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She remembers his wicked smile best. The way his lips would curl in the corner of his mouth when he’d managed it once again—driven her infuriatingly and irrevocably up the wall.
“What? You angry now?” he liked to ask. And Teresa was fuming, fuming—but she couldn’t help but kiss him; angrily, but kiss him nonetheless.
When she looks at Gally now, there’s none of that. He’s an angel. Gruff, even inapproachable at first, but once they’d gotten more serious, he’d grown into the role of boyfriend as though he’d been trying it on his whole life. The role of being her boyfriend.
Gally is thoughtful; he remembers her favorite flowers and buys them for her often. Once he even drove an extra half hour to get them because the local florist was out. The sort of stuff that should let Teresa’s heart beat higher—but her heart beats steady. It’s calm, and sure there’s warmth there when she lies in Gally’s arms as they watch a movie, but it doesn’t burn anymore. She doesn’t know why she misses it, the way she was as close to bursting into flames of ruin as she was to dissolve into a star shower of happiness when she was with Minho.
Minho, who is cocky like no one she’s ever met before—or since. Minho, who found it more fun to just let the argument run its course instead of stepping back to consider what was going on. Minho, who was so, so sure Teresa would always come back to him. Right up until she didn’t.
Teresa doesn’t want to love someone like that. She doesn’t think she wants to love someone like that. But however nicely she kisses Gally goodbye, however gently she spreads a blanket over him when he’s fallen asleep on the couch, she just can’t get her heart to stop chasing that roller coaster kind of rush that had her curse Minho’s name until he kissed it right off her lips.