𝟢𝟤𝟨,𝐚 "𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬"
I lean against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, watching my mom stir something in a pot on the stove. The smell of garlic and onions fills the air, but I'm not hungry. I just want an answer.
"So, can I go or not?" I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
"Who's going to be there?" she asks.
I exhale sharply through my nose. Here we go.
"My friends," I say. "Thomas, Newt, Alby, Frypan."
"Will there be alcohol?"
I drag a hand through my hair. "I don't know, probably. But that doesn't mean I have to drink."
Mom turns to face me then, her eyes sharp with something between concern and disapproval. "Minho, you know that drinking isn't safe for you anymore."
I knew she'd bring this up. Minho, you need to be careful. Minho, are you taking your meds? Minho, did you get enough sleep? I can't even breathe without everyone worrying about whether I'll somehow trigger a seizure.
"I'm not planning on drinking," I have to force the words out. "I just want to go hang out. Have a normal night, like a normal person."
Mom wipes her hands on a dish towel. "And what if you have a seizure there? Will your friends know what to do?"
I clench my jaw. "Yes, they know. It's not that complicated, Mom."
She looks at me for a long moment. "I don't know, Minho. I'd love for you to go, but everything is too new. I don't want you to put yourself in a dangerous situation."
"It's a party, Mom. Not a war zone."
"It could be dangerous for you," she stresses. "What if the music is too loud and triggers something? What if you're too tired? What if something happens and no one knows how to help you?"
I grit my teeth. "I said they know what to do."
She shakes her head again, pressing her fingers to her temple. "I just—I don't think it's the right time. Maybe in a few months, when we have a better handle on your condition—"
"Can you stop that?" I harshly cut her off. "Can we just ignore 'my condition' for once?"
Mom's eyes soften. "How about you invite your friends over? I'll allow you to do whatever you want for as long as you want. Just stay home and safe, Minho. We'll get back to this in a few months."
"That's different," I protest.
"But you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I do, but I just to do something like a normal person."
She falls silent. A look of guilt forms on my face. Before I can feel bad about it, I rush upstairs.
As soon as I get to my room, I grab my jacket, shove my phone in my pocket, and climb out the window.
My heart pounds as I land lightly on my feet. The cold night air bites at my skin. I shoot a quick text to Thomas: On my way. Where are you?
He replies almost instantly. Newt's house. Frypan's picking us up. Be there in 10.
Perfect. I take off down the street, keeping my hood up just in case Mom decides to look outside.
The walk to Newt's house isn't long, but my brain won't shut up the entire way. I get why she's worried. I do. But I can't live my life wrapped in bubble wrap. I need this one night to forget about everything. About my diagnosis. About my mom breathing down my neck. About Dariel and Luciana.
By the time I reach Newt's place, Alby's car is already standing in the driveway, music thumping faintly through the closed windows. I jog up, and Thomas rolls down the back window with a grin.
I flip him off before climbing into the backseat beside him and Fry. Newt is up front, scrolling through his phone, and Alby glances at me through the rearview mirror.
"Your mom let you come?" he asks.
"Yeah," I lie, slouching back against the seat.
Thomas snorts. "Liar. You totally snuck out."
· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·
The party is already in full swing by the time we get there. It's in some rich kid's house—one of those huge, fancy places with too much space and not enough personality. Music blasts from inside, vibrating through the walls. People are everywhere: on the lawn, the driveway, the front porch, drinks in hand, laughing, shouting.
Frypan parks down the street, and we all climb out.
"This is gonna be good," Thomas says, rubbing his hands together.
Newt side-eyes him. "You say that every time, and every time you end up in some dumb situation."
"Yeah, but that's what makes it fun."
Inside, the party is a mess of flashing lights and bodies pressed too close together. The air is thick with sweat, alcohol, and something else—something smoky that clings to my clothes the second I step in.
Glass crunches under my sneakers as I make my way deeper into the house. Thomas disappears first, slipping through the crowd with that stupid grin of his. Alby and Frypan head toward the kitchen, where a makeshift bar is set up on the counter, bottles and red cups scattered everywhere.
I hesitate.
