"Don't forget your presents for the gift exchange!"

Jack released a breath through his nose, wishing he hadn't heard Fung yell the reminder to his students as they rushed out the door for the day. Tomorrow was the last day of classes before winter break, a half day that was supposed to be for finals. His history teacher, though, Master Fung—why they had to call him "Master" was beyond him—had moved their final up so they could have a Christmas party.

Which was cool. He could totally deal with that. Food, punch, maybe a movie instead of class—he wasn't complaining about that. What he was complaining about was the gift exchange. Everyone in class had been given the name of another classmate to get a gift for. The names were supposedly chosen at random, but he had his doubts. Why?

Because there was no way Master Fung had just randomly pulled the name he'd given Jack out of a hat.

Someone shoved him roughly aside as he tried to get to his locker and he looked up to see the very classmate he was supposed to give a gift to. Long black hair with almost a green sheen to it, golden eyes, dark skin.

Chase Young.

He was the top of the food chain in Xiaolin Academy. He had everything: good looks, good grades, good game. He was the best martial artist on the school's team, and of course the team captain, too. The leader of a clique known as the Heylins. Every girl in school wanted him, every guy wanted to be him.

Then there was him. He was definitely the bottom of the food chain, lower even than the freshies. Partly because by age he should be a freshie, but due to his freak of nature brain he'd skipped a few grades. He was the only senior who couldn't drive, who didn't own a car, whose parents still had to come pick him up and sign him out whenever he got sick. Or they would, if they cared enough to. He couldn't count how many times he'd puked in a bathroom trashcan between classes because he knew there was no point in having the school call his parents.

And, of course, there was the fact that he was probably the only guy in school who wanted Chase just as much as he wanted to be him.

Logically he knew that was highly unlikely to be true, but it felt like he was the only one. There was zero chance Chase would ever like him back, either. He'd probably dated every girl in school, the way they all gushed over how good he was in bed.

He was currently dating Wuya—again. They were an on again, off again thing. Had been since middle school. She was a nasty little bitch, but Chase wasn't exactly the nicest of guys, so maybe they were suited for each other.

Master Fung randomly pulls Chase's name with his, the wimpy little brainiac who could have skipped several more grades but didn't just because he'd stupidly thought he would be able to become friends and possibly more with the guy he'd admired almost literally since he was in diapers? Hah!

Honestly, it hadn't been that stupid of a thought back then. He'd been in elementary school when he'd first met Chase, back before they realized he was "gifted" and began jumping him forward. Chase had been nice back then. Kind. He'd been a clumsy kid—still was, actually—and they'd met when he'd literally fallen into the other boy's arms. He was doomed from that moment, to be honest. He'd met those fucking golden eyes and his whole world had tilted, stuttering to a stop. When it had started again, it had revolved around Chase.

They'd bumped him forward not long after that, landing him at his request in Chase's grade. And… for awhile… things had been perfect.

Then middle school happened. Everyone was beginning to go through puberty—except him. His brain was ahead of the pack but his body was way behind, and in middle school it didn't matter that he could solve advanced equations in his head or build a robot from a dismantled alarm clock. He was still a kid, and they were growing up.

That's when Chase began to grow distant. He stopped hanging out with him, gradually. Little by little, and he hadn't realized what was happening until it was too late. He didn't stop crying for a week.

By the time they'd gotten to high school, he'd stopped trying. He'd resigned himself to being the outcast; kept his head down. Tried not to talk, because it was embarrassing to have a high-pitched voice when every other guy's in school had dropped. Even now his voice would still crack. Especially when he was scared.

He was scared a lot, too. Another of Chase's Heylin friends, Hannibal Roy Bean—he was a stickler for being called by his full name, for whatever reason—was a bully who loved to torment him. Frequently. There wasn't a day that went by that Hannibal didn't do something. Sometimes it was as tame as making him cough up his lunch money. Most of the time it wasn't.

Today he'd gotten lucky. Hannibal had been feeling "generous," so he'd only stolen his notes for the history final, which Master Fung had allowed them to use. One 3x5 notecard with as much information as they could fit on it. He'd gotten a decent amount on it, too, enough that Hannibal would likely pass the exam—but the joke was on him. He had an eidetic memory and didn't need the notecard anyway. He'd only made it so he wouldn't stick out any more than normal.

Now all he had to worry about was his gift for Chase.

