Sleep, without a doubt, has become fruitless.

All night, you have been tossing and turning in your bed. Even when you manage to close your eyes and doze off a little, your stepfather's grievance and Taehyung's bereft smile flash through your mind, sending you to an abrupt wake each time.

At the very last time you find yourself being forcefully pulled away from your restless sleep, you glance out the window, its curtains left partly opened, you see the shadows of nightfall slowly shifting. A blush of hue in gradient colours of purple and grey is beginning to emerge amidst the dark, and you can feel it in your skin the awakening of dawn.

Too anxious to remain still on your cold bed, adrenaline and stress still flowing violently through your body, you finally give up trying to rest and tiptoe your way downstairs.

The stillness in the house at night has always been something that you have come so familiar with, but as you walk down the stairs and into the quiet kitchen, the house feels more eerie that it usually does. You can almost hear the creaking sound of the floors and the walls around you, as if they are whispering to you all the things that they have witnessed from the night before.

The air feels unusually cold. You fight the temptation to light up the fireplace once more and huddle up right in front of it, resisting only to avoid waking everyone else up, and then walk into the kitchen in search for another source of warmth.

You are just beginning to make yourself a cup of hot chocolate to warm up when a figure steps into the archway leading towards the hallway. You turn with a jump, realising with relief that it is Alia.

Giving you a hesitant smile, she walks into the kitchen. With her arms wrapped around herself and a thick shawl cloaking her shoulders, you realise that you are not the only one struggling with the cold.

"Can't sleep? Or did you wake up too early?" she asks you with a soft whisper.

"A little bit of both. How about you?"

She stands by the kitchen counter to watch you work. "Tried to sleep, but I kept having nightmares. I was running downstairs to catch up with Dad, and it kept repeating over and over"—she visibly shudders—"and then I woke up with this crappy headache."

You give her a smile and tip your chin at the high stool right by the counter. "Take a seat. I'll make more," you offer her, which she accepts with a smile.

Neither of you says a word for a moment, only breaking the silence once you are done pouring the hot drinks into two separate mugs and handing one to her while whispering, "Here you go," to which she responds with a soft, sleepy murmur, "Thank you."

Taking the seat on one end of the counter with Alia sitting on the other, silence stretches between the two of you once again. There is an awkward tension in the air. You cannot remember when you have ever found yourself alone with Alia like this, deep in the night and with nothing else to do but to talk. Not since those many years ago when you were children.

You remember how your parents made you share the same bedroom. It was their way of getting you to bond with your new stepsister at the time. Even then, you could tell that Alia wasn't exactly thrilled by it, already so used to having her own bedroom before she had to split her time between spending the weekdays with her mother and then with her father on the weekends.

But at least back then, the silence didn't feel as stifling. And she had let you borrow her personal things to play with, as long as you got out of her way. And that included her books—so many of them, you remember—with her occasionally sitting right beside you so she could read you some of the hard ones to follow for a little child.

Taking a sip of your hot cocoa, you decide that you have had enough of this silence. "So—" you breathe out a sigh. "You and Taehyung."

Alia groans and closes her eyes. "You heard me last night, didn't you? I know I was drunk off my ass, but it's true," she says, scoffing as she glances sideways and meets your gaze when you do the same, "It's stupid, I know."

You sip your drink before asking, "Why did you have to go make an entire scheme out of this?"

"I don't know," she breathes out an exhausted sigh. "It sounded like a good idea at the time." Her voice sounds wistful when she says this, and then she breaks out into a bitter chuckle. "But I guess, just like a ton of other bad decisions I've made my entire life, it only added to the long list of fuck-ups that have tainted most of my adult life."

You let out a snort, something that is so uncharacteristically you, but still comes out with all honesty. "At least you're taking accountability of it," you say to her almost teasingly, "I know some people who wouldn't even admit that they fucked up and simply move on while everyone had to pick up the mess they left behind."

Alia laughs. You can see her eyes warming up. "When did you meet him? How did it all happen?"

Your lips curl up to a smile. You drink your hot drink slowly before you begin telling her everything—the trip that you went to after your breakup, the frustrating debacle with your flight getting delayed and cancelled and meeting him at transit, the hookup, everything that you already shared with Skye the first time you revealed about your first promiscuous night abroad with the stranger, the agreement you both made about shedding your identities, which had lead to this whole mess, and more.

Surprisingly enough, Alia merely responds with a soft chuckle. As if this is something that is to be expected when it involves her friend. "That explains it," she muses softly. She has this faraway look in her eyes for a moment, as if recalling something in the past—perhaps something that happened during that period of time.

"He was going through some stuff when we got in contact again about a year after the last time we met. We lost contact again briefly during that time"—the time he went to take that trip, you tell yourself—"I think he said he was off to some sort of a business trip and was using it to 'escape' from everything. He never told me any of the details, though."

