Even if you think you're scary and dangerous, I don't believe that you're evil.

Staring at the car's fuzzy ceiling, I toyed with a succession of notes in my head. A melody came next. Something new. My hands automatically reached out to touch the piano keys — and dropped back to the seat. I closed my eyes and imagined I was at home.

Dum dum dum, dumdumdumdum. Ba dumm. Dum dum.

I could hear it already. I was happy I still had it in me — I hadn't written anything in over a month, too preoccupied with... stuff. Though it was barely a verse, it sounded like the kind that Chan thought too "dramatic and depressing." Those were always my favourites.

Suddenly there was a voice in my head, closer than the rest.

Oh God, is he gonna pass out again? It was Mike. What the hell do I do!

My eyes zeroed in on a stretch of sidewalk fifteen yards away. Mike was helping Minho down onto the curb. Minho curled up and palmed his own forehead. He looked kind of green, tipsy — he kept pitching to the side.

I scrambled out of the car, dropped awkwardly to the gravel, and sprang to my feet. I hurtled toward him, slowed to human speed, and called his name. He looked up and saw me, mouth falling open.

I dropped onto my knees, level with him, but kept a safe distance. "Are you okay?" I felt like I was shouting. My hands shook as I held them up, palms out.

"I'm fine." He did the same thing with his hands, like he was my reflection in a mirror.

Mike kneeled so he was a part of the conversation. "He fainted."

I didn't turn to him, keeping my eyes on Minho. "What happened to your forehead?"

"It hit the desk," Mike answered again.

"I wasn't talking to you." My voice was acid, eyes boring into his. I didn't mean for my lips to curl back.

He flinched, lost his balance, and fell back onto his butt. Jesus Christ, freak!

I looked back to Minho, controlling my expression. He was squinting at me like I was a nun who had slapped a clown — confused and slightly entertained — but didn't seem afraid.

"Can I take you to the nurse?" I asked.

"I'm supposed to do it," Mike said.

I gave him a Look, and his pallid hands shot up to protect himself.

Minho was hugging his legs, tired of Idiot Mike and me snapping at each other.

"Can I pick you up?" I asked Minho. He looked up at me, eyes wide, and nodded.

I lifted him off the ground, one arm behind his back, the other under his knees — away from my body. This was the closest we'd ever been, I was so aware of it, aware of myself, him, the space between us.

Minho was silent for a second, and then hooked one arm around my neck. My stomach cartwheeled excitedly and anxiously and fearfully and happily, but I stared straight forward. His eyes wandered over my face — not even trying to hide it. I pretended not to notice.

Then he reached out and touched my cheek with five gentle fingertips.

My eyes switched to him.

He sucked his lips into his mouth and mumbled, "Sorry."

I spoke quickly to distract myself from how much I resented my entire life. "So you pass out at the sight of blood?"

He made a 'pfft' sound. "Bold of you to assume I needed more than a poker to my finger to make me faint."

And then I realized what I was doing. Carrying him, touching him, even though he could have been bleeding a river from his finger, and I wouldn't have known, because I hadn't asked. Because I was stupid, and my responsibilities — to my family, our secret, to Minho — were blurring as I got closer to him...

But... it was better, wasn't it? I felt the pain, the itch at the back of my throat, but I was resisting. I was carrying him in my arms, sane, rational, in my right mind — well, maybe not that. Was his blood losing its effect on me? Was it because I'd been spending more time with him?

He was waiting for me to respond, pretty lips pursed.

"Just the poker?" I said.

"Yup," he replied, not embarrassed at all.

"You're afraid of the wrong things."

He rolled his eyes. "You're not as scary as you think. I honestly can't tell if I'm speaking to a human or a puff pastry right now."

"Okay, do you want me to dump you right here on this sidewalk?"

"I know you won't."

I dropped him — he shrieked a garbled sound — and caught him again. I was feeling confident, so I pulled him closer than I had before.

He hit me, and then immediately clasped his perfect hands behind my neck. If I'd had blood in me, I would have been blushing.

"Jerk," he said. "I thought you were ditching."

