Lucy is at Matt's house since ten in the morning as his parents and he will leave tomorrow morning to go back to the city. She wants to make the most out of this day and have fun with him, so I let her.

Right after the door is closed behind me, I take a trip to the backyard to check on Ellie's flowers as she asked me to. As I arrive, I see them glowing in the sun with boastful regenesis after a good watering from earlier. Their petals, soft under my fingertips, make up most of their glow, the various colors enhanced by the sunlight.

I proceed to walk back inside to start reading the fourth book in the Vampire Academy series. However, my steps are halted by the sound of whooshing water and movement in my peripheral vision. I turn my head. Yann.

I walk a little closer, still marveling at how skilled he is in the water, how perfect his crawl is. Swimming seems to be an inherent natural ability, it's his gift, one of those some of us are born with. I watch as he finishes the length of the pool, takes a break to push his hair out of his eyes and tie it up in a shaggy bun. I love his buns. They rejuvenate his old-looking face, soften his features by putting his face on display without the hair sprawled around. And he sees me.

At first, he looks a little surprised, but then, his features relax and he smiles at me, "Hi."

He dives in the water before I can speak. Another crawl leaves only his back in view, his dorsal muscles tightening and relaxing alternately. The water opens as he weaves his hands, creating a path. And he crawls back to where I stand.

"Hi," I finally reply.

He hops out of the pool, his body dripping and trailing ringlets behind him as he saunters to me. I watch as he undoes his bun and lets his hair fall. It grazes his shoulder, waterlogged, darker than usual. He looks at me dead in the eyes, the smile leaving his face as he sees me staring. A frown appears.

"What's going on?" I find myself asking, eyes still lost in that hair. That hair.

His frown turns deeper. "Be more specific."

My eyes finally leave his hair to settle on his face. "Between us." Between us. It sounds so farfetched, so unreal, as if pertaining to another world.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, "Nothing, Graham. Don't look for something where there is nothing." By the way he's not looking at me, I know that he is in denial and that he is lying.

I shake my head at him, a small smile on my lips. "But there is." I insist.

Feelings I've never had in my life demand to be out on the surface. I want to get to know him better, know every single detail about his life. There's this inexplicable urge to know Yann, and I'm not talking about the glimpses he lets me have once in a while. Was banana Gerber his favorite as a baby? Was he obsessed with cars as a toddler? Did he have weird posters in his bedroom of bands I've never heard of? I want to know it all.

And it all hits me right now. In this moment. As he denies it, he only reinforces the thought that there is something. And I know there's no denying it: I am falling in love with Yann. Is he with me? I doubt it, somehow. I'm not sure what all of this is to him but it means everything to me.

I shrug at last, averting my gaze. "I was thinking of going back home, you know?" I don't look to see whether or not this revelation affects him in any way. "I mean, I like Harlem and all but I guess it hasn't been home for a while now."

I finally look at him. His eyes are glazed over with something I can't discern. Do I want to discern it? Did I take this too much at heart? I probably did. Emotionally attached to Yann. That's what I am. And not in a friendly way.

When he says nothing, I shake my head, as if to apologize to him. "Whatever, just forget about it."

I pivot on my heel and run my hand through my hair, feeling distraught. Damn! I can't believe I let myself fall this far, but deep down I know I have no power over what this stupid heart of mine wants – Yann, of all people? Why not Ryan in my literature class? He's funny and nice.

Cold fingers snake around my wrists, stemming my walk and pulling me back. I raise my eyes at Yann, wordlessly asking him what he wants. But he says nothing for a moment. We simply look at each other as if we're seeing each other for the very first time.

He steps closer. He shakes his head. He looks away. "I don't want this." He looks at me. "I don't want to want you," he mutters, the words escaping in a strangled tone, "but I do."

I take in a sharp breath and close my eyes. He does feel the same way. I exhale. "Maybe I should go back." I can't say the words, can't say I do too but it's needless to, I know he knows.

"No, don't." He grabs my hand. Laces our fingers. Looks down at the intimate union of our hands. He shakes his head, as if not believing it. "Don't go back," he pleads, "not yet."

My stupid heart skips a beat.

He takes another step closer. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me toward him. His naked chest damps my t-shirt, his breath softly fans my face. "Don't go," he murmurs.

I look back into his eyes again, losing myself in their blueness, in him. His hand leaves my waist, fends the air and raises to my cheek, a soft touch on my skin. I lean into him, loving the gesture, loving his hand on me. I close my eyes and take a breath in, needing to feed my lungs. I'm exploding, or maybe imploding. His forehead touches mine, resting on it. Both hands are now on my waist, taking me closer.

His cheek then presses against the side of my head as I feel him take a deep breath in. "You're not leaving me, are you?" He asks and I realize he's referring to my saying that Harlem didn't feel like home anymore. He's scared I will leave now.

I shake my head. "No, I'm not." I promise.

***

I watch him get down the stairs, barefoot, clad with a pair of sweatpants and a V-neck t-shirt. He holds out his hand and I place mine in his.

He leads without a word me to the piano and makes me sit down. "Play."

