Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I.

He’s more than ready, but, somehow, Tad can’t bring himself to get up from the edge of Gord’s bed.

Looking in the mirror, he’s aware of looking his best. Hair combed in perfect waves, pastel blue shirt newly ironed, sand slacks clawed by coal suspenders, tie from the latest Aquaberry collection. He spent the last hour getting in their party attire with Gord, and, if not himself, Tad can trust him to make him look more than decent.

And yet, all he can notice are his eyes, wide and alert, a rabbit ready to go out only to jump back into his hole at the first distant threat. Despite all his sophisticated garments and the flawless preparation, he’s still a pathetic, cowardly child. To be this pathetic at eighteen years old, he should really be ashamed of himself. 

He is, in all honesty.

«Gord, I’m not so sure I want to attend the Prom.»

«Oh, dear, come on.» Gord turns to him from the chair at his vanity, legs crossed and neck rotating gracefully. Tad can’t help but muse that he really is stunning, with the way the white slacks and gilet slim his figure and the lilac shirt makes his rare purple irises shine, supported by the silver eyeshadow in the inner corner of the eyes. 

It’s hard not to be at least a bit envious, when your best friend is a god of beauty and confidence.

Although, somehow, Gord manages to always soothe all of his anxieties, mellow voice with that fake English accent that has never properly covered his French cadences. «It’s going to be alright. There will be a lot of people without a date. I don’t have a date.»

«That’s not the problem.» Tad finds himself muttering like a scared child, the tips of his shoes reflecting specks of light being the only thing he can see.

He hears the clicking of the eyeshadow case opening and closing, as Gord fidgets with it. «Then what is it?»

It comes out all wrong, he knows it as soon as his mouth forms the words. It feels stupid, paranoid even, not nearly as profound and cutting as it really is. «They will all look at me.»

«It happens when you’re that gorgeous.» Gord chuckles, tearing a small giggle from Tad too. «Maybe. Then what? No one will judge you. You’re looking absolutely delightful tonight.»

Tad dares to lift his gaze from the ground. Despite the curve of his lips, Gord’s eyes are as serious as they can be, staring right into Tad’s, to dig inside and decipher everything that hides inside them. 

But Gord still doesn’t understand, and in the back of his mind Tad fears he never will. Because no, it’s not about being judged, about the ideas popping up in the mind of whoever will lay their scrutinizing eyes on him. He already knows how they love to imagine the backstage of his plastered scenery of an appearance, how they all picture in their mind the filth inside him. His outside looks have been crafted in the details, but he was the one to build it, so it could’ve never been good enough. 

What scares him is the idea of being perceived by so many people altogether, existing in the same space as them, having to acknowledge just how unbelonging and out of place he is among all these other kids who are everything a normal kid should be. Everyone in the room will recognize him as the imposter, murmur among them how he’s neither what he pretends to be or what he’s supposed to be.

He will be a non-entity, a sketched background character among the finely planned and composed people in the painting.

It’s gut-wrenching. He just wants to walk out of here and slip between the cracks of the pavement around the fountain.

And he wants Gord to understand him and reassure him by lifting these doubts off his chest. Except that he doesn’t.

Everytime he comes across this realization, some other portion of his insides breaks on himself and weighs inside of him.

He avoids Gord’s eyes with the good old trick of staring at the bridge of his upturned nose and puts up the best smile he can. «Alright. Thank you.»

Gord gets up and boops Tad’s nose, with a gesture that never fails to make him smile. «I would kiss you, but I don’t want to ruin your hair.»

There are times when Tad remembers that Gord is actually one year younger, and, for someone who’s always been deemed so mature for his age by all the adults, it should be shameful to need to be coddled and reassured by a younger kid. But he’s always been closer to a small grownup and maladjusted as a kid, and Gord has been unapologetic about supporting him since the first day. He can pretend it’s okay.

When they get to the lounge room of the first floor, they are received by a polite and meek chattering. Justin and Chad are sitting on the armchairs, quietly conversing and nodding at each other. Despite being a senior just the same as him, Tad is struck by how mature and adult Justin looks, black satin suit and gold watch enhancing his carefully curated physique; his back is perfectly straight, sharp features molded in an amiable and courteous smile. He would fit just wonderfully among the men of their families, having polite conversation about taxes and estates and fashion with a glass of champagne. Every day that they get closer to graduation, Justin is leaving behind more and more pieces of the high school boy, coming out of his chrysalis as a grownup businessman.

All the while Tad is still crawling in his sorry body of a caterpillar. A piercing nausea grabs his stomach at the sole thought.

«Good evening, chaps!» Justin greets them with the most elegant handshake. «I see you’re ready in your best attire!»

«I could say the same about you.» Gord tilts his head, Tad standing behind him and watching, as if he’s completely removed from the scenery. As he should, he remembers; it’s to Gord that Derby had left the legacy of the Prep leader, with Justin as his second in command. He’s just another rich kid, an insignificant speck in the history of their honorable clique. 

And a defective one, moreover. There’s no value to his last name, no blue blood carefully preserved in his lineage. There is just money, a vertiginous amount of money obtained in the span of a few years and a lifetime of efforts to ape what other families have cultivated through centuries of history. 

He’s been raised a faker. Now he doesn’t even know how it is to be real.

