scrambling, we produced a plate of something so horribly scented and visually offensive it could only be called dark cuisine.

I looked at him and said, "Your mom might be so touched she'll smack you."

Evan: "……"

In the end, it all wrapped up with him serving a bowl of longevity noodles to his mom on her birthday.

A week before school started, Evan and his buddies planned to play basketball.

Before they left, he told me he was going to be the hottest guy on the court.

Halfway through the game, he broke his arm.

So he became the handsomest guy in the hospital.

Honestly, I felt genuinely sorry for him.

But after the initial sympathy faded, when I saw the thick cast and bandages on his right arm and that droopy, world-weary look on his face, I couldn't help being unkind—I laughed.

Not only did I laugh, I faked crying, "Wah wah wah, you're so miserable and pathetic."

That made him lift his other arm and mercilessly pinch my cheek.

Good grief, if he pinched any harder I'd actually cry.

Evan's dad had the same reaction I did—he felt bad at first, but once that passed he started scolding him.

"Basketball, basketball—did you play basketball, or did basketball play you? You worry me to death. Right before school starts, too…"

He kept going, getting more fired up, practically digging up Evan's entire black history, even showing a… nostalgic look?

Evan stared at me with an expression that screamed "ridiculous."

With my eyes I replied, "Bro, hang in there."

Finally his dad snorted, "Until your arm's fully healed, I'll drive you to and from school."

Evan: "I can still ride my bike."

"How are you going to ride with your arm like that?"

"I can do it one-handed."

His dad slapped his head, "Stop it, you drama king. You still want to make it asymmetrical and break the other arm too?"

I leaned toward Evan and whispered, "I'll give up my bike's back seat for you."

He cocked his head at me. "Dream on. No way."

He huffed. "Fine, I'll take the bus then, is that okay?"

It wasn't that Evan wanted to argue with his dad—his dad was just really busy with work and often stayed late, so daily pick-ups would be inconvenient.

"Not happening. I don't trust that," his dad said.

That's when I, Nicholas Mia Lin, stepped up.

I volunteered, "I'll go with him and make sure he's taken care of."

This was supposed to be a heartwarming story of a kind girl helping a determined boy.

Yes, I'm so kind and considerate—I even worried Evan would be uncomfortable carrying a heavy backpack on one shoulder, so I insisted on carrying one of the heavy bags for him.

But one morning, on our way to the bus stop, maybe I didn't see a patch of ice, or maybe I was just unlucky. My foot slipped and before I knew it I was lying on the ground.

Evan jumped, "Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

It was freezing; I had wrapped myself in layers and, with a backpack on both front and back, I looked like a ball. So I didn't feel much pain, but being weighed down by two heavy backpacks made it hard to get up.

I paused, then said, "It doesn't hurt, I just… can't get up."

I tried to push myself up and, sure enough, I couldn't.

Evan mischievously laughed.

Yes, you read that right—he laughed, and he didn't stop.

Just like I had laughed at him before.

Turnabout is fair play. Don't ask—just know I regretted it.

He kept laughing while grabbing my hand to pull me up, but either his left hand wasn't that strong or he'd used up his strength laughing. After a long time he couldn't get me up.

So, at six-something in the morning on a mostly empty street, a weird sight unfolded: I lay on the ground clutching a backpack, and Evan stood beside me laughing like an idiot.

Was this a moral collapse or the death of human decency?

Finally he gave up trying to drag me up and instead ripped both backpacks off me and tossed them aside.

Great—now I didn't need him to pull me up. I climbed to my feet myself.

I patted my down jacket, picked up the two backpacks, dusted them off, and realized Evan was still laughing.

I asked, stone-faced, "What are you laughing at?"

He chortled, "Nothing."

"Is it really that funny?"

"Hahaha, no."

Me: "…If you make me talk to you again today I'm a dog."

He immediately stopped laughing. "Seriously? That harsh?"

I snorted and stomped away on my little boots.

On the bus, I shut the curtain, leaned against the window, and closed my eyes.

Evan slid into the seat beside me. "Don't lean against the window—it's hard and cold. Lean on me."

…Hmph. Watch if I listen to you.

"Mia?"

He called my name. When I still didn't respond he said, "You really are ignoring me?"

Nicholas Mia Lin keeps her promises.

"I was wrong," he softened. "I shouldn't have laughed at you."

Hmph. Saying sorry now is too late!

At least wait until we get off the bus and maybe then I'll forgive you.

So I kept my eyes closed.

"If you keep ignoring me, don't blame me for using my secret weapon."

Please. Do you think I'm scared?

He leaned close and kept calling me "Mia" again and again, in a thousand ridiculous tones until my skin crawled.

Okay, fine—I was afraid.

I lowered my voice. "Stop calling me that. What do you think you are, a cat?"

He laughed. "You called yourself a dog."

"…"

Seeing my unimpressed look, he immediately switched. "I'm sorry. I'm a dog. Woof."

