Dying by Inches

Due to the incessant talking in the hallway outside of his dorm room, Izzy put on noise canceling headphones and set his music to shuffle. That was why he didn't notice when Joe stood and opened their door. He had no warning; one moment, he was working on math homework, mind abuzz with numbers, and the next, someone tapped his shoulder.

He glanced up, expecting Joe, but found Amy. His heart strained and skipped at her hesitant smile. It was Wednesday, and he had avoided her since roller skating on Friday, but Joe had betrayed him. He turned to glare at his roommate, but Joe was already bent over a textbook at his desk. Damn it, Joe!

Izzy removed his headphones reluctantly. His dismay must have been evident, because Amy wilted before his eyes, her shoulders slumping, her smile drooping. "Hi?" she managed, and her voice reminded him of a lost child, trying to request help from whatever adult she judged safest among strangers.

"Hello." He returned his gaze to his homework. Over the last few days, he had convinced himself that he was cured of the germ of interest in her. But the sudden uproar of excitement and dread hinted otherwise, and he couldn't help but resent Amy for reducing him to this pathetic, emotional state. Too late, he realized that some of that rancor had tainted his tone.

Amy took a hesitant step backwards, putting more space between them. "Umm…" She cleared her throat, and he noticed her hands wringing in his peripheral vision. "I haven't seen you around lately." There was a pause, and he acknowledged with a faint grunt, but didn't look up from his homework. Despite his show of indifference, she continued bravely, "You know, in the cafeteria, like the other day. Haven't you been eating?"

His hand stalled, halting the scribbling of numbers. In truth, he hadn't been eating normally, and the hunger, faintness, and nausea weren't helping his sour mood. He couldn't conceive of a soothing lie or explanation for his changed eating habits, even for himself, so he shrugged. The silence stretched on, and Izzy sensed that Amy expected a verbal response. He remained obstinately quiet.

The silence grew, ripened, multiplied, growing so dense that it seemed visible, like mist. Finally, Amy shifted and tried again. "H-have you eaten tonight? I thought maybe we could… You know. Mass Effect, pizza?" Even he could tell that her cheer was forced, and it hurt him to know that he had fallen from making her smile to forcing her to put up a front.

Don't look at her. Don't. One glance, and you'll break. You'll play whatever asinine video game she wants, and you'll like it. She'll charm you- she already has, fool- and it will be harder to pull away every time.

"I'm afraid I'm busy with homework," he said, tapping his paper with his pencil. There was a slight rustling behind him, and Izzy's stomach sank as he realized that Joe was sticking his nose in this.

"What is that, one of your math assignments?" Joe asked. "Those never take you more than twenty minutes."

"Thank you, Joe," Izzy hissed through clenched teeth. The last thing he needed was someone helping him look like a bastard. Then, with greater volume, he added, "This isn't all I need to attend to tonight."

"Well, that happens," Amy said. Her tone was untroubled, but her voice quavered slightly. "Maybe tomorrow?" Izzy produced a noncommittal grunt, and Amy took another step backwards.

The atmosphere in the room was unbearable. Izzy was the one making it that way, and even he could hardly deal with it. The papers crinkled as his fingers anxiously twitched. Finally, Amy turned and headed for the door. "Alright. I'll just… See you later," she managed, and, frankly, Izzy was impressed. Although it was far from a suave exit, it was a much better one than he would have managed under the circumstances.

She shut the door behind her, and Joe waited a few beats before speaking, presumably to give her time to wander out of earshot. Soon, that pause seemed like a sweet reprieve. "Izzy!" Joe cried, his voice sharp with shock and disapproval. "What the hell was that?!"

Excruciating, his mind answered, but he ignored the prompt. "That," he said, picking up his papers and tapping them into a neat stack, "was me nipping this in the proverbial bud."

"No, Izzy. That was you being an utter asshole. Your mother would skin you alive if she saw that! That wasn't some random person you were brushing off! She obviously cares about you!"

"Such language," Izzy said easily, shaking his head. But, despite sounding nonchalant, he was troubled. Izzy trusted Joe's moral compass, and had relied on it whenever his own seemed shaky and uncalibrated. If Joe was disturbed by his actions, then he had done something wrong. But Izzy had no choice; his options were to drive Amy away now, or…

No. Driving her away now was his only viable option.

Joe gawked at him, then dumped his forehead in his palm, looking dazed. "That was like… Spitting in her face, only without the spit."

"Which makes it what, exactly?" Izzy asked, raising a brow and grinning. He couldn't believe how sick he felt. And yet, he kept his smile frozen in place, determined to convince Joe- and himself -that he was fine with this, that this was normal, non-destructive behavior.

A muscle twitched in Joe's cheek. He threw himself to his feet so abruptly that his chair rolled a foot away, then started shoving books into his duffel bag. "You were hurt in the past. It was bad. I know." He paused and ran his fingers through his hair, glancing about his desk as if he were too upset to remember what he wanted to pack. Then, with no warning, he lurched back into action, picking up binders and supplies. "I get that you might be afraid to fall for someone new. But Shauna and Amy are two very different people, and-"

"I am not falling for Amy," Izzy spat. A potent combination of anger and fear jolted along his nerves, and he found himself babbling, unable to reign himself in. "That's a preposterous suggestion. I've never fallen for anyone. I never will. She's merely charming, and, as a rational man, I would prefer not to be charmed."