"I hadn't made it off the grounds yet."

"What were you going to get up to? I don't mean to pry," he added.

"That's all right. I'd probably listen to music — in my car, or I'd drive home. Maybe play piano once I was there." Sort of true.

"So you're a musician?"

"I wouldn't call myself a 'musician.' I sing a little, I play piano."

"So you know what C major is?"

"Yes."

"Wow, you're good."

I rolled my eyes, but there was no way I could keep from smiling. Not when he was this close, when he was being this dumb and cute and sweet.

I opened the door to the nurse's building with my foot. I ignored that I was disappointed. I'd have to put him down soon. Stupid, stupid.

"Oh my!" Ms. Cope gaped, standing up behind the receptionist's counter. "What happened?"

"I'm fine," Minho said, "I just fainted — briefly."

Ms. Cope hurried in front of us to open the door to the nurse's office. Nurse Hammond was a short, elderly woman — she gasped when she saw us. Her thoughts were caring, concerned, still a little caught up in the book of illustrated birds she had been reading. I lifted Minho onto the cot, spun around and planted myself on the opposite side of the room so I couldn't get in the way.

"What happened, sweetie?" Nurse Hammond asked Minho, touching his bruise tenderly.

He sat up. "Fainting spell, it's not serious."

I stepped closer to give her more information. "They were blood typing in Biology."

"There's always one." I was a nurse in the second world war and now I babysit namby-pamby teenagers.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"Just lie down for a minute, it'll pass," she said to Minho.

"Thank you," he replied.

She turned to me. "You can go back to class, hon."

"I'm supposed to stay with him, Ms." I hoped that was okay with Minho...

"Well, if you're staying, would you like some tea?"

"You're too kind, but no, thank you. I'm more of a... coffee person." An attempt at a joke. I could practically hear Seungmin scoffing in the distance.

"Suit yourself — but it's chamomile." She shimmied her padded shoulders.

I smiled and shook my head.

Nurse Hammond turned back to Minho. "Um, I'll go get you some ice for your forehead." She left the room, and my eyes immediately focussed on Minho.

"You still look green."

"I'm fine."

"I know. I was scared for a second. It looked like Mike had murdered you. I thought I'd have to murder him in retribution." Wouldn't that be an unexpected end to this whole mess.

"What's up with you and Mike?"

An imaginary love-triangle between him, Jessica and me, fragile and toxic masculinity, refusal to acknowledge his privilege, to acknowledge the stolen land he lived on. His thoughts were territorial and snobby and annoyingly heterosexual.

I settled on, "He doesn't like me."

"Why doesn't he like you?"

"Because I don't like him."

"Why don't you like him?"

Didn't Minho realize I could do this all day? "We have history."

"That's so vague."

"Exactly."

Nurse Hammond reappeared with a cold compress. "Here you go, dear." She laid it on Minho's forehead and turned to me. My goodness, his neck is as long as a flagpole. And look at his woman-hands. I wonder if he's a healer like me — like Jeffrey...

"You know, you remind me of my grandson."

"Oh, what does he do?"

"He's a nurse at the hospital."

"If he's anything like you, then he must be impeccable at his job."

Nurse Hammond giggled. It was nice to use my charm on someone who had a reaction to it.

"I don't usually do this, but would you like a lollipop?"

"Um." Could I really? "Yes, please, Ms."

Nurse Hammond dug around under her desk and retrieved a tub full of suckers. She held it out to me.

I looked at Minho for the shortest second. I hoped he liked strawberry.

I plucked a pink one from the bucket and pocketed it.

"Thank you," I said. She reached up and patted my hair with a weathered hand.

Ms. Cope leaned into the room. "We've got another one."

Mike staggered in with Lee Stevens practically dead in his arms. Minho joined me at the other wall, making room for Mike to dump Lee onto the cot.

Minho opened the door, and we slipped out into the front room. Mike was behind us, grumbling in his head. He planned to talk to Minho, so I kept walking and stood in the hallway. I could have gone — back to my car, back home. Minho was okay, all was well...

No. I knew I wasn't going to do that.

