It was a beautiful day. I'm talking blue skies, soft breeze, full sun. It was almost encouraging. Aaron pulled into his usual space, in an already crowded parking lot. I hadn't really considered the semantics of my plan; I hadn't exactly planned to get away with defacing the school, but my actions going uninterrupted would be harder with a crowd. I shook the can with vigour, jaw set in a determined line.

"What's the game plan here?" Aaron pocketed his car keys with a sigh. "I suppose you would like some backup?"

"I refuse to tarnish your good name with my shenanigans," I matched his pace as we walked up the stairs to the school entry together. "Now's your chance. I can do this myself."

Aaron gave me a sideways glare that took me aback. "We both know that isn't happening."

"Right," I tried not to sound as if I'd expected that response. "Well. You can give me a boost up."

"Lead the way."

The ascent up Truman Senior High Schools' infamous seventy steps felt particularly laborious that morning. After four and a half years of climbing them at least twice a day, I'd thought I'd gotten used to the climb. The one thing all Truman students shared were their exceptional calves, courtesy of that architectural nightmare. But by the time I'd reached the top of them, mine were on fire.

"Here?" Aaron asked, gesturing just above the door to a tempting overhang of white brick. Anything written across it would be unmissable to anyone passing through them. The school motto used to be displayed there until the council of parents complained that we needed a more inspiring phrase than 'All Welcome, Few Worthy' and had never gotten around to reworking it. The holes from the old lettering remained deep in the bricks.

I nodded and placed my foot in his hand where he laced his fingers. He boosted me up, level with the doorframe, so I still had to reach up. The first spray of the can gave me nothing but a large red dot, but slowly I started to form letters, however shaky.

@MORMON.VIX –

I was on my last few letters when I hear a yelp of surprise and felt Aaron's support give out, and I let out a justified scream as I fell. To his credit, Aaron did his best to catch me after realising his mistake, but only managed to put himself directly underneath me. We ended up sprawled in a pile on the pavement in a tangle of limbs.

The paint can bounced from my fingers and clattered down several steps before someone caught it under one high-heeled shoe. My heart was in my throat from my brief free-fall; I didn't register who it was until a hand reached down to pick it up, one finger decorated with a familiar tattooed circlet.

Alba held the can daintily, as if to avoid getting her fingerprints on it. Or it was just to avoid getting red paint on her impeccably tailored caramel suede jacket. "Miles? Aaron?"

I gulped and tried not to look implicitly guilty as I got to my feet, although that ship had probably long sailed. "This isn't what it looks like?"

She looked from the graffiti, half-finished, to the can, to me, to Aaron, who was still on the ground, gasping. "That's a relief. Are you alright, Aaron?"

He nodded weakly, and I was a little resentful she hadn't asked me that. I was the one who'd been dropped. Alba clip-clopped up the last few stairs, placing the can gently down at her feet, and helped Aaron to his. When we were both standing, shoulder to shoulder like guilty children, I saw her face shift from concerned counsellor slash friend, to that of a stern teacher who'd just caught two students vandalising school property.

"Goddamn it," she said primly. "All I wanted was a decent coffee before the staff room gets swamped. Now I need to detour to the principal's office. I hope you're happy."

I ducked my head. "Alba, it wasn't..."

"I think Ms. Hassan will do here, considering the circumstances," she corrected sharply, and I bristled at her tone. She was angry. I'd never been on the receiving end of Alba's anger before, but as I could have predicted, it was terrifying in how unusual it felt. "Are you wearing makeup?"

My brain whiplashed back to attention. "Just a little."

"It looks great."

"Thanks," I didn't know how else to respond to her entirely genuine, nonplussed remark. I didn't get longer than a few seconds to bask in the compliment, however.

"Honestly, what were you thinking?" her lecturing voice returned. "It's eight am! Did you think your brazenness would render everyone within fifty feet of you temporarily blind?

Al... Ms. Hassan, I know this sounds insane," I blurted out, "...but... since you've already caught me, would it be alright if I... finished up here?"

I thought I might have to watch her head explode, which I would have felt terrible about. "I'm not a fan of the word insane but I'm definitely questioning my effectiveness as a councillor right now."

Aaron grabbed my wrist and applied a little pressure. "Please. Please stop talking."

"It's important," I continued, even as Aaron groaned into the palm of his hand.

Alba looked up at the graffiti message once again, really reading it this time, and suddenly her face slackened in shock. "Miles... what is this?"

