I hurtled down the highway until the lights of Port Angeles appeared on the horizon. I drove down to the bay, took a sharp turn, saw the warehouses I remembered from Felix's vision. I flew down a back alley, trying to reach a mind to read and find a familiar street at the same time.

This kid won't put up much of a fight, I heard someone think. What is he? Eighteen? This won't take long.

I stopped at another alley. It looked right, but — shit — all the streets looked the same. I tuned back in to the man's brain and saw my Minho, shoved up against a chainlink fence, held there.

It was happening now.

I growled, raced down the street, hoping with everything I had that my intuition was right.

"Please stop," Minho's voice leaked into my head, "please, please stop—"

"Shut it," a man — there was more than one — yelled back. "Where's your wallet?"

"M-my pocket — jacket pocket."

I hadn't made a mistake. At the end of the alley, four men were huddled around Minho, hidden in the shadows until my headlights touched them.

They noticed the light, the hum of the engine. They grabbed Minho's money and took off around a corner.

I hit the brake at the mouth of the alley, staring at the men's backs as they fled. It would take so little to kill them. My mind filled with the sound of fingers cracking, skin splitting and peeling off...

But my ears caught a sound from ahead. Minho began to cry as he sank to the pavement.

All thoughts of violence left my mind at once.

I sped forward, stopped just as fast, and leapt out of the car. I dropped down in front of him and checked his vitals. His pulse was irregular, breathing too fast, temperature too cold. Blood leaked beneath the skin on both his wrists, contusions but — thank God — no lacerations.

He was looking up at me, squinting against the headlights, tears still falling down his cheeks.

"Minho," I said, meeting his eyes, "are you — are you all right?"

He leaned forward and hugged me.

My teeth clenched tight, locking out the perfect smell of his blood. I put my arms around him, patting reluctantly. He was shaking, hands fisted hard on my back, cheek against my shoulder. I listened to his heartbeat slowly subside.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "What do you need?"

"I-I don't k-know." His voice was cracking, sucking back into his throat. He coughed quietly. "I feel sc-scared."

I wanted to tell him he shouldn't be afraid, that there was no need, but that wasn't true as long as I was near him.

"They're gone," I said instead. "They will never touch you again, I swear."

"They took m-my goddamn money."

"That doesn't matter, Minho."

He sighed — a little breath through trembling lips. "I guess."

He pulled back and crawled away. I took the opportunity to breathe. It was a relief — I had been running out of air.

He picked up something soggy, something else that looked like glass, and shoved them into his pockets, along with his empty wallet.

I got up and hovered next to him. When he tried to stand, I took his arm, supporting him. I helped him into the car, and I got in the driver side, pivoting up the alley.

"Sorry, my coat's all wet." Minho pawed at his face, eyes on the dashboard.

"Don't worry about it. Are you feeling okay?"

"I mean, not okay, really, but pretty okay."

Goosebumps rose from his wrists to his shoulders. Humans got those when they were cold. He was cold. Panic buzzed from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes.

I wrestled out of my coat, laid it over him, and punched the heat button till it was in the red.

"Thanks," he murmured.

"It's okay. What can I do?"

"Can you talk?"

My head ticked to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Your voice is relaxing. It makes me feel better when you talk."

"Oh." I pulled over to the side of the road. If he wanted me to talk, I wouldn't split my attention between that and driving. We weren't in Port Angeles anymore — the highway was dark and nearly deserted. "What should I talk about?"

"Well, why are you here?"

My freak brother is a clairvoyant and had a vision, and I saw it, too, because I'm also a freak.

"Umm."

"Like, why now?" he said. "When you didn't come back to school, I thought a bear had murdered you."

It sent a spark through my body to hear that he'd been thinking of me — if even just to consider my death.

"After Goat Rocks — which doesn't have as many bears as some think — my family and I went camping, since the weather has been so nice." That was the story we had established in Forks. I didn't want to lie to him, he deserved better, but he needed to believe it, too.

