and I found it impossible to breathe for a while. I thought that I would've gotten used to them by now, but they flashed the scenes painted in a different light every time—mocking all of what I was, and what could've become of that day. It was a muddle of smiles turning into eerie gazes until I felt like I was being crushed by the weight of all of Jupiter's moons, death itself looming in the inky shadows surrounding me.

Sweat broke around my neck, chest heaving and eyes wide. The urge to cry was overpowering any other, so I brought my knees closer to my face and let the tears out.

I hadn't thought I would be audible. It was midnight, and everybody was sound asleep; I couldn't have possibly woken someone up. But when my door slowly opened with a light click, I furiously wiped my cheeks and looked up.

It was Liam—eyes wide and hands clenching the doorknob.

"Laura? You okay?"

That statement alone did the trick. More of the tears I was trying to hold back landed on my cheeks, and he had already rushed in to sit beside me. I hated feeling this way—feeling like my heart was being crushed into a million pieces and all I could do was watch. Watch as it got shattered and trampled on, feel it happen, and see it take place. It was like a spiteful mayhem, a maze I were to be forever trapped inside.

He held a glad of water for me to take which I pushed away. So, he hugged me. He held onto me for several minutes before uttering, "It's okay. Cry it out. Everything will be okay. I'm here with you."

I closed my eyes, blinked, and shut them close again. I'd lost count of how many times I had cried in his arms now, and how many times he'd recited those exact words to me. Summer was just winding up when the crash happened. The day before, it had rained. I remembered it so clearly that my whole body convulsed—because we were hanging out together and he was begging us to go to karaoke over the weekends, right after his basketball trial finished. Right after he would've made it.

"Laura," Liam rose a hand, eyes troubled. "Laura, look at me."

I smiled. The room wasn't blurry. My pulse remained quick, but it was something subsidiary. Memories—memories always came first. "I'm okay."

He wasn't convinced. "Are you, though?"

No, I wanted to shout. To scream, to cry. And I'm terrified I'd never be.

I nodded.

"You scared me," he said, and then wrapped his arms around me again. I was becoming surprisingly good at lying straight through my teeth in front of him. For all my life, I had always been terrified of him—ever since I was little—because he knew exactly what was up just by looking at my eyes.

"I was collecting my books from the adjacent room when I heard you. You. . .you told me you were still having your medicine."

"I didn't need it," I rubbed my eyes, which now stung for a reason unknown. "Haven't been since we moved here."

"Don't do that to yourself," he murmured. "Was this. . .because you visited your friend earlier, Laura?"

I held onto him for so long that I was almost asleep, but anytime sleep came too near, I was terrified to give in. The loop would be forced to end if I had my conscious in hand, and it was a reassuring thought even if it stayed untrue. "I think, yeah."

"How is he?"

"He's okay," I broke apart. Him popping into my head eased my brain a significant fraction, but I couldn't tap onto the reason why. The incident was an easy trigger, yet he helped become the antidote. "He's okay. Just an idiot. He hurt his hand, though. And his head. Just a little."

He hummed. "Do you, you know," he titled his head backwards, eyes on the ceiling. "Want to go meet him, or something?"

"No," I replied without letting a beat pass. Why'd I go see him? I saw enough of him, and the thought of seeing even more of him was staring to freak me out for no apparent reason. "That's so weird. I see him at school every day. Plus, after today, I have a feeling that he thinks I'm weird. I did have a break down in front of him—you can't really blame him."

Liam shook his head. "I can't believe this," he rolled his eyes, and I knew what was coming. "You are the one who had a panic attack in a public place and are now going to ruin your sleep schedule completely, and you're still wondering what he thinks about you? Why do you like him so much?"

I turned crimson. He continued. "It's the same dude that picked you up for that road trip, right? Eric—no—Eren? Shit. You know how bad I am with names, but honestly, I don't see the appeal."

"Evan," I muttered slowly, eyes narrowing. "That's his name. And I don't like him. I am uncomfortable to face him, because I cried my eyes out in front of him without telling him the reason. He's smart. He probably knows everything, and I haven't uttered a word."

"That's good, then. You don't even need to explain it to him. He's the all-knower. The supreme. The Driver Boy. You know, you kinda talk about him like he's a God, and I don't know if it's funny or concerning."

"Shut up," I groaned. "Are you trying to help or wanting to get kicked out?"

"It's funny seeing you riled up, but okay. Give him an explanation, then."

I sighed. This is impossible. "I. . .I don't know if I want to. Right now, I mean."

"Don't, then," he grinned. "This works at your pace. Don't forget that, and don't let him, either."

