A/n: writing a chapter before I genuinely pull a newt bc of everything else in the world
#pleasespamthecommentssoiwillsurvive

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My bracelet is gone and after searching every inch of my room, I enter Dariel's. I believe he didn't like the present since the beginning and has now stolen it— probably not.

Luciana had been in my car yesterday, sitting in the passenger seat. Her face was still glowing from stage lights. I had tried so hard not to stare, not to let myself get caught fumbling with the gear shift like an idiot. I had wanted to impress her, but my hands had been a little shaky and I didn't have the guts to do it.

Now, I'm standing in his rom. He's not home. The faint smell of his cologne hangs in the air. His bed is made. His desk is neat. Everything is neat. I sigh at the sight of it.

My room is a mess. At Mom's and at Dad's, it's a mess. Dariel's put together. He has his job, girlfriend, and own personality—I'm just trying to piece it all together. I'm a different person around Luciana, my friends, Dariel, Mom, Dad, teachers, kids... and none of them feel real.  

I exhale sharply and turn, ready to leave because I'm interrupting his privacy for no reason, but—

A dull pressure starts building behind my eyes, like something inside my skull is pressing outward. The room tilts, the walls stretch unnaturally far away before snapping back too close.

Everything splits apart as I tumble, fast and out of nowhere.

I'm not in Dariel's room anymore. I'm somewhere else. Somewhere dark. The air is thick with the scent of blood and sweat. There are bars in front of me, cold and rusted. My hands grip them, my fingers tight, and when I look down—

They're red.

Not just red. Coated.

Dripping.

I blink hard, my pulse hammering against my ribs. This isn't real.

My breathing pauses in my throat. I squeeze my fists, desperate to get the blood off. Wiping them across my pants doesn't work. The sounds around me amplify as I move. The voices, the whispers, and most of all, the screams.

It's all around me, echoing off the walls. Some familiar, some not. Begging. Wailing. A man's voice shouting, "You did this! You did this!" over and over again.

I stumble back, my whole body trembling. My skull feels like it's cracking open. The lights overhead flicker, allowing me to catch a glimpse of the bodies.

Sprawled across the floor, twisted in unnatural angles. And the knife that has appeared in my hands.

I let out a ragged breath and drop the blade, but it sticks to my fingers, melting into my skin like it's a part of me.

Then everything fractures again—

And I wake up gasping.

The world is spinning. Though I hated every part of whatever just happened, it went too fast. Too fast for me to understand. Too fast for me to figure out what the fuck is wrong with me.

I'm on the floor, my back against the side of Dariel's bed, my limbs unsteady. My mouth tastes metallic. My head pounds along with my heart.

My vision sways lightly while I catch my breath. The pressure in my head remains ever as painful.

I frown when I'm able to see normally again; the desk chair is overturned, papers are scattered across the floor, water bottles have been knocked over, liquid dripping into the carpet. The lamp on Dariel's nightstand is shattered. His closet doors are flung open, clothes hanging at odd angles, some ripped from their hangers entirely.

My chest seizes. Did I do this?

I try to push myself up, but my arms are shaking too badly. My brain feels like it's swimming in static. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing everything to be quiet, but the slam of the front door ruins it.

Footsteps. Heavy. Even.

Fuck—but I'm too late.

Dariel walks in slowly at first, unsuspecting until his eyes catch me.

Every single part of me freezes. I stand there, with my mouth wide open, hands clenched into fists, words stuck in my throat, brain fuzzy—staring at him.

He mostly looks surprised at first, until his gaze flickers over the rest of the room. That's when his expression falls; shock, anger, confusion, probably also the urge to kill me.

"What the fuck did you do?"

All that manages to leave my mouth is some kind of frightened peep.

"Minho," my brother says steadily, though his voice soon becomes upset. "The hell did you do? Why would you do this? Why are you in my room in the first place?!"

"I—" I stammer. "I..."

What am I supposed to say? I have no explanation for this.

His brows draw tight. "What is wrong with you?"

I swallow, staring at the ground.

"Hello?" Dariel snaps his fingers in front of my eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

He looks around at the broken lamp, scattered papers, and the other mess I made before glancing back at me with a shifted expression. Concern?

In my dreams.

"Are you on something?"

"What?" My voice cracks.

"Seriously, you're sick." He presses his hand to my forehead without a warning. "Are you feeling alright?"

I push him away. "I'm fine."

His concern vanishes as fast as it appeared.

I should've told him the truth. Now he believes I messed with his room on purpose.

"I, eh, I lost my bracelet—the one Luciana gave me—and I thought maybe you'd have it, but... but then I blacked out and woke up to this."

"Blacked out?" He taps my temple. "You serious?"

I nod.

"Blacked out? Very original, Minho, but even if you blacked out, this mess didn't appear out of nowhere. Besides, entering my room without permission is crazy. You could've just asked me if I saw your bracelet—which I haven't."

I nod again.

"You're not going to apologize? Come up with a proper explanation?"

"I'm sorry," I say, voice trembling. The edges of my vision are still blurry, my head pounding. "I really am. I don't know how this happened and didn't mean for it to happen."

He doesn't look satisfied. "Clean it up."

I get to work without complaints, sorting the papers, hanging his clothes in his closet, picking up the glass—all while he watches with crossed arms.

"You're not going to beat the shit out of me after this?" I murmur.

"Lately, I've been working on my patience with you. I gave you a chance to tell the truth. If it's really true that you blacked out, then I want you to go tell Mom before I tell her."

The same way he gave me a chance to tell him about my love for Luciana. Except right now, I am telling the truth.

"Alright," I mumble. "I will. Sorry about your lamp."

"It's fine," Dariel sighs out. "But never enter my room again in the first place."

"What, you got something to hide?"

"You wouldn't want me to enter your room either."

Yeah, well, I have a whole dresser full with presents for Luciana.

"Right. So... I guess I'll go. Sorry, once again." I hurry my way to the door—

"Minho," he stops me. "I do expect you to pay for that lamp."

"Got it," I groan.

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"Man up, mate." Newt claps me on the back, hard. "Act normal."

"Yeah. I don't like your obsession over Luciana. It made your ego leave. Honestly, I didn't like your ego either, but—"

"So do you even like me at all?" I interrupt Alby.

"I like the ego version just enough." He shrugs.

"Exactly." Frypan squeezes my cheeks with his fingers, as if I'm a baby. "Where did our confident, sarcastic, nonchalant Minho Fiore go?"

"Agreed!" Thomas jumps in. The second he does, I kick his shin; I don't want to hear another word from him for the rest of my life. He has caused too many problems already.

"This feels like the 'glow up' scene from a movie," Newt says. "Oh, can we do that to Minho?"

"He needs a mental glow up, though. Not a physical one," Fry pouts.

"We can still work that out."

"Luciana does not like cocky men—"

"Then why is she dating Dariel?"

All eyes go to Thomas. "That's the first good statement you've made."

"She doesn't like cocky, nonchalant men. Dariel is different when he's with her."

"Yeah, your difference around her has affected your whole personality and now you're a boring loser."

"Why thank you."

"You're welcome." Newt jumps up. "I say we're going out. Keep your mind off things. Just let it all go for a moment and hopefully become more confident so one day, you can be in Dariel's spot."

I throw my head back, grunting. "I don't feel like going out—hey!"

They're already pulling me up.