# Park #

Park took forever to eat his breakfast and take a shower.

"No, no fight. I'm just… worried about her. And you know I can't call her house."

"Come on, Park," his dad said sharply, "get dressed and put your makeup on."

Like he'd wear makeup to the boat show.

"You don't want to go?" She scrunched and fluffed the back of her hair.

"Is something wrong? You sure you didn't fight?"

"No, I do," Park said. He didn't. "But what if Eleanor comes over? I don't want to miss the chance to talk to her."

"Do I have to go?"

His family was going to the boat show the next day, then out to lunch, and maybe to the mall…

"Come on," his mom said, checking her lipstick in the hall mirror, "you know your dad hate crowds."

"Park! Mindy!" His dad was standing at the front door. "Let's go!"

"Thanks," Park said. He hugged her.

"Park staying home," his mom said. "We go."

His mom turned away from the mirror. "Okay…" she said, frowning. "You stay. But vacuum, okay? And put away big pile of black clothes on your floor."

When he heard the doorbell, he jerked up to answer it before he was awake. His heart was pounding, the way it does sometimes when you sleep too hard in the middle of the day, like you can't remember how to wake up.

He was sure it was Eleanor. He opened the door without checking.

Park wasn't used to being home alone. He vacuumed. He put his clothes away. He made himself a sandwich and watched a Young Ones marathon on MTV, then fell asleep on the couch.

His dad flashed him a look, but didn't argue.

# Eleanor #

She'd already given up on the door when it opened. And before she could act embarrassed and uncomfortable about yesterday -- or pretend that she wasn't -- Park was opening the screen door and pulling her in by her sleeve.

He didn't even close the door before he put his arms around her, his entire arms, all down the length of her back.

Their car wasn't in the driveway, so Eleanor figured Park's family wasn't home. They were probably off doing awesome family stuff. Eating lunch at Bonanza and having their portraits taken in matching sweaters.

He was warm… Like really warm and fuzzy-soft. Like a sleeping baby, she thought. (Sort of. Not exactly.)

She tried to feel embarrassed again.

"Were you sleeping?" she whispered. Like he still might be.

Park kicked the door closed and fell back on it, pulling her even tighter. His hair was clean and straight and flopping into his eyes, and his eyes were nearly closed. Fuzzy. Soft.

Park usually held Eleanor with his hands on her waist, like they were slow-dancing. This wasn't slow-dancing. This was… something else. His arms were around her, and his face was in her hair, and there was no place for the rest of her to go but against him.

He didn't answer, but his mouth fell on hers, open, and her head fell back into his hand. He was holding her so close, there was nowhere to hide. She couldn't sit up or suck in or keep any secrets.

Park made a noise, and it hummed in her throat. She could feel all ten of his fingers. On her neck, on her back… Her own hands hung stupidly at her side. Like they weren't even in the same scene as his. Like she wasn't even in the same scene.

Eleanor looked at Park's face, so full of something she couldn't quite place. His chin hung forward, like his mouth didn't want to pull away from her, and his eyes were so green they could turn carbon dioxide into oxygen.

"Hey…" he said, taking a breath, focusing. "What's going on? Are you okay?"

It's hard to say why this was different from all the other times she'd touched him. She was different. She was still and then she wasn't.

Park must have noticed, because he pulled his mouth back. He tried to wipe it on the shoulder of his T-shirt, and he looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time since she got there.

Eleanor tried one last time to be embarrassed.

He was touching her all the places she was afraid to be touched…

For a second, he thought he'd gone too far.

He hadn't even meant to, he was practically sleepwalking. And he'd been thinking about Eleanor, dreaming about her, for so many hours; wanting her made him stupid.

# Park #

She was so still in his arms. He thought for a second that he'd gone too far, that he'd tripped a wire.

And then Eleanor touched him. She touched his neck.

# Park #

From jaw to neck to shoulder.

If he was shy now, he wouldn't get anything that he wanted.

# Eleanor #

Park was alive, and she was awake, and this was allowed.

She touched Park softly, gingerly, just in case she touched him wrong.

She was so gentle compared to him. Maybe she didn't want him like he wanted her. But even if she wanted him half as much…

He relaxed against the door.

