I'm almost asleep when Newt speaks.

"Lynn?"

Some kind of hum leaves my mouth. I'm too tired to reply in full sentences, especially after a whole afternoon full of swimming and then laughing beside a bonfire.

"Do you ever feel bad?"

That wakes me more; deep talk.

"About?"

"I don't know," he says. "Anything."

"Yeah, sometimes."

As in guilt. If that's what he's referring to.

"And about nothing?"

The raised eyebrow scrunch a bit. This question is weird and understandable at once. "If I sometimes feel bad about nothing?"

"Yeah."

"Hm." Another hum. "Not really."

"Oh."

He doesn't sound disappointed or extremely sad, but something in his voice tells me he does sometimes feel bad about nothing. "How come you do?"

"That's the point. There's nothing to feel bad about. Or to be sad about. Yet I am."

"Are you right now?"

"A little bit."

Now it's my time to pull the oh.

"Don't worry, though."

"Don't say that," I reply, and sit up. It doesn't really help to get a better look at him. It's too dark in our tent.

Stupid, but I usually sleep with a little light on my nightstand. I feel trapped when it's completely dark. But Newt seems to prefer this, so I'll feel trapped for him. Though it has crossed my mind that maybe he thinks the same about me, and we both feel trapped at this point, thinking the other doesn't.

But his presence makes me feel less trapped, so it's okay.

"Wanna talk about it?" I suggest, then change my mind. "Well, if you're sad for no reason, we can't really talk about the reason, but we can talk about other things. Whatever you want."

It takes a few seconds for him to reply. I wait patiently. "It's really stupid, but I guess I'm a bit homesick. For my parents. My own room. My books." A short pause. "I mean, to be honest, if we would've had air mattresses, I probably would've begged to go home already."

"Oh," I say again. "I thought you liked it here."

I like it here. I like it here because he's here. I don't know if I'll like it as much without Newt around. And I thought he was enjoying this, too.

"I do," he says. "Just not always. Fifteen weeks is awfully long."

I nod in agreement. "True."

"But I'm kind of tired," he admits. "No need to wake you all the way up if I don't really feel like talking anyways."

"Okay," I decide to say. It's hard not to say that I don't mind waking up if it means he feels better, but he seems to be serious about the 'I don't feel like talking' and the 'I'm kind of tired' thing. It doesn't seem like he's saying that only because he feels bad for waking me up, at least.

I'm dozing off for the second time, when he speaks again. For the second time.

"I want to push the mattresses together."

My eyes spring open. My heart follows the action and nearly springs out of its case. "Sorry?"

"We can push the mattresses together. It's cold at night, and we don't have to talk this loud. And maybe I'll feel less homesick and you'll have more space to sleep."

"What—"

"Your legs always end up dangling over the edge because you sleep too... widely," he explains.

I think he just explained why Lelia hated sharing beds with me when we were younger.

"Okay," I eventually agree.

I'm a little nervous as we move our stuff to one side of the tent so we can place the mattresses in the middle. I mean, I've never really 'shared' a bed with a boy before. And Newt's gay. And that doesn't really matter, of course. And that doesn't mean he is attracted to every single man he sees, but still.

No— nope. Nothing 'but still'. If I were to share a bed with a girl, it could easily be a great friend, and not immediately whatever else.

Okay, that's not completely true.

First of all, I don't think I've ever heard people my age say they share a bed with their girl best friend unless one of them has a certain sexuality or something is going on. But I don't know many people so there must be a few who do do this.

Second of all, I'm awkward around girls who aren't family and are interested in other things than friendship.

That says a lot. About everything. And it's driving me crazy, because their words are coming back. Faggot, lame, abnormal, boring, weird— I don't want to think about it. I don't want to be labeled anything. I don't want any of it. I want to be normal.

"Lynn?" He says it so softly, yet I still startle. "Are you alright?"

"What— oh, yeah." I nod. I nod heavily. My head hurts from either that or all the thoughts. "Perfect."

"Sure you are," he mutters. "Uhm, are you comfortable?"

"Yup."

I don't know if I am. I guess so. Newt's probably comfortable. I'll be comfortable if he is.

"Are you sure?"

"Pushing two mattresses together isn't that big of a deal, is it?" I say.

It takes a while to respond again. "Not at all."

"Awesome, then."

Back when I was a kid and would share a bed with anyone, I'd always turn my back to them so I wouldn't get jump-scared by their face in the morning.

I don't turn my back to Newt.

☀︎︎

"Now what the hell was going on out there?"

With furrowed eyebrows, Newt sits down in front of the boys I think I'll consider as friends.

Before we entered the cafeteria, we watched the boys (mostly Thomas and Jeff) laugh and give Minho pushes and shoulder claps and everything that made it seem like he had both accomplished something good and that they were making fun of him.

"Minho's got a crush," Thomas says immediately.

"That's not true! You don't even have a motive and I never told you anything!"

"My motive is that even though you hate physical touch, you also love it, so you tease her with it the whole damn day, make sure you're around her the whole day, stare at her, and like a dozen more things!"

"Not a good motive."

I share a glance with Thomas and shrug. "I think those motives are good."

The brunette presses his hands together as he moves his head forward, bowing. "Thank you!"

"Also," Jeff adds, "you find her pretty."

"I said hot. Days ago, I said that all those girls are hot. Remember at our other breakfast? Yeah. That wasn't specifically—"

"It definitely was."

"You're delusional, Thomas."

"I know for sure that I didn't hallucinate my conversation with Teresa."

"You for sure have a crush," Newt decides, pointing his finger at Minho. "Because the Minho who wouldn't be in love would joke about it and definitely not defend and deny this hard."

"She said you pulled the Grease move. Sneeze and wrap the arm around her!"

"What the f— Thomas, how do you even know that? You weren't even freaking there!"

The boy shrugs innocently. "She tells me that shit. Oh, and you cuddled. And watched movies. And stood pressed together against a tree."

"Damn, Minho." I can't help but to laugh. "And you say you don't have a crush? Not even a tiny one!"

"I don't! Y'all are awful."

"Oh, he also invited her onto his lap," Thomas adds.

Minho hisses. "That was a joke!"

"Would you have minded if she actually sat down though?" Newt tilts his head to the side as his grin grows. "I bet you wouldn't have."

"Stop."

"She told me some of the things you said to her," Thomas then announces. "Corny but flirty as hell."

"All lies! Now shut up."

"I thought you were so confident. Sad because you finally found a girl who doesn't get on her knees for your flirting skills?" Another laugh slips out of my mouth at the thought of Minho being humiliated by a girl.

He runs two hands through his hair, annoyed. "No. It would be her loss. But plot twist, I was not flirting. So shut the hell up. All of you."

"Come on now." Alby pats him on the back. "Don't be so shy."

"I am leaving this table if you don't—"

"Morning." With that greet, Lelia sits down beside me.

For early in the morning, she doesn't look tired. Maybe because she for once doesn't have a hangover. No offense.

Her hair is still wet from a shower. No makeup. Baggy clothes but a delighted expression, surprisingly.

Minho elbows a grinning Thomas so hard that he spends a few seconds rubbing his side, giving Minho nasty glares.

"Morning," he says back. And adds, "Blake."

She looks up at down at him. "Lee," she spits back, as if last names are insults.

Then Jeff passes Alby a ten dollar bill and Newt smirks in some kind of way that makes me realize, and my smile fades.

"Wait a minute—"

Newt covers his mouth with a hand so his laughs are muffled.

My back straightens as I look at Minho, who's body language has changed slightly. "My sister?"

He pulls a face. "Can you now please believe me when I say it's not true?"

"Gladly."