Chapter 5: Present Tense

The house was still and silent as Ethan slipped through the living room, his mind still seething with turmoil over his perilous escape from his own bedroom. From what he could tell, he had managed to make it out of the room and down the stairs without waking Melanie or any of the other girls sleeping in Nellie's room, but part of him was on guard against any further mischief - if that word was sufficient for the challenge he had just faced. That was why he was almost surprised to make it to his destination unaccosted, and why the feeling of 'too, too quiet' persisted even as he did.

Only when the door closed behind him did he allow himself a sigh of relief, looking around the room that was faintly lit by a dim rock-salt lamp atop a nightstand. The massive floor-level bed spread out before him was empty - no maidens going undercover as huggable pillows this time. Instead, the broad spread of the bed typically shared by Jason and Marley Yates was immaculately made, complete with a dark plush comforter and a wealth of pillows both decorative and functional. Marley was decidedly particular about keeping their home clean, and she frequently washed and changed all of the bedding - Ethan would bet that these sheets were fresh for their return from their business excursion. He also knew that neither of his parents minded if he or Nellie dozed on their larger bed, since both kids had occasionally taken naps in there during the summer when they were younger. This bed would be almost as comfortable as his own, since they had much nicer sheets and plenty of good pillows - and the odds of him being discovered by the girls was much lower, so he could rest easily.

His eyes wandered over his parents' bedroom briefly, noting that little had changed in his absence. Jason kept his side of the room nearly as spartan as Ethan did, keeping his clothes in a smaller dresser to allow Marley free rein of the walk-in closet attached to the room. On the other side of the room was the door to a sprawling bathroom with an expansive standing shower; like much of the house that had been originally built by his grandfather, that room had been refinished after Jason had married Marley, and his access to his construction company had meant he had been able to make this part of the house especially lavish. An oversized mirror took up much of one wall, beside the hat stand festooned with Marley's collection of wide-brimmed sunhats, and while much of the dark wood paneling along the walls was bare, a few pictures of the pair together - or with his mother - stood out prominently. Ethan had always appreciated that Marley had never seemed to mind his mom's lingering presence in their home; much to the opposite, she insisted on it, even down to the picture on her own nightstand.

Bending down to lift the covers, Ethan let himself kneel forward onto the dense mattress, much firmer than his own. Even on his dad's side, the distinctive bouquet of Marley's equine hair - which smelled much like Nellie's, and a scent that he had always found soothing - melded with the lightness of the floral detergent and seeped into pillows and sheets. He slipped into the bed and scooted towards the middle, groaning as his spine resisted the pressure of the padding underneath and searching for a pillow close enough to his own tastes to rest his head on. Still, even this felt relaxing and familiar enough that he had barely settled in when his eyelids began to be dragged lower, regardless of his intentions, and the darkness in the room tensed to pounce on his wakefulness with fatal intent.

And the door to the living room shot open, and an instant later Ethan's eyes did the same.

Gripped by a thoughtless alarm, Ethan watched the tall, shadowy form slide through the room with feline grace, following the same path he had taken towards the side of the bed. His eyes grew as he noticed the shadows of the massive claws spreading wide as the shadow knelt at that edge, plucking the covers and pulling them back. With the bed thus exposed, the intruder crawled closer to Ethan, looming over him in the dull flame-hued light, those claws wide once more as they reached out for his heart.

"Wakey wakey, Ethan," purred the monster over the bed with a jovial, toothy grin, as her clawed hand rubbed teasingly at his chest, her amber eyes twinkling under the spiraled curve of her horns. She leaned in closer, eclipsing the light of the salt lamp as she became the only heavenly body in his skies, his attention captured by the gravity of her generously-curving form, covered only by a sports bra and diminutive shorts. His heart drummed a frantic prayer as she descended towards him, and her scent - her warmth - her touch - burned wonderfully at his skin. Anne didn't stop until those jagged teeth were just beside his ear, and the gust of the bogey's whisper sent goosebumps rippling across his skin. "Hey, let's play."

"Man, that game sucked," groused Ritchie McConnell, chucking his Coke bottle in the vague direction of the wide-bellied trash can rusting alongside the plastic stands that flanked Shallow Creek High's soccer field. Beside him, some other members of the school's football team chucked their nacho trays or emptied cans into the long-neglected receptacle, some of the boys chatting amongst themselves while more sycophantic clingers-on stayed close by Ritchie's side. Even though he was only a sophomore, many had recognized power in the making and threw their lots in with Ritchie, a wealthy, skilled athlete with a calculating grasp of social politics.

At the back of the pack, Ethan threw away his own empty bottle, then stooped to pick up Ritchie's errantly-aimed one, depositing it into the can and taking his time in following the procession. He had less interest in following at the heels of this heir apparent to the throne, especially since the younger McConnell brother was hardly a diluted shadow of the elder. Weston McConnell hadn't been able to attend this particular outing with the rest of the team, despite their attendance being mostly due to a request from their coach - Coach Bell was friends (or, according to rumor, more than friends) with the girls' soccer coach, and he had less-than-subtly nudged his players to bolster the population of the stands at some of the home games. In this county, soccer never drew the crowds of football or basketball, but the stands were far from empty, crowded with parents and siblings and boyfriends. The football team had still made their presence known, cheering raucously for each of the points their team had scored. Tragically, the game had ended in favor of the other team by a single goal. That was the source of Ritchie's disdain - that, and his general distaste for any event that didn't offer him a chance to steal the spotlight.

Quickly souring on the notion of listening to more of the entitled princeling's opinions on soccer's comparative failings, and noticing how few of his closer friends were tagging along with the entourage, Ethan quietly let himself drift away from the group. He hesitated, knowing that he would have to eventually follow in their footsteps to reach his car, but to do so now would be to get wrapped up in the inevitable group dinner at the local pizza place or Chinese restaurant. Normally, Ethan wouldn't mind that invitation - but now, the thought of it turned his mood sour.

Part of Ethan's discontent with his group had to do with Weston's absence, which was becoming more and more routine. Over the past few years, Weston had become Ethan's closest friend among the other athletes - although even they weren't terribly close, to be honest, compared to, say, Nellie and Candy - and that made it all the more irritating to hear Ritchie's loudly-expressed opinions of Weston's recent life decisions, like the one that kept him busy so often: his budding relationship with a candlegeist who had helped him when he got lost in a nearby abandoned mine. Apparently Ritchie's low opinion of the "waxy-faced bitch" was shared by Mr. McConnell, who had accused the girl of being after the family's money, and this conflict had led to Weston spending more and more time away from his family… and everyone else. Away from school, for that matter; it was becoming a controversy, and rumors were spreading that Weston risked being reported for truancy, which was shocking considering he had been assumed to be one of the few in the running for valedictorian.

