He turned my head with one hand, hooked the other around my waist, and leaned close to my ear to speak.
"Your waist is so tiny."
"…So?"
"If you turn your face away, I can tolerate it."
"…"
If there were a leaderboard for shameless childhood rivals, Evan Reed would top it.
I kicked him off, sat up, and sneezed hard.
He lifted the blanket, eyebrow raised, and when he found the remote he turned off the air conditioner.
"What are you doing here?"
He propped his chin on his hand and asked.
…Someone should show the girls at his school how their golden boy’s hair looks like a bird’s nest right now.
"You slept with me, Evan."
I said it straight, since he seemed half-asleep.
"Really?"
His voice was still a little hoarse, laced with sleep.
Then suddenly he leaned in, pinched my chin.
Too close — I could even count his eyelashes.
We stared at each other for a long beat before he let go.
"I really can touch anyone like that, huh."
"…"
I know. My childhood rival has always been good at manipulating words.
I’ve known Evan a long time.
Back when we were five or six, he used to drag his sulky face around and pick on me.
He’s still like that — quick with a sarcastic remark over nothing.
When we were little he’d make me cry; grown-up me just chalks it up to him being annoying.
I rubbed my head, trying to remember how I ended up in his bed last night.
Damn — a total blackout.
"Do you want breakfast?"
He called from the living room.
"Is there breakfast?"
I poked my head out of the bathroom.
"If you cook, there is."
He looked up and smiled at me, soft and gentle. If only he didn’t have that mouth.
I cracked eggs into a bowl and whisked, sneaking glances at the person leaning nearby.
From experience, if I asked him outright what happened last night, he’d dodge with some nonsense.
"Um, Evan…"
"What? Going to confess to me?"
He lifted his head from his phone and looked at me like he had all the time in the world.
"…"
He’s definitely got some kind of disorder.
"Do you remember what happened last night?"
I asked again.
"You stubbornly told me you liked me, begged to be with me, even said you wanted to marry me."
He said it slowly and calmly. If the content weren’t so ridiculous I might’ve believed him.
"Don’t mess around. I’m asking seriously."
I set the beaten eggs aside and leaned back like him.
He tilted his head and when he smiled one fang flashed.
"Is your phone dead?"
"Yeah, how did—"
I blinked, plugged my phone in.
Then I lived through the next ten excruciating seconds of social death.
My phone was full of messages and a bunch of videos with a title like: "A freshman at Ashford confesses drunkenly to Ashford’s campus heartthrob."
Even with the blur, I could tell it was me — hanging on Evan’s leg, babbling nonsense about liking him since childhood… Did someone cast a love spell on me?
The man in question was right next to me, arms folded watching.
"Explain."
"Drunk. Blackout, okay? Anything goes when you’re wasted."
I patted his shoulder though my hands were shaking holding the bowl.
He snorted and walked away.
I peeked at him from behind.
He stirred the pot with chopsticks, but my mind had already wandered.
I could never possibly fall for Evan.
Because… he liked someone else.
With the luck that we always landed in the same school and class, Evan and I knew each other better than anyone else in our lives.
Sometimes such deep fate feels like a curse.
Of course I knew who he liked.
He never hid that he liked Grace Chen.
When I carried the breakfast to the table, Evan was scrolling his phone.
"Grace came back to the country."
His eyes stayed on the screen; he was telling me.
"I was supposed to pick her up last night."
He finally looked up at me. His gaze was mild, with a hint of something I couldn’t read.
"But you called me crying drunk last night, so I came to find you."
"…"
Not good. Not good at all.
I softened my tone and gave in.
"Don’t be mad."
"I’m not mad."
He was already spooning the porridge into his bowl, voice muffled, but I heard him.
"I’m just realizing I can’t handle you more and more."
When I got to school, someone barreled toward me.
"Spill! What’s the deal with that handsome guy last night?"
It was my roommate, Ava.
"Didn’t I tell you? He’s my childhood friend."
"You mean Evan? He’s from Ashford — people say he’s super cold."
…Cold and him are unrelated.
I laughed it off, trying to dodge the subject.
"So, did your confession work?"
I paused. Technically I did confess to Evan, but I had no idea what he’d do about it.
Probably nothing.
The girl he liked, Grace Chen, was two grades above him — my senior.
One ordinary afternoon Evan came to our school to find me.
I was listening to Grace talk about clubs when I turned and saw Evan staring at her.
The golden light of dusk scattered in his eyes. He saw me, smiled, and asked what the girl’s name was.
He said it was love at first sight.
But he and Grace never quite had good fortune together.
That afternoon we had Civics class. I stacked my books and sat in the last row. A voice suddenly asked beside me:
"Excuse me, can I switch seats with you?"
Evan, with that scowl, talked to the girl sitting next to me. Tall, sharp-featured — he looked intimidating.
My seatmate looked scared and moved back without protest.
He sat down without ceremony.
"What are you doing here?"
I frowned. Ashford wasn’t that far, but Evan didn’t normally come to civics class.
"I missed you."
He lay on the desk and talked with those crinkled, half-closed eyes like thawing snow.
"…"
"Aren’t you waiting for Grace?"
