AN: yo, yo, yo, yo. Excuse me, is that an answer? Shut up, sit down, and pull your damn pants up. - Lin Manuel Miranda, In The Heights.

I'm dissertation delirious. Please excuse me.

Chapter 21

Learning to Talk

Tyler blanched. He felt the red blood cells rush to his head and cause him to grip the doorframe. They'd been standing in the doorway of his bedroom for thirty seconds now. Sebastian chewed his lip, hovering over his hand painted banner.

"What is this?" Tyler asked.

Sebastian swallowed and gestured to the banner again. "It's… It's my invitation. To the ball. For you."

Tyler began to sway on his feet, he dug his fingers into the doorframe, feeling the splinters dig into the tender skin under his fingernails. "I feel dizzy..."

Sebastian blanched and stepped forward, reaching out a hand to catch him if he fell. "From the banner?" He asked, wincing.

Tyler assured him that it was not due to the banner, but rather the hour and a half of intensive chemotherapy he'd just undertaken.

"Right," Sebastian said, "of course."

Tyler gestured to the banner anyway. "What happened to Blaine? I thought… I thought you were making this for him."

They both looked at the blue and gold painted sheet. Tyler saw Sebastian resist chewing on his thumb nail – a nervous habit he'd seen develop over the past couple weeks. He tucked it inside his fist and forced them both, like tight rocks, to his sides.

"I know. And it was… at the start." He took a breath and strode forward, until he was standing a breath away from Tyler. "But… these past couple of weeks. I've… I've changed my mind about him. About a lot of things, actually. I don't care about him, anymore. I care about you."

There was silence, and Sebastian reached for Tyler's hand.

He snatched it away, holding the hand he wasn't using for balance behind his back. Sebastian stood before him, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted.

"You need to go," Tyler told him.

"Tyler."

"Just… get out of here, Sebastian. I feel like I'm going to be sick." When there was no movement, Tyler pushed against his chest. "Go."

Sebastian opened his mouth once more, before thinking better of it and nodding. He stepped around Tyler, who leant heavily against the wall, his head buried in his hands.

When the door shut behind him, Tyler let himself slip down the wallpaper, his body heavy and sore, his hands wet from the tears that broke free from his chest.

Kurt paced the room.

"So, let me get this straight," he said, coming to a standstill and placing the tips of his fingers together.

David and Eli looked at each other. Kiki, David's secret sugar glider, scratched in her cage. Eli was sat on the edge of David's desk, clutching the soup bowl in his lap and spooning the remains of the broth into his mouth. David stood akimbo at the window, too antsy to sit down.

"You lost Wes..."

Eli gestured with his spoon. "Yes!"

"In the year 1996?"

Eli let the spoon fall slightly. He glanced to David, and then, "… yes..."

"Okay," Kurt said, nodding. "Just wanted to make sure I was following correctly, because it almost sounds like you're saying that Wes travelled back in time three days ago and now you don't know where he is."

Eli's spoon clinked as he lowered it all the way down to his bowl. "That... uh, that pretty much sums it up, yeah."

Kurt looked at the ceiling. He nodded. "Look, don't hold this against me, but I'm not entirely sure what to do with this information."

Eli relaxed, lifting his spoon and twirling it in the air again. "I mean, you're actually taking this surprisingly well, considering…"

"Oh no," Kurt said, laughing. "No, no, don't get me wrong. I may give the appearance of total calm right now, but really I'm just in shock at the utter stupidity of this whole thing." His swooping hand motion encompassed the whole room, including both of his friends. "There will most definitely be screaming later."

Eli frowned. "Oh," he said. "That is not so good."

"No, not really." Kurt clapped his hands together. "On the bright side, I'm not going to throttle either of you immediately, so that's a positive we can focus on here, right?"

David took this opportunity to step forward. "Look, Kurt," he said, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "You can't tell anyone about this. Only a few of us know about it, alright?"

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He shifted his questioning glare back and forth between David and Eli. "Who else knows?"

Eli began counting off his fingers. "Well, there's Me and David – obviously – I guess Wes, considering he is the one we lost, so he knows too, but I don't think he counts, so… oh, and Blaine and Arjun, and now you."

David dropped his head into his hand while Eli tapped his chin in thought. "And actually, maybe James for some reason…"

"Blaine knows?" Kurt asked, hurt furrowing its way onto his brows.

David ran a hand over his head. "He was there with Eli – when we all found out. It just happened."

Kurt blinked, recalling the many times Blaine had lied to him about this in the past couple days. His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pushed it out, looking for distraction from his trembling hands. Checking his message, his began to shake his head.

"Tyler needs me," he said, putting his phone back in his back pocket. "I have to go. Um." He pressed a finger to his forehead. "Um, okay. We'll deal with this later. Bye."

Kurt turned and reached for the door, letting himself out. As he swooped into the hallway, Eli leaned out after him. "Kurt, wait," he said. "Don't you want your bowl back? Kurt?"

Kurt pressed his fingers to his cheeks as he left.

Cameron's hand was on Cass' neck, pulling him closer. Cass' hands were knotted in Cameron's dark curls, wound around his knuckles. His knees straddled either side of the older boy's hips, grinding down against him.

Suddenly, Cass felt Cameron's hand on his own, prying his fingers apart and detangling the pen which had been forgotten in the spontaneous, heated, make-out session. Cass pulled away and released his grip on Cameron's hair, letting go of the pen. It dropped before Cameron could catch it and clipped his shoulder before stuttering to the floor and rolling under the side-table.