Despite the instinct I had to hunch over myself, retreat back in shame, I held myself upright. "Aren't you curious? At mormon dot vixen. See for yourself."

She bought a hand to her mouth, shaking ever so slightly. Her eyes went glassy, filling with tears so suddenly and abruptly that I was sure she'd been shot in the back or seen a ghost hanging over our heads. But no, it was only my message.

I worried my lip, finally unsure of myself. "Ms. Hassan? Are you alright?"

She shook her head, dragging her eye back to me. Her hand dropped away, and she smoothed herself over, face returning to one of stern hardness. "Miles... I don't have the... just. Please, please tell me this isn't about Caleb Proust."

I was stunned stationary, jaw hanging open. Aaron spoke for me, about as eloquently as I would have managed if my jaw wasn't locked in shock. "Caleb... why... why would Caleb... sorry, this be about... Caleb? Ma'am?"

She picked up the can, full hand gripping it now. "I know how you care about him, and you need to trust me to reach out to him in situations like this. It's all well and good to stand by him, but this isn't the best way to support him."

"Support him?" I echoed.

"If you're going to come out, come out because you want to. Not out of solidarity," she thrust the can at my chest. "I'm happy to turn a blind eye. There's time to blot it out if you'd prefer."

"Solidarity?" I sounded like a parrot. "What are you talking about? I'm not doing this out of solidarity. Caleb isn't ever going to come out in this place. I'm doing this to make sure someone doesn't take that choice away from him. And I need to do it before that someone gets here, so if you don't mind..."

I trailed off, suspicious at the way her face relaxed into something akin to pity. The face someone makes before saying oh. You didn't know.

"What?" I demanded, in a tone any other teacher would have given me detention for. But Alba just lowered her gaze.

"I think it might be a bit late for that, I'm afraid."

N. No. No. Over and over in my mind, growing more desperate as I willed myself to wake up, two months earlier when Caleb and I were little more than tiny blips on each other's social radars. Aaron's hand was still on my wrist, anchoring me in place when all I wanted was to float up and away, far away from this fucking school, this fucking conversation, this fucking revelation.

I think it might be a bit late for that, I'm afraid.

I was so over having the rug pulled out from under me, every time I thought I had some semblance of control over a situation. Every time I tried to do the right thing, every attempt I made at fixing the convoluted mess I'd made of my life and the people around me, was violently torn away. As if the universe itself found pleasure in watching me fail. I had to be the unknowing jester of some benevolent god's court, where they delighted in watching me roll boulders up hills before kicking them back down again.

"I overheard some boys talking on the front lawn. And a group of girls in the parking lot," Alba elaborated. "Now, I can't be sure if..."

"I'm going to kill him," I said, vacantly. Aaron's hand, which had gone naively slack while I'd been stammered, reached out to rein me in again, but I slipped out of his grip and ran, vaulting over the side of the steps and propelling myself down the grassy knoll our school was situated atop of. If he called out after me, the blood in my ears was too loud to hear him. All of a sudden, I didn't know how I'd missed the gossip of the way in – too focused on my own self-flagellation to notice. There were cupped hands to ears, laughing shoulders, gaping mouths everywhere I looked.

I heard someone whisper. "Do you think he knows?"

And someone else hiss. "I don't buy it."

And another. "It's not really our business."

And. "Is it bad that I called that?"

And. "It makes sense because I asked him out once and..."

"I mean, have you ever seen him..."

As I stalked past a gaggle of middle schoolers and heard Caleb's names on their mouths, I couldn't help myself. I practically shrieked at them, "Shut up! Shut UP!" and took off again without waiting to see their reactions. I was raging too hard to feel bad.

I headed straight for the soccer pitch.

It was crowded, but no one seemed to be practicing. There was nothing even adjacent to soccer drills being run; no sweating, no running, no shin guards in sight, no nets up, and most importantly for my intentions, no coach present.

Aidan stood among them, or more specifically, in the centre of a staggered huddle, shouting unintelligibly. The overlapping voices of the rest of the team made it impossible to hear what he was saying, but I bet anything I could guess. He held the prime speaker position, surely oversharing things he had no right to know, boasting about his intel. My vision zeroed in on him. With courage I didn't know I possess, I stalked right up to him, bumping shoulders with boys a head taller than me until I was under his nose. I was satisfied when he staggered back a step, face twisting in disgust.

I was shaking too hard to get anything out, so he prompted me with a sneer. "What the fuck do you want?"

