"In the shadowed corners of my existence, you emerged as the radiant dawn, sweeping away the weight of my heart's sorrows. Your luminance became the longing I never knew I had. Could you be the compass I've unknowingly sought throughout my life?"

---

"I love you," a voice called out from behind me.

I turned, and I saw this petite guy, unsure and scared. A chorus of laughter erupted from around me, and I turned in confusion but joined in the joyous laughter. The boy turned red but did not retreat and met my eyes with profound but surprising bravery. At least he has the guts to look me in the eye.

"Yo, dude, he said he loved you!"

"How romantic!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!"

There wasn't much to tell about the boy or write home about. I'm already familiar with his kind—gay people, I mean. Ever since stepping into college and joining the university basketball team, there wasn't a lack of admirers. Whether it was a girl or boy, they all wanted my acknowledgment. They wanted my gaze.

Now, did I take advantage of that? Of course, I did. I wasn't about to turn down an offer of a girl to be with me and her enjoying my company. It's always been a give-or-take transaction for these people. But it comes to a screeching halt when talking with a guy.

"Nah," I said amid my mild chuckle. "I don't fuck with guys," I added, complete with the snarkiest and smug face I could contort.

The guy only looked at me, and something in his face changed. A few of my teammates even stopped laughing. I felt a bit of silliness. Maybe I was being too mean?

"I understand. Thank you, though," the stranger squeaked in his soft voice. With that, he turned away, immediately disappearing from the crowd that engulfed the university court. At his disappearance, it felt like a spell broke, and everything returned to normal. Waves of laughter resumed, and the general bullshitting continued as if nothing happened. What was that about?

By the end of the evening, I found myself in bed with a cute blonde admirer. It was a transactional setup, of course—enough to get me through the night and numb some thoughts in my head.

My name is Theodore Harwood, by the way—Theo, for short. I'm just your average college dude trying to make my way into the world through the basketball world. I'm majoring in engineering, but I'm not sure it's what I want in life yet. I'm just nineteen, after all. I think I'm good-looking, hence the admirers, but I'm also tall and well-built. Thanks, genetics! The best aspect about me would most likely be my wavy and sand-colored hair.

"It's ugly," my friend Dustin told me as we lingered around the university quad. "And basic, I'm afraid, my friend. You were gifted with the magic of a basic white boy." And then he cackled.

"Nah, man," another friend chimed in. Erik. "I don't think it's politically correct to say those things anymore." He added a shrug as he adjusted his dorky-looking glasses.

"I can't believe I grew up with you," Dustin said. "You literally are the losers of our street." He added with a smirk. We all shared a laugh at that. Dustin has always been the only black kid in our neighborhood, and he took pride in that. That also means he's cursed with only having white kids as his best friends. He used to live in Brooklyn, I think before he moved to our state.

"Hey, take a look at that," Erik nudged me and pointed my attention to a person passing by us. It was the same guy that professed his love for me. Huh, now I could spot him out of a crowd. He didn't seem to notice us, or if he did, he acted very well because he continued his path as if we weren't there in spitting distance.

"It's that gay dude," Dustin said in complete monotony. "The one who confessed his true love to you last week."

"Yeah, what about it?" I asked.

"I believe he's in your class," Erik said in deep thought. "I keep forgetting his name. Something like Sonny. It sounds weird."

The boy looked tremendously unassuming, and that's saying generous. He was the type of person where you didn't notice him from a crowd. Hell, he even walked with his head hanging low, as if someone would hate crime him anytime (to be fair, we weren't really a progressive state, either). Despite his dark, unkempt hair and baggy flannel shirt, he had a kind face. The air about him was that if you thought of a character that would fit a Life Is Strange game—that was him.

"He kinda looks like a video game character, right?" Erik mentioned out loud, and I turned at this coincidental commentary. His eyes followed this stranger, and had his hand under his chin, like he was thinking of something else to say. But what more could you say about someone that looks… basic? Heck, who am I to talk about being basic?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Dustin agreed after a moment. "Like one of those visual novel games or something."

"Not Dream Daddy."

"No, not Dream Daddy."

"Guys, come on," I said, breaking the conversation to a halt. "Let's not talk about the guy anymore. I hate to be secretly recorded and get canceled for being friends with you."

Dustin snorted. "Right, white boy," he said. "Fat chance that happens to you."

"Damn, Dustin, I can't take you anywhere without making this racial."

"Just messin' with you, man."

And so, the day went on, and all three of us got to our respective classes. I've got a writing course that day, and whatever that had to do with engineering, I wasn't sure. I'm a bit of a doofus when it comes to literature. I mean, come on, I'm a basketball athlete.

"And that doesn't mean you should go to my class for the easy A, Mr. Harwood," Professor Lambert said as he slapped my desk with my critical essay marked C minus. A couple of girls sitting beside me giggled. I lowered my head and sank a little bit in my chair. "I mean, come on, people. At this point, only Mr. Santos would be the only one passing my class."

There was a general murmur among the crowd; some even laughed. "Okay," Lambert said, spreading his arms like Jesus Christ. "So, you think you can take me at my full power?"

"Boo!"

The professor held up his arms as if in defeat. "Alright, I get it," he said calmly. "You're college students now, right? Big shots. About to go out in the world. I get it." I sensed something was coming, and I was not happy about how the turn of phrases was being churned out. I admit Lambert was a nice guy, but he was no pushover. Do you think this overweight man that can recite Chaucer by heart was someone you could just "boo" to your heart's content? We had another thing coming.

"Then, how about this," he paused for dramatic effect, waiting for the crowd to simmer down, and continued, "I'll let you in easy. And something you younguns would be most interested in. Why don't you write me a reaction paper about the message of the anime Violet Evergarden?"

There were a couple of gasps, and some people smirked. The blonde girlies squad's faces contorted in confusion. The anime boys' faces lit up, and the general class achievers scribbled furiously in their notes.