He yawned and took a book from me, casually flipping through it.
"You know that."
"Her club is in Meridian Hall, this is Hudson Hall."
I wanted to tell him he’d come to the wrong place, but he’d already propped the book under his chin and closed his eyes.
He looked like he used to in high school — he’d sit behind me sometimes, drape a book over his arm to nap, and reach out to flick me.
Once, fed up, I drew a pig on the back of his hand while he slept.
"Do you think he’d be mad when he wakes up?"
I asked his desk mate.
He glanced at him and said no.
"He’s not asleep."
The summer wind drifted through. Evan stayed motionless.
I didn’t know if the boy whose hand I drew on had really been sleeping — when he woke later he just stared and smiled.
"Gross," he said.
Afternoon classes make you drowsy. Cicadas buzz. My notes were full of off-topic scribbles; I just stared at the swaying branches outside.
Then the teacher called on Evan.
"Come on, the student sleeping in the back, get up and answer this question."
Our teacher usually didn’t do that.
How to explain—Evan’s luck was peculiarly special.
I nudged him.
He slept lightly and seemed to sense something, keeping his eyes down on the desk.
I handed him the book.
He didn’t look.
"Teacher, I’m here to accompany my girlfriend in class."
His voice was calm and slightly husky, utterly composed.
Whispers rippled across the room.
I could already hear what my dormmates would tease me with.
The teacher didn’t press him. A glare and he let him sit.
He pushed the book back to me and went back to his phone.
"Evan, what do you mean by that?"
"Nothing."
His gaze stayed on the screen, a smirk at his mouth.
"Too lazy to answer questions."
"Then what, Lena, do you think I like you?"
After class I saw a figure by the window.
A white dress, graceful and poised — she looked refined.
I nudged Evan.
"Grace Chen."
"I saw her."
He nodded.
"Why’d you make her come find you?"
He didn’t answer me and walked straight over to her.
I watched from afar.
Evan always seemed so cool and distant in front of others, even in front of his idol.
They stood close. Grace smiled up at him like sunlight.
Evan talked to her with that indifferent look.
Then Grace turned and gave me a look.
She walked over to me with a perfect smile.
"Want to have dinner sometime?"
"…Me?"
I pointed at myself.
They say a smile that lifts thirty degrees is the most perfect—Grace, philologist of etiquette, had that kind of smile. It was like spring breeze.
"Let’s go."
Evan came along.
His expression did not look like he intended for me to join them.
I chuckled and tried to slip away.
"Um, I have plans tonight, so—"
But someone grabbed my wrist.
Evan had apparently used a little force, frowning with heavy eyes.
"What plans?"
…I didn’t have a lie ready.
"Evan, don’t hold her like that."
Grace intervened quietly beside him.
He finally released me. I took a step to leave, but Grace shot me a gentle look.
"Lena, right? May I have the chance to get to know you better?"
Grace knew how to talk — she smiled so sweetly I couldn’t say no. But sitting at the dinner table, I felt a twinge of regret.
She and Evan sat together; I was alone on the other side while they looked over the menu.
"Underclassman, what kind of food do you like?"
"I’ll eat anything," I said with an awkward laugh.
"Then I’ll pick something."
Grace tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and traced the menu delicately.
"Hmm…celery-braised fish?"
"She doesn’t eat celery."
The usually quiet Evan suddenly said, out of nowhere.
"Spicy pepper chicken?"
"She doesn’t eat spicy."
"Braised pork belly?"
"She doesn’t eat fatty dishes."
"Sashimi?"
"She’s avoiding raw food lately."
Grace turned at him with an exasperated smile.
I couldn’t stand it anymore and called his name.
"Evan!
"I can eat anything!"
He looked up at me. The restaurant light turned his eyes a warm brown. After a long moment he pulled at the corner of his mouth and laughed softly.
"Be nicer to yourself."
"…"
There was nothing left to talk about tonight, and the food had lost its taste.
I’d planned to just chow down quietly, but Grace kept pulling me into conversation. She knows so much—always finds something to spark my interest—never lets things get awkward.
Evan was invisible the whole time.
The meal was pleasant enough, but I kept feeling like Evan was the one getting the better end of it.
When there was literally nothing left to eat, he propped his chin on his hand and listened to us talk.
Every now and then he leaned in to tease the two of us.
When it was time to go, Grace asked how we were getting home.
"Taxi."
Evan answered while scrolling his phone.
I poked him. He looked at me, puzzled.
I wanted to say, You’ve been checked out all night—at least walk Grace to her taxi, right?
He didn’t seem to get what I meant. He leaned over, bringing his ear close to me.
The tips of his ears looked a little pink. I felt like I was failing him as a friend.
Grace got into the taxi, and suddenly it was just the two of us standing in the cold, waiting for the next cab.
"Evan, are you that hopeless that you need someone to come eat with you?"
I kicked at a pebble.
He turned to look at me. Streetlights reflected in his pupils. People say Evan doesn’t smile much—I don’t get that; he smiles all the time.
Stars seemed scattered in his eyes. He leaned in, very close, and spoke so quietly I almost had to lean closer to hear.
"I’m nervous."