His head heavy with concern for his friend, Ethan let himself be swept up by the gentle current of spectators heading for the gate in the fence around the soccer field that the Shallow Creek players would be exiting from. Most of these passersby were parents or lovers heading to console one of the players on their loss or walk with them to their cars, but Ethan had no one to wait for, so he took his time. He let himself lean against the fence as he watched some of the players walking closer, their fatigue obvious despite their banter. His place along the fence meant that they walked past him, but few paid him notice, attention focused either inwards or on those who awaited them.

Except for one, who slowed as she noticed him leaning there, her curiosity piqued by his unexpected presence. Even in defeat, she wore her typical grin, but something about seeing him there spread her toothiness from cheek to cheek. "'Sup, Yates?" she offered casually, letting her pace slow as she drew closer, her duffel flung over one shoulder, her fiery-red hair darkened by the sweat that pressed it closer to her head and neck.

He turned at the sound of his name, noticing her in turn. It took him a moment to recall her identity - she was in Nellie's class, and her uniform marked her as the team's goalie, but her name… "Anne Singer, right?" He had seen her around, and knew she was one of the more athletic members of her grade, but had rarely interacted with her.

Her already-wide grin spread further. "Yup," she responded, stopping to lean against the fence from the other side, the chain-link jingling as the poles shifted in their crumbling concrete foundations. "What brings you out here?" Even as she sagged against the fence, her gaze was locked onto him in a way that felt oddly curious.

Ethan shrugged indifferently. "Our coach asked us to come watch." She nodded, unfazed by his honesty, but he continued. "It was a good game, though. Shame you all didn't win." Once more she nodded, revealing a bit more of her tiredness, and the statement hung in the air for a moment before he decided to continue. "You did really good, though." The compliment felt bland to him, but the emphatic admiration in his voice made the praise genuine. It had been well-earned: as goalie, Anne had been fearless, with her broad, claw-tipped hands catching several attempts at the goal. Others had slammed into her directly, shots that had sped over the grass like cannonballs, but Anne had been unflinching, taking the impacts head-on even when the slap of contact had echoed over the field. Several times Ethan and the other football players had winced when Anne had intercepted a shot, but the bogey played on regardless, without even a hint of discomfort.

Anne chuckled, raising one of her oversized hands. "These have to be useful for something," she offered, flexing her plush claws, her smile losing just a bit of its broadness as she considered her own hand.

"What do you mean?" Ethan asked, confused. "Man, if I had hands like that… like, it would make catching way easier, and carrying things, too! Plus, no one is going to fight someone who has hands that big, and…"

Anne stared at him, blinking, as he continued. It took a moment for her to be certain that he was being genuine about his admiration of her unusual extremities, and a moment more for her chuckling to cease. When he paused, wondering what had amused her, she could only shake her head at him. "It's nothing," she assured him, and let herself straighten. Now, she loomed over Ethan, standing at full height over his slouch. "You waiting on someone?"

"No, just… didn't want to head out just yet," Ethan replied, glancing over and up at Anne. His sheepish smile suggested that there was more to it, and Anne saw opportunity in that charming hesitation. She noticed that, unlike others of his group she had known, he hadn't immediately drawn himself up to stand as tall as he could against her own height; he didn't seem threatened by it at all, just like he hadn't recoiled from her clawed hands. "Figured I could waste a bit of time before I head home-"

"Then why don't you take a few shots?" she suggested, jerking her thumb back towards the goal.

Ethan gaped at her for a moment. "You mean… kick the ball in?"

"That's the basic idea," she said, a hint of teasing humor in her voice. "Just if you think you could manage to get one by me, that is."

Ethan laughed at her obvious goading. "I'm not sure - I'm used to running with a ball in my arms, not kicking it."

"Oh, it's easy - you just hit it with your foot!"

"Oh, easy, huh? Says the goalie."

"Hey, I still have to kick it!" By now, without ever realizing that he had decided to, Ethan had allowed Anne to lead him to the opening in the fence and onto the field. She waved to one of the coach's assistants for a ball, and she sent it sailing Anne's way, the slow arc interrupted by one snatching claw. Soon enough, Ethan was lined up before the goal, Anne standing in her wide stance, eyes sparkling as she watched him set up for his kick. It, of course, veered off to the side - but the next one made it toward the goal, at least, if only to be easily grabbed by the bogey. The next several shared that fate, though he did eventually make one in - though she would claim, from then on, it had been a matter of generous mercy on her behalf.

The dark had settled snugly on the field when they finally exited, still talking and laughing as they walked to the parking lot under the buzzing outdoor lights. Ethan offered her a ride to grab food instead of her having to wait for her dad to pick her up, since the friend she had intended to ride with had long ago departed. As they drove, the conversation flowed so easily that it felt as if they had known each other for years, though they both still had plenty of stories to share as they sat down with their food. By the time that he dropped her off at her driveway an hour later, waving at her dad who stood watching from the porch with crossed arms and a dangerous smile, Ethan found that he didn't want to see her go - she had been infinitely better company than the crew he had nearly gone to eat with earlier, and he found that he relaxed around her in a way that he rarely did with other people, save Nellie, although he caught glimpses of a competitive spirit in the bogey that felt deeply familiar. That was why - when Anne started to close the car door but paused, leaning back in with a smaller, uncharacteristically-shy smile to say, "Hey, we should do this again sometime soon!" and staring at him with held breath - he had offered her a grin broad enough to match her biggest smile.

"That sounds great to me."

And he had driven away, heart hammering at his chest, while she had watched his tail-lights recede in the darkness, waiting until he rounded the hillside to jump up and pump her fist in the air, cheering loud enough to start the dogs in her yard barking in sympathetic eagerness.

Ethan's throat was tight as he stared up at the grinning shadow of the bogey looming over him. She swayed side to side slowly, like a tiger that has its prey trapped between its paws, eager to prolong the play as long as she can. The gleam of her teeth, the shadows on her skin, and the reddish-orange hue of her hair deepened that illusion, until Ethan felt a primal fear swelling within himself, a feeling that he had been hunted and pounced upon, and now all that remained was to be devoured.

