Damn, I'm tired. My back is tight. My arms are aching. My legs are trembling.

I collapse on the bed—my bed. It's a simple white frame, a cheap but comfy mattress, white sheets.

I stretch out like a snow angel. Try to breathe deep, something to soothe my sore muscles. It doesn't help.

Am I this out of shape?

Or is Brendon that fit?

We've been working to unpack and put together furniture all afternoon. And it was mostly him. And now he's heading to the gym to lift more heavy things.

How the hell does he have any energy left?

Maybe it's me. That's another side effect. Fatigue.

Only it's also a side effect of my medication.

Do other teenagers feel this heavy all the time?

Are they always wondering if what they're feeling is them or their medications?

Normal is a lost cause. Usually, that doesn't bother me. After all, Emma isn't anywhere near normal. Brendon isn't either. Grandma is a weirdo. My parents, they aren't quite on Grandma's level, but they have their moments.

I just... I want to fit in somewhere. Me. All of me and not just the parts I show everyone.

I want someone to love me, all of me.

Or at least see all of me.

I do a good job keeping up appearances, convincing everyone I have my act together, that everything is okay.

And, mostly, everything is okay. I'm not having an episode. I'm not struggling to drag myself out of bed. I'm not thinking about hurting myself.

I am not happy, not exactly, but I'm okay.

I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling. It's still dotted with plastic stars. They're Brendon's. This used to be his room.

They suit him. Specks of brightness that only come out in the dark. That only reveal themselves to people who are patient enough to wait until the lights are off.

I let myself drift into a half sleep and wake to Emma walking through the open door.

She sits on the bed next to me and tugs at the sheets. "I hope you're not naked under there."

"Would you actually care?"

Emma laughs the way she always does, with her entire body. "No. Of course not. I don't want you embarrassed all night. Not with the plans I have for us."

I groan. "Everything hurts."

"Everything? Even your pinkie?"

I nod.

"How about your ass?"

"What?"

She lies on her side, next to me. "Don't worry. I'm planning an epic housewarming party for you. But not tonight."

My exhale is heavier than I mean it to be.

Which only makes Em laugh. "It's at the shop. We'll have snacks. Well, in the lobby. Ryan and Brendon were very clear about their no food near the chairs policy."

"You talked to Ryan to make this happen?"

"That's how much I love you." She props herself up on one elbow. "I didn't invite anyone else, but I can. If you want."

No. I don't want. "That's plenty of party." It's small enough, and filled with enough people I like, that I might enjoy it without three shots.

Emma's expression gets sincere. "You can tell me if you hate the idea."

"No. It's sweet. I'm just—"

"Don't worry. Tonight's plans only require your ass." She doesn't give me a chance to agree. She pushes off the bed and offers her hands.

I take them and let her pull me to my feet. "I didn't know you liked me that way."

"In your dreams." She takes a step backward. "Disney marathon."

My ears perk. My eyes too. I nod, yes.

Emma laughs. "See. I know how to make you happy."

"You do."

"We just need pancakes—"

"Chocolate chip?" I ask.

She nods. "And tea. I'll make them. So long as you measure the chocolate chips."

"You're too good to me."

"I know."

* * *

The TV screen flickers, casting light over me and Emma. Hercules is kicking ass and taking names. Same as always.

Is there a Disney movie I don't know like the back of my hand?

I might have a problem. Though, it's not really my problem. It's our problem.

Right now, I don't care.

My stomach is full of pancakes. My brain is buzzing from the mix of sugar and tea. Everything is good.

I want more.

Even if it's a bad idea.

I push off the couch and turn to Emma. "You want more coffee?"

She raises a brow. "You planning on starting a novel tonight?"

I laugh, but I don't quite sell it. One day... Maybe... in a million years.

"You know I can go all night, babe." She winks at me. "I'll take some chocolate."

"Your wish is my command."

"Different movie."

"You want to watch it next?"

"Is Brendon moody and annoying?"

"Well... Not to me. Not usually."

Emma rolls her eyes. "I don't know what you see in him."

"He's your brother." When that fails to get a reaction, I press on. "He let me move here. He bought me a room full of furniture."

"I thought we agreed to stop talking about that."

We did. I couldn't take anymore of Emma getting mad on my behalf. "He's hot, Em. Even you can see that."

"I guess it runs in the family."

I laugh. "Humble as always."

I move into the kitchen before she can press the subject further. There's way, way too much I see in Brendon.

His eyes.

His smile—the rare times I get it.

That protective stare.

Those strong shoulders.

The tattoo spreading over his chest.

The other going down his arm.

That look he gives me when I'm sitting on the couch, when he asks if I'm reading something good.

Just... everything.

I let my head fill with thoughts as I make another cup of vanilla black, stir in enough honey for the drink to taste sweet, grab enough chocolate for both of us. Enough for my thoughts to turn to the bliss of the cocoa bean instead of the bliss of Brendon.

God, I have it bad.

There's no getting over him. Not with those drawings of his in my mind. Not with the way his eyes lit up when I mentioned dirty demands.

He wants me too.

How will I ever think about another guy?

I move back to the couch, hand over Emma's chocolate, settle in.

We get lost in the flow of the movie-talk about nothing combination. It's familiar. Comforting.

It feels like this is a normal lazy summer day. One where I'm sleeping over because I want to, not because my parents bailed on me. One where I look at Brendan as Emma's hot older brother, a guy so far out of my league we're playing different games. One where Grandma is okay.

Everything else feels far away. It's just me and my best friend in our own world. I'm not alone. I'm not medicated. I'm not aware Brendon's sketchbook is full of dirty drawings of me.

I'm just home. Safe. Happy.

"Hey." Brendon's voice flows into my ears. He moves into the hallway. Then down the stairs.

He's wet. Fresh from the shower. Wrapped only in a towel.

I... he... Fuck.

There's water dripping off his dark hair. Down his chest piece—the shaded black and grey roses. It drips down his side, across The Ramones lyrics, all the way to the Latin quote jutting out from his towel. Sic Transit Gloria.

Glory fades.

What does it mean to him?

What would it feel like to trace every link of ink?

To have that warm, wet body pressed against mine?

On top of mine?

I'm pretty sure my jaw is on the floor.

My cheeks are burning. I must be every shade of red.

Emma grabs a pillow and tosses it at her brother. He moves into the main room just in time to dodge it.

She folds her arms over her chest. "You're not wearing clothes because...?"

"There's this thing called a shower. You use it when you want to get clean."

"And what do you know about being clean?" She taps her fingers against her bicep. "You think the girls you throw away stay quiet about your preferences?"

Brendon raises a brow.

Emma looks to me and rolls her eyes. Isn't he annoying? "What are you trying to prove? We know you're sculpted out of marble. Who goes to the gym twice a day?"

"People who are sculpted out of marble." Brendan moves into the kitchen. "Smells like pancakes."

"You want some?" Emma asks.

"No," he says. "I have dinner plans."

"Oh." I press my palms into my thighs. "You and Ryan meeting to talk about the buyout?"

"Huh?" Emma looks to me. What are you talking about?

Brendon shakes his head. "No. I have a date."