Dinner feels like a war zone and I'm stuck in the middle of it.

Mom and Dad sit at either end of the table, trying to keep the vibe normal. My grandparents are right in front of me.

I push a piece of roast chicken around my plate. The smell of it fills the air, but my appetite is still far gone.

"Thomas, you look so thin!" Grandma's voice pierces through the silence. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my face, then she leans forward and pinches my cheek. It leaves a greasy smear that I am absolutely petrified of. I hate random people touching my face. "Are you eating enough? You need to put on some weight, dear."

"I'm fine," I say, nearly offended. "My BMI is fine and I feel fine."

Grandpa clears his throat, the sound so loud that it attracts the attention to him. "And how are your grades? Back in the day, we didn't have that much distractions. Kids today are so lazy."

"They're fine, too," I reply coolly. I feel Dad's gaze  on me, a mix of encouragement and warning.

"And what about your girlfriend?" Her eyes clear with such eagerness that it makes my stomach churn. "Surely there's still someone you fancy?"

I hesitate, knowing exactly how this will evolve. "Yes, I have one," is all I say.

"Tessa, was it?"

"Uh, no. Teresa and I broke up a while ago. I'm with Sage now."

"Sage? I haven't heard that name before?"

"Viviette," I hint. I regret it the second her name leaves my mouth.

Grandma's face falls instantly. Dad shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, and Mom's so tense that I can feel it radiating off her.

Why do we care so much about the opinions of these old people?

"The girl across the street?" Her eyes flash to Mom. "Dahlia's daughter?"

Grandpa makes his disapproval clear by snorting. "Those Asians? What happened to dating someone from a good family, like Teresa?"

"The second she came home with that friend of hers," Grandma gives Mom a pointed look, "I told her not to. But here we are, forty-one years later."

"Viviette is from a good family." It's hard to maintain my anger. I can't wait to get away from this table. "And she makes me happy. The whole family makes me happy— and they make Mom and Dad happy as well."

Mom jumps in, her voice overly high in a slight panic, "Why don't you tell them about your school projects, Thomas?"

She's still too controlled by them. She still cares way too much about what they think of her. She will still do a lot of things they ask from her, no matter what it takes.

Except for her friendship with Dahlia. She didn't stop it when they asked. And I am so freaking grateful for that.

Maybe I wouldn't have been here. Or I wouldn't have had a life with the Lee's around. I can't imagine them not being here.

And yet, even though Mom tried to stop it, the damage is already done. My grandparents exchange glances. "Back in our day," Grandpa begins, "we knew the importance of staying around our own kind. These modern ideas are just fads, Thomas. You'll see."

"Explain to me why Mom has been best friends with Dahlia for forty-one years, and I have been best friend with Sage for almost nineteen years, then," I snap. "It's not a fad."

How awesome it would be if I could add 'and you should fall dead'.

It's not a fad, and you should fall dead!

"You'd better find someone else soon. You don't want to be one of those boys who doesn't have a proper wife. Your grandmother and I had an arranged marriage, and look how well that turned out."

"I want my relationship to not even be remotely close to yours," I blurt out. "And times have changed. Not everyone wants arranged marriage, or marriage at all, and not everyone wants to marry someone from the opposite sex."

"Well, everyone is pretty messed up in the head these days," Grandma replies. "You've changed, too, Thomas. You're not the kind boy I remember."

"Let's go onto the dessert—" Mom tries, but the clattering sound of Grandpa's fork falling cuts her off.

"Yes, don't be ridiculous, Thomas. This modern nonsense is just a phase," he adds.

My fists ball below the table. I clench my jaw before any unwanted words leave my mouth, but then I can't even help it, "I have a girlfriend with whom I'm very happy even though we don't have a stupid arranged marriage, and I'm bisexual. Neither of them are just phases."

Both their faces turn into an alarming shade of red. Mom and Dad share a quick, panicked glance. This time, Dad cuts in, his voice firm enough to make everyone remain silent, "Thomas, why don't you go do the dishes while your mother and I get the desserts?"

As fast as light, I make my way to the kitchen. I can no longer stand their faces, and it hasn't even been a full day. I'm not going to make it through this week, I swear.

"Thomas, please," Mom whispers in the kitchen. "They're old and they don't understand. Just... keep the peace, okay? Nod at things and don't argue."

I clutch the dirty plate tighter in my hands. "I can't just listen to them saying those things. They're ridiculous, Mom. I hate them. They can't stay for a whole week," I tell her through my teeth. I hate them I hate them I hate them.

They steal my room—all my privacy—, they discriminate Sage and then also her whole family— how freaking dare they say a thing about her? It makes me even angrier.

"I can't go back and face them today," I reply.

Dad takes my arm and pulls me through the back door, into the garden. "That plate is damaged already. Just do it."

I give him a confused glance at first. He nods in return, approving something. When I realize, satisfaction fills me, and I throw the plate against the brick wall of our house, the thing shattering into a thousand pieces.

"That light up?" Dad asks, sighing.

"Just a little bit. But thanks."

Get yourself a someone who allows you to break plates when you're pissed. I very much recommend.

