Warning: Chapters may be freakishly long :P So I apologize in advance if you're one of those people who just want a short read :P

Title: Between The Lines

Author: Seasonal Dreamer

Rating: T

Author's Note: I would like to say a BIG THANK YOU to maplebird and I C a big world for reviewing my story! :D You guys are absolutely awesome, it really means a lot that you guys take the time to read my stuff :D 3

So, here's chapter two :) And don't worry, I know exactly how I'm going to end this story :D I just need to get there haha

Please Read and Review!


Marco hated those looks that his step-parents would give him. He hated them because it was the same one he saw in his own eyes when he used to look into the mirror. The Italian never did that anymore.

It was his eyes. They showed too much. Obviously it wasn't evident to the people around him, but you can't lie to yourself. His whole story was behind those dark walls, but he could see right through them. He used to get complimented on those eyes. Now he despised them.

The young boy never ate meals with his step-parents. Mostly because they didn't want him there, but he hardly did eat at all, to be honest, so it wasn't too big of a deal. It wasn't like he was forcing himself not to, he just never felt hungry anymore, and the food had lost its taste. He used to cook with his mom. He used to joke with his dad. But that day he took more then just his sanity. He had stolen his normalicy. Because that day, his parents finally discovered their son was gay, and paid so dearly for it. And it was almost surprising how much that little knowledge, accompanied with what he had done, robbed him of.

Marco sat on his bed, fumbling with his fingers before his the first day of his second week of school, delaying the moment when he would have to go downstairs. Despite the over flowing confidence he showed at Degrassi, he was no better then the little girls who hide behind their mother's legs. He got the sudden impression that this school would be the hardest one to go to. Mostly, because of Dylan.

The older blonde appeared to have seen too much that first day. Marco would sometimes see him in the hallway, and half the time the blonde would shoot him odd, quizzical glances. Like he was trying to figure him out but some of the pieces were missing. The other times he would just smile warmly at him, but that curious look was still there. Though he knew that someone would have to if he were ever to be complete again, he wasn't sure he'd ever be fully ready to reveal what happened to him. It frightened him too much just to run through it quickly in his head, how in the world could he form the words to tell someone else?

Marco sorely wished it were possible to read minds. That'd solve all the world's problems. You'd know who loved you and who didn't, who were genuine people and who were fake. There'd be no more lies, no more deception. Just raw, honest truth. He felt it'd be a hell of a lot easier that way, though it wouldn't always be nice.

The boy had toyed with the idea of begging his step-parents to take him out of that school and transfer him to somewhere else the first day he got back. He contemplated telling them some cock and bull story about how he was treated badly there. But he figured that wouldn't work too well, as it didn't seem to bother them too much whether he was happy or not.

Marco would just have to stick it out. But man, he didn't want to. He glanced up at the empty wall above his dresser. His mirror that had been attached to his dresser had been destroyed years ago. His step-parents hadn't bothered to get him a new one, because they knew it'd just happen again.

The trashing of it was on his shoulders, the removal was his step-father's. After one particularly bad day of dealing and battling with his conscience, he made the mistake of looking into it and right into his eyes.

He didn't like what he had seen there. They were the eyes of a mad man, but the kind that you'd find in the people who were shell shocked from war. You could just see the pain, anguish, and fear in them. They were dazed with a distanced look, like the owner of these eyes were far away in a different time and place that you would pray to God every night you never got to visit. They held a long and winding tale that was treacherous and left a deep wound on his subconscience.

Yes. These were the eyes of a mad man.

But that, was exactly the problem.

Marco knew what it felt like strongly enough. Oh, he was no stranger to pain. But the last thing he needed was to see it reflected in himself. It only made the pain seem deeper and more unclean.

So he broke it. He had ripped his shoes off his feet and pelted them at the glass with a silent roar of fury in his head. But they hadn't had done what he wanted. So he looked for something heavier with nothing but the slightly crazy notion that if he broke it, he'd be free. It would have made absolutely no sense to someone observing the scene, but to him, it was perfectly logical and clear. Break the mirror, and he'd be healed.