I leaned against the wall and waited. When I glanced out the glass doors, a reddish shoe jerked out of sight. My head tilted. Jeongin had worn his mahogany Doc Martens this morning...

I was distracted by Mike passing me. He gave me a scowl, and I smirked in response.

Minho sighed quietly. "Gym." His perfect shoulders slumped.

I had an idea.

"I can help with that," I said, sidling up to him. "Go over there and look tired."

He narrowed his eyes a bit, but backed away and sank into one of the chairs.

I stepped up to the receptionist's counter. "Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?"

"Minho doesn't feel well enough to attend Gym. I think it would be better if I drove him home." I didn't expect him to welcome a ride from me. It was just an excuse... but I hoped he would bring it up again. "Would you excuse him, please?"

"Oh, the poor dear," Ms. Cope tut-tutted. "Do you need to be excused as well, Jisung?"

"I have Mrs. Goff — she won't mind."

"All right, it's taken care of. You're excused. You take care, Minho," she called past me.

"Thank you, Ms. Cope," Minho rasped.

I sauntered over to him, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"Do you wanna walk, or should I carry you?"

He lifted his arms invitingly.

Well.

I scooped him up — hiding a smile. The pull at my throat had lost a bit more of its power, I knew it. I felt like a recharged battery. And somehow Minho had ended up in my arms again. I gently let my fingers down on his back, his leg, easing into touching him. God, his warmth was everywhere, shining through him, onto me.

I carried him out into the rain.

"I can walk," he said a second later. I set him down — hiding a frown. We fell into step.

"So you can just carry people around?" he asked.

"It's, um, all in the knees." Why was I trying to defend myself? He'd already seen a van crash into my back, seen me vanish into thin air, seen me at my least human. Yet he didn't seem fazed by any of it — at the moment.

"So if I just ran at you and jumped, you'd catch me," he said.

"I guess, but don't."

"I won't. And thanks. For getting me out of Gym. It almost makes fainting worth it."

"You're welcome."

"Are you going to the beach this Saturday?"

Would it be appropriate to say I'd rather get a stake through the chest? Or maybe I wouldn't — Minho would be there. Either way, I wasn't allowed. The Quillayute community was very welcoming, but former vampire residents had put them through hell. We were banned from stepping foot on their land — for the safety of both their people and their wildlife. We really couldn't blame them. A more feral vampire could wipe out both without a thought.

"Ummm. I don't think I'm invited."

"I'm inviting you right now, so..."

He wanted me to be there. My lungs filled with air, like I would actually scream. I controlled myself and closed my mouth.

"Let's not push Mike any further. He could snap." I crushed his imaginary spine in my hands.

Minho pressed his lips together — his only reaction.

I decided to rip the bandage off. "See you later, I guess."

"Wait, aren't you driving me home?"

"Um, d-do you want that?"

"I don't think I should drive myself. I could faint at the wheel, drive into a hydro pole and set everything on fire." The thought made me panicky, like it was really happening. "So, yeah. But, I mean, unless you have other stuff to do..."

'Other stuff.' Play piano, hang out with my brothers, brood, sulk, harrumph. The same as every other day for the last century. Standing so close to him, still in the haze of his eyes and warmth and soul — thinking of leaving was unbearable.

"Sure, that would be okay," I said. Calm, cool, very cool.

"Great." He stepped forward slowly, examining my face. He frowned.

I backed up, in case I was frightening him somehow. "You okay?"

"Uh, yeah," he murmured. "Thanks for the ride."

The silence of his mind was calming, like layers of bubblewrap wound around my head... but when he said stuff like that, I got too curious for my own good. What just happened? I'd had a third eye all my life and suddenly it was pinched shut.

I marched up to my car and opened the door for him — he got in. I skipped around to the driver side and sank into the seat.

"You don't have to drive me if there's something else you have to do," he said again. "Like hang gliding or horseback riding."

"No, it's fine." As if this wasn't literally all I wanted.

"So you don't hang glide or horseback ride?"