"Keep talking. The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Izzy grunted disapprovingly, but the sound was lost amid the din of Joe working the zipper on his bag. He slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and shoved his feet into shoes.

"Where are you going?" Izzy asked, unable to keep a trace of sullenness out of his tone.

Joe looked him firmly in the eyes. "Away from you."

Then he picked up his keys and was gone.

Izzy stared after him, then tried to return his attention to his homework. Within five minutes, he was dry heaving into the tiny trashcan by his desk.

XXX

Matt glanced at Amy, who sat on the edge of her bed, playing her electric guitar. He was here to return a borrowed CD to Sora, but the sight of Amy hunched over her secondary instrument, playing songs more suited to an acoustic guitar, convinced him to stick around, despite Sora's absence.

Oddly, she was acting as if she were alone. She knew he was here, since she let him in. But they had only shared a few exchanges, with her answers growing more vague and distracted each time, before she fell into moody silence, behaving as if he had left. As if this weren't reason enough for concern, she was playing a string of slow, mournful songs and staring into space with moist eyes.

Matt could only endure for so long. He sat beside her, and she paused long enough to look at him, blinking owlishly. "If you play one more depressing song, I will remove every string from your guitar."

"No!" Amy cried, shielding the instrument with her arms. Matt sighed. So, she was going to play this childishly.

"I was joking," he said, and she slowly unfurled her arms, giving him a cautious look. "Now. Why the emo set list?"

Amy's smile was stiff, flaky. "I'm of Celtic ancestry. I like depressing music."

"Mm-hmm." Matt cocked an eyebrow, and she began to shift. He waited, guessing that she would cave under his glance, but, to his surprise, she held firm. So, then, it was time to start casting around for answers.

"Classes going okay?"

"They're fine."

"Getting along with Sora?"

"You know I do. Why do you keep asking? Is it because you liiiiike her?"

"Please. Let's see… Are you upset about whatever happened to your acoustic?"

"It's repairable. I miss it, but I'll get it fixed soon, and I have this great electric that you guys gave me." Amy didn't accept the money that the Teenage Wolves offered her for collaborating on a song, which likely had something to do with her parents. They used some of what she was technically owed to provide her with an electric guitar and amp, since it was inconvenient to find them when they needed a stand-in for band practice. She had insisted with delight that they sign it for her, right on the sunburst finish.

"And what happened to your acoustic was…"

"An accident," she finished. But the way her eyes rolled and her mouth twitched into something between grin and grimace said, quite clearly: Tai's stupid ass did it. Regardless, she didn't seem too upset about whatever happened to her acoustic.

He hated to admit it, but Matt was stumped. He wanted to ask if her father had called, but he was worried the question would upset her further, and it was unlikely, anyway. Then he straightened and shook his head. He was so focused lately on his interest in Sora that he had forgotten about the new development in Amy's life.

"How's it going with Izzy?" he asked, unable to resist brotherly teasing. And, just like that, the neck of the guitar slipped out of her hand. Amy opened her mouth, then shook her head and looked away, as if not having eye contact would make the question disappear.

"Hey," Matt murmured. "What happened?" Matt wanted to ask if Izzy did anything to her, but he doubted that was the case. Besides, he knew from watching Tai that accusing Izzy and getting angry would only upset her further.

"Nothing," Amy replied, with a wet sniffle. "That's the problem. Whenever I knock, no one answers, and at first I thought that no one was in. But I never see him in the cafeteria anymore. Yesterday, Joe let me in their room, and Izzy hardly talked to me- he didn't even look at me. I asked Joe about it later, but he looked sad and uncomfortable and asked me to be patient with Izzy. That's all I can get out of him."

Matt stared, struggling with the influx of odd information. He had no idea why Izzy would ignore Amy after one date. But what surprised and interested him was the effort Amy was putting into trying to connect with Izzy.

"Why do you care so much?" Though the words were blunt, Matt spoke gently, soothingly. "You're always avoiding social situations with new people. Why chase after Izzy?"

She sighed and plopped against his side. "I've been asking myself the same question. Do you think I should take a hint and give up?"

"Well…" Matt hesitated. He had never seen Amy pursue a relationship on her own, so her interest in Izzy seemed like a healthy change. And if there was any chance of it being romantic, then he definitely wanted to encourage it. It wouldn't have surprised him if it took years for her to recover from her last relationship- if she ever did, at all. Still, he wouldn't advise her to throw her energy and feelings into a doomed enterprise, and it sounded like Izzy wasn't interested.

"I don't know," he said at last. "It would be easier to give an opinion if I knew how you feel about him."

"I… I don't know." Amy rested her head on his shoulder and sighed. "I don't understand… When we said goodbye after roller skating, he said he would like to do something together again. It seemed like he meant it. His behavior changed so much, I can't help but wonder if something went wrong in his life… If it did, I want to help." A tear leaked down her cheek, and she wiped it with annoyance, as if it were a fly buzzing around her face.

Matt patted her back, stalling for time. He felt guilty, totally losing track of his friends while he pursued Sora. And, even though things seemed messy, the way she talked about Izzy gave him hope. "You really think a lot of him, don't you."