"Did you have fun?" he asked.

"Mmhmm. We fished a lot, hiked a lot. We saw an eagle. Some of the trees at the campsite were so tall I thought I couldn't see the top. My brother fell into a ditch and got a slug in his mouth."

He was peering at me, red-tinged eyes falling closed at times. His face was dry where his tears had been.

"Is this helping?" I asked.

"Yup." He let his head fall back against the seat. "Did you have s'mores?"

"Mmm, yes!" I had no idea what I was saying. It was how humans spoke about food, the enthusiasm, the reverence. I didn't understand it. "Our chocolate had caramel in the middle, so it was graham cracker, marshmallow, chocolate, caramel. My brothers and I were experimenting with cookie dough on top. It was delicious in theory."

"How was it in reality?"

"Gross. Overly sweet. Don't try it."

"I'll remember that." He looked sheepish now, more aware. "Um, I just kind of wanna say thanks. For being there before. You made it better."

He was all that mattered to me. To hear him say I helped, to know I made him feel better, made him feel anything at all... I started shaking. I felt crazy over how much I wanted to hug him again, to hold his hand, to somehow tell him how happy I was that he existed.

"You're welcome," I murmured. "I didn't know if I should've gone after those guys."

"You made the right choice, though I'm sure you could have destroyed them — since you're a superhero and all."

There were so many ways to destroy a human body — I was capable of all of them. Would I have broken each of their fingers one by one, ripped their limbs from their bodies? Forced their heads to the side until something snapped? Sliced open their stomachs, let their organs spill onto the pavement, left them for the rats?

Venom pooled in my mouth.

I was brought back to earth when I heard Minho gasp a tiny sound.

"Are you okay?!" I shrieked.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." He showed me his perfect palms. "I just saw the time. I was supposed to have dinner with Jessica and Angela half an hour ago."

"Oh. Do you wanna meet them?"

"Sure."

It felt wrong in the way where it settles in your gut and doesn't go away. Not that he was better off in my company, but him being anywhere else, where I couldn't know he was all right, made me anxious.

I started the engine and headed back toward Port Angeles. I knew the Italian place where they'd decided to meet — Felix had told me days earlier. I only realized after we were parked that it was a mistake. I should have asked Minho to give me directions, kept up the ruse. I couldn't do much except hope he hadn't noticed.

I heard Jessica and Angela's minds as they paid for their food. They stepped out the front door and onto sidewalk.

I ghosted from the driver side and opened Minho's door for him.

"Do you need help?" I asked, holding my hand out.

Minho's eyes switched between my face, my hand, my face, my hand, and he finally let me help him out of the car. He didn't let go while he closed the door. I stared at our hands, wondering why, for the first time in years, I was so happy to be alive.

He gave my coat back to me and spun in a circle a few times. He checked himself out in the car window. It wasn't that kind of glass — his eyebrows lowered as he realized. He turned to me.

"Do I look — I dunno — disheveled?"

My eyes swept over his face — his elegant eyes, lovely cheekbones, pudgy nose. Lingered at his lips for a little too long. I didn't think he noticed. I reached up and patted his hair. It was standing up, like he had been playing with balloons.

I was trying to give him a little cowlick, and my fingertips brushed his forehead. He made a sound like a purr, eyes fluttering closed.

I froze. I put my arms down and held them to my sides. When his eyes opened, he looked mortified.

"Uh, shall we?" His ears were red, poking out through his golden brown hair.

I spun around and headed down the sidewalk. Jessica and Angela were about to cross the street — Minho ran up ahead so he wouldn't lose them.

Oh, my God — Minho, they thought in unison.

"Where have you been?" Jessica asked aloud.

"I, um, got lost," Minho said.

I stopped next to him.

Christ on a bicycle, Jisung Han, Jessica choked in her mind.

"And then I ran into Jisung," Minho continued.

I tipped my head in their direction, arms behind my back.

Jessica stared at me, and Angela pouted, confused. What's he doing here? I coulda sworn he was camping.

