We have successfully sneaked Newt out of his house and are currently at the beach.

I brought a blanket so we could sit on the sand and a light just in case we need it.

Minho brought beer, like he promised. And he brought a whole lot of it.

Newt risked his life for a bottle of overproof rum. He stole it from his father

We all know he will find out and I'm kind of scared what will happen after that. But Newt said he just wants to get really drunk for the first time in many years and that he currently doesn't give a shit about his parents. He has a point there, so I didn't mention my disagreements.

"This tastes horrible, to be honest," Newt says after another sip out of the bottle.

Minho takes it from him, gulps some of it, and hands it to me. "It really does."

I lift the glass to my lips as well. The liquid is smooth but strong and fiery. A strange warmth spreads in my chest as I swallow it away, and go for another sip. Every sip is a fast, quick heat that gives a lingering aftertaste. It's comparable to how I feel around Viviette. Like, all the time.

But hey, this is only my second time thinking about her ever since I walked outside the house. This distraction does me good.

"Viviette gave me advice for Evie," Minho says, wiping his mouth after he drank out of his bottle of beer. "She says I just have to be very nice but also have stay out of her way so she won't get annoyed with me. Does that make sense?"

"Sort of." Newt shrugs. "Perhaps you should also take some time thinking of a very good apology. A whole bloody paragraph."

"I mean, I have her number."

"No. No, no. You can't send it through a text. That's the most awful thing you can do," I say. "It has to be either a letter or you have to physically tell her."

"She probably can't read my handwriting. And I'm not good with words."

Newt turns to me. "Tommy, what are your daily thoughts about Viviette?"

"Huh?"

"He can take some inspiration out of that."

"But then it's lying to her," Minho and I say in unison.

"Not if you agree on the statement."

"He said Viviette looks cute when she sleeps. I don't agree on that statement."

"No, you've got to imagine he's talking about Evie."

"Aah." He nods heavily. "So I tell Evie she looks cute when she sleeps."

"No, because then you sound like a stalker. You've never seen her sleep, Minho," Newt says. "So go on, Tommy. Let us know what you think about Viviette?"

"Long, black, silky, smooth, soft, beautiful hair."

"Okay. Noted—"

"Minho. You can't mention the black hair. And one adjective is enough."

"Beautiful hair," he decides. "What else, Thomas?"

I blink a few times, shrugging. I'm too lazy to even care about this whole thing they're doing.

No, I think that's just the rum and beer kicking in. And I can sense it's getting to their heads, too.

"What do you think about her clothes?"

"I would steal her wardrobe if I was a girl."

Minho's head snaps to Newt as if he's offended. "I tell her that?"

"Only if it's true. What else?"

"Uhm..." I lie on my back so I have to put less energy in sitting up. "I don't know."

"This is not working. Wait, you should do this." Before Newt continues, he throws the whole inside of his bottle of bear down his throat. "Imagine you're writing a letter to Viviette. Tell us exactly what you'd write."

"I did that today, actually," I tell them. "Right before Minho called."

"Yes, okay." They're not impressed. That means we're already tipsy. "And what did you write?"

"That I like the way her face lights up," I summarize. "And... that I feel guilty for imagining ways of kissing her for four hours straight. And—"

Now Minho's impressed. Or more like... shocked. "You did what?"

"Let the boy be in love," Newt says, pushing Minho back down to the ground. "What else did you write?"

"I'm not in love."

"Yeah, and I'm not sexy and Newt is Donald Trump," Minho replies.

While shaking my head, I drink more of the rum.

"Hey, hey, leave some for us, too!" Minho snatches it out of my hand, causing some of the liquid to end up on the blanket. Then he starts drinking, and the exact same thing repeats, except it's now Newt pulling the bottle out of his hands.

I look over at the sea. Its dark waves are hitting rocks with hard splashes, yet they sounds are tuned out in the background. Minho and Newt's laughter is what I focus on instead, and the sounds automatically make me smile. So brightly that it hurts.

"Guess the daycare found out what beer is," a voice I don't know calls it. I turn my vision away from the sea, to the group of older boys that are passing us.

Most of them have cigarettes hanging out of their mouths and in their hands, they hold bottles of alcohol ten times stronger than our beer.

"Enjoy your kiddie party!" With loud, obnoxious laughs and smoke blowing our way, they walk off.

Newt takes another swig of rum once they're out of our sight. "Sometimes I wish we were girls."

"Why?"

"Because girls are nice to each other."