Amy's head jerked up. She met his eye, cheeks flushing, then quickly looked away. "I- I guess I do. He left a strong impression. At first, I wasn't even sure I should go out with him, which was ridiculous, because I suggested it in the first place. And I was scared when I put the skates on, because they made me defenseless around a stranger, since I can't skate. Scared of him, can you imagine? But he's so gentle and considerate… I felt comfortable in no time. And then I started to feel not just comfortable, but… safe."

She chewed her lower lip so that her nose and mouth moved like a rabbit's. "But he was really rude to me yesterday."

Amy's bedspread bunched as Matt's hands clenched. This was serious. Reading between the lines, Amy was saying that, on some level, she trusted Izzy. In her case, that was far too valuable to risk losing. "What can I do to help? Maybe if we talk to him-"

"No!" Amy cried, grabbing his knee. "No. But there is something you can do for me."

"What's that?" Matt asked, half hopeful, half suspicious. Was Amy accepting his offer of help, or pushing away?

She gently squeezed his knee. "Don't say anything to anyone about this."

Matt closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, clawing for patience. "And, by anyone, you mean Tai." Matt knew that he had to allow Amy to decide when she wanted to accept help, but her rejection still hurt.

"I mean anyone," she said stubbornly- but a small, reluctant smile pulled at her lips. "But yes. I mostly mean Tai." Matt imagined Tai throwing Izzy over his shoulder, plopping him in front of Amy, and looming over their conversation like a scowling bodyguard. He wasn't sure what was sadder: the fact that Tai would do exactly that if Amy filled him in, or that Matt didn't think it was a bad idea.

After a long silence, Matt grasped Amy's shoulder. "Come on. Grab your guitar. Let's find Sora and play some music for her… And nothing depressing."

"I have to study," she began, but Matt cut her off with a scowl.

"You'll study better if you're in a good mood." Matt picked up her guitar, grabbed her wrist, and led her out of the room, ignoring her weak protests. He couldn't put his nose in this Izzy situation without Amy's permission... But that didn't mean he had to leave her to brood alone. After all, Amy had saved him from that more times than he could count.

XXX

Izzy sat at his desk in his dorm room, programming as a distraction from his miserable strata of emotions. The layers were beginning to congeal, clogging him up, just as sure to lead to spectacular, deadly failure as cholesterol in an artery. Two days after rebuffing Amy, Joe was still disgusted with him, and it seemed that she had given up on knocking at his door. Despite concentrated efforts, he couldn't prevent his thoughts from wandering to that encounter. He was mortified by his own behavior, and, ironically, in constant fear of having driven her away permanently.

That shouldn't have been a big deal. Izzy was used to solitude, had embraced it years ago over a misunderstanding with his parents that nudged his introversion towards reclusiveness. He could spend weeks alone, without speaking a single word, and never feel lonely. But right now, all of that tolerance for being by himself was dried up.

He considered visiting Amy, but what could he say to make up for his boorish behavior? Besides, I'm terrible with people. It's better for her not to be involved with me. Even if I did reach out to her, even if she did forgive me, I'd just hurt her in the end.

The door opened, and Izzy jumped, startled by Joe's appearance. Joe approached and dropped a paper bag on Izzy's desk. "Eat that," he ordered. "Don't think I haven't noticed you skipping meals lately."

"Hello," Izzy replied dryly. The bag smelled like American Chinese food. Although hunger had long since set in, a permanent ache radiating from the pit of his stomach, Izzy didn't feel like eating. He often forgot to eat when he was in good spirits, so absorbed in his work that he kept going without pause. Unfortunately, that bad habit could go to extremes when he was upset.

But Joe was standing over him, so he opened the bag and removed a fortune cookie and a takeout box packed with shrimp fried rice. "Thank you," he said, going to the closet for a paper plate and utensils. Then, knowing that it was best to show politeness after receiving kindness, he added, "Did you have a nice time with Mimi?"

"You know I did," Joe answered, and Izzy turned in time to see him coloring and grinning like a fool. "I was surprised that she wanted Chinese, though. She goes back and forth about her dietary restrictions. One day, she's vegan. Then she's vegetarian. Then she doesn't eat rice or marshmallows, I don't know, I can't keep up. But apparently a class is stressing her out, and I think today she was a whatever-is-bad-for-me-tarian."

A tart retort, centering on how anyone could possibly struggle with the classes on Mimi's light, easy schedule, danced on the tip of Izzy's tongue. But that would not put Joe in a good mood, so he swallowed it. The next option that came to him was to roll his eyes and drawl the word 'fascinating' out to its longest possible extent. I'm absolute rubbish with this, he thought grimly. In the end, he nodded, then hid his face by opening the mini fridge door and grabbing his water pitcher.

Izzy returned to his desk, emptied the food onto the plate, and angled himself towards Joe. Joe watched him, likely making sure that he ate, which was kind, if overbearing. But strangely, despite trying to take care of him, Joe's scowl was growing more pronounced by the second… Which didn't bode well for Izzy.

"So," Joe said at last. "Mimi tried to get Amy to go to dinner with us."

Izzy fought to keep the grimace off his face, using the fork in his mouth to his advantage. Yes, this boded about as well as leaving a missile-sized air shaft open to the surface of your Death Star.

Joe fixed him with an accusing look. "She really didn't seem herself. She didn't smile the whole time, and Mimi spent almost fifteen minutes trying to cajole her to go with us."