Cameron sighed and dropped back as Cass scrambled off him to retrieve it. He thrust his arm beneath the table and felt the carpet, until he felt the plastic tube brush beneath his fingertips. He sat back on his heels and showed Cameron his success.

The older boy was sat up now, his feet flat on the ground, and held up his Future careers form they had been filling out together, which was now crumpled beyond repair.

"Oops," Cass said. "I didn't even realise."

This, of course, was not completely true. He'd heard the paper crumple beneath the weight of his knee as he pulled himself up Cameron's torso twelve minutes earlier.

"I guess you'll just have to get a new one."

Cameron raised an eyebrow, but a smile played in the corner of his lips. He shook his head and crossed to the notice board above his desk. Cass made himself comfortable on the floor and watched as Cameron grabbed a thumb tack and drove it into the paper, displaying the ruined sheet on his pin board among the three others.

"Burned, torn, soaked, and now creased beyond repair." He gestured to the papers respectively, then raised his eyebrows at Cass. "What are you going for next?"

A guilty smile grew. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cameron crossed his arms. "Oh, really?"

"Really," Cass said. Then after a moment, he added, "I might get one of the kids to draw all over it in crayon. Would that work for you?"

"Well, I definitely wouldn't be able to hand that one in."

"Perfect, let's make it a date."

Cameron rolled his eyes and reached for his sweater, discarded at the end of his bed. As he pulled it over his shoulders, he said, "Cass, you do know you can't stop me from graduating, right?"

Cass considered this, tipping his head to the side. "I don't know… I do have a lot of pull around this place. I'm sure I could get someone to change the dates on your birth certificate."

Cameron paused, his sweater still riding half-way up his body. "Can you actually do that?"

Cass looked through his lashes, leaning forward. "Do you want me to?"

"No… Maybe… I just… Can you?"

Cass shrugged, dropping back again. "I can find out."

There was a pause, before Cameron exhaled and shook his head, pulling his sweater down the rest of his torso. "No, no. don't bother. Don't give me an excuse not to go, because I would probably take it at this point."

When he dropped to the edge of his bed, Cass moved to sit next to him, wrapping his arms around Cameron's waist. He kissed his shoulder as Cameron ran his fingers absently over the back of Cass' arm, feeling the raised scars of Cass' most recent cuts. Thankfully, they were old now. Cass had been injury free for the last four weeks and wasn't showing signs of deterrence. He'd even abandoned the bandages, letting the white creases show.

"What are you smiling about?" Cass asked, propping his head on Cameron's shoulder.

Cameron turned to face him. "I'm glad things worked out this way. Between us. I didn't think they would for a while."

Cass' smile stretched into a grin. "Me too."

The two mellowed in the comfortable silence for a moment, before Cameron dropped his hands to his lap and stood up. "I guess I better go get a new form."

Cass groaned and dropped back onto the bed. "What am I going to do when you're gone, though?"

Cameron smirked, grabbing his key from the desk. "It's only a year and a half, right? Then you'll be released on the world." He paused and pulled a face. "Which is actually kind of terrifying, now that I think about it…"

Cass propped himself up on his elbows. He pictured himself in a real house, with a real job, that didn't involve slitting the throats of strangers. He couldn't help but smile. "The world won't know what to expect." Then, as the dawning realisation seeped in, he added; "If Murphy lets me go, that is."

"You'll have graduated. He can't keep you here… You'll be an adult."

"Tell that to him," Cass muttered, then, noticing the look of concern on Cameron's face, said, "I'll be fine. I'll be out of here in no time. I'll just have to find something else to do while you're gone…" He played with the zip on one of Cameron's cushions. "Maybe I'll take up a hobby... like knitting."

Cameron fiddled with his keyring for a moment – a small, thumb sized globe that wobbled around on an axis – then wet his lips. "Or maybe… you could find out what happened to you. Maybe see if you can uncover some leads about your family."

Cass considered this. "Yeah… maybe."

After a moment, Cameron drew a breath. "And I… I could help you. If you wanted me too."

Cass smiled, his chest welling with warmth. He nodded and stood up, slipping his shoes on. After a brief goodbye, the two left Cameron's room and headed opposite ways down the corridor.

Bap. Bap. Bap. The sound that resonated as his glove connected with the bag. There was a wet heat inside his gloves, where his knuckles had spilt and began to bleed. Jab. Uppercut. Jab. He stepped back onto his left foot and tightened his core, then beat the bag with his top of his right foot.

When he was done, he was limping. There was a scuff mark in the place he'd kicked the bag over and over. He was sure he could feel a loose toenail moving about inside his sock. It was a wet and unpleasant feeling and he frowned in discomfort as he reached the benches.

Izzy, the thirteen-year-old girl he'd met in the arena, hovered at the edge of the mat in concern when Quinn came to grab a drink.

"You sure showed that bag who's boss, huh?" she asked, nursing a protein-shake in a pink and purple floral water bottle.

Quinn only shook his head. "I'm just having a bad day."

"Wanna stretch in out?" she asked, capping her bottle.

Quinn dropped his head back, feeling the sweat trickle down his chin, and into the neckline of his t-shirt. "Sure."

The two sat with their legs spread, hands clasped, the soles of their feet pressed together. Quinn leaned back, pulling Izzy forward and stretching out her upper thighs. Her nose almost touched the laminate floor of the studio.

"So, what's got you down?" she asked, breathing through the pain of the stretch.