Marco had little patience, so he grabbed the only thing he could throw at it at a moment's notice. His textbooks. So with a choked out sob of both anger and desperation, Marco had thrown that too, finally shattering it completely. Shards of glass sprayed everywhere, yet Marco kept his eyes open as if hoping some of it would fly into his eyes, blinding him forever. But every single one missed.

Marco didn't believe in superstitions anymore. He figured his life was it's own bad luck extremity, so he wasn't particularly bothered with the possibility of 'seven years of bad luck' after he broke it.

Heh. Imagine more bad luck being added on to him.

Though, to be honest it hadn't really picked up since-

(YOU ARE MINE!)

-that day. Marco shuddered as the voice rang in his head. All he wanted to do was make it go away. But something started to scream in his head.

Was he crazy?

Was he crazy for constantly dwelling on this? Was he insane for thinking he heard his voice whenever something jogged his memory? Was he going mad?

He didn't have an answer to that. Hell, he might as well go crazy if this is what being sane felt like. But this gave him no comfort. He could lose his brother. He could lose his parents and step-parents and anyone else that ever entered his life. But if he lost his mind...well, then he'd have lost everything.

Marco couldn't take being alone any longer, but he couldn't take being downstairs with his step-parents. He wanted to go with the lesser of two evils, but as sad as it sounds, Marco was unsure of which one that was. The Italian checked the clock. It was still rather early.

Sighing, Marco slid off his bed unwillingly and lightly tip-toed down the steps. He crossed his fingers, praying that his step-mother and father wouldn't be in the kitchen so he could grab his backpack and run out the door. But life didn't work that way.

Marco slinked into the kitchen and reached for his bag. The stony silence that filled the room almost suffocated him. No one said hello or good morning, no one asked how he had slept, no one said one single word.

Until he reached the door.

"Marco? Torna qui, abbiamo bisogno di parlare con te(Come back here, we need to talk to you.)."

Marco cringed on the inside as he slowly backed away from the knob and slid silently back into the kitchen. The hardness of the atmosphere around him felt like another wave had crashed on top of him.

Great. This should be good.

Being an Italian family as well, the Lombardis prefered to speak their country's vernacular in their own home. Marco's ability to do this as well was one of the few things they approved of in him.

It was his Mrs. Lombardi, his step-mother, who spoke first. "È tutto a posto a scuola(Is everything alright in school?)?" The way she said it was flat, almost emotionless. Almost as if someone were making her do it. Like it was more of an obligation to ask then honest concern.

Marco nodded robotically. "Yes."

Mr. Lombardi eyed him suspiciously. "Sei sicuro(Are you sure?)?" Again, Marco gave a curt nod. His step-father shuffled the newspaper that lay in front of him up to his eyes and began reading again. "Bene. Poi andate(Good. Then go.)."

Marco extracted himself from that situation as fast as he possibly could as a loud shuffle and a happy, 'Good morning Carlos!' poisoned his ears and followed him out. Well that was painful, Marco could only think as he shut the front door. It didn't surprise him, really, that Carlos had been greeted this way. Marco had never been the favourite, even before this whole incident had happened. With his parents or friends alike. It was always Carlos. Marco had never once met a person who knew both Carlos and himself...and liked him more. It was always, always Carlos. The Lombardis were living proof of that.

It was sad, Marco decided, that he thought he was damn lucky these people decided to keep him.


Dylan drove to Degrassi in a kind of peaceful stupor, mind blissfully numb as he rolled down the window and felt the still summery air breeze through his curls. His surroundings were all too familiar for him to really notice them, but they were beautiful. The sky was still relatively dark and he was pretty early, but he did this every morning. He always came early to school, not because he absolutely loved Degrassi, but because there was something oddly fascinating about being the only one in a usually crowded grounds that drew him in.

But now as he drove through the normally deserted-looking neighbourhood, something struck him as odd. His eyes shot up to the rearview mirror and he saw a rather peculiar looking lump sitting stock still on the curb. Dylan normally wouldn't have given this a second thought, but it unnerved him slightly. That lump had never been there before.

Giving in to his probably irrational unease, Dylan turned into a cul-de-sac and drove back, moving at a snail's pace. The older blonde strained his eyes to peer out his window, trying to make out what that lump was in the dark. His eyes widened when he realized who, not what, it was.