There was a long, incredibly uncomfortable silence, and Izzy had to swallow some water before he could respond. "I hope she's alright." He took another bite, one so enormous that Joe couldn't reasonably expect him to speak again any time soon. Joe's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms.

"She asked about you. Several times, in fact."

"Several times?" Izzy echoed, so surprised that he forgot about his mouth being full. A few grains of rice flew out, and Joe edged backwards. Izzy finished chewing and swallowed the rest. "You were only with her for a quarter of an hour."

"Yes. And this wasn't the first time she's asked after you. I'm sick of trying to explain your behavior to her. You hurt her on purpose, and she's still hurting. I'm not saying that you need to date her or be friends with her, but you do need to set this right."

Izzy's brain sputtered like an old car engine. He knew Amy was upset about his withdrawal- that much was obvious in the moment. But he had no idea that it was causing her that much pain. "There must be some other issue in her life right now," he said nervously, unsure of whether he was talking to himself or Joe. "Why would she be invested in me? She hardly knows me!"

Joe raised an eyebrow, the perfect picture of skepticism. "You've been moping around in here for a solid week. You haven't been eating. And it's all because you're afraid of how she makes you feel, but unwilling or unable to address it. Your ass isn't in a position to ask why she's upset."

Izzy scowled, annoyed at Joe's bluntness, and by his insinuation that he had feelings for Amy. Still, he deserved it, so he acknowledged with a rueful sigh. "I didn't intend to hurt her," he murmured. "Well- short term, yes, to spare her from hurting later."

"Well, it's later, and she's hurting."

Izzy stared vacantly at his monitors, unable to conceive of a reply. A knock on the door saved him the trouble. Joe opened it, and Mimi flounced into the room, holding something long and flat. Her long, flowing skirt billowed in a wave of pink, ethereal folds. Her face exhibited mixed suspicion and anger, and Izzy had no clue what that could portend.

"Izzy," she began, patting Joe's arm as she passed him, "do you know what this is?" She offered the object she held for his examination. It looked like an elongated, flattened stapler.

"I'm afraid not," Izzy replied, glancing past her to share a baffled look with Joe, who shook his head. You're on your own, chum, his expression seemed to say. Joe backed away from Mimi slowly, as if to avoid drawing her attention, and sat on his desk chair.

Mimi waved the mystery object in his face. "This is a straightening iron. You plug it into the wall, and it heats up." Izzy was tempted to point out that electronics were plugged into a socket, not a wall, but he was too curious about the punchline to interrupt her.

Mimi caressed the straightening iron, a stroke so sensual that Izzy cleared his throat, suddenly short on air. "When it heats up, you put your hair inside, and it kills frizz and removes curls." Mimi slowly circuited the room, tapping her hip with the straightening iron, staring him down. Izzy watched, mesmerized, as the fabric of her skirt flowed dramatically around her.

Mimi halted in the exact center of the room and smacked the straightening iron against her open palm, as if it were a weapon. "I don't know what's going on with Amy. She's clamming up on me- I hate when she does that. But if my hunch is right, and she's down because of you…"

She smiled so sweetly, so tenderly, that Izzy stared, transfixed. The force of her beauty hit him like a blow, as if she were a goddess, descending to earth in a glorious burst of radiance. Mimi cupped his face with both hands, pressing the straightening iron into his cheek. His brain sputtered, and he froze in her hold, silent and still, like a twit. Distantly, he was aware of the tickling sensation of sweat forming on his forehead.

"I'll only give you one warning. If you hurt Amy, make it right before the end of the weekend. And, even if you haven't hurt her, if you ever do…" Mimi jerked back and clacked the arms of the straightening iron an inch from his nose. "I will heat this baby to its highest setting and castrate you with it."

Then she turned, patted Joe affectionately on the cheek, and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Izzy stared at the door, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, for a full minute before he was able to turn his head towards Joe. Their eyes locked, but neither of them seemed able to speak. Finally, Joe cleared his throat, slumped in his chair, and stared at the ceiling.

"This is the first time I've ever felt terror and arousal simultaneously," he said lightly, as if he were commenting on the weather.

I'm surrounded by bloody lunatics. The scent of his food called him back to the physical, rational world, and Izzy picked up his fork. But the recent threat to his genitalia made eating even less compelling than before. "I believe I've lost my appetite," he mused aloud.

"Eat," Joe ordered.

"I'll finish it tomorrow." Izzy packed the food back into the takeout box. Joe fixed him with a glare, and Izzy nodded. "I'm sorry. I really will eat it tomorrow."

Joe sighed. "I guess I can see where you're coming from." Then, at long last, Joe turned to his desk and opened a textbook. Izzy nearly went limp with relief, thrilled to finally escape the limelight. He threw his paper plate away in the hall trashcan, then placed the takeout container in the mini fridge. When he sat at his desk, he noticed the fortune cookie. He enjoyed reading the fortunes, so he unwrapped the confection and broke it apart, then extracted a strip of paper from the shattered remains.

It read: May your desire be always greater than your fear.

Izzy stared at the tiny red text, unable to absorb the message under the sheer weight of the situational irony. Then his brain sparked back into function, and he dropped his face into his palm. Oh, for- Even the damn cookie is patronizing me.

