I feel something wet in my ear.

I groan a bit. Mango? Willow?

Possibly Minho.

"Viviette!" Yes, it's Minho, whisper-screaming in my ear and sticking a wet finger into it. "I am currently sparing you from the embarrassment of your life, so wake up before Mom—"

"Viviette, Thomas! Come on. We're waking our birthday boy—" and then a ton of Korean things leave her mouth.

"What..." I rub my eyelids until they're able to open by themselves. I blink against the bright light in my room, too tired on a Saturday morning. How late— where the hell is my clock?

"Yeah, you're on the ground. Cute, huh?"

"Embarrassment of my life...?" I repeat slowly. Sleepily. Quietly.

"Minho!" Mom hisses. "Go get your presents for Finn. You two, wake up."

I try my best to get up so I can also get my presents for Finn, but something blocks me.

Oh, hi, Thomas's arm.

Why are we on the ground again?

It takes a few movements and looks to finally come to the conclusion of what position we're in.

The blanket is below and on top of my body, and just a little bit on top of Thomas. The scenario I imagine is that I was clutching to it and that he pulled so hard to get some blanket in his sleep, he pulled me with him and we landed on the floor.

Then my leg wrapped around his waist, his arms around me. Our noses touch. Chests touch. Foreheads touch— basically everything is touching because we are clinging on each other's bodies like we're three-year-olds with their mom. Like freaking koalas. On the floor. Which is indeed kind of embarrassing because Mom just had to see that.

No, not true. She will act pissed but I know that since the second I was born, she figured out a way she could become related to Indie, and to her, this is a step closer to reaching that goal.

"Thomas." When I speak, my words are muffled against his cheek. His lips are not even an inch away from mine. If I'd scoot just a little bit to the left— "Thomasss."

A little groan of his vibrates against my cheek. I slide my hand away from under my stomach to shake his shoulder, then figure out I can't even reach his shoulder with that hand.

My other hand is wrapped around him, though. Currently resting on his warm back. "Thomasss," I whisper again. Slowly, I start moving my nails all over.

Below his shoulder blade must wake him up. That was his favorite spot whenever we scratched each other's back in the past.

Never mind. It just grows some kind of satisfied smile on his face as he sleeps.

"Thomas!" My voice rises a bit. "We're going to wake Finn up, so you wake up."

Finally, his eyes start opening.

I let go of a breath. "Good morning."

"Why are we on the ground?" He murmurs.

Alright, no 'why are we tangled up like this?'.

"Probably because we fell," I reply.

"No shit."

"You asked."

We free our arms and legs and get off the ground. Hurriedly, I grab my presents from below my desk. Thomas has his there, too.

After the memorial, we went to the store. Both of us got books we think he'd like, and I've also got the sweater I sewed.

"Hurry up." Mom appears at the door again. "Just go in your pajamas, I don't care."

It's kind of a ritual that the family wakes whoever's birthday it is up with presents and breakfast. We do it every time.

"Yes. Yes. We're coming." I fix my hair in the mirror, give Thomas a look, and then follow Mom to the door of Minho's room.

We walk into the room while singing happy birthday and then spend the next fifteen minutes giving Finn his presents. After that, it's time to get ready.

I go to the bathroom while Thomas changes, and then we switch. It takes a while to find a nice outfit. Eventually, I go for a white, Ralph Lauren sweater and beige wide pants.

This sweater cost me months of making money. I've told myself to only wear it at special occasions. I don't think I will be wearing this at the dinner. Too afraid it'll get ruined. It's one of those cable knit ones.

"Can I come in?" Just as I start with makeup, there's a knock on the door.

"Yeah, sure."

Thomas sits down on my bed. "What's that?" He asks.

"Primer."

"That doesn't clarify anything at all."

I throw the bottle in his hands. "Put some of it on. Will make your skin real glowy."

I put dots of concealer all over my face. Blend them out in silence. A really quiet silence. Why is it so silent?

I turn my head.

He's actually putting it on.

"Why is it so sticky?" He asks.

"So the makeup will stick to your face."