Quinn looked at the ceiling, frowning. "It's… Tyler," he said.

After a moment, Izzy inhaled, pulling herself back up and Quinn towards the ground. Inches from the ground, Quinn exhaled into the stretch, closing his eyes. In the background, a student was mopping the floor – most likely on punishment duty. She hadn't cleaned this part of the floor yet, Quinn observed as he inhaled through his nose, because it still smelt like sweat and feet.

"Boyfriend trouble?" Izzy asked.

Quinn grumbled, exhaled, and allowed himself to sit up right, pulling Izzy forward again. "I guess you could say that. I just… It feels like he doesn't like me anymore," he said. "It's like he doesn't ever want me around. Like… like he prefers Sebastian over me. I don't know what I did. One minute we're fine and the next I've done something wrong, but I don't know what…"

There was a pause. Even leant back, the stretch threatened the insides of his thighs, like a string of heat searing from his toes to his groin. His toes still felt bruised and damaged from overwork. "Am I being stupid?" he asked, wincing.

"You're asking the girl who has been single for the entirety of her life," she said, with her head pressed to the floor. Her hands were still sweaty in his and he wondered what exercises she'd been doing. He knew there was a dance class hosted for the girls by an older student, so he thought it might've been that. She had the slim legs and short torso of a dancer, so he figured it would make sense.

It reminded Quinn of an arbitrary fact he knew about Tyler: the boy was going to be a figure skater. It was a fact delivered to him after a year of knowing his now-boyfriend. With blush heavy on his neck and cheeks, Tyler explained that before Dalton, he had been training to compete in the Junior Grand Prix when he turned fifteen in July that year.

Thanks to Dalton, that was a reality that ended up on the other side of the coin. He was eighteen now – too old to start figure skating again, even if he wanted to.

"I don't really get relationships," Izzy admitted. "So, this is coming from that, but maybe you should just spend more time with him. Do something cool together…" she said, then yanked herself up and her eyes flashed. "Maybe you should go skydiving with him. Wait. No. Take me skydiving."

Quinn considered this for a moment – not the skydiving, of course, but the spending time together. He thought about their relationship and its foundations for not the first time that month.

With a deep breath, he sighed. "While I don't think I'm going to go skydiving…" He gave Izzy a pointed look. "I think you're right. I think… there's something I've got to do…"

Izzy smiled and squeezed his fingers. Then she eased him back to the floor.

"First though, we finish stretching. Feel the pain."

Quinn groaned. "The floor smells really bad."

"Suffer through, my brother. Suffer through."

Kurt sat opposite Tyler. Tyler sat over the bowl of his toilet and Kurt held a cup of water in his hands. When he finished retching, Tyler pulled the flush and sank down to the floor. He shifted so he was more comfortable and Kurt unrolled some of the toilet paper above him, holding it out for Tyler to wipe his mouth with.

The older boy took it and thanked him.

"It's okay," Kurt replied, softly.

The two sat in the quiet; Tyler, exhausted, Kurt, contemplative. When Tyler opened his eyes again, he frowned at the look on Kurt's face. "Why?" he asked.

Kurt blinked and shifted his gaze. "What?" he asked. "Why what?"

Tyler pointed at him. "That look… on your face… why?" The breaths came hard between the words and Tyler gestured for the water. Kurt handed it to him and he rinsed his mouth out, spitting the taste into the toilet bowl, then downing what was left. Kurt examined his own hands as Tyler did so. Eventually, Tyler slumped back again and rolled his hand, motioning for Kurt to go on.

For a moment, Kurt was going to protest, but there was something humbling about sitting on the floor next to a toilet bowl with a terminally ill boy, who just finished throwing up into said toilet bowl, wanting to know about his relationship drama. Kurt sighed and played with the fabric of his t-shirt.

"It's just… Blaine."

Tyler snorted. "Of course, it is."

Kurt narrowed his eyes. He pulled his hand back to his lap. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Tyler looked up at Kurt's face, still grinning. He winced when something painful struck through him and the grin fell away. "Sorry. Nothing. Go on."

"Tyler."

"Kurt, please," Tyler said. "I only have a couple months left to live, please humour me for ten minutes at the very least."

All of Kurt's anger ebbed away and was replaced by cold dejection. He looked at his hands again and picked at the skin that had been rubbed loose during a training exercise earlier. He wished he had his full collection of moisturisers and lotions that he had back in Lima. "You have two years. That's what you said when you first told me."

Tyler levelled him with a cool reserve, before he snorted a harsh laugh. "Look at me, Kurt. Look at the state I'm in. I can't even sit up properly. You really think I'm going to last that long?" Tyler shook his head. "I'll be surprised if I make it to Christmas at this rate."

Discussing one of his closest friend's rate of decay was not something Kurt wanted to be doing on that same friend's dirty bathroom floor. In fact, he didn't want to be thinking of Wes, lost somewhere in 1996 and, he didn't want to be worrying about Ben and Toby, or about Cass and what would happen to him after Cameron left. If anything, he just wanted to go back home. To be in the lima bean with Mercedes or, hell, even Rachel. He wanted to be able to go home and moan to his dad that they didn't have soy and to tell Finn to keep it down with his drums.

But that wasn't going to happen. It was a hard truth to swallow.

He swallowed anyway.

"Blaine doesn't tell me anything. He doesn't talk to me anymore." Tyler leant his head against his hand as Kurt looked up at the ceiling. "I've never… I've never navigated something like this before. I don't know if I'm doing it wrong, or if I'm flunking, or something." He slanted his look to Tyler again, who raised his eyebrows. "Am I a bad boyfriend?"

