Author's Note: Hello again! We're looking at about two more chapters after this until the end. I hope you're as excited as I am!

"You're doing the right thing," Arthur says.

"It sure doesn't feel like it."

Arthur's office is the same as it's always been—the bowl of hard candies are still on the side of the man's desk, the electric kettle is still humming away behind them, and the printer still refuses to print double-sided pages without jamming itself into an inkjet form of hell.

But despite all of these familiarities, everything in the room seems brighter somehow—happier even. Maybe it's because Arthur finally has a significant other and doesn't feel the need to be crabby in the mornings, or maybe it's because Amelia had the patience to do her hair today and put on a new pair of jeans, resulting in a fresher outlook on life. Whatever the cause is, she's thankful for it because she hasn't felt this welcome and warm since the sixth grade.

"Is Ivan going to be expelled?" she asks, continuing on a topic they've both been avoiding.

"No, just suspended for the time being."

She sighs. There isn't much else she can do. "You know, I thought doing a good thing means you'll feel good about it afterward."

"Not always," Arthur says with a little frown. "But everything will work itself out in the long run. It may not seem like it now, but be patient."

"Yeah, I'm not getting my hopes up or holding my breath."

"Oh, can't you allow yourself some peace of mind for at least one day?" Arthur snaps, a bit exasperated. "I know something that will bolster your spirits."

"Yeah? What's that?"

He reaches into the bottom drawer of his desk, shuffles through some papers, and pulls out a large manila envelope. "Look for yourself."

She takes it hesitantly and peels back the sticky adhesive on the flap before taking out a stack of papers from inside. The first paper is a letter typed up on fancy, thick card-stock with a pretty font. It reads, "This award is presented to Amelia F. Jones in recognition of outstanding creative expression."

She turns to the next paper and sees a laminated copy of the sketch she drew of Arthur peering over the edge of his teacup months ago, and for a long moment, she's paralyzed and can't bring herself to say anything in response.

"The gallery is showcasing your work next week," Arthur says, casually going about filing some paperwork as Amelia continues to gawk at the letter.

"This is… Why did you—? Oh, my god. You know, at any other time, I would've been mad that you submitted my work somewhere and didn't tell me—you big jerk—but I think I can forgive you for now."

Arthur crosses his arms and frowns. "We both know you never would have even considered the possibility of letting the world know you possess a talent or skill, so I decided there was no use in arguing with you. Maybe this will prove to you that you should embrace your abilities."

Amelia huffs and shrugs her shoulders. "I'm a recognized artist now, Artie. You should treat me with a little more respect."

"We'll see about that."

"It says here that I'm allowed to bring two guests. Hmm… Gee, I wonder who I'm going to bring," she says tauntingly, fanning herself with the invitation. "Matthew, obviously. But then, I can't think of a second person. Who else could I possibly find to take some time out of their day for little ol' me? I mean there's always Arthur, but he'll probably be busy talking to somebody's parents, or a teacher, or, even worse, a student."

Arthur rolls his eyes and tosses a hard candy at her. "Yes, he's impossibly busy. I don't know if he'll be able to pencil you in."

"Yup, there's never a dull moment with him. I guess I might as well ask anyway," Amelia grins, folding her hands in her lap. "So, are you coming or not?"

Voice dripping with dry sarcasm, Arthur says, "Well, since you asked so politely. Yes, I suppose I could find a way to join you."

"Well, I always make an effort to be extra ladylike around you," Amelia goads before putting the envelope and all of its papers into her backpack. "Thank you… I mean it."

"You're welcome. I'm looking forward to the showcase, but before that, I think it's time for you to go to trigonometry."

Amelia groans. "Yay, my favorite part of the day."

"I know, I know. Don't get too excited. I'm curious to find out how you did on the pop quiz."

"I probably did average, which is good enough for me," she mumbles, packing up her things. "I know you'll miss me while I'm gone."

"Of course, who else is going to pester me until our next session?"

"Good luck with finding someone as qualified as I am for the job. See ya tomorrow, Artie."

"Have a good day. Embrace your education."

"Oh, yeah, I will," Amelia assures before stretching her arms in front of her in a mock hug.

"Hey, Gil. What're you up to?"

Fumbling about near the dryer, Gilbert says hurriedly, "Trying to think of a way to tell Mattie that his dress shirt is pink when he comes home."

"Oooh, you mixed up the colors with the whites again?"

