"Don't you ever get tired of lying to yourself?"*☻
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When I woke up the next morning, Miguel was looking down at my face. The moment he noticed I was awake, he turned away, embarrassed.
"Good morning," I groaned sleepily.
"Morning... Did... Kiel say anything weird to you?" he asked hesitantly.
I was still too groggy to respond, so I ignored him and got up to wash my face.
"Lemon, please give me an answer. I was worried, please…" he called out after me.
I started drowning him out, too distracted trying to recall my dream. My heart was fluttering like crazy—whatever it was, it must've been exciting. Once I finished brushing my teeth, I finally responded.
"He didn't say anything very weird."
Miguel sighed in visible relief.
"Miguel… do you hate me?" I'd never dared ask before. I was afraid of the answer.
"Yes… I do."
I guess I was right to be afraid.
He left before I even got to school. A week passed, and he didn't come back. I had hoped he'd say something like, "Of course not," or even, "I like you." But from the start, he'd kept a wall up between us—one I couldn't break through no matter how well we seemed to get along.
I sat in the dark, crying into my pillow. If Miguel returned, I was ready to stop—he didn't need the burden of my feelings.
Three more days passed.
On the way to school, Jack caught up with me.
"Hey…"
I didn't reply.
"Can I walk you the rest of the way?"
"I don't care," I muttered.
He took that as a yes—probably the closest thing I'd said to one in a while.
"You look beautiful today, as always."
I didn't answer. Couldn't be bothered.
"What the fuck are you doing?!" Amber shouted when we arrived at school.
Not her too. My heart couldn't take it.
"Can't you just leave me alone?" Jack groaned.
"No! I told you to stay away from her. And you—Lemon, this is the bastard who cheated on you! Don't let him get so close again." Her voice cracked with something like worry. Like a parent. But didn't she hate me?
She grabbed my forearm and pulled me behind her.
"Can you please stop getting in my way?!" Jack snapped.
"No! I can't, because you're like a roach—if I let you go, you'll just multiply and keep coming back."
Jack sneered, then turned and left.
Amber stormed off too, but not before yelling back at me, "Don't start trusting me again either. I'm the bitch who ruined your relationship."
I stood there in shock, unmoving in front of the college entrance.
Some time passed before I finally walked toward class. About a minute in, I heard a familiar voice—
"Lemon…"
I jolted.
"I went to Hell... so I don't know how long it's been. Time is distorted there."
Without thinking, I turned and hugged him.
"Miguel!"
He stiffened.
"Has it been… two days? Longer? What's wrong? Were you worried?" he asked, stroking my head.
"I'm sorry for asking an insensitive question. I should've considered your feelings first. I'm sorry." I hugged him tighter.
"Not many people are watching now... but soon you'll attract attention—clinging to empty space and talking to yourself," he warned.
"I don't care," I whispered.
His hand froze on my head.
"I don't hate you as much as I used to," he said suddenly.
I looked up at him. He turned away, blushing.
"There are a lot of things I like about you..."
"You can hate me. I just... I was worried you wouldn't come back." My voice trembled. "I guess I have to accept that one day, you'll be gone for good."
"Yeah," Miguel said quietly. "But not until we find the person I'm looking for."
When he said that, the urge to help him find her drained out of me.
"I see. And… I'm the one who has to convey your feelings to her, right?" My voice trembled under the weight of the thought.
"Yes. Only you can communicate with her."
My arms lost strength. I let go of him.
"Welcome back, Miguel," I said, forcing a smile.
"Thanks."
I resumed walking.
"Lemon…" he whispered.
That one word sent chills down my spine.
"You're so cute."
I glanced back—he was wearing that mischievous grin again. I sighed and walked faster. Miguel was acting like nothing had happened. I didn't understand. I was still drained from ten days of worrying about him.
Later, when we got home, Miguel commented casually, "That was quite the scene—you, your ex, and that girl you know."
I sighed heavily. "Please don't remind me."
"I'm going to take a shower," he said suddenly.
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because I can't feel anything. But maybe a shower will be different… I miss the feel of water running down my back."
A pang of guilt hit me. I nodded silently and went to my room.
I could hear the water running… for two hours. He must not even notice when the hot water runs out.
When he finally emerged, he came straight to my room—wearing only a towel around his waist.
"What the hell are you wearing?! Put some clothes on!" I yelled, throwing my comforter at him.
It passed right through and hit the floor.
"This is appropriate attire for someone who just took a shower," he said, laughing.
"Get dressed—now!" I shouted, covering my eyes.
"Fine," he said, sounding bored.
I peeked. He had changed into normal clothes. Mist still clung to him like the cold fog you see when opening a freezer.
"How was it?" I asked quietly.
"As expected. I still couldn't feel anything."
He turned to me and gently stroked my cheek. Then suddenly, his expression darkened—and all the light bulbs in the room shattered in a burst of sparks.
"It's really not fair…"
His hand was still on my cheek—cold as death. In the pitch-black room, only his glowing golden eyes were visible.
"You should change your light," he muttered, finally pulling his hand away.
I bolted out to grab replacement bulbs… but hesitated at the door. That had been terrifying.
When I finally re-entered the room, Miguel wrapped his arms around me from behind.
"Um… Miguel?" My heart pounded. His hands slid down my arms and gently took the bulbs from me.
"I'll change them."
I backed away timidly.
He laughed and replaced both lights with ease. He likes to confuse me. My first impression of him was right—he's a pure sadist.
"We should buy some groceries," he said suddenly. "I want to cook something special tonight."
He smiled. "I haven't made salmon in a while. I hope you like it."
My heart skipped.
"Okay. Let's go."
At the store, I didn't speak much—too many people, too many cameras. I drove us since the store was farther away from school. When we got back, Miguel carried everything inside. Thankfully, no one saw.
"You don't have to do that," I said nervously.
"I want to."
He remembered exactly what I told him before. The salmon was cooked perfectly—tender, just a hint of spice, exactly how I like it. Even the lettuce was crisp, like it had just been picked. I felt a little guilty eating something this good for free.
He sat across from me, smiling as he watched me eat.
"It's really good!" I said, beaming.
He closed his eyes and smiled wider.
"That's a relief," he murmured, leaning back.
"Th-thank you," I mumbled.
"You're welcome... but I didn't do it for you."
His words stung—until he added, "I did it because I wanted to cook for you. So I did it for myself."
That made me smile like an idiot.
After dinner, I went straight to bed. Miguel stayed up, watching some zombie movie I'd never heard of. He kept sighing and grumbling about the terrible effects, mocking the plot like it personally offended him. But I knew him well enough by now—if he really hated it, he would've turned it off. He liked the distraction. The noise. The excuse to stay in the room with me.
Once again, I couldn't remember my dream.
But I woke up with my heart pounding.
The room was cold. That unnatural chill that only came when Miguel was close. It wrapped around me like fog, seeping under my skin.
And when I opened my eyes—
He was there. Hovering just above me, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
"Miguel?" I whispered, voice catching in my throat.
He didn't speak.
He just leaned in, closer, until I could see the shimmer of gold in his eyes and feel the ghost of his breath on my lips—even though I knew he didn't breathe.
My chest tightened.
He hesitated—just a second—and then, without a word, pressed his lips to mine.
It wasn't fiery. It wasn't frantic; it was slow and careful. Like he was memorizing the shape of my mouth. Like he was trying to remember what warmth felt like. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His touch—cold, impossibly cold—sent a tremor through me that landed straight in my chest. His mouth lingered on mine, and I realized my fingers had curled into the sheets beneath me.
I wasn't imagining this.