Tyler blinked, then laughed. When Kurt scowled, he waved his hand. "No, no, sorry, I wasn't laughing at you, it's just… I've been with Quinn for almost three years and I still think I'm doing everything horribly wrong. We're not exactly at our strongest right now, if you haven't noticed." Something passed Tyler's lips, twisting for a moment, and then smoothing out again. Kurt looked sideways.

"Would you believe me if I said I hadn't?"

Tyler smiled. "No."

"Alright, well… I guess you have been a little distant."

"A lotta distant."

"Honestly, you may as well have been in Europe, Tyler."

Tyler laughed, then coughed. "Okay, okay," he said, hitting his chest. "We're getting off track. We're talking about you."

Kurt closed his eyes and let out a breath. After a moment, he shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you. Blaine obviously just doesn't like me as much as I thought he did." Kurt picked at one of the nobbles in Tyler's bathmat, hoping to god the boy had washed it this side of his lifetime. "It's probably just better to cut and run while I still have my heart intact, right?"

Tyler stared at him. "Do you really think that?"

Kurt shrugged. The floor was beginning to give him aches all over his body, but there was nowhere else he'd rather have this terrible conversation but here. He shifted, trying to elevate the pain and said, "no… but I don't really know what to say to him. What do I say?"

Tyler put his head against the glass door of the shower and blinked a couple times. Kurt could see the weight piling itself on his eyelids, pulling them down. "You know, when me and Quinn first got together, we really had no idea what we were doing," he said, closing his eyes. "Still don't, in fact. Weird how things turn out. Luckily…" The words were beginning to come out slurred now and Kurt reached for Tyler's hand. With a squeeze Tyler picked up his sentence again. "Luckily, you don't have to worry about Sebastian anymore, so that's good… isn't it?"

Kurt blanched. "What?" he asked.

Tyler didn't respond. His breaths came out in soft lulls now, rising and falling like hills. Even when Kurt squeezed his hand he didn't respond. Kurt slumped back against the wall. For a moment, he just watched his friend, face mashed up against the wall like that, breathing softly and sleeping soundly.

Kurt sighed and pulled out his phone. He dialled Ben's onsite number and said, "Come help me move Tyler, he's fallen asleep again."

Harry shook his girlfriend awake. Jess was splayed in the single next to him, her arms over her face, spittle dried onto her cheeks. For someone so conscious about her appearance during the day, it was surprising to see her like this.

Harry kissed her cheek and she stirred.

She batted his face, then found leverage on his jaw and ran her fingers across his skin. When she looked over her shoulder and blinked bleary eyes at him, he raised his eyebrows.

"Hello." Her voice was still groggy with sleep.

"Hey."

He'd been awake for an hour already.

"Were you watching me sleep?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Is that creepy?"

"Mm, yeah," she said, then shifted her whole body to face him, curling into his chest. She pushed hair off her cheek and then, a little while later, said, "oh god, I drooled, didn't I?"

Harry laughed. "Yeah, a little."

She huffed and used his quilt to clean her cheek. "I'm gonna sleep a bit longer." She jabbed his chest. "Don't watch me."

Harry grinned and grabbed her shoulder. "No, you can't. You have to wake up. I have something for you."

"For me?"

He hummed. "Come on, sit up."

She did, although it proved to be a great effort. As she took a moment to blink herself awake, Harry reached down the side of his bed and grasped for the envelope he'd slipped there the night before. When he found it, he held it out to her.

She took it, frowning at the blankness of it, turning it over in her hands. "What is this?"

"Don't ask. Open."

She slid her dark red nail underneath the seal and pried it open. Reaching inside, she slipped out two theatre tickets with red ticket stubs.

For a moment, she just stared. The next she was beating him in the arm with his own gift. "Are you kidding me, Harry?"

"Ow, ow, ow. Jess," he said, laughing. "Stop."

"Harry, these were sold out."

"I know."

"This is today's date."

"I know."

"Why?"

He lifted his shoulders. "Happy birthday?"

She blanked at him. "It's not my birthday. My birthday's in January."

His lips raised at one corner. "My bad, I guess you don't want them then." When he moved for the tickets she snatched them out of reach. He grinned. "So… you do want them?"

"Shut up, of course I do."

There was a moment of pause, then she reached up and took his chin, pulling his mouth to meet hers. "Thank you," she said when they parted.

"You're welcome."

She gazed at her tickets for a while longer, then brought them to her lips and kissed them. She inhaled. "You can smell the West End success."

Harry kissed her cheek before clambering over her and grabbing a towel. "I'm going to leave you to have some private time while I shower. Don't stain the sheets."

Jess slipped back down under the covers and fanned herself with the tickets. "I'll think of you."

He threw a pair of socks at her and she laughed.

Step one was complete.

As they levered Tyler onto his bed – who incredibly went unperturbed by the awkward moving and lifting – Kurt and Ben didn't speak. Once they had him tucked under the covers, Ben exhaled and dusted off his hands, then placed them on his hips.

"It's worrying that he's getting so light, right?" Ben asked. "Or are we just getting stronger?" he flexed his muscles and showed them off to Kurt. Kurt, rolling his eyes, threw his discarded jacket at him.

"Come on, let's leave him to sleep."