Me: "…"

"Nicholas Mia Lin, spare a glance for this poor little dog?"

Me: "…"

I half expected the next thing out of his mouth would be fake crying.

Evan, your book persona just collapsed, do you realize that?

But I liked it.

In junior year, students split into arts and sciences. Evan chose science; I chose arts.

The two streams were taught in different buildings.

But that didn't change much—we weren't even in the same class before, after all (smile).

One girl in my circle ran daily between the science and arts buildings. I thought she couldn't bear to be away from us, but really she couldn't bear being away from her ship.

"I've seen so many arts girls coming over to the science building to see Evan. One day someone might just steal him. Why haven't you claimed him yet?"

As if I could just "claim" someone on command.

Look, me and Evan were always close—people saw us as a pair. But we'd been childhood friends forever. It’s hard to tell if what you feel is habit and dependence or something romantic.

…As Nicholas Mia Lin, I've even read some steamy fanfic. How can I be so lacking in confidence?

Be confident—he likes me in both ways.

Be even more confident—he'll confess right after the college entrance exams.

Well, I could confess to him, too.

I smiled without meaning to.

"You're smiling?"

My friend looked shocked, then suddenly enlightened. "Oh. You've got him already, huh?"

Of course you assume that.

She dragged me on a tour of the science building. "You should make a public show of claiming him, you know?"

My claim hasn't been officially made yet, friend. Shouldn't we follow the steps?

Who am I? Where am I? What am I doing?

Standing at Evan's classroom door, all three questions crowded my mind.

How did I even end up here? If Evan asked why I came, what would I say?

I started thinking of more problems.

…Forget it. Maybe Evan isn’t even in class.

I peeked inside and, unlucky for me, saw him right away.

He sat by the window, propping his chin on his hand and looking out, eyes half closed—maybe dozing.

Then his deskmate patted his shoulder and leaned in like he was saying something. Evan yawned, looking like he didn't want to be bothered, but lazily turned to listen. As whatever was said amused him, a small smile flickered across his face, and soon he was laughing with the others.

Sunlight scattered across him—he looked unbearably bright, as if the light existed only to complement him.

Beautiful to the point of being intimidating, yet I couldn't stop stealing glances.

No wonder girls came just to see him. That face, that smile—I’d watched it for years and still wanted to see it again.

I remembered my friend lurking nearby, so fine—since I was already here, I should at least call him out and talk.

…So what was my reason for coming again?

I had an idea. Just then a guy was about to enter the classroom, so I called, "Hey, could you help me call Evan?"

He stopped and looked at me. "What for?"

"I need to borrow a book from him."

A perfectly decent excuse! Let's just assume I forgot my English book today.

The guy frowned. "Borrowing again?"

He sounded annoyed. "This isn't Evan's personal textbook warehouse."

Me: "…"

Okay, my excuse was obviously overused.

Whatever. I'll slip away—school's nearly over and I'll see Evan then.

Seeing no sign he'd call for me, I blurted, "Then could you lend me the book? I really forgot my English book. I'll return it after class."

He hesitated. "…Alright."

I thanked him and watched him go inside to get the book.

The instant he stepped into the room, Evan tilted his head and fixed his gaze on me, unblinking.

"Mia?"

He looked surprised and pleased. "Why are you here?"

He walked over, and I felt happy and a little embarrassed.

I pretended to be casual. "I came to borrow a book."

He assumed naturally, "Which one?"

Just then the other guy came back with the book and stood at the doorway, looking bewildered.

I grew more embarrassed. "I already got it…"

Evan glanced at the guy and raised an eyebrow.

The other guy looked back. They exchanged looks, both with a questioning "?" hovering between them.

The scene was… awkward.

I reached out to take the English book from the guy's hand. "Thanks so much, really…"

Evan abruptly reached out and stopped me, easily snatching the English textbook from my hands. He lazily plopped it into that boy's arms and smiled, "Thanks, man. But she’s borrowing this from me—it's more convenient when she returns it."

The boy glanced at us, a vague smile on his face. "Okay," he said, then turned and went back to class.

What a rip-off. I already said thank you twice.

Evan went inside to get the book for me. When he returned and handed it over, he casually asked, "Do you know him?"

His tone was so offhand it could have been nothing—just a tossed question. But was his heart really that calm?

I felt like teasing him. "Do you believe me if I say I came specifically to look for him?"

He looked skeptical. "Do you even know his name?"

I pretended to be disappointed. "I was just about to find out."

"You want to know?"

His voice climbed; it sounded half like an accusation.

Then he put on this wounded expression. "You've never come looking for me like that!"

Ha. I don't care—he's jealous.

I smiled, eyes crinkling. "This time I did, didn't I?"

After I told him what happened, his expression softened a bit.

Then he asked, "And what about next time?"

I blinked, blank. "What do you mean?"

"You come to see me from now on."

