Hey guys, I've got a long one for you today. More than 7000 words. Hopefully I've done ok; I've gotten into Sherlock, so I've been distracted trying to plan a new fanfic and I'm sick and my parents decided to change our bedrooms around, so I've been unpacking, too. But I don't want to make excuses, so lets get this show on the road.

Last chapter, Mich wandered the streets of a dangerous neighborhood and found out a bit of shocking info about Quasi's homelife. This chapter, there's singing, angst, Phoebus makes a shocking declaration, we learn a bit more about Esme and there's some nice Kish fluff for you.

Enjoy :)

When you try your best but you don't succeed
When you get what you want but not what you need
When you feel so tired but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse

When the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
I will try to fix you.

'Fix You'- Coldplay.

School went back on Monday; and as always, I saw neither hide nor hair of Quasimodo until music class. I think it's fair to say that by then I was nearly a nervous wreck. All weekend I had had the image of him lying there, beaten and bruised from numerous kicks, collapsed on the bed like a pile of bones, playing constantly in front of my eyes. All weekend I had been holding in tears and snapping at everyone out of frustration. My family just thought I was PMSing and didn't question my moody behavior, and though I wanted to tell them everything (oh, how I wanted to!) I was forced to stay silent. Don't you dare tell anyone what you've seen, he had said. Don't you dare.

So I didn't.

By the time music rolled around, my mind was a complex mix of emotions, and though I kept my expression neutral and blank, inside I was ready to burst. I sat in my spot at the back, listening to everyone talk about their holidays and waiting anxiously for my partner to arrive. At length, when my nerves were starting to make themselves visible in my fidgeting fingers and I was worried that something terrible had happened over the weekend, he slunk in just ahead of Miss Basso and slid noiselessly into his chair next to me, where he sat and stared at the desk as the teacher brought the class to order and jumped straight into the lesson. I got out my book as asked, but my mind was solely on the boy next to me. I wanted to do something, say something, anything, to show that I was there for him; I was even hit for a second with the sudden urge to hug him, and had reached out a hand to touch his back before I stopped and withdrew, feeling stupid. We were in class and it just wasn't appropriate; and besides, he probably wouldn't welcome the attention. But still had to say something.

"Hey," I whispered, leaning towards him a bit and barely moving my lips, "You right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he whispered back, still focused on the desk.

I almost laughed at that- there were so many reasons for him to not be alright- but instead I whispered, "Are we still on for lunchtime?" Then I mentally kicked myself because that sounded so selfish and surely he wouldn't want to do music while he was in pain-

"Yes," he answered.

I smiled despite myself, for I really did enjoy our jam sessions and it would've been a pity to have to end them so soon. Still, I didn't want to sound like I was harsh and demanding. "Are you sure? I mean, we don't have to if you don't feel-"

"Yes," he said again, and I guessed that was the end of it. We were going to practice whether he was up to it or not.

Miss Basso passed us just then, handing out our marked assignments from last term, and she actually smiled when she came to us. "A-minus, good job, guys. You have a very good knowledge of music theory and culture, and excellent understanding of your chosen genres and music groups. And, to top it off, you work very well together, unlike some people around here…" She trailed off, looking pointedly at a few other pairs who had begun to play up. I glanced around the room, embarrassed by the praise, and heard others begin to giggle and whisper. I couldn't help shrinking in my seat a little as I heard my name and Quasi's mentioned; I had thought that being the topic of people's conversations wouldn't bother me anymore, but evidently it did.

The teacher obviously got the gist of the conversations happening around her, because she briefly glanced from Quasi and me to those with the loudest voices and put her hand on her hip, staring at them until the rest of the room grew quiet and they were the only ones talking.

"Miss Waters, Miss Brennan, would you like detention?" Her voice was no longer the warm tone it had been when speaking to us; it was now as loud as ever with a stern ring of warning thrown in.

"No, Miss Basso," they chorused.

"Well shut it then." She laid the papers on our desks and continued on; looking back, she raised an eyebrow, and I swore I saw her eyes twinkle at both of us. My heart sank even as I smiled at her stern choice of words. Did she believe the rumors too? It looked like it, and it even looked like she approved. Not surprising, since teachers were, in fact, the biggest shippers on the planet. My eyes widened at the thought of it. Ignoring those who liked to poke fun, how many more people shipped us? I began to fidget again and glanced at Quasi, who still refused to look at me. I wasn't quite sure what to think of others trying to decide my destiny for me, but I did know that I would've laughed in the past. Now... I shook my head and read through the comments on the assignment, acutely aware that I was just trying to distract myself again.

