Hey guys! Happy Easter/other holiday/general Spring happiness! I hope you enjoy this chapter. More soon! Thank you so much for reading and reviewing-always appreciated. Big love xxx

As per, I own nothing :P

"I walked into a honkey tonkey just the other day
I dropped a nickel in the juke box just to hear it play
I didn't have no tune in mind, I didn't wait to choose
Just dropped a nickel in the slot and I played the juke box blues!

Wooo!" Posner spun around and around, one arm hooked around a lamppost, the other flying out beside him. A huge grin was spread across his face as he sang into the dark, chilly evening Sheffield just for the sheer joy. He filled his lungs with the crisp air as he whirled faster and faster. "Wooooooo!" he cried out to the skies, feeling so young, so alive.

"That's a great way to get stabbed you know, love?" Scrippsy was following behind, arms folded, laughing. Posner loved it when Scripps laughed-it made him feel like the entire world was laughing with him.

"Don't you like my singing?" He twirled round to face him, still hanging from the lamppost, eyes deliberately large.

"You know I love it, Gene Kelly," Scripps grinned. "I wish I had my piano handy-it's hard to cram into my bag, you see."

"Ha ha." Posner let go of the post, practically skipping back to Scripps. "Am I embarrassing you?" he asked, smiling like the Cheshire Cat.

"Goodness no." Scripps caught him in his arms, sighing long-sufferingly-but he couldn't help smiling. "I'm over the moon you're so cheerful."

"Sing with me, then." Posner demanded playfully, slipping his arm through Scripps's as they carried on walking towards the theatre.

"No!" Scripps rolled his eyes, still laughing. "You know I can't sing. And I'd like us to get to the theatre un-assaulted."

"I've never heard you sing!"

"You must have!"

"Well, not properly!" Posner wasn't going to give up. "Scrippsy, I'm so happy! I really want you to sing with me."

"Darling, as much as you would like it to be, this is not the set of Funny Girl. You are not Barbra Streisand. I am not Omar Sharif. This is Sheffield at night and we are a couple of schoolboys walking arm in arm. Ergo, drawing attention is a recipe for disaster."

"Oh, don't be so sensible all the time!" Posner smiled playfully. "Do you want me to let go of your arm?" he teased.

"Don't you bloody dare." Scripps held on tighter, pulling him closer. Posner felt his entire body warm up, down to the cockles of his heart.

"Sing then, or I will."

"This is emotional manipulation." Scripps grinned, shaking his head. "You'll have to let go anyway in a minute, when we see the others. I'm not going to prance down the street like it's the fucking yellow brick road."

"Just sing quietly, then." Posner slowed their pace down and leaned his head close to Scripps's. "Come on, Scrippsy, please? I really want to hear you sing."

"No!" Scripps protested, though Posner could tell he liked their closeness. "I'm not going to start singing walking down the main road in public!"

"There's hardly anyone about! That's not an excuse…come on, Scrippsy," Posner snuggled into his shoulder, looking up at him. "Please?"

"No!" Scripps laughed. "Not all of us have a gorgeous voice like you, love."

"I bet you do. You have such a lovely speaking voice. Come on!" They turned the corner into the street where the small theatre the community amateur dramatics group hired out. There were far more people now-mostly old couples and middle-aged women, some of whom had children with them. Posner questioned the wisdom of this, considering the subject matter of The Crucible, but he was too busy bugging Scripps to think too much about it. The small crowd was slowly thinning into the main doors, going to take their seats before the show started-but a group of five teenage boys were congregated outside a small off-licence beside the venue.

Reluctantly, Posner slipped his arm from Scripps's, feeling the cold bite him a little as he did. "I'll make you sing sometime…"

"No you won't." Scripps grinned smugly at him. "Just let me accompany you when you sing, okay?"

"Always." Posner looked at him adoringly-then narrowed his eyes. "But I will make you sing, Scrippsy, just you wa-OH MY GOD RUDGE IS ON FIRE!"

"HA!" Timms roared with laughter as he dropped his cigarette lighter to the ground. He pointed at where Rudge had thrown his a second before. "HA! You pussy!"

"No!" Rudge leapt down to scrabble for it, amongst jeers from Lockwood and Akthar. "Rematch! I wasn't ready!"

"Bollocks!" Timms shouted, folding his arms and smirking. "I won, fair and square."

"Rematch, rematch!" Lockwood chanted, egging Rudge on. "Come on, guys, that was fucking hilarious!"

"What's going on?" Scripps skidded to a halt in front of them. He'd run automatically as soon as David had cried out-but as he stopped and let his eyes focus, he realised that there was no carnage, certainly no burning Rudge and no evidence of flames at all…then he spotted the lighters. He gave a huge sigh of exasperation as David reached the scene, panting behind him. "You scared the life out of me! Don't you know the difference between fire and smoking?"

"What the fuck?" Timms had heard Posner scream and was killing himself laughing, leaning on Lockwood for support. "Shit, Poz, what's wrong with you?"

"No, you weren't smoking!" David gasped, getting his breath back. "Rudge's leg-!"

But more laughs boomed out into the night before he could continue. Scripps frowned. "What are you doing?"

Timms grinned wickedly, holding up the lighter. "You can watch-we're having a rematch. Ready this time, Rudge?"

"Fuck yeah." Rudge bent down and rolled his trouser leg to his knee, skin hairy, browned and bruised from rugby. Timms did the same, to cheers from Lockwood and Akthar, his chubby pale leg almost glowing in the darkness. As soon as they did so-Scripps caught on to what was happening.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, how old are you, twelve?" He shook his head in disbelief-then again, this was Timms and Rudge.