"No offense, but I don't want makeup on my face at the moment."

"I didn't even think you'd get the primer on your face."

"You told me to put it on!"

"That was a joke." I laugh, taking the bottle away. "Either wash it off or let it stick."

Again, silence falls. He watches me for a while. At some steps, his eyebrows furrow, at some steps, his eyes soften in a way like 'wow, I know what she's doing!'.

"Teresa texted me," he then suddenly announces.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. They're moving today. In the afternoon. Said that if we wanted to say a last goodbye, I could come."

"Will you?"

Through the mirror, I see him shrugging. "I don't know."

"Was there a proper goodbye when she broke up with you?" I wonder. "Like, was it done nicely or..."

"Not really. I kind of just snapped at her. Told her to leave. She was adding stuff that didn't exactly make me feel any better."

"Do you want your last memory of her to be a better one than the one it currently is?"

He remains silent for a while, thoughtful. "I'm afraid that if I go see her, I'll start begging again. I was feeling... better yesterday. Not happy, but I wasn't thinking about the breakup and that was nice. If I see her again, that feeling will be gone." 

"It's your own choice. Yes, what you're saying could happen. What could also happen is just a friendly goodbye. A 'take care' kind of thing."

"But I don't want us to be friends. I can't become friends with someone after things like that."

That is why our friendship would be ruined if I confess and he doesn't feel the same way. Or if something happens and we'd break up.

"I don't know, Steph." I run a hand through my hair. "Do what feels better."

"Won't it be rude to not say goodbye."

"No. She said goodbye first. You've said goodbye, too. See this as... as a, I don't know, confirmation?"

"Then I don't think I'm going to go," he decides. "I'll start asking for her to stay with me. Seeing her won't help with recovering."

I feel guilty for the tiny part inside of me that made a happy jump; he won't go.

"Alright." I get up from my chair. "Let's go downstairs."

His eyes trail all over me as his eyebrows raise. "Really going for the expensive outfit today, huh?"

"Shut up. It looks nice."

He holds his hands beside his head. "Sure it does. Knowing you, though, you will spill something on it."

"Don't jinx it."

We make our way down the stairs. Everyone has gathered at the table already. I see all kinds of bread and drinks— everything that makes this perfect.

"—is that okay?" Finn finishes. I have no idea what came before that.

"Yeah, of course," Dad replies.

I cast Minho a questioning look. He leans in. Whispers, "He wants to hang out with friends after dinner."

"Ah, alright." I sit down next to him, and Thomas next to me.

He triumphantly hands me a paper towel, grinning. I roll my eyes, sticking it in the collar of my sweater.

"Where are we eating tonight?" Minho asks.

Of course he's the only one who doesn't know.

"That Italian restaurant in town," Finn replies.

"What are we doing the rest of the day?"

He palms his face so hard I hear a smack. "Minho, do you ever pay attention?"

"No," Minho says simply. "What are we doing?"

"Bungee jumping."

"Do you want to die?" He spits out immediately. "On your birthday?"

That's such a Finn activity to choose.

I'll be fine at home, and then with a big plate of spaghetti. Minho and Finn can go ahead and do that.

"You're coming with me," Finn says. "I've told you that a thousand times before. And you two," he turns to Thomas and I, and my heart sinks, "are also coming with."

"Why did I not know—"

"Because you haven't been home the past days. But it's fun, right?"

No.

Not. At. All.

I'm not doing shit related to height.

"Yes," Thomas agrees, way too excited.

"I am going to detach that cord you're jumping with—" Minho threatens.

"So you're scared," Thomas teases.

"No. I just don't want to die. Your head will hit a rock, Thomas."

"You're definitely scared," I state.

He gives me a nasty glare. "As if you're not."

"I'm willing to admit it."

"Fine, fine. I'll do it. I swear I'm not scared. But if I die, I will kill you all. I will detach—"

"We understand," Mom interrupts.

☯︎︎

A/n: Just wanted to tell y'all that y'all are amazing

The comments are really hyping me up to write I can't lie

And I'm sorry for the unhinged titles-