He could've cancelled. I mean, if he wasn't feeling up to it he could've said so. I wouldn't have been mad. But I guess he thought he owed me or felt obliged to keep going despite whatever pain he was in. Maybe it was a distraction. Either way, I was glad that we were continuing our lessons. For one thing, it would give me an opportunity to talk to him properly and find out why the hell I couldn't tell anyone what was happening at home. I also couldn't wait to show him what I'd learned over the holidays, and when we brought our lunch to the art room that day I decided to start with that instead of a confrontation. So wolfed down half my sandwich and grabbed my guitar while he was still setting up his place, and as he ate I began to play. First I played 'Everybody Hurts', which I had somehow learnt by heart in that short week, and smiled when he closed his eyes reverently and swayed a little to the song that obviously meant a lot to him. And then I started playing little tunes, like 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and 'Ode to Joy' and 'Amazing Grace', not using actual chords but just plucking the strings in the right order like I had been taught and which I had found was a lot easier than playing proper songs. Then I started to fumble through 'You Belong With Me', which had been in a list of easy songs and which I had been in the middle of learning when the trip ended. I was still was jerky and slow, and I kept losing my place and having to start over, but I noticed that since we began our sessions I had become a little smoother with changing hand positions and my musical ear had improved. I also noticed that while I sang along to the tune, the usual flood of memories that came with that song was... gone. 'YBWM' was usually accompanied by flashbacks and tears that I would have to blink away before anyone noticed. But as I played the song that had once been my favourite I realized that the only thing I was thinking of was how to play the chords and what octave to sing at and whether I sounded any good. For the first time in about a year, my 9th and 10th grade theme song was just a song, and it looked like I was finally, finally over him.

The internal revelation was so unexpected that I stopped in the middle of the song and laughed with relief and happiness, not caring how it looked to Quasi. I was free. I was completely free. And it was liberating. I was never going to let myself be controlled by bad memories again.

Quasi had finished lunch by now and was getting out his own guitar. I pulled out a chair for him and moved mine back so that he had some room, and replied to his inquiring look, "Oh, it was nothing. I just remembered something I forgot, that's all." When he was ready to play, I asked him if there were any other songs he could teach me. "Can you play any songs from Styx? I know 'Lady' and 'Desert Moon' can be played on guitar, but they're a bit complicated... My favourite is 'Babe', but that sounds a bit hard too..."

"I can play that."

"What, 'Babe'?"

"Yes."

"Oh good!" I sat back in my chair and looked at him expectantly. "Take it away."

He nodded and took a moment to find the chords, and then he started to play. I smiled at the familiar tune and started to mouth the words when the verse came up, but stopped why I realized he wasn't singing. "Can you sing along? Please? I mean, if you can- you don't have to, but-"

He nodded again and started the verse over, and this time he sang along to the music.

"Babe I'm leaving
I must be on my way
The time is drawing near
My train is going
I see it in your eyes
The love, the need, your tears..."

I was captivated from the first line. I sat there, mouth open, staring at him, as a sound I never knew existed caressed my ears and gave me goosebumps. If I had been feeling dramatic I would've called it the voice of an angel, but as it was, I was speechless. How could I have guess that under his unfortunate-looking exterior (and I wouldn't have told anyone, but strangely, it was an exterior that I was starting to like) and hoarse, quiet speaking voice was a singing voice that could break your heart?

"But I'll be lonely without you
And I'll need your love to see me through
So please believe me
My heart is in your hands
And I'll be missing you

'Cause you know it's you babe
Whenever I get weary
And I've had enough
Feel like giving up
You know it's you babe
Giving me the courage
And the strength I need
Please believe that it's true
Babe, I love you."

I was still staring when he finished, and he looking uncomfortable in the silence, looking down, then around, and then, for the first time that day, he looked me in the eye. I could practically feel the nervousness radiating off him. "H-how was that?"