Fine, his brain snarled. Damn you, Joe. Damn you, Mimi. Damn you, fortune writer. Damn you all.

He stood, moving jerkily under the force of anger, resignation, and fear. There were a great many unpleasant things he would rather do than approach Amy. But the combined guilt trip from himself and the people he had just damned left him no choice. His options were to act or to smother beneath the weight of his own remorse.

Joe turned towards him, blinking. "Where are you going?"

"I have business to attend to," Izzy muttered, not looking away from putting on shoes.

"You- You're going to talk to her, aren't you!" Joe grinned and slumped forward, a picture of happy relief. "Mimi, well done!"

Izzy closed his eyes and forced a slow breath through his clenched mouth. "Don't praise someone for threatening to castrate me. At least, not in my hearing."

"Fair." Joe grinned, shook his head, and turned back to his books. "Good luck." Sighing, Izzy grabbed his wallet, keys, and cell, then slipped out of the room.

He almost went directly to Amy's room, but it occurred to him that a peace offering might ease his apology. So, he walked to the tiny, overpriced convenience store located in the middle of the group of dorm buildings. Along the way, he realized that he had become another man in a long line of men hoping to win forgiveness from a woman with a gift. Somehow, that thought darkened his mood.

Once he stepped through the store's glass doors, he scanned the shelves for something suitable. They were packed with junk food and microwavable meals, things that would appeal to college kids. Izzy crossed his arms and frowned at the precarious stacks of unhealthy foodstuffs. It occurred to him that he had no concept of Amy's tastes in food, other than that he had once observed her eating pretzels and a turkey sandwich.

Reluctantly, he tried to recall Shauna's tastes, but he stopped when he realized that he was equating Amy to his ex-girlfriend, which was both offensive to Amy and too raw a hint of what he might feel for her. He shoved those thoughts aside and wandered deeper into the store, down narrow aisles brimming with Cheeto bags, condoms, energy drinks, Hot Pockets, pain killers… Everything a college student needed, except nutrition and alcohol.

The far end of the aisles yielded to a large freezer with sliding doors, and Izzy smiled when he saw the enormous selection of pints of ice cream. Everyone liked ice cream; all he had to do was select a flavor. He liked strawberry, but as he understood it, the stereotype was that women like chocolate. He grabbed a pint and made his way to the cash register, where a disinterested boy glanced up from his magazine, raising a brow at his selection.

"Fucked up, huh?" he asked, grinning cheekily as he scanned the bar code. A muscle twitched in Izzy's cheek. He hadn't realized that chocolate, brownie-laden ice cream was an indicator of guilt. The boy shrugged, bagged the pint, and handed him his change.

With his peace offering secured, Izzy made his way to Amy's room. Soon he was standing at her door, but he paused when he heard singing. He strained his ears, oddly eager to hear her sing, recalling that she mentioned being fond of it.

I saw him once, then he was gone!

We were like dreamers at night

Who meet as in a trance, and part again.

Two phantoms in the shadows of the moon,

Can people really fall in love so soon?

He walked alone, he seemed alone, like me.

Could he have known

That moment was my destiny?

I had to run away, and it was like a dream.

I saw him once, the dream is true.

I saw him once, and once will do!

One thing was abundantly clear: she was born to sing. Izzy shut his eyes, grateful that no one was in the hallway. She wrapped her sweet, lilting voice around each note with a lover's tenderness. Instinctively, she captured the emotion of each phrase, sounding every bit a love-struck youth, so frightened and overwhelmed by her first romantic feelings that she preferred to let the moment pass by.

Izzy slipped back into the stairwell. There was no way he could touch Amy; she might as well belong to another dimension, a fluid world of emotion that she navigated with eyes that saw things that were invisible to him. He was a grounded, ordinary man who maneuvered this world with logic and rationality, and had no hope of meshing with her.

That's what he told himself as he returned to his room, exceedingly grateful to find Joe gone. If anyone asked why he hadn't approached Amy, he'd say that they were too different for things to work out. But, try as he might to ignore it, the voice of truth whispered his true motive:

You're a coward.

XXX

"I still can't believe you chickened out."

Izzy slammed his pencil down and closed his eyes. "Joe. Enough."

They were working at their desks, as per norm. Joe had been heckling him about bailing on his reconciliation mission ever since he found out about it the night before.

The squeaking of Joe's chair announced that he was turning, most likely with the intent of starting up another scolding. But apparently, one of them had forgotten to lock their door, because it opened. Izzy cringed as Tai stormed into the room and, more pressingly, Izzy's personal space.

"Izzy!" Tai cried, eschewing preamble. Usually, Izzy approved of directness, but this was a bit…much. "Listen, I know you don't owe me anything, but I really need a favor. It's for Amy."

"I almost forgot, I have to meet someone at the library," Joe said, standing and grabbing his duffel bag. He brushed past Tai, and Izzy stared at his fleeing form with wide, desolate eyes. Apparently, Joe was determined to never be dragged into a Tai debacle ever again. On one hand, Izzy could hardly blame him. On the other, he was pissed to find himself abandoned in Tai's abrasive company.