"I think you'll be in for a ride. Watch the thing. And tell me all about it. Next week." Lambert said with a devilish look on his face.

"What?"

"Next week already?!"

"No, Prof. Lambert! I have tryouts!"

"No buts, people," Lambert reiterated. "It's just an anime. It'll be really easy for you, I bet. But don't get comfy."

We were released early in that class, and everyone forgot all about the assignment. The following week, Lambert entered the room with rejuvenated vigor. Everyone's faces met his with defiant gravity. I actually did forget about the project, but I asked a trusty tool to summarize it for me and tell me its meaning—hello, ChatGPT, my friend.

Lambert collected all of the papers. The class sat in silence, waiting in deep trepidation. The wideset professor didn't speak for a few minutes but read our papers quickly. Once or twice, he would tilt his head as if agreeing with something, and sometimes, he would chuckle and shake his head. He would slam a paper facedown back to his desk at the latter response. He looked at every one of us every time he did this. And smirked—the entire time.

When he was done, he turned to us and held out his hands. "Great job, everyone!" He greeted happily. The girlies sighed in relief, and the anime boys were over the moon. "In the way most of you didn't even bother watching the thing, huh?"

There was a sudden vacuum of silence.

He lifted two fingers. "Two culprits," he said ominously. "The cleverer of the bunch, which I could deduct to be Mr. Reagan and his gang of baboons," ("Hey!") he continued. "Must have used Wikipedia to dissect the paper. Meanwhile, some people," he dangerously shot his eyes towards my direction. "Tried to use the help of AI for this task, huh?"

"But, sir—"

"Ah, ah!" He said, standing up. "But I am just deducing and speculating, of course. There's no way to determine which of you used what in what manner and how. That being said, we're now doing a special activity today!"

There was a collective audible groan in the room.

"Based on your writing, let's rewrite everything you've put on your paper and then react to it. Do you agree or disagree? Which parts do you think should be improved? Expound. Think." Then, he loudly clapped, and everyone snapped up from their seats and said, "Partner in two." Without missing a beat, the rest of the class followed. They spared no time grabbing friends and familiar acquaintances for the activity.

As soon as I rose from my seating, Lambert gestured to me. "Mr. Harwood, I want you to join Mr. Santos and discuss your paper with him. It's so well-written. I bet you could teach a thing or two to Mr. Santos."

Begrudgingly, I stood up and walked towards where Santos was seated. Passing by Lambert, I gave him the dirtiest look I could do. When I took my seat—I knew this face.

Eyes looking up at me in the cold night among the crowd. I love you.

"Hi," he said, looking down at his pants. No brave eyes met me this time. He looked as uninteresting from when he passed us earlier in the day. Flannel shirt, too baggy for his lean body, and inside a white tank top that hugged his torso like a comfortable blanket from the world. He looked cozy, if not for his obviously tense demeanor. Closer to him than earlier, I realized he was kind of nice… looking. He had soft features, and his light brown skin slightly reflected the room's lights, casting a flattering hue across his facial features. This was no sporty guy at all. It looked like he could break at the slightest touch but drew in anyone who gave him a second look to feel invested. Protect him.

"Ah," I blurted out and then looked around the room. Lambert was busy separating Reagan and his gang from each other. Everyone else seemed to have partners already. One of the cute girls looked in my direction, but a twinkle appeared in her eyes, and I got goosebumps. I gestured that we exchanged partners. To my surprise, she shook her head and whispered something to her partner, and they giggled together.

"We could just do this individually if you want," a voice said behind me. I turned to Santos, and he was now looking at me, his expression blank and unreadable.

"No individual work, please," Lambert said from across the room without even looking in our direction. I was sure he heard Santos.

And so, I was forced to look towards Santos again. He met my eyes for a moment, looked down, and turned a slightly darker shade of red—almost pink—in whatever his pretty brown skin allowed. Pretty?

"Right," I said, pulling a deep breath. I wish I didn't, though. As soon as I did, his scent caught my nose, and it was something else. Santos had no cologne or perfume but slightly smelled like coffee and wood. TikTok would say "cottage-core," and I wouldn't challenge that. It was a pleasant smell—I liked it. Only for the fact that the "bubblegum" scent that some girls splash on their bodies irritated me so much. I wasn't fond of sweet things, you see.

"Right," he responded in his low but round voice. Has he always sounded this way?

He slowly pushed my critical paper back to me. I looked at the title, "Mechanical Hands, Human Emotions: An Exploration of Trauma, Communication, and Humanity in 'Violet Evergarden,'" and gave him a sheepish smile. His eyebrow made a minuscule movement that conveyed, "I know."

"Er…" I stumbled to find the words. "I don't know what I was thinking…"

"It's a beautiful anime, you know," he said softly, smiling at my ChatGPT-generated title. His hand flipped through the pages, glancing at the content surprisingly quickly, and then reacted occasionally.

I should have read this critical paper. When he scoffed with a slight smile on one part, I thought: What was that part? What's so interesting? I wanted to ask him about it, but I felt like I was being intrusive. Santos looked like he was in his element as if nothing in the world could disturb him, and I didn't want to be the person that distracted him by asking stupid questions or saying some shit. It was an infectious feeling, seeing him read something he enjoyed, and in a way, I wondered what goes in his head.

"Harwood?"

I snapped out of my thoughts, and he looked at me like I was drooling. I closed my mouth and scratched my head even though it wasn't itchy. I wanted to cover my face with something and felt a little heat coming from my neck to my ears.

"You didn't read this at all, did you?" He asked.

"You did." I managed to blurt out. Two words. Like it was the hardest thing in the world.

He put a finger across his chin as if in thought and said, "Yeah, I guess I did. Only in passing, though. ChatGPT really writes well. It broke down some of the relevant parts in great detail." He said—the most since we encountered each other.

"Can you, uh," I said, struggling to find the words. "M-maybe you can explain them to me?"