☯︎︎

I told everyone I needed to go study and wasn't in for dessert anyway, so I went upstairs, only to climb out of my dear room's window, on my way to Sage. Luckily, I get to take the front door there.

Hm. Why would I take the front door, though?

It's kind of funny to show up at the window, watching her face fall in surprise.

Unless she isn't in her room. That's the risk.

Or maybe the risk is falling from who knows how many feet high.

Nah, the first one is worse.

With a few groans but quite smooth movements, I reach her window. Knock on it. Wait.

The curtain moves. She's right there. And indeed, her face falls in surprise.

Her lips part a bit, as if she wants to say something but realizes I can't really hear her. Her eyes trail all over me. I know it's to check to see if it's really me, as twilight has began to fall a while ago, and the dimmed sky doesn't help with our ability to see.

Then she opens the window. "Thomas! I told you not to do that. It's dangerous!"

"I like it," I reply, hopping inside. "Especially when you react like that."

She shakes her head. A loud sigh leaves her lips as she starts plucking leaves out of my hair. And then she's back to running her hands through it, wow.

Best. Feeling. Ever.

"How was the dinner?" She murmured, too focused on my hair.

Then she stops, unfortunately, to listen to my reply. I summarize all of it fast, then tell her I don't want to think of it and I suggest doing something else.

"I was just finishing off Minho's shirt for his next date with Evie," Sage announces happily. "Do you want to see?"

Attentively, I nod.

She picks the shirt up from her desk and holds it up.

The shirt is long-sleeved. The color is taupe and it has a polo collar, with a deep v-cut.

My eyes widen a bit. Any boy would love to wear that on a date. "Oh. Damn. That's one of the best things you've made so far."

"Really?" Heat rises up her cheeks. "Thank you."

I smile. "You're welcome. It's really good. Nice for Minho, but Evie will still like it."

"I should make you one," she decides, stepping closer until her arms are wrapped around my waist and she's looking up at me. "Dark blue, of course."

"Mhm." I press my lips to the forehead. "I like that idea. An excuse to go on a date."

A laugh. "Yeah. Anyway, let me finish the last few things and then I'll focus on you and you only."

"Alright—"

"Wait, bathroom first. I'll be back in a second."

She disappears. Smiling, I run my hands through my hair so wildly that it must be a mess, and then I rub a pillow against it, too.

Two minutes later, Sage returns. Her eyes drink me in, her frown appears, and then her hands are back in my hair. "Your hair is static today," she says.

I frown deeply. "Is it?"

"Yeah. It looks crazy." Again, she laughs.

Two birds with one stone! Making her laugh and getting a free head massage.

She turns back to her desk to finish Minho's shirt. I take the opportunity, rubbing a pillow against my head. I can feel the static build up even more this time.

Sage glances over her shoulder a few minutes after I've messed with my hair again, and she jumps up, alarmed. "Thomas!"

"Hm?"

"What happened to your hair?"

I touch it, so confused. Why does it feel like it's standing up? Why would it be standing up? "Huh?"

"Wait." Vi walks over to me. "Come here." She cups my face to lift my head up, the touch sending shivers everywhere, and then she slides her hands through the strands of my hair.

Her fingers work magic. There is something very soothing about the way she mothers me. The way her nails softly touch my scalp. The way she bites her lip when she focuses on fixing this over and over again. The satisfied smile once she finishes. All so enjoyable.

"There. All fixed." She takes a step back to admire her own work.

"Thank you," I reply calmly, my voice the exact opposite of my pulse.

She sits back down at her desk. "Now you better keep it neat, Steph."

"Sure," I reply. My next move is already plotted.

As she turns away, I quickly run my hands through my hair again. Then I watch her work. She moves the material on her sewing machine, she uses a needle, and then looks back at me—

"Again?" She jumps up. It's also very funny seeing her face every time she looks at my hair, so it's three birds with one stone.

And she doesn't mind doing it—I can tell—so that's actually four birds.

Again, she walks over, her amusement displayed with a big smile. "You're hopeless," she mutters, but her hands are already smoothing my hair down.

I close my eyes briefly. Tonight, I better come up with a way that'll make her do this until I fall asleep.

Don't worry, that will only take one minute, so she won't have to suffer much.

I could fall asleep right now. It's too good.

"Thanks," I say once she's done, praying my voice sounds indifferent.

The whole cycle repeats two times. Each time, I find a way to mess up my hair when she's not looking, and each time she comes to fix it, her touch gentle and caring as ever. And I pretend it's just a coincidence.

At the fifth time, I'm not longer hesitating to rub the pillow against my head. When she turns back to check, she stares at me, her lips pursed together.

"Thomas," she says slowly, "are you doing this on purpose?"

I try to keep a straight face, but a small smile betrays me. "Maybe."

She shakes her head, laughing softly. "You're a little baby. Is it that enjoyable?"

"Very," I say, unable to hide my smile now.

Once again, she smooths my hair out. I can tell she's taking extra time doing it now that she knows it's on purpose, and it feels even better.

"Thank you," I say gratefully.

Her fingers stop making the gentle movements. "You're welcome. Now I'm going to finish that shirt."

