"Hi!" Happy, I start petting Mango. She, just as happily, rubs the top of her head against my side.

After a minute of that, I jump up to greet Thomas's dad, Dan, with a hug. He's a tall man—taller than my father—and looks like Thomas, except his hair is a bit blonder and his nose isn't the same beautiful shape.

"Hey, kid," he greets back, patting on my shoulder. "You holding up?"

I nod. "Yeah. But when Thomas invited me, he did not mention we'd go at thirty past seven o'clock in the morning." I shoot him a glare. As always, he innocently shrugs.

He's wearing a white T-shirt, along with his black swim shorts. Nothing special. I went for long pipes as well this time, and have covered my bare shoulders with a zip-up vest.

"Fresh morning swim," Dan chuckles. "Let's start walking."

Thomas and Finn share one of those hand clap greetings. Minho and Thomas greet each other in the exact same way, then we start walking. The dads in the front, followed by Finn and I, and lastly, Thomas and Minho.

"Tell me some details about you and Teresa," I hear Minho say.

Thomas's voice immediately changes. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Have you slept—"

"Minho! From all things you want to know, it has to be that?"

"It's just a question," he defends. "So?"

"So what?"

"Have you done it?"

"Shut up. I hate you."

"No, you don't. I'm just curious."

"Clearly," I mutter.

Thomas groans. "No, we have not. Happy now?"

"Well—"

Finn turns around, interrupting them. "Minho," he warns.

"Hey, what are you interfering for? This is a private conversation."

"Then maybe you shouldn't talk that loudly," I say.

"Yeah." Dad turns around as well. "Minho, may I ask, have you even done it with anyone?"

Oh my God. Typically Dad.

His face grows bright red in just a second. "No. But that's none of your business."

"Then leave the poor boy alone," he replies calmly.

"Thank you," Thomas mumbles. "You know what? You go walk next to Finn and I go next to Sage. I've got enough with you already."

"Being so nice again, aren't you?" Minho mimics.

"You suck," Thomas calls, before he tunes Minho out. I don't know how exactly, but after eighteen and a half years of knowing him, I'm able to notice when he does things like that.

Well, I guess after knowing someone for that long and all their secrets, you can pretty much see straight through their eyes and into their brain, following along with every thought and feeling. It's kind of creepy, but not incorrect. I bet he's able to explain my thoughts and feelings well, too.

"I need your help with my art project," is the first thing he says.

"Since when do you even finish those?"

"Always."

"Thought you always had F's 'cause you didn't finish them."

He gives me a dry glance. "No. I'm just really bad at art. You're not. Can you help me?"

"What do you have to do?"

"Draw and paint this weird illusion thing."

"You're the one who's good at maths. I think you'll be able to handle it just fine."

"I can't paint for shit!" He elbows me in the side at my teasing tone. "I'll help you with math and you help me with art."

"You might be good at math, but not good at teaching it to others, Thomas." I chuckle at the memories.

"But you'll help me with art," he states.

"Hello? Do I just not get a choice in this?"

He lifts his chin, sniffing triumphantly. "Nope. You're going to help me."

I shake my head at ridiculousness, but silently agree. I've always helped him with the things he isn't good at, and he has always tried to help me with the things I'm not good at. If the teachers notice some of his projects suddenly got a glow up, they at least don't mention it.

The walk is, as mentioned, fast. We've arrived before Thomas can beg for more things. The wind immediately starts clapping in my ears and messing my hair up. It's so rough that it blows drops of water from the sea onto my skin. I squint my eyes in an attempt to see without getting sand in my eyes.

"Really chose the best day," I mutter, taking my shoes off. When I look back up from doing that, half of the people are already in the freaking sea.

I can't be that slow.

"All we had to do was pull off our shirts and kick our slippers off," Finn informs.

"Right."

I wear Converse shoes basically everywhere, and they're not the easiest to take off, nor put on. Always takes a while. Half the people I know have complained about it– but hey, at least I'm wearing nice shoes.

I take my shirt, vest, and pants off. Leaves me in a black bathing suit. What's the point in putting on a bikini with heavy waves like this?

"Jeez, that took long enough." Already soaked from the water, Thomas appears next to me. He repeatedly tries to stop his hair from falling forward by running a hand through the dark locks or shaking his head, causing some of the drops to hit me as well.

Suspicious, I take a step away from him. "Don't you dare."

He holds his hands in the air. "I'm not doing anything. Am I doing anything, Finn?"

"Nope. Thomas isn't doing anything." Once he sees my glare at him, he adds, "And neither am I."

"Okay," I say slowly, not trusting their faces. "So leave me alone and let me enter the water in my own way, thank you."

"Well, the only way of getting through the cold is diving right in," Finn says. He crosses his arms; a gesture that shows he's waiting for me to enter the water.

I glance at both of them once again. They step closer, I step back. "Do not throw me."

"We won't."

I only hear Thomas focuses on the we when I've taken another step back, right against a wet, cold body. Before I know it, arms have wrapped around me from behind, and then I'm thrown over Minho's shoulder.