To have and hold. Not forever, maybe -- not forever, for sure -- and not figuratively. But literally. And now. Now, he was hers. And he wanted her to touch him. He was like a cat who pushes its head under your hands.

He was so much warmer than she expected, and harder. Like all of his muscles and bones were right on the surface, like his heart was beating just under his T-shirt.

# Eleanor #

She touched his neck, then drew a line down his chest. Park wished that he was taller and broader; he hoped she wouldn't stop.

He felt Eleanor's hand on his throat, on his chest, then took her other hand and pressed it to his face. He made a noise like he was hurt and decided to feel self-conscious about it later.

This is how she touched him in her head.

He was hers.

She did it because she wanted to. And because once she started touching him the way she did in her head, it was hard to stop. And because… what if she never had the chance to touch him like this again?

In movies, this happens smoothly or comically. In Park's living room, it was just awkward. They wouldn't let go of each other, so Eleanor fell back, and Park fell against her in the corner of the couch.

# Park #

Eleanor brought her hands down Park's chest with her fingertips apart, then brought them up again under his shirt.

"I love you," he said.

She nodded.

When he felt her fingers on his stomach, he made the noise again. He held her to him and pushed forward, pushing Eleanor backward -- stumbling around the coffee table to the couch.

He wanted to look in her eyes, but it was hard when they were this close. "Eleanor…" he whispered.

She looked up at him, her eyes shiny and black, then looked away. "I know," she said.

He pulled one of his arms out from under her and traced her outline against the couch. He could spend all day like this, running his hand down her ribs, into her waist, out to her hips and back again… If he had all day, he would. If she weren't made of so many other miracles.

"You know?" he repeated. She smiled, so he kissed her. "You're not the Han Solo in this relationship, you know."

Things she knew now, that she hadn't known two hours ago:

Park ran his hand out to her hip and back again, catching his thumb under her sweater. She swallowed and lifted her chin.

Eleanor's face crumpled, and it made him come unhinged.

"I'm totally the Han Solo," she whispered. It was good to hear her. It was good to remember it was Eleanor under all this new flesh.

1. Park was covered with skin. Everywhere. And it was all just as smooth and honey-beautiful as the skin on his hands. It felt thick and richer in some places, more like crushed velvet than silk. But it was all his. And all wonderful.

"Don't get so hung up on gender roles," Eleanor said.

"You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you."

# Eleanor #

"Well, I'm not the Princess Leia," he said.

He pulled her sweater up farther and, then, without thinking about why, he pulled up his shirt, too, and laid his bare stomach against hers.

4. She wanted him to touch her everywhere. He'd stopped at the edge of her bra and only dipped his fingers into the back of her jeans -- but it wasn't Eleanor who stopped him. She never would. When Park touched her, it felt better than anything she'd ever felt in her whole life. Ever. And she wanted to feel that way as much she could. She wanted to stock up on him.

5. Nothing was dirty. With Park. Nothing could be shameful. Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.

3. As embarrassed as she was of her stomach and her freckles and the fact that her bra was held together with two safety pins, she wanted Park to touch her more than she could ever feel embarrassed. And when he touched her, he didn't seem to care about any of those things. Some of them he even liked. Like her freckles. He said she was candy-sprinkled.

2. She was also covered with skin. And her skin was apparently covered with super-powered nerve endings that hadn't done a damn thing her whole life, but came alive like ice and fire and bee stings as soon as Park touched her. Wherever Park touched her.

"I don't know. Nowhere… My parents should be home soon, we should get it together."

# Park #

He pulled away from her and tried to think clearly again.

While she was gone, Park turned up the volume on the TV. He got them both Cokes and looked at the couch to see if it looked illicit. It didn't seem to.

"Okay," she said, and sat up. But she looked so bewildered and beautiful that he climbed back on top of her and pushed her all the way down.

He took a step, then looked back.

"Go," she said. "Don't look back."

A half-hour later, he tried again. He stood up this time.

Once it started to get dark, he felt like his parents could walk in at any minute, like they should have been home a long time ago -- and he didn't want them to find him like this, with his knee between Eleanor's legs and his hand on her hip and his mouth as far as it could reach down the neck of her sweater.

"I'll go," she said a few minutes later.

