A week to go until Halloween, and Toris realized that he should probably stop worrying about Feliks and start worrying about himself – more specifically, about his costume. Oh boy… Last time that he had tried this, he had an overabundance of cardboard and was living at home with a mother who adored arts and crafts.

He made a trip down to Mr. Milo's classroom that Saturday, during the conference hours the teachers had to set aside to help struggling students.

"Toris, what're you doing here?" he had grunted, looking up from his Latin for Dummies book. "I didn't assign homework this weekend, and you're certainly not failing the class. You shouldn't need any help."

"Umm… actually, I was hoping you could help me with something… extracurricular. I'm trying to find a costume for the masquerade ball." Mr. Milo just stared impassively. "I was planning to dress up as a… a knight, actually, but I'm not really sure how I should start."

At that, Mr. Milo's eyes darkened with excitement. "A knight? Well, what country? What time period? Fancy noble or hired hit man? Think, boy, there's a million things to consider. You can't just say 'knight'!"

Toris froze, his brain trying to make sense of the rapid-fire questioning. "Umm… nobles are fine, I suppose. Err… as for what country… Poland? From the…" He pulled a date out of thin air. "…fifteenth century?"

A wide, wild grin spread across Mr. Milo's face and he closed his book with a snap, standing up. "Why Polish, Toris? I thought that you were Lithuanian?"

The whole bloody school knew that he was Lithuanian, due to the fact that he couldn't speak a word of English when he transferred to St. Jeanne's middle school and had answered every question for weeks with the words "Lietuva". This also explained why Feliks still referred to him as "Liet" and why Toris still hated it.

"Umm…yeah," Toris replied non-commitally. "But Feliks is Polish, so I thought –"

"I have exactly what you need. It's in the equipment room in the gym."

With that, Mr. Milo stalked off. Toris had to jog to keep up with him, leaving questions behind until they reached the large, gunmetal-blue box that pretended that it was a gym. Rounding the corner, Mr. Milo pulled out a thick key from his pocket, fitting it into the padlock on a pair of external doors. The doors swung outwards, and Toris was met with a flabbergasting view.

Weapons.

They were hung on the walls, dangling from the ceiling, displayed on rickety wood tables – axes, knives, long, glittering swords, elegant bows and arrows shimmering in a million jewel tones. Sturdy wood trunks lined the walls, suits of armor mounted on dress dummies.

This was so not legal.

Mr. Milo paced to the back of the room, muttering and running his hands across one of the armored dummies, pulling out a few pieces here and there. Nervously, Toris stepped closer, trying to hear what he said.

"Now, I could give you the helmet but honestly, it looks silly. I think… hmmm, you definitely don't need a mail hauberk because they can't see it, but you'll need padding –" At this, he grabbed a folded length of heavy cream cloth and tossed it vaguely at Toris. "- And a… Oh, I know. A lamellar cuirass! Very period, but not nearly as unwieldy as a breastplate –" This was what looked like a girl's tank top made of scale-like plates of leather. And it was heavy. Mr. Milo also pulled out a few mismatched plates of metal that looked to go over the shoulders, and a pair of metal greaves. Then he began to dig in one of the heavy wooden trunks, resurfacing with a soft green tunic and brown leggings. He placed them atop Toris' wobbling pile.

"There you are, Mr. Lorinaitis. That should be everything that you need. I expect that you return them the day after Halloween in the exact same condition that I gave them to you."

Toris nodded hurriedly. "Yes, of course, I'll definitely –"

Mr. Milo's face softened for a fraction of a moment, and the held up a hand to stop Toris.

"Wait. I almost forgot the most important bit." He moved to the wall, where a glut of… oh god, swords were hung. Smiling softly, Mr. Milo chose a long, stiff blade in a thick black scabbard.

"Here," he said, beaming. "An estos. If anyone gives you trouble for carrying it, I'll deal with them myself."

Toris stared, wide-eyed, at the weapon.

"Now, off you get, enjoy your Saturday," Mr. Milo grumped suddenly, frigid, gruff demeanor snapping back into place like a falling helmet visor.