Ethan managed to croak out a couple of words to forestall her feast. "Play what?" he asked, and he watched as she blinked, that lustful gleam flickering in her eyes as she considered his words. Her head tilted to the side as she weighed the question seriously, and, still frowning in thought, she reached out to pull his nearest arm out horizontally, and then plopped down beside him, using that bicep as her pillow.

"Hmm… good question. How about… Thumb War?" she grinned at him, and displayed one of her oversized hands, the long thumb claw arched as he chuckled and gave her a mock-frown, shaking his head. The crisis was over - his old friend was back, and the prowling tiger was gone - or at least disappeared into the shadows, still circling and waiting for a chance to pounce again.

"I take it you couldn't sleep with the others?" he asked, tipping his chin in the direction of Nellie's distant room.

"Nope, they conked out before I was ready to hit the hay, so I got bored. Plus, Candy snores - bad. Like,'"Hooonk-shuwuwu.'" The bogey crossed her eyes as she blew out her cheeks, and Ethan laughed loudly at the slanderous impersonation.

"I've heard her before. She's done it for years," he admitted, agreeing slightly. Seeing Anne arch her eyebrow at him with a teasing grin, he quickly continued. "She's stayed here over a lot during the summers since she and Nellie met at camp."

"Lucky her," Anne said, and, his cheeks heating as he sensed the tiger prowling nearer, Ethan looked away as the bogey snuggled in closer to him, draping her arm over his chest, and then throwing her leg over his. "I could get used to sleeping like this."

"Well, I mean, the bed is technically dad and Marley's…" Ethan's words drifted off as he saw Anne's smirk, and his blush blazed even more as he accepted that the bed wasn't what she had been talking about. A silence fell over them, and despite his better judgment, Ethan let his arm circle more tightly around Anne, pulling her flush against his side. She snuggled down a bit so her head could rest on his shoulder, and for moments the only sound in the room was their breathing, soft and quiet except to each other, where even that faint susurrus bore the tension of what could come to be.

When Anne shifted, her leg and arm tightening, her face nuzzling slightly against his neck as she sighed, Ethan stared wide-eyed up at the ceiling. He had to say something, because he could feel the danger closing in on him once more. His overtaxed brain, however, stubbornly refused to produce anything of worth. When he felt her hand begin to rub his chest with a certain subtle insistence, though, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "So, ah… how're your parents doing?"

Anne paused, then relaxed once more. "They're fine," she replied offhandedly. "Dad still asks about you every now and then. He misses having you drop by."

"Really? I didn't think he liked it when we dated…"

"What gave you that idea?"

"Just a feeling…"

"She'll be ready in just a minute, honey, don't you worry," Mrs. Singer smiled indulgently at Ethan, who stood awkwardly in the living room of the Singer's home, uneasy in his suit jacket and clutching to the plastic box containing a rose corsage as if it were a lifeline.

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied, nodding to her, and, with eyes sparkling as she looked him over once more, Mrs. Singer hurried up the stairs towards her daughter's room, rushing to finish Anne's final preparations for the dance. Ethan had arrived just a little early, as Marley had encouraged, but his dad had warned him to be ready to wait for a bit, and it didn't really matter to Ethan if they got to the restaurant a little late - the other couple they would be eating with would inevitably be much later than them anyways.

However, that time he would spend waiting, it seemed, would be in the presence of Mr. Singer. The man had waved genially to Ethan when he had entered the home, and still sat on the couch sipping from the tall beer can that rested on the side table. Despite his relaxed posture, however, Ethan felt that Anne's dad was surveilling him with the intensity of a sniper, even if he was watching the television every time Ethan glanced in that direction. It didn't help that James Singer had had, in the words of Ethan's dad, 'a rough past, before he settled down,' and the man wore it across his body. His bulky arms, where they showed from the cut-off sleeves of his work-battered button-up, were decorated in swathes of grim tattoos, and James Singer's nose rested at an angle that suggested it had been broken a time or two. When he had smiled in greeting, the teeth revealed in the gap between his red mustache and beard had been an incomplete set, and Ethan felt pretty sure the missing examples had been removed via fist. There was an air about the man of an implied threat gilded by a charming smile and just enough ambiguity.

"So, Ethan," Mr. Singer said from his position on the couch, just a bit too loudly, "looks like the ladies might take a few minutes. How about you and me take a little tour, eh? I could show you my gun collection." Again, that over-friendly smile emerged as the man began to rise from the seat with tectonic gravity, and even though he was slightly shorter than Ethan he still managed to loom.

"Oh," Ethan said, blinking, and then nodding. "Sure. I'm not much of a hunter myself, but I'd be glad to see them."

There was a frozen moment as Mr. Singer locked in place. One bushy eyebrow arched as he inspected Ethan sharply, searching with bloodhound eagerness for the slightest betrayal of sarcasm or duplicity. When he found none - nothing but genuine good-naturedness - in Ethan's guileless expression, Mr. Singer laughed in a shattering eruption, volcanically deep and unrestrained. He tottered forward a step, clapping his hand on Ethan's shoulder, and the football player staggered a bit under its weight and grip. "I like you, boy," Mr. Singer declared, the praise honest and yet still somehow terrifying. "You'll be a right gentleman with my daughter tonight, eh?"

Ethan's face fell, and he nodded hurriedly. "O-of course, sir," he rushed to assure Anne's father, paling at the implication. "I'll have her home by curfew, and-"

"I trust you will," Mr. Singer proclaimed, and he meant it. Before he could say anything further, a voice from the top of the stairs nearby drew tight his leash.

"Dad," Anne cried, frowning down at her father and the hand resting on Ethan's shoulder. "You had better not be bothering Ethan."

"Of course not, pumpkin." The brutal-faced man winked up at Ethan, who offered a weak smile in coerced confirmation. "Just getting to know each other." Mr. Singer glanced at Ethan once more, but when he saw the look on the distracted younger man's face, his own sharp expression softened.

Anne descended the stairs, and she glimmered like an emerald as she came. Her form-caressing dress featured slim black threadwork swirls throughout the brilliant green sequins, and the heels she carried were in a similar color. Her crimson hair had been arranged in a high bun encircled by braids, and her lipstick was a brilliant red to match. Ethan stared up at her with slack-jawed wonder, as if the green flares of her dress were drawing him in like a moth, and only when she stopped in front of him, blushing and looking to the side, did he remember to thrust the corsage towards her. "Here, let me help you…"

"Thank you," she said, and with a mixture of relief and awkward grace she offered him her wrist as he fumbled with the plastic container. To any other observer, her own discomfort would be clear - she was far more comfortable in a jersey than in this slinky gown - but Ethan was captivated, and nearby James Singer watched with a mollified contentment as his daughter admired her corsage with uncharacteristic demureness.

