Side note: This was 24 pages in docs.

Brace yourselves.

"So, anyone been thinking about prom?"

"It's four weeks away and all that anyone talks about anymore, nitwit," Lane snapped in irritation. "Yes, it's come up a time or two."

Jack ignored her. "I'm gonna ask Kath."

"Surprise, surprise," Lane muttered as everyone else cheered for the boy, stabbing her spaghetti. Unfortunately, the noodles seemed to be experts at dodging the wrathful spikes.

"I've already asked Dipper," Albert mentioned nonchalantly. "She said yes."

Abby nodded, confirming this. She'd started sitting with them sometime during the second semester, though she never really talked. Lane appreciated that.

"We all knew ya had it in you, Red," Race cheered, causing Albert's ears to flare up as he glared at the boy.

"It's no secret that Romeo will be going with Amy," said Jojo, jutting his chin at the couple sitting at the next table over. "And Specs..."

Specs panted and he and Finch arm wrestled. "To be determined."

"What about you, Lane?" Crutchie questioned. "Has Finch asked you yet?"

"I'm not going," Lane responded curtly.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to turn towards her. Finch paused in the middle of his game with Specs, letting the boy push his arm down, although there was almost nothing to it. Even his opponent had been thrown off guard.

"I'm not going," Lane repeated, now defensive, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "It's not my thing."

In truth, she secretly wanted nothing more than to go. She couldn't, though. Her brothers would no doubt do whatever it took to keep her far away from the prom, and it wasn't like she had the money for a dress, anyway. She couldn't ever imagine herself wearing something so nice.

"Oh," Crutchie replied hesitantly, quickly turning back to his conversation with Jojo.

"You're really not going?" Finch questioned in a hushed voice so that no one would intrude on their conversation. "I just... I thought we would go together."

"I'm not a senior," she replied. "I don't have any obligations to go."

Finch sighed, looking down. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean you can't. I was really looking forward to going with you."

"I know," Lane said after a moment, sick with shame. "It's just not something I would enjoy. I won't stop you from going with someone else, if that's what you want."

"It's not," he said mournfully, before turning away and stabbing his own spaghetti with his fork.

She, too, turned back to her food, even though she no longer had an appetite.

They spent the rest of the lunch period in silence.

Lane let out a surprised shriek as a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her into the janitor's closet. The door shut, and Lane coughed at the strong smell of chemicals. She had to blink several times before Finch came into focus.

"Finch!" she exclaimed, "this really isn't the best time–I'm gonna be late!"

Finch shushed her, and she shushed him back mockingly as he looked towards the door which sealed them away from the prying eyes of other high schoolers. "I wanted to talk."

"Well, I'd be a little concerned if you had any other intentions," Lane grumbled, crossing her arms. "What?"

Finch was silent for a moment. "You have a lot of rage for someone who's so short."

"Finch," she said again, slower this time. "My future depends on this class that you're making me late for. Finals are next week, and if I don't pass, well, I might as well say goodbye to any universities. Scratch that, any place to live. I'm talking homeless, Finch. Homeless."

"If anyone could survive out on those streets," he tried, "it's you?"

Lane tapped her foot impatiently.

"Why don't you want to go to prom?" he asked after a moment. "Is it something I said?"'

"What? No, of course not." Lane scoffed. "I'd love to go anywhere else with you, but prom is just too much for me."

"But it's like a celebration for finishing this year of school," Finch attempted feebly.

"That's what graduation is for."

"Which, for you, isn't until next year."

"I meant what I said earlier," Lane told him. "Go find some other girl who doesn't have a date, dance the night away, have the time of your lives. I'm sure she'd appreciate it."

"And I meant it when I said that I didn't want to go if it wasn't with you."

Lane sighed. "I-"

"Why don't you want to go?" Finch pressed. "I know that deep, deep down, you have a weak spot for frilly dresses and whatnot."

"Don't ever say that ever again," Lane grumbled, glowering at him.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," he said teasingly, but his smile soon faded, "but my point still stands."

Lane was silent, before she murmured, "I can't."

"What?"

"I don't have the money for a dress, or anything else prom related," she admitted, defeated. "That's why I can't go."

Finch looked away for a moment, seeming dumbfounded. "Well, that's not a problem. You can wear anything you have at home, or we can get one second hand, or-"

"You're not helping," she snapped. "The last thing I want is for people to know I can't afford nice things. I used every last spare dime I had to get into this school, and now look where it got me. But it was all worth it, right?" She let out a heavy sigh. "Forget it. I'm not going. Please don't ask me again."

He reached out. "Lane..."

"Don't."

He stepped back, saying nothing as she opened the door and stormed out, avoiding anyone who attempted to meet her eye.

It all made sense now.

Finch felt as though his mind had been shambles ever since Lane had revealed her financial situation. He longed to say he had noticed that she had been struggling that way, but in all honesty, he hadn't. She seemed stable, her clothes never looked scraggly – she even had a phone, for crying out loud! She'd never presented herself as anything less than middle class in the world. The only hint that she'd been living this way was in the manner that she held on tight to every single one of her belongings. He had seen her go great lengths to obtain certain objects stolen from her. Naturally, she did, because she didn't want to lose the few things she still had.

He wondered where her parents were. Or her siblings, if she had any. It struck him how little he knew about the girl he was dating, and although he now understood why she had been so secretive, it unnerved him somewhat. Yet, he knew, in her position, he would've done the exact same. Had done the exact same, in fact.

He had contemplated messaging her, but had ultimately decided against it, wanting to give her some space. He hoped she would open herself back up to him, yet knew the chance was slim. He understood. He would wait, regardless.

