Hey everyone. Thank you so much for reading. I hope you are all well and happy. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I will update soon. xxx

Donald Scripps and David Posner strolled together through the corridors in the direction of the din audible from the canteen half-way across the school. Because of the storm, every pupil remained inside, which saved Scripps the playground duty he would have had to undertake. The rain lashed mercilessly at the windows-Fiona's blouse was rather damp, to the great approval of most of the boys, who seemed to be finding every excuse to bypass the Headmaster's office, staring through the window like tourists at a zoo. But they could have been in the middle of a hurricane for all Scripps cared-nothing could dampen his spirits.

Rather than spending their mutual free period studying, Scripps and David had snuck into the empty music classroom. After he had picked the lock on the lid of the piano open and consolidated his thick folder of sheet music, for one glorious hour Scripps played while David sang. Anything David wanted, from musical theatre to jazz and folk, Scripps picked out on the yellowing keys, making more mistakes than normal as the sound of David's voice stole him away from reality. Sometimes he sang along quietly, but mostly he just listened, distinctly aware of David standing behind him, sometimes leaning in close over his shoulder to check the lyrics. Scripps wished he would linger there longer.

When they were not playing, they talked. Not about Dakin. Not about anything in particular. As the rain hammered at the window, making trails down the window, they simply talked. Mostly David talked, while Scripps listened contentedly. He loved hearing the wonderings of David's mind, collecting precious details like butterflies in glass jars and storing them away safely in his mind. David's favourite songs, the places he liked, the places he wanted to go, by what means he had burned his hand when he was seven, how the word "popcorn" made him think of slippers for some reason…Everything seemed of great importance.

"I'm sorry, Scrippsy, I feel like I've done nothing but talk!" David's voice broke into his thoughts. "You must be sick of the sound of my voice!"

How could I ever be? "Not at all," Scripps assured him, half amused. "Not at all."

As they entered the canteen, the noise levels rising dramatically, Scripps joined the line for lunch behind David, feeling like his feet had not touched the ground. He loved the simplicity of this-just talking with David about everything and nothing, just relaxing together, singing and playing. He wished every day was like this. No tension, no shadow of Dakin looming over David, no faint sadness in his eyes. Just the two of them.

As he received his tray of rubbery pasta and congealed sauce with thanks, he thanked God silently for this precious time with David, for David's new clarity and happiness. As he looked up and saw David waiting for him, holding his own tray and smiling shyly, he felt like the luckiest person in the word.

"Dakin? Yoohoo, Dakin?" came a high-pitched, mocking voice from the crowded lunch table they approached. "Dakin, mon petit poulet?"

Sluggishly, Dakin looked up from his plate of pasta, looking furiously at Timms as Scripps and David sat down with their trays. "Regardez!" Timms was saying, a huge, smug smile on his face, pointing at David. "Voici ton femme! Ton femme, Dakin!" he declared, snorting.

"Fuck off!" Dakin snapped, with even less patience than usual as the rest of the boys howled with laughter. Scripps caught David's eye and smiled empathetically.

"Ton poulet est fâché!" Lockwood was telling Timms.

"Je m'en fous," Timms said, shrugging-then cackling again. "Il est la maladie d'amour!"

Scripps half-listened to Dakin's colourfully phrased reply, which would have made his vicar weep. He found he had no interest in lunch, half-heartedly stirring his food with the plastic fork. However, to his delight, he watched David eat hungrily, as if he was starving. He tried to remember the last time he had seen David eat so enthusiastically. Epiphanies must be exhausting, Scripps thought proudly as David ignored Dakin and merely snickered at Timms' teasing-so different to his mortification at the start of the joke. The difference in David-how relaxed his shoulders were, how he breathed with ease!

Timms' lips were puckered now, as he kissed the air beside Dakin's cheek. "Embrasse moi, je te desire…" he murmured sexily, making wet, slurping noises. He rubbed his hands across his chest, giving a carnal groan. "Oh, oh, oh, Posner, ma chérie!" he growled in a low voice, before switching to a simpering falsetto to exclaim: "Oh, oh oh, Dakin, mon mari!"

Rudge snorted his Coke out of his nose as Timms joined in the rapturous laughter that followed his lastest display. "I genuinely hate all of you." said Dakin, his voice monotonous, eyes so cold he seemed almost serious.

"Ooooooh!" Timms squealed, holding his hands up, face now slightly red from laughing. "Posner, ton mari est grincheux!"

David glanced up, his smile stretching lazily across his face. That miraculous dimple glowed upon his cheek, making Scripps' heart silently melt. "Je veux un divorce." David was saying, lightly.

Timms' hands slammed on the table, his mouth hanging open with shock. "NON!" he shouted, so loud that several tables around them turned to stare. The other boys gawped at Posner-who simply smiled again, looking directly at Dakin, who regarded him with narrowed eyes. "Je veux un divorce," he repeated. "Bon débarras, mon cher!"

