Sorry for not updating sooner! I've been busy. ^^'

That being said, please don't hate me for this chapter. *crosses fingers* And happy holidays/new year!

Building up, building up, all of these feelings inside of me. It's too much, it just makes me want to… pop!

This is how I feel whenever I'm around Lars, which is virtually everyday. It doesn't help that I sit next to him in class, that we eat lunch together, that we've taken to spending afternoons together to do homework, study, just talk. I try to act as normally as possible, but sometimes I can't help but let out a slight blush or a nervous giggle. There are so many emotions that I haven't become accustomed to, even though I've felt them before: anxiety, joy, frustration… It's all so distracting, and I find it odd that he hasn't seemed to have caught on to my feelings yet. Isn't he supposed to be a mind reader? But I should be grateful that I'm in the clear for now. It would be really embarrassing if he knew that I—

Anyway, one good thing about all of this is that I'm finally able to see where he lives.

I did accept his offer of going to his place. In fact, I've gone over a couple of times already (we switch off going to each others' apartments in the afternoons). As I'd thought, it's not such a great place to live. It has the student's necessities (kitchen, bed, desk, bathroom) but not much else. I feel sort of bad for him, but I'm not about to offend him with my pity again. However, I'm reassured by the thought that both of us will eventually find a way to escape our current lives. If only I could just find out why he's so reluctant to consider that possibility…

It's a bright Saturday today. There isn't much to do by myself, so I decide to visit Lars and see if we can do something together. I give him a call to see if he's busy; he isn't, so I pack my things and go on my way.

As I amble along the pavement, I look around at the place I've called home since forever. Taipei is irrevocably a part of me—who I am, what I've become. It's a wonderful place, and yet— Something suddenly occurs to me for the first time.

Why do I want to leave so badly?

I can make all of the clichéd justifications I want: everyone else has gone away, I'm lonely, I want to explore the rest of the world. But are these the true reasons? What if, in reality…

I don't have a reason? If I just latched onto any random idea at some point in the past and then made it my life's goal?

What if everything I've worked towards all this time was meaningless?

This thought scares me. I don't want to feel like I wasted my life. I don't want to feel like an impetuous little girl who wants something she doesn't need. I don't want to give up all of the wonderful dreams that I've had these past years.

…So I won't! There must be benefits to wanting to leave my homeland, even if I'm not aware of them. Wanting to escape can be a good thing, right? I don't want to be parochial; cosmopolitanism is modernity, and staying in Taiwan probably isn't going to get me anywhere. In order to ensure a successful future, I must develop an understanding of the world around me. No, my goal is not nonsense; I'll continue to work for it.

And yet, somewhere in the back of my mind, I can't help but think that I'm just making more pithy justifications.

"You're quiet today."

I glance up at Lars, startled.

"Huh?"

"You're quiet today," he repeats. "Usually, that means that something is bothering you."

"…How do you know me so well?" Because he's right. I'd been worrying about my goals when I was walking to his apartment; when I finally got here, I started to get nervous about what I was going to do about my feelings for him.

He snorts.

"We've sort of known each other for half a year now."

I grimace.

"Right." Then I sprawl over the couch, sighing. Absentmindedly, I twirl a hair band off my wrist and put my hair up into a loose bun. A few strands come off in my hand. Great, now I have to worry about hair loss too.

Behind the couch, Lars leans his forearms on the backrest and stares down at me. I feel a little self-conscious seeing his upside-down face and try to quell a rising blush.

"So, what's the matter?"

Geez, he has a memory like an elephant's.

"Nothing," I sigh, averting my eyes. Nothing he'd be interested in discussing, anyway. He raises an eyebrow at me.

"Really."

"…Yes."

Then he smirks at me. It's the one that says "I can see right through you." This time, however, I stand my ground.

"I really am fine. I was just thinking about some things, but I'm over them now." Then I close my eyes and place my hands over my stomach. I concentrate on the sensations around me: the rough fabric of the couch against my head, on my bare arms, under my calves. The slight breeze blowing over my face from the half opened window. The warmth of hands as they take hold of my legs and—

My eyes snap open.

"W-What are you doing?" I demand, staring at Lars. He shrugs as if he wasn't just pushing at my legs.

"Move over. I'm getting tired of standing up."