Oh God.

Marco was sitting in a slumped up position, eyes closed and fingers massaging his pounding forehead. No sooner had he made it out of his house then he had decided to just pop-a-squat on the curb and give his mind a much needed break from everything. The Italian trusted in the darkness to give him some privacy as he struggled to also not fall asleep on that very curb. It wouldn't do well to be found lying sprawled out on the sidewalk for his neighbours to see, but he was so frickin' tired.

"Marco?"

Okay.

That had to be the very last voice Marco expected to hear. His head flew up in utter bewilderment to find a car parked just in front and an equally surprised blonde staring back at him. How did he not hear the car pass by?

"Oh, uh, hi. Um, this looks weird but I can explain," Marco said quickly, gesticulating briefly to the curb. An embarrassed flush worked its way up his neck to his cheeks.

Dylan's eyes never left him as he said in an almost firm way, "Great. You can tell me on the way there," and unlocked the passenger door. Marco hesitated, wishing he could just disappear or melt into the concrete beneath him as his eyes darted for a way to escape. But Dylan looked like he would hunt him down if he tried to run, so with a sigh Marco stood up and opened the door.

The hockey player drove slowly as an uncomfortable silence settled between them. "Uh, thanks for the ride," Marco offered awkwardly, voice hushed.

"No problem."

Silence.

"Are you going to tell me why you were locked out of your house?" Dylan said this a little exasperately. It made him angry that this boy was sitting alone on the curb, whether he knew him well or not.

Marco gave him a crooked smile, hoping to somehow distract him. "You always seem to catch me at the worst times, don't you?" The flush remained on his cheeks and the more he wished it away the redder it became. A nervousness pulsated through his entire body and he fiddled with his fingers, glancing into the rearview mirror every five seconds. He knew he shouldn't...but he couldn't help but wonder if Carlos or the Lombardis had noticed someone picking him up. Would they even care? Wouldn't the thought of him coming back for Marco cross their minds? And if it did...would they be worried or...not?

"So the reason is...?" No way was Dylan going to let him get away this time.

Marco shrugged evasively, still glancing in that mirror. "No reason. Just sitting." He didn't know what else to say. This had caught him completely offguard. How does someone go about preparing their cover-up story for something that was a split-second decision and lasted for all of three minutes?

If Dylan hadn't looked angry before, he sure did now. "So I'm just supposed to believe you were sitting on that curb, in the dark, for fun." He fumed and he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel like he was itching to do something. Marco briefly wondered what.

The younger boy hurriedly conveyed, however, "Look, I know how it seems but really, it's no big deal." Yes it is. It's a very big deal. But Marco was still trying to get over the fact that someone was asking him this. That, and he'd been stupid enough to get caught at least twice in totally humiliating and unexplainable situations.

Dylan's eyes flickered between the road and Marco's anxious face, and his voice changed to something softer. "Maybe not, but wouldn't you find it strange if you found someone just sitting in the dark with their head in their hands?"

Damn. "Well I guess, but I wasn't like kicked out or anything." How could Marco explain this without diving in to the whole story of-?

Watch it Marco. Those blue eyes seemed to x-ray him, and it made Marco feel uneasy. Not to mention the fact that those blue eyes were making his heart do loop-de-loops in his chest. It was such an odd combination of emotions that Marco was completely confused by them. He didn't know what it meant, the heart fluttering thing, but he was scared to find out.

Dylan observed him with astute scrutiny. Marco looked worried. No, more then worried. He looked terrified. Like Dylan had seen something he shouldn't have, yet the older boy was absolutely clueless as to what that could be. Was things at his house worse then he was letting on? Dylan couldn't help but notice how Marco avoided his gaze, like he was afraid Dylan might see something in them that would break his already shattering façade, and how he kept looking in the mirror like he was expecting something. Or rather, hoping for something. The blonde knew he should just accept Marco's story and leave it at that, but his interest had been piqued. Finally, not knowing what else to say, he just muttered, "I see."

As they pulled into Degrassi's parking lot he could've sworn he heard Marco murmur faintly, "Do you?"