To his surprise, he didn't have to wait long.

Lane:
We're still good, right?

You:
Of course we are, but I thought you told me to leave you alone?

Lane:
I may have overreacted.

You:
I wouldn't call it an overreaction. I was pushing you to open up. That wasn't fair of me.

Lane:
You weren't the one being so secretive. I'm really sorry about that, by the way. I guess I'm just not used to people caring that much about what I keep to myself.

You:
Of course I care, Lane. I care about you. We are dating, you know.

Lane:
Oh, is that what we are? And here I was thinking we were just a pair of friends who kissed each other every once in a while.

You:
Hah.

Lane:
;)

You:
I know this is probably a loaded question... but what about your parents? You've never talked about them before. Do you still live with them?

Lane:
Honestly, Finch, my mom's dead, and my dad cares so little that he left me to fend for myself. I doubt I'll even see him at my graduation next year.

You:
What? Your dad doesn't care at all? He must still pay the bills.

Lane:
He doesn't even live with us. I've been working since I was old enough to pay for both the house and my education. But... I guess there might've been a time when he cared about me like that. I have a few good memories of him. When I was a lot younger, he and my mother called me their beautiful violet because I was obsessed with those flowers. Nowadays, I think it suits me better because it sounds more like 'violent' than anything else. Destructive, you know? But... I once read a book where the main character's name was Violet... and she got me through some tough times. That's mainly why I still hold onto it.

You:
So, then, you like the colour?

Lane:
What, of violet? I guess so, but I don't think it fits me much these days. I'm probably more red than anything.

You:
Why would you be red?

Lane:
Because I feel like I'm always so frustrated and angry lately. Like fire, but not the good kind. I would love to put it out, but I just don't know how. What's this line of questioning, anyway? They're just colours.

You:
I was just curious.

You:
You should really tell social services about your situation, though. I'm sure they'd put you in at the lodge with us. You'd get at least a few years of living like an actual kid for once. We'd love to have you over with us.

Lane:
Yeah, no, not a chance.

You:
Wow. Okay. Sorry for bringing it up.

Lane:
Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just... I'm fine with this way of living. You really wouldn't understand.

You:
Try me.

Finch practically jumped out of his skin when his phone began to ring. He cursed and hurried out of the room, ignoring Jojo and Specs who eyed him curiously.

"Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey, why'd you call?"

He heard her sigh. "Easier this way. Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, but I really, really don't need it. My life isn't perfect, but I- I... I have my life under control. I don't want to lose that."

He was silent for a moment. "You have siblings, don't you?"

"... What?"

"Earlier," he said, "you mentioned that your father didn't live with... 'us'. Meaning you weren't the only one living there at the time, aside from your dead-beat dad." He was getting more excited as the pieces all began falling into place. "Furthermore, Lane, you seem determined to stay at the house you're paying for all alone. Why would you be so insistent on staying where you are if you didn't have anyone to protect?"

There was a long silence on the other end. Then, with steel in her voice, she spoke. "I'm only protecting myself."

And then the line went dead.

Finch:
Can we talk?

You:
Not right now. I think it's best if we don't see each other for a few days.

Finch:
What, why? I thought we were good... mostly, at least.

You:
We are. I just need space.

You:
I'm sorry.

Finch:
Don't apologize. It's okay.

About a week later, Lane was seated on the couch in the living room rereading Winter. It had been awhile since Finch had received the books from his friends, but, as she'd soon learned, Finch was an incredibly slow reader. She didn't mind much, though. Especially since it was a long, hefty series that had taken even her some time to get through. Yet, to her knowledge at least, he was enjoying them all. Every few chapters, he'd come back to her with his thoughts. It was like their own little book club.

She secretly loved it.

However, the thought of Finch brought a slight frown to her face. She hadn't talked to him since she'd told him to give her space. She'd hated to say it, but he was getting far too comfortable with trying to get her to talk about her personal life. That, above all else, was something she couldn't let happen.

She sighed and flipped the page of her book, and was surprised when a small note fell out. Brow creased, she picked it up and traced her eyes over the words.

My Violet, I will love you eternally.

Mom.

Her throat closed up, and she stared down at the note, blinking tears from her eyes. She'd forgotten about having slipped that note inside of the book when she was younger. It brought back a wave of memories she'd nearly forgotten about. Cheek kisses, soft hands, kind eyes. She'd gotten the note while her mother was in the hospital, a goodbye gift, something for her to hold onto for when she eventually passed on. 

She was still looking at the note when Oscar came into the room, eyes drawn to the window. "Who's that?"

Lane frowned, marking her page and looking out the window, seeing a car parked outside. "How should I know? You sure it's not another one of your girls?"

"You sure it's not another one of your guys?" Morris spat, joining the club. Lane scoffed.

"Well, person's getting out of car," Oscar commented, kneeling in front of the window.

"Person's shutting door," Morris added, doing the same. "Oh, person's coming around, now."

"Would you two shut up?" Lane snapped, joining them by the window. "It could be someone from social services."

"We're almost eighteen," Morris pointed out.

"You think they would care about that?" Lane questioned flatly. "They just see 'oh, three kids under the age of eighteen living with absent parents' and then they come. There's no 'almost eighteen.'"

"Well, you never kn-"

"Guys," Oscar said suddenly. "Guys, is that Finch Cortes?"

Lane whipped her head towards the window, and sure enough, Finch was coming up towards the door with something draped over his arm. "Crap."

"Why is Finch Cortes here?" Morris demanded.