Minutes later, when the two teens had made it to Ethan's vehicle and Anne waved goodbye to her parents, James rested his arm around his wife's waist and watched them drive away until the taillights rounded the hillside. "I think he's a good sort," James admitted, and his wife looked down at him with suspicious mirth. She knew just how little her husband tended to trust other men. "He's just what she needs."

"Good," his wife opined, glancing in the direction they had gone. "Because he's terribly cute, has a nice ass, and she's already head over heels for him." When James gaped at her, scandalized, she offered him a toothy grin. "Only the best for our little girl, right?" She laughed as her husband turned a mock glower in the direction the car had gone, and together they walked back into their home to enjoy their evening together.

"Well, he thinks the world of you now," Anne reassured Ethan, leaning up to look at his face. "He watched some of your games - they stream them online, and we caught a few of them."

Ethan blinked, smiling despite himself. "Wow," he replied, not certain of what else to say.

"It'll be easier next year, if I get a scholarship there," Anne said, her gaze wandering down as her hand began to casually roam over Ethan's chest once more - an intimate gesture that didn't feel wrong, but worryingly, perhaps 'too' right. "It'll be easier for us both to catch each other's games then."

"And I'll try to be better about coming to some of your spring ones this year," he told her, guilt dogging his words, until he blinked. "You've picked my school?" he asked, a little surprised.

"If I get a scholarship, yeah, that's the one I've aimed for," she admitted, her amber eyes flicking to him under the cover of her brows to read his reaction. "I mean… I think we all did."

"Really?" Ethan was surprised - but not at all displeased - by this thought. He could show them around, give them the secrets and lessons that he wished someone had shared with him his first year, help them get around and… He swallowed, a dull suspicion gnawing at his stomach. Were they doing it so they could all stick together, or…?

Anne nodded, her claw drawing curlicues on his sternum through his shirt. "Yeah. I'm sure Mel is a shoe-in, and even Nellie has been working hard to get her grades high enough. And Candy won't stop talking about their cheer program."

Ethan laughed at that, but he could picture it quite well. Even though Candy and Anne were nearly as much opposites as Mel and Anne were, the cheerleader weresheep and the bogey goalie were actually close friends. Their contrasts served them well: Candy had a political acumen and protectiveness that kept her friends clear of gossip, and Anne kept Candy grounded and humble while also, through sheer size, discouraging any who might try to gang up on one of the school's social icons. Anne was her father's daughter, to be sure - Ethan had seen her temper during bad arguments with players from other teams, and he knew that Anne could take care of herself if anything went wrong. Candy was a good control on that, though - she, like Ethan, was one of the few who could bring Anne's heat down with just a few words.

For a second, Ethan wondered at the two girls' friendship - but he paused, remembering that he had been there when it had started. It had, in a way, been because of him… him, and the worst person he knew.

The gym had been transformed into a night sky, festooned with twinkling yellow and white lights like stars amid seas of black cloth. Lunch tables had been dragged out and decorated with artificial candles and silvery streamers and webs of tiny bulbs that shimmered in sporadic patterns. The DJ, a recent graduate with ample ambition and a decent audio set-up that he was willing to let the school use for nearly free, stood among spotlights that struck sparks off the gowns of the swaying girls, casting deep shadows where boys stood in grudging clusters, more accustomed to the company of their peers, until their dates found them and dragged them off for slow songs. The music was loud to make up for the gym's lousy acoustics, which meant conversations were difficult at best; considering the school's hellhound secretary had helped to set up the dance's decorations, this was likely intentional in an attempt to encourage more dancing from the awkward teens, but some merely shouted over the outdated tunes in callous disregard of such aims.

"It's just as lame as I expected," shouted one such voice, its owner leaning back in the folding chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Ritchie McConnell rolled his eyes at the girls dancing with greater enthusiasm than skill in the cleared center of the court-turned-dance floor. He lifted a cup of punch to his lips, and then lowered it with a scowl, setting it aside with obvious distaste.

"Oh, be quiet," scolded Candy Coburg, frowning at her date from her own seat. The weresheep offered an apologetic smile to the other two at their table, and Anne and Ethan nodded to her. "Just give it a chance."

"Like hell," Ritchie snapped back, glancing to Ethan for support, and frowning as he noticed that the other boy had his attention instead on his date. Anne's discomfort had been more and more obvious since they had arrived at the Winter Formal, and Ethan winced that he hadn't known that this was her first school dance. He had gone to one in middle school, though with Nellie as his 'date,' so this was no great shock for him, but Anne seemed much less sure of herself.

Ethan wasn't the only one to sense her distress. "Hey, come out and dance," Candy encouraged her, and Ethan glanced over at the weresheep. Candy had dressed for the theme, her abbreviated gown flowing like molten gold over the skin it concealed and her nails done in elaborate metallic patterns that matched the thin streamers woven into her hair and wool. This was her realm, and when Anne hesitated, looking out to the dance floor in a panic, Candy leaned closer to her, her smile reassuring. "I'll show you what to do," she said, just loud enough that Ethan barely heard from his place at Anne's side, "and it'll be easy after that." Anne still hesitated, staring into the weresheep's blue eyes, but after a moment she took Candy's proffered hand with a leap of faith. When she stood, looming over the shorter girl, Candy clutched to her claw with a brilliant smile, pulling her gently towards the open floor. "You'll be fine."

Anne cast a glance back to Ethan, and he nodded to her, encouraging her on. He watched as the girls made their way into the swaying scrum, able to catch glimpses of the two through the silhouettes of other dancers - Candy swaying with natural grace, Anne trying to mimic her with halting starts and careful observation. He could see Candy shouting encouragement to her, and could see Anne taking the advice, closing her eyes and beginning to move on her own - not as elegantly, but with growing confidence. A smile crept onto his face, and he began to look forward to the next slow song, though he knew she would be just as terrified then, too.

"Man… Singer? Really?" Cold trickled into Ethan's gut, and he glanced over to see Ritchie staring at him with his usual half-smile. "I mean, I guess I get it. She's got a big rack - she's just big, period." Ethan kept his face composed as the younger man shrugged. "But I don't know about going out with someone who looks like she's supposed to be dragging you under a bed, not having fun on top of one."