"So you need someone with you, otherwise you wouldn’t even dare talk to her."
He half-smiled. No way he was the kind of guy who’d be awkward around a goddess.
He talks nonsense half the time anyway.
7
Evan and I waited an hour and still no cab.
"…"
We must have the worst luck together.
He sighed and looked at me from under lowered brows.
"Wanna walk back? How about that?"
"Too far."
"If you can’t walk I’ll carry you."
My Childhood Rival Was Never Mine
He took a few steps ahead, his voice coming from a distance. I didn’t know if he was serious.
He wouldn’t actually carry me.
He used to be better at math than me. When I came to him for help, he'd act all aloof and call me dumb.
The lamplit road speckled with light. We walked side by side, not saying much, yet it never felt boring to be with him.
He suddenly spoke out of nowhere.
"Lena, why don't you get a boyfriend?"
His question threw me off.
"You wanna be one?"
I shot back in his usual blunt tone before thinking.
He was silent a beat, then he laughed.
He had a little snaggle in his tooth—only visible when he smiled. The dark sky felt a shade different when he grinned, like a sudden warmth that made you a little drunk.
"Confidence is a good thing."
He looked up at me, corners of his mouth curved.
"…"
I shut up. Why would I hand the conversation back to him?
"I mean—yeah, I'd like to have one."
My voice went soft and airy, winding like ivy.
I reached up and touched his forehead. "You don't have a fever, do you?"
He rubbed his forehead against my hand. His short black hair tickled my fingers.
"No fever. I'm fine."
He straightened and went back to his usual expression.
"Just kidding."
I knew he was kidding—he’d made jokes like this before.
We kept walking. I was getting tired and realized the restaurant had been farther from campus than I thought.
When he noticed me lagging, he raised an eyebrow.
"You tired?"
I nodded and looked for a bench to rest. Instead, he crouched down right in front of me.
"Get up."
Tall and thin, his shoulders were unexpectedly steady. I hesitated. "Really?"
"Really what?"
"Are you really going to carry me? I'm kind of heavy—you're not going to drop me as a prank, are you?"
"…Lena, are you getting on or not?"
I pouted and curled up against his back. His scent was so familiar. He hoisted me and tested my weight, teasing, "Gained a little, huh?"
"No way. Like you've carried me before."
"I have."
His voice was soft, like it could be blown away by the wind.
"When?"
He didn't answer for a long time. Then his tone dropped to a low, teasing murmur.
"When you were drunk and begged me to carry you—purring at me, squealing—forgot? Lena, you really forget a lot."
"…"
I pretended not to hear and played with his short hair.
Actually you had forgotten too. A long time ago, you did carry me once.
8
Thirteen, fourteen—the most restless years. Every summer back home I’d run wild with Evan.
Dirt paths by the fields stretched toward the sky. There were five or six of our childhood crew; one big courtyard where we all played.
Back then Evan hadn't filled out yet; his features were delicate with a boyishness to them. You could already make out the sharp, defined jaw he’d grow into.
His brows and eyes always looked distant, pale skin that made you jealous.
We had a kid in the group who especially liked him—Maya. The name sounds lively but she was a chubby tomboy, dark-skinned, and never really got along with me.
She was the leader in town, stayed to attend the local school, always calling friends together, strong and kind of domineering.
She loved egging everyone on to exclude me.
She didn’t like me because Evan always stuck to me.
Evan was different from the other kids—clean shirts, not much of a wild streak. As he said, summer was too hot to bother moving.
But wherever I went, he followed.
At that sensitive age, kids liked to tease and pair us up.
At first their teasing embarrassed me, but Evan didn’t mind at all. It made me feel humiliated.
So Maya started to dislike me.
Her family ran a snack shop chain in town. Sometimes she’d bring popsicles—but she'd always drop one short. No popsicle for me.
The popsicles she gave Evan tasted special.
After practice, Evan would trail back holding a popsicle and look at me with obvious mischief.
"Don't come over, I'm not sharing my AC."
I said to him.
"Don't," he answered.
His voice had that husky edge of a boy in the middle of voice change—like a summer breeze sliding through a doorway.
His head tilted, eyes downcast, still unafraid in a way that drove me crazy.
"You're mad. I have ice cream and you don't?"
I slammed the door—hard. I might've hit his nose.
I cranked the AC to low, wrapped in a blanket sulking. I wasn't even sure what I was sulking about—but Mara being mean made it worse.
After a while Evan knocked on my door.
"Lena, I ate my popsicle."
???
Then he knocked on my window.
The window sat high; he could barely pop his head through.
I opened it. "Get lost."
"Whoa, Lena, why is your AC set so low?"
"What's it to you?"
I leaned forward and met his eyes. Back then his eyes were even lighter—almost amber, like wheat waving along the fields.
"You'll catch a cold."
"I don't care."
I really didn't, but my mom did.
Because Evan tattled, my mom grabbed my ear and made me turn off the AC. Evan was nowhere to be found.
That summer was really hot. I had a tiny fan and still sweated.
Just as I was grinding my teeth in anger, his message popped up.
"Come to my house."
"I have AC."
A sly fox, showing off with a little wicked grin.