"Oh… I’m not that forgetful. I’m not always going to forget my book."

Even this time it wasn't that I forgot… He looked annoyed. "Do you only come to see me when you need a book?"

What else was I supposed to say?

Come admire your face?

Then I realized, looking at him.

You don't need a reason.

I want to see you. That's reason enough.

I used to think Evan's looks were practically a waste if he didn't go flirt around.

Turns out he did go flirt.

And with a rare, untouchable kind of girl.

There was a school-heartthrob level girl in the class next door. I’d seen her—everything about her was enviable, and she was genuinely nice. Even though she’d grown up surrounded by attention, she wasn’t arrogant; she was approachable.

Lately, for some reason, she seemed to have set her sights on Evan—and she had the courage to confess to him directly.

My girlfriends from the science building fed me every juicy version of the gossip, and my sense of crisis spiked.

I couldn't help but wonder—if I’d confessed earlier, would she even have a chance?

Fine. One shouldn't be too confident.

On closer thought, Evan has never actually said he likes me. Even though to me he wears "I’m into you" on his face, that could be my bias.

In that little smutty book, he loved me like a man possessed, but maybe in the novel he liked me only because I helped him through dark times.

I’d been floating on cloud nine—too presumptuous.

Actually, I probably wouldn't dare tell him directly that I liked him.

I'm kind of a coward. So I really admire that girl’s courage to confess.

I can't gamble.

To that girl, Evan is probably just one impressive boy among many she’ll meet in life. She's the sort who can pick things up and put them down.

I'm not like that. I can't let go.

Evan is different for me. He occupies almost my whole life—the best ten-plus years. I can't risk even a small chance of failure, because if I lost, I wouldn't be able to move on.

I thought about it forever and finally mustered the courage after school to ask him—playing it casual.

"Evan, I heard this really pretty girl confessed to you?"

He'd just come back with milk tea, straw in place, and handed it to me. He admitted it plainly, "Yeah."

So at least he didn't immediately say yes—otherwise what business would I have being here drinking his milk tea?

I pretended nonchalance and sipped. "If we walk together every day, won't people assume stuff?"

He paused. "…They all think you're my cousin."

Okay, I nearly squeezed the milk tea so hard it would have spilled.

I asked, "How did you respond to her?"

He hesitated. "…I said I'd think about it."

Think about it?

You actually said you'd think about it?

I wanted to punch him, but reason reminded me: as his good friend and bro and "cousin" who "has no improper feelings" for him, I could be excited only about the possibility my friend might be getting a girlfriend.

Maybe "think about it" has some hidden meaning.

So I asked outwardly curious, inwardly excited, "Why do you need to think about it?"

He sighed. "My parents don't want me dating early."

I: "…"

I really wanted to hit him.

How was I supposed to answer? Okay, let school be the priority? Would this become one of those tragic novels where Evan sacrifices his first love because of parental pressure and it becomes his undying white moonlight later?

No. Not acceptable.

Maybe he’s just going to hide it from his parents. If he wanted to hide it, my being around would be the biggest risk.

Or maybe he just won’t date early—maybe they agreed to only start after the college entrance exam, or even go to the same university.

My head spun a thousand ways. Bottom line: none of that helped me.

"Evan," he called, "what are you daydreaming about?"

I looked at him seriously and had a wild idea. I lifted the milk tea. "I’m thinking about what you should do."

And about what I should do.

He looked expectant. "And?"

I smiled. "I think you shouldn't chicken out."

"If the person I liked confessed, I’d definitely go out with them. Who cares about early dating?"

He was silent for a beat. "…Do you have someone you like?"

Busted.

He should be worrying about himself, not whether I liked someone—but fine.

I couldn't lie. "Yes."

"Who?"

I stared at him carefully. His beautiful eyes only showed curiosity.

Huh?

Was I mistaken?

I tried to stall. "Do you think I'd tell you?"

He raised a brow. "I don't think you can keep it forever. I'll find out sooner or later."

…Great. So I have to hide it forever.

I inhaled. "Actually, you can find out right now. Let's both take a risk: you go out with her, and I go confess to her."

He didn’t speak. He looked at me, heavy, thinking.

After a moment he said flatly, "What if you confess and fail, get mad, and spill my secret to my parents?"

"…"

Why did he treat me like an enemy of the state?

I felt hopeless. "If I betrayed you, may lightning strike me."

I even had the fallback lie ready—"I don't actually like anyone; I said that to push you"—but I didn't want to use it.

What if they get together? Maybe they'll break up in a few days. Evan doesn't look that into her—maybe he’s just dazzled by her looks.

Still—this is painful.

I kept my face calm and resolute, but inside I was quietly grieving.

Evan sighed. "Forget it."

I blinked. "What do you mean, forget it?"

He actually smiled. "To prevent you from getting struck by lightning, I'll sacrifice my love."

Me: ?

I didn't expect that.

