"Who else?"

"Mr. Leadford. One hundred percent."

"Thomas, you're basing it off people you don't like. What we actually have to base it on is what their motives could be."

"He's an ass," Thomas says dryly. "He's the type of person to just go around and kill people."

We were bored so now we're making a list of people who could be the killer. Or killers.

We've got Newt's parents and Mr. Leadford.

I sigh. "Alright. Who else?"

Sometimes, we got those magical moments like when we're sitting on his bed, the lights dimmed, face close, and whispering about things while all we're actually doing is just stare at each other.

And sometimes, we argue about every little thing.

"Aris," Thomas says.

The pen falls out of my hands, just like my jaw falls. "Aris?"

"Yes! Why the hell would he randomly mention the fact that something is wrong with the milk while y'all were talking about something totally different— what were you talking about?" 

"Nothing," I say. "Just not milk. But he said that only because he didn't know where to put the full bottle of milk, and he wondered if maybe he was just seeing things again."

"Another reason. He sees the people he might've killed as bad people. Well, his schizophrenia does. And your mom's boss literally works at the place he's been almost his whole life."

"Yeah, so?" I ask. "What about Mr. Keller? Mary and Vince? Why would he kill them?"

That one second of silence says enough for me. "Exactly," I say. "It's not him."

"Just because he's your friend does not mean he's super innocent. For all I know, it could be my mom. She wrote the book."

I slam my hands down on his carpet. "Thomas, are you insane? Why the hell would you be suspicious of your own mom? She's the kindest human ever!"

"No, you are— but even if she was, that doesn't change a thing. And it's not like we're going to the police with this. No one will be suspicious of my mom. We're just doing this because we have nothing better to do."

My heart sinks a bit in disappointment. I shrug. Look down. "I was doing it to help the police, actually."

"Why the hell would we do that?"

"Because we need to stop whoever's doing this! Sooner or later, it's no longer your favorite teacher, but your favorite friend or something," I hiss.

"The more we involve in this, the worse things will probably get," he replies, tone just as annoyed as mine. "Who else is an option? Someone we don't expect? Gally?"

"Gally is also my friend, you—" I stop myself before I start insulting him. There is no reason to insult him. We are just not agreeing on something, like we always do... once in a year. 

"In fact, he's your crush," he snarls.

I lose it. "No, he's not, Thomas! Gally has never been my crush, is not my crush, and will never be my crush! Minho made that up. I don't have a crush on him."

He stares at me for a good few seconds, blinking. "Why would he say that and why would you go along with that?"

Because I like you, you idiot. I've liked you for weeks now and I cannot stop myself. And everyone is saying you like me back and just when I start paying attention to notice if that's true, you act like this. Let's quit doing this because we're not getting any happier and just hop in bed and cuddle.

But I don't say that. "Because it seemed funny at first. Making you believe I have a crush on someone you hate," I lie.

"Okay, whatever. I still dislike him, so—"

"Yeah, why? Why do you dislike him?"

"Because he dislikes me and I dislike him," Thomas says simply. "And it has been like that since grade one."

"And you have no reason for it. Just apologize and you'll be friends."

He shakes his head. "No. There's gotta be people you don't have good relationships with."

"What kind of boy math is that? Why not just remain a good relationship with everyone who's ready to?"

Thomas crosses his arms. "What if he's not ready to? Reminder, he's a big baby with the emotional range of a teaspoon. It's not my fault he's been holding a grudge over some playground fight for years. He needs to grow up."

"No, you need to grow up," I retort. "I'm one hundred percent sure he'd be perfectly fine with a friendship if you'd ask him right now."

"I don't need any more friendships. I've got a few and they're perfect."

My mouth opens to say more, but I close it again, and then turn back to the paper. "Who else?" I ask through my gritted teeth.

"Janson McAllister."

"That's just another person you don't like," I mutter.

"Whose side are you even on? The killer's?"

"No, Thomas. Your theories just don't make any sense. Why would Janson be a killer?"

"Because—"

"And don't say because he seems like someone who'd murder for fun," I add. "Who would kill all these people? Who hates them?"

"I don't know!" He says frustratedly. "It can be for just fun. Some people are insane like that. And I know you believe everyone is innocent and lovely and probably see the world in the brightest colors ever, but—"

"I don't believe everyone's innocent!" He's making this really difficult. Why does he have to make it so difficult? "I'm not some golden retriever like your dog. I'm not that innocent."

"I've known you for eighteen years—"

"—and yet you think I have no idea what 'adult toys' mean." I cross my arms back at him. "You don't know everything about me."

"And you don't know everything about me either," he snaps.

"I know more than you know about me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think you know so well, hm?"

"I don't know— that you hide letters in your drawer?" I blurt out.

I'm horrible. Shooting all these insults back at him purely because I just want to win sometimes. I never win an argument because I'll always start feeling sorry midway through and that's the most awful thing about me; I'd do anything to keep a person I love.

If Thomas would tell me to kill someone to still be his best friend, I'd do it. If Finn would, I don't know... tell me to climb into the boxing ring and get myself beaten up so I will remain the little sister he so often cooks for, I would. If Mom would ask me to make a whole freaking wedding dress which will take over fifty hours, I would. Because I don't want to lose anyone, like I have before.

But I also don't want to sound like the victim because I'm not. Some will call it nice to be ready to do anything for someone. Others will call it horrible because it means I'd be easily manipulated. I'll call it an in between. But after eighteen years, I won't lose Thomas, so I can have an argument and for once win it so I can feel good—

Which I probably won't feel because in the end, I'll always feel guilty. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Afraid it'll happen again.