They are already on the topic of jewelry when the sound of heels ticking on the floor interrupts them. Pinky walks into the room with her chin high, her hair brushing her bare shoulders. The coral pink dress makes her porcelain skin shine, bishop sleeves and chiffon knee-length skirt of glittery fabric shimmering under the lights of the chandeliers. She catches the eyes of everyone in the room, but her own eyes are lost somewhere behind them.

Charming smile plastered on his face, Justin meets her halfway to kiss her hand, which she limply holds out for him. «You’re enchanting, dear.» 

The smile she answers with is faint, ethereal. Almost forced out of her lips. «You’re flattering me.»

If this were one year ago, she would have giggled, enthusiastically. She looks like a princess, a shining star that everyone would bow down to; this alone would’ve been enough to make her joy glow. 

What happened during the summer, though, is a public affair, and the diamond at her left ring finger is material proof. Derby has proposed, right before leaving for Oxford, so that they are now officially engaged. 

It hadn’t really been a surprise, obviously. They had grown up with the knowledge of what was expecting them, a future already written down. This, though, had never stopped either of them from keeping distances, living a relatively normal teenage life, surrounding themselves with different people and pretending they could dream of becoming their own person.

Even Pinky, while deciding to try and date Derby from the beginning, had always been combative, never accepting his shortcomings and demanding her time and decisions were respected and met. Letting people stomp on her had never been her way to go, not even Derby or her family.

After the engagement, though, reality must’ve dawned on her, dark like the night sky after a day of warm sunlight. It didn’t matter how many people she could fall for, how many friends she could make, how many dates she could have, how many nights she could go out, how much she could dream; in the blink of an eye, she would find herself wife and mother, with the only purposes in her life raising the Harrington heirs and honoring the name of her husband. 

Since the beginning of her junior year, she had been a premature ghost, so angelic and aery that she might as well have been dead already; or, at least, had accepted that fate for herself. Her will to fight had gone, her being a princess turned into a kid’s game. Even now, being Justin’s date hadn’t been her decision in the slightest. Much simply, as Derby’s closest friend still in Bullworth, Justin had been trusted by him with taking her to Prom. Just another iteration of the same old scene. 

That must be the price to pay to be the only girl in Bullworth who literally owns a diamond mine, Tad guesses.

Chad gets up from the couch, fixing with an exaggerated gesture his bowtie. «Well, then, I guess I’m the only chap still without his beau.»

He walks to the corridor of the rooms; he comes back just a few minutes after, Bryce hooked at his elbow, their lucid gray suit shining with silver reflexes under the light. They’d never been the type for great displays of emotions, but in this moment a pink shade colors Bryce’s cheekbones and their aquiline nose. Chad’s smile goes from one ear to the other.

Justin frowns, somewhat perplexed. «So you two are actually going to go together to Prom?»

They exchange a gaze, before Chad answers, with all the simplicity one like him can be able to: «That was the idea, yes.»

«Are you worried about the clique’s reputation because I’m poor?» Bryce is quick to cut in; Tad had heard that question before they even said it, when it was still just an idea on the tip of their tongue.

It had been a cold afternoon of December, when the news had spread around the school: the Montroses were broke, and Bryce had been working to stay in school and take care of their family. Egoistically, bitterly, abashedly, Tad had been happy that it wasn’t him. That he could just look down on Bryce, join all the Preps in their higher golden place of judgment, instead of being the one to be looked down on.

He hadn’t talked to Bryce personally — God forbid he might feel anything similar to compassion towards an adversary that had finally fallen — but he did know that they had been rough days for Gord. Days of panic, of indecision, frozen in place with his back against a wall, a decision in his hands as the leader. Because, without money, Bryce couldn’t afford decent enough clothes to stay with the Preps, their family couldn’t donate a penny to the school anymore, their prestige spent away with their patrimony. But the Montroses had still been alumni of the Bulllworth Academy for generations, and one of the families that basically contributed to the birth and growth of the city itself — in ways that Tad couldn’t even dream of.

In the end, the reasonable decision had been to let Bryce stay in the House, so that they wouldn’t mix with other students in the filthy dorms, but they wouldn’t be allowed to wear the Aquaberry uniform shirt.

Gord had told Derby everything only once the case was closed, of course. Despite being one ocean away, his presence had kept lingering over them; he’d been their sun, and they didn’t need the votes they bought in scientific classes to know that the sun is destined to live for billions of years. His soul, the soul of his lineage that he carries in his superhuman body, lives in the walls of the House with the same last name as him, keeps watching over them and lingering with his light, and will as long as the Preps will exist.

Tad doesn’t have an immortal soul like that. He doubts he even has one; believes that his father has actually sold his own to get where he is, and he had forgotten giving his sons one.

Gord had kept Derby well updated about his moves, about the news, about the current state of the clique, receiving Derby’s advice and keeping his directions in mind. Almost as if he’d never left. After all, Derby had trusted Gord since his first day, and, on the other hand, Gord had adored Derby. He’d started high school in one of the darkest moments of his life, lonely and lost in an ocean he’d been hidden from his entire life, homeschooled up until that moment and with only a vague idea of how socializing worked. Derby, though, had believed in him, had immediately seen the diamond that was just waiting for his occasion to shine. He’d instructed him into the fine arts of persuasion and of authority, had gifted him all of the political abilities that he had polished his whole life. He’d turned him into the perfect heir for the throne he would have to leave. He was still a junior, but Derby hadn’t doubted once the honor Gord had in his veins.

He was still a Vendome; good blood doesn’t lie.

At the end of the day, that’s what being a Prep is about; all the money in their families’ bank account can only be valued as much as the prestige of their lineage.