"The question, Morris, should not be why is Finch Cortes here? But instead, who is Finch Cortes here for-"

"Stop saying his name!" Lane hissed, pushing their heads down and away from the window. "Get out of here, both of you!"

"Well, mystery solved."

"How did he even get my address?" she questioned to herself.

"You didn't give it to him?"

"Of course I didn't give it to him, you dummy!" Lane snapped at Oscar. "Now shut up and hide!"

"Not so fast," said Morris, grabbing the collar of her shirt and holding her still. She glared into his hard eyes in response. "Why shouldn't we be able to meet our baby sister's lover? Have you been keeping secrets, Violet?"

"They're mine to keep," she spat at him, baring her teeth. "Now, if you two could kindly leave the room, or did you forget who's paying for it?"

Oscar smirked. "Are you implying that you would sell the house?"

"You don't think I would?"

"Not while you're also living in it."

Lane cocked her head. "You wanna test that theory?"

She already knew they would not. As much as they were practically never there, this house still stood as a sanctuary for them when their uncle was in one of his moods. Or when they were so wasted that they would simply crash to the nearest abode that accommodated them. It wouldn't have been the first time that Lane woke up to rowdy laughter and glass shattering across her home. Those nights, she took great care to avoid them. She would never forget the time they had taken an empty beer bottle to her face when she had told them to shut up because she wanted to sleep. She'd been picking glass out of her cheek for weeks after that particular comment. And so, despite the pain and terror that sometimes came with it, she was glad that the house was still something she was able to hold over them.

Finally, they assented, and hid behind the couch. Lane didn't like that they were still in the room, but at least they were out of sight. She allowed herself one shaky exhale of relief before there was a knock on the door. She groaned, walking towards it. "Craaaaap. Crap. Of all the bad timings, too... okay, nothing is wrong, you can do this. You can do this." She took a deep breath before finally committing the act of opening the door. "Finch! What're you doing here? How'd you get my address? And since when did you own a car?"

Finch blinked at the onslaught of questions. "Uh... Albert drove me."

Of course. It was always Albert.

"I'll still kill him," she mused.

"Right. You still didn't get your revenge on him."

"Still planning on it."

Finch smirked, but hid it well behind the large bag he was now holding up. "This is for you."

Lane frowned, not taking it. "What is it?"

"Well, you said you didn't have the money..."

Lane's eyes widened as she gaped at him. "You didn't."

"The proof's right here."

She snatched the bag away from him, walking over to the couch and unzipping it, purposely dropping the hanger onto Morris' head, who grunted. Lane cleared her throat to cover it up.

The dress was unlike any other she'd seen before. It was violet, alright, with fabric violet leaves woven in, starting from almost the bottom, climbing their way to the top and ending at the modest neckline. She was confused, seeing that there were two straps on either side, and quickly turned it around to discover that the straps in the back were made in a criss-crossed fashion. And the skirt, she noted, was so full that she wondered how anyone could walk around in it without tripping over their own two feet.

But it was beautiful.

"Finch..." Lane breathed, slowly turning back towards him.

"I know," Finch said. "You think I shouldn't have gotten this, but I wanted you to have a chance to go to prom with me."

Sudden coughing — or choking, she couldn't tell — from behind the couch got his attention, and Lane kicked the couch back with her foot in alarm, pursing her lips so tightly together that they began to throb, trying not to seem suspicious. "It's just that this isn't even something for you," she insisted, bringing his attention back to her. "This must've cost a fortune, and I..."

"You don't have to pay it back," he assured, predicting her next words. "The guys helped pay for it, too. We pooled our money together. Plus, it was second hand, and we got it for a good deal. Amy also made some adjustments to it."

Lane frowned. "Wait, you said the guys?"

"I did pay for most of it, but they chipped in when I told them that it was to make up for something I did," Finch explained, diminishing her fear of him having told them about her situation. "Plus, every other girl had to buy her own expensive dress for this thing, so I figured, why don't the guys pay for it for once? And it was to make up for what I did, in a way. I shouldn't have pushed you so much when you said you didn't want to go. I mean, I'm glad I found out that you actually did want to go, and that I could've helped to make that happen for you, but it was still wrong. And... I'm sorry about getting nosy over the phone call, too."

"Thanks for apologizing," Lane said, shooting him a small smile. She was glad the air was cleared somewhat. "And I'm sorry for storming out of the janitor's closet. I was heated, and I didn't want to say anything else I would regret, but I should have waited and talked it out with you. For what it's worth, I'm glad you responded to me later. I needed to know that I still had you. It was nice knowing that my big mouth didn't end things between us. Even though it almost did because I just got mad at you again over the phone." She grimaced. "That wasn't supposed to be directed at you, by the way. I was just in a bad mood. Again."

"You have a lot of anger, but it's a lot of rightful anger," Finch told her. "You're strong, and the way you've had to live is proof of that. Of course you're gonna need an outlet sometimes."

"Yeah," Lane muttered, although she didn't think of herself as very strong. "Wait, how'd you get my size for the dress? And if you say Albert again..."

"Oh, I just got my five year old cousin's height, and..." he trailed off when he noticed her unimpressed look. "Alright, not funny. Somehow Abby knew. I don't know how. Must be a girl thing?"

Comprehension came quickly. Lane pursed her lips together as the memory of Trek asking her what her size was resurfaced. "Forget I asked."

Between Albert and Abby, there wasn't a thing that couldn't be revealed to Finch about her.

Including the identities of her brothers.