"No, they're not," Minho says. "They're even worse than boys. They pretend to be kind, but they actually hate each other. Then they talk behind each other's backs. Some of them are real bitches."

"Not all of them," I say. "And not all of them talk behind people their backs."

I have never heard her talk bad about someone before.

"Yes, they do. I'm also very surprised Viviette and Teresa even went along."

My eyebrows furrow.

"You're so dumb, Thomas." Minho puts his hands on my shoulders and gives them a good shake. "How would you feel if Teresa had a boy best friend?"

"I don't want to think about Teresa right now."

"Viviette, then. How would you feel if she has a boy best friend?"

"I'm her best friend."

"Imagine she had another one."

An involuntarily gasp leaves my mouth.

Newt chokes on his beer from laughing at that, and soon I'm laughing, too. Imagine that, Viviette with another best friend. And then Minho joins in, accidentally knocking some of the beer over.

"Minho!" But Newt still can't stop laughing. "You've wet all my clothes!"

"Looks like you've peed your pants," I say, and the laughs get louder.

"You can clean up in the sea, come on," Minho says.

Newt shakes his head. I shake along with him. The earth starts trembling around me. I can physically feel the ground shake. And Newt keeps shaking his head so I think he feels it to. Then Minho joins in and we're laughing again.

"My parents will notice my wet clothes sooner than they will notice the smell of beer," he explains.

"Then skinny dip," Minho dares.

For a good few seconds, we stare at each other.

Minho's eyebrows raise. Newt's head tilts to the side. My mouth starts opening.

"Yolo," Minho says. Newt and I repeat it like he's a coach telling us a quote before we go for a sport game.

"This is the dumbest idea ever!" I yell, yet I'm taking my shirt off.

"I know!" Minho screams back, removing his shoes.

A minute later, we're in the water, and immediately regret it. Chills erupt everywhere on my body. The goosebumps make shivers run down my spine. And yet I keep swimming further and further into the sea.

"Hey, don't drown!" Minho swims after me. Newt follows. Even with his limp, he's quite fast.

"Imagine our moms hear us and show up right there, and ask us to come out of the water," Minho says. I laugh so hard I nearly don't come back above the water.

"Can you picture their faces?" Newt chuckles. "They'd be like, 'Why are you naked in the ocean?'!"

Minho throws his head back to laugh even louder, then splashes water onto me.

I try to splash back, but the motion makes me dizzy. The overproof rum and beer mix in my veins, creating a wild buzz that's exciting but confusing.

"Hey, Thomas!" Minho calls, his words so slugged that it sounds like he's underwater. "You okay?"

"Never better!"

The word tilts slightly. I have to focus hard to keep my head above the waves. The stars seem to be swirling in the sky. "The stars are dancing!"

Newt grabs the sides of my head. "That's the rum, mate! Don't try to grab them, you'll drown!"

"I'm not drowning," I insist, even though my legs feel like jelly and my movements are slower. I let out a laugh so loud it echoes between the waves.

Minho swims over to me. "I feel like a fish."

"A very drunk fish," I say.

"As if you're not drunk."

Newt waves his hands across our vision. "Let's go out before we turn into ice cubes."

"I don't want to turn into an ice cube!" We yell in unison, and get out of the water as fast as we can. I'm so cold that I only have energy to put on my undergarments. Then I'm on the ground, catching my breath.

Minho and Newt fall beside me. Newt rolls towards me, so I roll away from him, and then Minho also has to roll away. Soon, we're covered in sand.

Like, completely. And we just keep rolling around like little kids, with the loudest laughs ever.

"Ey, yo! Look at that." Minho points at a skateboard, abandoned against the rocks. "Y'all thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm thinking Tony Hawk better watch out," Newt says.

Minho reaches for his heart. "Like a poet." And then wipes a fake tear away.

Newt stumbles over his own feet on his way to the skateboard. Wobbly, he stands on it, arms wide open. "Look at that!"

Minho's laughs begin with a loud scream at how ridiculous this is. A guy, covered in sand and only wearing boxers, on a skateboard, acting like he's on the freaking Titanic.

After another five minutes, I gasp for air. "I think I just peed my pants."

"I have an even better idea. Newt get off that thing." Minho grabs the skateboard, not fazed by words at all. "Down the hill."

At that, Newt and I freeze for a moment. "Skating down the hill?"

"Yes," Minho says confidently. "Come on. Take a few more sips of that rum and you'll be able to do it perfectly."

Shrugging, I throw almost the whole bottle backwards, leaving little left for Newt, who then goes for a bottle of beer.