In fewer words, in their eyes, Tad’s money is waste paper. His father is just parroting what other families have imprinted in the DNA, and has taught him to do as much.

He might puke at the thought.

Justin frowns. «No, no, that’s not it. I meant, do you think you’re ready to… come out, publicly?» They immediately understand the place it comes from. Nobody in this room missed Justin drunkenly crying desperately when they got the news of Ted Thompson and Damon West getting engaged, drowning in the alcohol the regret of never letting the star quarterback of the school know how much he’d loved him. 

Bryce, though, shrugs. «They know I’m destitute. Especially since we’re still in school, I don’t have much more to lose.»

«It’s all a matter of courage.» Chad pulls Bryce just a bit closer, until their hips touch, and gives them a gaze, his eyes so charged with emotion that the sole sight melts something in Tad’s chest. «And I really want to go to this Prom with Bryce.»

While Justin’s lips purse together with a sort of grief, with a moved sigh, Gord places a hand on his chest, eyes dreamy. «Oh, you sure are my chaps. I’m so proud of you.»

Tad takes a step back towards the door. One more moment in this room and his throat tells him there won’t be any more oxygen for him to breathe. «So I guess we shall get going?»

«We’re all ready, yes.» Gord walks forward, all the other behind the two of them. As they walk out through the early spring breeze, Chad asks, raising his voice over the ones of the students passing by. «How come you don’t have a date of all people, Gord?»

He doesn’t turn around, his hands joined behind his straightened back and puffed chest. «You should know, dear, I’m a free spirit. I count on meeting Medici there, though.»

«The greaseball?» Justin snickers.

Gord grins at him, chin high. «Why, yes, don’t you know he’s a great dancer?»

«And I bet that’s not the only thing he’s great at.»

At Chad’s teasing remark, Gord theatrically gasps. «My, Chad, how naughty of you. But, yes, I can’t complain about that aspect, either.»

Tad just looks and smiles at their interaction, witnessing it like he’s merely watching a TV show. He doesn’t dare slipping into the conversation; he never learnt the proper way to joke around with his peers, nobody ever told him where the line between a funny joke between intimate friends and a terribly indiscreet insult was. At some point, he’d just decided he might as well stop trying. Watching was equally entertaining, anyway, he never even feels the urge to take part.

Like rivers flowing into a lake, floods of student from every direction are converging to the door of the gym, in a carnival of shining dresses and colorful suits. Mr. Luntz sits in a chair in front of the entrance, a newspaper in his hands and his legs crossed; technically, he’s probably there to make sure that only seniors and juniors walk in, their dates being the only exceptions. However, he doesn’t seem particularly busy in his work, only lifting his eyes from the newspaper every now and then to zap random students with a gaze and muttering under his breath something intelligible — taking a guess, curses of varying kind to all the people that were bothering him with their simple existence. When they pass by, Tad could swear he’s heard something about chains and basement.

The only things the gym is recognizable by are the basketball hoops, the climbing frames at the wall and the bleachers. A banner made in plastic reflects the colors from the lights moving on the ceiling; it is a nice idea, but the neon shades it is written with make it virtually unreadable. Some students are playing on the small stage in the back of the gym, the music only a background to the laughter and the chattering of all the kids. 

They pass through the half of the gym that has been occupied by the tables, eyes glossing over the students. They are sitting in small groups, swapping now and then with someone else coming from the dance floor. Tad spots the Nerds sitting in the corner, just a bit more jovial than usual. It must have something to do with the Jocks, for once, not even looking at them. They are on the dance floor, altogether, their voices rumbling loud. 

Bryce and Chad don’t lose a second and dash to the middle of the room, despite Bryce’s attempts at declaring their inability to dance. The others, though, walk up to the long table on the side, covered in a plastic tablecloth of the most obnoxious green that could have been chosen. Behind the bowl of bright red punch, Constantinos looks less annoyed than usual, something even resembling a small smile on his lips. Tad suspects it’s about Ivan leaning with his elbow on his shoulder, occasionally murmuring into his ear and chuckling to himself.

Justin and Pinky walk into the crowd right after taking their cup of punch, her hooked at his elbow still, with the calm of two aristocrats in a populated street, soon disappearing among the students.

Tad has to put his whole mind not to scrunch up the paper cup in his fingers. At least, he has something to think about that isn’t the crushing, overwhelming atmosphere of the gym, all of these people fitting precisely into this puzzle of bodies and hearts that beat to the rhythm of the music. It’s an ocean, dominated by capricious and unpredictable waves; if he doesn’t hang on to Gord, next to him, he’s pretty sure he might drown.

He is unable to stop himself from saying, dryly: «I don’t think I should be here.»

Gord is glowing in the lights of the gym, his purple eyes reflecting every sparkle. The crowd, the fancy lightning, this is his natural habitat. He scoffs, chipper. «You’re being dramatic, sweetheart. And I know dramatic, trust me. Just loosen up. There’s people, there’s music, there are nice dresses. It’s fun.»

That’s actually very far from his idea of fun, Tad replies in his mind. Just as always, though, instead of complaining like a spoiled, insufferable little child, he bites the tip of his tongue and swallows the words with a sip of punch.

Probably noticing his uneasiness, Gord pats his shoulder, giving him the most reassuring smile he can put together. «I’ll keep you company, anyway.»

He’s just in time to finish that sentence and catch Tad’s smile of a reply that a pair of calloused hands covers his eyes from behind. «Take a guess!»

