When I open my eyes, I squeeze them shut again. We really should've turned off the lamp before we decided to take a nap. And who got up this late to lay a blanket over us...? Maybe Dad. He's probably writing a short story or something right now.

I sit up, rubbing my face. Once my vision clears, it immediately focuses on Idris. He's still asleep, his chest steadily rising and falling. A smile settles on my face.

I can still imagine his sweet smile every time I glanced at him while we watched Sarina's videos. It wasn't just a sweet smile either. If I didn't know any better, I would say he was looking at me like I was the best thing he ever saw. It felt... nice. Also weird. But mostly nice. Lots of butterflies on my part, but I have no idea how he was feeling that entire time.

Except... when he brushed my tear away... I'm almost sure something passed over his expression. Something intense and sweet and adoring.

I hope it wasn't just my imagination.

I take a deep breath and slowly pull my legs back, slipping them out of the blanket. When I turn towards the coffee table, something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I look towards the window where there's... sunlight... There's sunlight... How is there sunlight? I look towards the lamp and realize it's off. It wasn't the lamp that blinded me. It was sunlight.

I grab my phone. It's seven in the morning. We slept through the alarm. Idris was here all night, and no matter what he texted his parents, I doubt they'd be okay with him disappearing for an entire night without another notice.

"Idris," I call, shaking his shoulder.

"What?" he grumbles, turning over on the couch and pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"It's seven in the morning."

He sits up at that. "What?"

"It's seven in the morning," I repeat.

"Shit, shit, shit." He fumbles for his phone. It looks like he has dozens of texts and missed calls from his parents and brother. He scrambles to his feet. "Shit, shit, shit!"

"Let me drive you," I say, already moving to grab the car keys.

"No." He puts a hand on my arm, stopping me. He takes a deep breath and in a calmer voice, he repeats, "No."

I furrow my eyebrows. "Why not?"

"Briar..." He shuts his eyes. "My family kind of really hates you." Considering the few times I've interacted with his brother and what his parents have seen of me, I shouldn't be surprised, but I flinch a little anyway. "My parents even call you 'that girl,' and they've been telling me I shouldn't hang out with you unless I absolutely have to."

"But you've been hanging out with me every single day."

Despite the panic, he gives me that light-up smile. "Because I absolutely have to."

Oh... Well, damn... I have to glance away and breathe before I can look at him head-on again. Even then, the intense way he's looking at me is a little too much to handle. Somehow I manage.

"But if I drive you," I say, "you'll get home sooner, and your parents won't have time to get even more pissed than they probably already are. We can just say that I happened to be driving by and give you a ride. And if they do hate me, they'll focus all their anger on me instead of you."

Idris shakes his head. "That's not fair to you."

"Well, it's not fair that your parents might make you feel like Hien. It'll be better if they hate me since you live with them."

Idris scoffs. "So you're Lanh?"

That's what Dad says which makes it canon (not that I will ever tell him I thought this), but I shrug. "If I have to be. I don't mind."

His expression softens. He slowly slides his hand down the length of my arm to my hand. The constant skin-to-skin contact sends a shiver down my spine, but I never take my eyes off him.

"I don't want my parents to take their anger out on you," he says.

"Well, same to you," I sigh. "But they have to blame someone, and if it's one of us, I'm making sure it's me."

Idris shakes his head. "You're so much like Lanh. I'm positive your dad based her off of you."

I never believe it when Dad says it, but hearing Idris say it with the corners of his mouth slightly turning up and the gentle waver in his voice makes it feel so true. It loosens a knot in my chest, but it makes it hard to focus on the problem at hand.

It takes a lot of effort to pull my hand out of his, but I manage. And I manage to enunciate my next words with a lot of effort, too. "Don't change the subject. I'll get the keys."

I turn, but he grabs my arm again, turning me back to him. "Wait. Go do your morning routine first."

What? I knit my eyebrows together. "Why?"