All we take with us is the skateboard and the still closed bottles of beers. The rest, we'll pick up later... even our clothes.

Once arrived on top of the hill, it suddenly looks very high. The drop seems massive, and my head spins as I stare down.

"Uh, this is a terrible idea," I say. "But also the best idea ever."

Minho is already positioning the skateboard on the edge. "Okay, who's going first? No matter what happens, in the end, all three of us will do it. It's either all of us or no one at all."

Newt and I share a glance, nodding; all three of us will be doing it.

"I vote for Thomas to go first," Newt says, a giant grin on his face.

"What? Why me?" I protest. My laughs make sound less serious than planned. I just can't stop it.

"Because I was the first to skinny dip, and Newt was the one who stood on the skateboard at first. Now it's your turn to do something first," Minho insists.

"Alright, alright!" With a mix of drunken bravery and pressure, I step forward, one foot onto the skateboard.

Minho stands next to me. "Mouth open, TommyBoy." And he pours some beer down my throat. "There you go. More invincibility."

He can barely pronounce that word at the moment. Everything is sluggish and blurry and weird, but very, very funny.

"Don't die, Tommy," Newt says, rising his bottle.

I take a deep breath. "If I do this, I want a medal."

"You'll get a beer." Minho pats me on the shoulder. "Ready? One, two, three!"

He gives me a push, and suddenly I'm flying down the hill. The wind rushes past me and I'm half-laughing, half-screaming, the skateboard wobbling beneath me as I try to keep my balance.

"Wooohooo!" I throw my hands in the air. This is an amazing feeling. Lights pass in a blur. Wind blows into my face. My friends' cheers encourage me.

I'm swaying dangerously, but I am too drunk to care. Once I reach the bottom, the skateboard hits a stone, and sends my flying at least a few feet through the air.

I don't feel any pain when I land on the concrete. It's just cold and a bit rough against my skin.

I don't move. I'm lying on my back. Have perfect vision of the stars. There is a long silence on top of the hill.

Then, "THOMAS! Are you alive?!"

"I'm alive!" I shout, and I start laughing so hard I roll a few feet further down the hill.

Minho and Newt come running down the hill, laughing and stumbling. "That was epic! Who's next?"

"I want to go again." A pout forms on my face. "Okay, all three of us at once."

We walk back up the hill. Newt sits down in the front of the skateboard, then Minho, and then me.

"Ready?"

"Nope."
"Fuck yes."

Newt removes his feet from the ground, releasing us down the hill. And then we're screaming like we're in a roller coaster.

And then suddenly, with a plop, I'm on the floor. I watch Minho fall off the skateboard. It broke in half. Newt is still going. On just two wheels and half of the skateboard, until another stone gets stuck in the wheel, and he makes a front flip onto the ground.

"YOU OKAY?"

"YES!"

And we're laughing again. What an experience.

"Hey!" A woman's loud, shrill voice cuts through the calming air. "What the hell is going on here? It's one in the morning! People are trying to sleep and you kids— MINHO LEE!"

It's Dahlia. Minho's mom.

"Run!" Minho pulls us towards the beach. We go as fast as we can, stumbling and rolling and everything at once. Oh, and laughing, of course.

We've safely arrived at the blanket and figure out Dahlia isn't following us. I guess Minho will get grounded for about twenty years, but for now, he's still with us.

"We should get more rum," Newt says. "Go to that twenty-four seven store. Tommy, you brought your ID, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I'm eighteen. I can't buy anything. We'll just sneak into my dad's collection. Wait here. I'll do it."

Ten minutes later, I have perfectly succeeded doing the job, and I come back with more rum, disgusting vodka, and tequila.

Also ten minutes later, half of that is bubbling in our stomachs.

"Guys, this sand is so... so squishy," I slur, like my tongue is glued to my mouth. It feels a bit numb as well. "Like... I dunno... marsh-pillows things."

Minho's sprawled on the blanket as Newt spreads some sand on his bare stomach. "You know what's funny? I can't even— can't even feel my face. It's, um, numb or somethin'. Gone like poof."

"So is my tongue." I stick it out just to show him.

Newt tries to stand up, but he falls back down. "Bloody son of a bitch! Gravity's angry at me tonight. Extra gravitating."

I reach out to steady him but miss. "Grab the... the what? The world? Make it stop... spinning so fast!"

Minho sits up. "We should build a sandcastle. Or- or build sand. But like... huge."

"Build sand?"

"A sand... fort," he corrects.

My head makes my nod feel like I'm floating. "As big as the moon and we'll live there as kings."