"Huh..." My heart was beating faster than I would've liked and it was mixing with the butterflies in my stomach, making me feel like I had the whole zoo inside of me. I tried to calm myself, feeling kind of silly for getting so worked up over a pretty voice, but it was proving kind of difficult with those iridescent green eyes fixed on me. "Th-th-that was... that was... amazing. That was amazing!"

"Really?" He seemed to have a hard time believing me.

"You mean you don't know that you have a voice that can melt stone?"

His eyes widened. "Melt s-s-stone?"

"Y-yeah." I looked down, suddenly embarrassed. That might've been too much... "I mean, you're really good. You have a nice voice."

"No I don't," he said quietly, looking away. "You're being too nice. I'm not good at anything, really. I have no talent."

"Wha-?" My brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course you do!"

"No, I don't."

"Who told you that?" I leaned forward, angry now. "Who told you that you have no talent? Was it that good-for-nothing son-of-a-bitch who was beating you to a pulp on Friday night?"

"Mich-"

"When were you going to tell me about that, huh? And why can't I tell anyone? Domestic and Child Abuse helplines are just a few numbers away. Hell, it would all be over with one call to the police! I'll do it for you if you don't want to; it won't be too hard."

"No."

"Why not? Why won't you let me help you out?"

"I don't need your help!" I blinked at him, taken aback. He glared at me and stood up, reaching for his guitar case. "You k-keep trying to help me, but I don't want it. I don't want to be your p-project. So you can stop p-pretending to be my friend, alright?"

"P-p-pretending...?" I spluttered, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You think I'm pretending-?"

"That's all everyone ever does, isn't it?" He zipped up his case and headed for the door. "Esme made me th-think she liked me, and I was s-stupid enough to b-believe every w-word she said-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait-" I squinted at him. "You think I'm doing what Esme did? Is that what you think?"

He looked at the floor, hand on the doorknob. "I don't know, but I don't want that to happen again. I'm used to being alone, I can take care of myself. I don't need your pity or your help. So just leave me alone, ok?"

I don't remember how long I sat there, mouth open in shock, but by the time I had gathered my thoughts together and jumped up to follow him, he was gone. I groaned and stomped my foot, angry with myself as well as him. I knew for certain that I wasn't Esme, but was I really taking advantage of his musical skills? Of that I suddenly wasn't too sure.

There was still heaps of time left before lunch ended, so I locked up and went outside. At length, after wandering aimlessly around the school grounds and berating myself for letting him run off like that (who knew what would happen if someone caught him alone?) I found myself at the basketball court. Now I had space to think.

What had changed? I thought back to the term before, when we sat together after I had introduced him to the girls and told him that I only chose the best. He had almost cried, he was so moved. What had changed his mind? Was he embarrassed that I had seen what I wasn't meant to have seen? Was that it? Was he afraid of what I might think of him now? Ugh, I was so confused.

The sound of footsteps found its way into my head, along with the bouncing of a ball. I turned as it flew through the air and rebounded off the backboard towards me, catching it just before it hit me in the face. "Hey, watch it!"

The owner of the ball smirked and tossed his blonde hair out of his eyes. "Sorry."

"No you're not." I tossed it back and shoved my hands in my pockets, studying Phoebus as he bounced it once, twice, three times and shot for the hoop, missing miserably. "Wow, you're really out of practice. What happened to those amazing reflexes and dead-straight aim? You used to be able to get it in from the middle of the court!"

"Oh, so you remember that?" He dug around in his pocket and offered a small packet to me, putting something in his mouth as he did so. "Do you remember these too?"

I just turned up my nose at him and his Fisherman's Friends. "Yeah, and how you tricked me into eating one and expected me to freak out? Fail. I just waited until you weren't looking and spat it out."

"I did see that, actually."

"Yeah right."

"I did!"

I sighed. "What do you want, James?"

"Nothing." He picked up the ball and took another shot; he missed, again, and threw it to me. "Just wondering what you're doing in the middle of the court without a ball, staring into space."

"Shouldn't you be with Esme?"

"Should you be with Quasimodo?"

"God, what is it with people and shipping us together?" I shot for the hoop and, surprisingly, got it in. "Me and Quasi aren't a thing, Phoebus. Seriously, we aren't. We just hang out and play music, that's all."

"Ok, fine, but my question still stands. You spend, like, every lunchtime with him, right?"

"He's mad at me right now and ran off and I can't find him. What about you?"

