It's the week before Galen's eighteenth birthday, and Gareth is throwing a party.

I'm not invited. Why would I be? I'm sure all his friends see me as is the annoying younger sister.

I spend the evening alone with Mum and Max as Rhys is also out, likely at the same party, but who knows with him. He doesn't seem to answer to anyone about anything.

Halfway through the film of Max's choice—some war epic that requires more concentration than I am capable of tonight—I excuse myself and go to bed.

After a long shower, I slide myself into my crisp, new sheets, and glide my legs over the clean cotton, relishing in the freshly made bed feeling.

With a heavy sigh, I pick up my paperback of Flowers in the Attic and read until almost midnight. I remember the day that Dad handed this to me, he assumed it had something to do with flowers and therefore would be a book that would interest me. Yeah, not quite what he had in mind, but still, I could appreciate the story and even somewhat identified with the children and their lives, even if mine was charmed in comparison. I dog-ear the page where Cathy is practicing her ballet moves in the attic, and flick off my lamp.

My head barely grazes my pillow before my phone vibrates on the bedside table. With a cursed groan, I fumble around in the dark to grab it, knock it off the nightstand, and cringe as it bounces on the carpeted floor. Awkwardly, I lean over the side the bed, hit my head on the lamp, and curse once more as my fingers scramble across the floor searching for the still vibrating phone. Galen’s name leaves my lips even before I know it’s him.

Garbled words muffled by the pounding base of music burst into my eardrum.

"Galen, is that you?"

He groans.

"Are you pissed?"

He hiccups. "Can you come and get me?"

"Don't be stupid, Gal. I can't drive," I mutter in annoyance.

"Please? You can get a taxi and come get me?"

"I don't have any money."

"Go into bedroom, b—bottom, bottt—tom drawer, rolled up in the red s—socks is some cash."

"It's midnight. Why not call a taxi yourself?"

"Only got phone. Didn't bring wallet."

I grumble in annoyance, yet my feet are already kicking off my covers.

"I'll go and get Mum and Max to collect you."

"No! Don't want them to see me like this,” he begs, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Fine," I concede, far too easily, but it is Galen and I can never say no to him. "I'm on my way."

I drag on some jogging bottoms over my short pyjamas and hastily pile my hair on top of my head in a scruffy bun.

I heard Mum and Max go up to their bedroom around an hour ago, so it's easy enough to tiptoe down the stairs and out onto the front lawn.

From there, I call a taxi, and it takes a little under ten minutes to arrive. I give the driver the address, and in another ten minutes, I'm standing outside Gareth's house at the end of a short cul-de-sac.

"That's eight pounds," the driver says, turning off his metre. I thrust a tenner in his hand and jump outside.

The place is packed with drunken teenagers.

I push my way through scantily clad girls and couples groping in corners, all the while searching for Galen.

A girl pushes past me, and whatever drink she has in her hand ends up down my back. I squeal, and a drunk boy wearing a rugby jersey snorts with laughter at my misfortune.

Where the hell is Galen?

Then I see him.

He's propped up on an uncomfortable looking wooden chair in the corner of the room. His head is tilted back, his body slumped, and his arms hang uselessly at his sides. The closer I get, the more I think the wetness than shines on his chin is either drool or leftover vomit.

I tap his shin with my foot. He stirs but doesn't open his eyes.

I kick it harder.

It seems to take all his strength to lift his head, open his eyes, and look at me. But when he does, a burst of renewed energy seems to zap through his body, and he stands on wobbly legs.

"Fflur."

The same guy that snorted when I got covered in drink appears from nowhere, looks from me to Galen and thunders over the sound of the music, "Your little sister's here to rescue you, hey?"

"He's not my brother," I bite out too quickly, but the drunken idiot doesn't hear me.

"I told him not to drink so much," he continues, nodding his head towards Galen as if he's so much less inebriated than him. "But he needed some Dutch courage." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and then jerks his head towards a group of girls in the opposite corner. I think one of them is Laurie. She looks exactly like Galen described.

"Come on, Galen. Let's get out of here."

"Stay, have another drink," says the drunk boy, and Galen smiles hazily at him through his stupor.

He mumbles something in reply, but the deep base swallows it, and he topples slightly to the right.

I rush to wrap my arm around his waist and guide him towards the exit. It's slow going, between dragging his drunken arse and manoeuvring our way through the crowd.

