Reduced to a bundle of nerves, Poire led Ivan back to her home. A part of her was regretting the choice she had made of inviting him over, for she was unsure of her mother’s capacities to act like a normal, functional adult. But it was too late. Too late to turn back, and too late to regret it, on this lovely Saturday evening as they both walked into her home.

“Nice tiger,” Ivan said as he pointed at her door.

Poire glanced to the lion and let out an awkward laugh. Had she not been trying to get on the boy’s good side, she would have surely corrected him.

“Poire!” Her sister rose from the couch and waddled over from the living room to the entrance. She smiled at Ivan. “You bought a friend!”

Ivan gave her a curt nod; yet, in more ways than one, it was a little off. As he introduced himself to Poire’s sister, Poire raised a curious brow. It was the first time she’d heard him stutter, and also the first time she’d witnessed him blushing. She wondered why it had to be under such conditions—an introduction to her eldest sibling—and if he had always been this nervous, this shy.

In an act of bravery, she reached out with her trembling fingers, and grasped the hem of his shirt. “W-why don’t we go to my room?” Poire asked Ivan in a voice quite so tiny. “I’ll… I can show you the book I was talking to you about the other day.”

Ivan paused. He turned to look at Poire. As if it were nothing at all, he tilted his head and said, “Huh? You don’t want to stay and talk to your sister?”

“I—” Poire bit her lip. She averted her gaze and mumbled, “It’s up to you,” before sealing her phrase off with a subtle grin she forced herself to keep.

“Well,” Annabelle chuckled. “I do have a bit of free time, so I don’t mind spending it with the both of you before dinner.”

Together, they returned to the living room.

Poire knew she had no reason to be jealous, that her sister was surely only doing this to get to know her friend better, and certainly not to steal him from her; Annabelle had enough people of quality in her life, after all. But the supposed date she had run over and over in her mind during this past week went nothing like this reality. It was a little disappointing, and terribly saddening to her, because Ivan barely ever spared her a glance that day. And then, it was dinnertime already, and after that he left as quickly as he’d came.

On her porch, she waved goodbye, watching as his silhouette slowly disappeared into the night. Poire didn’t even care anymore about the fact that her mother had talked about her religious beliefs all throughout the meal, nor that her braid she had so desperately tried to get perfect was now crooked. The world was cold, merciless and raw, and she wanted to get away. But they were not coming back for her—and she hadn’t a clue as to how to get there.