Anger was not a friend of Ethan's. He kept his buried - not leashed, but chained, jacketed - but he could feel his eyes narrow at the other. "It's not like that," he said, and the music hid the growl in his words as the first links in the chain began to shiver.

"Yeah, I get that," Ritchie replied, satisfied with the conclusions he drew from the vague reply. "Same with me and Coburg." He gestured towards the gold-draped figure on the floor, his eyes roaming the pale skin despite the distraction of the shine. "She's fun to have around, but I'm not taking her home to pops. I'm sticking to human girls for anything real." He leaned closer to Ethan, his next words as conspiratorial as a quieter shout could be. "Since Ritchie got caught fondling the flashlight, looks like I'm on the top of the will, you know? Old man wants an heir, a grandson - bet your dad's the same way. And that means none of…" He waved a vague hand in the direction of the girls on the floor.

The chains rattled again as Ethan considered Ritchie's words. The younger McConnell had dated Candy off and on throughout school. It had made a certain sort of sense: they both came from two of the wealthiest families in the area, and moved in similar circles thanks to their parents. Ritchie was handsome, like a curly-haired Greek statue, complete with the same level of empathy. But Ethan had also heard Candy rant about Ritchie to Nellie on many occasions, and he knew from those overheard conversations that the two had never even held hands; their relationship was all but a political dalliance, an expectation that had taken on a life of its own. But, to know that Ritchie saw Candy that way… In Ethan's mind, metal squealed in despairing protest, but held - for now.

"You gotta be careful," Ritchie continued, glad to have a sympathetic audience. "These nonhumans, they get you. Better to keep them as…" He glanced to the weresheep again, and laughed at his own joke before he offered it to anyone else. "Arm-candy." Still snorting, he shook his head. "You go just a little too far, just a little bit inside, and they lock on. And then you're stuck; ask Weston."

Ethan had heard that much - that Weston had been kicked out of the house when his dad had seen him kissing his candlegeist girlfriend, a girl that lived alone in a rundown house deep in one of the hollows at the edges of their community. When Weston had stood up for their relationship, his father had all but written him off - something that had angered much of Ethan's friends, who had offered all the help they could to Weston. To hear his fate being discussed so flippantly made Ethan's hands curl, but…

"Imagine it, man… you get a little frisky, and then, boom. Forever." Ritchie laughed out loud at the absurdity of it, and Ethan sat in silence as venomous doubt began to seep through his veins. He glanced over at the dance floor, where Anne and Candy were dancing, the bogey's hips swaying in time with the music as she raised her hands over her head. For a moment, their eyes met across the dance floor, and hope swelled in Ethan's heart even as the poison continued to spread. Beside him, Ritchie lifted his punch cup once more, smirking into the darkness. "Couldn't be me."

Ethan smiled despite the ghost of a growing pain, swept up by the music and blinded by the emerald gleam of Anne's beauty, unaware of the tragedy that had just been sown.

"You know… we could find some game to play, I'm sure," Anne suggested, staring at Ethan as she pushed herself up onto her arm, and he saw the tiger stalking forward in her eyes. She leaned over him, and despite his iron will, his eyes fell onto dangerous territory, the curve of her chest, firmly hugged by her sports bra. He knew she saw - the tiger purred hungrily - and she started to climb atop him, her leg sliding over his lap until she sat astride him. "Hey, I know," she said, offhandedly and casual, though her tongue wet her lips. "We could always wrestle… see who can pin who…"

He was in the range of the claws now, as she rested atop him, and even as his body began to surrender to its fate, his mind faced those gleaming eyes head on. It would be a Herculean effort, but…

"Shouldn't we stretch before we exercise like that?"

The absurdity of the suggestion made her blink. The two of them, deep down, were children of the same innocence, and so she took his notion seriously, trapped by her own good-naturedness. "Pshhh," she scoffed, pouting as she looked away. "Ever since I lost my stretching partner and masseuse, I've practically given up on keeping my muscles happy." She lightly cuffed his chest with her hand, and he laughed, the levity bleeding some of the tension out of the air - though she was still straddling him, and his lower self was decidedly conscious of that.

"Well, hey, maybe I can help with some of that, since I'm here," he suggested, shrugging - hoping she didn't notice any changes in her seating. He had to find a quick solution to this situation before it escalated, and his mind and lower half were racing to see who could rise to the occasion first. "Your muscles have to be wound as tight as springs."

"Oh, I'm feeling tight," Anne replied toothily, leaning in closer, and his blood struggled to decide whether to head for his cheeks or somewhere further south. "And you are to blame…"

Swallowing, Ethan smiled at her even as he noticed how quick and heavy her breaths were coming. "Well, then, stretch out, and let me make up for lost time."

Ethan knew how closely he walked to a dangerous line, in more ways than one. He had been here before, and it had led to a moment that haunted him still, had left a hole in his heart. And at that same moment, he had nearly crossed the line that Anne was dragging him towards right now. But, he also knew Anne well enough to know that this might just work…

Indeed, a war was taking place on her face. Her lust roared in its eagerness to taste him, and she was so very close - she had not, as Ethan hoped, overlooked the hardness she rested upon. At the same time, he was tempting her with memories that she treasured: in the months leading up to the Winter Formal, and for a short time after, Ethan had indeed taken on the role of her masseuse, helping her to relax after practices by rubbing the tension out of her sore muscles. He was no paid expert, of course; his lessons had come from an assistant coach who had once been an athletic trainer for a local college, and Anne was the only one he routinely practiced his art on, aside from his own clenching calves after running drills for his coach. And so he had lavished that attention on her, never minding that she was sweaty from practice or that he was tired too, kneading and pressing her seizing muscles into purring relaxation. To have that again was something she had dreamed of…

With a shrug, she shifted off of Ethan, stretching out beside him with feline grace, her body arcing upwards as she lay down upon her toned, flat stomach and considerably-less-flat chest. That kept Ethan facing a slight incline as he rolled over, taking his place atop her in turn - fighting not to notice the way she wiggled her butt underneath him with a devious glance backwards. Thankfully the angle hid from sight things she would have wanted to see, and instead Ethan leaned in to place his hands on either side of her spine, ready to begin work in earnest.

"Mmm, wait one second," she purred, and he heard the tiger in her voice. "Since we're alone this time…" He watched as she leaned up, claws curling under the edge of her sports bra, and then stopped watching until she sent the garment whirling past his head towards the foot of the bed. "Much better," she exhaled, settling back down on the bed.

