Jono stared out the library window to see Angelo and Paige sitting at the base of the large oak tree, the same place they had been meeting nearly every night. He felt guilty for spying on them but still continued to do so.

Now he was putting an end to it.

He looked down at the letter he had been trying to write, a feeling akin to hot tears stinging painfully at his eyes; unfortunately, he had lost the ability to cry long ago, along with several other functions. He was mad at himself for not having seen what was beneath his nose the entire time, with Paige all but begging him to pay attention to her, mad at himself for not having seen it until it was too late, mad at Angelo for pointing that out to him and making him think of something he had been trying to forget, mad at Tristan for merely being an opportunist.

Reading over the letter twice again to make sure he hadn't missed anything, he swiped at dry eyes in a gesture hauntingly familiar to what he had done several times before; letters that had been written saying goodbye to his friends, family, girlfriend, letters that had left him nearly crying himself to sleep.

And there he sat, doing it all over again.

Eyes closing briefly as he tried to gather his courage, he folded the letter up and stuffed it in the back pocket of his jeans, then left the library.

******

Angelo gave a heavy, tired sigh as he slunk into his room, wanting nothing more than to collapse on his bed and sleep away the rest of the week. While he enjoyed the late night gossip-fests with Paige, they were starting to tax his nerves, especially when he knew he had classes the next morning.

He had just managed to fall face-first on the mattress when he felt something crinkling beneath him. Frustrated at the interruption and vowing vengeance on whoever put it there, he pulled it out from underneath his thin body and immediately halted the movement of his hand in mid-air.

He knew that writing.

Trembling faintly, he unfolded the paper, noticing that it had been ripped and taped back together. The dim light provided by the small bedside lamp allowed him to read the familiar, small writing.

Angelo

This is probably one of the strangest letters I've ever written, giving my blessing (as if you need it, even) to my best friend, who's going to be dating my ex, if you can call her that, before long. Maybe it's self-righteousness on my part to even think I need to do this, but I think it'd help me sort everything out.

I'm sorry for blowing up at you a few days ago. I'm also sorry for the split lip. I'm also sorry for the fact you felt the need to kick me in the nether regions, because it hurt like bloody hell. Not many nerves left in my body, but apparently there are still some there.

I was just upset at everything. I think I was probably more angry with myself than anything, and since I've been nursing my wounded pride and still-aching parts, it's given me some time to put things in perspective. What made me angrier than anything is that I'm pretty sure you could take better care of Paige than I can or could. I won't deny it. I did at first, and that only made things worse. It also got me kicked in the groin when I started a fight over it. So I'll come right out and say it now. You can be good to her, Ange, I know you can. Given the chance, you will be.

It hurts, seeing certain things just sort of...repeat. As hard as it may be to believe, I really did love Gayle. That's why we had a pretty messy break up one time, and before I knew it, she was going out with the drummer in the band we were in. Real big guy, all handsome and rich and a virtual genius and all the things I'm not and never could be. To make matters that much worse, he was also my best friend. I lost it, flipped out one night when I'd had too much to drink (that seems to be a recurring theme with us, doesn't it?) and picked a fight with him. Got my arse beat, of course, but I got in a few punches at least. Gayle told me later, after we'd gotten back together and everything, that she was only going out with him to make me jealous. To see if I was still willing to fight for her.

I guess that's how I saw it with Paige. That she was trying to get back at me for something. Rather high opinion of my sorry self, isn't it?

Truth be told, I still can't stand Tristan. Relationship with Paige aside, after everything that went on with Lee, I just don't like the bugger and I'd still be happy to see him nailed to a wall. I think it was you that first said that, wasn't it? Anyway. I know I messed up with Paige. I'm very well aware of that. But you still have a shot at it. If any of us here could make the girl happy, it'd be you, and I hope it is you. Maybe you're the lesser of two evils. Heh. And while I'm not exactly jumping at the idea of you guys going out, I know you'll be good to her, and even though I had strange ways of showing it, I never wanted anything but the best for her. I think you could treat her the way she deserves to be treated.

I have to admit, this letter wasn't a spur-of-the-moment deal. I've actually been sneaking into the library at night and watching you and Paige. You make her happy. She never smiles that way with Tristan, and it was only hollow, empty grins with me. As if she knew I was hiding something, holding back from her and didn't want to show her.

You make her happy, and I think she sort of makes you happy, too. I hope things work out for you guys. I really hope things don't get so bad between us that we get in a fight again, because I'd like to keep what body parts I still have in tact and functioning properly.

If, by any chance, the two of you happen to get together, just be good to her and I'll be happy.

Jono

Angelo stared down at the letter, whistled, then gave a dopey grin as he set the note aside and leaned back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling and the poster of Jennifer Lopez he had taped to it. He and Paige were going to have to have a talk.