Newt grabs some sand in an attempt to start a pile, but it slips out of his hand. "It's escaping!"

"Bad sand," I say.

Minho hits the sand. "Stay put, sand. Behave."

I throw my head back. The stars are like disco balls. Head lights. "I can't... I can't breathe," I laugh. "Everything's... spinning. Stars are like- like..."

Newt falls beside me, his words even more tangled. "We're part of the stars now. Shining like... diamonds."

"Shine bright like a diamond," Minho chimes in.

I point at the water. "Find light in the beautiful sea."

Newt shakes his head. "I choose to be happy!"

"You and I," Minho and I clutch to each other, "you and I," Newt and I clutch to each other, "we're like diamonds in the sky!"

☯︎︎

"There you are!" Named-after-green pulls me inside the room with such force that I straight up fall down onto my face. "Oh, shit— are you okay?"

Now that I'm lying here, I feel like I can fall asleep any second.

"Thomas, you smell like alcohol," named-after-green says suspiciously. "Are you... going to get off the ground?"

I roll over.

"Why are you only wearing boxers? Where are your clothes?"

I blink.

"Thomas?"

I blink again.

Her face appears above me. "How much did you drink?"

I think I'm dead.

In the state of dying, at least.

Going to heaven. Because this is an angel in front of me.

"Wowww, baby—" my hand reaches out to cup her cheeks. "You are so prettyyyyy."

A little bit hesitant, she removes my hand. "What happened to your face?"

"Huhhh?"

"You have abrasions on both of your cheeks. Did you do something dangerous? Did you get in a fight?"

"No," I say. I roll around a few more times, shaking the sand onto the carpet. It's soft and glides nicely against my skin. "I am Tony Hawk. I skated down the hill."

"And did you fall?"

"Yes, but it didn't hurt."

She shakes her head to herself, then does her best to pull me up. I whine. I want to keep lying on this soft surface.

"Thomas. Come on. We need to clean those wounds, and you need a shower. Where are your clothes?"

"Wha— whadda mean?"

"Your clothes," she repeats. "Where did you leave them?"

"Aiaiai." I shrug.

"Did you go swimming?"

"Uh-hummm."

"Did you leave your clothes at the beach?"

"Beach, yeah. Left 'em on the beach. On the sand. With the blanket. And Minho and Newt too."

She puts her hands on her hips. "You left Minho and Newt at the beach?"

"No- no." I wave a hand. "They're home. Just clothes... and beer... oh, I'd like a beer."

"Can you promise me something?"

"Beach stuff still waitinnn'," I hum.

"Thomas. Can you promise me you won't move a single inch while I'll be getting your clothes?"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Stay very still. I will be back in just a minute."

All I do in that minute is take a quick pee in the bathroom. I nearly fall asleep while sitting on the toilet seat. Then I plop back down onto the carpet.

"Here I am." Angel returns in front of me. Her nose scrunches. Eyes squint. "Did you pee?"

"Yes."

"In the toilet?"

"Yes. I did it myself," I say proudly.

"...show me the toilet you used."

"Just... just somewhere... over— I think over there." I wave a hand towards the toilet.

A sigh so deep it sends alarms off in my body leaves her mouth. She is scaring me like my mom. "That is your laundry basket."

I smile. "Ah."

"Just get on your feet now, okay? We're gonna get you to the real bathroom."

"Feet are overrated," I mumble, now on my knees. Angel pulls me all the way up, groaning from at the weight of me.

She's huffing and puffing, but doesn't give up until I'm sitting on the bathroom floor.

"Cold!" I flinch away. "Why is it so colddd?"

"Stay there," she commands.

I straighten my back. Gotta look good in front of this woman. "Yes, ma'am. Anything for you. You're very shiny. Are you a queen?"

Without a reply, she wets a cloth, turns back to me, and starts dabbing at the scrapes on my cheeks. "You really banged yourself up."

"Don't you worry, your highness. It's... it's nothing," I assure her politely. "I'm Tony Hawk, remem... remem...ber?"

A beautiful hum comes from her. She grabs my chin more forcefully, so she can clean me up even better. But I can still see the little smile on her face, even with the sternness.

She moves to the sink to rinse the cloth. Then she returns and presses it to my chest, wiping the sand off me. The water is now warm and it feels like heaven and I lean into the angel's touch.

"Mhm... that's nice," I moan. "Like... like a spa."

"Yeah, a spa," she says dryly. "A spa where I have to deal with a drunk guy who skated down the hill naked."

"Hey... hey!" I protest weakly. "I was wearin' boxers. No... not crazy."

