I head to Cole's room and was about to knock when he suddenly swings the door open. I take a step back and I saw that he was just as surprised as I was.

"I thought you got lost or something," he says, finally laughing.

"Shut up," I say and he gets out of the way for me to come in. I walk in consciously as he closes the door shut.

Before he could completely close the door, I stop his hand.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

My hand was shaking as I grip it around his wrist.

"Nothing, sorry," I mumble before removing my hand away from his.

"Have a seat," he offers, pointing to the couch next to the door.

"Why do you have a couch inside your room?' I say, sitting down. He jumps on a bean bag across the couch and almost hits the television sitting just behind him.

"Oh, shoot," he mutters, holding the television steady. He sits down properly on the bean bag and clears his throat. "Is there something wrong about that?" he says and I just stare at him.

"And you even have a big-ass television to top it off," I add as he looks at me with amusement. "Where the hell's your bed anyway?" I humor and he just smirks at this. I throw a pillow at him and he catches it right away, laughing.

"It's just right there," he points to a bed on top of an elevated space. There's even a staircase that has two steps that lead there. This guy's family sure is rich.

"Who designed your room?" I ask, scanning the whole space.

"I don't know, some architect," he says, completely clueless. I just stay silent and that's when he stands up to get an empty scrapbook. "Shall we get started then?" he asks and I nod.

He places the scrapbook on the table in front of the couch and opens a cabinet, revealing a bunch of stationery. The instant I saw all the colored pens, markers, pencils, rulers, scissors, colored papers, and different stickers, I immediately remembered Chelsea.

Chelsea who was in love with decorating stuff. Chelsea who was artsy and crafty. Chelsea who always volunteered to help me do my art projects. Chelsea who brought color to my whole world. Chelsea who made my life creative and fun.

"So, what color would you use?" she asks, fumbling with all the different colored markers. She opens the cap of the green marker and sniffs it.

"Stop that, you'd damage your lungs," I say, grabbing the marker away from her.

"Let's not talk about me. Let's talk about your art's project, weird-o!" she says, getting up on her knees and grabbing my shoulders.

"I don't give a f—"

She narrows her eyes at me and I just zip my mouth shut.

"Don't you dare cuss around me," she says, hitting my shoulders.

"Says the one who cusses anywhere, everywhere," I joke and she just shoots me a look. She grabs the blue marker and shows it to me.

"Since you love the ocean, why not go with blue?" she suggests.

I give her an appreciative look and stick out a thumbs up.

"Great idea," I approve as she winks at me.

"You inspire your sister after all," she says, blowing me a kiss. "I don't even know what I'd do without you."

I cut our printed picture as straight as I can before pasting it to a black colored paper. We decided to do a "film-themed" scrapbook. Wherein we only use black, white, or gray-colored stuff. He was about to print our pictures with color but I just decided to stop him.

"It's supposed to be in black and white!" I argue and he almost tried to stop me but I just widen my eyes at him as if to threaten him and he stopped right away.

I paste the picture on the black colored paper and cut it out. When I raised my eyes from what I was doing, I realized that Cole was staring at me.

"What are you looking at?" I say and he smiles, his dimples on both cheeks showing.

"What are you looking at?" he mocks, still smiling.

"Stop smiling," I spat and he just pursed his lips together, hiding his smile.

"It's just that you seem so serious about this," he says, pointing to the thing I was doing.

"This is a project," I point out and he nods mockingly. "What are you even trying to point out?" I say, rubbing my forehead with the back of my hand since my fingers were drenched in glue.

"You love arts, don't you?" he asks. I look at him with a blank face and that's when his face starts to become serious. "What's the matter?" he says, furrowing his eyebrows.

"I don't," I say before standing up. "May I use your restroom?" I ask and he just nods.

I walk to his restroom and washed my hands. I look at myself in the mirror and saw how much I resembled Chelsea. I could even pretend that I'm her and no one would question it. I wash my face and that's when I saw the major difference between our faces.

Chelsea's face was bright and she was always smiling. I, on the other hand, am gloomy and I'm always frowning. I can't believe why some people can't even see the difference. I don't even know why other people still mistake me, the gloomy one, as Chelsea, the cheerful one.

We are totally different. We are, were, and had always been different. I remember how mom told us how there was always one of us who was so worked up when we were still inside of her.

"She was really excited like she wanted to come out even though you guys were only 7 months!" mom even said.

I bet that was Chelsea. Maybe I was always the gloomy one. Maybe it's my fate to be like this.

"Or maybe not," Cole suddenly says behind me. I realized that the door was slightly ajar.

"Hey!" I shriek, closing the door.

"You didn't have to bang it!" he shouts and I just exhale before going outside.

"What did you mean?" I say and he looks at me with confused eyes.

"Huh?" he says, looking at me with his ocean eyes.

"What do you mean "or maybe not"?" I say and he just gives me a small smile. Instead of answering, he says,

"You truly are beautiful."

Cole drives me home later that afternoon and for some reason, he was really quiet.

"Why aren't you saying even a single word?" I ask. He turns to look at me for a second before looking back on the road.

"I don't know, I thought you wanted me to stay this way," he says.

"So, what if I do?" I say. I adjust myself on the passenger seat and play around with my bangs.

"That way you'd accept me," he softly says and I just look at him with confusion. "You still don't, right?" he says, turning to look at me as he continues to drive.

"Focus y-your e-eyes o-on t-the road," I stammer. I can feel my heartbeat race and my palms sweat.

"I'd rather focus them on you, Amelia."