He groaned softly, leaning his head against his locker for a moment before remembering it wasn't a good idea to linger after the final bell. Just because Hannibal had been in a generous mood earlier didn't mean he would be now. He quickly pulled his backpack out of his locker, leaving it completely bare. He wouldn't even leave his backpack in it if he could get away with it—he'd had at least ten of them ruined over the years whenever Hannibal decided he wanted to break into his locker and fuck with his stuff—but he would get in trouble if he took it to class with him. He'd learned to buy cheap backpacks and carry all his books to class with him very quickly. Nothing personal was ever brought with him to school.

He slammed his locker shut and shouldered his backpack, spying Hannibal talking with Chase at his locker a little further down the hall. He took the long way out of the school, the way that wouldn't take him past Chase and Hannibal, just to be on the safe side. He didn't breathe easy until he was safely inside the car his parents sent to pick him up every day, driven by his own personal chauffeur. Half the kids at school thought he was his dad, including Hannibal.

Only then did he allow himself to think about Chase's present. The very thought of giving him something for Christmas in front of everyone in his history class, which included both Wuya and Hannibal, was enough to make his stomach twist and turn. He should have opted out of it. They'd been given that option. He could have just asked to speak privately with Master Fung, who would have asked no questions and covered his gift for him. He would have still gotten a gift from someone, and no one would have ever known he hadn't given one himself. Master Fung was good like that.

But… as much as the thought made him anxious, he couldn't give up this opportunity.

He'd agonized over what he would give him for weeks, ever since he found out. It had to be perfect. He'd searched every store he came across for the gift, and came up with nada. Finally he'd decided to make something for him, and had discarded plan after plan until he was finally satisfied. Then he'd spent night after night in his lab, trying to make it just right.

It still wasn't finished. He shut himself away in his lab as soon as he got home, not bothering to inform his parents he was home. They wouldn't miss him. He worked all night, putting the finishing touches on it. He was dead tired by the time he made it back to school the next morning, but it was worth it. He hoped.

He kept the gift in his backpack and his backpack with him. Since it was the last day and only a half day his teachers didn't care about the no-backpack rule, thankfully. He only had one class before history, anyway, which was calculus. He did have to take a final in that class, but that was okay. He could—and occasionally did—solve equations in his sleep.

Once he'd written out and solved an equation that took up two whole blackboards by the time he was finished, only to wake up and realized he'd dreamed it. Thanks to his eidetic memory, he'd been able to recall the whole thing and rewrite it. Which he had, mostly for fun, but also for extra credit with his Cal teacher. He could fail the final with a zero and still pass the class.

He was the first one down with the Cal final, and he used the extra time to catch up on his sleep. When the bell rang, he very slowly picked up his bag and made his way to the door, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. This was it. There was no going back now.

He slipped into his history classroom, hoping to go unnoticed. It worked, mostly. All the other kids were busy giving each other their gifts. Chase was leaning against the wall, the only one not giving someone else a gift. He probably had already given it.

He hesitated, working up the courage to approach him. The other seniors were degenerating into chaos now, each having received their gifts. He took one step, then another. He could do this.

He couldn't do it. He retreated back, trying not to cry. Oh god, not here. As if he wasn't picked on enough already. He'd managed not to cry in front of anyone for the last few years, he couldn't ruin that now.

"Has everyone received their gifts?" Master Fung asked, looking over the class. He watched as his gaze met Chase's. Chase shook his head.

"Jack?"

Oh fuck. Why hadn't he opted out of this? Chase's golden eyes turned to him, looking a little startled. He'd probably forgotten he existed, honestly. He hadn't spoken a single word to him in years, not since the disastrous last time he'd tried to hang out with him in middle school. He could still hear him sneering at him, calling him a pathetic little worm.

He inched forward, reaching into his backpack with shaking hands. "H-H-Here," he stuttered, fumbling his creation as he offered it to him, "Me—Merry Christmas."

Hannibal snickered, snatching the gift from him before Chase could take it. Not that he would have. He hadn't moved from his spot on the wall.