"Kinda… Sorta?"

"He's going to be mad."

"I know. Maybe I should get him something as a consolation gift."

"You could try," Amelia agrees, snatching a glimpse of the shirt in question. It looks pretty bad, in her opinion. Reddish pink streaks have stained themselves like tie-die to the torso. "But he's still going to be mad."

"Agh, you know how Matt is when he's angry. He'll be passive aggressive for a day and get over it."

"Let's hope that's all that happens."

Just then, the doorbell rings.

"Oh, no. Don't tell me it's Matt."

"No, it's probably not. Don't worry," Amelia soothes him before making her way to the front door with the young man in tow. She unlocks the door and inches it open, peeking her head out. "Hello?"

And right there, standing just a foot away, is Ivan. He looks all right, all things considered. He's a bit paler than she remembers, and his hair is a tad on the matted side, but he doesn't seem to be in any major sort of distress, which she supposes is a good sign that he's going to make it through this.

"Hello," he says lowly, hands clasped behind his back as he rocks ever-so-slightly on his heels, nervous.

She hasn't seen him act anxious for a long time. "What's going on?"

"I just... I wanted to talk. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's—"

Suddenly, Gilbert comes up behind her and tugs firmly on her shoulder, protective. "No, it's not okay. Who're you?"

"He's a friend from school, Gil. It's okay, really."

Gilbert gives her a skeptical look and glares at Ivan. "All right... But if this punk gives you a hard time, you'll let me know, ja?"

"Ja," Amelia says with a soft smile. "I can take care of this. Go and try to bleach Mattie's shirt. I'll be there in a minute to help."

"Okay, good. I'm going to need you."

"Obviously. Men can't do anything by themselves."

"Whatever."

Compliant, Gilbert retreats back to the washroom and leaves them alone in the silence of the bleeding sunset.

Amelia sighs and offers Ivan a sympathetic grin. "Sorry about that. How're you doing?"

"I miss you," Ivan says immediately.

Except, Amelia knows this is only a half-truth. Sure, he misses her presence, but at what cost? He just wants to restart the cycle; the cycle of being together and hating each other and breaking up before everything turns into a crappy, unhealthy relationship again.

"I think we both need some space," Amelia tells him, trying to be very careful with her choice of words. She wants to make it clear she isn't out to hurt Ivan by tainting his image or ruining his otherwise flawless school record. She genuinely just wants him to be okay—to know that he can find a person to turn to in order to work out his problems, but that person shouldn't be her. She can't help him. Not in the way he needs to be helped, anyway.

"Why?"

"Because what we had—everything—it wasn't right. It's not the way things should have been between us. We were always at each other's necks, and I don't want that again. We both deserve to be happy, don't you think?"

Ivan scoffs. "There is no such thing as happiness for people like us."

"What's that supposed to mean? You're wrong. We can still make things better."

It's unsettling to see Ivan like this. The despondent look in his eyes almost makes him seem a bit unhinged, and although Amelia isn't afraid of him—has never really been afraid of him—she knows that she has to play her cards just right if she doesn't want this to end in a messy confrontation.

"I love you, Ivan," she whispers, taking a step forward to close her arms around his waist. "Just not the way you want me to."

And for the first time, she holds Ivan like a friend would, and not like a lover, or partner, or twisted romantic. Maybe that's all they've needed all this time—a supportive friend. An ally in this fight.

But it's too much too soon for Ivan, and he shrugs away, eyes even more hollow and weary than before. "Why did you have to do what you did?"

"Because it's time someone looked out for you. I know it seems crazy now, but this is all a good thing: the suspension, us breaking up, and the counseling. It's going to make us better people... Stronger people."

"I didn't ask for your help."

Amelia nods. "But you didn't have to."

"Why would you think something like this could ever be okay?"

"Don't make this awkward and worse than it has to be. I had positive reasons."

Ivan looks down at her squarely in the eyes and frowns. For once, things have not gone according to his supreme plan. He hasn't gotten what he's wanted. He couldn't have her. In his view, Kiku won and he's the loser. Amelia knows he doesn't see what's wrong with them, but then again, she never expected he would. Still, this will be good in the long run. It has to be.

He runs a hand through her hair and lets it fall through her ends, savoring everything that makes her Amelia. "No one will ever be able to help me," he murmurs with a dry smirk, lips curling. "But thank you for trying."

"Ivan, don't say that. All you have to do is—"

"No, it's too late. Goodbye, Amelia."

