Author's Note:

Hi again!

Wow three uploads within a couple days of each other - what is happening?! (i'm not doing my assignments is what's happening XD)

Anyway, this one is a slightly longer chapter as well, so I hope that you enjoy whilst this story is on a roll.

In other news, I've also begun posting this onto wattpad ~ under the same username (undercoversherlock).

Let me know how you're liking these more frequent uploads and/or if you want longer chapters! :)

Thanks for the new favourites and some new followers, I really appreciate it!

Enjoy the chapter all.

Over the next week I made sure to try and include Tate as much as possible. Janet and Kaleb didn't seem to mind the new addition too much, probably because Tate was always so quiet around them. We began sitting together at lunch, and Tate joined most of our 'study' sessions, but he never seemed to fully join in on any of the conversations, and I was yet to see one of his rare, actual proper smiles.

Although he did appear grateful to be included, he still didn't really seem happy.

It was after one of our get-togethers that actually involved some studying, that I confronted him about it.

"So, what's up with you?" I queried as we walked home. We'd met at a nearby café, and Tate and I had decided to walk home.

"What do you mean?" Tate asked back, his voice light.

"Don't 'what do you mean' me. I know something's up. You're smiling even less than you usually do, which is a great feat. So, what's up?" I questioned, calling him out on his bullshit.

He sighed but said nothing, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Are you seriously going to make me drag it out of you?" I asked when the silence stretched. Once again, I got no response. "You're hopeless."

"I know." I barely heard the muttered words, but they sent a ripple of shock through me. I had meant them as a joke, as a sigh of exasperation, not literally.

"Tate." A warning note had creeped into my voice as I stopped walking, reaching out to gently put a hand on his arm. Tate continued for a step or two, but then stopped, not looking back at me. "Tate." I put more force into my voice this time, and slowly, the blond-haired boy turned to face me, avoiding eye contact by looking at the ground. "I swear to god if you don't tell me what's wrong this second…" The empty threat trailed off as I realised how truly worried I was for him.

"I'm fine, Calypso. Just a shitty week." He said quietly, glancing up at me before looking away again.

I sighed, not believing him one bit.

"Fine then. But you're coming over to my place to eat ice cream and bitch about our first world problems until you smile." I said, not planning on giving him any say in the matter. Maybe if I could get him talking about other things, he'd eventually open up to me about what the hell was going on with him.

I hoped so, anyway.

"You're literally the worst." I growled, throwing a pillow at Tate's face and wiping the ice cream from my nose. It had been a couple of hours and was now well into the night, but I had gotten him to smile. Some of the weight seemed to have lifted from his shoulders, and he appeared almost at ease as he lounged on my bed, ice cream tub in hand.

"Love you to, Caly." He called after me as I left the room.

Heading to the bathroom, I cleaned the now gooey mess from my hands, and the remains from my face, unable to control the smile that had spread across my face. Sure, I'd just had ice cream launched at me, but I had gotten Tate to smile. That was the important thing.

I retied my hair, and then headed back to my room, pausing as I got to the doorway.

Tate was standing at my window, the ice cream tub abandoned on my bedside table. He appeared to be looking intently at something outside, and I moved quietly forward to see what it was.

"Tate?" I asked softly, putting a hand on his shoulder as I squeezed in beside him, trying to see what he was looking at.

"I…uh…I thought I heard something." He offered, backing away from the window, a slight frown on his face.

"Mhmm." I hummed, looking him up and down with a raised eyebrow. I didn't believe a word of it.

"Look, I gotta go." He said quickly, backing away a few steps. He stumbled as his shoulder hit the doorframe, and then he turned and was gone.

I didn't bother trying to go after him. Instead, I went back to my window, looking across at his house, some part of me sure that it was something he'd seen inside his own place that had him running off.

What it could possibly be I had absolutely no idea, but with the way that he had been acting recently, and the look on his face as he'd left my room, I had this feeling that it had something to do with his home life – not just some school bullies.

I stood there, staring (admittedly kind of creepily) at his window for some time, but the light did not turn on, in fact, there appeared to be no movement at all from inside the house.

Uneasiness settled over me as I sighed and moved away from the window, collapsing back onto my bed. I was barely there for a second, before I was back up and pacing around my room.

Tate didn't seem to want to open up about what was going on with him, so I had to figure out another way to help him. Although I wouldn't say that we were incredibly close, Tate had been one of the first people to speak to me at school, and even though he was kind of strange at times, he'd always been incredibly nice to me. There had to be something that I could do.

Moving back over to the window, I groaned slightly in frustration at the still dark room opposite mine. I turned slightly, facing my easel. I didn't currently have a blank canvas, but my sketchbook balanced on the wooden structure, charcoal pencils beside.

Without really thinking, I reached for a pencil and began sketching.

It had been an incredibly long time since I'd started drawing with no plan beforehand, but the lines were beginning to form a picture, and as I finished, I stepped back, away from the drawing, staring at the face looking back at me.

Standing in the window of Tate's room was a woman, probably in her late twenties, with lightly curled fair hair that was pinned back, a delicate looking necklace clasped around her throat. She looked sad. Really sad. I'd drawn her with one hand pressed to the glass, her eyes seemed to be calling for help.

I'd never seen this person before in my life. How had I drawn someone that I didn't know?