Toris took off. He had no idea what to say, anyway.

Feliks could not hold back his laughter when Toris stumbled in the door, armor clutched against his chest – although, somehow, Toris doubted that he was even trying to be polite.

"Do shut up," he grumbled. "This stuff is authentic." The sword went clattering to the ground. "And really, really heavy. Look, can you help me with this?"

"Nope. Too busy watching," snickered Feliks gleefully as Toris juggled the heavy armor bits. Finally stowing them all in the closet, Toris flopped onto the bed. Feliks giggled and flopped next to him. He rolled over on his side and grabbed Toris' hands.

"Happy Saturday," he said brightly, nuzzling their noses together. Toris' face wrinkled into a smile and he sighed in contentment.

"Don't you have math homework to do?" he asked the boy next to him.

"Aww, don't ruin it, Liet." Feliks kissed his hands, a little hesitantly. Toris examined Feliks' bandaged fingers.

"Can't you just use a sewing machine?" he asked, worry plain on his features.

"As if. It's silk! And I'm using this really nice lace on the cuffs –" suddenly, Feliks puffed out his cheeks. "Hey, you're trying to trick me into telling you what I'm making! Jerk."

Toris couldn't help but think that Feliks was adorable. He leaned forward, across the fraction of air between their skin, and pecked him on the lips.

It was simple and sweet and Toris felt Feliks smile against his lips. Gold warmth flickered in through the afternoon windowpane, gold warmth blossomed from the slow, steady movement of firm against wet. Gently, Toris brought fingers up to tangle in Feliks' cornsilk hair, bringing him just a little closer, just a little deeper. It was easy. He felt Feliks' nimble fingers against his shoulders, sliding down across his chest, then moving to his sides and his waist, mouths never breaking contact. Warm fingerpads twisted under Toris' shirt and onto bare skin.

… darkness, violation, ripping open every inch of his body, leaving nothing untouched, dirtying his skin… Toris jerked away, heard leaping from his chest to his throat and he cried out. "No! No, no, no stop, please!" and he shoved the weight that laid next to him with all his might, curling into himself. "No…"

"L-Liet?"

Toris' head snapped up, catching Feliks' eyes, which were magnified by tears he was just too stubborn to let fall. His hands were extended, as if he were ripped away from the boy lying across the bed from him. "Liet…? Are you…?"

Toris' breath came in ragged gasps and he couldn't move to sooth the abandoned hurt in Feliks' eyes, and Feliks was obviously too scared to touch him again.

"Sorry, sorry… I can't… I can't do this and I'm sorry but I –" Toris stood up and practically ran from the room, unable to stand the look on Feliks' face for even one moment longer. It was so hurt, so lost, but at the same time there was a spark of pity, of self-sacrifice so large that all there was room for was worry for Toris. The fact that the events of last spring were not just affecting him, but the boy that he loved the most, as well, stung deeply.

So he did what he had always done: he ran. He ran out of the dorm and down the stairs and across the green-gold sports fields and did not come back for a very long time.

He did not come back to their room until darkness had twirled in with her skirts looping across the air, until he was taunting curfew. Their dorm room was dark but for the familiar oily blue laptop screen, illuminating Feliks' unfocused gaze and he earbuds attached to his head. He didn't look up as Toris entered, buttery hall-light flickering inside for a moment until the door closed again.

Toris bowed his head, undressing and slipping quickly into bed. Again, he was lulled slightly by the tapping of the laptop keys, though tension and guilt marred the lines of his body. This time, he could not fall asleep, hyper-aware when, sometime later, Feliks shut off his laptop and crawled into bed. Feliks lay on his back and reached to grip Toris' hand again. They lay side-by-side on their backs, staring into the invisible depths of the black ceiling.

"I know you're awake," said Feliks after a long pause. "Your hand keeps twitching. Do... you want me to let go?"

"No…"

Heartbeats.

"I got a detention today, so I won't be around after Mass tomorrow."

Alarm.

"What for?"

Nonchalance.

"Doesn't matter."

He didn't want to, but Toris let it go, let everything else go just for the night and they fell asleep hand in hand.