For some reason, neither of them had brought it up, but she was glad for it. Although they never talked about it, Lane was relieved that it was two less people who she had to keep her secret from. She also knew that they would never tell anyone else, which was a plus for her. They may have liked to spill a lot of things about her, but she knew they wouldn't cross that line.

Or, at least she hoped they wouldn't.

"You should go try it on," Finch encouraged.

"Uh..." she thought about her two brothers hiding behind the couch and internally winced. Something would most definitely happen if she left the room. It was safer not to risk anything. "I will later, but I really shouldn't right now."

She knew he wanted to ask why, but she could see him remembering what had happened last time he pushed her to answer a question like that, and so he just said, "Well, okay. I hope this means I'm not gonna have to find another girl to go with?"

"You dummy." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna let the dress go to waste, now. Where else would I wear it?"

Finch beamed at her words, bouncing on the balls of his feet, although he tried to hide his enthusiasm. "Great! Yeah, that's great! Cool, well, I guess I should probably..."

His awkwardness cracked a bit of her hard exterior, and she smiled back at him, somewhat nervously. "I mean, yeah. I'll see you."

"See you," he returned, rubbing the back of his neck. He kept his eyes trained on her as he backed up to where the door stood, hitting his head on the frame as he did so. Lane pressed a hand against her mouth, trying to conceal her smile.

She was so entranced with watching him jog back to Albert's car with an extra bounce in his step, she didn't notice her brothers sneaking out from behind the couch and into their rooms, prominent smirks on each of their faces.

Lane froze the moment she took the first step into the room the prom was being held, causing Finch to be pulled back a step as his arm was linked with hers. He turned back towards her questioningly, frowning at her.

What am I doing? she questioned to herself. I shouldn't even be here!

She had gone over to Trek's house to prepare with Abby, as the girl had always been more drawn to that sort of stuff more than she had, but it quickly became apparent to the both of them that Abby was just as clueless as her when it came to makeup and whatnot.

And so they went ahead and called Katherine.

Now, Katherine... well, Katherine was Katherine, and Katherine happened to be very particular about how one should look for their prom, and apparently that didn't include loose hair – any loose hairs, really – and visible body hair aside from what kept you looking like a member of the human race and less like an alien. Even that was putting it generously.

Lane wasn't ashamed to admit that she had teared up a bit during the whole ordeal, and had also potentially scarred Katherine for life. However, she had also let Lane borrow her heels, and so it was mostly forgiven. Fortunately for her, Abby wasn't quite as hostile come her turn.

But now here they were, and Lane was just beginning to remember why she hadn't wanted to come in the first place. It was never about her lack of money — she could've just as easily sewn up a dress for herself if she'd wanted to, for crying out loud! She would've even been content to go in a tee-shirt and jeans!

No, her lack of money wasn't the problem. The problem was that she was now here, in a room full of people, with her brothers just waiting for the right moment to catch her when she was least prepared, and expose her to everyone in this room. And, by extension, the entire school. 

"I'm so screwed," Lane muttered, to which Finch turned to look at her, concerned. She quickly shot him a confident smile to avoid another round of questioning.

As the night went on, she tried her best to ignore her impending doom, instead focusing all her attention on the boy in front of her, letting the night fly by as he held her close, laughing and dancing and posing for the occasional picture.

At some point, the song Perfect by Ed Sheeran had come on, and Lane groaned. "It's 2022! No one cares about this song anymore!"

Finch shushed her, laughing as he pulled her closer. "I suppose you have a better one in mind?"

"Any song is better than this one," she grumbled.

He shook his head, spinning her around playfully. "I think it fits you quite well, actually. I'm convinced you're the most perfect girl I've ever met."

She smiled softly, locking her hands behind his neck, looking into his eyes. "I didn't know, when I met you, how much you would mean to me. Honestly, I thought you were kinda annoying at first."

He scoffed, feigning hurt. "And here I was thinking we were exchanging compliments, not insults. Silly me, I guess."

She snorted. "You didn't let me finish. I was gonna say: but then I really got to know you... and you made the dark turn to light. The cold turn to warm. At some point, you made your way into my heart."

"Is that so?" he questioned, his grin broadening.

She shot him a dirty look. "I will start insulting you if you don't get that stupid smirk off your face."

He laughed, loud and joyful. "I'm sorry. Please, continue."

She smiled, unable to even pretend to be mad at him. "As I was saying, I think I always wanted this... I just wasn't ready for you. I don't know if I ever told you this... but I used to chase after boys a lot. It was a hard few years... but you're the first guy who actually made the effort. You were one of my first real friends, but then again, you were always more than a friend to me. You just provided that comfort for me, you know?"

By now, Finch had gone quiet, staring at her the way most girls desired to be looked upon. She exhaled shakily, and continued her declaration... if that was what this was.

"I had no idea a boy could be this gentle and sincere," she admitted tearfully. "You've stayed by my side even after everything I've told you about myself, like my dad, and... well, just know that there's very few people I trust as much as I trust you." She smiled at him. "You have the keys to my heart, Finch. You've had them for a while now."

"Lane..."

She leaned her head on his chest, and gently they swayed to this indescribable rhythm between them. "You are truly the best thing that has happened in my 17 years. I was so scared, but you've helped me so much. So much more than you could ever know. You've always protected my heart."

"Is that all?" Finch questioned when she'd paused for a long moment, not wanting to say anything until she was done.

"No," she replied, and finished her ramble. "I was like a terrified little girl when you met me. I had been hurt so many times. But I could tell you had been, too, and that you needed someone to stand by you, as well. And I will. Everyday, I will, because you've given me life. You've given me a reason to believe in love."