Out in the hall, once Tyler's door had clicked shut, Ben and Kurt began heading in the direction of Kurt's room. They decided to work on their maths homework together.

"When was the last time Newman gave you laps for getting something wrong in class?" Kurt asked. "It feels like you haven't had any for a really long time."

Ben furrowed his brows in thought. When he couldn't come up with anything, he shrugged. "Must just be getting better at it. Toby's helping me study a lot at the moment."

Kurt smiled curiously. "Is he smart, then?"

Ben nodded. "Like, ridiculously so." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "You know, when Harry was here, Toby always used to pester me about letting him give me tutoring. I used to turn him down all the time because Harry said he was probably just trying to get me alone," Ben rolled his eyes. "But when I asked him about it after we started dating, he just laughed. You know he'd always assumed that me and Harry were actually a couple?"

Kurt gave a breathy laugh and shook his head. "I mean, can you blame him? You were kind of exclusive, weren't you?"

Ben tilted his head. "I don't know. I don't really think so. Like, don't get me wrong, it's not really a secret that me and Harry had a thing for each other, but it's not like it was necessarily very healthy, was it?" he asked. "Like, I was always trying to bring him up and nothing I could ever say would make him happy and so then I was sad…" Kurt raised his eyebrows as Ben turned to him with a guilty expression. "Is it bad that I'm kind of glad he's gone?"

After a cursory glance up and down, Kurt slung an arm around Ben's shoulder. "While I can't quite believe that you just outrightly admitted that you and Harry were 'a thing' once, I can say that I'm proud of you for moving on and recognising a bad situation for what it really was."

Ben grinned. "See," he said, tapping his head. "Getting smarter every day."

Kurt laughed and shoved him away.

The two headed to the room together.

That evening, Cass sat down in front of his computer. He took the cassette tape from his sock draw and ran his fingers over it. He'd done this a hundred times since Cameron gave it to him at the end of last year.

Since then, he'd had Arjun convert the file to a CD-ROM. The disk sat in his drive and his mouse lingered over the play button.

This the furthest he'd been. There was three other times that he'd been this far, but this time, after thirty minutes of panic attacks and deliberation…

He clicked play.

Clutching the original tape to his chest he inhaled and waited for the player to load. He closed his eyes and the disk began to whirr in the drive. He moved to stop it, but then he heard movement. He listened to a chair scuff the ground and trays clatter to the table.

"Freak, get that camera out of my face."

A girl's voice.

"I'm not doing anything wrong."

"I didn't say you could film me, did I?" When there was no response, the girl pushed again. "Did I?"

Cass frowned, then opened his eyes. On his screen sat two teenage looking girls, one brunette, one blonde. The blonde one was leaning forward, over her tray of food, glaring at whoever was behind the camera.

Cass' eyes held her face.

"John, stop."

The brunette reached over and put a hand on her friend's arm. "Hey, he's not doing anything. Just forget it."

The blonde reached forward and snatched the camera from him. Cass watched a series of hands scramble over the lens, before it settled on a boy who looked slightly younger than the two girls. There was something very familiar about his face, the way his lips pressed in his sulk.

Cass leaned in, squinting at the pixels. When the video jumped forward, he paused and took the buffer back to this frame. There was something familiar in his face.

He let the video play on. There was a jump cut and suddenly the video was taking place outside. The blonde girl from the last video, sat on a stone wall, with a hoodie pulled up around her collar.

"She'll be okay, Alice."

The blonde puffed air out. It chalked in the space before her lips and drifted upwards, tangling in the branches above.

"I'm just…"

"I know."

"People die, John."

"I know."

"You think she'll be okay?"

"Yeah, of course."

"I miss her."

"You two, I swear. You're inseparable. She'll be back in a week. It's not that long."

A small smile began to grow on her lips. "We're a dynamic duo. We're going to run away together."

"Did I say inseparable? I meant insufferable."

Alice grinned before she shoved the cameraman away. He lost his balance and toppled off the wall backwards. The camera rolled and fell onto a shot of John and Alice, the latter climbing off the wall, laughing and helping him up again. John rubbed the back of his head and then scrambled for the camera, switching it off.

There were many scenes this way. Sometimes with others, but always with Alice. The cameraman didn't seem to focus on anyone else. There was a shot of a helicopter landing in the centre of the running track. When the pilot assisted the students out underneath the blades, Alice ran into the shot and collapsed when she met the arms of the brunette girl from the first video.

Jump cut.

Alice and the brunette grinning, arm in arm. The latter had cuts and bruises all over her face, but she was glowing.

Jump cut.

A party. "Welcome Home, Elizabeth and Magda," said a banner, strung up above the door. Alice grinned in the foreground, beside the beaten-up brunette, who blew out candles.

Jump cut.

They were outside. A pretty girl with short hair that hung just beneath her chin lay on the grass in front of him. The camera shifted and zoomed in on Alice in the background, who stood in shorts, dipping her toes in the lake with brunette. The camera moved and the pretty girl was back, her eye the sole focus. John zoomed out again, until her face was in the whole shot.

"Can you please concentrate?" she asked.

"Sorry, Elle."

The girl scoffed and reached forward. The shot went black.

When he checked the bar beneath, Cass saw that the video went on like this for an hour. He stopped it before it went any further and shut the lid of his laptop.

The girl. The blonde one. Alice.

That was him.

Except, not actually him, of course. But that was his face – his mouth and eyes, his nose and ears. He pushed his laptop aside and clambered off his bed, throwing open the door to the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror above the sink, gripping the sides.