9
In the end I couldn't resist—went to his room. He smiled and lazily handed me a popsicle.
"I'm not impressed."
I glared.
"I am."
He softened his voice. The plastic wrapper was beaded with water and grazed my cheek. His words carried meaning I didn't let myself overthink.
I took the popsicle and crunched into it.
…It was near the end of summer break. Cicadas filled the hills. We were playing a game, like hide-and-seek, and had to pick someone as "it."
"Lena, you're it."
Maya told me.
"Why me?"
I asked.
"If you don't, we won't play with you."
She flashed a spiteful grin. Before, I would have walked away—but that day I didn't want to go back because Evan and I had fought.
He wasn't there, and I didn't want him to see me being excluded. It felt useless.
"Fine. I'll be it."
I closed my eyes and counted. They scattered, and when I opened my eyes there was nothing but fields and endless blue sky.
It felt like being the one left behind.
I searched forever, until the sun dipped and geese crossed red clouds.
Only then did I realize they had ditched me.
Night came, and then it started to drizzle. I was a little afraid of the dark; something in the trees made weird noises.
I ran like crazy and tripped. My knee hit the ground hard.
Terrible day.
I wiped at my eyes. My phone went off like crazy—multiple missed calls, one from Evan.
He had called.
When I answered his breathing was ragged and fast; it took me a moment to register.
"Where are you?"
I scanned the area and rattled off a few nearby landmarks.
"We'll meet," he said.
I waited in a little stone pavilion.
The rain fell hard. Everything was still and lonely. I hugged myself; my knee stung as rain soaked it.
When Evan arrived he was soaked through, even worse off than me, breathing heavily.
He walked up to me step by step. I never noticed before how beautiful his eyes were—like stars stitched into the night sky, a trail of galaxies.
"Come on, let's go home."
"It hurts," I said, pointing to my knee.
He crouched down in front of me but didn't say anything.
I looped my arms around his neck. He unsteadily put me on his back. His voice was a little muffled.
"You're so light."
"See? I'm way lighter than Maya."
I tugged at the loose thread on his collar, feeling faint.
He smiled.
"How do you always end up fighting with everyone?"
"…"
I half-heartedly punched him.
"They made me be the ghost, then toyed with me. Nobody stood up for me."
I sidled up to his ear and whispered. He flinched away a little.
"Is that so? Then next time I'll be the ghost with you."
He strode through puddles, each step sending up a splash, his voice drifting off into the pounding rain like smoke.
"I'll always be on your side."
You can't trust Evan Reed when he talks.
Because we'd had a fight.
From childhood on we'd argued plenty, but this one felt fiercer than all the rest.
A club friend of mine loved going to bars. She invited me out that night; I must've had something on my mind, so I said yes.
I didn't expect a roomful of strangers.
The music cranked so loud it took over the air, strobe lights cut faces into blurs, gold streamers fluttered down into the crowd, and people kept cheering like they'd never get tired.
I started to feel claustrophobic and downed a drink alone. When I turned, my friend was gone.
It was overwhelming and loud. I slumped on a couch and smelled a dozen different scents when someone slid close.
"Baby, want to play?"
A hand grazed my waist. I jumped, stumbled back two steps, and glared.
"Get lost."
"Ooh, spicy."
Another voice, sharp and sour, from behind my right shoulder. It made my skin crawl.
Alone in a bar is dangerous in ways I hadn’t appreciated.
They watched me with ugly, sticky eyes. When one of them stepped forward, my wrist was suddenly grabbed.
Evan yanked me toward the exit.
The bar lights flashed in pulses, so I couldn't see his face. But his grip was tight and hurried; he practically jogged me out.
Outside, the noise faded. Headlights streaked by like molten light; early summer wind brushed between us.
He didn't speak. We stood there, facing each other.
He rarely wore that cold, impatient look with me. After a moment he turned and started walking away.
I called his name and he ignored me. I ran a few steps and then stopped.
Watching his back vanish into the crowd, I fumbled for my phone and called, expecting him not to pick up. He answered.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Doing? I was crazy. When your roommate called me saying you went to a bar alone, I skipped class." His voice was flat and hot at once — it always knew how to pull my mood along with it.
"So what's wrong with going to a bar… I—"
"Fine. If you're going, can you please turn around and come back?"
He cut me off; his tone got heavier. My stomach dropped.
"Can't you just talk to me properly, Evan?"
He was silent for a long time.
"Fine. I won't care about you anymore."
A dial tone. He hung up.
I put my phone down. People surged around me. I looked up and expected to see him nearby, but he was gone. He really left.
He said he'd always be on my side. Like a liar.
I hadn't spoken to Evan in a long time after that.
This silence stretched longer than any previous cold war. Something felt different about him, but I couldn't say what.
Only when he was gone did I realize how used I'd been to his presence.
Sometimes I'd stare at my friend list with no outlet. Sometimes I wanted to go out and didn't know who to invite. I opened his contact a hundred times and never dialed.
I thought at least Evan would miss not having me around.
My roommate said I'd been distracted and dragged me to the new mall to try to cheer me up.
That's where I saw him.