Phoebus rolled his eyes. "Esme is being a bitch and I couldn't stand it anymore. Do you know how many threats and plans I've heard from her? She's determined to get you back for 'ruining her life' and 'spoiling her last year'. She so over-dramatic and emotional and... just stupid. This whole thing is stupid."

I held up a hand to interrupt him. "Last year?"

"Yeah, she's moving to Victoria at the end of the year when she gets her P's."

"Which will give the school a much needed rest from all this drama, hopefully."

"Oh, she cannot wait to get away from that 'backwards Asian farm'- her words- and start living in the real world. I told her she's crazy and that the real world isn't much to look at, but she won't-"

"Asian farm?" I interrupted again, curious to hear anything about Esme. She wasn't afraid to air other people's private lives and backgrounds, but I had never heard much about her own home life. "You mean she lives on one of those huge mass-produce places? A yellow-eye farm? The ones with rows and rows of greenhouses and junk everywhere?

"That just about sums it up, yeah. He dad's a Cambodian immigrant and he runs a pretty big food business- they grow tomatoes... or... something... whatever. Anyway, she's pretty much disowned him cuz of all the crap the farmers are getting and she can't wait to move out. It's the only thing she talks more about than you."

"Interesting." I shook my head. "She never says anything about herself- I always thought she was Italian or something, but I knew she wasn't completely European. At least, I knew a few weeks ago."

"Spanish," Phoebus corrected me. "Esme's half Spanish and half Cambodian. She didn't want anyone to know her real roots, but she told me about it once. I think she's ashamed of her dad 'cause he's a lowly farmer and she doesn't want to be associated with that image."

"What a snob." I put a hand on my hip and tilted my head at him. "So, if she doesn't want anyone to know, why are you telling me?"

"Well it's not like you're gonna spread it around and use it against her. Pretty much everyone around here is low income or council estate or something like that, so it's no shock."

"True enough. And how are you gonna take the separation? Long phone calls into the night, emails, driving down for holidays and all that long-distance relationship stuff?"

"Actually..." He rubbed his neck and winced, looking at the ground, and I think I knew exactly what he was thinking. And it did not make me very happy.

"Oh, don't tell me- you want to break up with her?"

He looked around as if worried someone would hear us. "I've been thinking about it, yeah, if you must know." At my look he shrugged defensively. "Well I'm getting tired of all the drama and emotions and crap that's going on. You don't have to listen to her every day, raving on and on about pranks and revenge and high-school status. I'm starting to think she's losing it."

"Are you really going to do that to her when she's already feeling compromised?" I demanded, strangely angry. It was funny- I would never have been able to talk to him like this a few months ago, but since everything had happened I felt stronger and able to do anything. And right now, hearing that Phoebus James was thinking of breaking up with someone again, I thought that I owed it to myself to make him realize what he was doing the way I hadn't been able to before. "I mean, I can't stand the girl myself, but she must think the world of you to not be able to see you for the idiot you are. Do you have any idea at all of how she would feel if you upped and left right now?"

"What's that got to do with you?"

"Nothing, really, but..." I bit my lip and looked away. "It's just that I feel sorry for her, having gone through the same thing myself."

"Oh..." Phoebus looked at the ground and blew the air out of his cheeks. "About that..." He scratched his head awkwardly. "What I said that time, about missing you? I was just trying to keep your attention, but it was partly true. I am sorry that I hurt you, but I didn't know that you'd be so upset. You never said anything or cried or acted like you cared, so I just thought you didn't."

"Oh, I cared. But keeping feelings bottled up is a skill a lot of girls have. It's kind of a defense mechanism."

"Well, again, I'm sorry. I didn't know any better and I treated you badly. Can you possibly forgive me?"

"I'm a good enough person to forgive you, but not stupid enough to trust you." I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why would you want my forgiveness? Why would you care if I like you or not?" He was silent, but as he looked up to meet my eyes and raised his eyebrows, I just knew. "No. Oh, no no no no no no you don't, I'm not that stupid-"

"No, you're not stupid at all! You're funny and sarcastic and aggressive and I like that, but you're also kind and thoughtful and compassionate. Just look how you've taken pity on Quasimodo and-"

"I have not 'taken pity' on Quasimodo. He's my friend, ok?"