"I didn't know I meant so much to you," Finch admitted after a moment.

"Neither did I," she replied. "Not until you went and did these over the top gestures for me, like getting me this ridiculously beautiful dress just because I'd mentioned I liked the colour purple at some point. It just kinda showed me how much you truly cared."

Finch opened his mouth once more, perhaps to confirm the fact that he did, but was stopped when a hand suddenly landed on Lane's shoulder. Finch's eyes narrowed at the person standing behind her, and she sighed.

"Which brother do I have the pleasure of encountering this time?" she drawled sarcastically, turning around to face the mystery boy wearily. "Morris."

"Nice seein' you, too." He dramatically offered her his hand. "Would you care for a dance?"

Finch's grip on her tightened, and she placed a hand over his comfortingly. "It's alright, Finch. I have a feeling he wants to be doing this as much as I do. Better just to get it over with."

Morris threw her a sickly sweet smile meant to get on her nerves. "Wow. Turns out you do have a brain. Who would've thought?"

She rolled her eyes and moved towards him, yanking him away from Finch to prevent him from hearing anything. "What do you want, Morris?"

"First, I want you to pretend like you're having a good time," Morris hissed at her, placing stiff hands on her shoulders. She did the same, although her hands rested nearer to his ribcage, as she was still, unfortunately, short. "And I... well, we wanted to bring this whole thing with Cortes up. Are you serious? Him?"

She pretended to miss a step, causing her to accidentally step on his foot. How's that for having a good time? "How about you stay out of my business?"

"Look, you don't know him like we do," he told her, sounding alarmingly sincere. "This isn't someone you wanna get involved with, trust me."

She tightened her grip on his shoulders warningly. "You really expect me to believe you?"

"Something in you wants to believe me," Morris said. "Because you want to be protected by your brothers. You want to have two siblings who care about you."

She said nothing.

"Just trust me on this," Morris finished. "We really don't want to see you get hurt by those boys you call your friends."

"I had to find someone else after the two of you abandoned me," she muttered.

"Just remember this warning." Morris took his hands off her shoulders and straightened. "We're worried about you."

As much as she tried to push those words aside, she just couldn't. Instead, she found herself replaying them over and over again in her mind.

We're worried about you.

We're worried about you.

We're worried about you.

She'd barely reached Finch again when some kid tapped on the microphone at the top of the room platform, clearing his throat awkwardly. With the unnecessarily bright light in her eyes, it took her a moment to place the kid as Davey.

Poor guy.

"It's that time of the night, everyone," Davey began, more confidently than she would've imagined, but also about as enthusiastically as you'd imagine, as well. "The prom king of tonight is... Finch Cortes."

Lane's stomach pummeled as she realized what this meant. Finch's prom date was her. Didn't they pick the prom king – or queen's – date? Wasn't that a thing? And, most importantly, would her full name be called out, or just her first?

Don't be ridiculous, she tried to reassure herself. It won't be you. And you never know — maybe it is you, but he won't say your nickname, he'll say your name, and then you just won't have to go up. No one knows your real name. You can pretend it's someone else, or-

"And... and the prom queen..." Davey suddenly paused, and squinted, and the dread curdling in her slowly became overwhelming. "Wait, is this allowed? She isn't a senior."

"Just say it!" someone amongst the students yelled, which she almost agreed with.

But her breath caught when Davey met her gaze, eyes crinkling in confusion and maybe, just maybe, regret. "Lane," he read at last, his voice dropping to a murmur, a question. "And, as it says here, also known as Brigid... Delancey."

At first it didn't really register in her brain. Because she wasn't really there, no, she was simply seeing it happen. Or maybe it was a dream. A terrible, terrible dream. Because surely such awful feelings could only exist in her subconscious. Surely such awful things couldn't possibly be real.

But something in her knew it all was.

She ripped herself from Finch's shocked grip, and though he tried to catch her, he was a mere moment too late. She scarcely breathed as she sprinted towards the doors, doing her best to ignore the way everyone's attention remained fixated on her. She hated it. She wanted out, she wanted out, she needed out-

The warm evening air blew welcomingly onto her face, yet she didn't stop to savour it. She attempted to yank off her too-high high heels, but they stayed stubbornly stuck to her feet. She growled in frustration, deciding she could run in heels, but tripped slightly when the point of one of her shoes tore off part of her dress, leaving a piece of it useless and mangled on the road.

She couldn't find it in her to care.

"Lane!" she heard from behind her, but she didn't stop. She couldn't, really. What would she even say? That she was sorry she was related to the two most hated brothers in the school?

A sudden thought pulled her up short. Why had her name been called? She strongly doubted she'd genuinely won the title of prom queen. Just as Davey had said, she wasn't a senior. So who'd attempt to ruin her life like that? There were only so many people who knew about who she really was.

Her first thought was her brothers, naturally. But what reason would they have had to make it known to everyone that she was their sister? None, really.

She then remembered Morris' words beforehand. How he warned her not to think too highly of the friends she'd made. She recalled how sincerely he told her that both him and Oscar were worried for her.

And maybe they weren't worried for her, but they could've easily been just worried about themselves. Because what effect would this have on them? How would people look at them differently?

It became more and more difficult to find supporting evidence that they were at fault for what had happened.

But if not them, then who?

The realization practically knocked the remaining breath from her lungs.

Albert.

And Dipper.

They'd known.

It had been days since she'd spoken to any of them. And she didn't say that lightly.

A good two weeks had passed since she'd left her house. Every few days, she'd hear knocking at her door, but she'd ignored it everytime. It was most likely Finch, or at least she hoped it had been, because who else knew her address?