Swallowing, Ethan turned back to his work, now upon her totally-bare back. He quickly discovered that this did, however, make his task decidedly easier. Now, his hands passed without interruption up the arch of her spine, gradually spreading tension up and out from her core. He could even lean into his work, shifting from the balls of his thumbs to the heels of his palms, pressing deep and hard as Anne's quiet murmurs of approval gradually relaxed into unabashed grunts, and then into shameless moans of relief and wincing gasps as he searched out the knots of tension.

It was easy - had always been easy - to lose himself in this repetitive motion, absorb his mind in the feel of her skin, the secrets of the muscle underneath. As a bogey, Anne was a special case: her skin was interrupted with stitchlines between each patch of skin, which meant he had to be careful that it was tension he was feeling and not just the uneven texture of her skin. Thankfully, the muscle underneath wasn't piecemeal like the skin above. Also, Anne always encouraged him to press harder, until he felt like he must be crushing her, but he knew that her race tended to be a bit more cushioned against such pressure.

And so he sank into the motion, his body rocking back and forth as he worked on her, punctuated by her sighs and gasps as she bit down on her lower lip. She guided his efforts, encouraging him to go harder, rewarding him with guttural moans when he found the right place and pressed it relentlessly. She shifted under him, looking back with flushed cheeks and panting breaths as he rode and rolled atop her, his shoulders and arms holding him to and away from her. He could feel her tensing and relaxing, her muscles caressed into satisfied submission by his focused efforts. Her voice echoed through the room, building in a rhythmic relaxation of restrain, until she was all but shouting in pleasure-

Ethan froze in place, and glanced down. 'Oh. Damn. This is not having the effect I intended.'

Anne glanced back at him, and the tiger burned bright in her flushed cheeks, her pleasure-drunk gaze, the teeth biting down on her lower lip. "Once you're done there… you can get started on the front, eh?"

Ethan bit his lip as the image seared itself into his mind before he could save himself. Just a word, and she would roll over, and then…

Then…

Then he would be back in that darkened dugout, where it had all gone wrong.

"God, the woman is a tyrant. 'Run another pole! That's five missed swings, run five poles!'" Anne collapsed nervelessly atop the bench, panting for breath. She let her bag slip to the dirt, flexing her claws in a dismissive wave - picking it up would be a problem for later. For now, she hurt.

"Coach Bell was like that at first," Ethan told her, standing a short distance away. They were alone in the dugout, since the coaches and all the other softball players had already gone home. With Anne's dad busy, Ethan had offered to pick her up from practice and run her home, but he had ended up having to pick up medicine from the pharmacy for Nellie's cold and gotten stuck in line waiting, so he had been late in arriving to get Anne. She had already showered and changed before he had gotten there, and now she was dressed in a cut-off shirt and abbreviated shorts. It was a common outfit on her for times like this, but it always drew his attention more than he wanted to let show; Anne's height only emphasized how much of her there was to cover, and how little cloth there was to accomplish the deed. "He ran us nearly to death, but he relaxed after a while…"
Anne offered him a narrowed-eye glare from her sprawling recline. "She'll have to relax, because I'll be dead." Ethan allowed himself to chuckle as he took a seat near her on the bench, amused by her melodramatic exaggeration. "This is why I wanted to be a goalie! Less running!" she wailed, and when he gently tugged at her arm, she let it flop back down to the bench, refusing to muster the strength to stand from where she had fallen.

"Well, you're playing catcher, so does that have the same kind of-?" He paused, noticing the wince that had gripped her face as she had started to straighten one of her legs. "Cramp?"

"Yeah," she hissed through her sharp teeth, gingerly trying to move the muscle. "Not a charley horse or anything, but…" She dug into her bag and dragged out her oversized water bottle, taking a long draught as she reached down to rub at the protesting calf.

"You want me to do that?" Ethan offered sympathetically.

"Would you?" Anne asked, her eyes widening into doe-like silent pleas. Chuckling, Ethan nodded, standing to squat in front of her.

"Here… I'll be careful." True to his word, he began his efforts at the extremes of the clenched muscles, gradually restoring blood flow. He took his time, but it didn't take long for Anne to visibly relax, offering him half-words and grunts to guide his fingers. Once it was done, the bogey stretched the muscle tentatively, and without prompting he turned to begin the same process on the other leg. This process was quicker, but he was no less thorough, smiling at her appreciative coos as he ran his thumbs along the line of the muscle fibers, learning the different patches of her skin as he worked - this one was the darkest on the leg he could see, but this one was so pale it almost glowed under the lights of the softball field. When he finished, rubbing along the contours just below her knee, he smiled up at her - and paused when he saw that she had taken back up her pleading stare. "What, that didn't do it?"

"My upper legs are pretty sore, too," she explained, her gaze drifting to the side - one cheek, darker-patterned than the other, blushed just the same degree darker than its partner. "I mean, if you don't mind…"

He glanced at her long legs, his own face heating to a glow. This was… new. And exciting. He would be rubbing - well, he could start on the outsides, up to her hip, and the back, up to her… nope, still exciting. At his prompting, she rolled over onto her stomach, and he began his efforts once more - not as accustomed to the specifics, but familiar with the principals. He found he had to press harder to massage these muscles, but she rewarded him with more encouragement, and so he let himself lose himself in his work, fighting not to stare at the curve of her backside just there…

He quickly found an impediment to his work. His fingers stumbled over the boundary of her tight shorts, and his work through the denim didn't seem to be nearly as effective. It did, however, seem to hasten her breathing, and her eyes kept flicking to him as he kneaded at her leg, and her groans didn't seem to be entirely born from the aching release of muscle tension. That was having an effect on him, too, but he could hide it for now, he believed. Still, he offered an apology as he noticed she rarely made any sounds whenever he tried working her muscle through the shorts, and she looked back at him with trembling intensity.