"Made friends with him, then." Phoebus sighed wearily. "Look, I'm telling you the truth. Esme just isn't the girl I thought she was, and I'm starting to see that you've always been the one I needed, and I was too dumb see that before. Why don't we give it another try?"

I stared at him, convinced he was telling the truth. He actually wanted to break up with Esme and get with me. This was actually happening. For a moment I was hit with a memory of us sitting together at a basketball game, sharing food and just having fun, and it made me wonder if we could actually be like that again. And then I realized what it would mean, what would be the end result, and how it would affect others, and I shook my head. "It would be a fine proposition- if I was a stupid girl."

"What?" Phoebus looked upset, and rightly so. "I'm baring my soul to you, Mich-"

"I understand that, and you know, I might've gone with it, if I hadn't once been just like her." I didn't know how to make him see- he was the stupid one, never thinking about others unless it was good for him. "Look, one of the stupidest mistakes in life is thinking that the person who hurt you won't hurt you again. I read somewhere to never let an old flame burn you twice. And I may not like Esme, but I feel a responsibility to do the right thing and not steal her guy. That's like the highest part of the girl code. I can't do something like that. Do you even care how much it would break her heart?"

"She's your enemy- why would you care?"

"Oh, you wanna know why I care about how she feels? You wanna know why I give a crap that you're going to break her heart?" I threw the ball at him as hard as I could and took a step towards him, fists clenched, anger surging through me. "Because I know how it feels, Phoebus. I know how it feels to have the person you thought liked you turn his back on you and walk out of your life without any explanation. I know how it feels to scroll through emails and messages and read them over and over because they're the only thing left and you pretend that it's ok and when you go to school the next day it'll all be the same as usual. I know," Here I stopped, trying to get control of my breathing and perhaps also the tears that I would've denied were there, "I know... how it feels to stand alone when someone used to stand with you, to cry so hard at night that you can't breathe, to pray for someone to come back and tell you it was a mistake, to watch someone walk away and never look back. I know." I glanced up and found him staring at me, eyes wide, surprise and realization written all over his features, and I gave him a watery smile. "That's why I care. That's why I want you to try and work through it. And that's why I'm not going to go back to you. We're only young once, and it's ok to want to have fun, but for once you need to think about how what you do will affect other people."

"Wow." Phoebus took a step back, eyes shifting uncomfortably. "You're really still upset about that?"

"Actually... no." I thought back to my moment of clarity in the art-room. "I used to be. For a long time I was angry and upset and absolutely miserable, as you are when you get your heart broken, and it went on for so long that I couldn't remember anything else except the feeling that I got whenever I saw you or heard your name." I closed my eyes and shook my head sadly. "All those months I spent hating you, I could've been getting on with my life. But I didn't, and I wasted all that time pining over what I thought we had, and I'm ashamed of myself for doing it. But finally, finally..." I laughed and looked up at him, feeling peace. "I played a song today that used to remind me of you and nothing happened. No tears, no nostalgia, no mopey stuff. It's just a song now. I'm over it. I'm free. Free to be my own person and take control of my life. I could fall in love again or stay single for a while, it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm finally, finally happy. So no, I'm not upset anymore."

Phoebus nodded, not knowing what to say, and bounced the ball a few times for lack of something useful to do. He shot for the hoop, missed, and passed it to me, and we played silently for a while until he decided to ask a question.

"You said Quasimodo is mad you?"

"Yeah, um, I saw something he didn't want me to see and then I tried to talk about it. He didn't want to and told me that he didn't need my help, and then he accused me of pretending to be his friend like Esme did. I don't know what's the matter with him- we were fine last term." I sighed. "He's wrong, he's completely wrong. You know, I spend pretty much every day with him, learning how to play guitar, being a shoulder to cry on if he needs it, protecting him. I gave up being invisible and became a potential target for him. I stepped out of my comfort zone for him and became the only friend he's got. And he thinks that I was pretending?"

Phoebus frowned. "Why, though? Why did you bother doing any of that? Why did you decide to become his friend and risk all that bullying happening to you?"

"I don't know. It just happened. I was so certain of what I wanted, and then he came along and changed everything." I paused, trying to find the right words. "I just... I couldn't bear to be a spectator again. There comes a time, I guess, when silence is betrayal, and I just felt that I couldn't bear to watch anymore. I had to do something."

"Ok, so you did something. You helped him out a few times." Phoebus raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't need to spend every single day with him. What was that about?"