The answer was obvious, of course. The two childhood friends. DaSilva and Williams.

She hadn't dismissed the theory about it having been all their fault, yet. She didn't plan to. The only two other suspects on her list were her brothers, and the only thing those two had done was send her unsubtle text messages that practically screamed I told you so.

She hadn't tended to the house very well since it had happened, either. One of the nice things about having a father who didn't care whether you lived or died was that he also didn't care when you began neglecting yourself, as well as your surroundings. There had been far too many times when no no one would pick up the phone when Lane began taking sudden absences throughout middle school. That alone almost made it all bearable. Almost.

She never wanted to show her face to anyone from this newest school ever again. Her secret was out, they all knew she was a Delancey. Finch knew she was a Delancey. She'd once been convinced that she could take it if the entire student body turned on her, but now, she wasn't so sure she could. She just knew that whatever she and Finch had had was over.

Frankly, maybe it was for the best. It would've always come to that, wouldn't it have? He would've found out eventually. She never truly had a chance with him, no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise. So now... there she was. Friendless. Without Finch. What would be stripped away next, her chance to attend university? She chastised herself for being so dramatic, but by the way things had gone, it didn't seem so far-fetched anymore.

Becoming a hermit didn't sound so bad.

Her phone suddenly went off with another text message. She'd mentioned the two before, but Albert and Dipper had also attempted to get in contact with her everyday. It was always the standard text of please talk to us. She never responded. She never planned to.

But this text was something different. Scrolling down countless of Albert's I will knock down your door if you do not come out of that house messages, a slightly different one caught her eye.

Lane, please come out. No one in our group hates you for who you are, not even Finch. I know you think it was me and Dipper who did this somehow, but I promise you, it wasn't. Even if you do believe this, blame me, not Dipper. She's done nothing wrong.

You're my sister. I don't care about who you're related to biologically, or even what anyone says about you. You know my family, and I know yours, and we promised to never judge each other for that. This isn't going to change just because the Delanceys being your brothers is now public knowledge.

I promise I had nothing to do with it. If you let us in, I'll explain it all to you. But don't just let me in, let Finch in, too. He's been beside himself with worry for you. He thinks you're hurting yourself, and honestly, I've been wondering that, too. Lane, forgive me for saying this, but none of us truly paid attention to how you were doing before the prom. No one but Finch. He told us that you were feeling upset about your father being absent, and your home situation in general, and that you were mad at the world. We don't know if you're still alive, to put it bluntly. If you are, you haven't given us any signs.

We're all worried. Please, if you're still here, let us in.

She drew in a breath, mortification clawing at her throat, imagining all that Finch had told them about her. But then again, if she wasn't sure if Finch was at risk of taking his own life or not, and he wasn't answering any of her or his friend's calls, wouldn't that drive her to do the same? No, she couldn't fault him for that.

It humiliated her all the same.

She thought about sending a message of a few words back to tell them to stop worrying, mostly to get them off her back, but she was truly curious about how Albert intended to prove himself innocent. Of course, she hoped with all her heart that he was, but how could she be sure? Wasn't he one of the only ones who knew her true identity?

I'm okay. You can come, but only you and Dipper. No one else.

There. She let out a breath. One step at a time.

It wasn't ten minutes later when there was a knock at the door.

Sighing, she opened it, revealing Albert and Dipper who both gazed at her sheepishly. Dipper went to say something, but Lane beat her to it.

"I'm not dead," she said dryly, "as you can see."

Albert crossed his arms. "We wouldn't have been able to tell either way."

Silent, she gestured for them to enter. They did so, looking around in a way that indicated they never had before. On the contrary, they both had, but it had been some years since then. She understood.

"Where are your brothers?" said Abby.

"Gone," said Lane, ignoring the sting. "I haven't seen them since prom, and haven't asked. If they want to go off and be stupid, that's their decision."

"They're probably hiding from you," Albert reasoned, and before she could refute this, he continued. "Can we explain why it wasn't me and Dipper who did this?"

She huffed. "Take it away."

And they did. Soon enough, she was informed that prom king and queen was supposed to be Jack and Katherine, not her and Finch, although Finch had indeed been nominated by several people. This wasn't a surprise. Albert and Abby had figured it'd been too convenient to have had their names called out like that, which she had found, as well. Cruel as it was, someone had rigged the thing and changed the names. After this, Albert, Abby and some of the others had begun to do some more digging. Some kid, Sniper, had eventually confessed to having changed it. For some extra cash, apparently. Upon being asked who had bribed him, he'd replied, "Who do you think?"

"You could be saying this just to villainize my brothers," Lane pointed out.

"They don't need anyone to do that for them," muttered Albert.

"Finch told us that one of your brothers had come to talk with you for a bit," said Abby. "And he said that once you came back to him, you looked wary. Like you didn't know if you could trust him. Brigid, think about it. If the brothers wanted to drive us all apart, isn't this exactly what they'd do? They put a seed of doubt in your mind, so when they ultimately betrayed you, it wouldn't be led back to them. Because if it were, then driving us apart would've been harder."

Lane was quiet for some time. "I really didn't want it to be them."

"But between them and us," said Albert, "who would you have rathered?"

She wished she could've said them. That she would take her brothers', her family's side every time. But she couldn't lie. She couldn't say she'd rather that her whole group of friends hated her, along with most of the school, if she stuck with her brothers. She especially couldn't bear the thought of Finch – Finch, the soft spot of her heart – looking down on her scorningly.