"H-hey," she started, with an uncharacteristic nervousness. She sat up, pulling her legs around, and he frowned, only half done with his efforts. If he didn't finish, her other leg would be way more likely to cramp. Still, he could see her gleaming teeth biting at her lower lip, and her eyes wandered all over the empty field. "We're… alone here, right?" They were - the coach had trusted that Anne's ride would be there soon, and had trusted her to remain behind as the last to leave. When Ethan nodded, she smiled, but he could see she was still nervous. "It seems like these are making this harder for you, sooo…"

It felt like every knot he had ever worked out of her muscles appeared in his throat at once, choking him as he watched with wide eyes as she stood, her fingers quickly undoing the button of her shorts, and, without bothering with the zipper, she shimmied the pants down her legs, stepping out of them hurriedly and setting them on the bench beside her as she sat once more. "I mean… if you don't mind…"

Ethan knelt now between her pale, patch-patterned legs, staring down the valley of her thighs to her pastel-hued panties, which seemed a bit damp for reasons he doubted had anything to do with her shower. As if feeling the caress of his eyes, she spread those legs just a bit wider, and he had to stop himself from reaching up immediately to caress the softly-curving smoothness he saw there. He tore his gaze away to look up at her face, and saw the same fear there that he felt - and the same hunger. She wanted this. He wanted this.

He was in the back half of his senior year. He had zero experience in this kind of touch, but one picks up knowledge along the way, and so he had pretty good ideas what he could do here to satisfy her - and maybe him, too. He knew where this would end - or maybe he didn't, and that was even better. She wanted - she was offering him -

Everything.

He saw her smile, and he knew that she liked what she saw in his eyes. And she wasn't wrong to. He wanted this, just as much as she did. He wanted everything. He wanted her.

'You go just a little too far, just a little bit inside, and they lock on. And then you're stuck.'

Like something decaying trapped at the bottom of a lake, the words bubbled up unbidden from Ethan's memory: Ritchie's disgusting rant at the Winter Formal a couple of weeks ago. But, he argued with himself, that was fine - Anne was more than he could ask for. He wouldn't mind being stuck with her forever. He would love that.

But what would she be stuck with…?

His heart froze in his chest, and he felt the blood pounding in his skull. In just half a year, he would be gone, and she would have to wait for… what? Someone who was supposed to inherit a business he would never be great at, someone set up to fail when he couldn't cut it. When he came back with his tail between his legs, what would she be chained to? When he was a washed out college football second-stringer, or a incompetent manager running his dad's construction company into the ground - a coward who wouldn't even stand up for the girl he cared for - what would she have but a curse on her future?

And the worst thing of all… even as he accepted how great of a failure he might be, how much taking her now would damn her for the rest of her life - he still wanted desperately to do it, to claim her, to clutch to her like a life preserver. It still wasn't even enough to quell his lust for her, even if possessing her would rob her of what she deserved.

And that selfishness made him sick, physically sick.

Watching her face fall into concern and disappointment, and then embarrassed self-horror, Ethan saw the future, and with a moisture in his eyes that only made him hate himself even more, he shook his head. A single gesture, but it signified what he was best at.

Running away.

He remembered that feeling, even a year later. It hadn't faded a bit - was still as fresh and corrosive as it had been in that dugout. If anything, it had only grown, festering every time he had come up with an excuse not to hang out or go out to eat with her, to make her rely more on her dad to pick her up, to be anywhere else than with her. To hurt her by hurting himself, by staying away. It had become a self-fulfilling prophecy, until he had broken things off, had walked away as she had begged him to explain. She had asked what she had done wrong! Had apologized! Her!

"Ethan?" Anne asked, underneath him, and he forced himself to resume massaging her back, hiding the pain etched across his face. Nothing had changed. They were back here because he had run away - and that was all he would do now. Hating it didn't mean he could do anything different. He was powerless. He had hoped she would find someone worthy while he was away - and now she was going to follow him to his university. He couldn't…

His jaw clenched, and with a desiccated smile, he set his course. He could worry about that later. For now, he had to avoid hurting her. He couldn't let himself do what he had wanted. What he - damn himself! - still wanted. He had to escape this room, but maybe - just maybe - he had gotten better at escaping, thanks to all the practice he had in running away. It had worked on Melanie, after all. And he knew what would work on Anne - had discovered it accidentally a few times before. It was… what was right. For her.

"Alright, changing pace a little," he said, and she cast a questioning glance back in his direction. Whether she believed his false smile or not, her eyes widened as she felt him switch to smaller, slower circles, pressing harder into her. He targeted spots that had bothered her in the past, and, sure enough, she groaned in relaxation.

"Oh… that's nice…" she sighed, sinking just a bit deeper into the bed. She fought to lift her head, her eyes widening. "But you could-" Before she could offer something else, claim control of the pace once more, he targeted a different spot, and a gasp and sigh stole her words, her initiative. "That feels so good… don't stop just yet…"

He had her now, had betrayed her with a caress, and he could see the sleepiness settling onto her, choking out her plans. Still, he didn't relent, working in a slow, rocking pace that made even him feel drowsy, lost in the repetitive motions. Her head sunk onto the pillow, and her breathing evened, slowed. He saw a glint of amber as she looked back at him again before her eye drifted shut, and her smile softened away. "Ethan…" And still he carried her away to slumber, rubbed her back until he heard her snoring begin - loud, just as Melanie had claimed.

Even then, he smiled as he looked at her, happy to be touching her, to know she still wanted him. He loved her, and he accepted that. Temptation clawed at him, but his resolve was beyond that now - he had to do this, for her, and for her he could do whatever it took. Even deny her the momentary pleasure she wanted, so she could find the lasting happiness she deserved - with someone better than him.

He felt sick once more as he stood, and when he exited his parents' room, he knew he couldn't even risk a glance at the beautiful girl sleeping there, lest his determination crumble like salt. But his traitorous heart silently accused him, and chased him into the darkness of the house beyond. The door closed behind him once more, leaving Anne to sleep alone.

"Are you okay?"

As she came out of the stall within the silent girls' bathroom of the high school, the words brought Anne back to herself, and she looked up to see Candy Coburg standing in front of the mirror. The weresheep had her arms crossed over her impressive chest - even compared to Anne's own - and despite the height difference between the two the challenging tilt of Candy's stance made Anne want to step away from her cautiously. She was hardly in the mood for confrontation, however, whatever it was that had upset her friend. It had just been two days ago that Ethan had… had…

"I'm fine," Anne lied, and her reluctant sniff added a final layer of insult to the flaccid attempt at deceit. "I'm just…"

"Heart-broken? Devastated?" Anne glanced beyond Candy to see a small mousegirl standing there, leaning against one of the other walls in the bathroom. Aside from the three of them, the room was empty - it was nearing an hour after school had let out, so few people had an excuse to linger so late. Blinking away the dampness hazing her vision, Anne recognized Melanie Thomas, a girl from her grade - though not one she had ever had an excuse to socialize with. In this situation, though, the one commonality they shared was achingly obvious.