He met my eyes again. I thought he would say something unkind for a moment, but it didn't come. He only smiled politely, closed the critical paper, and then turned to me again. "Well, it starts off with this former child soldier, Violet, who had difficulty assimilating—"

"Assimilating?"

"Uh, mixing. Mixing in society. She grew up in a state of war, see…"

The writing course was around an hour and a half that day. Yet, I never noticed. I listened to Santos break down the basics of the anime with full attention. I didn't know what grabbed ahold of me that day, but I found myself engaged with his storytelling. It could be his pleasant-sounding voice—perfect for storytelling—or it might be because of his detailed review, but I was in it. I found myself touched when the Major died to bring Violet out of the war; my heart broke a little when the writer found his passion once again after losing his child, and I got teary-eyed when the ailing mother asked for Violet's help to write fifty letters, one delivered for her daughter's birthday, until she couldn't anymore. And with each episode, Violet would learn more about herself, conveying her emotions and understanding the essence of healing.

There was a loud clap, and I snapped out of the trance. Santos stopped recounting the anime, and we all turned to Lambert, who returned to his desk again.

"I see a lot of you in deep discussions, but this is a writing class and not a podcast," he said, looking in our direction. "I hope, with this collaborative group work, you'd turn in a more insightful breakdown about the subject. In five pages. To be submitted to me next week. Capiche?"

There was an unmotivated drone of agreeing at this. Before I knew it, we all returned to our seats and were dismissed. Immediately, I searched for Santos, and I only saw the edges of his flannel shirt in the doorway and found myself rushing out of the room. I caught him halfway down the hall. For someone so small, he sure walks fast.

"Hey!" I whispered out to him, reaching for his shirt.

He didn't hear me but turned to go in the opposite direction and immediately slammed, face-plant, across my chest. Thankfully, I'm a basketball player and not easily pushed around. I instinctively put my hands on both his arms, and he looked up in shock. His eyes widened, full of emotions, and then leveled down after a moment.

"Harwood," he gasped.

"Santos," I said with a silly grin. He looked at my hands, clutching his arms, and I immediately let go. I was not some creep here, guys.

"Is there something…?"

"Look, I don't want to be presumptuous, but, uh," I stuttered again. This is kind of embarrassing, really. "M-maybe you could help me out with this thing?"

"Thing?"

"For Lambert!"

"Oh… I—"

"If you're busy, I get it," I immediately said. I didn't know Santos. Maybe he had some plans, for all I know. "It's just that I think you're really good at this stuff, and I'm not."

He considered something, unspeaking for a while, and then nodded. "Sure," he said. "Where do you want us to work on this?"

That—I wasn't ready for. I was staring at him, dumbfounded, for God knows how long. I didn't actually expect him to agree! After a while, the awkward silence became too unbearable, and he chuckled. "Right," he said quietly, "You didn't think this through, did you, Harwood?"

"Theo."

He stared at me briefly and then gave me a very polite smile. "Nice to meet you, Theo." He said and then put out his hand. I shook it. "I'm Sunny."

"Hey," I replied sheepishly. "I think we should figure this out in a quiet place," I suggested.

"And I thought you liked the crowd."

"Not while doing a critical paper."

"The library?"

"Nah, too boring."

"We're not going on a date, are we?"

"What?"

Sunny chuckled, slightly tapping me on the arm. "Who cares if it's boring?"

"Ah, haha," I blurted out. "Well, perhaps you'd want my full attention."

"Perhaps."

"There's a cool coffee shop by 12th."

"Ah, Coffee Crisis?"

"That's the one."

"When?"

"Tomorrow, by 7 PM. Sound cool?"

Sunny started to walk away, his charming smile trailing along my memories. "Be there or be square, Harwood," he said, pushing past me to wherever he was going. I turned to get a lingering look, and he was already waving me off, unturning.

"It's Theo!" I called out.

"Right."

The day passed by in a blur. Before I knew it, it was already the next day. When I opened my eyes and rose from the bed, I almost knocked my laptop over. I stopped halfway on Episode 4 of Violet Evergarden, and I think it's one of the best shows I've seen in my life. And I watched Breaking Bad! It's definitely up there.

I didn't know what was happening that day, but everything seemed brighter. The rays of sunlight that poured through the windows gave my room a soft glow, like I was in some kind of CW show. Superman and Lois, to be exact. Maybe Stargirl. Anyway, everything seemed lighter, and for the longest time, I was excited for the day. It's like I would start singing all of a sudden.

"Are you on drugs?" Dustin asked as we walked to the quad.

"What?"

"Adderall," he guessed. "White people like being in Adderall."

"You don't want to go there, Dust," Erik interjected from beside him. "Anyways, Theo wouldn't do that because it'd fuck up his chances at the team. Coach Langley, bless his heart, would drop you so fast…!"

"Guys, what's the deal? Everyone's so loud today." I said.

"Deal? See, Erik, I knew it," Dustin said with an "aha!" tone. "I'm not participating in this behavior. My mama done raised me right."

Then, Erik stopped me in my tracks by putting his hand across my chest. "Something's happened to you," he said. "You seem… brighter."

"Brighter? Smarter?" Dustin asked incredulously.

Erik rolled his eyes. "No, Dustin," he answered back. "Like, sunny kind of brighter." Dustin took a step back, looked at me head to toe, leaned over right in my face, and then shook his head. "Nah," he said, "I don't see it, man."

"Oh, speaking of sunny," I said, smiling at the two of them. "I'm meeting up with Santos later. Lambert's gonna regret making us work on that paper all over again."

The two exchanged looks and stared back at me like some choreographed cartoon sequence. "Who?" They both ask at the same time.

"Sunny. Santos. You know," I said with a shrug.

Erik's eyes brightened. "Ah," he said, "Santos. Interesting." Dustin was full of questions. After a moment, he turned to Erik and play-punched him again and again. "Hey, guys, I'm your friend, too. What's happening? Who's Santos?"