Once we're outside in the fresh air, he seems to get even more inebriated, if possible, and I'm forced to lean him up against a lamppost so I can call for another taxi. While we wait, I watch as it takes all Galen's concentration to stay upright.

His glazed eyes meet mine. "What's up, Fflur?" he mumbles.

I shake my head in annoyance and breathe a sigh of relief when our taxi pulls up.

"Is he drunk? the driver asks.

I look from him to Galen and shrug.

"If he's sick in the car, it's an extra hundred on top of the fare."

I have no choice but to nod, and I guide Galen into the back where he sprawls across the entire seat, leaving me no option but to get into the front.

The car smells like someone's just eaten something spicy and it's enough to make me want to open the window, so it's no surprise to hear Galen moaning and making heaving noises in the back, but luckily he isn't sick.

When we get back to his house, I almost have to drag him out of the car.

"You saved me again, Fflur," he garbles.

I lean him against the outside of the car, pluck a twenty out of my pocket, and pass it to the driver. It's double his fare, but I'm just glad he didn't leave us stranded.

He doesn't acknowledge the extra payment, but at least he waits until I get Galen upright before driving away.

We stumble like a comedy duo up the garden path, and as Galen leans into me something in his jeans digs into my side. When I prop him against the wall outside the front door, I can see his wallet bulging in his pocket, the corner of brown leather peeking out. The stupid idiot was probably too drunk to realise he had it on him all along.

I slide my key quietly into the lock and whisper to Galen, "If you don't want Mum or Max to see the state you're in, you need to be quiet."

He nods, his eyes half closed.

Somehow, I manage to get him upstairs and into the bathroom we share. Having done my duty, I leave him, assuming he’s capable enough to sort himself out from here.

Ten minutes later, my bedroom door opens, and Galen plops onto the bed beside me before I even have time to turn on the lamp.

"You're in the wrong room."

"Nope," he says, dragging out the word and popping the P. "It's not."

When I flick on the light, I can see that all he's wearing is his boxers. They are tight, black, and surprisingly covered in little red roses.

"Can I stay your room with you?" he mumbles face down on the bed.

"Nope. But you can hang out for a while then go back to yours."

He grumbles something about this, but it's muffled by the bedclothes under his face. I push myself up to sit against the headboard.

"Did you have a good time at the party?"

"It was okay."

"What did you do?"

"Talked, drank, talked, drank some more, then they all started playing stupid drinking games."

"What kind of games?"

He flops onto his back before flinging his arm over his face.

"The childish kind. Anybody would swear we’re thirteen, not eighteen."

"Sounds fun. Not."

He mumbles in agreement.

"Was that Laurie I saw there?"

"Yeah. She was with her friends."

"Did she play the drinking games with you?" God, I sound like an idiot. A childish idiot.

"I didn't want to play with her."

"But I thought you liked her?"

"Yeah, I do. But I'm not interested in getting off with her in front of a party full of people. That's not who I am."

"What, you’re not a typical boy keen to get into a girl’s knickers?" I snort in disbelief.

He doesn’t bite. He stays irritatingly calm and replies, "I want to get to know a girl before I get physical, not have a drunk fumble while everyone else cheers us on."

My stomach drops, and I feel like I'm the one that's been drinking.

"You must really like her."

"Maybe."

His arm flops onto the bed, and he tilts his head to face me. With eyes too clear to have drunk the amount he has, he asks, "What's your favourite flower?"

The abrupt change of subject steals my breath.

"Or is it secret?" he all but whispers.

My eyes lock with his. "It's not a secret."

"Can you tell me?"

I close my eyes for a brief moment and debate on giving him this truth. When I open them, I find him searching my face. If I didn't know Galen, I would swear he was trying to memorise every inch of my skin.

Clearing my throat, I tell him, "Believe it or not the flower I love the most is something others, particularly gardeners, believe is a curse."

He props his head on his hand, apparently interested in what I have to say and not wanting to miss a word.

"To me, dandelions are beautiful. Any place there is a pinch of soil or a crack in the pavement they grow. They may be common, and you may be able to find them everywhere, yet one day you'll look and see a bright, yellow flower bending towards the sun, and the next day you'll see fluffy clouds full of wishes just waiting to be set free. They get to be more than one thing. They get to be both sunshine and life."

"Did you keep the one I gave you at the bus stop? Is it in one of your scrapbooks?" He smiles, and I hate that my next truth may hurt him.

"No. I didn't keep that one."

His brow furrows. "Why?"

"Because you gave it to me, and back then, I didn't want anything from you or anyone in this house."