"Yeah, I guess you've been here," Anne admitted, glancing down to her feet. When she looked up to the other girl, she saw empathy in the mousegirl's eyes, all hints of hostility absent, and for the first time in days she strangely felt just a little better.

"Yeah - and Nellie helped me feel better when it first happened," Melanie explained, and Anne laughed at the absurdity of that.

"Well, Candy here has been trying to cheer me up, so I guess there's a tradition of girls who like Ethan helping the girls he dumps," Anne commented offhandedly.

Immediately, Candy erupted into splutters and vague, malformed denials. Both other girls glanced at her with raised eyebrows, and, noticing their shared reaction, for the first time shared a laugh together at Candy's expense. "J-just don't tell…!" The weresheep, indignant, redoubled her efforts, only to fall silent as the door to the bathroom swung open.

"And there's the last of us," Melanie said, with a soft smile.

The hooffalls of the nightmare rang out across the bathroom as she walked towards the trio. Anne averted her eyes, guilt tugging at her face as she did so. She had been around Nellie occasionally when she had dated Ethan, but had never felt comfortable when she was - she had known Nellie was interested in Ethan before she had decided to go after him herself, and the guilt of that choice still dogged her. That guilt had only grown when Nellie had given her help a few times to come up with other things she could talk to Ethan about beyond sports, a generosity Anne had never felt she deserved.

"Sorry I'm late," Nellie said to the other two, and, accepting their nods, focused her attention on Anne, who finally mustered the nerve to look at the other girl. There was intensity in those magenta eyes, but not anger, and after a moment Nellie offered her the faintest of smiles. "And sorry that this is finally how we actually talk to each other, without our guards up."

Anne didn't know what to say to that, but she nodded, and after a long moment she let out the breath she had been unintentionally holding. "Yeah… my bad."

"Not really." The others turned to Candy, who smiled. "You should know that Nellie chases off everyone she doesn't think is worthy of a shot with Ethan - even Patty Hall! - but not you. I think she likes you." The nightmare wrinkled her nose at the weresheep, who responded by sticking out her tongue. "And she was the one that said we should all talk to you."

"Okay…" Anne let herself meet the gaze of the hoodie-clad horsegirl, letting her fangs show in the smallest of her smiles despite the lack of confidence she felt. "But, ah, why are we meeting? And in a bathroom?"

"Cause you keep crying in here…" Candy pointed out.

"Shut it, cottontop." The two shared a grin to show the jabs lacked edges.

"And, as for why…" Nellie caught Anne's attention. "You know what we all have in common."

"I'm just here to help," offered a small, sheepish voice, and the other three rolled their eyes in unison at Candy.

"But the problem is…" Here, Nellie motioned towards Melanie, and then Anne, "even when Ethan is with someone, and genuinely cares for them…" Nellie's eyes locked on Anne's, silently reassuring her that such was the case with her, and in that pause tears of gratitude and ache rolled down the bogey's cheeks. "He runs away. And until we figure out why, I don't think any of us will get what we really want."

"Nellie said that he's been miserable for a while now. Before - and after - the breakup," Melanie told Anne, and the bogey's smile was as fragile as a fire's last dancing flame.

"It wasn't really about either of you," Nellie confirmed, her voice sure. "But I don't know what is really happening. He hurt you both, but you weren't what he was running from. And so…" She extended her hand towards the bogey, and this time her smile was open, if vulnerable.

Anne stared at that open hand for just a moment, before covering it with her own. A smile made its way among the four, growing in strength as it was shared, and they closed in tighter, Candy and Melanie adding their own hands to the pile. "Welcome to the Sweet-Dreamers' Society," Nellie said to Anne, who tilted her head in confusion.

"What is- do I get, like, a cool superhero name or something? This sounds awesome," Anne said, grinning at the others in excitement. The rest laughed openly, filling the cramped bathroom with the honest sounds of fresh friendship, and Nellie turned to lead them out and into the empty halls of the high school.

"We'll explain later," she said, her eyes glowing with promise, "but just know this: we'll be the ones to figure out Ethan's heart. If anyone is going to get it…"

"It'll be one of us," Candy finished, smiling confidently. Her expression slipped as the others glanced to her with knowing smiles, and once again laughter rang out.

Anne walked with her new friends, out of her depression and into feeling like her old self once more. They had brought her hope, and that was enough… for now. She showed her fangs in a broad grin, and stepped out into the sunlight with the others, eager to face this challenge head on.

She had finally found someone willing to accept her for what she was - a boy, willing to love her. She wouldn't let him out of her claws that easily, and if Nellie was right that it might be because something else was hurting him, well… nothing would stop her from being there for him. The game wasn't over for her just yet.

Author's Notes: A brief note, because I am wiped. I wrote the majority of this chapter over the past 24 hours, and have made three editing passes over it since. Still… I hope this chapter is enjoyable, as the story's course becomes more clear. I must admit that I had to fight myself to not title this chapter "The Nemean Tiger," but I am sticking to the organization for the chapters that I decided on long ago, when I first decided to base this story off a certain classic bit of literature. I'm surprised no one has pointed it out yet - but perhaps I made it too obvious. In any case, look forward to "A Taste of the Future" when I return with the next chapter for this work.

I apologize that this release is a couple of weeks behind my self-imposed schedule. With grades due and a Spring Break trip, writing time has been at a premium. And, tragically, the next chapter might be slightly delayed as well, albeit for a moderately happier reason: TFT is hosting another writing competition, and I have a story idea that I hope to spin into a one-shot for my submission. It is another story in this universe, starring a pair of characters introduced in this story's first chapter - I will hopefully have it done in a couple of weeks, so look forward to "A Kentucky Tea Party" once I have it done.

Changelog: I've let a few examples of 'Coburn' slip in for Candy's last name, which is 'Coburg,' after the type of sheep with golden wool. I'll fix them as I find them. I also need to tweak some of Josh Carroll's lines in chapter 1, which imply that Ethan has lower grades than he really does. I'll do a second check later, but that's all I've noticed for now.

And, once more: thank you all. For reading, for bearing with my long-windedness. For commenting, reviewing, kudos-ing or star-ing. For stepping into the world I weave - may it bring you as much joy as it does me, even despite the heartache I mix in, the touch of bitterness to make the sweetness that much more potent. More of both to come, and I hope it is to your taste; let me know, either way.

But, in order to dream, in order to write once more… I sleep.

~Wynn Pendragon