"In knowing nothing, life is most delightful, my friend," Erik said, pulling Dustin away to get to their classes.

At quarter to seven, I was already at Coffee Crisis. I wore a leather jacket and black pants that evening, even though I was burning under my shirt. Thank God I didn't have basketball practice that day…

On the dot, Sunny came around the corner and met my gaze. He smiled softly and sauntered towards me. When I saw his face, I felt a strange uneasiness in my stomach. It was the same feeling I get when I take a test I didn't study for. Sunny looked terrific, though. He sported a casual shirt and pants layered with a cozy-looking cardigan.

I felt a little bit of envy. If Dustin and Erik saw me this casual, I'd never hear the end of it. I was always the flashy one who grabbed all the girls' attention at the party. I was the flashiest wingman ever. If I got some, Dustin (or sometimes Erik) got one, y'know?

"Theo?"

"Huh?" I instinctively responded and realized Sunny stood before me, waiting for a response to something I didn't hear. "Sorry," I added sheepishly. "I didn't catch that."

A soft smile escaped Sunny's face, and he shook his head. "You never listen." He said and then proceeded to Coffee Crisis.

After grabbing our coffee, we sat in one cozy corner of the shop. I never thought that this place would be so nice. I didn't go on coffee dates (dates?). I'm surprised at how quiet and homey the area felt. It was a very retro games-inspired kind of shop, like arcades and Pac-Man, things like that. On a large mural on the wall, a game called WrestleQuest added more retro vibes to the place.

"It's a nice game," Sunny soft voice said as I gazed at the mural's characters—a Randy Savage-looking man and a stag person with cheesy sunglasses. "Lots of heart." He added with a smile.

I turned to Sunny, and for an instant, a soft glow emanated from him. Oh, right, the cottage-core aesthetic. Got it. "You're a gamer?" I asked.

He shrugged in response to my question and pulled out my critical paper, some blank paper, and a pen. "I have interests, you know."

"Sorry."

"Other than you."

I didn't say anything to that, but he gave a sincere chuckle and shook his head. "Although, of course, I'm not interested in dating straight guys, too." He said.

Why not?

"So," he immediately interjected before I could say anything. "Let's get crackin'."

I didn't know how long we sat there, but it was a heckin' good time. We mainly talked about Violet Evergarden, even if I was only a few episodes in. Whatever I watched, we discussed thoroughly. He asked me things like I was in a podcast: my opinions on how the story unraveled itself, takeaways from Violet's lessons, and countless others. Sunny was friendly enough to take notes as we discussed the show, laid out in bulleted topics. Deep in my heart, I still believed that the Major was alive and that Violet would someday meet him again.

I really enjoyed listening to Sunny. Everything he said seemed so interesting. It's like he was wiser for his age. Just how old was he, anyway? The way he talked was captivating like every word ended with a flourish. It wasn't dramatic, like Lambert's, but it had grace. It's like he was dancing. He communicated every emotion he felt while watching Violet Evergarden with relative ease, and I felt a pang in my heart then. How was it so easy for other people?

There were several moments during our coffee date when I found myself just staring at Sunny, absorbing every word and syllable that came out of his lips. From how he mentioned "right" as a response to something silly I said to the slight leaning that left a lingering woody scent in the air, I found myself at a thrall. As I gazed at his lips, I wondered: Has he ever kissed someone?

"I didn't peg you as a romantic," Sunny said after finishing his second cup of mocha latte.

"I have depth, you know." I snarkily said. He opened his mouth in surprise and chuckled, tapping my arm with the pen. "I'm not all that," I added with a kidding shake of my head. We shared a sudden laugh that the lady sitting next to us had to "shush" us.

"Harwood!" He gasped in a hushed tone.

I smiled at him and said, "Theo. Call me by my name, Sunny." He looked into my eyes briefly and nodded but didn't say anything.

Suddenly, his phone rang, and he answered it quickly. I couldn't get who he was talking with or what they were talking about, but he ended the call before I could form a thought. Then, he looked at his watch and sighed heavily—11:57 PM.

"Sorry, Theo," he said, getting up. "I have to get home. It's late." Before I could respond, he began to pick up his things. Panicking at the sudden turn of events, I grabbed his hand. He stopped halfway and then met my eyes.

"Wait," I only managed to say.

"Hm?"

"I could use more help with this paper."

"You already have my notes."

"I'm a bad writer."

Then, he smiled and jokingly rolled his eyes at me. "Alright," he said. "Here again?"

"Y-yeah."

Sunny stepped back, allowed my hand to break from his distance slowly, and then waved to me. And before I knew it, Cinderella was gone at midnight.

Shocked at the sudden departure, I forgot to ask which day we would meet, but I looked down in panic and saw his number from the corner of my critical paper. When did he write this?

I couldn't stop thinking about Sunny when I walked home that night. What was so intriguing about this person? He was a stranger a week or so ago. Heck, he was a stranger yesterday. He could pass me in a crowded university hallway, and I wouldn't notice him. Not a single glance. But as of this evening, even if he stood behind Dustin or Erik, I would see him. How did someone so small could make such an impression?

These thoughts ran through my mind a hundred miles an hour as I fiddled with the edge of the paper that bore his number. Would it be too much if I texted him right now? Would it look like I was too eager? Too excited? About what?

"Nah, man," Erik's voice rang out from my laptop. I saw the disinterest in his eyes, even in the small window of the Discord video call. "I don't think he would mind." He added with a deep sigh and returned to fixing his keyboard.

I shrugged. "I dunno," I said. "I don't know what to do with the activity, and I have basketball practice. We need to set it up properly. You know, to discuss stuff. I don't want to fail. Not with Lambert's class."

Erik raised his hands in defeat and gave me a bored look. "Theo. Theo. Yo, T!"

"What?"

"Listen," he said. "It's just Santos. Nobody died."

"Easy for you to say."