After a brief gasp, Gord squeals with enthusiasm. «Vance!» Tad doesn't need to be asked, as he takes his cup before Gord turns around to throw his arms around the neck of the redhead behind him. Vance has taken his waist in his hands, grinning at him from his dark green eyes. «Betcha couldn’t wait for me, princess.»

Gord huffs, a gentle and playful slap to his shoulder. «Oh, please. I was having a wonderful time, even without your presence.»

«I can go away, if ya want.»

«And fail your noble promise of giving me this dance?»

Gord teasingly bats his eyelashes at him; Vance takes his chin in his fingers, guiding it towards him. «Like hell I would.» 

Tad feels extremely out of place, especially at the itchy feeling that he really shouldn’t be looking at their kiss. Even though his ears are unfortunately impossible to shut down, he pretends he can leave them their space by staring at his own reflection in the red liquid in the two cups in his hands. It just stares back at him, frowning with repulsion at his presence.

Once they have separated their mouths, he faintly hears Vance suggesting: «C’mon. I requested those guys a thing just for us.»

Gord giggles, and only gives Tad a brief look. «I’ll be back in a minute!»

An egoistic little voice in Tad’s chest prays that Gord will come back soon. Out of pity, at least; he’s very well aware that the chance of a bitter boy like him being anyone’s first choice could only exist in his wildest dreams, the ones where he doesn’t put everyone else on one side of a twin-pan balance, opposed to his own best interests. But, as the only two Preps without a date, Gord had sworn to him he would’ve kept him even just a bit of company. Tad would sure appreciate it a lot if Gord honored that promise. The only thing that comes out of his mouth, though, is a low «Don’t worry.»

He should probably be disappointed that he doubts Gord even heard him, disappearing in the crowd in the span of a moment.

With a sigh to himself, he leans with his back against the wooden wall, the two cups of punch still in his hands. In five minutes, one of them has been emptied. In ten, the second is over too. In twenty minutes, he’s already made for himself an opinion of the clothes of everyone in the room. In half an hour, he’s become one with the wall, his body suddenly invisible to all the people who happen to pass by.

Gord didn’t even come back to take his cup. Either he has completely forgotten about Tad, or he doesn’t care. 

Tad shouldn’t be hurt by either of the possibilities, anyway. It was natural; he doesn’t even blame him.

He needs some air, though. Left on his own this whole time, his mind is starting to spin on itself, patterns gradually more uncanny and atrocious that are making his head dizzy and his stomach twirl.

He throws the paper cups in the nearest garbage can; Luntz is still sitting in his chair as he passes by.

He knew he should’ve stayed at the House.

II.

Peanut stomps the tip of his foot on the third cigarette butt in less than half an hour. «What the fuck are we goin’ for, anyway.»

The area of the autoshop is dark, at night, all the lights of the garage boxes shut off before eight in the evening. To the Greasers, though, it has always been somewhat comforting, reminiscing of a naturally inhospitable home that each of them had carved a space for themselves in the godforsaken neighborhood of New Coventry. The shadows of the night are a living creature, and they have learned to interpret her suffocating hold as a hug. Plus, the workshop has always been their natural habitat, the place where they would always be the most powerful, like there is a different type of oxygen designed just for them.

Tonight, though, Peanut really wishes he was anywhere but here. 

He huffs, resisting the temptation to light another cigarette. «I mean, we don’t even have dates, don’t we?»

Hal has been staring at him complaining and grunting to himself since he arrived twenty minutes ago. His face is still contracted in a frown as he replies, arms crossed on his chest: «Do we need dates to have a good time together?»

He could give a thousand answers to him, words dancing on the tip of his tongue and untold thoughts clogging up the exit of his brain; thoughts about Lola, about Johnny, about how they only bring his attention back to the void in the back of his stomach that hasn’t given him peace since he noticed it. A black hole has been growing somewhere inside his body, and the only thing he knows about it is that it has been devouring all his insides without him ever being able to locate it.

He knows better than to voice everything he ever feels, though — also because that’s a lot for a question about dates. So, all he can do now is nodding, burying his hands in the pockets of his bomber leather jacket. «Sure. You’re right ‘bout that.»

Hal doesn’t look quite convinced; he almost never is, though, so Peanut really can’t bother to try. If Lucky was here, he’d probably dig through his superficial annoyance and plug out of his chest everything that he’s ever held inside, almost forcefully, until they’d all come out as tears from his eyes.

Lucky has never been delicate. It never coupled well with how scarily good he was at picking up the slightest signals of discomfort from Peanut. 

Despite being the same age as him, Lucky had never trusted Johnny. He’d loved him as an older, distant brother, he’d cared about him, he’d considered him a good leader. But personal trust had always been out of the question, and he’d always hated how that was exactly what Peanut had given to him wholly. There hadn’t been a day where Lucky wouldn’t try to burn him with his eyes everytime Peanut sat a bit too close to Johnny, everytime he would nod with too much enthusiasm at his command, everytime he would straighten his back with pride at Johnny’s compliments.

He’d always thought Lucky just didn’t understand. That he was only able to see the surface, that he was utterly insensitive to the strings that had inextricably tied him to Johnny over the years. He’d been deeply stinged by Lucky’s gaze, by his words anytime he’d try to snap him out of what he thought was merely a daydream of a lonely child. Peanut had thought since the beginning that Lucky was the one who didn’t get it.

Lately, though?