A thousand feelings churned. "…You make it sound like I’m breaking you two up."

"You didn't," Evan said, eyes down as he walked. "I refused her at first."

Me: ??

I was stunned. "Then why lie to me?"

"You didn't lie to me?" he retorted, leaning close. "Do you actually have someone you like?"

…Yes. Truly.

I looked at him and felt so helpless I admitted, "Okay, I don't. I lied earlier."

He smiled, something unreadable. "But I see it—looks like a lot of people like you."

Me: ???

When? In which parallel universe?

So far, I’d only been confessed to once, in sophomore year.

I had to save face. "Maybe? Been too busy studying to notice."

Protecting my academic-girl persona.

He chuckled. "You really only have school in your eyes."

I said solemnly, "Only by studying hard can my eyes be worthy of holding anything else."

That's me—Mia Lin, new generation life coach.

"…So," Evan looked down at me, "you really won't date early?"

"…"

I put on my ascetic, worldly-wise face. "Men only slow down my problem-solving speed."

That very day I declared men hindered my study speed. Love makes me cry; studying makes me happy.

A few days later, I was forced into early dating.

It was a calm, sunny afternoon. Evan and I were walking out of school together.

He had his backpack on and, like a kid, was balancing on the raised curb like it was a balance beam.

I teased, "Are you nostalgic for childhood?"

Really, I was calling him childish.

He surprised me. "Yeah. Do you remember when we used to walk on it? I used to walk in front and you couldn't catch up."

Me: "…"

Nostalgic fine, but why bring up my embarrassing past?

Luckily he didn't mention the much more humiliating time I chased after him and stepped wrong and fell.

After that, he stopped walking ahead of me and started walking behind, watching me trudge along slowly.

He had it rough, though—after all, he was running faster up there than I ever could on flat ground.

I gently tugged at the hem of his school jacket and smiled at him. "You really running now? Let's see if I can catch you."

Evan smiled too, about to say something, when a voice suddenly called his name.

It was loud and full-bodied—enough to turn a lot of heads.

Evan instinctively turned his head toward the sound, but seemed to have forgotten he was standing on the curb. And his jacket corner was still in my hand.

The next moment he lost his balance, slipped off the curb, and practically fell into me. His hands grabbed my shoulders to steady himself.

He shoved me back a step. I’d already been startled by the shout, and now being crashed into surprised me all over again.

I glanced down at the piece of his jacket still in my palm. Jeez—how did this end up looking like I’d yanked him into my arms?

If only I had that kind of nerve…

Fine. I’ll pretend Evan threw himself into my embrace.

He stared at me blankly, his hands still on my shoulders, clearly a little dazed.

Just then the boy who’d shouted his name came up and called to him again, and Evan finally snapped out of it.

The other boy seemed a bit surprised by the scene in front of him. He looked at me, then back at Evan and asked, "…Who’s this?"

I’m Nicholas—Mia Lin. Pleased to meet you.

Fine, he didn't ask me. I was hoping Evan would introduce me in a way that made me sound legendary.

Instead, when Evan came to, he didn’t let go. He looped his right arm around my back and hooked his hand over my shoulder.

He smiled at the other boy and said, "Mia Lin—my girlfriend."

Me: "…"

Okay. That was impressive.

But why are you hugging your girlfriend like you're holding a buddy?

And when did this happen?

When exactly?

Is there some parallel universe I’m unaware of?

I stared at him in shock. He stared back, pulling me closer; there was a pressure in his grip that seemed to be sending me a message.

I smiled on the surface and, internally bewildered, played along.

After we said goodbye to the other boy, I finally asked, "What’s going on?"

Evan released me and smoothed the collar of my jacket where his hand had been resting on my neck.

He said, "After you talked to me last time, I thought it over. We really should focus on studying."

I looked at him, pleased. "Good—you’ve got the right idea."

Still, how did that justify what you just did?

He went on, "But this world’s crazy. I’m only seventeen and already a bunch of people have ideas about me, a lot of people keep trying to set me up."

Me: "…"

"Last time I heard you were so pure and only cared about studying, I had a genius thought."

Me: "…You mean I’d pretend to be your girlfriend to fend off all the girls so you can study in peace?"

Evan nodded.

Me: "…"

No wonder you were so concerned about whether I had a crush or was dating early—you were waiting right here for me?

I must’ve looked displeased, because he pressed his lips together and asked nervously, "You don’t want to do it?"

I shook my head.

For a second I felt like I was gaining love on the surface but losing it in reality.

Ugh. That’s cruel.

Evan’s lips seemed to press tighter together. "I won’t let you do me a favor for nothing. Whatever you want in the future, I’ll try to get it for you…"

Those words invite so many misunderstandings.

"Whatever" until when?

"Whatever" meaning anything?

Well, Evan, I want you—forever. Will you bring that to me?

Nope—saying that would probably scare him off.

Besides, there's a "try" in there.