A month had passed and gone and Marco had met a number of people, but only a few of them, though, he saw real potential friendship with. Paige, of course, and Spinner were first on the list, but following them was a girl named Ellie Nash who he took an instant liking to. She was a bit gothic and outspoken, but Marco respected that immensely and they had a lot in common. She had a deep red hair colour, brown eyes, and a beautiful face. However, most people couldn't look past the dark make up and clothes, therefore labeling her off as a freak. But Marco saw in her everything that other people didn't, and Ellie seemed to appreciate this, though she didn't seem like the type of person to ever admit it, which the Italian was cool with.

He'd also met Jimmy Brooks, aka Mr. Calm, Cool, and Collected and Degrassi's basketball star. He was levelheaded and honest, obviously not one to over-react about too many things, which Marco saw as a redeeming quality. Not too many people could say they could handle basketball, school, art lessons, and band practice on almost a daily basis without having a few breakdowns now and again, but somehow Jimmy made it work. It was as if stress were his friend and he functioned better with it then withour it.

Ashley Kerwin had some similarities with Ellie in terms of their gothic lifestyle, but she was more into poetry and music then Ellie was, and seemed sort of fragile. She had brown hair that was more on the darker side with matching eyes. For now, Ashley seemed to like to wear her hair in small little ringlets, though he had been warned that she liked to change her hairstyle drastically from time to time.

Craig Manning was the 'stud' of their grade. He was in a band with Jimmy and Spinner as the lead singer and was very kind to the people around him. He had slightly curly, short brown hair, brown eyes, and was relatively tall. Craig seemed to be the most normal out of the three, though Marco had heard rumours about his abusive father.

Mostly, Marco seemed to have befriended the talented and the troubled people of their grade, which fit Marco perfectly since he seemed to fall into that category as well, though he wasn't as open about it as they were.

Marco had seen Dylan from time to time in the hallway, but mostly he tried to keep his distance. Not, really, because he honestly wanted to, but because he didn't know what would happen, and that was what scared him the most. The uncertainty. Not to mention the fact that all three times he'd ever spoken to him were unimaginably awkward, something he'd often think about with a wry smile. Thank God the senior seemed to be as unconcerned about the Italian as Marco pretended to be.

But Dylan wasn't as oblivious as Marco liked to fool himself to believe. He watched Marco like an artist would study a painting. With careful consideration and a keen eye for detail. He watched how, when the younger boy thought no one was looking, he would fall into lapses where it seemed an internal war was going on. You could almost see the gears clicking away behind his slightly knitted eyebrows and the fire that would erupt in his eyes. Until it got extinguished by being brought back to reality where a smile would be chiseled on to his face for everyone else's sake but his own.

It was these moments that reminded him of the bathroom scene and the car ride. What on Earth had caused that look of utter turmoil to leap into his eyes? And more importantly, why did Dylan care so much?

But right now, as he stared unblinkingly, only the ghost of Marco's whispered, "Do you?" vibrated in his mind. That was a silent cry for help if Dylan ever knew one. But how could Dylan help him if he didn't even know him?

"Yo, Dylan."

"Mmph?" Dylan responded, not taking his eyes off his target.

A rather large figure sat to his right, just within his line of vision. "Look, I know new kids are interesting and all, but really, give it a rest."

"I don't know what you're talking about." He couldn't help a tiny amused grin float across his face as he saw his friend roll his eyes exasperately out of the corner of his eye.

"If I didn't know any better, which I probably don't, I'd say you liked him."

Now Dylan whipped his head around and away from Marco to stare openly at his friend in shock. "What?"

He smirked triumphantly. "I knew it."

The thought had never even crossed Dylan's mind. Infatuated, sure. But like? Now that was a new one. But now that the seed had been planted, there was no stopping the thought from growing. Did he? Is that why he was trying so hard to find out what was wrong with him? Dylan knew he was attracted to him, there was no question about that. But had, unbeknownst to him, that mere attraction grown to something more in the brief span of contact that they'd made?

Was it so hard to believe that?

Whether it was or not, Dylan knew one thing was for certain; he sure as hell wasn't about to let Nathan think so. "Go away Nathan."