He was with a girl — tall, wavy hair, wearing short, hot shorts. Her pale legs shone in the sunlight; she looked familiar and then her name hit me.
Maya Lin.
People from childhood said she'd changed a lot. Apparently she had.
She was tilting her head up, smiling at Evan with a lovely curve at her mouth. Evan handed her a milk tea and listened quietly.
Maya had always liked Evan.
Would he be with her? Were they already together?
My mind raced, and I didn't want him to end up with Maya. I hated her. Why did he have to be with someone I disliked?
He'd told me he'd be on my side.
Maybe my stare was too obvious. Maybe I froze too long. My roommate finally called my name.
Maya saw me.
She did that triumphant thing she always did — chin up, strutting toward me.
"Well, if it isn't Lena Park. Long time."
…
I ignored her.
I was staring at Evan.
Ten days without seeing him and nothing about him seemed different. A few bangs hung over his forehead; maybe my stare was too sharp, because he finally lifted his head to look.
Okay. Nothing emotional.
His amber eyes met mine steadily. He pressed his lips together like he was thinking of something.
I took a deep breath.
Then, to the shock of Maya and my roommate, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the mall.
The stairwell was drafty. I pulled him in and then realized I didn't know what to do.
He'd grown taller without me noticing. A thin strip of light leaked through the slightly ajar fire door, and his shadow swallowed me.
I looked up and his gaze held mine, unblinking.
I was speechless.
"What's the matter?" he said first, impatient.
"Maya's trouble. Stay away from her."
"Why are you always making up stories behind people's backs?" he shot back, cold and almost detached — as if defending Maya was simply his outsider's take.
That pulled a wire in me.
"For what? She and Xiaosi and the others ostracized me. You saw it—"
"That was ages ago, Lena. You're being petty."
"You are being petty," I snapped back. He was serious, like he truly believed it.
Something inside me split open and hurt. I froze for a long moment and then found my voice.
"Evan… didn't you say you'd be on my side?"
He was silent this time.
"So you've grown up and you won't stand with me anymore. Right, you can have a girlfriend now. Why would you still stand with me?"
I said it like I needed to convince myself, nodded as if I'd come to terms.
"I get it. It's time we go our separate ways."
I walked over, patted his shoulder like it was nothing. "Thanks for pulling me out of the bar that night, Evan."
He looked stiff for a beat, and then suddenly grabbed my wrist.
"What do you mean?" he asked, strangely flustered.
"Lena."
He said my name again, pushing me slowly against the railing.
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Come on, Evan, Maya's probably waiting—"
I forced a smile to look normal, but he held me tight.
In the dark, we could hear each other's breathing. He moved closer; his breath skimmed hot across my skin.
"You owe me a lot. And now you want to go your separate way?"
"When did I ever owe you anything?"
I tried to stare into his eyes in the dim. Unlike his usual lazy manner, he was relentless tonight.
"That summer before senior year. You lent me sixty dollars for that Jinx skin and never paid me back."
…
His hand slid from my wrist to my waist and pinched.
"When are you paying me back?" he demanded.
…
I had apparently forgotten. I pulled up my phone and transferred him sixty bucks.
"Is that enough?"
"No."
"Evan, you—"
He looked helpless, about to say something, but I cut him off.
"If you have anything else to count, count it now. Then we're done. Go home and tell your parents we're not friends anymore, never speaking again."
I was utterly serious. He was left speechless.
I couldn't make sense of why one argument had turned our relationship into this.
Later I understood.
Honestly, I realized I kind of liked Evan.
I'd always had a little crush, but I ignored it because he was always there. When someone is always by your side, you don't get anxious or afraid of losing them. You take their presence for granted.
Evan had said he'd be on my side and he'd been leaning toward me for a long time. So I decided to let him go.
The stairwell felt heavy. I stared at him, trying to read his emotions, and moved to push past him toward the door.
Suddenly his hand came up to the back of my head and he forced a rough kiss.
I'd imagined my first kiss under fireworks, that light, soft brush. Not this — pinned and desperate, breathless, almost suffocating.
It was violent and insane. I felt like he wanted to wreck me if he couldn't have me.
When it ended we were both gasping.
Who ends up giving their first kiss like that?
He rested his forehead against my neck and braced against the railing, every word heavy with something I couldn't quite name, tender and dangerous all at once.
"I'm not letting you go."
"I've protected you for so long. Why would I let you go?"
After that day, I had no idea how to face Evan anymore.
Luckily our schools were close, but as long as we didn’t go to each other’s campus, we basically never ran into one another.
But going home for the holidays was another story.
In past years we’d taken the same bus home together, but this year he didn’t ask me, and I couldn’t think of any reason to reach out to him either.
I kept telling myself that day when Evan kissed me, he’d been a little drunk.
By the end of the year I dawdled forever buying a ticket home.
My mom asked on the phone why I didn’t come back with Evan this time. I came up with an excuse and brushed her off.
I boarded the high-speed train and didn’t really notice the world until my head was bumping the window and hurting. Then it hit me: I always used to sleep so soundly on trains.
Could it be I’d been leaning on his shoulder this whole time?
I remembered last time he’d poked my head away with a single finger, telling me to wake up, but he always did that right before our stop.