As my fingers start a mellow melody, I'm thrown back to that day when he said he loved listening to me play. I wonder how I do what I do to make him love it so much. And soon, he places his hands next to mine and accompanies me. I don't know how long it lasts. We share this moment with each other, filled only with the melodious notes swirling around us, enveloping us. The more I play, the more I think about him and the less I can focus.

It seems to me that those feelings have been caged for a moment and that I'd just failed to notice them. I thought I simply cared, I thought it was only concern. But it never was about that. All along, every time he would open up or say something, I would hold it dearly, close to my heart and cherish it. I thought I was inching closer to building a friendship with him with every second spent with him, with every smile he threw my way, with every joining of our hands. But I was wrong. It's not friendship. Friendship most definitely doesn't feel this way.

And now that I know that I am falling for him, my feelings slap me in the face. They are forcing me to open my eyes and acknowledge their presence, their existence. But what's supposed to be sweet is, on the contrary, absolutely bitter. What if my feelings are stronger than his? What if he wakes up the next morning to realize he doesn't want me the way he thinks he does?

It would be easy to fight it, to pretend that I am not hurting. But God knows it would hurt. And I don't want to hurt.

For a brief moment, I tell myself I should have pushed him away. But I know that in doing so, I would have risked a lot of things. His trust, his affection. Yes, I would have risked all that by pushing him away. And I don't want that.

We've stopped playing for a while, relishing the silence. Relishing each other's presence. Well, that's what it is for me. I sigh, rub my hands over my face. Stupid feelings.

"It was always my escape, you know?" When he trails his hands on the keyboard, I realize he's referring to playing the piano. "Either playing or swimming."

And he keeps trailing his hands on the keyboard. Abruptly, he stands and walks away. I follow him into the kitchen. I watch him take a glass of water and polish it off, leaning against the sink. He's gripping the edges, frowning at the floor. I hop on the counter and stare at him, waiting for him to continue what he started.

"How did you know I wasn't hiding from shady people?" He's referring to the conversation we've had a couple hours before when I told him I knew gangsters weren't his reason for hiding.

I don't answer. I wait for him to look up to me before doing so. "Mostly Will. I wondered why he'd want you to go back to your family when the risks of doing so are pretty obvious. And then, I asked myself if you really had been on the run from gangsters, wouldn't they have found your family right now and threatened you? Unless you were dealing with people who thought killing the family wouldn't bring the money back." I shake my head, "It didn't make sense to me. And then Will confirmed it," I shrug.

His gaze pins me to the spot, eyes wary and questioning. Then he crosses his arms over his chest. "And you expect me to tell you the truth?"

I move my head to the side in a negative motion. "No, not unless you want to."

"What if I don't want to, would you hold it against me?"

A non-humorous laugh escapes my throat and I scoff once I am done. "Who am I to hold it against you?"

He comes closer and stands in between my legs, hands on my thighs. He traces the side of my face with his fingertip, a frown on his beautiful face.

"Someone who matters to me." He says firmly. "If you didn't, I wouldn't be asking you that."

"And how did I end up being someone who matters, exactly?" I ask, the teasing evident in my voice.

He smiles, eyes focused on the path he's so lightly tracing on my skin. "First, your annoying persistence, then that mouth of yours." His fingertips graze over my lips, parting them. "How you refused to stop at what was skin-deep."

He removes his fingertips from my lips and takes a step back. He runs his hand over his face. He sighs, twice. I see the moments his walls start to build back up and he says, "Just leave, Graham." He turns his back to him with both hands resting on the sink.

Graced with another one of his mood swings, I decide not to give him satisfaction by obeying. I rest my head against his back, my hands at his waist. He tenses under my touch but I wait for him to get used to the feeling, wait for him to relax.

"Just because you have feelings for me doesn't mean that you have to go and spill everything. Just talk when you're ready, if you want."

He turns around, grabs my wrist carefully in his hands. "I want to, I'm not ready."

I shrug, wanting him to be okay with this. "It's okay." I smile up to him as I take his face in my hands and kiss his scruffy cheek. "Ever thought of shaving, Yann?"

He kisses my forehead and lets out a laugh. "Don't go there, Graham." And his tone is playful.

We'll get there, step by step, slowly. Slowly but surely.

***

"So, back to babysitting Lucy?"

"Yeah, Dad. Go ahead make fun of me. It's just two weeks, you'll have her for nine months while I am off to college, so make sure you're enjoying that free time of yours."

That sobers him up. "Are you threatening your father, Tracy?"

I laugh and can picture him smiling. "No, just an advice like the good daughter I am. And Dad, don't forget your anniversary is in one week exactly. Seven days." I know he loves Mom, but for the life of him he can never remember the date.

He denies my words with a scoff. "Of course, I know when your mother and I married. It was on the... on the... wait, you said seven days? Today we're the..."

"The 5th of August, Dad. Seven plus five equal 12. You married on the –"

He cuts me off as if doing so proved he knew the date. "The twelfth. I know."

I hum, not convinced but let it go. "So, aren't you at work, Dad?"