"What's this?" Hannibal asked, examining the metal structure in his hands. It was a gorgeous Chinese dragon, at least in Jack's opinion, twisting around on itself. The base of the statue was a swirling cloud, painted a metallic ivory so it shimmered each time Hannibal turned it over. The dragon itself was a green so dark it was almost black, a hopefully unnoticed tribute to the color of Chase's hair, each scale individually layered over each other. The fur at the head and tail was tricky; he hadn't wanted to be tacky but he'd wanted it to seem realistic. In the end he'd used very fine wire, also airbrushed the same dark green and carefully placed so that it appeared from a distance to actually be fur. The teeth and claws gleamed silver, razor sharp and deadly, the left front talons firmly grasping a real pearl he'd stolen from his mother. Its eyes were gold, as close to Chase's eye color as he could get.

"It looks expensive, Spicer," Wuya said, leaning over to look at it herself, "However did you convince Mommy and Daddy to buy it?"

"I m-made it."

He was pleased to note his voice only wavered once. Hannibal's eyebrows shot up.

"In that case," he drawled in that stupid fake Southern accent of his. He raised the dragon above his head.

"No!"

Hannibal gave him a wicked grin and he ran, unwilling to see the dragon he'd worked so hard on be smashed to pieces. The tears flowed freely now, and he didn't bother to check them. He wanted to die.

There was a small space under the stairs leading down to the gym where they coaches shoved extra equipment. It was where he normally hid from Hannibal whenever he was in the mood to use him as a punching bag, and it was where he went now. He could bury himself behind all the equipment and wait until everyone was gone, then go home and kill himself. It would pretty easy to do, all he had to do would be raid his dad's medicine cabinet and his mom's booze stash. Between the two he was sure he could concoct a death potion, even if chemistry wasn't his strong suit.

"Jack!"

He jerked. Had he just heard…? No, of course not. Just wishful thinking.

"Jack."

There it was again, softer this time. He curled himself into a tight ball, willing it to go away. He didn't want to think about Chase right now. It hurt too much.

"Jack, please look at me."

Something touched his shoulder and he jumped, scrambling back with a noise somewhere between a yelp and a sob. Chase's golden eyes looked back at him.

"Have you come to tell me how pathetic I am?" he asked bitterly, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. A strange expression crossed Chase's face—something Jack's brain wanted to tell him was regret.

Yeah, right. As brilliant as his brain was, it didn't know shit at interpreting others' emotions.

"No," he said quietly, "I came to give you your gift."

He blinked. His gift? Oh. Fung must have given him his name for the exchange.

"Alright then," he said, suddenly feeling empty. Hollow. Like there was nothing left inside him to care. "Let's get it over with."

Chase hesitated. Was he… nervous?

There was his stupid brain making assumptions again.

"I… It's not as good as yours," he said, holding out a small package, "but I hope… I hope you like it."

He furrowed his brow together, but took the package. It was brightly wrapped in red foil, tied with a small white bow. He had been expecting a punch, to be honest, even though Chase had never hit him.

He slowly unwrapped the package, finding underneath the wrapping a small jewelry box. Chase was giving him jewelry?

He was. He opened the box to see a locket. It was a plain, oval locket, and when he flipped it open there was a picture of them inside. It was an old picture, taken back in elementary school. Jack had his arms slung around Chase, and they were both grinning at the camera.

He remembered that day. It was one of the last good memories he had.

"I'm sorry I don't know you well enough anymore to know what you really want," Chase said softly. He scowled, clutching the locket in his fist—refusing to admit how much it meant to him.

"Whose fault is that?" he snarled. Chase looked down.

"Mine."

"I would have been happy just to have been your friend," he said, the anger leaving him just as suddenly as it came. He wiped his eyes.

"I wouldn't have pushed for more."

He saw no reason to hide his feelings. He was sure the whole school knew. He hadn't exactly been quiet about it way back when, before he'd learned better. Chase sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"I know, and I'm sorry," he admitted, "but it scared me."

"My feelings for you scared you?" he asked incredulously, but Chase was already shaking his head.

"No," he said, "My feelings for you scared me."

His—what?

"Are you saying you—because you—"

Chase nodded. He spluttered.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

The older boy grimaced.

"Yeah, I know."

"So what, you think you can confess your love for me and everything will be forgiven?"

His mouth twisted wryly.

"I admit I'd hoped," he murmured. Jack laughed. It was not a happy sound.

"You're not that stupid, Young."

Chase sighed again, his eyes sad.

"Jack…" he began, trailing off before starting again, "I'm an asshole, I know. You have every right to refuse to even give me a chance. But I… please. Please, Jack. Let me try to make it up to you."