Izzy forced himself to breathe calmly. Tai scowled, then closed the door and sat on Joe's vacated seat. "I broke Amy's guitar," he began. He bent forward and clasped his hands between his knees, looking pained. "I keep trying to get her to go to the repair place with me, but it's like she's too down to want to go out…"

Contrarily, Izzy perked up. Was it possible that he had nothing to do with Amy's stormy emotional climate after all? Was she actually upset about her guitar all along? "What does this have to do with me?" he asked, and Tai nodded, looking strangely meek.

"Well. The nearest repair place isn't within walking distance, and the bus doesn't get me close enough, either. And I guess she speaks well of you, or whatever, and maybe it would cheer her up if you went, too."

Izzy crossed his arms. "I am not your chauffeur." This was why Izzy hated letting people know that he had a car. Suddenly, he had more 'friends' than he knew what to do with.

Tai's nostrils flared, but he took a deep breath and held his hands out beseechingly. "I know. That's why it's a favor. I'd really owe you one. I'll find some way to pay you back."

"I'll pass," Izzy said blandly. "The last time you were in my debt, you dragged me to a party that I didn't want to attend and forced me to play beer pong." He elected not to mention puking afterward, if only for the sake of pride.

"And you met Amy," Tai countered.

Izzy crossed his arms, his posture and voice turning sullen. "And look how well that's gone."

Tai stared at Izzy, his mouth slacking open with surprise. But as his eyes narrowed and hardened, glittering with gold and temper, Izzy realized his mistake.

"What are you talking about?" Tai demanded. His weight shifted towards his legs, a prelude to movement.

"Nothing. Slip of the tongue." It was a weak excuse, but Izzy couldn't think of a better one, at least not as Tai stood and loomed over him. Most people were taller than Izzy, including girls, but Tai suddenly seemed very… big. Izzy glanced at his arms and swallowed hard. Tai was no body builder, but he was athletic, and had much more muscle on him than Izzy.

Izzy was accustomed to Tai grinning and acting affably brainless. The hard, assessing quality in his eyes set him on edge. "She hasn't mentioned you at all lately."

"We haven't seen each other recently. Well, save for one brief encounter." Izzy assumed that this would soothe Tai, since he protested when he went out with Amy. But a muscle twitched beneath Tai's eye, and Izzy edged back, rolling his chair into the desk.

"This hasn't been about the damn guitar at all, has it." That easy, friendly voice was intense, almost growling. "You did something to her." And then Tai's hands were around Izzy's throat, and the world lurched as Tai hauled him out of his chair.

"I didn't!" Izzy choked. He tugged at Tai's fingers, but they were like steel bands around his throat.

Tai slammed him into the cinder block wall, a vicious blow that winded him and sent pain screaming down his spine. The room swayed, and Izzy gasped, his body's desperate attempt to refill his lungs. He was wildly shocked and frightened, unable to apprehend how a conversation had escalated into an attack.

Izzy writhed, frantic to free himself, his feet flailing, kicking against the wall. Tai didn't release him, but he lowered him to his feet, reducing the pressure on his neck. Izzy tried to breathe, but only manage a pathetic rasp. After a long, tense moment, Tai released his neck and seized his shoulders, pinning him to the wall.

Izzy went limp, pulling loud, ragged breaths. Tai raised his voice, and still, Izzy could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears and his own labored breathing. "If you hurt her-" Fleetingly, Tai's fury faltered, replaced with raw, primal fear, upper eyelids pulled back, brows raised and drawn, a vulnerability so foreign that he hardly seemed like Tai anymore.

He rallied in an instant, like flipping a switch, gripping Izzy's shoulders with bruising strength. "I beat the shit out of the last fucker who hurt her- and I'll do it again, if I have to."

And, finally, Izzy reconciled the easy-going Tai he knew with this aggressive behavior. He was no bully, entertaining himself with the suffering of someone smaller than him. He was protecting a loved one, and would likely calm if reassured that Amy was fine.

Don't ask! You've got bigger concerns! Thankfully, Izzy's self preservation instincts overpowered his curiosity, and he managed to speak at last, albeit weakly. "I didn't lay a hand on her. We had a pleasant outing, and we haven't spent time together since."

Tai stared at his face, his hands heavy on Izzy's shoulders, as if he meant to push him through the floor. After a long inspection, he cocked an eyebrow and said, "That's your side of it, anyway. Here's what we're going to do. We're marching down to her room right now to hear her side- or else."

Panic burst through Izzy's chest, loud and blinding, like fireworks. "Or else what?" he spat, and he was equally impressed and horrified with the snark he injected. Tai's scowl morphed into a hard smirk.

"Or else I'll haul your ass there. Either way, you're going. It's your call." He wasn't joking. His arrogant smile made it painfully obvious.

"I'm beginning to hate your 'choose an option' game," Izzy muttered. Tai grinned, released him, and smacked him on the back, hard. Izzy tried not to hiss in pain, tried not to rub his neck or shoulders as he made his way to the door.

"I'm beginning to wish that you picked the hard way," Tai replied. Izzy swallowed hard. There was nothing for it but to go see Amy, and he fretted the entire way, completely unable to predict how this encounter would go.

Far too soon for his liking, Tai was knocking on Amy's door. Her feet pattered towards them, and soon, her doe-like eyes locked on Izzy's and widened.

"H-hi?" she muttered, her glance plummeting to her feet. Izzy looked down, too, following her movement, and found that she wore knee-high socks dotted with ladybugs. He lifted his gaze and observed that her hands were wringing.