If growing up meant challenging your certainties of a kid, he wished he could be a little child forever.

Hal, fortunately enough, is not as insistent. But heaven help him if his own mind isn’t the real parasite chewing at his insides and eating him up until he has nothing to even puke anymore.

God, he needs a cigarette.

His thoughts are stopped by a loud howl, coming from inside the autoshop. Vance appears from the dark in all of his confident, raw charm, red flaming hair in a perfect elephant’s trunk and golden earring that make his green eyes shine. 

Hal whistles, face lighting up at Vance’s sight. Oh, yes, Peanut has seen what’s been happening lately. «Leather blazer? You really committed to it.»

«’Course I did. You don’t know me?» He makes a turn on himself, hands at the flaps of the jacket, his smirk wide. «And this is Giu’s. She don’t need to know, though.»

Both Peanut and Hal snort, at the realization that Vance will probably never lose his habit of taking clothes from his sisters.

Meeting his bright gaze, if only for a second, reminds Peanut of all the admiration that his heart holds towards Vance. He’s not particularly tall, his features aren’t particularly sharp and his gait is always just slightly offset, but he’s never let any imperfection dent at his raging confidence. He knows he’s the most handsome boy around, and he wears the badge proudly, chin always high and devilish grin from one ear to the other.

If possible, this is even amplified since Johnny graduated and he’s taken his rightful place as the second in command of the Greasers. In his junior year, he’d left behind the elfish appeal that he’d counted on and he’d given free rein to that pure masculine, raw power that he’d learned from the bikers and greasers of history. He had encircled himself with that aura of untouchable toughness, the sparkle in his eyes of a man that could make a woman or an enemy fall at his feet at just a nod of his head.

Peanut hates that he can’t feel admiration without a burn of envy at the bottom of his stomach. He’s very well aware that, for how many movies he might have seen and for how much information he might have gathered, the real source of Vance’s attitude, the place he’d learned that energy from was something completely different — Johnny.

It had always been about him. He surely did have at least a bit of knowledge about the greaser culture, but the core of it was in his nature. He was the embodiment of that raw, masculine power that fit perfectly into the heavy leather jackets and the thick blue jeans that they all wore. 

Vance had been able to have some of that energy rub off on him, lingering over his figure like he was born just for it.

But it hasn’t worked with Peanut.

He doesn’t understand how it’s possible. He’d spent much more time close to Johnny, he’d morphed into the perfect second in command and the perfect friend for him, he’d observed him and tried to pick up on all his gestures. He’d grown familiar with his patterns and he’d always tried to learn what made him so great. 

Maybe he just didn’t have it in him. Maybe he was just destined to be a kid forever — or maybe it was just that he’d settled for it, since Johnny calling him “kid” got him reveling in his words everytime like a dog wagging his tail.

He’ll probably never know the reason why. He does know, though, that the shape of his face will always be that one bit too soft and his voice that one bit too high-pitched and his stature that one bit too short. He’ll always be that one bit not manly enough to compare to Johnny or to Vance.

The solution, though, is easy, the one that he’s employed his whole life.

Suck it up. He locks it in the back of his chest, pushing it back and pretending it was never there to begin with. It will probably weigh in his hands more the next time it will fall out, but at least for now he can focus on something else. 

For example, on the fact that Norton is walking towards them, awkward smile and a faint gesture of his hand. 

Vance crosses his arms on his chest. «Norton, my man! You did it serious, didn’t ya.»

With a red shade on his cheeks, Norton fixes nervously the edges of the blue suit, eyes shining with nervous excitement. «Yep. Gotta make a good impression on her parents, y’know.»

«’Course, hero.» Peanut pats his shoulder, and Norton’s smile grows just a bit more certain. He’s happy to do anything he can to help him; Norton deserves to be more self-confident. He doesn’t realize it takes guts to be as kind and unconditionally empathetic, in a world like this. His heart is golden like Ponyboy’s sunsets that he adores so much, and Peanut knows for a fact that any rudeness he displays in school has no correlation to the inherent love for people that he has inside him. 

He wishes he could have a heart like that, too.

«’t’s a drag you’re not bringing her here instead, though.» Hal frowns. «The food is great. Plus, I think Melissa would totally beat up a cheerleader or two. That would be fun.»

Norton chuckles. «I know. That’s kinda the point.»

Melissa and Norton have been together for a year or so, by now, but it had been a coincidence that both their schools are holding the Prom the same night, so they decided to go together at the public school event. 

Norton had been vague, but Peanut can imagine a number of reasons why they decided against going to Bullworth. Among those, the reigning one being that Norton’s father hated everything about his son’s life. He hated his friends, hated the Greasers’ reputation, hated his interests and hated the environment he’d built for himself. However, he did like Melissa’s presence in his life, fierce and passionate. He probably didn’t know that she only kept attending church because she loved singing in the choir or that she had broken the nose of a classmate after he’d tried to hide her textbook in his locker. 

But Norton had always been good at hiding from him anything with even the slightest chance to get him in trouble.

From this point of view, going to her school’s Prom had been the safest option. He would get her parents to know how chivalrous he was, accompanying her to her senior Prom, and his father would be serene that he wasn’t around those punks of the leather jacketed kids of the Bullworth Academy nor was he putting Melissa in danger.

As long as they will be together, anyways, no one doubts they will have the time of their life wherever they might go.

Vance nods at him with his chin, reassuring. «You just go and have fun, pal. You look great, you’re gonna baffle ‘em all.»