He lets his hand fall from her hair and spins around on his heel, stalking away. Amelia tries to reach out a hand to pull him back, just as he has done to her before, but he is far more evasive than she is, and he slips away before she can get her chance to stop him.

"Bye, Ivan," she glowers as his figure disappears down the street under the orange sky.

It is unreal. Unthinkable. Who would have guessed that she'd be sitting here, in this more than beautiful auditorium in the city, listening to an eloquent introduction explaining the artistic work of all of the contest winners from throughout the tri-state area, as well as the potential they all have? How did she end up as part of such a select group? The girl who was never supposed to amount to anything has her hands folded in her lap, is surrounded by the two people who have given her more than the rest of the world combined could ever offer, and is being praised for an actual, legitimate accomplishment.

And it's perfect. Well, almost perfect. The only thing that ruins the moment is that Matthew won't stop snapping pictures of her. After five minutes of posing for him, she gets tired, but he continues his photoshoot throughout the entire evening, having her stand against every wall and every piece of art in the building.

After the formalities are through and Amelia is given a nice, golden plaque along with other students from different schools, the gallery walk finally begins. Refreshments are served as everyone works their way down the rows of artwork and presentations, pausing every now and then to nod their heads at a particularly impressive piece or at anything that catches their eyes.

And then, they reach Amelia's sketch. It's tucked in its own corner at the end of the long hallway—exactly how it should be. It's there but not in anyone's face. It is both seen and not seen, which is precisely what she'd been going for.

Matthew just about bursts into tears when he sees her piece hanging proudly on the wall. He takes another three dozen pictures before pulling her into the tightest hug ever and kissing her head like the sweet brother he can be at times.

"I'm so proud of you, Amelia. This is... It's breathtaking, honestly," he says, absent-mindedly pushing her bangs back with a gentle hand.

Arthur, fortunately, isn't quite as sentimental about everything, but he's mushy and manages to embarrass Amelia in his own way, just by being there and looking at her with that happy look in his eyes. He doesn't have to say anything for her to know he likes the work she has done, but he ventures a few words anyway. "Well, I expect I'll be seeing more of your work in the future, hmm? It wouldn't be a bad idea to start putting together a portfolio."

"I think you guys are getting your hopes up too soon," Amelia replies with a hesitant laugh. "This is like the only good thing I've ever drawn, and now that I've had a lot of time to look at it, I'm not even that happy with it anymore."

"Ahh, yes, but that's how you know you're an artist," Arthur tells her, a teasing note in his voice. "A true artist rarely takes pride in their own work and tends to be overly critical."

"Or maybe they just know how to differentiate the good stuff from the crap."

But that's the last bit of critique Amelia's able to get in because Matthew goes right back to taking pictures and insists she shouldn't be so hard on herself, especially not on a night when they're supposed to be appreciating her art, and so, she tries to be positive and optimistic for everyone's sake.

Truth be told, it feels great to be able to know that she has created something that someone else managed to enjoy looking at. It's an honor to have been able to garner their focus for even just a moment—a passing second in the day where they looked at this sketch and thought about something else. Maybe it brought them back to a moment in their own lives. Somehow, they connected with what she made, and that's really amazing to think about.

Near the end of the showcase, they take advantage of the free food being offered in one of the ballrooms, and while they're stuffing their faces with some of the best sandwiches, coffee, tea, and doughnuts ever made, Amelia lets herself be sappy and murmurs, "Thanks for coming, you guys."

Both Matthew and Arthur give her incredulous looks, as though it's absolutely insane for her to suggest that there was even a chance they wouldn't have come.

"Thanks for being my lovely, little sister," Matthew says back, a dimply smile on his face. He is so relaxed... So at ease. He really hasn't changed as much as she thought he had.

She straightens her shoulders and tilts her head to the side. "All in a day's work."

The rest of the night passes by just as pleasantly. Their party of three ends up taking the train together, and the conversations about how Amelia has a natural gift and that she's the next Pablo Picasso continue with gusto. Of course, most of it is in good humor and meant to be a joke, but Amelia can't help but feel at least somewhat flattered. This could be her creative outlet for now, and maybe, if things go well, she can go to an art-oriented university—if she first makes it through high school trigonometry first.