"Amy," he breathed, unable to bear her obvious discomfort. "May I come in?" Tai snorted behind him, and he remembered that he had not, in fact, come here of his own volition. His face colored with shame as he realized that it had taken the threat of physical harm for him to try to make things right with Amy.

Amy nodded and sat at the edge of her bed, and Izzy took her desk chair. Tai crossed his arms and hovered over them, scowling. Izzy rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, wondering how he was going to say what he needed to say with Tai here.

Amy offered her cousin a conspirator's smile. "Sora just texted me asking if anyone wants to grab dinner at Chipotle with her. I bet you could catch up, if you hurry." Izzy fought to keep his expression neutral. Was Amy trying to get rid of Tai? Why would she want to be alone with him, after their last conversation?

Tai twitched, and he moved a step towards the door without seeming to notice. "M-maybe next time," he muttered, but the creasing of his brow hinted at indecision.

"Suit yourself," Amy said, shrugging. "Izzy, could you help me with my calculus homework? I'm having the worst time with this question about Sherlock Holmes using the temperature of a cup of coffee to estimate a murder victim's time of death."

Tai's arms uncrossed as his body language shifted from angry to confused. "Wait- Aren't you mad at him?"

"At Izzy?" Amy asked. "No, not at all. Where did you get that idea?"

Tai paled and glanced at Izzy, his mouth hanging open. Sensing that Amy wanted Tai gone, too, Izzy played along, giving him an accusing look. "I… Wow. I thought… Shit. I'm sorry, Izzy. Let me just, uh… get out of your hair."

Then, miraculously, he backed out of the room, pausing just long enough to grace Izzy with a conciliatory pat on the shoulder. He shut the door meekly behind him.

"Wow," Izzy said. "I don't know if I've ever seen someone looking so abashed."

Amy stood and cupped Izzy's face, not unlike the way Mimi had yesterday- but, thankfully, no straightening irons were involved. She tilted his head, baring his neck for inspection. Her fingertips followed the slope of his neck, eliciting a pleasant tremor over his skin. "You're red… It's going to bruise. Did Tai really do this?"

Izzy hesitated, reluctant to answer. Her touch and concern filled a desperate need long unfed, a desire for intimacy that he preferred to ignore. But he couldn't put this off forever, so he said, "I was a brute to you, and turnabout is fair play. Besides, after the way I treated you, I was too embarrassed to approach you. While I can't condone violence, his methods were effective, and I'm…" He paused, searching for an adequate phrase. "Begrudgingly grateful. Also, I'm sorry you had to lie to convince Tai to leave."

"Who's lying?" Amy asked, still focused on the marks on his neck. "I was upset with you, not angry. And I do need help with that homework question." She tsked and ghosted her fingertips over what must have been the beginnings of a bruise, and Izzy shivered. Why was his neck so sensitive? And why did he want to be touched so badly?

Izzy tried to focus, to recall exactly what Tai had said. Technically, Amy hadn't lied to him; he asked if she was angry, and she said no. The question implied that there was something wrong between them, which there was, but only specifically inquired about one emotion. Amy's answer, while technically honest, led Tai to believe that things were calmer between them than they actually were.

Izzy wasn't sure if he should be impressed or concerned. "You're awfully skilled in the art of misdirection."

"That's the power of truth and language," she said off-handedly. "I wish I could do something for you, but… Well, I can't stop it from bruising."

"It's not your fault," Izzy said softly. His hands closed around the seat of her desk chair as her touch sent faint electricity down his nerves. What was with his neck? Was it a weakness he had always had? If so, it was news to him.

Focus. Say what you came here to say, fool. He tried to get the words out, but it was even more difficult than he had imagined to conceive of a sensible explanation that didn't reveal too much of himself. In the end, he had no choice but to say whatever came to mind. That was better than sitting in silence like an idiot, anyway.

"Amy… I must apologize for how I've treated you since we went out. I wish I could say that I have a reasonable excuse, but… I, I don't. All I can do is apologize sincerely, beg your forgiveness, and promise that I'll find some other way of coping in the future."

"Coping?" Amy echoed. "With what?"

Was it possible for a tongue to do a backwards dash? Izzy's seemed to clog his throat. He stared, lost and distressingly vulnerable, into Amy's eyes- and found overwhelming, endearing concern. Admitting the truth was impossible- but lying in the face of such earnest compassion was incorrigible.

Already, he was damned. He couldn't hurt her again, not on purpose, not for anything.

"I… I fear I'm-" What was he supposed to say? Izzy wasn't well equipped to discuss simple emotions, and whatever was going on here was anything but. "I- I very much enjoyed our time together at the skating rink."

"So did I. Um- That's why I was so confused when…"

"I pushed you away," Izzy supplied. "I've mentioned my poor social skills."

Her fingers tensed, a brief pressure on his neck. "Izzy… No one's that clueless. You had to know you were being mean."

"I, I did. I'm sorry. I meant- I avoid new relationships. Usually, it's because I prefer to spend my time learning, but- But, in your case… I'm afraid I'll inevitably hurt you. And, when I do, the loss of your regard, however deserved..."

