It took a moment for Imia to take her eyes off Roger.

Focusing on preparing her own dinner, Imia took last night's Italian lasagna with tomato juice from the fridge, cut off one side and put it on a plate, microwaving it. It swirls and the kitchen fills the kitchen with the smell of tomatoes and onions. When Imia spoke, she didn't take her eyes off the plate of food.

"How often?" Imia asked casually.

"Uh-huh?" Roger sounded like he was thinking about something else, and Imia's question pulled him back into his thoughts.

Imia still didn't turn around. "How often do you come here?"

"I come here almost every night."

Imia was shocked and hurriedly turned around. "Why?"

"It's funny when you're asleep." Roger told the truth. "You can talk."

"No!" Imia gasped as hot blood rushed to her face and all the way to her hairline. She grabbed the table to steady herself. Imia knew she could talk in her sleep, and her mother made fun of her for it. However, she never thought it would be something she would have to worry about.

His expression immediately became distressed. "Are you mad at me?"

"That depends!" Imiah could feel, and hear, herself gasping for breath.

Roger waited.

"Based on?" Roger urged.

"What did you hear?" Imia wailed.

In the blink of an eye, Roger had quietly stood beside Imia, carefully holding Imia's hand with both hands.

"Don't be angry!" Roger pleaded. He lowered his face and met her gaze when Ymya's eyes landed on the same level. Imia was embarrassed and wanted to look away.

"You miss your mother so much." Roger whispered. "You're worried about her. When it's raining, that sound always makes you have a bad rest. You used to talk a lot about your family, but now it's much less. One time you said, 'It's too green in here. Roger smiled softly, expecting—Imiah could tell—not to offend her too much.

"Nothing else?" Imia asked.

Roger knew what Imia was talking about. "You did say my name." He confessed.

Imia sighed in frustration. "Often?"

"More precisely, how often do you mean by 'often'?"

"Oh no!" Imia hung her head.

Roger pulled Imia to his chest, and the movements were so gentle, so natural.

"Don't be embarrassed," Roger whispered in Imia's ear. "If I could dream, it would be all about you. And I'm not going to be ashamed of it. ”

Then they all heard the tires walking down the brick driveway, and saw the lights shining in through the front window and falling on them through the vestibule. Imia froze in his arms.

"Should your father know I'm here?" Roger asked.

"I can't be sure ......," Imia tried to think about it quickly.

"So next time......"

Then Imia was alone again.

"Roger!" Imia shouted with a shush.

Imia heard a ghostly chuckle, and then heard nothing.

Imia's father is using the key to open the door.

"Imia?" Chuck shouted. Such questions have bothered Imia before, who else could there be? But suddenly he seemed less detached from reality.

"Here." Imia wished Chuck hadn't heard the slickness in her voice. When he walked in, Imia grabbed her dinner from the microwave and sat down at the table. After a long day with Imia and Roger, Chuck's footsteps sounded unusually noisy.

"Can you get me some lasagna too? I'm so tired. Chuck stood and took his boots off and grabbed Roger's chair to keep his balance.

Imia took the plate and gobbled up her noodles as she made Chuck dinner.

Imia's tongue was burned. As Chuck's noodles heated, Imia poured two glasses of milk and gulped down her own to cool the flames.

When Imia put the cup down, she noticed that the milk in the cup was shaking, and then realized that her hands were shaking. Chuck sat in that chair, and the contrast between him and the man who had been sitting there before was comical.

"Thank you." Chuck said as Imia put the food on the table.

"How are you doing today?" Imia asked. This was said too hastily. Imia couldn't wait to escape back to her room.

"Yay. The fish all bite...... What about you? Have you done everything you want to do? ”

"No - the weather outside is so good, it's a shame to stay inside." Imiah took another big bite of lasagna.

"It's a nice day." Chuck agreed.

"What a conservative description." Imia thought to herself.

After taking the last bite of pasta, Imia picked up her cup and gulped down the rest of the milk.

Chuck was keeping a close eye on Imia, and he was surprised. "Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes, I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed early. ”

"You look a little excited." Chuck noticed.

Imia wondered, "Why, oh why, does he have to pay so much attention tonight?" ”

"Is there one?" Imia could only reply in such a way as she could. She quickly scrubbed her dishes in the sink and dried them with a rag.