He absorbs my words but doesn't offer any in return.

We are silent for a while, and he lies down flat on the bed, his hands resting on his stomach.

Eventually, with his eyes closed, he asks, "What do dandelions mean?"

I close my eyes and tell him, "Some people believe the dandelion will heal you from both emotional and physical pain. Others believe they mean intelligence. There are some that say they are the evidence of the warmth and power of the rising sun, but I like to think of them as survivors who rise and conquer all life's challenges and difficulties." I laugh, but it's strained. "Mum used to say that they meant long lasting happiness and getting all your wishes fulfilled."

I'm old enough to know that's not true because I wished on so many dandelions after that day, and none of those wishes came true.

We stay on the bed, our bodies as far apart as possible.

With silence comes tiredness, and after a while, Galen yawns.

"Can I stay here?" he asks, stretching his body like a sleepy cat.

"Why?" I whisper.

His head turns to face me once more, and his sleepy greens meet my tired blues. "Because I like sleeping next to you."

I should tell him to go and sleep in his own bed.

I should tell him to go and find Laurie and sleep with her.

But, I'm just a girl.

I'm not strong like the dandelions.

"You can stay in here, but I'm warning you, you'll have to get up early."

"What for?"

"Because."

"Okay," he says, rolling over onto his side and curling up into a ball. "Wake me up when it's early."

His hand brushes across the sheets and lands on my ankle.

"Thanks for coming to get me tonight. At the risk of sounding sappy, I'd say you're the only friend I can rely on."

Friend.

I hate that word.

I switch off the light, and the room descends into darkness.

I slip further down the bed, and my legs rest close to his torso. Soon I'm drifting off to sleep to Galen's steady, even breaths.

At some point during the night, he ends up spooned behind me with his arm draped around my waist. I remember this feeling from before.

I like it.

I think about moving his arm, and how if Mum saw us like this she wouldn't be happy. But I do nothing. I do nothing because I like it too much.

Galen grumbles when I wake him.

"Get up lazy bones," I say, shaking his shoulders. “If you're not coming with me, you have to get in your own bed."

"I'm coming. I'm coming," he mumbles, and it sounds more like 'I'm mumming.'

"Where are we going anyway?"

"It's a secret. Do you trust me?" I say with a smile, throwing his words from long ago back at him as he rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

His face scrunches up adorably before he shakes it off and blinks awake. With a sincerity that pierces my chest, he says, "Always."

I swallow and take a steadying breath to find the words, "I'll meet you downstairs in ten."

He smiles at me before hauling himself off the bed. I ignore his undressed state and push him towards his room.

It's early June, and the something I want to show him isn’t that close to Mum’s house.

As agreed, he's downstairs waiting for me ten minutes later, and we make our way towards the outskirts of our town.

In a narrow country lane that leads to farmland and meadows, he asks once more where we are going, but I just smirk at him and offer him my hand.

Our fingers wind tightly together, and the sun rises higher in the sky as I tug him towards a stile hidden between hawthorn bushes.

"This way."

We climb over and drop down into an empty field likely used for grazing later in the summer.

My lips tip up into a broad smile when I find that I couldn't have timed it any more perfectly.

There, spread out before us, is a field of wild grass fit to burst with thousands upon thousands of seeding dandelions.

Some people call the fluffy round heads 'clocks', but the correct name is capitulum. I don’t tell him this though. I let the moment sit between us in its perfection without need for explanation.

Galen's hand squeezes mine tighter, and I turn to look at him over my shoulder. His smile matches mine.

We don't need to exchange words. He knows what I'm showing him.

With careful steps, I guide him into the field, and even though we take our time, puffs of floating dandelion seeds dive and soar all around us.

When we get to the centre, I take off my jacket and lay it on the grass. Galen follows my lead and does the same with his.

With our heads touching, we lie quietly side by side, looking up at the cotton candy sky while long stalks of grass and perfect balls of fluff sway on the breeze all around us.

"I can see why they’re your favourites," he says, still clutching my hand tightly in his.

I tilt my head to look at him, our foreheads touching, and we are close enough to share the same breath.

The moment is too much. Too perfect.

Turning back towards the sky, I force my mouth to spread wide—not a fake smile, but costly.

"Come on." I push up to my feet and tug him to follow. "Run with me."

And we do. Until we're out of breath, covered in dandelion fluff, and laughing like there’s only us in the world.

My heart whispers, 'This. This is why your other dreams weren't granted. For this moment. To share this with him.'