Ah, that “try” is the real kicker.

Calm down. I still have hope.

We get the title, the perks, and even the so-called financial benefits, plus we go to and from school together… aside from no kissing or hand-holding, it’s almost like a real relationship.

Be optimistic.

Evan probably can’t tell whether I like him or not, but I like him.

And I’m not sure if he likes me, so actually… he might like me too!

I watched Evan grow a little anxious as I stayed silent and felt more certain.

I let a small smile slip. "Sounds like a pretty good deal…"

He paused, then winked and flashed a cocky smile. "Help me out, please?"

Maybe it was the filter, but I kept feeling like he was being coy.

I smiled wider. "Okay. I’ll help."

You help me and I give you myself. That’s a bargain. 🙂

Later, when my girlfriends bombarded me, I stayed calm and said, "Yes, we—cough—we’re dating."

Friend 1: "Mom, I’m dead—this is real!"

Friend 2: "I always knew my ship-sailing skills were on point!"

Friend 3: "When’s the wedding?"

Me: ?

I nearly choked.

Then I remembered another question.

While Evan dragged me around the stores, I asked, "Do you know you’re kind of famous at school?"

"Sort of," he said modestly, holding up a pair of bracelets to me. "Mia—do you like these?"

I glanced at them. Black and white, cute design. I echoed his earlier words, "Sort of."

Then I resumed the question, "Do you know I’m kind of known among the teachers too?"

He smiled at me. "Yeah, Mia’s a top student."

Awkwardly flattering.

I smiled, then sobered. "Our early-dating thing’s getting famous. I think we’re about to get called in for a talk."

"No big deal," he didn’t seem worried. "They can’t crack down too hard. If they do, it causes more trouble."

He held up another style of bracelet. "What about this one?"

I looked. Two of them. "Why are there two? Isn’t it weird to wear one on each wrist?"

"…"

Evan gave me a caring look. "Mia, these are couple bracelets."

Me: "…"

Wow, you make me look dumb. How was I supposed to expect you’d buy couple bracelets?

In the end he bought the black-and-white pair.

He put the bracelet on my wrist and studied it, then smiled. "Wear this when we go to the office for that talk."

…You’re brave, young man.

Sure enough, within a few days we were called to the office.

Seeing the solemn atmosphere, I leaned toward Evan and whispered, "Should we just tell the truth?"

He smiled and murmured back, "You try."

A teacher snapped at us, annoyed: "You’re in the office—stop smooching!"

Ah.

I straightened. "Actually…"

I told the truth, but no one believed us.

"Mia, don’t take the teachers for fools—you two even have couple bracelets."

Ah.

I cleared my throat and looked at Evan, signaling him to say something.

He thought for a moment, then explained that the teachers were worried about the harm of early dating.

"But teachers," he said earnestly, "I don’t think there’s any harm."

His face was innocent, his eyes sincere.

"What they don’t know is Mia and I grew up together. We’ve been side by side for years. I’ve always looked at her, and my eyes can’t fit anyone else."

First, use exaggeration plus a determined gaze to declare the indestructibility of his feelings.

"She loved studying since she was little and worked so hard. To keep up with her I had to work hard too. If she hadn’t pushed me and helped me, I probably wouldn’t have gotten into this high school."

Second, again exaggerate to show how chasing love made him improve academically.

"And it doesn’t distract me—seeing her makes me happy, eases my study stress. I feel energized, like I can do more problems."

Okay, more exaggeration—bordering on made-up. But it didn’t stop me from mentally laughing and getting swept up.

Finally he said, "We’ve been together so long that we know our boundaries. Before we’re adults we’ll be proper—just holding hands and hugging sometimes."

Oh—when exactly did you ever hold my hand or hug me?

Honestly, if I were a teacher, I might’ve been touched.

Too bad the teachers were seasoned and unconvinced. No matter how eloquently Evan spoke, we couldn’t avoid the parents being called in.

After a discussion, we decided to take things step by step. Worst case, we’d tell the truth.

That night after dinner I cleared my throat and told my parents, who were watching TV on the couch, "So, Mom, Dad, the homeroom teacher asked you to come to school tomorrow."

They turned in surprise. "Why? What did you do?"

"Just so you know—you can’t be violent," I said.

They exchanged a look that suddenly grew serious.

"Say it—we can handle it."

I swallowed. "I’m dating."

"…"

They were silent for a moment.

Then my mom shrieked, "What?!"

My dad smacked the couch with his palm. "Who dares lay a hand on you?!"

Me: "…Evan."

"…"

They were quiet a beat, then both said together, "Oh, then it’s fine."

Me: ?

So inexplicably, my parents and Evan’s ended up having a friendly chat.

I quietly asked Evan, "You didn’t tell them the truth either?"

He propped his chin on his hand and watched the parents laugh. "They seem pretty happy."

I looked at him. "You look pretty happy too."

He grinned. "You too."