I glared at him a little while longer, until it seemed to make him physically itch. He raked fingers down his jaw almost nervously.

"I'm just editing down exactly what I want to say to you," I told him, fists clenching and unclenching by my sides to keep me from folding them. It would look defensive, and I wanted to stay in attack mode. "I'd like you to be able to keep up, after all."

He started forward, but to my surprise, another team member caught his shoulder and gave him a shove that sent him reeling back a bit too far to be friendly. "Stay back, McCaffrey."

I didn't recognise the boy who'd pushed him. There was no conceivable reason for him to defend me, except maybe he was a decent person in general. I appreciated the gesture, but it didn't stop me from putting myself in the line of fire again, surging forward to meet Aidan again. "Remember when I told you to prove me wrong? After you so eloquently – so sorry, that's a pretty big word for you, how about basically – told me I don't know you? Turns out I know exactly who you are. A weaselly little shit stain with way too much riding on his ability to kick a ball and not enough about what's banging around between his ears."

Aidan just stared at me, hands by his sides, clearly fuming but unwilling to take a step towards me. Maybe he didn't think I was worth the possible suspension. Maybe he was genuinely ashamed.

"Tell me, how do you become a high-school has-been before you even graduate?" I spat, and his nostrils flared but he didn't lash out. I pressed deeper into that wound. "You're going to be in for a real shock next year when you realise the rest of the world isn't scared of you. Guess what, buddy? Guys who punch before they think don't get to win soccer trophies outside high school. Do you think your mum will frame your first court summons?"

"Jesus," I heard someone mutter behind me.

Aidan puffed up his chest in a half-hearted attempt to re-establish himself. "Shut your mouth, Stewart."

"You don't scare me," I scoffed, and I was prepared to lie but was surprised when I didn't have to. "You make me sick. But you don't scare me."

Something changed behind his eyes at that, some façade of confidence shattering as one of his easiest targets stared him down. Then his face hardened, and his shoulders rolled back, and I knew what he was getting at, but I stood my ground.

"Start running," he ordered.

In blatant defiance, I, who was failing out of school before Lauren came along so no credit to my intelligence, slapped him across the face with an open hand.

I'd never learned how to throw a punch, but I was proud of the force behind my strike. The crack of my hand across his flesh sounded like lightning in my ears. Aidan, neck vein pulsing as his cheek turned slowly red, turned on me.

"You're dead," he proclaimed, fuming, as he reeled back his arm to return the favour.

The bruises Peter had left me with stung at just the idea of being layered over by a hit from Aidan. I was backing out of his reach when something collided with Aidan and sent him sprawling. It happened in a blur, one second with him standing upright, and the next he was flat on his back, wheezing.

"Jesus," the same voice from the crowd repeated. Aidan groaned into the dirt.

Caleb stood over him, rubbing the shoulder he'd used to barge him over, eyes narrowed into predatory slits. It had been a day since I'd seen him, but longer since he'd been within arm's reach – his hair was styled back with an effort I'd never seen from him at school, his clothes ironed, his skin glowing from good sleep. He looked good, worthy of old fashion heart palpitations like the ones I'd gotten the first few times he'd texted me. I'd come to associate the deterioration of Caleb's mental state with how careless he looked on the outside, but this Caleb was a picture of the boy I'd kissed in Crescendo weeks before, albeit in a polo shirt and school issue shorts.

He leaned over, elbows on knees like I'd seen him do before helping someone to their feet during a game, and spoke to Aidan in a low voice. "Lay a hand on him, and you're dead."

"I didn't touch him," I heard Aidan grind out in response.

"You're alive, aren't you?" Caleb returned simply, stood to his full height without offering him a hand, and turned to face me front on. The look he gave me just about pierced my soul. It nearly sent me to the ground as well, but it might have been a little too dramatic, even for me. Especially since he was close enough to catch me.

"You okay?" was all he asked, but he might as well have gotten on one knee for all the thinly veiled emotion behind those two words. I just nodded, worried I'd do something embarrassing if I spoke - like start blubbering.

He took a step closer, lips parting, held tilting, and idiot I am, I seriously thought he was about to kiss me. Right there, in the middle of the soccer pitch in front of all his soccer mates under the first cloudless sky in months, like a very gay version of a Hallmark original movie.

And then the whole team started clapping.

Alas, no, although the more I thought about it the more I thought I would never be able to face anyone at this school ever again if something as dumb as that happened. Instead, he stopped at a respectable distance from me, and whispered, "You're wearing makeup."