No, she knew it wasn't Albert who had leaked the information. She just wasn't prepared to accept who it would've been, if it hadn't been him.

"Okay," she murmured. "You win."

Albert and Abby seemed to simultaneously let out a breath of relief. Then, Abby clasped her hands together and dipped her head, looking sheepish. "Before you forgive us... we may have broken a promise."

At that, Albert began to look sheepish too. Eyes narrowed, she fixed them both with a cold stare. "What did you do?"

"I think I can answer that."

She spun around to the entrance, and lo and behold, there was Finch with a fresh bouquet of flowers in his hand. Lane opened her mouth to commence a great rant on how they'd explicitly gone against her wishes, and that she'd opened herself up to them only to be freshly deceived, when Albert grabbed Abby's hand, made a beeline for the door, and she watched as they both fled out of sight. She yelled incomprehensible obscenities as they did so.

"Lane-"

"What?" she snapped, turning towards Finch, causing him to flinch. "Nevermind. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to have to listen to every horrible thing you think about me now."

He let out a deep breath, placing down the bouquet, sounding exasperated. "I don't care about your brothers."

"Maybe not," she consented, "but you do care that I lied to you, and that I hid the fact that they were my brothers for so long. You feel as though you never truly knew me, and, sometimes, you wish that you had never met me at all so that you would never have to feel as betrayed and conflicted as you do now. You wonder whether I'd intentionally deceived you, and if I was a mistake, and you wonder if all this combined makes me too hard to love and impossible to trust." She sniffled and swiped a hand beneath her eye. "But you won't admit it to me or yourself, because you want to be a good person, and you are, which is what makes all of this hurt all the more."

Finch, having hardly even blinked during her tangent, was still. And then, quietly, he murmured, "Lane, you have no idea how much I want to beat up anyone who's ever made you feel like all you just said is true."

She dared not hope. "Isn't it?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I'll be honest. During those first few days, after the prom, I felt that way to a certain extent. I thought you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth, and that hurt, but when I thought about trying to forget about you, me, us... that hurt the most. Even when I first found out, I was still desperately in love with you. You're the light in a dim world. When you're around, I can't help but smile. I've never wanted to be loved by someone as much as I want to be loved by you. That's what hurt me. Not knowing if you'd ever loved me at all."

Hearing this, she approached him slowly. "I'm nothing special, Finch."

"Then why am I drawn to you more than I've ever been to anyone before?" he asked. "Why does the thought of your smile, your touch make me so dizzy that I can hardly breathe?" He paused. "Why can't I help but love you?"

She considered this. "If you think about it, love is just a series of chemicals in the brain reacting-"

"Is that all I am to you?" She stopped abruptly at the pain in his voice, turning her full attention onto him. "Just a chemical reaction, maybe not even that?"

"I..." She didn't know how to respond. Labelling him as a mere chemical reaction didn't feel quite right. "I've never felt for anyone what I feel for you. I've never felt as though my heart was beating out of my chest when I saw someone's name on my phone. I've never felt as though my day was ruined if I didn't see someone even for just one day. I've never really gotten attached to anyone. But with you... I feel all these things and more. You're the warmth in the cold, Finch, the life of my soul. But I've been chasing boys since I was old enough to think for myself. I gave away so much of myself to them and called it love. Only, love seems too insignificant a word to describe what I feel for you, so who am I to try and pair you with a feeling I don't even understand?"

"Because, what you're feeling," said Finch, coming and resting his hands on her shoulders, "that's love. Real love. You just have to trust that I'm telling the truth."

"I believe it," she said softly.

"Then..." he took a breath. "I guess I have a confession to make, too."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Didn't you wonder why I didn't run after you when you left?" Finch asked. She shook her head. She'd just assumed he'd either hated her too much to bother, or that one of their friends had stopped him. "You being a Delancey wasn't the only thing written on that paper."

Lane blinked at him.

After a moment, seeing that she wasn't going to say anything, he took a deep breath. "Lane, right after you left, they announced that Frisks and Spot are my siblings."

"What?" she demanded. Then, after a long moment, again: "What?"

"You must've noticed the resemblance," he said dryly.

She gaped at him. "But you... Frisks... and Spot..."

"Were separated at a very young age," he said. "Frisks was the only one out of us three to have been adopted by another family, and a pretty rich one, at that. But you knew that. Just maybe not that she was adopted."

The wheels in her mind churned. "No one knew that."

"Exactly." Finch sighed, pushing back his curly hair with a hand. "But Oscar found out, somehow. They were dating for a while, you know. I mean... you probably do know, since..." He shrugged, now awkward. "Anyway, they ended on bad terms. I'm guessing they found out you and I would be together for prom, which gave them another reason to be angry at Frisks — Brigid, actually, believe it or not — and so they pulled that whole thing out of some petty need for revenge. But I'm still stuck on when they found out about you and I, though..."

"They knew we would be going together the day you brought the dress," Lane admitted sulkily. "They were hiding behind the couch. It was the best I could do last minute – you hadn't exactly let me know you were coming."

Finch snorted. "I thought you might've seemed especially mad at that poor couch. You gave it quite the kick."

Lane smiled slightly, then sighed. "Thanks for telling me about your siblings. I would say you should've told me before, but that would make me a bit of a hypocrite, wouldn't you think?" Finch chuckled a bit at that. "And, for the record, I do still love you."

"Then I guess all that's left to say is that I love you, too," Finch declared. "And I don't, for a moment, regret having asked you to prom."

"And I don't regret going," she replied, wrapping her hands around his neck and tracing the curve of his lips with her eyes. "In fact, I was quite enjoying myself until my brothers ruined it. I almost wished you would kiss me." She met his gaze. "I could kiss you now."

