Page 132 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

“You talk in your sleep, apparently,” Shun said comically.

“You do?” Joy grinned, almost buying it. “God, I hope it’s dramatic. Like: ‘Ethan, my forbidden love, save me from my villainous trauma!’”

“Can we not?”

“I'm just kidding, you don't talk in your sleep. I overheard Ethan tell Max,” Shun uttered.

My gut formed knots.

Joy threw an arm around my shoulder. “Okay, okay, we’ll be serious. But just for the record, Ethan? Hot. Like… if Poseidon had a gym membership and daddy issues.”

I groaned. “Joy.”

“No, hear me out,” Joy interrupted. “He glowed. He tackled an evil demon. His hair probably still smells like sea salt and heroism. Just for you. And you… I see the way your voice changes when you talk about him.”

Shun nodded, deadpan. “You do sound softer. Like a narrator in a romance anime.”

“Why are you both like this?”

Joy poked my cheek. “Because if we didn’t tease you, you’d implode. And also—because you’re scared.”

I went quiet.

She leaned back on the bed, arms behind her head.

“Look, Clark. I get it. You’ve got every reason to hate demons. You’ve seen the worst of them. But if you let your past experiences decide your future, you’re basically giving your trauma the keys to your happiness.”

She turned to look at me, this time her tone more grounded.

“You can’t spend your life wearing a raincoat just because one storm nearly drowned you. Sometimes, it’s okay to step outside and see if the weather’s changed.”

Shun raised an eyebrow. “That was… surprisingly poetic.”

Joy shrugged. “I’m full of surprises. Also caffeine. But mostly surprises.”

I didn’t reply right away. But something about the metaphor stuck.

A raincoat.

Yeah. Maybe I’d been living in one since I was a kid—never letting anyone close, never trusting anything with teeth. And now… maybe the weather had changed.

Or maybe I just needed to see for myself.

“Thanks,” I said, quietly. “For showing up.”

Joy smiled. “Always.”

Shun gave a small smile of her own. “You’re not alone, Clark. No matter what glowy sea jocks try to claim you.”

I huffed a small laugh.

Before they left, Shun unboxed whatever she had brought me. Her fingers moved gently, as if the moment was fragile.

It was a mini notebook—its cover a soft, calming blue, like the sky on days that didn’t hurt.

She handed it to me without a word. No explanation. Just a look that said, “Here. I thought of you.”

I grinned warmly turning it over in my hands. I grazed my thumb along the spine. It wasn’t just paper—it was permission. A quiet invitation to write my way out, or back, or through.

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