The familiar clunk of a Discord notification rang out, and I saw Dustin hop on the call. "The betrayal. How dare you?!"

"Christ, not this—"

"Shut it, Erik," Dustin said immediately as he opened his laptop camera, showing his double chin from lying down. "I don't want to hear from you, snake." He added. Erik scoffed and rolled his eyes with a smile.

"T, my man, am I not enough for you?!"

"What are you on about, dude?!"

"You know you can't do these Discord calls without me! I. Need. You."

And all of us burst into laughter. I didn't continue discussing Sunny, not with Dustin there with us, but Erik did send me a message at the side: It's just a guy, Theo. Nodding in response, we proceeded to play Call of Duty, as tradition dictated.

When morning came, I woke up with a start. I immediately picked up my phone and checked for notifications. Nothing. Slightly disappointed, I did my usual morning routine: squats, sit-ups, and push-ups. After that, I bathed and grabbed breakfast at the hotdog stand in the next corner.

After my first bite, my phone's notification came up. I pulled it out and read the message. "Who's this?" Sunny's text said.

"Prince Charming," I replied.

"Oh, right. Theo. Clever."

"Get it? 'Cause you left at midnight, and you're Cinderella."

"Haha. Funny. And now I'm just a simple maid doing chores with mice."

"Do you have class later? Can we meet?"

"Sure. Tell me where?"

The quad was quiet that day. The football team wasn't around, and the cheer squad didn't appear. Suffice it to say, I was one of the few handfuls enjoying the outdoor morning air. It was crispy. I settled myself in one of the benches, lining the edges of the field, rubbing my hands together for warmth. Whether this was because of the chilly weather or anticipation, I wasn't sure. I kept blowing into my hands as I looked at the morning crowd going about their day and their dazed expressions.

I kept looking at the time on my phone repeatedly, waiting as if he'd appear any second now. But I knew that I was about fifteen minutes too early. Sure, I don't know how punctual Sunny was, but I just made sure to be there with extra time to spare. I don't want to be that guy that was late all the time. Really?

When Sunny showed up fifteen minutes later, he wore his usual shirts-and-cardigan outfit. It was basically the same as last night's but a different shade. I greeted him with the warmest smile I could. Weirdo.

"Mornin'," I greeted.

Sunny cast a small but sincere smile and then shifted his bag on his shoulder. "Theo," he responded with faux-seriousness, then gave me a silly grin.

"Last night was fun," I said but trailed off because of how it sounded.

"You let me do all the work. Don't think I didn't notice, Harwood."

"And I told you I need more help."

"You're going to be fine, Theo."

"W-wait, I promise I won't let you do all the work this time. You did confirm to do it in the coffee shop again. Last night."

He gave me a skeptical look for a second, and I thought he might return from his promise. My moment. I met his eyes and said, "Come on, man. I promise I'll listen to everything you'll say." Then, I put a hand across my chest. "And I'll take down notes," I added with a sheepish grin.

Shaking his head, Sunny agreed after a while. "I should be getting paid. People pay for this, you know? I could get rich." He said as I celebrated my win.

And so, we continued the next few days doing Lambert's paper. Same time, same place. Every night. I tried to fit everything into my schedule. Between Lambert's assignment, basketball tryouts, and hanging out with Dustin and Erik, I was pretty much all over the place.

"Theo."

"Hm?"

"You're not listening again," Sunny said with a frustrated smile. I took a second to compose myself and turned back to the notes before me. Sunny grabbed them from my hands and turned them upside down without missing a beat. "I think you need a break."

"I can do the work!"

"Right."

"Okay, then," I said, pushing my coffee cup to the side. "Tell me something, Sunny."

"Tell you what?"

"Something about you."

Sunny leaned over at the table, put his hands under his chin, and smiled like he knew the secret to the universe. "What would you like to know, mister?" He asked playfully.

I can play this game, too. I leaned towards him, met his eyes, and said, "Well, what does make Mr. Santos tick?"

He smiled as if he had been waiting for that question all evening. "I'm just me," he responded back. "I'm just your average college dude, trying to make my way through the world."

I stopped in my tracks for a quick moment, and something flashed in his eyes that I couldn't quite understand. "I like coffee," he added as he looked around the coffee shop. "I like autumn. I like leaves scattered across the road. I like playing video games. Life Is Strange, in particular. I like looking at sunsets, watching the golden hour fade away, and welcoming the moon. I love falling in love," he paused and stared at me momentarily as if catching his breath or his thoughts. "I love the written word, especially when it says something about love."

"I didn't peg you as a romantic," I said with a smile.

"Is that a good thing?"

"I think so," I replied. "Otherwise, what would be the point of life, right?"

"Some people go through life without love to give. Encounters with strangers. Relationships reduced to transactions. Give, give, and give. And others take and take so much."

I scratched my head. "Yeah, but a lot of people do. I do." Do I?

Sunny gazed at me for a moment, deep in his thoughts. "You say that," he said in such a low voice it sounded like a whisper. "But do you believe it?"

I didn't know what to say back to him.

When Lambert's deadline came, Sunny and I were more than prepared. I dropped our write-up with extreme prejudice. That means I literally dropped our document on his table and gave Lambert a shit-eating grin. He gave us the "easy" A, much to his displeasure (and I basked in this ambiance), but gave most of the props to Sunny. I didn't mind it at all. I guess I'm lucky that I landed in Sunny's direction.

This also meant that the coffee shop meetings ended without Lambert's assignment to tether us together. I did text with Sunny every day. I always asked him what he was doing or what kind of class he was in. How was your day? That kind of stuff. Friends keep up with each other like that, right? Friends? Are you sure?

"You don't really text us that often," Erik said one day as we hung out at our usual spot at the quad. "But friends rarely do. Real friends, at least."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he replied. "We don't know half the time where Dustin is."

"You're right."

Suddenly, my phone's notification popped up, and I felt my face produce a smile. Sunny's name popped up. However, when I opened his message, it wasn't anything I expected.