He hesitated. What if this was a trick?

"Wh-Why now?" he asked, hating the waver in his voice. Chase paused.

"I really don't know," he answered, and somehow Jack knew that was the truth. "Maybe because it's senior year. You're going to head off to some amazing college and do amazing things with that amazing brain of yours, and I don't know if I can follow. I've worked damn hard to keep my GPA just below yours, but how do I know it will be enough? I'm scared of how I feel, Jack, that's true. But the more I think about you leaving, the more I realize I'm even more scared of losing you."

He stopped, giving a short, derisive laugh.

"The irony is I've probably already lost you. But I have to try."

Jack took a deep breath, trying hard to keep himself together. He wanted to yell at him, to walk away and never look back, to throw himself in his arms and never let go.

Something caught his attention, then, a drop of red falling from Chase's palm. His hand was bleeding. Chase followed his gaze and smiled.

"Those claws are as sharp as they look," he said, reaching next to him to pick up the metal dragon that Jack hadn't even noticed.

"You… Did you—"

"Catch it? Of course I did. You made it. It's beautiful."

His fingers slid down the dragon, caressing it lightly. Jack blushed.

"I… I, uh—Here."

He dug into his bag, trying not to think about the suddenly very real possibility of those fingers touching him like that. He pulled out a roll of gauze.

"What about your girlfriend?" he asked, his eyes widening as he remembered Wuya. She would murder him. Chase rolled his eyes, taking the gauze from him.

"Wuya is not, has never been, and will never be my girlfriend."

"She's not? But she's always going on about how good you are—"

He stopped, his face flaming. Chase arched an eyebrow.

"In bed?" he supplied dryly. He nodded meekly.

"She lies," he said bluntly, "Al the girls I've supposedly fucked are lying."

"All… of… them…?"

It was a hard concept to wrap his mind around. There were a lot of them. Chase took a deep breath, returning his attention to him.

"Jack," he said slowly, "Have any of the girls you heard talking about me ever mention this?"

He reached under his shirt, pulling out a fine silver chain. From it hung a very ugly piece of metal that Jack recognized as the very first gift he'd ever given Chase—ever. He'd been maybe six when he'd first seen those cheesy best friend necklaces in a store somewhere. His parents wouldn't let him buy a set, so he'd snuck down to what was now his private lab and attempted to make his own. He'd been so proud of the misshapen, misspelled result, and had given the one that had said "Best" on it to Chase the next time he'd seen him—because he was Chase's friend, and Chase was definitely the best.

"I thought you'd gotten rid of that a long time ago," he whispered. Chase shook his head.

"I took it off, but I always carried it with me," he said, "I thought I'd lost it freshman year, when I had a hole in my pocket and it fell through. After I found it I put it back on and never took it off again."

Never? His head spun. His own half was buried deep in a box in the corner his lab. He'd come to hate the sight of it, but he'd never been able to bring himself to throw it away.

"Did you replace the chain so I wouldn't know?" he asked. To his surprise, red began to stain Chase's cheeks.

"No, I… uh…"

He flushed harder, obviously flustered.

"I hold onto it when I… and sometimes I pull too hard…"

He tilted his head, trying to decipher what he… meant… Oh.

"You think about me?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, his own cheeks heating up. Chase nodded, face still flaming. There was a small, awkward silence, then Chase coughed.

"Why do you have gauze in your bag?"

Jack blinked, but pounced on the subject change gratefully.

"Well, you know, so I can patch myself up after Hannibal beats me."

Golden eyes went from embarrassed to angry faster than he could blink.

"He what?"

His tone was calm. Too calm.

"You didn't know?"

"No, I didn't know," he snapped, running a hand through his hair again, "Fuck, I knew I should have gotten him kicked out a long time ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

He snorted.

"Excuse me for not believing you cared."

Chase stopped cold, a pained look crossing his face.

"Shit, Jack, I'm sorry. I should have—"

"Oh shut up you idiot, and kiss me."

He reached out, grabbing Chase by the shirtfront and yanking him forward. He looked up at him, waiting to see what he would do. Chase's eyes widened, but he bent his head, stopping just shy of his lips.

"You really want me to kiss you?" he asked hesitantly. He nodded, his heart thudding in his chest. Their lips met.

Maybe Master Fung knew what he was doing after all.