Ugh, Evan.
My phone buzzed. I lifted it groggily and my heart stumbled.
A message from Evan.
"When do you get in? I’ll pick you up."
And a droopy-eyed husky emoji.
This was our first contact in a month and a half.
How could he be so casual, so natural, so calm about it?
I blankly replied, then furiously fixed my bangs in the reflection, even though he’d probably seen me messy a hundred times.
Off the train, I spotted him right away.
He’d cut his hair shorter. A black coat, half his face buried in a scarf, leaving only a pair of quiet, pale eyes visible.
Tall, he walked up, grabbed my suitcase without a word, and started forward.
…Of course he’d be awkward.
Maybe he already regretted it.
I followed him silently.
We didn’t speak on the subway either, each of us standing in our own little space. After a stop, a rush of people squeezed in and I shifted back, staring absentmindedly at a heart sticker on someone’s head.
The car lurched and I lost my footing, falling straight into someone's arms.
Evan’s hand found my waist and didn’t move.
He sighed softly in my ear.
But he sighed and didn’t say anything, looping an arm around my waist, his chin nearly resting on my shoulder.
The car was loud and crowded; I couldn’t see his face clearly, and the jokes being told around us didn’t register.
After a while the automated voice announced the stop. Evan dragged my suitcase forward without a word.
Only when we reached my building did he grab my wrist.
The thin light of the setting sun washed his cheek in gold.
He wasn’t looking at me. The short hairs at the nape of his neck, normally black, picked up a gentle golden hue.
"I don’t know what to do with you, Lena," he said.
"So?"
The words slipped out before I could stop them. He gave my wrist a small squeeze. I looked up and his eyes held long, dazzling sunset light.
"So…I don’t want to be your childhood friend, your playmate, or just your friend anymore."
"I want to be your—"
"Yo! Lena’s back!"
"Your mom’s out tonight—come have dinner at our place!"
Evan lived right across from my building, door to door. His mom peered out and waved at us.
He clicked his tongue lightly.
I’d been to his house plenty of times; we practically grew up sharing each other's air conditioning, comics, and game consoles.
I sat on his couch while he rubbed the top of my head from behind.
"What are you doing sitting like that? Acting like a guest?"
"…"
"Who talks like that, you little brat!"
His head bumped his mom’s playfully.
"You hungry, Lena? Train make you tired? Auntie’ll cut you some fruit, wait here."
My mom and his had supposedly been best friends in college. Sometimes his mom was even sweeter to me than my own.
I jumped up quickly.
"No, Auntie, it’s fine. Evan and I are going to discuss some school stuff—don’t trouble yourself. I’ve already brought an extra place setting…"
I tugged Evan and made faces. He played along and led me toward his room.
"Mom, I’m showing Lena the room. You do whatever."
Show me the room? Before I could protest, Evan shoved me in.
To be honest, I’d been in his room a lot.
It was a little messy—curtains half-closed, a computer screen still glowing. Once the door closed, the outside world fell away.
He leaned against the door, tilted his head and called my name.
"Lena?"
His tone hooked upward, teasing.
I ignored him and looked around. The bed was unmade, a half-drunk soda on the desk, and a few medical journals left open. It was like he’d been doing things halfway and been called away.
"You only came because your mom told you to pick me up, right?" I asked softly, not very confident.
"Hmm?"
He answered and stepped closer.
So it hadn’t been your idea to come find me. Evan hadn’t actively tried to patch things up with me… he came because my mom asked. He circled me, slipped an arm around my waist and tipped me back until I was gently pinned on the bed. I hadn’t even had time to react.
His scent filled my nose; being this close made me blush. He nudged the hollow of my neck with his nose. A strand of soft hair tickled my cheek.
His voice dropped so low I barely recognized him, laced with a reckless edge.
"I can’t bear it anymore."
"Evan."
I said his name and reached up to touch his face. His eyes were like deep autumn pools sprinkled with bright constellations.
"The night you went to the bar, I was really mad," he said seriously, his voice heavy.
"Lena, no man protects you all these years for no reason, understand?"
"…"
I looked up at him—this angle at him was new to me. At the corner of his eye, a tiny mole caught the light like a fallen star.
"No man would protect Lena like that for no reason. But Evan would," I said with a smile, pushing him away and standing.
He seemed stunned for a moment, a little lost.
"You’re just not brave. Not brave at all, Evan."
You can’t even say the word like you mean it: like.
He narrowed his eyes at me and moved closer step by step. He opened his mouth, but a commotion at the hall cut us off.
Guests. Voices high and excited—if I wasn’t mistaken, it was Maya Lin.
We’d grown up together and lived in the same neighborhood. Maya had just returned from studying abroad; it wasn’t strange she’d drop by Evan’s.
"Another one of your childhood pals is here," I said, enjoying the tease.
He smiled and ruffled my hair.
"So now your other childhood friend is jealous?"
"Watch your mouth, Evan."
He knew exactly how to be nauseatingly charming. Then he sobered and explained in a low voice.
"You went to places like that by yourself—I was mad. But I didn’t leave. I stayed nearby the whole time."