His brain blanked, and those painful, difficult words ran dry. He stared at Amy, wanting to make himself understood, but fearing it more- and still a touch resentful that she had decimated a system of keeping people at a distance that had worked for a lifetime.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I came here to apologize. But- I also must add- It's not your responsibility to navigate around my personal issues. If you'd prefer to step back, I understand." The option to reset, to pretend that he and Amy had never connected, should have been enticing. But his stomach twisted, a knot so painful that it eclipsed the aches in his shoulders and neck. Suddenly, his hands were on Amy's, holding them in place.

"I don't want that," Amy murmured. "Do- Do you?"

He tried to laugh, or chuckle, or produce some signal of amusement to push back, always push back. A soft, vulnerable exhalation came out instead. "No," he breathed. What else could he say, when pinned down by Amy's doe-like eyes?

"Well, then- I want to keep getting to know you, but I also don't want to make things hard for you. Is there any way I can help you be more comfortable?"

Stop being so damnably sweet. Say something cruel, something bitter, something that will free me from this pull towards you. But none of that was suitable for speaking aloud, so his brain fixated on the least dangerous of his thoughts. "You ought to be scolding me. I treated you so callously; why are you offering to help me?"

She blinked, then flapped a hand dismissively. "You apologized. That's enough for me."

"No," Izzy said, with a sharpness that surprised him. "No. I was knowingly cruel to you. I advocate forgiveness, and I'm relieved to find myself forgiven, but, frankly, you should be more offended than you are, or at least more wary."

Amy drew back, removing her touch. That electricity, the warmth and pleasure of skin-on-skin, however innocuous, faded at last. Izzy exhaled with relief, grateful for the drop in stimulus- then immediately wanted it back.

Amy raised an eyebrow, looking puzzled. "Uh, so what do you want me to do? I don't think I follow."

"Show more concern for yourself. I'll worry for you if you don't." Color crept into his face when he realized how honest he was being. While Izzy wished ill on no one, he only actively cared for Joe and his parents. But Amy-

No, he'd think about that later.

Amy crossed her arms and tilted her head. "Uhhhh, okay?" She waggled a finger accusingly in his face. "Grr. That was such a mean thing you did. I'll forgive you, but don't do it again. Grr." Her delivery was deadpan, except for the grring, where she scrunched her face like a puppy trying to be scary. It was adorable, and elicited a strange constricting sensation in Izzy's chest.

A strong sense of earnestness flooded outward as she continued, "So, what can I do to help you?"

Izzy slapped his forehead with an open palm. "Amy," he sighed. He gazed at her from head to ladybug-covered toe, wondering who taught her to dismiss wrongs done to her. He hurt her, and she displayed her hurt, but where was the anger, the sense of being injured?

Fine. I suppose I'll have to meet the deficit of concern.

Tentatively, he extended a hand to her. Amy stepped closer, but remained focused on his face. "Here's what you can do. I heard from Tai that your guitar is in need of repair. I'll take you to have that done. And then, if you're willing, we'll play video games and eat as much pizza and junk food as you'd like- my treat, of course." With a sheepish grin, he added, "I've got ice cream."

She reached for him, curling the tips of her fingers against his. "I don't understand. How does that help you? Also, Tai will give me grief if I don't let him pay for the repairs."

Izzy grinned. "It will be my pleasure to save the receipt for him." Then he slid his hands further up, so that their palms were pressed together, wanting to touch her more without forcing it. "As for being helpful to me…" His cheeks heated as she blinked down at him, eyes wide and undeniably adorable. "It would ease my guilt over how I've treated you. And… being with you improves my emotional climate."

It's how I feel afterward that causes trouble, he added privately, but he was going to have to find some other way to deal with that. It was clear that avoiding her wouldn't work. For one, her friends wouldn't allow it (he reflected that, even if he never used it again for its intended purpose, he was rather fond of having his maleness intact). For another, all it did was cause him pointless misery.

Amy began to draw random patterns on his palms with her fingertips. It tickled, but Izzy was careful not to react. "Can we hang out tomorrow, too?" she murmured, staring at the progress of her digits over his skin. "If… If it's not too much trouble?"

Izzy wanted to groan, or run, or maybe just- just pop. The shy hopefulness in her voice was far too emotionally stimulating. His thoughts returned to overhearing her singing, and knowing that she had depths he couldn't navigate, not without extreme difficulty. His heart asked, What will I do with you?

Aloud, he offered what had somehow become his truth: "I'm at your disposal."

A bright, sweet smile swept over Amy's face, along with a generous rush of color, but moisture rose to her eyes. Alarmed, Izzy stood and grasped her hand. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, slipped away, and retreated to the corner of her room, where two guitar cases stood. "Uh huh. Shall we take care of this before it gets too late?"

"As you will." Her eyes remained tear-bright, and Izzy gently prodded, "You're sure you're alright?"

She froze, then turned so that her back was to him as she lifted a case. "I'm really glad you came to talk to me."

Izzy grabbed his chest, alarmed by the sudden aching there. Stop doing this to me! What are you doing to me?! It was too hot, too woozy, too much- And yet-

"I am, too." Though he was being too honest for his own good, a wistful, melancholic quality colored his voice. Amy paused, giving him a curious look, but didn't say anything, for which he was grateful.

Izzy had no idea what was going to become of him with regards to Amy- and he was equal parts eager and frightened to find out.