Nathan leaned back easily into his chair, lifting the front two legs off the ground and beamed at his friend. He had an odd sort of rustic hair colour, light brown eyes, and was pretty muscular. Not that Dylan had ever seen Nathan as anything more then just his best friend, but still, you couldn't help but notice these things. "So are you going to tell him or should I?"

Instead of answering him, Dylan simply unfolded his arms and shoved Nathan's shoulder lightly, but hard enough to cause him to almost topple over. His eyes went wide and he quickly caught himself on the library's table before returning to his previous simper. "Hostile are we?"

"More like annoyed." But his friendly smile said otherwise.

Nathan shook his head and stood. He grabbed the closest book off the shelf and smacked it into Dylan's face. "Fine, but unless you want him to get overly creeped out by you just staring at him like that, I suggest you try a little harder to blend in Mister Conspicuous."

Dylan grinned at Nathan's retreating back and hide his face behind the book as he continued to watch Marco. They were at the school's library. Marco, obviously, came here to read. Dylan? He came for Marco.

Marco came here everyday after school, sometimes just sitting there with nothing to do but stare at his own fingernails. Almost like he was trying to prolong the moment when he'd have to go home. And instead of going to hockey practice like he would've if Dylan hadn't been put on academic probation, Dylan came here. The phrase, 'Everything happens for a reason' often came into Dylan's mind, but he had yet to find out what that reason was. But, even after all this time, Marco never noticed Dylan. Something Dylan was both frustrated and relieved about. How strange would it be if Marco did realize that everytime Marco was here, so was he. That Dylan's eyes followed him wherever he went. But the older boy had this odd yearning for Marco to see him. Maybe perhaps follow him from time to time.

Dylan didn't really know why he was staring at him exactly. Marco wasn't doing anything interesting at the moment, just reading a book. His face held no emotion, though the book he was reading was a thriller. Dylan should know, he read the book himself and nearly lost sleep over it. But Dylan couldn't stop himself. No matter how hard he tried to distance himself from him, he couldn't help but follow and simply watch this boy.

Whoa, mayday, mayday! Earth to Dylan, Marco's looking at you! Get out of your stupid fantasy world and pay attention you big dolt! Dylan, having been lost in his own thoughts, had been staring openly and intensly at Marco for several minutes, finally alerting Marco on to what had been happening for the last thirty-one days. Though he didn't know that last bit of information. The Italian had his head cocked in a thoughtful way, not at all like Dylan would have expected. The boy didn't seem creeped out or annoyed, just...wondering. A polite interest so to speak, and it made Dylan blush and look away, silently cursing. But it confused Dylan yet again. Marco did act all bashful like he had in the car or the bathroom. Perhaps it was because this time it was Marco doing the catching instead of being caught.

The senior didn't dare glance over at him again and continued to pretend to read his own book, though he was very strangely aware to Marco's every breath and toss of his hair. It was like Marco were a radio station and Dylan was the channel's only dedicated listener. What was wrong with him?

When, finally, Marco did decide to leave, he passed by Dylan's table slowly, almost tauntingly. Dylan, having kept his eyes stubbornly glued to the page he'd been on for the past fourty-five minutes, could've sworn he saw the faintest of smiles etched on Marco's face as he passed, running his fingers lightly and absent-mindly along the table like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like Dylan's heart hadn't been spluttering more then usual and a tingling sensation hadn't erupted all over his skin. But he should no sign of Marco's closeness as he read and reread the same line over and over again. I open the back door and check outside. I open the back door and check outside. I open the back do- Gone. He was gone.

Dylan sighed, lowering the book. Why must he do this to himself? The guy couldn't be gay, there was no way in hell. And if by some small chance he was, there's no way someone that mysterious would go for someone so blant and obvious. Fate just liked to mock him this way. Besides...Marco seemed too, well...he seemed too distracted. Too distracted to notice him anyway...He glanced down at his book and turned it over, vaguely aware that he had no idea what the book Nathan had whacked him in the face with was called.

'Crazy.'

Dylan laughed. Yup, that about summed it up.

He began to lean back and stretch his arms, distantly wondering how long he'd been there and guiltily counting how long it would take to be back here when his eyes suddenly zeroed in on a yellow sticky-note stuck on the side of the table. Curious, Dylan looked left and right to see if anyone was watching him before he reached over to it, un-stuck it, and flipped it around. His eyes scanned the note quickly before grimacing slightly at what was written very neatly on it.