I huff but scoot over to make room. Curling myself up, I glare at him from behind my knees. That was irritating and a bit rude, but… I felt tingles when our bare skin connected. Oh my God, what am I thinking? My thoughts are so perverted…

We sit next to each other for a while, entangled in our own thoughts. After a few moments, I realize that Lars seems distracted. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed, and he seems anxious. What's the matter with him…?

"Hey, are you okay?" I get up on my knees and crawl over to him. "Are you sick or something?"

"I'm fine." He snaps out of it just in time to catch me hovering over him. Then he does something totally unexpected: he drops his eyes down to my mouth. They immediately flash back to my face again. His cheeks are red; he must have done that inadvertently. I'm a little surprised as well; I fall back, unable to look at him. My clenched hands rest on my thighs. Now the atmosphere is even more awkward.

After some time, I clear my throat and try to lighten the mood.

"So, um... it's pretty nice out today. Do you want to… go on a walk or something?"

"… Yeah. That's a good idea." He sounds uncomfortable, but I'm too embarrassed to see what his expression is right now. So we get up, get whatever we need, and exit the apartment. Once outside, I realize that I have absolutely no idea where we're going to go.

"Ah, well… I guess now is as good a time as any to show you some historical monuments," I say, laughing nervously. "What do you think?"

"I don't mind," he mumbles. I sneak a glance at him. His eyes are downcast, his face is slightly pink. I've never seen him so embarrassed before. So I punch him lightly on the arm.

"Hey," I exclaim weakly. "Pay attention to me, won't you?"

Finally, he looks at me again. There's something strange in his eyes, something beyond their gold-green depths that's as foreign as he is. I glance away quickly and march forward.

"All right! To the Sun Yixian Memorial we go."

As we walk, it doesn't escape my notice that he lags behind me. I don't dare to turn back; who knows what other awkward moments lie in wait for us? Like when he stared at my lips…

Could it be that…?

No, I shouldn't jump to conclusions. But I have to admit—while these varied feelings are at times annoying, I do enjoy having a crush on someone again. The subtle thrill of longing has returned. In a way, it makes me feel… whole. This seems weird even to me, so I stop that train of thought. We've reached the bus stop, anyway. The bus comes after a while; we board with our passes, then find seats next to each other. All this, without making a sound. I look out the window. There are people walking everywhere, couples, and it's then that I realize I'm acting like a pining little school girl. That's not good, I'm in university now—

"You're blushing."

I've never been gladder to hear his voice. I turn to him, smiling a little.

"It's a trick of the light."

His smirk is back, though it's not as playful as before.

"I'm pretty sure light doesn't work that way."

"Says who?"

"Someone who took physics, as you should have."

He's got me there. I pretend to pout.

"You're annoying sometimes, you know?"

Lars just snorts. But we've gotten back to acting like friends again, and I feel oddly, indescribably happy. Throughout the ride we talk and laugh and, for a time, are spared of any awkwardness.

It's only when we get to the memorial that the strangeness starts up again.

We're walking along the little footpath in the memorial park when we come to a fork in the road. One direction leads to more park, which is lined with flowers and borders a pond. The other direction leads to a bridge, where people can stand and admire the scenery. I look to Lars.

"Which way should we go?"

He deliberates for a moment.

"The bridge, I guess."

I shrug and nod. We stroll side-by-side onto the plane of the little green bridge. Along the way, we pass by some elderly couples exercising and taking pictures. I can't help but smile as I watch them (old people are so cute!). But when I turn to Lars, I find his eyes on me. He turns away quickly, but I'm left to wonder: was he looking at me?

We amble to the center of the bridge. It's relatively quiet here; not many people are around. The landscape is still. I take a moment to look down into the water and admire the lily pads. Then I spot a small heron-like bird.

"Look!" I wave Lars over excitedly. He shuffles over to get a glimpse of what I'm so excited about. It's the bird and all three of her little chicks. They stand on a lily pad, erect, graceful, their plumage reflecting in the clear pond. I see their reflections, and gradually my eyes come to a rest on my own reflection. Standing over the bridge, I seem so far away. Not only that, but I look excited, like a little girl. And beside me…

Lars is close to me. Very close; our arms are nearly touching. And he's staring down into the water with an odd look on his face, one that seems to convey some sort of desire as well as restraint. Then his reflection slowly raises its head and looks toward mine; I look over at the real Lars and see that he's watching me. His eyes are troubled and his mouth is partly open, as if he's about to say something. But nothing ever comes out. His face suddenly closes up and he nods at where the end of the bridge is. Though I want to ask him what's wrong, I just walk towards the other side like he wants to. He trails behind me. I all of a sudden grow impatient. If he wants to say something, then he should just do it. We're friends, right? And I trust him wholeheartedly, so he can count on me too. Now we're just back to square one. These thoughts tumble around in my mind until we reach the memorial hall. I look up at the porch, where dance classes are taking place and a crowd is gathering.