Hornelen mountain, '71. I peeked over the edge of the nearly-three-thousand-foot-high cliff. And then a pair of hands shoved my ass and sent me over the edge. (I honestly should have seen it coming.) I screamed, arms flailing, ping-ponging down the jagged mountainside, until I hit the ground, rolled, and belly-flopped into the ocean. I didn't talk to Felix for a solid decade after that.

"Those both sound terrifying."

"So you've never hang glided?"

"Do I look like someone who hang glides?"

"Maybe." He reached over, took my arms — I flinched violently, but it didn't faze him — and held them up. He scrunched my hands into fists.

"No, not really," he decided.

I stared at him lamely. He wasn't normal, and I think I liked that. I let my arms fall, turned on the engine, and backed out of the parking spot.

We were silent. The radio had automatically turned on when I'd started the car. The bass was distracting me from the beat of Minho's heart. I turned the volume down until it was mute.

It wasn't long before we arrived at Minho's house. The heartache was hitting me already. Minho didn't seem to notice we were stopped, so I didn't tip him off. He was looking out the window, and I watched him, inhaling deeply, feeling the pain and pleasure and longing that was having a crush on Minho Lee.

I needed him to stay — just a little longer.

"What's your mother like?" I asked off the top of my head. He shifted to face me.

"Um, she looks sort of like me, except shorter hair and more wrinkles." His eyes floated around while he thought. "She's more extroverted than I am, and an optimist. We used to go clothes shopping. We ate breakfast together every morning. We would go to musicals, too, and sing the songs on the drive home. She's, uh, my best friend."

He sounded sad by the time he was done talking. He missed her. My dead heart hurt for him.

"Why did she marry Phil?" I asked.

"My mom likes to feel young. And I think he makes her feel even younger. But she genuinely loves him, so, you know, whatever."

"Do you approve of them?"

"I don't think it would matter if I didn't."

All I could do was mumble, "Hmm." And then I had a stupid idea. It may have been the stupidest idea I'd ever conceived — Felix-level stupid. Stupid words were spilling out of my mouth before I could stop them.

"Do you — do you think she would do the same?"

"What?"

"Would she support you, no matter who your choice was?" If your choice was someone scary and dangerous. But maybe not evil.

"You mean if I chose a guy?"

Instead of flinching, I turned still as stone. He didn't seem to be paying attention to me, so I took a second to compose myself.

"I didn't mean that, really." My voice became small, shaky. "But, I mean, would you — are you...?"

It was the longest second I'd ever experienced before he answered.

"Um, yup. What about you?"

A ball was knotted at the back of my throat — I hem-hem-ed to get rid of it. "Yeah."

"So, what about your family?" he moved on. I was a little disappointed. What would have happened if we'd kept talking about it?

"What about them?" I said.

"Dr. Bang adopted you?"

True, basically. "Mmhmm."

"What happened to your parents?"

"They died, um, a while ago." Also true.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I don't remember them very well, anyway. Chan and Haseong and the rest of them have been my family for a long time now."

"What about your brothers?"

God, I was gonna mess this up. The conversation was like a minefield — one wrong step and I'd let something slip. I was never as careful as I should be around him. Besides, I'd kept him too long. I had to let go.

"My brothers will destroy me if they have to wait in the rain for me to pick them up."

"Oh, yeah, I guess you have to go."

"And you probably want your truck back before your dad gets home. So he doesn't find out about the whole thing in Bio."

"That would be nice," he said soberly, "but I doubt he hasn't already heard about it."

"Have fun on the beach."

"I won't." He smiled. I considered all the various dimples and wrinkles and details of his face. The corners of his lips turned up and curled like wisps of smoke from a cauldron. There was something about the way his lids draped over his eyes — sleepy, warm, thoughtful. Yes, the tiny, perfectly circular birthmark on his nose was the only thing I existed for now.

"Will I see you there?" he asked.

"No. My brother and I are going hiking." I hadn't asked any of them yet, but they were always up for a road trip.

"Where are you going?"

"The Goat Rocks wilderness, just south of Rainier."

He wasn't smiling anymore. "Okay, well, have fun." His voice was too high. My eyes narrowed.

He reached for the door.