One corner of Norton’s smile lifts up a bit with a chuckle. «Thanks. I just passed by to say hi, but a part of me really wishes you could come too. Fuck, I want my leather jacket.»

«It’ll be fine!» Hal places both hands on his shoulders. «Now listen up, you go to her, ring her doorbell, and you two outshine ‘em all. Got it?»

Hal’s drastic incitation lights up Norton’s eyes. «Got it.» He takes a step back. «So I’m goin’! Have fun, you guys too!»

Norton disappears behind the corner as their chorus of “Bye” and “say hi to Melissa from me” fades out.

Vance cracks his knuckles. «So, us two juniors are here, Norton is gone and you’re here. Who’s still missin’?»

Peanut’s eyes are torn away before he can even think of an answer. He has to remind himself how to breathe, before exhaling a quick «Hold up a min.»

Lola is walking towards him — it won’t hurt to pretend he’s the only one here for a second — and she’s radiant. The white top accompanies her soft shapes, down to the waistline and the full circle swing skirt that floats around her steps like butterfly wings. It’s red, the same color as her heart-shaped lips, wide in her unreadable smile, always just too perfect to be genuine, too sweet to be fake.

Meeting her halfway and taking her hand in his feels almost desecrating. «Look atcha, all dolled up.» He lets her do one pirouette on herself, and she is as light as the skirt that spins around her knees. He could look at her forever. «I thought you said you weren't coming to Prom.»

She lets out a low giggle. Lola is looking at him from under her eyelashes, deep brown eyes as weapons she’s hesitating to kill him with. Not that he would mind if she did. «Am not, in fact.»

He frowns, something shifting in his stomach. «Then what—»

The answer to the question comes with the roar of an engine and a motorbike’s headlight that blinds Peanut for a second.

Johnny stops his beloved cafe racer in the middle of the parking lot, and when he straightens his back he's glorious, chin high enough that his eyes reflect the moonlight in all of his mystical brightness. He might not be the king of the school anymore, but what he’s done has been ascending to the realm of the gods, more divine and wonderful everytime Peanut sees him.

Lola, he thinks, really looks like a goddess too; when she lets go of Peanut’s hand, while it does feel like he’s just lost a part of himself, he realizes just how blasphemous he was being, as she walks up to Johnny and reunites with him with a kiss. They are rulers of the universe, destined to be immortal, stars so bright they might put the Sun to shame.

But Peanut is just a little, insignificant rock whirling at the mercy of their orbitals. He’s not a god or a hero — at times, he even doubts he has enough dignity in himself to qualify as a human being. In front of them, all he can do is keep sacrificing what he might have, dedicate himself to them, in the hope they decide he’s worth enough to keep him around.

Looking at them kiss, it’s like he’s eons away. Even as they break the kiss to breath and Johnny looks at him, Peanut’s mind takes one too many seconds to process what he’s saying, crooked smirk and fond gaze. «Hey you, kid. How’s ya doin’ here?»

Just like that, Johnny breaks the spell; a word is enough to melt his insides, any shadow hovering in his mind dissipated into warmth in his blood. He finds himself smiling. «’S alright. We’re goin’ to Prom altogether.»

«Ah, senior Prom.» Johnny nods, a sort of nostalgia in his voice. «Yep, remember that. Ain’t gonna come back, you’d better enjoy it. I sure did.»

«I’ll try my best.» Except that I don’t have Lola at my side, he finds himself thinking. Nor do I have you.

It bites him of a sudden, stinging under his skin and setting his blood on fire. He’s used to this hurt; he wishes he wasn’t. He’s learned its name, one word to describe this sense of longing for a part of himself that he’s still missing. The burning knowledge that he was born in half, bound to spend a life searching for that tile he was missing, the only piece that could ever fill the hole in his chest. He knows his life will never really start until he’s able to close that void, but at the same time the solution will always be just out of reach. 

He will never be whole.

And that’s envy. 

Because Johnny and Lola have found that missing piece of themselves in each other, leaving Peanut out of the equation. Begging for hospitality out of their door, despite knowing damn well that’s not his house and never will be.

He should just look elsewhere. Find his own heart somewhere else, out of someone else. Why is he so obstinate? He can’t fathom why he keeps hanging onto them. 

He should hate them, even, because they did have what he needed, but decided to exchange it between themselves, instead of giving it to him. But he just can’t seem to.

He would do anything for Johnny; kill, live, die, run, disappear, steal the moon. If Johnny just asked him, he wouldn’t think twice, he would forget his pathetic human limits and do it all. Johnny has given him love and cared for him when he didn’t have a soul for himself, figure someone else. There will never be something he might do to equate what Johnny’s done for him.

And Lola has fallen from the sky, a creature that transcends humanhood itself, and she has chosen to land next to him, of all places. One time meeting her eyes had been enough to lock them forever, a chain he hung from over a bottomless pit. She’d stolen all of Johnny’s attention right under his nose, she’d taken his most precious having just because she could, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to give up on adoring her.

But he can’t let it show. He might not know what he really wants from them, but he’s sure he doesn’t want them to see all the filth he keeps sweeping under the rug; it would undoubtedly be enough for them to hate him.

And that’s the only thing he cannot afford at all.

So he just keeps smiling, corners of his mouth up and up and up until his cheeks hurt and his lips hide all of his thoughts.

Lola climbs behind Johnny on the cafe racer, wrapping tightly her arms around his torso as if she didn’t break three glasses on the floor of his apartment after he called her a slut for looking at a client of the bar. «So? What are we doing tonight?»