"I wanted to make sure he's safe, and lately he's been teaching me how to play guitar. And also..." I bit my lip, wondering if I should be confiding in my ex-boyfriend about this. "I don't want him to be alone anymore, you know? He's been bullied pretty much his whole life and he's never had a friend, and that's not right. He says he doesn't need help and doesn't need people but that's crap. I know he does, and I want to be there for him."

"But how can you bear it? I don't mean any disrespect to him, but he is really ugly. How does it not bother you?"

"Why should it? And besides, he's not ugly." I shrugged. "Not to me, not anymore. I've gotten used to it. It's just... different, that's all. And not a bad different. It like... you know when you meet someone so beautiful and then you actually talk to them and 5 minutes later they're as dull as a brick? Then there's other people, when you meet them you think, 'Not bad, they're ok.' And then you get to know them and... and their face just sort of becomes them. Like their personality is written all over it. And they turn into something so... beautiful."

"Beautiful?" He snorted, eyes full of amusement. "Him? Are you serious?"

"Have you seen his eyes?" I shook my head quickly. "Never mind. It's not just beautiful, either. He's introverted, like me, which I like. And he's a mystery. There's so much I still don't know about him, though what I do know makes sense now..." I was quiet for a moment, wondering if I should tell him what I had seen, but I decided against it.

He must've seen the cloud come over me, because he nudged me and raised his eyebrows. "What is it? What did you find out?"

"Sorry, can't say. I promised him I wouldn't tell." Actually, I didn't make any promises, but he wanted it to stay a secret so I had be quiet for now. "Sufficed to say, he's had a rough life and now he's kind of, I don't know, broken maybe? He needs someone."

"I suppose so..." He shrugged and glanced at me. "Just... be careful when trying to fix a broken person, cuz you might end up cutting yourself on their shattered pieces."

I smiled a little. "Wow, when did you get so deep?"

"When did you decide to fall in love with a high-school outcast?" he asked back, smiling that infuriating smile.

"I'm not in love with him!" I mostly believed it, even though the mention of it tied my stomach up in knots.

"Oh?"

I groaned in frustration. "I'm not! Why does everyone think that?"

Phoebus held up a hand and started to count. "Well, you spend every day with him, you beat up anyone who goes near him, you desperately want to improve his life, you adore his eyes-"

"I do not adore his eyes!"

He just looked at me and resumed his list. "-you adore his eyes, you play music together, and you've mysteriously got over your previous heart-break during your time with him; a heart-break which, by your own admission, affected you badly right up to the time you met him. I'm no love-expert, but from what I've heard, a girl usually only gets over a previous love so quickly when a new one comes along."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" I insisted. "All of that can be explained a different way, like maybe I'm a good person who wants to make someone's life better!"

"Or maybe you are in love with him but don't want to admit it to yourself."

"Is this what you do now? You can't have me so you try to play matchmaker? Do I really look that desperate?"

"Of course not. You're just ignoring your feelings, that's all."

"Whatever." I checked my watch. "Bell's going to go soon. I should probably go."

"You should probably go find Quasimodo." He held up his hands at my look of annoyance. "No, just listen. You gave me advice, now I'm giving you some. Whatever feelings you have for him, it doesn't matter. You should go find him and say everything you want to say before he decides he really doesn't need you anymore."

"Ok... I will. Thanks." I smiled and chucked the ball at him. "It was good talking to you. Sorry about... you know."

He shrugged. "I'll try to take your advice if you take mine."

I nodded and headed back towards the school, feeling refreshed and light. I had gotten everything off my chest and straightened stuff out between us, and though there had been the shock of Phoebus' declaration and his insistence that I had feelings for Quasi, neither of us were worse for was just one more thing that I needed to.

Now it was time to find my friend.

I knew there was no point in trying to find Quasi before the bell rang, so I did the next best thing- I waited for him. I don't think I had realized the lengths he went to to avoid people unless absolutely necessary, because it was a long time before he actually went to his locker. I had to wait until there was almost no people in the halls and most of the classes had started by the time he appeared.

"Bit late, aren't you?" I remarked when I saw he wasn't going to say anything. Closing my locker door, I leaned against the lockers and watched him as he dialed his combination. "Look, can we talk?"