"What's stopping you?"

She hesitated. "It would seem incredibly shallow of me, wouldn't it? To turn this into a... err... make out session when that's what I've done with so many other guys just for fun-"

She didn't get to finish, as Finch's lips were soon on hers, causing her to stumble back. And indeed, it wasn't just fun that she felt as she kissed him back, it was a vow, the promise to love him for as long as she was able, and this very story was told back to her with the intensity of his lips. This wasn't just a show of affection, it was a gift.

They remained in each other's arms for yet another few moments, feeling much at home. Lane had never felt so secure in her life. Living with her family had taken away any hope for a loving environment, but finally, finally, Finch had come, and she felt as though a brick had been lifted from her chest.

"When did you realize?" she questioned at last.

"Realize what?"

"Realize that I meant more to you than just a friend."

Finch laughed. "Lane, from the moment I saw you, I was gone. But the moment it became more than just a silly crush... it was when we did the Socratic Seminar. Remember, To Kill A Mockingbird? The way you spoke, Lane, it was magical. That's what made me read your favourite books. I would read any book in the world if it meant seeing you get excited about getting to talk about them with someone."

Her cheeks flushed. "That was pretty early on."

"You have no idea how hard it was to keep a secret." He laughed. "What about you?"

She thought for a moment. "I started liking you not long before I read the note from inside the third book of the series, Cress. And then... we started to talk more. I opened myself up to you, and you were so careful with me. And that was the moment I fell in love."

It was his turn to sport a light pink blush across his cheeks. "In that case, I should probably confess something else. I didn't just come here to see you."

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh?"

He walked over to the bouquet he'd set down, and from it, pulled out a scrap of purple fabric like some sort of magic trick. Her eyes narrowed as she thought that it looked familiar, but had no time to dwell on it as he, to her bewilderment, just as soon knelt to the ground. "It occurred to me that if I could find the redhead who owned this dress," said Finch, raising the purple fabric higher, "it must be a sign we were meant to be together. But then I realized it would probably fit just as well on a five year old."

Why did that sound familiar? She thought a moment before it hit her. "Wait, did you just reference-" she laughed, interrupting herself. "You—ugh. You dork. I didn't even know you'd finished the book."

He grinned cheekily and stood. "You're not gonna throw it out of the window now, are you?"

She laughed and took the torn part of the dress from him. "What if I told you I didn't have the dress anymore?" She sheepishly began to fidget with the scrap, not thinking she'd regret the decision of handing it off to someone else. "I mean, I was really really upset at the time, and figured you hated me. It just seemed that someone else could love it better, even with the tear.  I spent some time stitching it back together, so it wasn't too bad. Selling it off gave me something to do these past few weeks, anyway. And you can have the money back. I was just gonna use it pay bills, but that was before I knew we were still good, and-"

"Lane, it's not a problem." He waited a moment, looking proud of himself. "I remember every detail of that dress, and how it looked on you. It would take me years to forget. Literally, actually, because I'm sure the girls took pictures a-plenty. And you can keep the money. It's still a gift from us to you."

"Well, then." She cleared her throat. "I guess it really isn't a problem."

Silence fell between the two. After a moment, Finch took her hands. "Lane," he said softly. "I know we're both still young, and so I won't rush you along, but someday I do dream of marrying you."

She went to say something, but before she even managed to open her mouth, he continued.

"It's just..." he faltered. "I know how bad you have it with your family, and I'll be honest: mine isn't the best, either. But I just want to give you something to look forward to. I want you to know that I will happily take you away from your awful family the moment you ask me to."

Shell-shocked, she stared at him, mute. Finally, she found her voice. "I... I don't know what to say."

Finch flushed, seemingly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to come off too strong, but I think I did anyway."

"No," she rushed to correct him. "No, you didn't. It just threw me off guard, is all. I couldn't imagine spending my life with anyone else."

He grinned bashfully, then handed her the bouquet of flowers. "I don't have a ring of any sort, or any jewelry, actually, but I hope you'll be happy with these for now."

She stared down at the flowers. "Violets."

He sighed. "I know that it's technically a thing you used to share with your parents, and maybe I have no right to think of you as my Violet like they did, but..."

"It's the happiest memory I have from my childhood," she confessed, before throwing her arms around his neck, breathing in his scent. "It's perfect, Finch. It truly is."

If they had thought to look outside the window, they would've seen Albert and Dipper high-fiving each other. Finally, the pair had reconciled. Not a secret in the air between them. As for the author...

Well, she may still have a few more things planned for them yet.

(9613 words)

Who else is feeling particularly single after having read all that?

Congratulations for having finished the Violet trilogy. For now, at least, like that last line may or may not have suggested. This has also spent two years in my drafts, which meant I was constantly reworking it as I was writing the other books in the series. I swear it was only 6k words at first.

This may be my favourite one shot as of now. I love Lane and Finch so much, and writing their development in this modern world setting has made me so happy. Especially since I'm older, and understand things differently than the way I did when I first began writing A Striking Pair.

I don't own Newsies, or The Lunar Chronicles, or To Kill A Mockingbird. Although I really wish I did for some of those. And I also do not own Violet Markey, a character from All The Bright Places, whom Lane mentioned briefly in her texts with Finch. Nor do I own that book.

Also, if Davey seemed more concerned about the fact that they'd chosen someone who wasn't a senior to be Prom Queen over Lane's secret family, it's because he was.

He probably didn't even think it was a secret in the first place.

~ nutcracker645