You are curious, wanting to know more. But you also know that it isn't your place to pry. You can also tell that Alia may not answer if you try to ask her. Yet she then surprises you by adding, "Then he contacted me not too long ago and said something about needing my help. I thought it was a wild coincidence and decided to use the chance to get him to help me in return. One thing lead to another, and here we are now."

You both share a laugh, despite how pitiful the two of you seem at this moment.

When you both grow quiet once more, each of you taking the moment to savour your drink and the silence that is starting to bring more comfort than the uneasiness you felt earlier, your mind wanders. You recall the events that have been happening for the past few days, to tonight, seeing everything with a new light now that the truth has come out. You also find that you no longer feel the weight of your secret shadowing you, allowing you to breathe easier.

And then the conversation you had with Skye on the phone from a while ago comes back to you.

"I'm sorry I broke your doll," you suddenly blurt out, while Alia snaps her head to look over to you.

"What? Which doll?" she asks, her face is filled with incomprehension, before her expression shifts into knowing, and then to shock. "Oh, that one? That was a long time ago!"

You laugh at her reaction. "Yeah, but it feels like you started resenting me since then."

"No, I'm—" she shakes her head and scoffs at you. "It's actually fine. I hated that doll. That was the ugliest piece of shit I've ever owned when I was a kid."

"What—?" you let out an incredulous laugh. "But you made it look like I've ruined your entire world. All hell broke loose because of it so I thought—"

Alia laughs, though she also looks somewhat guilty when she explains everything to you. "One of Dad's ex-girlfriends bought it for me on my eighth birthday. I never liked any of the women he brought home and introduced me, but she was probably the sanest and most normal one of all," she calmly tells you, quickly adding, "That was before your Mom came in, by the way."

That makes you smile. Especially when you notice that her eyes are filled with fondness as she talks about your mother.

"Anyway, she gave me the doll as a gift after she went for a trip abroad, and maybe I did like it because it made me happy to know that she thought about me. But the older I got, the weirder it felt for me to keep it, but every time I wanted to get rid of the doll, it made me feel guilty for even considering it because of how sweet she was to me," she winces as she recalls the past. "When you ruined the doll, I was actually relieved. But I couldn't show it to Dad since he thought I loved the doll so much that he even went out on his way to help take care of the doll for a long time, so I made it seem like losing the doll made me sad."

Your jaw drops and you laugh again. "Damn, I can't believe I was gaslighted and framed by a twelve year-old."

"Sucks to be you," Alia laughs back at you as she sips her drink. "Sorry for causing you some childhood trauma or whatever."

"It wasn't so much of a trauma," you say to her while scoffing. But that incident did leave an impression on you, regardless. And it wasn't a good one. Looking back on it now, it does seem ridiculous for you to let it haunt your memories for so long.

You are just about to share your thoughts to Alia when she finally speaks again.

"On your eleventh birthday, you started calling him Dad," she says, her voice dull, but you can feel the weight of her words when you hear them. It takes a moment for it to sink in, until you finally realise—

"Oh—" Oh. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, realising that she is talking about Cliff. "Did you, uh—were you worried that I might take him away from you?"

Alia smiles bitterly. "I'm not sure. Maybe?" She shrugs. "As a kid, I may have harboured an unrealistic fantasy that one day, my Mom and Dad would make up, get back together, and everything would be back to how it used to be."

She looks at you with a small smile. "But then Daddy met your Mom, and my Mom became more unhinged after the divorce and dealing with the consequences of her affair that it was becoming more obvious Dad would have never taken her back, no matter what."

The more she speaks, sharing her deep, darkest secret, the more you are able to understand her. For all these years, you simply thought that Alia has resented you for childish reasons. You never knew that she had nurtured the heartbreak of an innocent child for so many years. Silently hurting without anyone else knowing.

"But it was the day you began calling him Dad that finally broke me out of that fantasy and forced me to accept that they were never going back together," she says, sighing deeply with a broken smile on her face, which only deepens the guilt that you feel for becoming a part of it. "Maybe—that was the moment I started seeing you differently."

"I—didn't know," you murmur, and then you begin to recall how Alia kept avoiding to spend time with her father on the weekends when she was a teenager. "You started to come by less and less by then."

Your parents had excused Alia's absence at the time as her newfound need of being independent. But you know better now.

Alia releases a sigh, as if opening to you is helping her relief some of her own weight. "Dad was so happy because you and your family welcomed him into your lives. I guess that was really important to him. The more I watched him having a new family that was a whole, the more I resented it. Seeing you with Daddy—" she stops with a sharp intake of breath, 

"I guess the child in me felt like I was being replaced and I couldn't take it." 

"Alia—"