"You'll be late for class." he answered quietly, not meeting my eye.

"Doesn't matter, it's only History. I've done Ancient Greece twice already, so I don't really need to go to class."

"I'll miss English-"

"You're only doing creative writing. I can help you with that if you get behind." I nudged him lightly. "This is more important. Way more important."

"I don't want to talk about-"

I held up a hand. "Shut up and listen to me. I can't pretend to know how you feel, cuz I don't. But I have a good imagination, and I can imagine how difficult this is for you and how... scared you must be. Frankly, I'm scared too, but I know how serious this is and I really do want to help you, if you'll let me."

He stopped rummaging in his locker and and looked down, his voice slightly strangled. "I don't want... I don't need... your help. I'm fine. Just leave it, please."

"What, so I'm supposed to ignore the fact that my friend is being..." I looked around and lowered my voice to a whisper, aware that he didn't want it being spread around. "...being abused at home? Because believe it or not, you are my friend. I'm not in any way pretending and I never was. Almost as soon as I saw you I could see that you're lonely and sad and I want to change that, if only you'll let me."

"I'm n-n-not lonely, I-I'm q-q-quite happy alone. No-one can d-do anything anyway, so it d-doesn't matter."

"Oh, Quasi," I hesitantly touched the sleeve of his jacket, trying not to remember what was underneath it, and tried to catch his eye. "We build walls around our hearts and lock all our doors and then wonder why no-one can save us. You don't give anyone a chance."

"I have given people chances and each... time..." He shook his head, sounding suspiciously like he was about to cry. "Each time... it ended badly. I can't... I-I-I c-can't..."

"You can't risk it again, so you pretend that you're fine and you don't need anyone when in reality, you really do. But you don't protect your heart by acting like you don't have one."

"How... would you know?"

I closed his locker for him and turned his shoulders so that he was facing me, bending down a little so I could look at him properly. "Because I look at you, and I can see it in your face. You think you hide it, but I see you. I see the hurt, the... the dark circles under your eyes from when you cry yourself to sleep, and the silent plea in your eyes, dancing on your lips, too afraid to be voiced, too afraid to be heard because you're too afraid to be hurt." I rested both arms on his shoulders, our faces only a few inches apart so that I could see the tears in his eyes and the quivering of his bottom lip; he tried to look away, ashamed of crying in front of me, but I followed his gaze and spoke softly, not caring how we would look if someone walked past. "And I just want to take you and wrap you up in my arms, hold you, console you, tell you things that you'll believe, but you don't seem to believe anything anymore, because you've been lied to and tricked far too many times. I know you're broken inside, I can see it in your face and in your manner and in the way you walk, and someone told me recently to be careful when trying to help broken people, but I don't care if I cut myself on your 'shattered pieces' because I care about you and nothing would make me happier than to see you happy too." Now the tears were welling up in my own eyes. "So, don't push me away anymore. Please."

"I-I-I won't, I'm s-sorry-"

I smiled and pulled him to me, and I hugged him as hard as I could, until the pent-up stress inside him had been relaxed and he slowly put his arms around me too. "It's ok," I whispered, sniffing a little. "It's ok. You can cry, if you want. Don't be ashamed."

His shoulders began to shake, so I held him tighter, letting him cry it out. I almost started too, but I held it back, because someone needed to be strong and god knows he had been strong for far too long. Not a sound did he make, his head buried in my shoulder and his tears wetting the fabric of my black cardigan. I didn't care about the cardigan, I didn't care about people walking by and finding us in this strange, perhaps compromising position, depending on how they looked at it. None of it mattered when my friend was unburdening himself on me.

Eventually he stopped, and I listened to the sound of his breathing as he calmed himself down. "I'm sorry," were his first words. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that-"

"It's ok, it's fine, it's good." I rubbed his back and smiled a little. "You don't have to apologise. It's completely alright."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"You're welcome," I whispered back. And that was it.

I held him tight until the tears welling up disappeared. Until I could pull away and look him in the eyes and pretend that everything actually was ok. It wasn't, but we could pretend.

For now.

Yowsers, long chapter is long.

So, what did you think? I wasn't sure about the Phoebus and Mich thing, but I had some break-up quotes I wanted to use and someone had to reveal a bit about Esme's life. And the Kish fluff took forever to write. Hope I did it right. Tell me in that box down there. Please.