"He was very. . .calm about it. He told me he'd be there if I'd want to talk in the future. Whenever that will be. He's the opposite of what you are picturing him to be. Or at least, that's what I think."

He hummed. "Right." A second ensued, and he was rolling his eyes again. "Is there any chance he runs a cult or something?"

"Liam," I rubbed my forehead, lips turned into a frown. "You are the cause for almost all of my headaches."

"Of course I am," by the time he retorted with that, he was leaning onto the doorframe. "Today's tip: don't let basic human decency fool you. You'll be okay, now? I've got work."

I rolled my eyes. "It's 3 A.M. Go to sleep."

He shunned me with a glare. "Will you be okay?"

I nodded. And even if I couldn't be, I'd let no one know.

▂

I couldn't get a wink of sleep. My phone remained the biggest distraction like always, but I was actually grateful for it this time. Tons of messages flooded in the group chat because I hadn't opened it in two days, and a text from Xavier looked me right in the eye.

Hey, u okay? I'm kinda concerned. Pls take care x

I texted back: i'm okay, sorry for all that. i panicked. you too

Just when my fingers hovered over Instagram, my phone had started vibrating. The caller ID almost made me drop my phone.

Why was Evan calling at such an hour?

I wasn't going to pick up—for obvious reasons. It was 3 A.M. I could be sleeping. I wasn't, but he didn't need to know that. If I didn't pick up, he'd figure out I was sleeping. There would be no problems, none at all.

"He—hello?" I couldn't believe I picked up. I couldn't believe my voice broke. I was scared that if I actually started talking, he'd know I had been crying.

His voice sounded relieved. Really, really hoarse, but relieved. "You're still up?"

Why are you still up? Are you okay? I answered after a beat. "Couldn't sleep."

Several seconds ensued before he replied again, and my mind was left wandering. "Me neither."

I leaned onto the windowpane which provided the view of the deserted road, and for a second, I thought I had ended the call, or that he had fallen asleep. "Why'd you call?"

"Right," he said, and then sighed. His voice was so bizarrely strained that I was starting to get worried. "I guess I couldn't get you off my mind."

Warmth spread across my chest accompanied with a very, very strange feeling—one I couldn't even put a finger on. My mind chanted: don't say that. What was I supposed to say? Thinking of a reply came secondary to calming my heart down, because it felt like it would escape out of its cage.

"Uh. . .did you rest?"

He laughed. Apparently, caring for someone and asking them how they were was a form of banter to him. "Why are you laughing?" I quizzed, and my brows drew together as if he could see me. "I'm being serious."

"I've been resting all day, and it's one of the shittiest things ever."

"What, resting?"

"Yes," he spoke, and I could hear paper fluttering in the background. Was he studying? Writing? He couldn't be. He had hurt his right hand. "It's one of the things which makes me feel like I'm not. . .alive, in a sense."

"Elaborate, if you can?" I probed.

"It sounds stupid."

"It's not stupid if it makes sense to you," I argued back. "I'm trying to understand you a little better."

This time, his laughter was infectious. Compelling. Enticing. Like drugs for the ear. On call, it sounded like something out of worn memory—as if it were recorded and stored to be kept living forever. "You know me too well, Edwards, but you might not be aware."

"Or might be. I feel like I'd never know."

I smiled. "Don't think so."

"Then," he hummed. "What do you want to know?"

"What were you doing before you called me?"

He shuffled. I reckoned he was picking up whatever he had beside him, and I already knew he was doing anything but resting. "Reading. Was writing, but my hand was not cooperating."

"You're so troublesome," I found myself saying, when my mind was going: you idiot, what is wrong with you? "Rest your hand for once, for God's sake."

"I, uh, tried to play the piano the morning, too," I could tell he was grinning, and the urge to punch him was the highest it had ever been. Idiot. "It was more out of frustration than want."

"What are you, four? Tone down the masochism," I said in humour, but my voice was firm, in hopes that he would actually listen this time.

He changed the topic instead. "Are you doing better?"

"I'm okay," I forced out. "You don't need to keep asking me that."

"Your voice seemed anything but okay in the start. Were you...crying?"

I was so fluent at lying that I didn't even let a second pass. "No. I woke up in the middle of the night, and now I cannot go back to sleep. Good thing we don't have school tomorrow, or else we'll both be screwed."

He didn't reply. My heart picked up again, throat running dry. "Why are you up at 3 A. M., Evan?"

A second passed.

"Trouble sleeping," he sighed. "I slept for a total of three hours last night."