He pressed his lips together. He came from her. In the creases of his smile he recognised her.

He recognised him.

Later, Kurt sat at Blaine's desk, reading over his Chemistry textbook. He made marks in the margin in pencil, so that he could rub them out later and return the book once he had graduated. With Cameron so close to crossing the line now, it was strange to think of graduation as a real concept.

Behind him Blaine was levitating a bottle cap, making it roll in the air by scissoring his index and middle fingers. His own books were spread open on his bed, his pencils holding pages open in the creases.

After his conversation with Ben, Kurt had texted Blaine and asked if they could study together that evening. Blaine had agreed, but he didn't seem to have his heart in it.

Kurt turned in his chair, his heart hammering in his chest. "Hey," he said.

Blaine glanced up and caught the cap. "Hey. You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Kurt said. "Just… Can you help me balance this equation?"

Blaine pulled a face, but stood up and leaned over his boyfriend. He placed an arm on the back of the chair and Kurt felt his breath against his cheek. Blaine reached for Kurt's pencil and checked his answer.

"Here, you just need 5 chlorines on this side, otherwise it's fine."

Kurt glanced over and frowned at the pencil markings Blaine had made over his. He nodded. "Right, of course, that makes much more sense now. Thanks."

Blaine patted his shoulder and moved to sit on his bed again, but Kurt twisted in his seat and took him by the wrist.

"You know, I feel like I haven't seen you in a really long time."

Blaine blinked. "What? We were at dinner together."

"I know…" Kurt said. "But… I feel like… like you're not… really there most of the time, now." He swallowed, moving his thumb on the back of Blaine's wrist. Both of their eyes fell to the rotating thumb. "I just… I'm wondering where you are." Kurt dug his fingers into the seat back. "Can I… Can you let me in, do you think? Tell me what's going on, maybe?"

Blaine's face creased. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his eyelids. His wrist had slipped out of Kurt's hold, and Kurt curled his fingers into his palm.

Blaine dropped onto the edge of his bed. "I'm just… finding it so hard to be here at the moment." He looked aside to avoid Kurt's doe-eyed stare. "Sometimes I forget what life is like on the outside." He chuckled. "Makes this place seem like prison, you know?"

Kurt, who had just begun to find his feet and make a home here, felt the ground slip away beneath him. The distress of reality entered him again, as it had all those months back. He gripped the chair back, feeling the wood creak under the pressure.

"Do you ever feel like we aren't real?" he asked, suddenly.

Blaine looked up.

Kurt met his eye for a moment, before pulling away. "Sometimes I feel like this is all a game. A ruse, maybe. Or like… maybe I'm dreaming. We're all in inception or something and Leonardo DiCaprio is our subconscious telling us that we're having this crazy shared spell of… of insanity or something."

Blaine considered this for a moment before he began to smile.

Kurt continued. "I still don't actually believe this is real, you know? Like this ninja spy school – yes, I'm still calling it that, Blaine Anderson, don't give me that –"

Blaine kissed him.

Kurt raised a shaking hand to his jaw and kissed him in return.

"—look," Kurt finished, when Blaine pulled away. He exhaled and Blaine scooped his hands into his own.

"I'm sorry."

"For… kissing me? Because you can't take that back, you know, that happened –"

Blaine waved. "No, for…" He reshuffled his hands and breathed out. "I'm real. You're real. If the rest of this world is… some crazy illusion staring Leonardo DiCaprio and Ellen Page… then I'm okay with that. As long as we're both real."

Kurt's lip began to tremor. "I wish Ellen Page was here."

"Me too."

"I miss my dad."

Blaine put an arm around his shoulder, pressing his head to Kurt's.

Outside, boys passed by the room, totally unaware of the delicate reality being distilled inside.

Harry helped lever the washing machine into the skip. It toppled inside with a clatter amongst the other appliances and debris that had been stripped from the building. Noah, who had held the other side, dusted off his gloved hands.

"That was heavier than I thought it was going to be," Noah said, grinning. He pointed at Harry. "And you're stronger than I thought you were going to be."

Harry rubbed at his arms. The residue of his years at Dalton was still wearing off. It also didn't hurt that Harry did a little upkeep in his spare-time, too. Just a couple of jogs here and there, a few weights every now and again. "Yeah well… It runs in the family, I guess. My dad lifted trucks."

Noah gave him a mock-impressed expression. "Really?"

"Well… no."

Noah snorted. "Okay, then. Well, thanks for helping me out. Mum was about to lose her mind."

Harry leaned against the skip with a hand on his hip, squinting at the building with the sun falling behind it. "No problem. Is she doing okay?"

Noah, who had recently lost his maternal grandfather, shrugged and glanced back over his shoulder. Inside, the house was beginning to look like a new build – the furnishings and appliances having been torn out and trashed. His three younger siblings were carrying out the smaller things – lamps, toaster, old desktops.

"She's… She's alright," Noah said. "I think this is helping. I'll have to convince her to throw a party when we're done remodelling. You'll be a guest of honour for helping." Noah's smile faltered a bit. He removed his gloves and said, "Sorry you had to miss your dinner with Jess."

Harry shrugged and pulled his own gloves from his fingers. "It's alright," he said. "I owe you a lot, anyway."

Noah shook his head. "If it helps, I think Cody probably appreciates taking your place."

Harry nodded. "Besides…" He pushed the gloves into Noah's chest with a smirk. "This gives me more time to plan step three."