Dear Mr. Inconspicuous,

You're not as unnoticable as you might think.

Sincerely,

The Guy At The Library Table.


"Dylan? Seriously? Can you not leave your disgusting hockey equipment lying around the house?" Paige cried from behind Dylan's back, beyond annoyed. "I mean, you're not even technically playing so why am I still having to deal with this?"

"Mm?" Dylan mumbled absent-mindly, twirling the lime green sticky-note over and over in his hands. "Oh, sorry Paige."

Paige was rendered temporairily speechless. "Okay," she started as Dylan's younger sister suddenly appeared in his line of view, "What's up?"

Dylan glanced up from the sticky-note he had been observing with a slightly disoriented and confused expresison, like he wasn't completely sure where he was or what just happened. "What?"

Paige sat down across from her brother, a determined expression on her face. "No way would I've been able to bug you and you not say something sarcastic. Something's on your mind. Or should I say someone." Paige smirked as she nodded her head at the sticky note that was now becoming worn do to constant contact with Dylan's fingers.

Dylan didn't even bother trying to feign surprise. Now that Nate had put the idea in his mind, there was no escaping it. Dylan liked Marco, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So he gave in.

"Marco del Rossi. You know him right?" Dylan sighed, bracing himself.

And as predicted, Paige squealed. "No way!" Her grin could've blinded the sun. "No way! Ohmigosh this is amazing!"

"Paige, shut up," Dylan growled, but he couldn't stop the faint flush from creeping up his neck.

"Did he write that?" She asked eagerly, nodding at the note again. "Is it a looove note?"

Really. This was getting sickening. "Paige!" Dylan shouted, throwing a pillow at her head. "Fine, if you must know he did write it but it's not a love note."

"Then what does it say!" she demanded as she lunged at the note. Unfortunately for Dylan, his reflexes were too slow and Paige grabbed the note out of his grip.

"Hey!" Dylan yelled as he childishly attempted to steal it back. But Paige hopped up from her seat and sprinted into the kitchen and behind the counter with Dylan on the other side. "Paige, I'm serious! Give. It. Back!"

"'You're not as unnoticable as you might think,'" Paige cooed. "What, were you like stalking him or something?"

Fed up and utterly embarrassed, Dylan lightning fast hopped on to the counter, slid to the other side, and ripped the note from Paige all in one swift movement. He stood beside her, momentarily pleased with himself before his eyes latched on to Paige's smug look and he deflated. "What do you want from me Paige?"

"I want to know if you and Marco are a 'thing,'" she responded bluntly, hands on her hips.

Dylan rolled his eyes. "No. Can I go now?"

"No," she mimicked. "Now I want to know why you and Marco aren't a thing."

"Hm, well, gee Paige I don't know. Maybe because he's not gay?" Dylan retorted, his own frustration evident in his voice.

Paige raised an eyebrow. "And you're sure about this?"

"Do you know something?" Dylan looked at her almost too intensely.

She frowned. "No..." But then she smiled michievously. "But I could always find out."

"What?" Dylan exclaimed as she darted towards the phone. "Paige! Stop!"

"Just trust me on this." And the younger blonde began punching in Marco's number.

"Paige, stop it I'm serious!"

"Hello?"

Dylan's breath caught at the sound of Marco's voice. It sounded so...lovely.

"Hey Marco," Paige beamed. "What's up?"

There was rustling in the background before they heard Marco ask amusedly, "Okay, no way does Paige Michalchuk call anyone just to say 'what's up?' So, spill. Why'd you really call?"

Damn he's good.

Paige bit her lip, suddenly looking unsure. Obviously she'd counted on a bit more time to phrase her question correctly. "You know me too well."

"Hard not to. Now quit stalling before I-" But he stopped. Marco stopped mid-sentence and gasped rather loudly. "Oh my God."

If Dylan hadn't been paying attention before, he sure was now.

"What?" Paige demanded. "Marco?"

But the line went dead.


Tehe cliffhanger :)

Hopefully that will keep you guys interested for the next one ;)