A/N: Okay, I was looking at the schedule on the and it says that…the next episode of Degrassi won't be coming on for, like, many many weeks. Does anybody have any idea if that's true (in the US) and if so, why?

"Well," said Paige, "he didn't really say he did, but it's kind of obvious," she flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling brightly at Marco.

Marco shrugged, not really wanting to make it a conversation. "Does it bother you?" Hazel asked, simply wondering.

Once again, Marco shrugged, trying to get the attention to be focused on someone other than him. "I don't care," he answered.

"That's good," Paige said honestly, "because a lot of guys would be," she glared at Spinner, "grossed out."

Marco laughed. "I'm not like other guys."

Paige smiled. "Yes, I've noticed."

After the declaration at lunch, not much was said in the last few periods of the day about Paige's brother, and for that, Marco was glad. He didn't want to admit that he was interested in Dylan because he wasn't sure that he was. Maybe he just felt that way because he knew Dylan felt it about him. Actually, he didn't even know that. It was just what he'd been told, and Dylan had never actually said it. Sooo confusing, really.

Marco made his way with Ellie to his locker. No matter how accustomed he became to moving around blind, he'd never figure out a way to find his locker. It was in the middle of nowhere.

"Is Cathy coming to pick you up?" asked Ellie, before she left to go down the hallway to her own locker.

"Well, I thought we were going to walk home, so I told her not to bother. I could always call her…" he said

"I'm so sorry, but I told Mr. Armstrong I'd…Dylan, hey," she stopped mid-sentence to greet the new arriver.

"Hey," said Marco.

"Marco, don't call Cathy. Dylan, I have to stay after today. You want to walk home with Marco?" she asked.

"If he wants me to, sure," said Dylan, trying to keep his eager voice down, as though walking home with Marco was something that occurred for him everyday.

Marco sighed. He loved the thought of Dylan walking home with him and all, but he hated the fact that it felt more like charity. Was he doing it just because he needed help? Damn, why he did care so much?

"Yeah," said Marco, unable to think of another word. "I just need to finish here."

"Bye, Marco," said Ellie, taking off to their math teacher's room.

"Need help?" asked Dylan, leaning against the lockers next to his. Everyone who rode the bus had left already, having to get out quickly before the buses left. Since it took Marco a considerable amount of time to get out, Cathy or walking was his way home.

"No, thank you. I don't like help," he reminded Dylan. "Besides," he stood on his toes to reach the top of his locker, throwing his binder in, "it's really not that hard. I don't need to see to accomplish it."

"Okay, sorry. I didn't mean to, like, offend you," said Dylan, afraid he was screwing up his chances at even a friendship with the younger boy.

"You didn't," said Marco, finally closing the locker. "Let's go."

Marco walked close behind Dylan on his way out of the school. Apparently, he hadn't been kidding when he said he liked to move around and fast. Marco liked a challenge and everything, but this was way too much.

"Dylan, I can't…" said Marco, grabbing Dylan's arm as they were walking out of the school parking lot. "I'm sorry. I just don't even know where you are."

"Oh," said Dylan, scratching his head. "I'm sorry."

"Listen, there are some things I don't need help in, and some things I do. One is walking home," said Marco.

"Sure," Dylan laughed. "Okay, so when people 'help' you walk home, how exactly is this done?" he asked.

"Well….normally," said Marco, blushing, "we could do it a different way, but it's natural for people to just…hold my hand," he finished. He wasn't sure if he wanted Dylan to do it or not, (even though it was the easiest way) but it was almost too embarrassing asking. Besides, it made him feel like he was holding his parents' hands while crossing the streets.

"Oh," Dylan blinked, "well, if that's the way it's normally done, I guess that's what we have to do," he said. "Take my hand."

"How about," Marco suggested, "you take mine? That is the easier task," he laughed.

"Deal," said Dylan. Marco waited with his hand in the air, feeling Dylan take his right hand in his left, intertwining their fingers. Dylan waited for Marco to say he had a problem with it, to say 'you don't have to hold it like that,' because, even in his moment of pure bravery, he assumed Marco would say something of the sort, but he didn't. Dylan was glad for that. Smiling in triumph, he squeezed his hand gently as they walked down the street. Marco couldn't see the world around him, but for the first time in a while, he felt safe.