THEO, YOUR FRIEND IS IN TROUBLE. GO TO THE ENGINEERING CAMPUS. NOW.

Without a second thought, Erik and I rushed to our building. Near the entrance, I found some people congregating around a commotion. I pushed past a couple of the people and saw an unlikely picture. Dustin was on the ground, unconscious, and Sunny was sitting beside him, with a bloodied face and keeping my friend's head elevated.

"What happened?!" I blurted out immediately, kneeling beside Dustin. My friend was horribly bruised and looked like he got jumped by a dozen people. He was breathing, but it was shallow and raggedy. "Will somebody call for help?!" I shouted at everyone around us. Erik was frozen in place, looking at the chaos before him.

"I-I already called the campus clinic," a girl squeaked behind me. I didn't even bother looking at her. "They're coming."

I turned to Sunny, who was tear-streaked across the face, and his left jaw was bruised. "What happened, Sunny? Tell me." I demanded.

Sunny shook his head, "I t-told him to let it g-go, Th-Theo." He said, trying to get the words through subdued sobs. "L-Let it go." And he bowed his head and spoke no more.

Before I could speak, the campus nurse and her team arrived at the scene. She asked some students to help with the stretcher they brought and immediately picked up Dustin for treatment. I shuffled past the crowd and followed along with the entourage, having an out-of-body experience.

"Mr. Harwood," a voice called out, and it felt like my soul snapped back into my body. I turned to the campus police, who arrived at the clinic moments after Dustin and Sunny were taken in.

"What did you say?" I asked.

"Did you see the perpetrators?" A tall man with an oddly comforting voice asked.

I shook my head. Sitting beside me, Erik did the same as the man turned his eyes upon him. "No," Erik said. "We only came after…"

The police asked a couple more questions I didn't particularly care for, and the school nurse soon joined us. She ushered us into the room, much to her disapproval.

"He's asking for you." She said with a grimace.

"Who?"

Then, she pointed to one of the treatment rooms. It was Sunny's room. Erik stood beside the door but did not enter. He only looked at me and then opened the door for me. When I came in, I saw Sunny lying on a bed. He was turned away from my direction.

"Sunny?" I softly called out.

When he heard my voice, he turned to me and saw his tear-streaked face again. "Hey," he called out to me, barely a whisper. "Theo…"

I approached him, grabbed a chair, and sat beside him. "Hey, Santos," I jokingly said. A tired smile was all he could give me. "What happened out there?"

He sighed heavily, put a hand across his stomach, and winced. "There was a group of guys," he began. "They didn't like me." He added with a struggle. Fucking animals.

"Did you recognize them?"

"No," he said, "but I know them."

How fucking dare them?!

"They didn't let me go. I tried to fight back."

Fuckers!

"And then, he was there," Sunny said with a sad smile. "Dus-Dustin." He paused, caught his breath, and continued, "He told them to back off, but they turned to him. He fought back. Got a couple of them. But he was just one guy."

I'll kill every single one of them!

"Hey," Sunny called out. I turned to him and realized that his hand was on my hand, intensely grabbing the side of the bed. "Theo, look at me," he said, and I looked up to meet his gaze. "Use your words."

I bit my lip for the longest time, unwilling to say anything, not to Sunny. But he kept looking at me, and I felt a sense of calmness that I hadn't thought for a while. "I…" I began. "I don't know what to say, Sunny."

"That's also okay," he said.

Slowly, he reached out to his bedside table, which had his backpack. He rummaged at it for a couple of minutes, then pulled out a pad of Post-it notes and a pen. He wrote something in it and pushed it in my direction.

Write it instead.

I looked up at Sunny, thinking that this was a ridiculous idea. "Not a podcast, remember?" He rhetorically asked, "Just like Violet."

I stared at the paper momentarily, organizing my thoughts, and then scribbled something. Sunny said nothing else and only looked at me the entire time. When I was finished, I handed back the note.

I'm sorry.

He looked into my eyes, shook his head, and then wrote a reply.

For what?

This.

Some people go through life without love to give, right?

I wiped a tear from my face, and Sunny said nothing. "But many people do," I whispered, finally finding the words to express my thoughts and thinking of Dustin. Sunny smiled at me and then closed his eyes. After a few minutes, he fell asleep—still holding my hand.

"Hey, man," I quietly called out as I sat beside Dustin's bed.

My friend's eyes were closed, and he seemed asleep. I sat there for a long time, thoughts to myself, listening to the quiet hum of the air conditioning. I heard the general white noise of the campus from outside the clinic windows, filling the space with a strange, calming sound. It made me feel like the world continued on but in a good way.

As I looked at the bruises on Dustin's face and body, I was comforted by the fact that my friend wasn't the type of person who quickly gave up. We grew up in the same neighborhood—all three of us—and Dustin always got into trouble. Not that he started them, but Dustin always had a good moral sense that was inherent to him. It was the essence of being Dustin. He got into trouble because he would fight the neighborhood bullies when Erik and I were being picked on. Our knight in shining armor.

"How long are you going to sit there brooding?"

I looked up and wiped my tears. "Yo, D," I said. "You got your ass handed to you, huh?"

He let out a wheeze that sounded like a twisted laugh and then coughed. "Sorry," he grunted. "But you know me. Bullies ain't it, man, y'know?"

"Yeah," I said, nodding in agreement. "I know."

"I couldn't just stand by and let them have at your boy," he said.

Unsure of what to say, I held Dustin's hand. He tightened his grip in whatever strength he had at that time, which wasn't much, but I understood. "How did you know?" I asked.

"You and Erik ain't slick, bruh," he said with a laugh-cough. "And I saw you at that place. Y'know, the coffee thing."

I smiled at my friend. "Yeah, he's interesting," I said quietly. More than that…

"This one for real?"

"I don't know…" Do I?

