"Did you miss me this much?" she teased, laughing as she tucked the pillow under her arm like a shield.
"I mean, you ran off bleeding from your nose. What else was I supposed to do—assume it was a fashion choice?" I shot back, deadpan.
She grinned, eyes flicking to the bag in my hand. "Wait—is that for me?"
"Well, uh…"
Before I could even finish, she snatched it like I was holding gold.
"Awwwwn, Shin-chan," she sang, already tearing into the bag. "Glitter Gremlin?" she read aloud, laughing so hard she nearly wheezed. "I feel so seen."
"I mean…" I shrugged, trying not to stare at the literal glitter dusting the corners of her eyes. Like who wears glitter when they're sick?
She dug into the bag. "Oh my GOD—Hi-Chews?! My favoriteeeee!" she squealed.
Then—like the menace she was—she turned, snatched a ruler from her bed, strutted toward me like she was about to knight me.
"Bow, mortal," she commanded with mock elegance. "Let me bless thee—you, brave sir, have stolen the heart of a queen."
And before I could process that line, she stuffed an entire pack of candy into her mouth.
"Ohhiejekskk—" she tried to speak, eyes wide, mouth full, and then—
SPLAT.
Some sticky candy mush landed right on my face.
I blinked.
She paused.
Then she howled with laughter. "OH MY GOD—Shin! I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to—"
"You're actually crazy," I muttered, wiping my face with my sleeve, even as my lips twitched.
She grabbed a wipe from her nightstand, gently pulled me to sit, and began cleaning my face like a five-year-old with finger paint.
Her fingers were soft. Her laugh faded. Her eyes searched mine.
"You fine ass Japanese boy," she said with a snort, ruffling my hair with one hand. "I could just eat you."
I stared at her.
Zain was all glitter and noise and weird catchphrases—but sometimes, just sometimes, when she went quiet like that...
I swear I could feel the whole world tilt.
"Zain," I said, more quietly this time.
She paused mid-doodle, glitter pen hovering over her arm.
"You're sick, right?"
She didn't answer. Just tilted her head, gave me that grin again—crooked, wild, like she was trying to turn pain into performance.
"Well, yeah. I mean—I'm also crazy, people say that a lot," she said with a laugh that felt like a scream in disguise.
"Zain." My voice dropped, sharp but soft. "You're sick. The drugs. The bleeding. The disappearing. Can't you just... be for real with me?"
She exhaled hard. Like I'd said something heavy. Something she didn't want to carry out loud.
"Ughhh—fine. Big reveal. I'm sick. Yay. Mystery solved. Gold star for Shin-chan," she said, twirling the pen between her fingers before pressing it against her skin again, drawing a crooked little star on her wrist.
"I'm not playing," I said.
She didn't look at me. Just kept drawing on her own arm like her body was paper and none of it mattered.
"Lupus?" I said.
That got her.
Her hand froze.
The pen slipped slightly, drawing a shaky line across her wrist. Slowly, she turned her head. Her eyes were different now—not wild or teasing or teasingly chaotic. Just... tired.
Quiet.
"How do you even know what that is?" she asked, her voice low.
"You left your book," I said. "I didn't want to read it, I swear I didn't—but I saw the title. 'How Not To Die Dramatically with Lupus: A Depressing Comedy.' That's not exactly subtle."
She laughed—short, dry, almost like a cough. "Yeah. I wrote that title when I was twelve. Kinda aged like milk, huh?"
I didn't know what to say. I hated how my chest felt. Like something had cracked wide open.
"You gonna treat me different now?" she asked, suddenly looking up. "You gonna get all 'sad eyes' on me? Start offering me tissues and pity chocolate?"
"No."
"Then what do you want, Shin?" she snapped, too fast. "You want the whole breakdown? You want me to cry and be tragic so it feels real enough for you? Well, sorry. I don't do that."
"I just want to be here," I said, almost a whisper.
That stopped her again.
And this time, she didn't deflect. Or joke. Or run.
She just stared at me, lips slightly parted, the glitter in her eyes not as shiny now.
"You're so weird," she finally muttered, but it sounded a little like thank you.
Then she threw the glitter pen at me. Soft. Gentle.
And that was the end of the moment.
But not really.
Twelve?
God—has she been living with this since twelve?
I stared at her, trying to imagine it. All the smiles, the glitter, the chaos... wrapped around pain she never let anyone see.
Then her voice, light and mischievous again, snapped me out of it.
"So you little diary thief, what grand adventure are we up for today? And I swear—if you open that book, a mermaid will drown you in your sleep."
I didn't smile. Not right away. I just looked at her. Quiet.
Something about silence made her still, too.
"Shin…" she said. Soft this time.
She wasn't dancing anymore. Just standing there in her short mauve shorts, hair messy like her soul, the sunlight kissing her golden tips.
"Please don't change," she said, looking me straight in the eyes. "Like... don't turn into one of them. The people who start looking at me like I'm made of glass."
God.
This gremlin.
This absolute chaos machine with crumbs on her lips and glitter in her tear ducts—was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen.
I had to act normal. I had to. Because that's what she wanted.
"Am I a chameleon?" I said, deadpan.
She snorted. "You cloud boy."
I didn't even see the pillow until it smacked my face.
"Oh? I hear you're calling for war," I said, grabbing one of my own.
And that was it. War declared.
She climbed on her bed like a Disney villain with zero coordination. I climbed up too. We were laughing, yelling, hitting each other with pillows like five-year-olds who'd never felt pain in their lives.
In that moment, she wasn't sick.
And I wasn't scared.
We were just two weird kids, fighting the world with cotton and bad jokes.
God, this girl was changing me.
And maybe I was okay with that.
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