"And did you read them?" He asks after a minute of staring at me, mouth half open.

"Yes," I admit angrily. I can't help it. Bottling too many frustrations up. Finn lets them out while boxing. I can't box for shit. What do I do to let anger out? Beat my freaking sew machine up? "Just two of them. When you were seven and fifteen."

"Why the hell would you read them?" He says nastily, eyes narrowed. "They're not for you to read!"

"Oh, yeah, what happened to the 'I won't get angry if you read them?' part? And I'm sorry I did, alright? But perhaps writing them to me made it very much seem like I was supposed to read them!"

He gets up from the floor. "I told you that because I thought you wouldn't read them no matter what my reaction would be! You're one of the few people I trusted to not go through my drawers!"

"I told you, I'm sorry!" I start rising my voice back at him. He's snapping, I'm snapping. He's yelling? I'm yelling. "I didn't read any more after that and I felt truly guilty! And even if I didn't, you did say you wouldn't mind that much if I read them. You can't just get angry about it now!"

"Yes, I can." He steps closer to me. "It's my privacy. You're reading all my thoughts and experiences—"

It's okay. He's only saying this because he's angry. Angry people blurt extra things out to make more of an effect. He doesn't mean to get this angry about the letters.

I hope.

"I said I'm sorry and I don't know what to freaking reply," I snap. "After all, you're addressing them to me! How was I supposed to know they're off-limits when you put my name on them?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because they're hidden in a drawer and I've never talked to you, or anyone, about it?"

"And you think that at some point, I don't get sad or sick of watching you shut everything and everyone out? Of watching you so often act like you're fine when you're not?"

"Shut everyone out? I've cried to you multiple times the last weeks and I've talked to you and I've been showing emotions— you're onto nothing."

"No, I'm not. You wouldn't be acting this snappy today if something wasn't going on in the first place."

"You know what's going on!" He takes another step towards me, and I inch away. "People I care about are getting killed, my thoughts are all over the place, I'm suddenly getting a sibling— you know about all of that!"

"Yeah, but you don't tell me how you feel about all of that! You can trust me— of course you don't have to share everything, but—"

"It's not about trust," he's nearly shouting, like I also was, his voice cracking. "It's about me not wanting to burden you with my shit!"

At all the yelling, tears start forming in my eyes. See, that's the regret already. I don't want to fight. "Burden me?" I repeat. "I want to be there for you and it surely won't turn me into a burden!"

"And I want to keep things to myself and—"

"Yes, I just told you you could!" My fists ball in frustration at him as I shout back. "But then you can't just write to me! Can't just put it down when you never wanted me to know, but do address them to me!"

"Writing gets it out of my head and I never expected you to read any of it! You weren't supposed to, end of discussion!"

"All I was was curious, and I wanted to understand more! I wanted to help!"

"Yeah, your perfect, innocent life will have influence on mine once you understand everything—"

"What the fuck, Thomas! Why do you keep making it sounds like I'm this innocent little girl with the nicest life ever— I have a great life, sure, but just because you went through some things does not mean I don't understand! I went through things too! I can help, but not in the ways you think I can. You think I'll say 'it'll be fine in the end', but I won't. If you'd let me, I can give—"

"I don't need advice, Viviette! I'm not saying you didn't go through anything and I'm not saying that I'm the biggest victim here!"

"Then what's the problem?!"

"I don't fucking know! You're arguing!"

"I am? You're acting like a dick! You keep on going while I've been saying sorry and have been offering help—"

"—while I have told you a million times, I don't want your help! And I'm not saying you're an innocent girl with a perfect life. You're making it sound like that yourself!"

"How the hell am I making it sound like that?"

"It's not like you ever come asking for my help about things! I might not tell everything but at least I tell a good amount of things! When was the last time you've cried in front of me, or have talked about how you feel about Mr. Keller, or this killer, or how you like it with Aris in your house?! What does that mean, huh? That you're the one shutting everyone out? Or that you indeed have that perfect, innocent life? Which one is it?"

"Neither of them!"

"Sure!" He lets his arms fall beside him. "Sure, Viviette—"

"Shut up," I shout, both anger and hurt forming more tears in my eyes. "You're saying I think I'm on something, while right now, you're searching for the most random things ever!"

"You shut up," he calls out.

"You do!" Before I look like an idiot shouting at someone who's way taller than me, I push him on his chest, as hard as I can. "Leave!"

"This is my house! You may leave!"

"Gladly," I clamor, snatching my jacket off his desk chair. "Have a good night, Thomas!" I snap.

"I hope you have a horrible one," he replies brusquely.

"I hope you get a very comfortable night," I answer. "I hope you get so comfortable in your warm little bed that the only thing keeping you awake are your ridiculous words at me!"

He scoffs. "I hope you sleep so well that the only thing ruining your dreams is realizing how badly you've failed to make a point."

"I bet you won't close your eyes for a single second because the only company you have will be your own miserable one, and not my lovely one!" 

Thomas opens the door for me with a loud grunt. "I hope you don't sleep at all, because after those twenty-nine days, you definitely can't get comfortable without me!"

"I hope you..." I'm at a loss of words now. "I hope you get so sad tonight that you will beg for me to come back!"

"I hope you will, too!"

And then I'm rushing down the stairs, so angry that I for once don't fall over things but then the anger does make me clumsy and I almost fall onto the pavement outside his house, and then I nearly get driven over at the road, and then I somewhat smack Minho in the face when he asks what's wrong.

And then I do really hope that he gets so sad that he will beg for me to come back.

And I will. Because, once again, I'd do anything.

Don't want to lose another friendship.