"No!" I shriek, clawing at his back, but he's a fast runner. In no time, I'm thrown into the sea.

Coldness bursts everywhere. Goosebumps explode on my skin as an awful shiver runs down my spine. I feel my feet touch the sand and right away, I push myself up, gasping for air.

"I'm never forgiving y'all," I warn, but I'm laughing. I would've carefully entered the water had they not done this, and like that, I indeed would never get used to the temperature. Now, after being completely under, the water isn't that bad.

Quite... refreshing. Maybe a little too refreshing, since I got a literal brain freeze at first.

"Not that bad, right?" Dan chuckles.

"At first? Horrible. Now it's fine."

For the second time, Thomas pops up, but from underwater this time. "Exactly. What would you do without us?"

I push his pouty face in the water, then start swimming around a bit. Once I start, it's not even that awful to exercise. It's collecting the motivation to go out and do something that I always fail at.

We swim for the rest of the morning. Moving and speaking, it's doable. When I'm standing on the surface, though...

The wind cuts against my cold skin. I shiver over and over again, an unstoppable cycle. Thomas shows up with a thick towel. He has it opened, ready to wrap it around me–I think–then he changes his mind and just pushes it in my hands.

"Thanks," I say, teeth clattering.

The corners of his bluish lips turn up. "You're welcome. That was nice, right?"

"Yeah." I nod. "But I desperately need a hot shower right n–"

"Dibs on the shower!" Minho calls, just when I'm talking about it. Never say your wishes out loud, I guess.

And then he's running off. Finn also follows, and I fear, with their usual amount of minutes in the shower, it will take a long time until I make it in.

Thomas knows that, too. "You can shower at my house. Because–"

"Your Dad made you your own bathroom, I know. You have been flexing since you got it, and you were ten when you did," I interrupt.

"Yeah, well, at least I actually have a bathroom. Will you reply to the offer now?"

I roll my eyes at his 'toughness'. "Verily, it would be my supreme honor and deepest pleasure to indulge in the opulent comforts of your magnificent bath chamber, Thomas Stephen Reyes," I mimic.

"Truly magnificent, the esteemed and illustrious Viviette Sage Lee," he replies regally. "May I now escort you to my noble abode?"

"You have my gracious assent."

"Perfect." Grinning, we start walking. My bare legs keep scraping against each other. The cold made my skin sensitive, so it isn't the nicest thing ever. Luckily, we arrive soon.

Dan clicks the door open. I can tell by the fact the lights are off, Indigo (Indie for short), Thomas's mom, isn't home. I'm pretty sure my mom and her have planned a spa day or something.

And guess when they told me that: yesterday! Days after I already agreed with Thomas.

Why couldn't he have a little sister? Why couldn't Minho be a girl?

Kidding, I love him the way he is.

"Hurry. You're dripping all over my stairs," Dan tells us.

Thomas and I share a glance. Don't say it, his eyes tell me.

"That's what she said," I say, smiling proudly.

He sighs below his breath, then rushes after me. "Eh, do you know how the buttons work?"

"Yes?" I frown. "I've literally showered here before."

"Right." He rubs the back of his head. "Well, you know where the towels are. Good luck."

"...Thanks," I respond, eyes squinted in unsureness. "Wait, though– I can also take the other shower."

I don't know, maybe he's acting nervous because he has some things in his bathroom he doesn't want me to see or something.

"My dad claimed that one," he says.

That one. The one we used to play in with little boats and other toys. The one in which he suddenly turned the water ice cold while I was rinsing my hair out. Where we sprayed water onto each other and our moms, who just wanted us to shower in peace.

I don't know why I'm thinking about those memories– well, I do. Minho likes to remind me way too often.

'It's so funny to me that you've showered with Thomas,' he keeps saying.

'We barely made it to seven years old,' I reply every single time. 'Don't make it weird.'

"Okay." I force my attention back on Thomas. "I'll try to make it quick."

"Took you forty-five minutes last time you said that."

"That's quick," I confirm as I open the door to his bedroom, which will lead to the shower. With a fast glance around, I register that he hasn't thrown the pictures of us together away at all. He has added some with him and Teresa, but that's it. And I am really grateful for that.

He groans. "Just go. This will make me have to wait even longer."

"Such a poor boy." Snickering below my breath, I slip into the bathroom.

It's definitely not a 'magnificent bath chamber', but definitely not the worst bathroom either. I mean, there's a toilet, proper sink, some drawers, a mirror, and a pretty nice shower.

With some poor decoration skills, Thomas added a blue carpet (of course it's blue) and one single fake plant on his sink. Along with that, there's like a thousand bottles with... what?

I step closer. I have to wait for the water to become hot anyway.

He owns some hair gel, which I swear he doesn't even use. There's also a brush and a comb, moisturizer, face wipes, shaving cream, a razor, and rewashable cloths.

I can't help but be curious about the drawers– no way eighteen-year-old Thomas still has little boats in there.

But I keep my curiosity to myself and make my way into the shower to unfreeze every single part of me.