"What about Maya? Was my running into you two a coincidence?"
"She happened to come by that day."
"I just wanted you to know…I’m important to you."
"So that’s why you stayed with her that day?"
I narrowed my eyes. He sheepishly nodded.
"You said I held grudges and even defended her," I rattled off his crimes.
"Sorry," he said without a shred of sincerity.
"I regret a little afterward," he added in a light, teasing way, making it impossible to tell if he meant it.
Evan’s mom seemed to be talking to Maya, saying Evan was still asleep. Then quiet settled.
"Does your mom not like Maya?" I asked.
He reached up, fixed the barrette at my hairline, leaned in and smiled.
"Of course not. Lena is my mom’s only certified future daughter-in-law."
Nearer the new year, the town filled with holiday cheer. On New Year’s Eve, after an early dinner we went out for late-night snacks.
Some of us were freshmen like me, newly back from university. People change, yet not really. Evan seemed to turn into an iceberg whenever we were in a big group—quietly following behind me.
Someone teased, "You two have been like that forever. Why not just date already?"
I laughed along. Evan shot daggers with his eyes at the teasing kid and the kid shrank back.
The noisy group moved from the barbecue stand to karaoke. Drinking and cheering, we played truth or dare for old times’ sake. The whole group buzzed with excitement, and Evan seemed oddly out of place.
Under the chaotic lights he sat alone in a corner, a private shadowed part of him I rarely saw. When he noticed me he smiled—a small shaft of light in the dark.
I didn’t want to play anymore. I left the crowd and walked to him.
Everything about him seemed split in two when surrounded by others.
Nineteen years of knowing Evan, and I’d never really understood him.
"Why aren’t you playing?" I asked.
"Laziness," he shrugged, leaning back and looking at me.
"Then why come at all? Just go home and watch the New Year’s show."
He stopped talking and stared at me so intently I shifted a little.
"Lena, how old are you?" he asked suddenly.
"Nineteen."
"Hmm." His eyes gleamed, meaningful. "An adult."
Adult? What about being an adult—what was he getting at—
At that moment the game crowd suddenly yelled my name.
"Lena! Lena! Come over!"
"What’s up?"
I looked back at them.
"Someone drew a dare—they have to confess to you!"
A ripple of teasing rose up around us. In the center of it all was a delicate-looking boy I didn’t really know, which made the whole thing feel even more awkward.
His face was flushing darker and darker. He gathered his courage and, in a small voice, blurted, “I like you.”
Four words. I didn’t know how to reply.
A girl piped up, “Lena, I think you kind of like him too. Why don’t you just be together?”
I recognized that girl—she’d confessed to Evan over the summer and gotten turned down.
I realized I’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences with him before. I was about to say no.
Then someone grabbed my wrist.
“Sorry, this is my girlfriend.”
The voice beside me was frank and steady. After saying that, he tugged me toward the exit. The people left in the room froze, then erupted into cheers.
We were suddenly sealed off from that cramped, noisy private room. The karaoke place was probably older—we’d been coming here for years for gatherings—so we knew the layout well.
He pulled me along and the iron stairs clanged and rang under our feet.
When we stepped out onto the rooftop, the air opened up and everything felt peaceful.
It was like escaping to the other side of the world.
The city was still lit up, a grid of lights flowing across the skyline.
I used to like coming up here with him, sometimes just to feel the hazy summer wind or to ramble about endless dreams.
“When did I become your girlfriend?” I asked.
He suddenly said, “Huh?”
“Shouldn’t you be asking me, ‘When did I become your girlfriend?’”
“Oh.”
I didn’t look at him. The air was so clean tonight you could make out a few hanging stars.
“I am your girlfriend. Since you won’t confess, we can just skip that part.”
“What do you mean I won’t confess?”
He smiled, head bowed as he looked at me—like watching a galaxy roll by: brilliant and clear.
“I like you.”
Four words, whispered so clearly against my ear I could almost taste them.
“Are you teasing me?”
I tilted my head.
“No.”
“Is this a joke?”
“No.”
“Actually before… none of it was a joke.”
“All the times I said I liked you, they were real.”
It felt like fireworks went off and exploded on the horizon.
I’d wondered what kissing someone you like would be like: a shower of falling lights, intense and aching, or brief and hesitant.
This was it.
—
Side story 1: Grace Chen met Evan Reed at a drinking party his dad dragged him to.
She was supposedly a distant older cousin from a whole different county. From the first moment he saw her, he didn’t like her.
Her eyes were too sharp—like they could see through everything.
Later, that intuition proved right.
In freshman year, Evan often tracked down his childhood friend, quietly cursing that if he’d scored two more points he might’ve gotten into her school. Then he wouldn’t have to cross half the campus and invent excuses to see her.
Someone suddenly smacked his back.
When he turned, there she was—smiling bright teeth. His older cousin ended up going to the same school.
What she said next hit him like lightning.
“You like her?”
She and he both looked toward the classroom. The girl with the rabbit hair clip was propping her chin up, staring blankly at the board.
“Lena, right?”
He spun and glared down at her, murderous.
“No. I don’t like her. Don’t say that.”
“Ooh, is it like really like?”