And during the train ride, she learns a lot more about Matthew than she ever thought possible. Arthur asks him about his law classes and how he plans to move forward, and although she has heard her brother discuss his career plans many times, this is the first time she realizes quite how much he loves what he does. His eyes seem to light up as he's talking to Arthur, and once he gets started on the general stuff he has learned over the semester, he isn't able to stop.

Matthew isn't normally the talkative type, so seeing him this way sure is enlightening. She wonders how much she could find out about him if she just started listening more often. How can she expect Matthew to show an interest in her life if she doesn't do the same for him?

And kudos to Arthur for being able to wrangle more than three sentences out of him. She isn't sure how the man does it, but he barely has to make an effort to get people to open up to him. It's both awe-inspiring and terrifying.

The train pulls into their stop, and then they go their separate ways because Arthur lives farther uptown. She and Matthew wave goodbye to him, watch the train doors slide open, and walk out onto the muggy platform, both a bit fatigued from the night's events.

"You still have school tomorrow," Matthew reminds her as they exit the station and trek up the stairs leading to the street.

"I know. I'll go to bed as soon as we get home, Dad," Amelia teases him with a harmless smile. "Hey, Matt... I just want you to know... I'm really thankful for all that you do for me. I know I'm hard to put up with and a complete pain in the butt."

"You're not a pain in the butt... Well, only sometimes."

"Gee, thanks. But yeah, I love you, bro. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I love you, too, Amelia. I don't know what I'd do without you either."

She sucks in a breath and lets it go, feeling lighter. "Are you going to be home this weekend?"

"If everything goes according to plan, then yeah."

"Wanna have a Netflix binge?"

For a second, Amelia thinks he's going to come up with some excuse about how he has to study or needs to take Gilbert to the dentist because Gil is too afraid to go alone. But then, surprisingly, he suddenly grins widely and says, "Do you even have to ask?"

And that's when she knows—for certain—that everything really is going to be okay.

There's a first time for everything.

Amelia takes a bathroom break in the middle of her English class because she had way too much tea in Arthur's office earlier, and now she has to pee like crazy. Thankfully, her teacher seems to know she's not just trying to get out of class, and lets her go without questioning her motives.

She's drying her hands with some paper towels when she hears someone hiccup from behind one of the stalls. She and this mysterious girl are the only ones in the bathroom, and Amelia almost manages to brush off the strange noise until she hears a sob, followed by another barely muffled hiccup. It isn't her place to intervene, but after what happened with that one girl at the party she went to last month, she knows how important it is to at least offer support.

Carefully, she tiptoes her way over to the stall door and knocks very softly. "Hey, are you okay?"

The person doesn't say anything back, and so, she tries again.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be nosy or annoying, but if there's anything I can do for you, I'd be glad to do it."

This time, the girl coughs, clears her throat roughly, and mutters, "I don't think you'd want to help me, Amelia."

Of course. Just her luck. Why does she always run into the people she least wants to see?

"Natalya?"

They share an awkward silence until Natalya finally pushes the stall door open and stares at her with red-rimmed eyes, sniffling. She looks… bad. She's less healthy in terms of her appearance, and the aura of confidence she usually wears is missing. "Go away already. Why are you still here? To make fun of me?"

Amelia frowns. "I wouldn't do that."

"You've already done enough," Natalya scoffs, rinsing her face in one of the sinks.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ivan's never home anymore because of you. First Dad left and now him."

Amelia already knows that Ivan grew up without a father in his life. He was killed in some sort of construction accident when he was young, and though they've spoken about it before, Ivan never did like to go into depth about their relationship.

"Where did he go?"

"He hangs out with Vash and some other guys now. He hasn't been home in three days, and he hasn't called. He could be dead for all I know."

Amelia can't hide the obvious concern on her face. "Have you tried talking to Vash?"

"Yeah, but he won't talk to me either."

"He'll be back," she insists, feeling an overwhelming bout of sympathy for Natalya. "He likes to disappear now and then. Do you know why he suddenly left?"

Natalya doesn't look like she wants to give away all of the details, but her gaze seems to suggest that she knows that Amelia is her only chance at getting Ivan to return, and so, she relents. "He doesn't think he has a problem. Our mom tried to get him to talk to a therapist or something, and he got angry and stormed away."

Even though she knows she shouldn't feel this way, Amelia still believes this is her mess to fix. She has to be the one to reach out to Ivan. If they're going to drown, they're going to drown together because two broken people have a better chance at making it through than one.

She looks Natalya directly in her watery eyes and says firmly, "Tell me everything you know."