After surviving that, how could we not be happy?

In the end the parents kindly said, "Don’t worry—we’ll take care of the school."

Me: "…"

Really something else.

Becoming Evan’s official girlfriend on paper didn’t change much in my life.

Mainly, in public he’d hold my hand.

Everything else was largely the same as before.

And that was fine.

Priority number one was prepping for the college entrance exams. A lot of things could wait until after.

Luckily our grades stayed stable. Up through the exams I felt like everything was okay.

But after the exams I was nervous—afraid Evan would perform a surface breakup and return to single life.

He didn’t bring it up the whole time he was home.

But he still didn’t confess or anything.

I watched him—head down, fingers flying across the controller—and felt miserable. Had he just forgotten me?

Or did he assume everything between us automatically ended the moment the college entrance exams were over?

I decided I was going to go for it. Confess. Now.

Thoughts are easy. Execution takes planning. Plus, with all the reunion hangouts after exams, I never found the right moment.

Our exam scores came out the day before my nineteenth birthday.

Just like we guessed, Evan scored a few points higher than me. Not high enough for the Ivy-tier schools, but still enough for other top universities in the country.

He glanced at his score and didn’t make a big deal out of it. Instead he laughed and praised my math—said I did amazing.

Then he flopped onto my couch with the game controller again. After a whole year of senior year, he was clearly dying to play.

I grabbed a plate of strawberries and sat beside him, wanting to ask some things. But he was in the zone, so I waited.

Mouth full of strawberry, I mumbled, “Want some?”

He said, “Mm,” and opened his mouth without looking up, eyes glued to the screen.

I pinched a strawberry, tore off the leaves, then—sly—I shoved the leaf into his mouth.

He froze mid-bite with a leaf in his teeth, tilted his head at me and raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

I smiled. “My bad—didn’t make myself clear. I meant, will you eat the strawberry leaves?”

He laughed, popped the leaf in and chewed it down. “Fine. You eat the strawberries, I’ll eat the leaves.”

…Wow.

You’re flirtier in real life than you are in-game.

Defeated, I diligently fed him strawberries until the plate was empty. He was still full of energy, hammering away at the controller, then looked at the empty plate and asked, “Can I have more?”

I laughed. He basically polished off the whole plate—when did he even become such a strawberry fiend?

I tried gentle authority. “Can you stop playing for a minute?”

He set the phone down immediately. “Sure.”

…What.

You never go by the book, do you.

“…And you can’t eat any more.”

He sighed like it was tragic. “Fine.”

Seizing the moment, I said, “I want to ask you a question.”

“You asking what to get me for my birthday?” he teased. “You’ll know tomorrow.”

“Not that… Where are you planning to go to college?”

He paused, thought for a beat, then answered, “University A.”

Oh great.

With my scores, I didn’t even meet University A’s cutoff. Evan barely scraped into a low-score major there.

I kept my face neutral. “What are you going to study at A?”

“Computer Science.” He shrugged. “A’s electronics and information program is famous. My score isn’t enough for that major, but A lets you transfer majors if you pass an exam. So I could try.”

“That sounds complicated,” I said. “I was thinking University B. Their CS is pretty decent.”

“B’s CS is so-so. Their medical school is great,” Evan said.

I took a breath. “Didn’t you say you wanted to be a doctor?”

“I did,” he stretched. “But didn’t you say doctors have the worst lives?”

…Is he literally kicking his own ambition?

Regret washed over me. I’d been planning to confess along this exact topic, and now—this?

So it really was like everything between us just got canceled after the exams.

Maybe I should not go to B. Choose a university in the same city as him?

Too obvious. It would scream I like you.

But he… he didn’t seem to like me back.

The more I thought about it, the angrier and sadder I got.

“Why so quiet?” Evan asked me, puzzled.

I snapped, “Just go back to your game.”

He said, “Oh. Okay.”

Me: ???

Okay? That made me feel even worse. Before, the slightest sign that I was upset would send him into a panic.

I studied Evan.

He wasn’t as boyish as before, nor as soft. His jawline was sharper now, edges more defined—there was a hardness to him I hadn’t noticed. When he looked down, his emotions could be so well hidden you’d see nothing at all.

He’d grown up.

His world would get bigger. He wouldn’t be able to divide his attention for people who might not matter in his future.

Great. That stung.

Ugh, stop overthinking.

I, Mia Lin, could say Evan was still a goof no matter how much he’d grown.

But maybe that goof would drift away from me.

Turning a blade on yourself is unstoppable, apparently.

It was my birthday. Supposedly a happy day.

But I was the birthday girl with dark circles and a general aura of collapse.

Evan stared. “What’s wrong with you?”

Oh please. You don’t even have to ask.

“Stayed up last night reading a tragic romance and felt terrible all night,” I lied.

He looked concerned. “…Are you okay?”

I yawned. “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

Some people say they’re fine on the surface and drown themselves in booze at birthday time.