Dustin shook his head. "If this is the one, you gotta tell 'em, man," he said. "He seems like a good kid. Now, I felt bad for laughing that day." He said with a sigh.

"Not our proudest moment…"

"Yeah, no shit," Dustin said. "I already did the heavy lifting, T. All you have to do left is to say the words." He added with a smile. With that, he closed his eyes and continued his rest. I didn't say anything back, afraid to speak into existence; feelings I didn't feel were mine alone.

When I was a kid, many people didn't like that I made friends with Erik. Erik had just moved from Germany and had few friends in America. Not in our neighborhood, at first. When his mother came to visit my mother, we became instant friends. We spent hours together, playing, telling stories, and whatnot. My father, in particular, didn't like that.

One day, he brought me into the garage for a private beatdown. "Don't go parading around the street with that sissy Erik, you hear me?" He said to me. When I told him Erik was my friend and I wouldn't abandon him, my father slapped me so hard that I flipped towards the wall and smacked my head against it. My mom heard this, and this caused a commotion the whole evening. "He's just a kid!" My mom shouted, but he was having none of it.

When I entered grade school, my parents divorced, and my father left the picture. My mom struggled financially and emotionally because of the hard times of being a single parent. Sometimes, when things got rough, Erik would invite us to their home for food or support. Erik was with me the entire time.

Soon after, we met Dustin, and the duo became a trio.

There were times when I still think about that specific evening in the garage with my father, and I remember the pain that came along with it. I always thought getting mixed up in that kind of "business" brought much pain and suffering for everyone, not just my mom. And so, ever since that day, I distanced myself from other boys in the neighborhood. I only responded to Dustin and Erik, my safe spaces.

Before I knew it, I was in college and the clinic. I found it scary that the horrors of my past came to haunt me again, but this time, not in the form of my father, but people like my father. People who didn't have a lot of love to give and caused pain to everyone around them. To Dustin. To Sunny. To me.

"I wish I spoke up," I told Erik in our Discord call one evening.

"You were a kid back then, Theo." My friend responded. "Those kinds of things aren't supposed to happen to children. Parents provide and protect. Not pass on the awful parts."

"Yeah," I said. "He really did a number on me, huh?"

Erik returned my words with kind eyes. "And you can speak now," he said.

"I don't know what to say."

A week later, Dustin emerged from the hospital victorious. We ate at Panera when he was discharged. Before I knew it, my friend was back in his usual mood. A day or so after that, the group that assaulted Dustin and Sunny was apprehended by campus police. Dustin's mom pressed charges, and that was the end of it.

Sunny recovered a little bit slower compared to Dustin. It would make sense because his injuries went beyond the physical. He didn't attend class as much after the incident, and Lambert told me Sunny was doing his requirements remotely. "If that pandemic had anything to teach us at all," the professor told me one day when I asked about Sunny. "Is the importance of connection."

"And communication!"

"Ah, I see Mr. Reagan learned something from Violet, after all, would you look at that!"

One weekend, after several days of snooping, I found myself in an unfamiliar street, staring at a strange house. It wasn't much, just a bungalow, but very cozy and quaint. The house was painted in a light brown hue, like the color of autumn, and a well-kept yard was in front of it. It had a porch with a single rocking chair with a table beside it. Like a fairytale house.

I knocked on the house door, and when it opened, Sunny was there. His eyes widened with shock momentarily, and then his face flushed with color. He wore an oversized, long-sleeved wool shirt and very short shorts.

"Theo!" He gasped as soon as he saw me.

I raised my hand and showed him the cup of mocha latte from Coffee Crisis. "I thought you could use a pick-me-up," I said. "Good time?"

He looked at the coffee, then back at me, then behind him, and then gestured for me to come inside. "Come in," he said. "I hope you don't mind the mess." Initially, I didn't get what he was talking about because it was like spring was in season when I came inside. His home looked so green inside, not like the ugly green, more like florals and spring-kind of green, you know? They have potted plants and everything around the living area, and their couches look cozy and match the room's tone. The "mess" he was talking about were the pieces of paper scattered across the living room table. Everything else was neat and… alive. How could you not be when the sun shines in this living room…?

"Who is that, enano?" A voice called out from the back of the house. I smelled bacon in the air.

"Just a friend, tía!" Sunny answered.

Like something out of the cartoons, a head poked out from around the corner at the back of the living room. A beautiful Hispanic woman with long hair in a ponytail peeked and gave me an instant look-see. I felt my cheeks flush. "Ay, tía, stop looking," Sunny fussed and tried pushing the head back from where it came from. "You're embarrassing my friend!"

"Ah, he's handsome… very guapo, eh?" The woman said to Sunny.

"Tía!"

"What are you so fussed about, cariño?" She said dismissively, waving Sunny to the side. Finally, she popped out of the corner and approached me. She held out her hand, and I shook it. "Hi," she said with a bright smile that reminded me of someone else. "I'm Linda. Salvino's aunt." Salvino?

"Hello, I'm Theo," I said. "Sunny's classmate."

Linda's eyes brightened, and she turned to look at Sunny for a moment and then back at me. When she did, she already had an "I got you!" look and a silly smirk. "Ah, you're Sunny's classmate." She said. Sunny facepalmed behind her.

"Come, Teodoro, join me in the kitchen, where we can put that coffee cup down," she said with a smile, and before I knew it, I was being pulled into the kitchen. "Teodoro?" I mouthed to Sunny as we walked, and he just shrugged and gave me a silly smile, too.

We spent some time preparing breakfast. And since it was a surprise that there would be a guest, the meal had to be adjusted. Linda went on and on about living in the neighborhood, cooking for Sunny, and her life in Mexico—at a million-miles-an-hour pace. From time to time, she would say something requiring a response from Sunny, but he would often just say something in Spanish and then continue listening to his aunt. Meanwhile, I spent that time handing things to her as she cooked.