«Takin’ you to a new place that opened these days. You’ll love it.» Johnny’s answers are always dry, but there’s a sweetened tone to it, as he reverses the motorbike and Lola leaves a red lipstick mark on the side of his neck.

Peanut’s goodbye is drowned out by the rumble of the motorbike disappearing out of the gate.

They didn’t even look at him.

The hole grows bigger.

He really needs a cigarette.

Muttering a «Fuck.» under his breath, he turns back to the autoshop, where Hal and Vance are chattering between themselves. They laugh and smile as if Johnny and Lola didn’t just pass by like hurricanes to overturn their brains upside down, rising dust of destruction with the wheels of the motorbike. 

It must be easy, for them; looking at their flaming monarch from a distance, only affected by the court intrigues as far as they affect the king’s commands. The truth is that the royal bedrooms are up in flames, and Peanut is only waiting until his body collapses, charred, as he loyally stays by his king’s side, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death does them part. 

Wait. That’s supposed to be the queen, isn’t it. He’s so caught up that he sometimes deletes from his mind the information of her being where he should — wants to? — be.

But Hal and Vance, just like anyone else, are completely removed from this infernal circle. He might as well scream and cry for help, but no one will hear him behind the mirrored window, no one will understand.

So he just smiles, smiles widely at them, puts up the most upbeat and encouraging face he has and clasps his hands together. «So? We goin’ or not?»

They settle into the swarm of students flocking into the gym, and Peanut is taken by the utter doubt that he might be slightly underdressed, despite wearing his best shirt and the darkest black jeans he owns. It must be the leather jacket, he thinks; mismatched with all the colorful dresses, the shiny suits, the polished shoes. Linen and wool are for parties, clean and inoffensive music and finger food in plastic dishes. Leather is for protecting the skin from the blowing wind and hanging out by garages and rock shows. 

Hal and Vance next to him, though, don’t look nearly as fazed as him. He guesses he can only brush the discomfort off, as, he knows, it has nothing to do with the leather as much as it does with his very being. Deluding himself into being a good pretender is his specialty, after all; he’s never tough enough, never talkative and funny enough, never strong enough. 

He’d learnt to wear a leather jacket and close his fists as he walked, following to the syllable each and every one of Johnny’s lessons, smoking with the older kids, gathering in his mind all the instructions to become a real man. Even if someone had used it to denigrate him, ever since Johnny had called him Peanut he’d worn that nickname like he’d chosen it — it’s a shield, a part of his armor, and Johnny handed it to him, just like everything Peanut is. 

During his junior year, he’d felt like the perfect imposter. He was more than able to push back the tornadoes and the armies of demons that would threaten his iron meshes, Johnny by his side to fuel his grandiose self-deception; Johnny believed him too, and there’s nothing on God’s Earth that Johnny can ever fail against.

Except that now Johnny is gone, and even the reflection in Peanut’s mirror looks down on him. The hologram he’d built around himself is falling apart, unfueled, and his skin is being torn apart by a scared child whose cries for help don’t deserve to be heard.

There hasn’t been a day in his life where he hadn’t wished terribly he was worthy of love; it had been, to put it simply, a bummer to find out how inherently unlovable and undeserving he was. He had carefully bottled up all of his feelings and all of his needs, muted anything resembling an ask for help. He’d licked all his wounds in a corner by himself, dashing into his rabbit hole whenever a predator would come near him, but never once begging someone to fight for him. He’d branded into his forehead all the right responses and punished himself for all the wrong ones, and he’d swallowed back the signs of bitterness at someone’s fault — if faults they could be called. No one owed him anything, after all. And if he wanted to keep them close, he’d just have to make sure he was never a burden.

Easy as cake. 

It’s not a tough quest to respect everyone’s needs, if you’re nothing outside of them.

His brain is starting to feel like molasses in the line to enter the gym; he faintly hears Hal and Vance exchanging a joke as they pass by a particularly brooding Mr. Luntz («He’s a mythological figure half-man, half-chair!» «What?» «Vance! Bellavista!»), only to be overwhelmed with colorful lights moving faster than the eye and the most basic and trite music mankind could come up with.

Before pink dots stop dancing around his eyelids, Vance gestures theatrically with his blazer with a half-bow. «My friends, I hope you won’t mind if I go greet a friend a second. I’ll be back in minutes!»

Vance has soon disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Peanut and Hal to stare at the dense foliage of bodies and then at each other for an awkward number of seconds.

Peanut points a finger at the spot where their friend was until three seconds ago, still trying to put together the words. «Is he…»

«Probably Gord Vendome.» Hal shrugs, with a click of his tongue of annoyance. «Him and that gawky rich kid, I swear.»

Peanut frowns, though not turning his head towards him. «Ain’t together, are they?»

«Nope. Just “casual” and all of that.» The definition is accompanied by a vague gesture of his hand — and Peanut has yet to meet someone who is as expressive with their hands as Hal is. «I don’t think I’ll ever get how you can be jus’ “casual” with someone. I mean, how can you do…» Another gesture. You know what. «…with someone and not fall for ‘em?»

Peanut would tell him he hardly knows how not to fall for people he’s close with in general — or at least decide himself on what he feels towards others. Although, he just hums, half-huffing. «Well, whatever makes him happy, I guess.»

«Yeah, right. And speaking of happy.» Hal snaps his fingers with a nod. «I’ll go get some food and occupy a table. You taking the drinks?»