Yep. That was me.

By the end, I didn’t even know if I was drunk. I could be very clear about what I was doing, and also completely unable to explain why I was doing it.

Evan nudged me, tentative. “Mia?”

I turned slowly. “Yeah?”

He pinched my cheek gently. “You’re drunk. Go get some sleep, okay?”

I frowned and shook my head hard. “What about the present you promised me?”

He sighed. “Tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

His tone was all babying. Cute and infuriating.

So I went for it. Drunken courage and all. I grabbed his hand and looked at him pitifully. “Give me yourself for now?”

He gripped my hand back and smiled softly. “Okay.”

My chest exploded into a thousand fireworks for a second—then I remembered both our parents were still around.

He’d probably just said it for their sake. After all, they still treated us like a couple.

The magic went right out of the room. I pulled my hand back. “I’ll go wash up.”

If I’d been sober, I’d have gone, wrapped myself in blankets, and sulked into sleep.

But drunk me changed into pajamas, lay on my bed, stared at the ceiling for a while, then climbed back out.

In the living room, Evan was clearing the table. He saw me and asked, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“Sit on the couch and watch TV or play on your phone. I’ll keep you company when I’m done.”

Really now? Treating me like a kid? “Keep me company” sounded suspiciously like a dare to flirt back.

I said nothing and plopped cross-legged on the sofa, staring at Evan until he finished and came over to sit down. He ruffled my hair.

I blinked. My face must have looked blank because he wiggled a finger in front of me. “Who’s this?”

I didn’t answer—felt like he was treating me like an idiot.

He laughed and pointed at himself. “Do you still remember me?”

I played along. “Who are you?”

He grinned. “I’m your boyfriend.”

…Except that wasn’t true.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.

“You do. His name is Evan Brooks, and he’s a ridiculously handsome guy.”

He was shameless.

I picked up his phone. “I’m going to play your game.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Which one?”

“Your usual.”

I logged into his account, meant to play against AI, and accidentally clicked ranked queue.

He said, “It’s fine. Go ahead.”

Three minutes later I was 0-4.

He propped his chin on his hand and watched. “I might get reported.”

I protested, “I’m just a little slow because I drank!”

He chuckled. “Okay, keep playing.”

I handed the phone back. “This sucks. I quit.”

“Don’t be mad. I’ll carry you back,” he said.

Under his hands, the score climbed—10-4—and our teammates were spamming question marks in the corner, wondering who swapped out the player.

Well, someone did swap in.

We were about to win when Evan went berserk, chasing anyone in sight. He didn’t notice the enemy sneaking into our base. Then that sudden “defeat” screen hit like a heart attack.

He stared at the giant FAILED on the screen in disbelief. “No way. Unfair play.”

I wanted to laugh, but I soothed him anyway. “My bad for clicking ranked.”

He brightened. “So how are you going to make it up to me?”

I offered sweetly, “How about one more game?”

He nodded. “Okay.”

Me: …you never do things the normal way.

The liquor hit me again and words slurred into silliness. I probably told Evan a bunch of dumb stories—like the time I dug up his angsty, emo posts from his nonconformist phase and showed them to both our parents. We all laughed until we cried.

We kept chatting until ten. Evan’s parents had left early; my parents were upstairs asleep.

Evan sighed. “It’s ten, your highness.”

Still high on the buzz, I said, “I want to sing.”

I leaned close and whispered, “Secret—I sing really well.”

He whispered back, “Secret—I’ll tell you something too. Right now you look like a little fool.”

I glared. “You’re the fool.”

Then a stray thought floated out of me like a feather, words fuzzy and sincere, “I’m not the fool. Don’t stop playing with me.”

Evan froze for a moment, then looked at me with that gentle expression, "Whatever you want to do, I'll do with you."

"Really?"

I was thrilled. "Then listen to me sing."

I proceeded to warble off-key and make up lyrics for about an hour.

Maybe he'd been tormented by my "angelic" voice for too long, because finally Evan couldn't take it anymore. He looked downright pitiful. "Are you done?"

"Go to sleep."

He almost added, "Please, I beg you."

I refused to give him what he wanted. "No way, it’s only eleven."

He stared at me. "Staying up late will make you ugly."

"I won't get ugly. I'm a fairy," I said, leaning in. "I'll tell you a secret—I can fly."

He was silent for a beat. "…Then fly for me. Let me see."

I stood up, jumped onto the couch, and looked down at him. "See? I'm flying."

"…"

Evan was probably stunned by my performance; he just stared at me, frozen.

I waved my hand in front of his face. "Evan?"

He finally came back to himself, stood up, and seemed to take a deep breath.

"That's all the flying you can do?"

"Who said that? I can fly a lot."

I bounced on the couch again.

He put his hands on my shoulders and curled a corner of his mouth. "Try flying again."

I bounced—and realized he was holding me down so I couldn't spring back up.

