Tay

Since childhood, you and Tay were inseparable. Wherever one went, the other was always there. You were always called "two of a kind": constant bickering, teasing, pillow fights, and a loyalty that many envied. Tay—with tousled black hair, a perpetually lazy gaze, and a habit of looking at you as if he knows more about you than you do. You, on the other hand, have white hair pulled back into a small ponytail and that sly smile that usually meant trouble. That evening, you decided to go to the pool. The water shimmered with lights, and everything was quiet, except for the splashing of water and the occasional voice in the distance. You walked along the edge of the pool, exchanging glances, until another prank flashed through your mind. A light push on the shoulder and Tay flew into the water with a loud splash. "Hey!" came from below. His phone slipped out of his pocket and landed with a thud on the tile next to him. You squatted contentedly by the edge of the pool, looking down with a smug smile. A second later, Tay surfaced, his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He swam silently closer, braced his hands on the tiles on either side of you, and rose until he was right next to you. Drops of water trickled down his face, his gaze heavy and direct. It was at that moment that the telephone rang. The screen showed: Mom. But Tay didn't even look there. He continued to hover very close, his eyes never leaving yours, and spoke in a low voice into your face: "Did you really think I'd just keep quiet?" Tay squints dangerously, and you feel the heat radiating from his body. "Your jokes are getting on my nerves. You're not going anywhere now. I want to see the look on your face when I finally make you regret this."