Noah followed Harry to his bag, which was propped up against the low wall, separating his grandfather's estate from the driveway. "Step three?"

Harry hooked his bag over his shoulder. "Telling her… you know."

Noah began to smile. "Ah," he said, folding his arms. "The L-word?"

"Yup."

"So, what are the big plans?"

Harry hesitated. "Would it be really cringing to cover my bed in rose petals?"

"Uh, yeah, definitely. Are you doing that?"

"Shit."

"But you know my cousin as well as I do at this point," Noah said, perching on the low wall. "She likes romance and cliché, so it's probably the best way. You should play some Wicked or something in the background."

A smile bloomed in the corner of Harry's mouth. Noah shook his head and told him to get lost.

"You, mushy mess of a man, you," he called to Harry as the boy walked away from the estate, waving over his shoulder.

Harry took a right and headed into town to pick up rose petals.

When Tyler opened his door the next morning, he expected to have to answer a question that had been haunting him all night. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

Instead he saw Quinn.

"Can I… come in?" asked the Irish boy. "Please?"

Tyler stepped back and let him in, shutting the door behind him. When he noticed where Quinn was looking, he crossed the room to bury Sebastian's banner under the chairs it had been strung across.

"Sorry," Tyler said, standing up.

Quinn didn't say anything about it. He shrugged and turned away. He cleared his throat and his shoulders climbed up to his ears.

Tyler scratched his head. "I guess I'm assuming because… I don't know how you took yesterday and all, but I thought we were, like, not talking or something." Tyler folded his arms, pinching his biceps. "Was I wrong…?"

Quinn shook his head. "No…"

"Okay. Then, why are you here?"

Quinn pressed his lips together. He pressed two fingers to Tyler's desk. His finger nails were stubs, bitten down to the skin. Tyler shifted his weight, waiting for a response.

Quinn lifted his head. "Can you come with me?"

Tyler recoiled. "Where do you want to go?"

Quinn reached out his hand. Tyler hesitated, before taking it, gripping his fingers. There was something very finalising in that.

Quinn tugged Tyler down the hall, before turning and pushing open the doors leading outside. Tyler shaded his eyes when the sun burst into the sky. He didn't ask where they were going, but kept hold of Quinn's hand – a hand he had held in every way except this one; in pain, pleasure, in desperation, and in fear. This was something new, but Tyler couldn't quite decide what it was.

They tore pass the courts and the dojo, then passed the track and the gym.

Finally, they came to the lake.

They stopped at the bank.

The water was still.

Neither said a word.

After a while, Tyler moved to say something, but Quinn beat him to it.

"I spent last night thinking about what I could do for you," Quinn said. "I was trying to think of a way I could make you happy again."

"Quinn –"

"Not talking to you is like dying, you know? It's like… It's like you're the reason I'm happy and anytime you're not around, I'm just waiting for the next time I get to see or talk to you."

There was a bout of silence, but Tyler sensed that he wasn't done.

"When you went into that coma last year, I wanted to die. I wanted to stop living because I couldn't have you. I took James' place because being here without you was killing me. And for some reason, I felt like I had to punish myself for that. I mean… I was responsible for you falling…"

"You weren't," Tyler said in a low voice.

"I should've checked your ropes again."

"We've talked about this."

"I know."

"I've told you –"

"I know." Quinn closed his eyes. He pressed his fingers to his temples. "That wasn't supposed to be my point. My point… was that I wanted to make you as happy as you made me. I wanted to make you an ice rink on this lake," he said, opening his arms, encompassing the body of water.

Tyler's eyebrows rose as he took in the expanse of very liquid water.

Quinn's arms dropped back to his sides. "Then I realised that there was no way to do that. I couldn't turn this whole lake into ice overnight and I couldn't make you happy and…"

Tyler understood now, why the handhold felt so different. It was stiff and resistant. It didn't want to be that way, but it was the only way it could be. In Quinn's mind, it was the final time.

"I love you, Tyler…" Quinn said. "But I know you don't love me anymore. Not in the same way… not in the way I feel for you."

For a moment, Tyler stood in the quiet.

He was getting tired. Tired of people, doctors, his friends - the universe - telling him how he felt. When Tyler finally turned to Quinn, there were tears rolling down his cheek. Tyler raised his thumb to get rid of it and wiped it on his sleeve.

"You're wrong," he whispered and kissed beneath his eye.

Quinn bit his lip and lowered his head.

"I still love you, Q." Tyler said.

"You… you do?"

Tyler nodded and Quinn blocked his eyes with his arm, though the shake of his shoulders gave him away. Tyler felt the emotion welling up in him, too. He pried Quinn's arm away. They were crying together.

"I don't need you to do anything for me. I don't need you to make this lake into an ice rink," Tyler said, taking Quinn's jaw in his hands. "I just need you to be there. I just want to see you."

He slipped into Quinn's arms and they stood there, until they heard the bell for morning lessons, watching the sun break off the water.

As the sky fell apart and the evening encroached, Harry returned to his room with a bag of cheap flower petals he'd bought in the card store. They hadn't had any red ones, so he scattered pastel pink ones on the quilt instead. He neatened them up, trying to make them look tossed carelessly in the most careful way.

He checked his watch. He had forty minutes before he had to go to the theatre to meet Jess. Her and Cody would be finishing up their food soon, before Jess went into town to wait for him. He'd agreed to meet her at the doors, before leading her inside.

He had time for a quick shower and then he would have to dash into the town centre.