"Because that'll take up time."

"Why would you want to give your parents more time to be pissed off?"

"Because I don't want to deal with them in person right now, but I'll give them some story while you're getting ready."

"Are you sure?"

He nods, already scrolling through his phone. "Yeah. I'm sure. Take as long as you need."

I let out a breath, nodding as I head upstairs. Despite what Idris says, I rush through my morning routine. I'm done in record time, starting with brushing my teeth and ending with brushing out—or yanking out—my hair. I set my hairbrush on my bedside table and grab my bag, bolting down the stairs.

"Ready?" I ask, a little breathless as I grab the keys to my parents' car in the kitchen.

"Yeah," Idris says, tucking his phone away.

I lead the way to the door. "How do your parents sound?"

"Not happy." I unlock the car doors. When we're inside, Idris adds, "I called beta-reading an internship because I thought my parents would be more relaxed about it. And they kind of were for a while, but—" he holds up his phone "—they were going on about how irresponsible it was for my supervisor to make me stay so late." His expression goes blank as he lowers his phone into his lap. He doesn't quite look at me anymore. I don't even think he sees anything with the way his eyes glaze over. "And then they added that I must've wanted to stay out late and be away from the house and away from them since I didn't advocate for myself to go home."

Idris' parents are so weird. Who says that to their kid? I hold my tongue, though, and adjust the seat and mirrors. "Did you tell them I was taking you home?"

He shakes his head. "No. If we're saying you were driving by and decided to offer me a ride, I thought it was more believable if I told them I was already heading to the nearest bus stop."

I nod. "Makes sense. I'm a little surprised they didn't offer to pick you up."

He scoffs. "Oh. They did. I'm just surprised I convinced them not to." I nod as I start to pull out onto the street when Idris puts a hand on my arm. "Let's wait a while longer." I arch an eyebrow. "Just in case Roman's there, too."

I frown. I don't know too much about Idris' relationship with his brother, but if Roman is Hai like Idris is Hien, then Roman might make things worse. Hai always found a way to make Hien's punishment worse than it initially was if he was in a bad mood. But if Roman hates me, then maybe I can make him make his parents hate me even more.

"I don't care if he's there," I say. "Maybe he'll get your parents to focus on me instead of you."

He puts a hand over mine when I try to put the car into drive. My breath catches in my throat, and I have to fight the urge to pull my hand away just to make the butterflies drop dead where they are. I meet his eyes, and he gives me a meaningful look.

"That's not going to help me in the end," he says slowly. "So please don't be Lanh for once."

There it is again. "You really think I'm Lanh?"

He nods. "Yeah. You are Lanh. You have a strong sense of morality. You're a great friend. You—"

"Hey, hey, hey," I interrupt, pulling my hand back. I take a deep breath to steady my heart. "Stop distracting me."

A corner of Idris' mouth turns up. "So it's not working?"

I give him a pointed look and face forward, actually pulling out onto the street this time. "No."

"I'm not lying, though. You are Lanh."

I grip the steering wheel. "Just give me directions."

He does, and the closer we get to his house, the more fidgety he gets. He drums his fingers on his knees, and his eyes constantly flicker from the windshield to the passenger-side window. I ask Idris questions about his parents just to know what I'm up against and to distract him. But if I'm being honest, it's also to hide my own nervousness. If I panic, it might make him panic more.

But why am I panicking? I'm not the one that'll get in trouble no matter what happens. And honestly, I already hate his family. If I feel this way, does it even matter what they think of me?

When I turn on Idris' street, it looks like his family is waiting on the front lawn.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"It'll be fine," I assure him.

He shoots me a pointed look. "Don't say that if you don't believe it."

"I partially believe it." And I fully believe that I'll say whatever it takes to make his parents hate me and not him. I park the car and take off my seatbelt. "Ready?"

Idris takes a deep breath. "No. But we're here..."

We nod at each other and get out of the car—maybe—ready for whatever happens.