"I guess it's time for the changing of the guard," I comment offhandedly, in an attempt to distract myself. It's not healthy to be thinking these bad thoughts all of the time. I should get back to the task on hand. "Do you want to go see?"

"Why not?" He walks a little more quickly now to catch up to me. We ascend the shaded staircase together, trying to seek out places to squeeze in so we can watch the ceremony. After some shuffling around and many apologies, we manage to find a tight space next to a crowd of tourists. It's not a great place to be; I can barely see the guards (my height doesn't exactly help either), and Lars and I are forced to invade each other's personal space. My shoulder is bumping against his chest, and I blush just upon contact.

"Here; why don't you go up? I've seen this before already," I try to suggest so I can at least stand behind him and be spared the embarrassment. But as I shift around, I feel hands trapping me where I am.

"It's fine. I can see." His voice is deep, reassuring. Furthermore, his hands don't leave my shoulders. I… I sort of want them to stay there. Then he adds in teasingly, "Anyway, you're not as tall as I am," and the mood is ruined.

Not that there was one in the first place! This is a friendly outing, not a time for stupid romantic feelings to butt in. I have to remind myself of that. I focus on watching the guards. Everything is very quiet; only the clicking of shoes and bayonets can be heard. Two guards stand in front of the giant statue of Sun Yixian, while two more get ready to take their places.

I've always felt bad for the guards at the monument. They have to stand on small platforms for hours, immobile, staying in the same stiff position. I know I wouldn't be able to do that. I need to move, to be around others. Still, it is interesting to watch the highly regimented process. The new guards finally take their positions and the old ones march out of the hall. The crowd moves back to let them through; then people start fringing the roped off interior, eager to take pictures. Lars' hands remove themselves from my shoulders (I feel a little indignant at that). When I peek back at him, his face is turned slightly and his cheeks are colored. His hands are in his pockets. Since he doesn't seem interested in picture-taking, I decide to counter the awkward mood and lead him to the museum exhibits.

"There's a whole bunch of stuff having to do with Sun Yixian and his life and work," I explain as we move towards the entrance. "It really reveals some of the Chinese perspective during major wars."

Lars nods slowly. He's beginning to return to his old self, I think.

"Father of the Country, right?"

"Right!" I never took him for much of a history buff, so I'm pleasantly surprised. "He created the modern Chinese state. Well, not Taiwan, exactly."

"That was Chiang Kai-Shek."

"Yeah. He also has a memorial hall. It's nice there, but in truth, I like this one better." I grin a little. "There's more shade."

He scoffs at me. It's all in good fun, though, so my spirits are high as we begin to look through exhibits.

The emotional roller coaster seems to be messing me up because when we reach the end of the museum where my favorite part, the wall of comments, is, I begin to talk unrestrainedly.

"This is actually my favorite part of the museum," I confess to Lars. "Visitors can stick a memo here to say how they felt about visiting this place. Or just leave a little testament to the fact that they were here."

"Why is it your favorite?" he asks, looking amused. I don't even feel embarrassment when I proclaim,

"There are memos from people all over the world! I've found ones from Europe, Australia, the US—"

"You look through the memos?" he inquires teasingly. It's then that I realize how foolish I sound.

"I—!" My entire face flushes red, and I turn away quickly. How could I have lost myself like that? I've succeeded in making myself seem dumber than usual!

But then I feel slight pressure on my back. It's Lars.

"Why are you embarrassed?" he asks me, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "If you like it so much, then it shouldn't matter what others think."

I smile a little at him.

"All right."

"Since you're so interested in other places, maybe I should just show you some of the stuff my uncle wrote down during his business ventures." He chuckles as my eyes enlarge comically.

"Would you really?"

"Seriously?" When he sees that I'm nothing less than very intrigued, he shrugs. "All right. When we get back, then."

