"But you know, Brian. This is really just an impression."

As if to shake off a sudden thought, I voiced what I'd been vaguely pondering.

"It's hard to explain, but... I actually don't have a bad impression of the guy. I know, I know—even I think 'how would you know when you barely remember?'"

Brian snorted at my words.

"Hmph. How would you know when you barely remember?"

"I just said I think so too!"

"So? What's your basis for that? Surely it's not pure intuition."

"Well, it's like..."

I frantically racked my brain to counter Brian's sarcasm.

"He took me all the way home—and then just left."

"Maybe you weren't his type once he saw you in the light. Or maybe it was theft."

Since I obviously hadn't checked whether anything was missing from my apartment, I couldn't argue that point.

Seeing me fall silent, Brian continued.

"Anyway, don't wander around alone for a while. Be wary of any men who approach you. Got it?"

"Wait, Brian. But that person really—oh, I know! His hands were incredibly gentle when he carried me!"

He narrowed his eyes with the most expressionless face possible. Feeling slightly awkward under that look, I somehow continued.

"I remember fragments from around when he was driving me home. Whether the hands touching your body are gentle or not—even if your memory isn't clear, that kind of sensation stays in your skin. And I think... he was encouraging me the whole time."

"Luke."

"I must have been drunk and complaining about things. I don't remember exactly what I said. But he said kind words to me. So—"

"Luke, listen to me. Listen carefully."

His voice dropped to a growl as he cut off my protests and grabbed me by the collar. He peered deep into my eyes close enough that a kiss would have required no more than a breath.

"Your hazy memories mean nothing. If you want me to believe you, remember that night properly! Until then, no matter what anyone says, stay on guard. Stay home as much as possible and never let your guard down!"

Before me were steel-gray eyes, glinting with a dangerous light in the bar's dim glow. And a firmly masculine jawline, earnest lips that were sexy precisely because of their seriousness—damn it, don't dangle this in front of me. It’s worse than dangling a carrot in front of a donkey.

Even as I glared back into Brian's eyes with all my might, my body began heating up without my permission, my heart bounced around, and something in my core went soft. I couldn't believe my own reaction. Jesus, did he have any idea what I'd gone through over three years to get over him?!

Desperately suppressing the part of me being drawn toward those melancholy grayish eyes, I found myself shouting.

"Absolutely not!"

"What?"

The distance between Brian and me closed even further, and in my agitation, I piled on more resistance without quite understanding why.

"I'm not the same person I was back then! I'm never listening to anything you say!"

"What are you even talking about, you fool!"

"Miiight I have a wooord, boys?"

We both snapped our heads toward the voice to find Lexandra, with menace written all over his face and a smile that somehow made it worse.

Instantly, the tension between us eased.

"...Sorry, were we being loud?"

"Not loud exactly—everyone around you is getting concerned."

"You just wanted to know yourself."

After ruthlessly pinching my cheek for that muttered comment, Lexandra prompted Brian with heavily mascaraed eyes.

"So what's going on?"

"The usual. He's charging full speed in the wrong direction, so I was trying to stop him."

At Brian's words, Lexandra whirled around to face me.

"Luke, listen to what Brian says."

"Why does everyone always side with Brian?!"

"Think back on all the messes you've made!"

After that sharp rebuke, Lexandra added:

"Can you even properly explain what's happening?"

"Obviously. There's a possibility someone put something in my drink, so Brian told me to be careful."

"And you're fighting over such reasonable advice?"

"Huh?"

"—Lexandra. Sorry for the rush, but we're leaving."

"Oh, what a shame."

I shoved aside Lexandra, whose eyes had lit up at hearing his chosen name, and let out a plaintive cry.

"You're kidding—I've barely had anything to drink!"

Brian pressed a hand down on my head and continued.

"...It seems I need to have a serious talk with this one."

"You've really got your hands full, don't you. With everything."

"Yeah, well..."

"Lexandra, a Moscow mule next!"

"Anyway, it was good seeing you. I'll tell Dad you're doing well."

"Come back anytime."

Brian answered that with a look and dragged me outside.

Asphalt still faintly warm from the day's heat. Stars dotted the sky above.

"Get in. We'll find somewhere quiet and drink there."

"My Moscow mule."

Brian started to say something to my resentful muttering, then seemed to reconsider and fell silent. He circled the car and came to stand beside me at the passenger door.

"I'm sorry."

I'd been expecting a one-sided lecture, so I looked up at Brian beside me in surprise. His handsome face gazed down at me from close range, faintly illuminated by moonlight and city lights.

"I'm aware I've been dragging you around. I haven't exactly had much composure since we reunited either."

With stiff movements, I lowered my eyes. I understood what he was trying to say. During these two days since our reunion, there had always been a certain tension between us. We were both being extremely careful not to pull too hard on this fragile thread that had reconnected after three years—feeling out how much strain it could take, making sure it would never snap again.

These two days had made me realize that the three-year severance from a best friend I'd known since before I could remember had left deeper wounds than I'd thought. On both of us.

Brian continued quietly.

"I want to help you. Will you let me talk?"

"Alright."

When I said this with a sigh, Brian silently opened the passenger door and ushered me inside. I felt the warmth of a large palm against my back. The touch was barely there—but through it I felt something unmistakable. A quiet insistence: I won't let you go.

The moment I fastened my seatbelt, the used Land Cruiser started rolling quietly through nighttime Brisbane.

There was an awkward atmosphere in the car, but the tension between us had eased somewhat, and strangely, it wasn't uncomfortable.

"Your place okay? Mine works too."

"Where in Brisbane do you live?"

"Taringa."

"Huh, I'm curious. A late-twenties bachelor's interior."

As I started imagining furniture and curtain colors, Brian added in a mutter:

"Though I last vacuumed the floor five days ago."

"I'll let the surprise inspection slide for today."

I declared this bitterly, and Brian laughed as he turned the car left. He was probably planning to pick up some alcohol on the way. This route was a bit of a detour to my place. My home—the place I'd filled with nothing but things I loved, the place that was supposed to be the most peaceful place in the world now that my grandmother was gone—was getting farther away. Yet in that moment, I felt a strange sense of relief.

"Hey, Brian. I'm kind of in the mood for a little drive."

"Sure. Okay."

He answered lightly and immediately changed lanes. Watching the road stretch straight toward the west, I somehow knew where we were headed.

Mount Coot-tha. One of Brisbane's most popular night-view spots.

A fifteen-minute detour would have been fine with me. But well, Brian had always been like that—going above and beyond without even trying.