"UN DIVORCE!" Timms cried, looking scandalised. He looked at if his world had just shattered. "UN DIVORCE?"

"Oh mon Dieu!" Lockwood added, eyes bulging, looking unsure whether to laugh or cry. The suspicious Dakin kept looking sideways at David, as if trying to work out his game. David, on the other hand, looked around serenely, enjoying the upper-hand he so rarely achieved, taking another mouthful of pasta and sauce. Scripps merely gawped at him, full of admiration. He felt himself deliriously falling for him all over again.

"Que dire des enfants?" Timms was saying in horror.

"Les enfants?" Dakin spluttered, breaking his silence. A forkful of pasta was half-way to his mouth, floating in mid-air.

"Oui, vos enfants! Les enfants juives!" Timms banged his fist on the table in frustration.

"Les enfants juives? Again?" said a voice from above. Eight heads snapped up to see Irwin standing over them, his eagerness carefully masked by a raised eyebrow and sarcastic tone. He looked over the boys. Looking as if he dreaded what he would hear, he turned to Timms. "Dare I ask-what on Earth has happened now?"

Timms looked up at him, eyes wide, looking like a character from a Shakespearian tragedy. "Posner just told Dakin he wants a divorce!" he said thickly, as if they were his own parents.

Irwin stared for a moment-then an uncertain laugh bubbled out of him. "What?"

"I know! I'm as saddened and appalled as you are, sir!" Timms groaned, a hand flying to his forehead.

Irwin looked at David, who was calmly taking a drink of water. "This must be one of the shortest-lived marriages on record…"

"It's not that unusual, sir!" Dakin said suddenly, his voice much louder than usual, eyes wide, almost begging for Irwin's attention. "Ernest Borgnine and Ethel Merman were only married for four weeks!"

Irwin laughed. "Oh dear, oh dear-you boys!"

"Don't say "you boys!" like that, sir!" Dakin retorted, still keen to capture Irwin's interest, like a hungry spaniel. "Makes it sound like we're more than about five minutes younger than you!"

Irwin raised his eyebrow again. "Dakin, I can see that the trauma of your separation has addled your brains. You seem to think that treating me as a comrade will distract me from the fact that you failed to hand in your essay this morning."

A loud "Ooooooh!" issued from the table as the other boys delighted in Dakin's embarrassment. Irwin looked pleased with himself, as Dakin's cheeks were tickled pink. "It will be on my desk by the end of the day, Dakin. You mustn't expect this leniency from Oxford!"

"Have a heart, sir." Scripps piped up, grinning smugly at Dakin. Suddenly, Scripps felt a lot more warmly towards him than he had done in a long time. "He's just lost his wife."

"My fucking wife." Dakin hissed, folding his arms. He looked daggers at Irwin-who ignored him.

"And he and Posner's children are caught in the middle!" Timms was lamenting. Scripps marvelled at how he kept a straight face. "Oh, they're like poor little sheep that have lost their way! Where will they go, sir?" Timms wailed, appealing to Irwin. "What will they do, sir?"

Irwin chuckled, looking slightly taken-aback. "Which brings me onto my second point Dakin, Posner-between getting engaged and married-and I still want to know why I wasn't on the guest list-how on Earth did you make time to have children?"

"That's the problem with Dakin and Posner having children together, sir?" Akthar exclaimed, shaking his head at the madness he was experiencing. "Not how the children came about in the first place-but how they fit it into their schedules? Didn't you take biology, sir?"

This debate continued as Scripps lost himself deep in thought. He kept glancing at David. He seemed more drawn to him than ever, so compelling that Scripps wondered if it would physically hurt to be apart from him. He thought about that night at Dakin's again, carrying him up the stairs, lying next to him for those treasured hours…then of today, in the music room, simply being themselves. The time he spent alone with David stuck more firmly in his mind than anything he had ever experienced before, even the times before he had realised all David truly meant to him.

A small, daring part of Scripps' brain wondered if it was worth risking those times for a shot at truly being with David…

A small shock passed through him, like an electric current. He had never fully allowed himself to consider this possibility before. Could he…did he dare…?

No. It was hopeless. David would never see him in that way. He had never given any indication that he liked him, or found him attractive at all. Despite what those ghastly mothers had behaved like, Scripps did not consider himself attractive at all-especially if David's tastes were closer to the movie-star looks of Dakin…Scripps felt strange, wondering whether he was handsome enough to be liked by David. Looks shouldn't matter. But Scripps wondered if, when it came to it, they did. He had such little experience of this. Aside from holding hands with one or two girls and a few kisses at parties, Scripps was ignorant of the world of relationships.

Their close friendship was exactly that. He was sure he didn't have a chance with David-and telling him how he truly felt could jeopardise the friendship he held so dear…but would he regret not trying more?

Could he risk his current relationship with David? Was he willing to stand whatever David made of his confessions? What if David was freaked out? Scripps certainly was. This whole business terrified him more than he cared to admit.

As he watched David laughing softly at something Irwin said, eyes shining, Scripps wondered.