Your vanity shakes as you slam the little drawer, and you let out a long annoyed breath, "Where is it?" You mutter, searching through your bags again. I pull your school bag across the floor then scan the rest of your room. You bend down to look in your school bag again just as a knock sounds on the room door.

Malachi stands in your doorway, holding up your lip balm.

“Why do you have that?" you ask him, frowning. Then your brows soften. "Did I leave it in the kitchen again?" He nods and silently steps in, closing the door behind him.

He tosses your lip balm to you then pulls off his cap, turning it backwards to tame his wavy hair.

Over the last year, Malachi has changed from a boy to a young man. For seventeen, he looks twenty with a chiseled jaw, long lashes, and bright, diamond-like blue eyes. He has muscles that are starting to become noticeable through his clothes, and he loves to run. He once signed to you that it helps clear his head Sometimes, you’d run together. you’ll listen to the same song usually Taylor Swift if you choose, or Bad Omens if he does then you’ll sit by the lake and watch the sunrise before you go home and get ready for school.

All your friends want to kiss him. He's the quiet, mysterious Malachi Vize that everyone wants a piece of. It sickens you specially when they go into detail in the group chat about things you’d rather not read. He's not popular he's the "silent weirdo," yet they say things behind his back because they're too scared to say anything to his face.

Malachi leans down and sniffs your hair, just like he does every day, then sits on my bed and signs, ‘Where are you going?’

"Abigail's having a sleepover. Dad said I could go."

His eyes darken a touch, and his jaw tightens. He does that a lot too.

"Are you going out?" I ask him, and he shakes his head.