"So everyone keeps saying," I replied, caught up in the awe of him all over again.

He continued to stare at me, and I stared right back into the oceanic trench of his eyes. It was probably worse than kissing at that point. Kissing would have probably been less subtle.

"I'm sorry," I blurted out, at the same time Caleb said, "We should talk."

And before either of us could elaborate, a voice boomed out across the field from the PA system installed above the clubrooms. Caleb and I jumped as if being caught in the act of something indecent.

"Would Miles Stewart, Caleb Proust, and Aidan McCaffrey please make their way to the principal's office immediately," announced the monotone, bored voice of the school receptionist, a woman I had never seen with my own eyes but knew from her voice, which often droned through the speakers throughout the school. Someone in the soccer team ohh-ed and, by the sounds of it, took a quick hit to the kidneys for doing so.

I turned back to Caleb. His expression was one of concern, lines furrowed between his brows. When he caught me looking, his features softened and he shrugged wordlessly.

Aidan was sitting up, still rubbing his chest. "What the fuck, Proust?"

Caleb didn't address him at all, not even a backward glance. Something about the tension in his shoulders told me if Aidan threw anything other than words, there was going to be an all-out brawl. The call to the principal's office was probably the best excuse I'd get to separate them.

"Right. Let's go," I said bluntly, and swivelled around in the direction of the school building. I didn't wait for anyone to follow, but I placed a mental bet that Caleb would first. I was proven right when heavy footsteps caught up to me and I wasn't punched in the side of the head; Caleb fell in step beside me, hands half in pockets, hair pushed back, mouth relaxed in a soft downturned line.

He didn't prompt conversation, and with Aidan lumbering behind us at a short, menacing distance, I held my tongue as well. We followed the steps up to the front door, where a decent crowd had gathered under the scrawl of graffiti. Although I quickly realised it was no longer my scrawl; it was an indecipherable mess of red paint, completely obscuring my attempt at self-exposure. Yet people still pointed, ruminating on what my ruined message could mean. But as we passed, heads turned only in Caleb's direction, and I came to the draining realisation that my original plan had failed. The most people would talk about me would be that I'd been called in by the principal with Caleb - nothing that might detract from the rumours about him, simply add-ons to embellish them.

"We can fix this," I let slip as we pushed through the admin door. Caleb looked up slowly, resting his chin on his shoulder to look at me, lazy eyelids making even his gaze relaxed. His eyes explored mine thoughtfully.

"What is there to fix?" he finally responded, and my heart plummeted.

"Caleb, I know this wasn't what you wanted. You can tell people it was me. That I was lying, whatever you need to do – "

"Boys?" the receptionist prompted. She was a slender woman with a simple blonde bob and dead eyes. "Go on through. They're waiting for you."

They?

Caleb and I exchanged a glance. Aidan lurked silently behind us, sulking or plotting his revenge. Either way, I couldn't have cared for his presence less. We made our way to the principal's closed door, Caleb tapping the space above her plaque softly, and heard an authoritative, "Come in!"

We did and entered to find ourselves in a packed room. Coach Troutman, Alba, Aaron – I made wild eye contact with him the second I entered, and he mouthed I don't know – vice-principals Foxe and Greene, and Ms. Hudson, our imposing (physically and mentally) headmaster who was infamously ruthless with her suspensions. She was a terrifying woman to pass in the hallway, much less to find on the pointy end of one of her glares, which was where I found myself that morning.

I totally should have skipped.

"Miles, Caleb, Aidan," Ms. Hudson gestured to three empty chairs in front of her, clearly dragged in from another room. They were yellow, plastic, and very uncomfortable looking. "Please. We have some things to get to the bottom of."

a/n: guys i cannot thank you enough for your patience on this one. i hope that reuniting caleb and miles (finally) makes up for the wait! very excited to wrap up their story in the next few chapters...

when i tell you this chapter went through rewrite after rewrite as i tried to find the best series of events to lead to here, i ain't lying. i got DEEP in that writers block, yo. diamond necklace at the end of titanic deep. i'm only telling you because, well, everyone gets it. don't feel any pressure to put out something you're unhappy with. the time you put into it will make you much happier with the finished result. i think. it worked for me. 

anyway enough from me! thanks for reading, and if you feel so inclined to vote and comment your feelings know that i read and revel in each and every one. see you in the next one, bzzt bzzt ~