"Thank you!" I'm acting like a little kid right now, but I guess I don't really care. I'm too happy that he's decided to share information with me on the topic he seems most reluctant to discuss. For this reason, I rush us to the bus and back to his apartment. I don't know why I'm so happy about this when I have TV and the internet. Maybe it's because these documents will be primary sources and also because Lars is the one showing me.

When we arrive, I'm literally bouncing with excitement.

"You're too enthusiastic about this," he snorts as he slides the key into the lock. I stick my tongue out at him.

"It's because I like these things."

He lets us in and we put our belongings down. Then Lars walks towards a room that I think is his bedroom. But he does something he's never done before.

"Well, aren't you coming?" He raises an eyebrow at me expectantly. I'm surprised; he's never invited me into his room before. I've only seen glimpses of it through the doorway, since we usually spend our time in his living room. I feel a strange ripple go through me as I follow him with tentative steps.

His room is small. The walls are grayish-white. The desk is parked neatly against a corner; the bed dominates the center. A solitary lamp stands by the closet. While there isn't much in here, it's clean and the large window lets in rays of setting sunlight.

Lars is rummaging around the bookshelf next to the desk.

"Here," he mutters, pulling out what seems to be a large journal. He brings it over to the bed. I near him hesitantly; it's only when he motions at me to sit down on that I do. Sitting across from me, he hands me the book. I take it reverently; it's heavy and has a musty parchment smell.

"Is it very old?" I murmur.

"My uncle bought it from an antiques dealer. The book was still in good condition, though, so he decided to use it."

I run my hands over the binding, the cover, then open it to the first yellowed page. Immediately, my eyes are overwhelmed with a sea of writing.

"Um…" I squint a little. "I can't understand what it says. What language is it?"

"… Right. It's in Dutch. Sorry." He looks sheepish.

"No problem! The pictures are nice." There are photos and rough sketches of plants and animals, as well as of foreign people and foreign areas. "Can you translate it for me?"

"Well… all right."

I scoot closer to him, eager to begin. As he begins to summarize what is on each carefully written page, I'm captivated. There are so many places: Africa, South America, Europe. It becomes clearer and clearer to me that our world is full of fascinating things; I'd like to see them all one day.

It's only when we're on the seventh page in that I realize our proximity to each other. My heart suddenly speeds up. This is the closest we've ever been. I glance at him. He's still reading out loud, focused on the book. From where I am, his eyes are slightly darkened. His hair looks so soft, even in its spiked style. The curve of his jaw is so strong and sure. His nose, straight and proud. I realize that his skin is more tanned than it was when I first saw him. And his lips…

When I glance back to his eyes I find that they're directed at me. I can't speak, and he's just stopped. We look at each other silently for countless moments. Close, we're very close, too close to put this off as some sort of joke… His line of sight flits to my mouth again. This time, it stays there for a while before slowly moving up to my eyes once more. Is it possible that I was right about his feelings before? Is it—

Lars cocks his head a little, as if seeking permission. It is such an innocent gesture that I immediately give a tiny, breathless nod, and we kiss. His lips are soft and sweet and I tentatively close my eyes to savor the moment. They say that with the absence of one sense, the others become heightened—it's true. I can feel very distinctly the warmth of his hand as it comes to a rest between my shoulder blades, I can smell his body wash mixed with the scent of the scrapbook on my lap, I can hear the blood pounding in my head. I open my eyes then—his irises are so beautiful, gold with flecks of emerald. They are hooded a little when the kiss unfurls into something deeper, and Lars moves the hand he has on my back to my cheek.

Then all of a sudden, he pulls away.

I sit there, a little disoriented, wondering where all the pleasant feelings disappeared to. Dazedly, I look at him. Lars' head is slightly turned away, and his eyebrows are knit together. He looks perturbed.

"W-What's wrong?" I ask, half-concerned and half-elated (he kissed me! He kissed me! That means he likes me, right?). He glances at me quickly and then sighs, holding his forehead with his hand.

"Sorry. I don't know what came over me."

I almost laugh. Why does he make it sound like it was a bad thing?

"Hey." I brush my fingers against his shoulder tentatively. He looks at me hesitantly. I smile reassuringly. "I'm… actually really glad that you did that. Since, you know…" Oh, this is the embarrassing part. "I like you too."

Lars watches me with an unreadable expression on his face. His eyes flicker with emotion. After a while, he says simply,

"All right."

And we kiss again.