As he went for a new towel in the cupboard on the landing, discarding the old one in the laundry basket, he heard the door go downstairs. Thick boots pounded the doormat, signalling Mark's arrival home.

It wasn't often Harry saw the middle-aged man – he was always doing something he couldn't talk about for someone he couldn't mention. Harry assumed that it was a Dalton graduate thing – like Mark had a job which involved keeping top secrecy.

"Hey, Mark," Harry called down from the top of the stairs.

"Harry," Mark replied, by way of greeting.

Harry lowered himself to sit on the top step. "How was work?" He asked.

Mark grunted.

"As always, then."

Mark grunted again, this time with better humour. Harry smiled and leaned his head against the banister.

Time was pressing on and Harry had lost his keys. He scoured his desk and his side table, checking beneath his pillow and in his drawer.

When he was certain it was not in his room, he hammered down the stairs, hurrying into the kitchen, where Mark sat sipping a cup of tea.

"I can't find my keys," he said when he saw the man. He did a double take when he saw a small black case out on the table in front of him. "What have you got there?"

"Work stuff. Don't worry about it."

Harry frowned, but he checked the sides for his keys.

"Try the fridge," Mark said. "You did that last time you came home drunk."

Harry's eyes widened. He let his shoulders drop back. "You knew about that?"

Mark's laugh was wheezy. "I was young once."

Harry turned towards the fridge. The words were hesitant, but Harry was feeling for any give Mark might allow, and said, "You didn't really have a normal childhood, though, did you? Did you even drink when you were my age?"

Mark rubbed his chin and huffed. "Twenty is still young."

"Right."

"Young enough to do stupid things."

Harry forced a laugh, then reached for the fridge. He scoured the shelves for his keys. "Hey, Mark?"

"Mmhm?"

"Where's Maria tonight? She usually has Pilates, but she's not back yet."

"Oh, she's just out with some friends."

Harry's snapped up. He heard Mark climb to his feet, the chair squeaking as it released his weight. He set his stance, quietly pushing his feet into a strong position and unlocking his knees. He forced his breath to even out. He swallowed and reached for the handle of the fridge.

He spun, fists raised.

Mark was rinsing out his mug in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes doing a once over on Harry's posture.

"You alright, there? Did the cheese give you a fright?" Mark chuckled.

Closing his eyes and breathing out, Harry stood up straight again, lowering his fists. Mark moved to the kettle and set it to boil. He ripped open an Earl Grey sachet and popped the teabag into the mug.

Harry shut the fridge behind him. "Sorry, there's still some… I still think…"

Mark gave him a tight smile. "Don't worry about it. I understand."

The younger ex-student nodded, then remembered his keys. He slapped a palm to his forehead. "Damn it. Where did I put them?"

"Did you look upstairs?"

"Yes, I looked everywhere in my room."

"Maybe you left them in your bag. Or under the bed. Or behind the door."

Harry blinked, then shook his head. But he had no other option. He turned and ran back upstairs, pulling himself up two steps at a time with the banister. He stormed into his room and tore the sheets off his bed, petals scattering everywhere.

He didn't notice the movement behind him.

He didn't notice that the handkerchief pressed over his mouth and nose was clean.

He didn't notice the needle go into his skin, just below his ribcage, until after it had pierced him.

He noticed, as he kicked the intruder off and collapsed on the landing, his head reeling and the world feeling as though it had belly flopped on top of him, that Mark was standing at the foot of stairs, drawing a sip of his tea.

Another day went by and nobody saw the return of Wes. The boys who knew flocked together to keep Wes' secret, though the teachers were growing more and more suspicious. Newman crossed close to Kurt's desk whenever he did his rounds, and, without his partner, David was beginning to suffer in after-class training.

"This is getting exhausting," Kurt said to Blaine and David as they met in Blaine's room after training for the day had ended. Kurt was sweaty from kickboxing class and paced the room with a stubborn frown. "We're going to have to tell somebody at some point…"

David, who had collapsed onto Blaine's bed, pushed himself up again. "We can't tell them that Wes is –"

Kurt whisked towards him, holding up a hand. "We don't have to tell them that much, but soon enough they're going to figure out that he's not actually here. We can't keep pretending that he's ill," Kurt said, then, with horror flashing past his eyes, he added; "There's only so many vegetables I can have Ben and Toby chop before they start asking questions…"

Blaine had crossed to the window. With folded arms, he stood facing the grounds. "We should give ourselves a time limit, then" he said. "The prerequisite dinner is in three days. If he's not back by then, then we should tell someone."

"You really think we can keep this under wraps for three more days?"

Blaine shrugged. "No, but that should be our limit. That should be the cut-off. If Wes still isn't back by then… then we start thinking about what to do after that."

Kurt and David exchanged a look, before nodding in agreement.

The two left Blaine's room, going back to their own rooms to shower and change before meeting up again at dinner.

Kurt wondered back to his room, staring at the ground, hard in thought. When he arrived at his door, he fished his key out of his pocket and slipped it into the lock.

Before he could let himself in, he heard the room next door unlock. He froze. For as long as he could remember, this room had been unoccupied. He watched as the door opened and a boy stepped out.

Kurt dropped his keys.

The boy in question was bleary-eyed, wearing a dark blue t-shirt and sweats. He looked around, searching the corridors, the confusion clearing from his face and being replaced by distress.

"What?" He said. "No. No, no, no."

"Oh, god," Kurt said, staring at the boy. "Harry?"

AN: so …yeah. TBC.