I gasped. "What? Evan, you need at least six—"

"I know, I know," I could picture him rolling his eyes. "I just can't."

"When I heard your voice, it actually worried me," I brought my knees closer to my face. "It sounded so. . .strained."

He didn't answer. Silence met my ears, and I wondered if I had said something wrong. Four seconds passed. Seven. He sighed. "You noticed."

My eyes widened in realization. "Have you been overworking yourself?"

His lack of response was an answer in itself. I dropped my head slightly. "Why, Evan?"

"There's this deeply rooted fear in me that I'm never doing enough and I'm never doing my best, and I think I'm trying to compensate with doing more than enough and ruining everything else," he spoke one line, and I still couldn't keep up. Maybe because it was because it was much more genuine of an answer than I expected, and my head was spinning, spinning, spinning.

Why was my heart racing, again?

When he paused, I could hear him breathe, and then laugh. "How's that for a lyric?"

The grin that broke on my lips must've been the most comical thing to ever grace the planet. "Did you. . .just write that?"

"Wrote," he corrected. "A couple hours ago. With the same, injured hand. I think I'm starting to hate it just about now."

There were times he'd either run a hand through his hair or toy with the countless rings on his fingers, and now was the perfect time to imagine him doing that. "Don't, I love it. When can I hear it?"

"Someone's eager," he laughed. "I haven't completed it yet. There's a particular sound I have in mind, and executing that might just take forever, but it'll be worth it and—yeah."

He stopped himself short. He was being cute, and I hated myself for liking it. "Incredibly so. I am beyond excited, just so you know. I might as well be the first listener."

When he just let out a soft laugh, I rose a quizzical eyebrow. "Still. Evan, when was the last time you did nothing for the whole day and just. . .relaxed?"

"I'm glad I don't remember doing that. It sounds miserable as fuck."

I glared at the wall in front of me, the indigo painted all over it reminding me of his eyes. "Shut up. You're being too harsh on yourself," I rolled my eyes, and I knew one thing for sure—it was only a matter of time I had rolled them into another dimension. "Give yourself a day to do nothing. Trust me, it's not that bad."

"What when I get bored?"

"Go for a walk, or something. Look at the sky," I said dramatically before falling down on the pillows. "There's so much to do even when you do nothing."

"Sure," now, I could picture him roll his eyes. "Right. Of course, ma'am."

"Are you making fun of me right now?"

He tsked. "No. I'm about to tell you the real reason why I called you at 3 A.M. Well, why I called you. The 3 A.M. part cannot be justified. Plus, midnight's our thing, so roll with it." Our thing. I was supposed to be angry—or even upset that he had the means to call me at three in the morning—but on my face sat an inane little smile, which only ever grew. "The day I took you to that diner, we were assigned a project. Together, because we were both absent from the class. The due date is in a couple days, and since you're a lousy student, I am reminding you that we need to hurry up and start working. You're welcome."

"Disgusting," I muttered in fake disgust, but in reality, too many emotions swarmed in my stomach—heat rising to the tip of my ears. I was wondering what his plan was. Do we meet up? It was a given, at this point, because all the time we had was the weekend. Still, my heart bounced in my stomach for no justifiable reason. "So, what's the plan?"

"The one and only library that I like will be closed over the weekend. You can come over on Sunday."

Right. That was fine, was it not? Friends did do that. I had friends over all the time. Why in the world was I embarrassed, then? "Your. . .house? Sunday?"

"Is it not okay?" His voice was distressed. "Then, your house?"

"My brother is having friends over, I think." His friends were nice people to be around, but I'd gotten tired of the constant act of babying they portrayed towards me. I was planning to spend the four hours of the evening cooped up in a café working on assignments, anyway. I guess it wouldn't hurt if I'm with him. For project purposes.

When I agreed, I was nervous. Awfully so, and all without a reason. "It's okay. I'll be there. Just let me know the time and address by tomorrow."

"Okay," he paused. "You should try and sleep, now."

"So should you," I suggested. "Try and sleep for more than three hours tonight."

He had to be smiling that smile—the one where his eyes crinkled and mouth twisted a little more than usual. It had been burned into memory ever since he entrusted me with those, and I found myself resembling people who looked for the stars to guide them home.

"Today, I think I might."

Before he could hang up, I called out for his name. Halfway in daze, I needed to let him know this more than anything. "Thank you for calling, Evan. It helped ease my mind a little."

He laughed. That's all he ever did. And with a singular goodnight, Edwards, my heart was a dizzying planet orbiting around its sun.

hi! how are you? i hope you're doing well. let me know what you think of this chapter :) thank you for reading, you're golden