"Let go."

"No."

I tried to wriggle free and—unable to—lowered my head, half-angry, half-ready to bite his hand.

He didn't seem to notice my plan and didn't pull away.

In the end I couldn't bring myself to bite hard. I just nuzzled his hand and ended up smearing a bit of slobber on the back of his hand.

"…You weren't actually going to bite me, were you?" Evan looked at his hand, his tone strange.

I snorted. "So what if I was? If you don't like it, you can bite me back."

He looked at me for a long moment. There was something in his gaze that made me think he actually might bite me.

I took a small step back. "That's a bit much, right? I didn't even bite you really…"

After a while he sighed.

Then the hand he had been resting on my shoulder slid down and cupped my thigh.

Before I could react, he lifted me up and carried me toward my room, voice a little firm. "Be good. Go to bed."

For some reason his voice sounded a little hoarse.

I gripped his shoulders, looking at his beautiful eyes, the sharp bridge of his nose, and—his lips, so close, glossy and tinged with color.

A rush of warmth hit me; I felt tipsy and giddy. And something fierce inside me gave in.

I leaned forward and kissed him.

For that instant, I felt like I had grown up.

What happened after?

The next day I lay in bed and tried to think it through; my head still throbbed faintly.

Had Evan kissed me back?

Or had he been so shocked he dumped me on the bed and bolted?

I think I cried later?

What a mess.

Oh well. I already kissed him—there's no turning back. No matter how it ends, I needed closure.

Even if Evan avoided me forever or cut me off, I'd accept it.

It would just hurt for a while. No big deal.

At least I kissed him. Not a total loss—except for the headache. Okay, major loss.

I sat up, rubbed my temples, and hunted for my phone. After looking everywhere I realized I must have left it in the living room last night.

Just as I was about to get up, Evan opened the door and came in.

My breath caught.

Is there still any hope if I act like I don't remember?

"You awake?" he asked, walking over with the same calm expression. He handed me a cup of warm water. "Does your head still hurt?"

I began to doubt whether last night was even real. I took a deep breath and sipped. "It's okay. Not too bad."

He looked at me for a moment. "Don't you want to ask anything?"

My grip tightened on the cup. "…Oh right. What about the birthday gift? Weren't you going to give it to me today?"

He said, "So you remember what happened after you got drunk."

I put the cup down and tried to look composed. "I remember some things. Some I don't."

He smiled. "Do you remember kissing me?"

Whoa—that direct?

So I was blunt. "I'll be honest. I like you. I've wanted you for a long time. Last night I couldn't help myself. It's out now—what do you want to do?"

Don't be shy—I’ll take responsibility for you.

His smile deepened. He put his hands by my ears like he was enclosing me in an embrace. "I'll give you two choices. Either be my real girlfriend, or let me kiss you back."

Do I look stupid?

This isn't a choice. First one, obviously.

But I wanted to be coy, so I thought for a beat and said, "Then I'll pick the first."

"You little dummy," he laughed softly and mussed my already messy hair.

"Mia, you're an adult now. At times like this you should say, 'I'll take both,'" he teased, and his lips covered mine. He bit my lower lip, licked, then pushed his way in, bold and hungry, probing and tangling with my tongue.

So this is what it felt like.

My chest swelled. Every inch of me wanted him, wanted his warmth and closeness.

I had the hazy memory that Evan had kissed me like this last night, too—only then he'd been more awkward, more urgent, more reckless.

"Mia…" he murmured, breaking the kiss and calling my name, his eyes full of lingering tenderness.

I panted slightly. "Did you…kiss me back last night?"

There wasn't a hint of embarrassment. Instead he smiled. "Yes. You were so forward—I couldn't stay indifferent."

He moved closer, cupping my face. "If you feel cheated, I can let you kiss me back again."

I: "…"

Well, I didn't expect you to be like this. I always thought you were so innocent.

I asked another question. "Why did I cry later?"

He thought for a moment. "Maybe I was too rough and I hurt you."

…That's a bold excuse.

I nodded. "I get it. Your kissing skills are terrible."

He winked. "Then let's practice more."

Well, that's not off the table.

Wait—one more thing.

I pinched his face hard. "And what about that college you were supposed to go to? A University?"

"I lied," he said. He grabbed my mischievous hand and squeezed my palm, then kissed the back of my hand. "I planned to confess on your birthday—scare you first, surprise you next."

Oh, you jerk.

Whatever. I had hurt him so badly before, too. I decided not to keep score.

I flung myself into his arms. "So you've liked me for a long time?"

He hugged me and pressed his lips to my ear. "Yeah. I've been thinking about you for a long time."

"If you hadn't said no dating early, you'd have been mine sooner."

Wow.

If I'd known sooner I would have kissed him back ages ago. Why wait?

But it's not too late.

We finally ended up together—no tragic separations, no dark schemes from some book. Everything went as we hoped. Everyone was happy.