She Belongs To Him

New white rays slip through the window and curtain just the same, casting a soft glow over the many tan hues woven into the blanket I love so much. The fabric’s a little frayed at the edges, but I don’t care—it’s mine, and it’s comfortable. And yet, peace never lasts. “For the tenth time today, no.” I groan, rolling my eyes for what feels like the hundredth. My patience is on its last life. It’s one of those days—the kind where I’m stuck doing things I’d rather not, and the pressure’s suffocating. Not because it’s hard, but because it’s him. “But—” “I’m not showing you your present,” I snap, kicking my best friend off my bed. “Be patient.” Callyx lets out a strangled yelp as he rolls off the mattress and lands on the floor with a thud that echoes against the walls. He flails like a dying fish, and I watch with zero remorse. He had it coming. Groaning, he mutters something under his breath and sends me a glare that could fry eggs. “I can’t believe you just did that.” “Oh, I can.” He staggers up, one hand on his lower back like some elderly grandma after a questionable yoga class. Bad choice. I feel the laughter bubbling before I can stop it. I bite my lip, trying to keep a straight face—but the second he plants both hands on his waist like he’s about to launch into a lecture— “Dude!” I burst out laughing. “Don’t do that—you look like an old lady!” An old lady with a bad hip and no filter. I’m wheezing now, absolutely losing it, clutching my stomach for dear life. And that’s when Callyx Baxley Albion—my adorable yet dramatic best friend—decides he’s had enough of my nonsense. He rolls his eyes, tosses both hands up in defeat, and announces, “That’s it. I’m leaving.” Wait. No. Code red. “Wait!” He can’t leave. Mark will kill me. I launch myself to my feet, nearly tripping over my own blanket, and scramble in front of him, planting myself against the door like my body’s suddenly a human barricade. New mission: stall him for as long as humanly possible. “What are you doing?” he asks, sighing like he’s two seconds away from filing a best friend resignation form. Fair. If I were him, I would’ve walked out ten minutes ago. I clear my throat, my brain scrambling for ideas, then plaster on the most sheepish smile I can manage. “Me? Oh, nothing.” I bat my lashes like that’s going to convince him I’m innocent. Yep. Nothing suspicious about standing in a doorway like a psycho starfish. Callyx squints at me, his gaze sharp. He’s not buying it. My eyes flick to my desk, then back to him. “Do you want to get ice cream?” I ask, clasping my hands together in an attempt to look cute. “My treat.” He pauses, tapping his chin like he’s actually considering the offer. Then, he smirks. “Your treat?” Regret hits me like a truck. That look in his eye? That’s his I’m going to make this painful for you face. “Lovely,” I mutter under my breath. “Oh, forget it. I change my mind—” But it’s too late. His hand shoots out and grabs my wrist. “Nope. You promised. And now we’re going.” “Since when was that a promise?!” I yelp as he drags me out of my room, down the hallway, and into the sunlit streets. The café he picks is one of those cozy neighborhood spots—white brick walls, warm light fixtures, and the smell of sugar in the air strong enough to give you cavities just by breathing. With my phone pressed to my ear, I watch my best friend lean across the counter, grinning at the barista while ordering ice cream for what has to be the sixth time in the last hour. He glances over his shoulder at me with a stupid grin and waves like this is the best day of his life. I wave back with the same enthusiasm I’d have for a tax audit. “How much longer do I have to keep him distracted?” I mutter into the phone. “He’s eating my entire allowance.” “We’re almost done with the decorations,” Mark says. His voice is calm, like he’s not asking me to perform a miracle. “I’ll text you when it’s time.” “And that’ll be…?” “Maybe another hour?” I blink. “Another hour?” He has to be joking. “I can’t—” I start, but he cuts me off. “Eira, you still there?” “Yeah,” I sigh. “But hurry up or I’m throwing him off the Han River—okay, mom, bye, love you, take care.” I hang up on him without waiting for a reply. Oops. Mark’s probably offended. He’s a year older and thinks that makes him my life coach. Normally, I wouldn’t hang up on him. But desperate times. Also, he deserves it. Who makes me responsible for keeping Callyx busy? Then again, Callyx should be grateful. I’m a fantastic best friend. I’ll deal with Mark’s wrath later. “Was that your mom?” Callyx asks, sliding into the seat across from me with his fifth ice cream in hand. Kind of. “Yeah. She asked if you had anything in mind for your birthday.” A little white lie never hurt anyone. Truth is, my parents are in the States, and my brother Kwon is helping Mark set up the surprise party. Callyx shrugs, scooping a bite into his mouth. “Anything’s fine if it’s from mom.” I sigh dramatically, watching my hard-earned money vanish scoop by scoop. And then I see it—a tiny white speck on the tip of his nose. I reach for a tissue and hold it out. “You’ve got something.” I tap my own nose for reference. He stares at me, then the tissue, then back at me… and leans forward like a toddler expecting to be fed. “Wipe it for me.” He pouts. His cheeks puff out. His eyes sparkle. Ugh. “You’re a real headache,” I grumble, but I reach out anyway. Because as much as I complain, I always cave when he does that dumb, adorable act. He hums, eyes fluttering closed as I wipe the spot away. “I’m your favorite headache, though,” he says, leaning in just enough for his nose to nudge mine. The way he grins afterward makes me want to scream into a pillow. I roll my eyes, fighting the smile already tugging at my lips. And just as he opens his mouth to say something even cheesier— —I shove the tissue into it. He chokes out a muffled protest while I lean back in satisfaction. The café is warm and loud with the chatter of customers, the clink of coffee cups, and the faint hum of a pop song from the speakers. Outside, the afternoon sunlight slants low through the windows, glinting off the little sugar crystals in his cup. Time’s moving slowly, but at least it’s not unbearable. Or so I think—until my phone dings. From: Mark You did NOT just hang up on me. We’ll talk later. In the meantime… it’s party time. I stare at the message, my lips twitching. Finally.