Jessica turned to Minho again, closing her mouth. "Um, we actually ate while we were waiting, Minho. They were gonna kick us out."

"Sorry," Angela chimed in.

"That's okay," Minho said, goodnatured. "I'm not hungry."

"We parked right over there," Jessica said. "Ready to go?"

I wondered if they could hear the sound of my heart ripping in half.

"I'm actually really hungry, all of the sudden." Minho turned to me. "Do you wanna get something to eat, Jisung? With me?"

Holy shit.

"Sure," I said.

Jessica and Angela were staring at us, foreheads creased.

"I figure you guys don't wanna watch me eat, right?" Minho said. "I had a great time. I'm glad you found dresses. It's all good."

It was another second of awkward silence before Angela shrieked GAY in her mind and grabbed Jessica's elbow.

"We get it, Minho." She winked. "We had fun, too. See you tomorrow... see you, Jisung."

I nodded again, coolly.

"Wait, what's happening?" Jessica asked, befuddled.

"I'll explain later," Angela hissed, pulling her toward the car. Sheesh, this girl isn't that bright. No, that's mean, I'm sorry I said that.

Once they were out of sight, I looked at Minho. He was staring at the sconces on the side of the restaurant. My mouth opened and closed a few times before I spoke.

"Do you really wanna go to dinner or was that an excuse to get out of the drive back?"

"Um, I'd like dinner, but it's okay if you don't. You can just drive me home. Or I'll call a cab, or hitchhike, whatever."

He was nervous — nervous like me. I tried to contain myself, not to look at him with every ounce of love in my body.

"We can go," I said, "if that's oka—?"

"Yes. Are you hungry?"

"No, not really, I ate earlier."

He looked down. "We don't have to do this."

"No, no, it's okay." I took a step toward the car before he could lose his nerve.

He followed suit, smiling now, eyes still on his shoes. We got in. I started the engine and flew through traffic.

"Where do you wanna go?" I asked.

"You decide."

I browsed the food restaurants within close range. There was a hamburger joint, and the Italian place Jessica and Angela had eaten at earlier — both overcrowded and overbooked. There was a McDonalds. I had a feeling Minho wouldn't eat there unless he were literally being forced to.

And then a food truck. Sustainable. And empty — I could see through the server's thoughts. Very empty. I was good with that.

I looked at Minho. He was squinting at me, biting his lower lip. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

"You okay?" I asked.

"Um, yeah. I was just thinking about dinner."

"What about dinner?"

"I was wondering if it's a date."

Wait. Oh no. Shit.

This was a mistake. Letting myself get closer to him was risky enough — going on a date with him? Romantically? No matter how much I wanted it, how much I wanted him, I couldn't promise him that, couldn't let him in. I was a time bomb waiting to destroy him.

"It's not a date," I said.

"I'm pretty sure this is a date."

"It's not."

"When I asked you to dinner, that was me asking you out. And you said yes, so I'm pretty sure this is a date."

"I didn't realize that." I sounded like I'd sucked down an entire tank of helium.

"I could've sworn this was a date."

"You were wrong."

"See, I've never been wrong before."

"There's a first time for everything."

"Like first dates?"

"Again, this isn't a date."

He shifted away from me, lip stuck out in a pout. I stared ahead and pretended I wasn't panicking.

It was a minute before he turned around to stare at me again. I got worried after a couple minutes passed and he hadn't looked away.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, you can stop asking that." His eyes narrowed. "What were you doing in Port Angeles?"

"I... can't say."

"You can't say, or you don't want to say?"

"No comment."

"Please tell me."

"I literally can't."

"Tell me."

"No."

His pink lips turned down, his lashes fluttered, his eyes exploded with sparkles. He was the most beautiful human I'd ever come across. My left lung punched my right lung.

"Please...?" he whispered.

"Fine." I spat it out like I had a gun to my head. "But you have to promise not to ask any follow-up questions."

"Promise."