Linda kept going on about anything under the sun when we sat for breakfast (or second breakfast for me since I eat early in the day). I liked it. She reminded me of Dustin's mom, Shanna, who talked nonstop while she did house chores. There was a comforting presence of a homebody in both cases. They make the space seem like it's full of life. And when we finished eating, he sent us to the backyard while she cleaned up.

When we stepped out into the "backyard," I immediately felt the cold, crisp air enveloped me. There wasn't much space behind this house, but it was wide enough to have a bench, clothesline, and a single birdbath.

"I know," Sunny said as he sat on the bench. "The birdbath is a bit extra."

"Just kinda surprising, that's all," I said as I took the space beside him. For a moment, my pinky finger touched Sunny's pinky finger, and as soon as it did, he pulled his hand away.

"Thanks for the meal, cariño," I said.

Sunny rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry about all this."

"You don't have to apologize."

We sat there for God knows how long, looking at the skies and birds gliding to the birdbath. After a while, Sunny sighed heavily and said, "It's just me and my Aunt Linda." He looked at the window behind the house and saw Linda peering over, washing the dishes. When she caught sight of the two of us, she smiled and waved from inside the house. "My parents passed away when I was much younger, and she took me in. She was my mom's sister, and they were closer than soulmates. So, when the time came, Aunt Linda didn't hesitate. She took me in and raised me all on her own."

"I'm sorry."

Sunny smiled at me and put a hand on my arm. "Thank you," he said. "But I was very lucky, you know? All I've known my whole life is how amazing Aunt Linda is, even if things weren't picture-perfect all of the time. She taught me to see the beauty in everything—the good and the bad."

"Even the bad?"

"It's hard," Sunny said, gazing at the skies again. "But you need only look to see the beauty in everything. Then, you realize there's more to life."

I paused, thinking about what Sunny was going on about. "Even what happened to you?" I asked. He nodded but didn't say anything. "How can you bear not being able to speak up?"

"Theo," he said, turning to me again and meeting my gaze thoughtfully. "Don't let the world tell you you cannot speak up. You can. Or maybe, all this time, it's you all along."

"Me?"

"Holding you back."

"W-What if people didn't like what I had to say?"

Sunny took a sip of his coffee and gave me another warm smile. "There will always be someone who will listen," he said. "I did. I… am."

I handed a piece of paper to Sunny. I have been itching to give this to him for a while now, and this was now or never. This is my chance. For Dustin.

Sunny,

It has been a hectic week, and I stayed up late at night trying to find the right words to write in this letter to tell you how I feel inside. Violet makes it look easy, but I know she didn't give up after failing several letters. That's it, isn't it? Even if you knew how to "speak" to some people, it doesn't mean you expressed the right sentiment to them. Is it the people, or is it me? I'm not so sure.

This is the only medium I know where I can speak up and say my piece. I grew up always going with the flow. I didn't challenge anything in my life because that's how easy it is. My father ensured I wouldn't step out of line, which I did for my whole life, even with him gone.

Now, you're here, and you flipped something inside of me. I don't know what it is, but I'm excited to see where it goes. For the first time in my life, I get to say the things that I always wanted to say. For the first time, I didn't get to say the things that people wanted to hear. I only get to say what I want to say.

So, here goes—

Tears fell down from Sunny's face as he reached the cliffhanger end of my letter. He looked up at me, clutching my letter against his chest, his quiet sobs flying softly into the cold morning air.

"I'd like to hear you repeat it," I said confidently. The words felt like they came out of my chest as if they'd been waiting to be told for a thousand years. The sound of my voice rang in the air with absolute certainty. They were meant to be said here, right now, at this very moment—to the same person. "Please." Please.

Sunny softly shook his head, closing his eyes, trying to fight off a dormant emotion that he pushed down for so long. Now, at this moment, I could sense those stares and pauses that he always did. I could read between the lines of the things he said to me before. I could decipher every hint of color that built up across his face whenever I said something. Even the way his eyes darted or the way he forcefully closed his eyes like now, I could sense the emotions that came with these reactions. Finally. Finally.

We speak the same language.

"You never listen, anyway," he whispered between his soft sobs. Still, he kept his eyes closed, afraid to see my face, and then he'd falter again.

"Try me," I said.

"I already did!" He responded. "That night! You remember…!"

Before I could say anything next, Sunny stood up and rushed out of the gate of their backyard. Linda eyed him from the window, worried, but did not give chase. She looked at me, gave me a sad smile, and gestured me to follow Sunny. I rose to my feet and chased after the sun. My sun.

I caught up to Sunny at the next corner of his street, and he hugged himself because of the cold. His breaths created mists that made him look like some ethereal being. Or maybe that's just the way I saw him. How could someone so small get away so fast?

When he saw me, he contemplated to cross the street and get away from me. But I just held out my arms. "You can't run away from me forever, you know?" I said to him with a smirk.

He rolled his tear-streak eyes. "This may be for good!" He said. "I'm not supposed to say things like that ever again."

"You've never tried it! How do you know?!"

"You're smart, Theo! Figure it out! You already know!"

"I used ChatGPT to do our assignment!" I said, joking. "I need you to say the words one more time. I need to know if you still feel the same way. No miscommunication this time!"

He openly sobbed and looked to the skies again. Then, he chuckled, shaking his head at my predicament. Sunny rubbed his forehead as if internally gathering the strength to say something back to me. When he did, he looked at me and met my unwavering gaze. In turn, I looked at one of the most beautiful eyes in the world.

"I love you," he said between his tears and sobs. "I've always been in love with you. You have no idea!" He turned against me, hiding his tear-streaked face, but nothing could hide the pain that rang out into the morning air.

And as if it was the most fitting thing in the world, I embraced him from behind. His warmth enveloped us like a cozy blanket, protecting us from the cold walls of miscommunication. That, after all, our hearts spoke the same language. I was just too dumb to understand it.

At least now, I know the right words to say.

"I love you, too."

Fin.