But his cousin had seen every kind of drama from her work in the Etiquette Club—nothing fazed her. Evan had learned not to tussle with her; she could smooth over anything.
So he just nodded flatly.
“Did you try to chase her?”
Her eyes lit up.
He shook his head.
“Then confess! Evan, you’ve got great stuff going for you—just try.”
He pushed away her excited hand on his arm and pressed his lips together.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“What if she rejects you?”
Under the lazy sunset he looked embarrassed; his voice was gentle and careful.
“I don’t want to end up not even friends.”
This is why Grace decided to help Evan.
In the bustling dining hall, Evan stared at the three dishes and a soup in front of him, baffled. For a supposed high-society heiress, was this all she could afford to treat with?
The girl across from him seemed to read his thoughts and nonchalantly popped a braised meatball into her mouth, chewing and speaking around it.
“Don’t be ungrateful—eat. Food is food.”
Evan was floored by the Etiquette Club president’s brazen attitude.
“First, we need to know one thing,” she said after swallowing and sipping soup, getting into full lecture mode. “Does Lena like you or not?”
His heart jumped at the question.
Does she like me? He thought long and hard with his eyes down. He had no answer.
The answer was: he liked her. He liked her so much that whether she liked him back felt almost irrelevant.
He thought if he couldn’t say it, he’d protect her forever instead.
“Are you planning to be a turtle forever?” she jabbed, hitting the sore spot.
Evan scowled. “Then what do I do?”
“Hm… provoke her!”
Her chopsticks pointed forward like a sword.
Her plan: if one person really likes another, they’ll show signs of sadness when the person they like pays attention to someone else. So Grace decided she’d stage herself as Evan’s target—to make Lena react.
Evan thought it was unreliable.
“Hey, you never know until you try!” Grace slapped his shoulder, and he dodged. He hated being touched by anyone but Lena.
…
And so the scene that Lena saw unfolded.
Evan told Lena he liked Grace, staring at her to see what she’d do. She stared blankly, said “Oh… that’s fine.” Then that was it.
No sadness, no anger, no surprise. She didn’t even chase him for an explanation. Her next words were telling him to eat the three-cup chicken in front of him before it got cold.
His heart chilled.
He convinced himself she didn’t like him. If she had, why had they been nothing but childhood friends for nineteen years?
He felt annoyed and hurt. Sometimes he couldn’t hide his emotions; when he sulked, she ignored him even more.
She didn’t know that his default was lazy avoidance with everyone—except with her. For her, he rehearsed every move and offered up all his patience.
—
Evan got a call from Lena while he was driving to the airport to pick up his cousin.
Her voice on the other end was slurred and jumbled, switching pitches and calling his name over and over.
“Lena?”
“Mmm, Evan, I like you!!!”
Her sudden shout made him pull the phone away from his ear.
“Have you been drinking?” He turned the steering wheel and headed back, asking as he drove.
“Where are you?”
“Heh heh, Evan, heh heh, Evan…” She wasn’t listening at all. He sighed and tried to calm her.
“Give the phone to the person next to you, okay?”
“No.”
Her loud refusal came through. Eventually someone beside her grabbed the phone and gave a clear location. Evan grunted and drove over. He found Lena sitting at a barbecue stall, dazed.
Her face lit up when she saw him.
“Evan!”
Memories flashed—countless nights of cicadas and starlight with a girl who always looked up and smiled at him. Drunk people were volatile; she kept pulling at him, declaring she liked him. He kept his eyes lowered, counting the stars mirrored in her gaze.
“Do you really like me?” she nodded hard.
“Someone recorded it.”
The crowd was noisy—Lena’s drunken antics had drawn attention. He didn’t want the fuss, so he guided her toward the car.
“I don’t want to ride,” she whimpered, motion sick.
He steered them to a quiet spot, pinched her chin and lifted her face.
“Your school’s far. Can you walk?”
She shook her head.
“What do you want to do?”
She shook her head again.
Her lashes drooped, her cheeks soft. He pinched her once more, then leaned in to soothe her.
“Come home with me?”
“Where’s your home?”
“Close.”
“But I don’t want to walk.”
“I’ll carry you.”
He turned his back to her. She clung to him, arms around his neck.
“You little drunk,” he murmured.
“No I’m not,” she protested, pressing close, breath hot against his ear.
“I like you, Evan.”
Her slurred whisper made his heart skip.
But she was drunk—he didn’t trust confessions spoken while not sober. He weighed her in his arms, trying to change the subject.
“You’ve gotten heavier.”
“I like you.”
She wouldn’t let it go.
“I’m recording this,” he said.
“What’s recording?”
“Recording… well, recording is—”
“I like you too.”
A chord twanged through him. He wanted to seize this moment while she was drunk and say everything he couldn’t say sober.
“Really? How much do you like me?”
Her fuzzy head rubbed his cheek as she inched closer.
“Lots.”
“How much?”
“Like the stars liking the moon.”
“And?”
“The wild wind liking the riverbank.”
“And?”
“The sunset liking dusk.”
“I don’t get any of that.”
He turned and flattened her head against his chest.
“Evan likes Lena like that.”