A whine escapes from me before I can control it. "One more minute? Pleaseee?"

"Oh, shut it." Her hands make her way back into my hair again. "You're a big kid."

Humming, I close my eyes. Lean into her touch. She's standing in front of me. I'm sitting on the bed. It's comfortable.

Her hands begin to slow down, though they never leave my hair. Instead, she steps a bit closer, so I can feel her breaths against my skin. They're stable and warm.

I open my eyes to look at her. My heart's pounding for no reason. Her eyes are just so soft. Full of warmth.

She bends down, her lips meeting mine in a tender kiss. Warnings explode in my body like alarms going off— good warnings.

She can't properly kiss me in this position, though. So I slide my hands onto her waist, pulling her onto my lap. I can tell she's surprised by the way her body language changes, yet she doesn't rip her lips away from mine.

It's like a drug, no matter how cheesy that sounds. Every time I kiss her, I never want it to stop. I don't know what about it is so special. There is no certain taste like books describe. Lips do not taste like cherries and honey and a whole cream pie.

I guess that's the thing. It's something you're not used to... tasting, and feeling against your mouth. And then there's the hands— moving everywhere, so gently.

All of it combined is the drug.

Her hands slide from my hair to the sides of my face. I pull her even closer, our torsos pressed together. My hand feels the warmth of the skin below her shirt as one of hers finds the side of my neck.

Slowly, I let us fall backwards onto the bed. The kiss becomes deeper. More of her warmth seeps into me. My hands roam up and down her back, still below her shirt, so desperate to touch her skin. I guess that is like the books. Her skin is amazingly soft. It always has been.

For a second, our lips apart. Our smiles stretch, even though we're breathing so heavily we have to take a pause for a good minute. In that minute, she slides her fingers down my neck, leaving a tingly trail.

Then, almost urgently, we smash our mouths together again. Her hands grip around my shoulders in a way that shows she doesn't want to let go anytime soon.

I begin rolling us over. Her head falls onto the pillow I kept rubbing my hair on. I kiss her deeper. Then I pull away again, inspecting her face.

Before I can ask if what we're doing feels right to her, her hands start to tug at my shirt. Then it's off. On the ground. Gone.

She runs her hands up and down my bare chest. More and more alarms appear inside my body, like exploding fireworks and that feeling when you're riding down in a rollercoaster.

I sigh out, a sound deep within my throat. She smiles softly. Softly as if she's reassuring something.

I move her hair out of her face. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Sage says confidently. Then the confidence fades a bit. "I just don't want to... you know."

I nod. "Me neither. We don't have to."

At that, her smile returns. "But we can keep this up."

"I don't mind." I bring my lips to her neck. It's warm, smooth, nice— everything. I am able to inhale remaining stains of her perfume. It's sweet but not too crazy. It's perfect.

I can call her skin silk and that wouldn't even be enough to describe how soft it is. Her pulse quickens below my kisses, which linger around her neck before they move to her jawline.

They're feather-light. Deliberating. Not hurried at all.

When I reach a spot just below her ear, her breath comes in sharply, almost like a gasp. It fuels me. Makes me press my lips a bit more firmly against her skin. I can't help but close my eyes as they stay still for a moment. I nuzzle my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling, then moving so I can have a look at her face again.

Not swollen, but definitely plumped lips. Rosy, hot cheeks. Fluttering eyelashes. Beautiful.

And she's still smiling, thank god. "That was nice," she tells me quietly. "Really nice."

Her muscles relax in my arms. The corners of my lips curve up at all the happiness at once, and I weave my fingers in her hair. The dark strands feel as soft as her neck, if not softer.

"Yeah?" My voice is hoarse. Hoarser than before, caught with feelings I didn't know some simple neck kisses could bring.

"Yeah." A breathless laugh comes from her. "And enough."

I nod in agreement. "It was."

I guess one day, things will be taken further, but why would that need to happen right now? Exactly a week into our relationship, at a random night, out of nowhere?

I return to her neck, slowly planting a few more kisses on there. The room isn't very bright, so I can't see a lot, but even if I'd be leaving marks, they'll be gone tomorrow morning. I'm not doing anything crazy.

Even more out of breath than before, we look at each other again. I can feel her chest press against mine when she inhales, and her breaths against my face when she exhales. Almost a nicer feeling than having her hands in my hair.

"Do I need to kiss your neck too now?" She asks, partly genuine, partly playful.

"Only if you want to." I press my forehead against hers. "You don't have to."

"No in-return situations?"

"Never," I confirm. "For all I care, you become the pillow princess."

Vi laughs out loud, throwing her head back a bit. "No, no, that's not necessary," she smiles. I roll off her. Immediately, she snuggles up against me.

"Or you fix my hair." I smile drowsily. "That's as good as neck kisses."

"Is it, really?"

"One hundred percent."

"Hm. Alright then." And she's back at touching my scalp.

I allow the satisfied little sighs to leave my mouth to encourage her into continuing. "I'm going to fall asleep in no longer than ten minutes, so, good night."

Another laugh of hers. "Good night, Steph."