"Right. On my count." Timms was holding the cigarette lighter a few inches above his exposed skin. Rudge nodded, holding his likewise.

"Oh, give over, Scripps!" Lockwood called over, kneeling down between the boys to judge the match. "You don't have to be a prefect now."

Scripps shrugged. "On your head be it." he said, settling to watch.

"What's going on?" David asked, straightening up.

"Awh Poz," Akthar chuckled. "Someone never had any friends in the lower school."

David opened his mouth indignantly-but Scripps bent his head to explain. "It's the dumbest thing. A playground craze. I have to break it up at school all the time when I'm on duty. You get the lighters-"

"Three!" Timms called out.

"-then hold the flame as close to your leg as you can-"

"Two!"

"-and whoever wusses out first loses."

"One!" Timms yelled, eyeing Rudge like a hawk, who was staring back, hand poised to flick the lighter. "GO!"

Quick as a flash, both flames flickered far too close for comfort to the boys' skin. Scripps folded his arms to watch, realising what David must have seen. He felt like he should stop them-but then again, as Lockwood had said, he wasn't a Prefect here. He looked over to David, who was watching the contest with an equal mix of curiosity and dread. Even as the competing boys moved the flames closer, so they must have felt the heat strongly, Scripps was unconcerned. No one ever got burned playing this-well, not that he'd seen. But he could see the first traces of Timms beginning to bite his lip already as the lighter licked his plump calf. It would all be over in a few seconds. His money was on Rudge this time, who looked far more confident. Right on cue, Rudge moved the lighter even closer to his skin-

"Whoa!"

Rudge dropped the lighter as quickly as he could, leaping away from it. Instantly there was a roar of victory from Timms-but Scripps turned to where Rudge was nursing his calf-and spotted a small bald patch. "I burned my fucking leg hair off!"

Instantly, all the boys, including Scripps, collapsed laughing while Rudge rubbed his patch, barely the size of a twenty pence piece. "You fucking pillock!" Timms yelled. "I win again, you pussy!"

"No!" Rudge protested, standing up straight, wobbling slightly. "I got the flame closest!"

"You dropped first!" Timms retorted, still laughing hard.

"Rematch?" Lockwood suggested.

"No way!" Akthar chimed in. "We have to give this one to Timms."

"In fairness, like five hairs died for Rudge's title." Scripps pointed out for the hell of it. "Five hard-earned leg hairs!"

"Thought you were too mature and good to get involved in something like this, Saint Scripps." came a drawling voice from the shadows. A handsome, dark-haired boy had appeared, one thick eyebrow raised.

"Oh, hi Dakin," Scripps smiled at the approaching Dakin as the argument continued amongst the other boys. "Didn't see you there."

"No?" Dakin threw his arms around Scripps in an unexpected hug. It could not have lasted for more than a second-none of the other boys noticed. Scripps awkwardly patted him on the back, spotting David over his shoulder, who was pretending to be very interested in the "Closed" sign on the door of the off-licence. "Well, you see me now." Dakin had broken the hug as quickly as he'd begun it. He was staring intensely into Scripps' eyes, his deep brown ones seeming to cut right through Scripps's

"I sure do?" Scripps said, trying to keep his voice casual and friendly, vaguely aware of Rudge rugby-tackling Timms in the background. "Good to see you, hey mate?"

"I know." Dakin treated Scripps to that boyishly cheeky yet darkly sexy half-smile that had used to drive Posner so crazy. Being on the receiving end, Scripps couldn't help but slightly see why… "It's always good to see me." Dakin was quipping.

"A ha ha ha ha!" Scripps forced himself to laugh, dimly aware of David still staring at the shop window behind. "Hadn't we better start getting in there? Don't want to miss Crowther, hey?"

"Oh Scripps, haven't you read The Crucible?" Dakin took a step even closer. "Crowther won't be on for ages….John only appears to see Abigail after all the business with Betty."

"Yes yes, I know!" Scripps determinedly kept his voice light, taking a subtle step backwards. "Anyone with an English GCSE knows The Crucible. Even so, we shouldn't walk in late."

"You're right…as always, hey, Pope Scrippsy?" Dakin said, a slightly groaning edge to his voice. It was, even Scripps had to admit, incredibly sexy. "Completely infallible, aren't you…" he murmured, leaning his face closer to Scripps's…. "You'll sit next to me, right?" he almost whispered.

"Er, sure." Scripps said, taking another, less subtle, step backwards. He felt his brows beginning to knit together in confusion. Why was Dakin-?

"Good!" Dakin's voice had suddenly become louder and more natural as he stepped away from Scripps. "Come on, we're going in!" he shouted to the others, who had finally stopped scrapping. Ignoring them, Scripps crossed the pavement to find David.

"Okay, love?" he whispered to him.

"Of course." David turned around to smile at him. "You'll sit next to me, right?"

Scripps felt a strange sensation in his stomach. "Of course." he replied, with far more conviction this time. "I'll have to-you might cry at the end." he teased.

"Ha!" David scoffed. "You might."

"Well, we'll have to comfort each other then. Come on," Scripps gestured to the main doors. He could still feel that sensation-like thousands of snakes were fighting inside him. It was so uncomfortable. It was...like something awful was about to happen...But he ignored it as best he could, reaching out to squeeze David's hand. "Lets do this then."