"Lunch time. Staring at this group of curvy women that just stepped in."

"Yeah, sure. Let Mom hear that and she'll castrate you." He is currently staring at his plate of fries and burger, this I can wager on.

We chitchat a little longer for the next fifteen minutes as I get to listen to him talk between mouthfuls. I berate him the whole exchange but he keeps waving me off. The moment I get off the phone, Ellie comes in.

"El," I say as I turn around on the couch, "James unleashed you?"

"Oh my gosh," she rolls her eyes as she comes sit next to me, "you're making me regret I even came here."

"Why are you here and not with him, anyways?" I inquire once the door is shut.

Another eye roll is thrown my way. "Gosh, Tracy. Can't I come to be with my best friend? Unless you're hiding a guy somewhere and you don't want me to know about it."

"Of course. I've had wild sex as well, by the way." My turn to roll my eyes now.

"Where's Lucy?" She asks.

"Across the street. At a friend's." She simply nods, looking away. When silence only lengthens between us, I make the first step. "So, James."

A vague smile plays on her lips then she seems to snap back to reality and shakes her head as if in denial. "James." She whispers to herself and looks down at me with a distressed face. Uh oh, things aren't going well apparently.

Her eyes glaze over suddenly. "He said he loved me."

I suck in a breath and nod, encouraging her to say more. She looks at her t-shirt and fiddles with the rim before letting it go. She looks up to the ceiling, as if looking for an answer, praying.

"He said it was okay if I didn't say it back, that he could wait. Problem is I can't say it back." She looks down at me, trying to say more, wanting to say the words but it's too hard for her.

So I say them for her. "Because you don't feel the same way." She nods at me with a sniff. "I'm not a seasoned advice giver, you know that."

She laughs through her woe and wipes away the tears that pearl at the corner of her eyes. "I know, I know." Then she crumbles like stale bread. "I can't give him what he wants. This is going too fast. I think I just let it all get to my head and now, now..."

I scoot closer to her on the couch and pull her down in my arms. She throws her arms around my neck and hugs me tightly, head on my shoulder. She's not crying, Ellie is stronger than that, has always been stronger than I.

"Just wish I could tell him I am not sure, but I don't want to hurt his feelings." Then she says, "Let's go to bed."

That was always our thing when one of us would get rebuked by our parents. We'd lie down in bed, silently, until we fell asleep. Somehow, it made us feel better, as if the other were sharing the pain. We both lie on our backs on my bed, hands on our stomachs.

"Don't you think we should get an apartment together on our junior year? Tired of the dorm."

I turn my head sideways. "Thought you loved campus?"

She shrugs, still facing the ceiling. "Yeah, I want intimacy now. We should start looking for one around spring semester. We'll split the bills."

I scoff at her and I see her roll her eyes. "Of course we split. What did you think? I ain't no Bill Gates here."

A laugh bubbles out her throat. "How you dress is proof enough."

I don't take offense to that, I am aware that I can dress like a hobo sometimes. "Yeah, whatever."

"So," she props herself up on an elbow, "You and Yann. Fill me in."

I sigh with a shrug. "What's there to say? Got myself in too deep to the point where I get feelings for him and am surprised to see he feels the same."

She frowns at me. "Have you deduced that or did he say it?"

"He said it." When she says nothing more, I turn my head to her and she's frowning at me. "What?"

"You went straight for his heart."

I have an urgent need to roll my eyes at her but I don't. "What? Who says those kind of things? Straight for his heart? We aren't talking about love here. Just attraction."

She shrugs but I see it is to placate me, not because she's convinced. "You did what neither of us could."

"What?"

"Getting him emotionally attached."

I sit up in the bed. "He's emotionally attached to all of you. You're friends."

"No, not that type of emotionally. I'm talking about the type where he goes as far as to admit what he feels."

I roll my eyes at her. "He said he's got feelings, not that he was going to jump off a bridge or anything dramatic. Chill."

"You going to the county fair?"

Oh, the county fair. I keep forgetting all the traditions in here. "Forgot about that. I might go."

"Well, Will will force you to anyways. It's this weekend."

I hum as I lay back in bed. "As if."

She laughs out loud. "Will will drag you out by the hair if he has to," she affirms the she adds, "though I doubt Yann will let him."

I glare at her. "Okay, enough. Don't start teasing me about him."

She laughs again and mocks my scowl. "I have to. I mean, you left hot Ryan back and you went for Yann. Gotta say, you have taste. Yann is much hotter."

I scrunch up my nose at her. "Keep those thoughts to yourself."

"Especially about your man, okay, I get it." And she raises both hands in surrender.

I retrieve the pillow from under the veil of her hair and hit her with it. She screams as she jumps in the air, getting to the other pillow, starting a pillow fight with me.

And I relish this time when we don't have to worry, I about Yann, and she about James.

•••

Sorry about last week, guys :( I have a job and I so do not have time... I updated as soon as I could so here it is. Hope I'm (a little bit) forgiven *sheepish look*

Let me know if you liked this chapter!

Until next week❤️