I said I wouldn't drink. Not because of my mom's warnings—screw that—but because I don't like feeling out of control. And now, with my seizures, it's even riskier.
"Don't even think about it," Newt warns, so close to me that our sides touch.
I sigh. "Are you kidding me?"
"One cup of punch and that's all," he decides.
With a groan, I grab a cup and fill it. It smells like fruit, but the burn in my throat when I take a sip tells me there's definitely something stronger in it.
Someone cranks the volume up even higher. The bass vibrates through my chest, making my head feel light. So far, the seizures I've had never depended on sound or light. Maybe I'll be just fine.
I take another sip.
The night blurs after that.
I lose track of Thomas. I lose track of Frypan and Alby. Not of Newt, though. At some point, I find us outside, the cold air a relief against my overheated skin. We sit on the porch steps, my head swimming, my pulse thrumming in my ears.
"You still feeling good?"
"Yeah, man," I respond easily. "This is quite nice."
"I guess so."
I'm happy enough Luciana isn't consuming my mind, nor Dariel. Well, I mean—now that I've started thinking about them...
"Newt?"
"Hm?"
My hand tightens around my empty cup as I fight the nausea rising in my chest. "Do you ever wonder if people just... snap?" I ask.
Newt gives a little chuckle, but it sounds forced. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, like... when everything just gets too much. And it makes you do things you didn't even think you were capable of."
His brow furrows. "You're scaring me a bit here. What are you talking about?"
I lean forward, dropping my voice even lower, as if the whole world might hear if I don't. "The other day... Dariel hit Luciana."
The air between us seems to freeze for a moment. Newt's lips are parted, his eyes wide.
"Neither of them deserved it," I add, my voice cracking.
"When did this happen?"
"Thursday. Two days ago," I murmur. "She... she was so upset, and Dariel threw up because he was so disgusted with himself. I cleaned it up. He spent the night in my bedroom. I haven't seen Luciana since it happened."
I can't get the image out of my head—Luciana's face, the moment everything broke down. The way the color drained from Dariel's face.
Newt shakes his head, his disbelief written all over his face. "You need to talk to him. If what you're saying is true, you can't just let that slide. But Dariel... he's not like that, right? Lucy must've done something to make him snap, like you said." A pause. "Just... just talk to him."
I stay quiet for a few moments. I'm not sure what I want to happen next. I don't know if I'm ready to confront Dariel or if it's even possible to fix this.
"I don't know if I'm the right person to talk to him about it," I mutter. "I mean, I can barely talk to him anymore. Things are weird between us."
"You're his brother, Minho."
I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down, but the moment I close my eyes, I see Luciana's face again—frozen in that expression of shock, hurt, and confusion. The memory of her cradling her cheek, her tears, it's all still there, like it happened just seconds ago. I want to believe Dariel won't do it again, but things like this, they happen for a reason, and they will repeat.
"I just... I don't want to lose him, nor her. I don't want Dariel to lose what seems to be a perfect life and relationship, but I don't know how to help him. And if he keeps pushing people away..."
I trail off when my phone buzzes. Immediately, I pick it up. It could be Mom, and I don't want to worry her too much. It could be Dariel, and I don't want him to walk into more problems. It could be Luciana—
Luciana
Hi, Minho! I'm taking a plane to Colombia tomorrow and I won't see you before that. I'll be visiting my sister for a few weeks, just to organize everything, you know? Thank you for coaching me at the gym, I guess I'll be able to do it on my own now, in Colombia :)) Stay safe and look out for Dariel please, thank you!!
x Luciana
I gape at the screen for at least a minute before Thomas's voice rings in my mind—that little shit somehow manages to appear every time I interact with Luciana.
"Damn," he whispers.
Newt looks caught off guard as well. "Colombia?!"
"At least you got a kiss at the end." Thomas points at the 'x'.
Slowly, I glance at him. "Wait, you're right. I got a kiss!"
He jumps up. "You got a kiss!"
I stand up as well. "I got a kiss!"
His arms wrap around me as we jump around, chanting for the kiss. Newt rolls his eyes as a few bystanders look up.
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