She looks over at the shower. "Now it's time to get in the shower."

"Shower," I echo, nodding enthusiastically. "Good idea. You're very— you're so smart. And... pretty. Will you join me in the shower?"

"No, Thomas. I will not. But thanks for the offer." She helps me up with a sigh. "Try to stand."

I do my best, but my legs feel like noodles. I love noodles, though. So I don't mind if I turn into a full noodle every full moon. Is it a full moon? I ask her that. Her reply is pushing me into the shower cabin.

"Shower time," I announce. "Too hot! Too hot!" I shriek, stepping out.

She quickly adjusts it. "There. Better?"

"Much better." The warm water washes over me. I close my eyes. Let it trickle down my face. "Oh, you're the best. The... absolute... best."

"Just clean yourself, okay?" Angel hands me a bottle of soap.

I remove my boxe—"

"Thomas!" She yelps and flinches loudly. "Keep. Those. On."

My bottom lip juts forward. "I'm so sorry baby I will never do that again." My arms wrap around her. I pat her back. "Are you alright?"

She sighs, for some reason. Pushes me off, for some reason. I was being kind!

"Just clean yourself."

I fumble with the bottle for a while, then manage. "Ha, I'm doing it! Look... me showering."

"Great job. Now don't fall over."

The water feels amazing. I plop down on the floor to enjoy it even better. "This is the best. You are the best. You are the... shower angel. Make sure I... don't let me drown. Make sure I... don't drown," I tell her.

She gets me out of the shower after a few minutes. I am offended she is able to resist my whines. Then she dries me off, from bottom to top.

"You can change into new boxers yourself. I've got them right here. All fresh and clean." She hands me the thing. Turns around. "Let me know when you're done."

"Done," I say after another minute of struggling. "Did I do well?"

"Yes, very," she compliments.

My face lights up. "Thanks."

Her eyes are mixed with a hint of amusement and worry as she smears some kind of thing in my hair. She's so focused that she's biting her lip during it.

Oeh, her lips. They look as good as noodles.

I lean in. I can get a taste. I've been nice. I'm all cleaned up for her—

"Thomas," she hisses. "What are you doing?"

"Can I get a kiss?" I ask. Politely again, of course. She is the queen here.

With a deep breath, she closes her eyes. Shakes her head. "You're drunk."

"One little kiss?" I beg.

"No. You're drunk. It's weird to do something like that."

"Am I not your husband?"

"No, Thomas. You're my best friend," she corrects. "If you would've been my husband, it was another story."

"Yolo," I tell her.

"No 'yolo' here. And no kisses here."

She forces me into a pants and shirt, then helps me into the bed. I frown a bit when she lies down beside me.

"Didn't you say you're not my husband?" I slur.

"Wife," she corrects. "I'm not your wife."

"Then why are you sleeping next to meeee?" My words end into a very beautiful hum, as I might say myself.

"Why not?" She lets go of another little sigh.

I love those sighs. I want to fall asleep to them.

"Good night, Thomas. Please don't throw up."

"Mhmmmm. Good night."

She turns her back to me, and I take the opportunity. And that rhymed, so it's meant like a poem, and poems are beautiful, so it was meant beautifully; I wrap my arms around her.

"Thomas," now she's whining.

"Other way around?" I suggest.

"Maybe just no way at all." Yet she does turn around. I take that as a sign. I will be the little spoon, awesome. But first, one thing I've got to do once we're face to face.

I press a kiss on her lips. "Sorry, they just needed me," I say. "Now they're even more beautiful."

Then I turn around, waiting for her to turn me into the little spoon. Except that does not happen.

"Helloooo? I'm waiting," I say impatiently.

"Did you just..." she mutters. Another one of the nice sighs escape. "No, I'm not cuddling you. Before you know it, you're sober and you think I'm harassing you."

"Then I will be cuddling you." She can't even protest; I've already pulled her close. "That's nice isn't it?"

"Ehm, I guess," she says slowly. She is tense in my arms. Her hands are awkwardly on my shoulders. I move them to the side of my neck and waist— very good places.

"Mhm." I close my eyes. "Good nighttttt. Good nightyyyy. Good very nightttt. See you tomorrowww. See you—"

"Stop singing," she orders.

"Yes, ma'am." I zip my mouth shut.

Finally, she relaxes in my arms a little bit. I think the key has been being silent the whole time. Now I know the secret!

"G'night," I end up whispering for the ladt time. Only to hear that little sigh.

And there it is. I hum in satisfaction.

"Good night, Thomas."