Feliks reluctantly slipped off to biology, though not before dropping Toris off in his history class, as they were right next door. He made sure that Eduard was in there before smiling at Toris.

"Umm… can I borrow your math notes?" Toris asked him before he ran off. "I zoned for most of the lesson, but I can copy them this period, so…"

Feliks gave him a look that was very much reminiscent of a shocked guppy, all popping eyes and pursed lips. "Why would I keep notes?" he asked. "I always just copy yours."

Toris resigned himself to never understanding that lesson. He let Feliks dash to class, going to sit down front-and-center, next to Eduard, who gave him a vague wave before turning his attention back to the cellphone he was fiddling with under the desk.

"What's that?" asked Toris curiously. "A new iPhone? Its impressive-looking."

"It looks good?" asked Eduard happily, eyes fixed on his contraption. "Made it myself. It's almost…perfect…almost…" He sighed, suddenly slumping forward and banging his head against his desk. "It just keeps turning on, randomly." Pride and frustration prompted him to pull out the phone, waving it in Toris' direction. "I'm not in a good mood."

"Neither am I," a voice boomed.

The next moment, the phone had jumped to land firmly in Mr. Milo's grasp. He glared at the guilty party (and Toris, who, while blameless, seemed to feel he deserved to be incriminated with the other. It was a personality tic that many had tried to cure him of).

"I'm not happy because a certain student of mine is texting in my class," Mr. Milo growled, putting the phone on his desk and moving to tie back his masses of silver-blonde hair, which was hanging both loose and in thin braids at the moment. It was at that moment the phone sprang life, vibrating and screeching loudly enough that Toris had to clap his hands over his ears. Mr. Milo whirled on the offending instrument, looking as if he were going to smash it to pieces, but Eduard scampered up, snatched it away, and curled himself protectively around it as he retreated back to his desk, frantically pressing buttons until, blessedly, it turned off.

The tall, Germanic teacher dropped wearily to his seat. "Fine. You win. Now, all of you, go, go… you have your group projects; get to work."

Eduard grinned thankfully, glad the incident was over, then bounded over to Toris' desk. "Ready to get to work?" Toris laughed, rolling his eyes as Eduard went to retrieve their poster from storage in the back of the room. It was supposed to be a map of the countries involved in World War Two, but, as neither Toris nor Eduard could draw, what they came up with rather looked like a bulbous smiley face. Or a game of Pacman.

The two surveyed the mess of a map they had made yesterday, feeling rather despondent.

"Well…" offered Eduard after a long, long pause. "We could always… -"

"Ksesesesesese… that's the least awesome map that I have ever seen. And I've seen a whole bunch of not-awesome maps. Because they don't have Prussia on them."

It was Gilbert Weillschmidt, the single most annoying student in the school. He was worse than Alfred. Back in middle school, he and Feliks had a rivalry the size of Russia, and were always competing in things. Feliks and Toris, when they worked together, usually won, but now that Gilbert was taller and stronger he began to release his frustration at being constantly beaten. Together, Toris and Feliks were still strong, but divided…

"Oh, bugger off," Eduard attempted, words brash, voice wary. Toris gripped his pencil tightly, not afraid but a little annoyed. He really didn't need this today. Eduard raised an eyebrow at Toris, covering his clenched fist with a warning hand. Gilbert noted the movement and began to cackle.

"Ksesesesese… sorry, didn't know I was ruining an intimate moment," he snorted. "Fags. And you," he pointed at Toris, "are a slutty fag. I thought you and Feliks were fucking in your spare time but apparently you and this one –" he jerked a thumb at Eduard. "- are doing it, too." Eduard flushed, stiffening but not making any move. Gilbert was huge, and… and Eduard had a high respect for the rules so of course he wouldn't get in a fight.

Toris glared up at Gilbert. He remembered the days when he and Feliks could take the albino down without trouble. But Feliks was not here and Gilbert had grown into himself and really, Toris was helpless to do much but glare and hate.

He was shaking again, and a slow-burn headache sang just behind his eyes. It was the anxiety, the morning, the lack of a comforting presence and the taste of strawberry and cinnamon.

Abruptly, Toris stood. "I have to go to the infirmary," he mumbled, fleeing from the room. Mr. Milo, nose buried in Roman Histories, barely acknowledged his exit.

"Yeah, run away you fag," Gilbert whispered nastily at Toris' retreating back. Toris did not reply. He felt distinctly like he wasn't going to be able to hold it together.

The infirmary manager, a young-looking Ukrainian woman named Katyusha, smiled warmly at Toris.

"Hey, sweetie, are you alright?" she asked, standing from her swivel-chair at the computer desk as he entered.

"Forgot my Zoloft," he murmured apologetically. "The directions say that I can't take my other dose until tomorrow."

Katyusha nodded sympathetically. "Need to lie down?"

"I was hoping that you had something, you know, to calm me down…?" he tried. The woman just shook her head.

"Sorry, dear, I'm not allowed to give students anything that isn't prescribed. But if you really don't feel good, you can sleep here for awhile."

Toris nodded in agreement, at a loss, then sat down on the paper-covered cot that occupied the back of the office. He curled into himself, closing his eyes and trying not to think. Tried to think. Anything, anything to distract him.

A million years passed, a million years of circles and spirals and knots, of innocent smiles and rough touches and pulsing anger and pulsing fear and –

"Liet?"

There was a touch on his shoulder and he jerked to face the intruder, eyes wide and darting. Slowly, his gaze focused and his shoulders slumped in relief.

Feliks' eyes were wary, but he smiled at his boyfriend. "I didn't see you at lunch, but Eduard told me that you looked sick. He also told me about Gilbert." Feliks pouted. "That stupid bitch. Just you wait, I'm going to kick his butt."

Toris shook his head, but could not help a small smile at Feliks' words.

"Oh my gosh. Anyway, totally brought you lunch. How cool am I?" Feliks bragged, thrusting a plastic tray from the cafeteria at him. It was laden with pizza, fresh fruit, milk, and carrots; Feliks held an identical tray for himself. Furtively, Toris glanced around for Katyusha to see if it was alright to eat in here, but she was nowhere in sight.

Feliks scowled down at his food as if it had personally insulted him. "For a place with tuition more than Oxford, they could sure afford to feed us better. I mean, look at this, this is something that Alfred would eat. I could totally go for some katarzynki now, am I right?"

Toris rolled his eyes and dug into his lunch with little appetite.

"It'd be better if someone hadn't eaten my cookies," he teased pointedly.

Feliks had the gall to look affronted.

"What does that mean?" he demanded in a fluster. "What cookies?"

"The ones on your face," replied Toris, wiping a smudge of chocolate off of Feliks' cheekbone. How he managed to get it there was a mystery.

Feliks blushed and snorted. "Don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about." He took a bit of pizza, formulating a distraction. "Are you feeling better? Gonna come to class? We've only got… P.E. and Latin."

Toris frowned. He was starting to feel better, whether it was the food or just Feliks. And they had their last two classes together, so…

"Sure, I'm coming."

The little blonde's smile was bright and beautiful.