"Minho," I half-shouted. I'd almost forgotten. "Um. I got this at Nurse Hammond's office." I pulled the lollipop out of my pocket. "I don't like them. But I thought you might. I guessed you would be okay with strawberry." Pathetic. This was so pathetic. We weren't courting — why would I offer him something like this? "I'm sorry."

He snatched the sucker from my hand.

"I like strawberry," he said quietly. "Thanks."

I smiled, breathing in and out. "You're welcome. Bye."

"Bye."

He pulled the handle and climbed out of the car. I couldn't watch him walk away — because pathetic — so I pulled away from his house.

I drove — too fast — back to the high school. Minho's truck wasn't locked, but I needed a key to start the engine. Luckily, Seungmin had taught us how to steal cars in the '50s. I ducked under the steering wheel and pinched a couple wires together — the truck boomed to life.

I drove to his house. The rain was pouring now, drowning out his truck's engine as I returned it.

I ran back to school and got in the Volvo. Once I was home, I settled down at the piano and played the song I'd thought of earlier in the day. It wasn't coming together on its own. I sat around all afternoon and nursed it, tinkering until it made any sense at all.

The phone rang at one point in the afternoon. I didn't make a move to answer — it was for Haseong. He strutted into the room and plucked the handset off the landline.

"Hello?"

Garbled Russian.

Haseong smacked his forehead. "Net, net, net, Dimitri — he didn't mean to insinuate anything like that. If you'll just let me explain, I can — one second, one second." He put his hand over the receiver. "Jisung, why aren't your brothers home yet? Specifically Felix?"

Shit. "Er. I forgot them."

Haseong sighed and kept shouting into the phone. I played something calming.

A little while later, my brothers walked in the front door, drenched. I swivelled on the piano bench to face them.

"Sorry."

Changbin marched over and flicked his wet hands in my face. "We had a great lunch without you."

"So did I."

He gasped and walked away.

Bruh! You were our ride! Felix thought scornfully.

"Why are you so averse to rain — just change."

It's the principle.

"What if I told you I'm a wreck and I can barely take care of myself, let alone other people?"

I'd say I already knew that.

"Felix, get over here!" Haseong yelled. Felix grimaced and slinked over to him.

I turned back to the piano and kept playing. Hyunjin sat next to me and let his head down on my shoulder. Seungmin showed up on my other side, and Jeongin sat on his lap.

Play something jazzier, this is depressing, Seungmin thought.

I switched to Mimi's death song from La Boheme.

"So we're going on a hunting trip," Hyunjin said.

"Right. That. I needed an alibi for Idiot Mike's La Push trip. We can go if you're all into it."

"We're free tomorrow. Head out to Goat Rocks, find a bear. Gossip, maybe."

"Or we could run silently," Jeongin muttered.

"I'm good with that," I said.

"No, no — Jisung has to fill us in about Minho," Hyunjin said. "Fill me in, at least. Jisung-with-a-boyfriend is a Jisung I never thought I'd get to meet."

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Jisung-with-a-Minho, then."

"I'm the same guy as before. I just get deliriously happy sometimes." I said it with a scowl on my face.

"Happy-Jisung is a rare specimen, too." Hyunjin hugged me, held my arms to my body — the song plonked into an off note. "I wanna get to know him tomorrow."

I sighed. "Fine."

"Yay! Road trip!"

I shrugged him off and played something sulky. I glanced down at our feet, at Jeongin's Doc Martens.

"So you just happened to be outside the nurse's office today?"

They scattered in all directions. I shook my head and kept playing into the early hours of the morning.

--------------------------

there's a lot of jisung fawning over minho in this chapter, and when i say it's easy to write about how perfect and wonderful minho is, i mean it's EASY. this boy is the epicentre of my life too.

and i've got some comments asking about jisung and mike's rivalry, and the truth is, it was kinda a dead-end leftover plot point from the original twilight (bc mike was into bella, and edward didn't like that) and it was too late to get rid of. i went with toxic masculinity as an in-universe explanation so yeah ;-;

get ready for chapter 8, it's..... something else.

bye!