"My brother... saw you get mugged. He knew it was gonna happen, so I came to make sure you were all right." Felix would shake his head and sigh "bro" in C-flat if he knew I was doing this. Shit. He was probably still paying attention to our futures. I couldn't wait to have that conversation.

"Damnit," Minho sighed. His questions were on the tip of his tongue, but he'd made a promise. I'd foiled him — for the moment, at least.

I parked in front of the food truck and reached for the door.

"Wait," Minho said suddenly — I froze.

He got out of the car, skittered around the hood and opened my door for me.

"Not a date," I reminded both of us.

"I freakin' know." He shut the door behind me.

And then I noticed the lights. Buttery yellow, strung up around the parking lot as if by magic. Beautiful, elegant... romantic. I hoped Minho didn't notice that, either.

Minho walked up to the truck and scanned the menu. I stood by his side. A server leaned out of the window.

"How can I help you tonight?"

"Hi. A cheese sandwich, please — er, wait, sorry, never mind." Minho was backtracking like this was the most important moment of his life. "Forget it, I don't have money."

I already had my wallet out. "I'll pay for it."

"No, it's fine — I'll eat at home."

"I'm getting something, too. Don't tell me you're one of those people who don't let anyone pay for anything."

His eyes narrowed slowly. "Okay."

I smiled and turned to the server. He was watching us, wondering if we were together. It's not a date, random guy, I wanted to say.

I gave him the money. "And a soda, keep the change."

I spun around to face Minho. He didn't waste any time.

"So it's not a date, but you pay for everything."

"You don't have money, Minho. It's still not a date."

"I still disagree, but thank you. I'm kind of starving."

"You could have gotten more." I had my wallet out again, but he pushed it down.

"Stop being so chivalrous, you're giving me the wrong idea."

I looked down, smiling, loving the way he told me not to do things.

They're probably together. It was the server's voice — he was almost done with our orders. The one with a small mouth was totally checking the other one out. True. I hated both the server and myself.

I turned to the window to wait. He set the food and drink on the counter. I gave Minho his sandwich and took the soda for myself. We headed to a picnic table and sat down across from each other. I closed my lips around the straw, pretending to suck.

"Sometimes it feels like you can read minds, you know."

I froze, staring at him.

"For example, you knew where we were gonna have dinner without me telling you. And just now, it looked like you knew the guy was coming back before you should've."

"I can't say, you know that."

"Say it hypothetically. Then I'll know you mean it" — he winked — "hypothetically."

Dear Lord, he was too cute to be high strung around. I could feel myself relax. "All right. Hypothetically." I tried to wink, but I screwed it up, just like everything else. I hate myself.

Minho unwrapped his sandwich and started eating.

"So," he said, cheeks full, "get to it."

I rolled my eyes. "We're in public, Minho."

"Fine. If not that, then tell me about you. What're your hobbies?"

I write love songs about you, I hunt with my vampire brothers, I waste away in one continuous, century-long second with your existence as my only anchor.

"I guess I make robots sometimes. Like, plastic models."

"Tell me more."

So I told him more. I only realized our hobbies were humiliating after I'd spilled my guts. He didn't think it was weird — he kept me talking, he was interested. It was a surprise, a thrill, a flutter in my stomach that I tried my hardest to ignore.

We stayed until he was finished his food, shivering in the cold breeze. I herded him to the car, gave him my jacket again. As long as we were together I would keep him warm.

I pulled out of the parking lot, eyes on the road, attention on Minho.

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by the time this is published it'll be the twenty-third, so happy holidays everybody. i hope it's not too traumatizing and the food is delicious

(((uh oh a tangent, it's shameless self promo time)))

look out for my special oneshot "christmas sucks," coming out hella early tomorrow morning. it's soft, around 4000 words and obviously ends super-duper happy :D

and chapter 10 has one of my favourite scenes in the ENTIRE book — spoiler alert: everyone is pissed at jisung — so look forward to that mess lol

bye loves, stay strong <3