"I'm going to the bathroom," he said.

When Eleanor came back, her face was wet.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Why?"

She looked at him, and then smiled. "Good…" she said. "Just really, really good."

"Because I looked weird."

"Yeah…" she said.

"And you thought you could wash it off?"

He held out his hand to her, and pulled her onto the couch. Smoothly, this time.

"Did you wash your face?"

She shook her head and laughed. "No," she said, and then, "only for a minute, only a little." He'd never seen her face so open. Her brows weren't pulled together, her nose wasn't scrunched. He put his arm around her, and she laid her head on his chest without any prompting.

She sat next to him and looked down at her lap.

"You look fine," he said. "What about me?"

"Oh, look," she said, "The Young Ones."

He gave her the same once-over he'd given the couch. Her lips were swollen, and her eyes seemed wilder than usual. But Eleanor's sweaters were always stretched out, and her hair always looked tangled.

Park leaned against her. "It's not going to be weird now," he said, softly, "is it?"

"Yeah… Hey. You still haven't told me -- what was going on yesterday? When I saw you? What was wrong?"

She set her hand over his heart. "Did… the way you acted today have something to do with seeing me yesterday?"

"It's okay." She actually sounded like it was.

"Did you find them? Your clothes?"

"Yeah… I really, really don't want to talk about it."

He almost didn't want to answer. Yesterday's confusing lust felt even more inappropriate now that he knew the upsetting backstory. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Maybe Tina really was a monster.

Eleanor pressed her cheek into his chest, and Park hugged her. He wished that they could go through life like this. That he could physically put himself between Eleanor and the world.

She sighed. "I was on my way to Mrs Dunne's office because somebody in gym took my clothes."

"Tina?"

"You know you can ask me anything. We've got a deal."

"Jesus…" he said, "that's terrible."

"Okay," he said.

"I don't know, probably."

"Park?" Eleanor said. "Just one more thing. I mean, can I ask you something?"

Eleanor didn't say anything for a minute or so. And then…

"Tina would be so pissed."

Eleanor would have gone straight to bed, but she had to go to the bathroom. Which meant walking between him and the TV. Twice.

"You can buy anything at a boat show," his dad said. "Anything worth having."

When Park's parents got home, they seemed genuinely glad to see Eleanor. His dad had bought a new hunting rifle at the boat show, and he tried to show her how it worked.

"Do you think we'll ever be alone like that again?" she asked. She felt the tears in her eyes.

But tonight Park didn't lean over and kiss her. Instead, he held her tight.

# Eleanor #

"Books about guns and boats."

"You can buy guns at a boat show?" Eleanor asked.

"Books?" she asked.

Richie was home and awake and watching Saturday Night Live. Ben was asleep on the floor, and Maisie was sleeping next to Richie on the couch.

She stayed late because it was Saturday, and on the way home she and Park stopped at his grandparents" driveway, as usual.

She hugged him as hard as she could, and then she walked home alone.

"Ever? Yes. Soon? I don't know…"

If Eleanor made something up now, he'd want to see whatever it was. If she said she hadn't spent the money, he might want it back. "A necklace," she said.

"Tina," Eleanor said. She put her hand on the bedroom door.

"I was just asking Eleanor what she bought with her Christmas money," Richie said.

When she got to the bathroom, she pulled her hair back tight and washed her face again. She hurried back past the TV without looking up.

"A necklace," he repeated. He looked at her blearily, like he was trying to come up with something awful to say, but he just took another drink and leaned back in his chair.

"To my friend's house," Eleanor said. She kept walking.

"Where have you been?" Richie asked. "Where do you go all the time?"

"So, what'd you spend your Christmas money on?" Richie asked. "I told you to buy yourself something nice."

The bedroom door opened, and her mother came out. She was wearing Richie's bathrobe -- one of those Asian souvenir robes, red satin, with a big gaudy tiger.

"Eleanor?" she heard her mom calling from the bedroom. She sounded half asleep.

She waited.

"Good night, Eleanor," her mom said.

"Eleanor," her mom said, "go to bed."

"Tina," Richie said. There was a cigarette in his mouth, and he was holding a can of Old Milwaukee. "Tina's house must be fucking Disneyland, huh? You can't get enough."

"What friend?"