"Marco," said Dylan cautiously as they were nearing Marco's house.

"Hmm?" Marco replied, not really paying attention.

"Do you…I mean to say, are you…well…" Dylan sighed. "Never mind."

"What?" Marco asked, stopping. "What is it?" he was curious.

"Well, I just wanted to know what you thought of it here," Dylan shrugged. Marco frowned. Was that what he was really going to say?

"In Canada?" he sighed, really not interested in talking about that. "It's alright, I guess. I mean, I like the people I've met," he smiled at Dylan, "but it's not home."

Dylan nodded. "Well, we're here…" he said, as they walked up the driveway together.

"Dylan, you can stay if you want to," said Marco. All right. Maybe he was developing a tiny crush on Dylan too, but it was only because he felt safe around him. No one can really be superficial, though, when blind. He had to go by the way he felt around him, and he felt good.

"Oh, I don't know," said Dylan, sighing. "Maybe just for a bit," he laughed at how easily he'd given in.

Marco led Dylan inside (after his protests that he should lead someone into his own house, not the other way around) and down the hallway to his room.

"My mom is working late," said Marco, knowing Dylan was curious. "This is my room."

Dylan looked around, honestly disappointed after he'd assumed Marco's room would remind him of…well Marco. "It's…nice," he said, for lack of a better word.

Marco rolled his eyes. "I didn't pick how the room looks. God," he said, throwing his hands in the air, "I honestly don't even know how it looks!"

"Calm down," he said, gently taking Marco's hand again. Marco did, indeed, calm down after his hand was in Dylan's. Dylan slowly pulled Marco down onto the bed next to him.

"Let's talk?" he suggested.

Marco nodded enthusiastically. "Talk is good. It doesn't require movement."

Dylan laughed. "It can occasionally. So…Marco, tell me about you," said Dylan.

What did he want to know? About him? About his family? His life? There was so much! What could he even say that was appropriate? Besides, if Marco were to talk about himself, he'd go on forever. Did Dylan really want that?

"There's not much to tell," said Marco. Okay, so it wasn't entirely truthful, but it was better to say, 'there's not much' than 'there's TOO much.' Right?

"I'm sure there is," said Dylan. "You seem like an interesting boy." Marco felt him brush the hair out of his eyes, which he didn't do anymore. It wasn't like the hair was blocking his vision or anything. Still…the touch made him tremble. So, he liked Dylan, didn't he? Why was that such a surprising feeling for him?

"Nope," said Marco. "Nothing interesting at all," he laughed. "What about you?" he asked.

"Don't change the subject! What do you like to do, I mean?"

"Well," Marco thought carefully, "read…which Cathy's working on…and I like music. That's about all I can think of at the moment, but there's definitely more. What about you?"

"Uh…can kind of sum it up in one word. Hockey. I like hockey," said Dylan.

"That's great," Marco smiled, remembering how much he used to dread the sports games his father would take him to, but he'd never seen hockey.

"I wish I could come see you play sometime…" he said, in a moment of honesty.

"Well, you could!" said Dylan, excited. Marco felt sorry to have to burst his bubble.

"Not really. I wouldn't be seeing anything," he said, surprised at how he was feeling sorry for someone other than himself. Lately, all he cared about was how bad he felt.

"Oh," said Dylan, "Yeah, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. It's easy to forget sometimes…that you're…you know…blind…it's not…well, it's because--"

Marco decided to save him before he made an even bigger idiot out of himself. "I understand why it's easy for you to forget," he replied, "because you're looking at me, not looking at what I see."

Dylan frowned. "It must be hard."

"It's getting easier," said Marco, sighing happily. Being with Dylan made him content.

A/N: Well, here we have a new chapter. I just got teeth pulled, so I can't eat or speak. Yay! Okay, so, I have no idea about whatever the hell they're doing on the N, but if somebody does, let me know. The N bothers me…so much.