"It's Saturday." Chuck said thoughtfully.

Imia did not answer.

"Isn't it scheduled for tonight?" Chuck asked suddenly.

"No, Dad, I just want to go to sleep."

"There's not a single boy in town who is your favorite type, huh?" Chuck was skeptical, but struggled to contain his emotions.

"No, there's not a boy who catches my eye yet." Imia was careful not to overemphasize the word "boy" in her words in order to maintain her honesty with Chuck.

"I thought maybe Jack Pascal...... You said he was friendly. ”

"He's just a friend, Dad."

"Well, you're fantastic anyway, they don't deserve you. Start looking when you go to college. "Every father's dream is that his daughter will leave home before the hormones kick in.

"Sounds like a good idea to me." Imia agreed, and rushed upstairs.

"Good night, sweetheart." Chuck shouted behind Imia. No doubt he would have pricked up his ears all night listening and waiting for Imia to sneak out.

"See you tomorrow morning, Daddy."

- Imia said this casually, but in her heart she thought, "See you at midnight when you come into my room to check on me." ”

As Imiah walked up the stairs to get back to her room, she managed to make her footsteps sound slow and tired. Imiah slammed the door shut so he could hear, then tiptoed to the window. She opened the window and leaned sideways into the night. Her eyes searched the darkness, the unfathomable shade of the trees.

"Roger?" Imiah shouted under her breath, feeling like a complete fool.

A quiet, smirking answer came from behind Imia. "What's wrong?"

Imia turned around in a hurry, and in surprise she reached out and quickly covered her throat.

Roger was lying on Imia's bed, smiling heartily, his hands folded behind his head, his feet dangling on the edge of the bed, a scene of contentment.

"Oh!" Imia gasped, slumping to the floor a little unsteadily.

"I'm sorry." Roger kept his mouth shut, trying to hide his pleasure.

"Give me a minute so my heart can restart."

Roger sat up slowly, so as not to scare Imia again. Then he leaned forward and stretched out his long arms to pull Imia up, clasping her elbows as if she were a toddler. He sat Imia on the bed, right next to him.

"Why don't you sit with me," Roger suggested, placing a cold hand on Imia's. "How's the heart?"

"You come and tell me—I'm sure you hear better than I do."

Imia felt Roger's quiet laughter make the bed vibrate.

They sat in silence for a moment, both listening to Imia's heartbeat slow.

Imia was a little apprehensive: "Roger is in my room, and my dad is at home......"

"Can you give me a minute to be human?" Imia asked.

"Of course." Roger motioned with a hand for Imia to continue.

"Stay still." Imia said, trying to put on a stern appearance.

"Yes, ma'am." Roger then sits on the edge of Imia's bed, making an exaggerated appearance of being transformed into a statue.

Imia jumped up, grabbed my own pajamas from the floor, and picked up the toiletry bag from the table. She didn't turn on the light and rushed out and closed the door.

Imiah could hear the sound of the TV coming from under the stairs. She slammed the door shut, thinking that way Chuck wouldn't come up and bother her.

Imia wanted to go faster. She brushed her teeth roughly, trying to do it thoroughly and quickly, removing all traces of fettuccine. But the hot water in the sprinkler is not in a hurry.

The hot water soothed the muscles in Imia's back and calmed her pulse. The smell of the shampoo that Imia was familiar with made her feel like she was the same person she was this morning.

Imia tried not to think about Roger, who was sitting in Imia's room, waiting for her. Because then she'd have to do the whole process of calming herself down all over again.

Eventually, Imia could no longer delay. She turned off the faucet, hurriedly wrapped herself in a bath towel, and began to hurry again. Imia put on the hole-inted T-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. It was too late, she regretted not bringing the "Ebien's Secret" silk pajamas, a gift from Imia's mother on her last birthday, still untagged and in a corner of her closet.

Imia began to wipe her hair with a towel again, then quickly brushed her hair vigorously with her hairbrush. She tossed the towel into the laundry basket and the hairbrush and toothpaste in her bag. Then she rushed down the stairs so Chuck could see that she was already in her pajamas and her hair was wet.

"Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Imia." Chuck does look frightened by Imia's image. Maybe that will make him stop checking on Imia tonight.

Imiah stepped up two stairs at a time, trying to quiet her steps, and then rushed back to her room, closing the door behind her tightly......