«Sure.» As Hal walks away towards the tables, ready to fight for his life to get even one table, Peanut looks in the opposite direction, dreadfully considering he will have to wade the dance floor before he can get to the beverages.

After taking a deep breath, he dives into the sea of bodies, slipping between students and paying attention that his hands don’t touch awkward points by mistake, murmuring automatic apologies to the students he bumps into, praying he doesn’t catch too much attention. Please, don’t perceive me. Let’s pretend that I’m not here and that I don’t exist.

He hopes that Hal is doing better, already sitting at a table and enjoying the view, instead of being crushed in the crowd through a journey that should be a few meters but appears to be a life-long voyage. He even finds himself wondering if he really reached his destination or he’s just in front of a mirage, as Constantinos’ face is red from laughter, Ivan’s hidden behind his shoulder.

Peanut is just about to make a joke about doubting he was even able to laugh at all, man, but Juri Karamazov’s nasal voice thunders: «Hey, Mascot, how fun would it be instead if I poured all this punch on your head, huh?» 

He slams his fist on the table; it was probably supposed to be threatening, but Constantinos and Ivan just bend on themselves more, struggling to catch their breaths. «Jeez, man, no worries, alright? Just give me a minute and you’ll have your cups!»

With a sigh, Peanut resigns to the idea that he’ll have to wait his turn for a while, as he mindlessly detaches himself from the argument Juri and a small group of Jocks are having with Constantinos and Ivan, counting the paper cups that are being filled one next to the other.

His mind is already wandering off, looking forward to resting a bit at the table that Hal will already have taken for sure, until a finger taps on his shoulder, and he snaps his head back.

Mandy Wiles is meticulously flawless as always, her long dress lilac as the glittery color over her eyes, gleaming below her curtain bangs. They stare deep into his, piercing through his skull to get on his exact same wavelength and convince him that she’s coming with no double purposes, that he can let his guard down. As if. 

He’s trained to always be on lookout. He can’t afford otherwise, every slip up potentially lethal for himself. And he can see how Lola and Mandy have been direct rivals for the longest time; they might come from the opposite sides, but their weapons and their strategies are the same.

She smiles, gently, though it doesn’t reach her eyes, still calculating the movements behind his irises. «Why, hello, Peanut. I didn’t expect to see you here.»

«I didn’t expect to be here, either.» he replies, sharp, hoping to cut her off. 

His attention is caught by snickers; the Jocks are looking at the two of them, Dan whispering something in Bo’s ear. He wishes he didn’t know exactly what they were talking about — but the “first base incident” had been a public matter for more than a year. Even the nerds had been laughing at him, for a little while there.

He is aware he has no justifications. She’d smiled at him, during English class, and she’d even passed him her notes. Mandy wasn’t ever nice to anyone outside of the cheerleading squad or the football team, so it had to mean something. Probably Lola would’ve been mad at him for a while, but he wasn’t interfering with her and Johnny, he was releasing them from the burden of him and he would've been able to stop searching. It was supposed to be good for everyone.

Except that Mandy had slapped him the second that he stood on his tiptoes, and in less than a day the whole school was talking about how gross he was.

That was just another rumor, for the students of the Bullworth Academy, and as such it had died out in a few weeks, replaced by the latest gossips and new jokes; the only, really hurtful part had been Lola refusing to even look at him for a week. 

Even once the gossip faded away, though, laughter and snickers had been everyone’s reaction whenever he happened to barely walk past Mandy. It was expectable what the Jocks would’ve done seeing her purposefully walking to him.

He’s already threatening to punch their mouths and start a fight, but Mandy precedes him. «Will you shut the fuck up, Dan?»

His face falls in the span of a second, suddenly as red as the fruit punch behind him, as Bo emits an amused howl.

Peanut is not so sure he’s happy about the Jocks finally taking their cups and going back to the dance floor. While it does mean they’re stopping pestering his ears, it also means he’s left alone with Mandy. 

She bats her long lashes, joining her hands together behind her back in a faux casual gesture. «I see you don’t have a date?»

Again with this date thing. He grimaces. «Nope. Good t’know you’re not blind.»

She clicks her tongue against her teeth, a glint of annoyance in the corner of her eye. «How rude. That’s a nice coincidence, though. I don’t have one either.»

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The direction this conversation seems to be taking leads to a dark place he’s not so sure he wants to see. «Well. Sucks to hear that, I guess.»

She laughs, as fake as the gems of her jewelry. «Silly. We could do something about it, though.»

The lights of the room appear sinister in her eyes; Peanut hopes he’s not just letting himself be affected by stupid paranoia about double intentions. «Like what?»

Her bare shoulders shine with glitter as Mandy shrugs. «Like holding my arm. I mean, think about it.» She walks closer, closer, just near enough that Peanut can smell her rose perfume. «Think about it. I’ll be Prom Queen, and you, already king of the school, will be crowned Prom King. Doesn’t it seem amazing, to you too?»

And— oh. All the pieces click together in a second, and the picture they form makes his head spin.

Mandy had spent years chasing after Johnny. She’d badmouthed Lola, tried to catch his attention, always expressed support for him in any situation. It must’ve been frustrating, too, knowing that she’d been the perfect, church-going, clean girl, cheerleader captain and Prom Queen, and still being beaten by Lola, who never restrained herself from playing dirty to get whatever she’d want.

Now that Johnny has graduated, it’s too late to get him. But she can still have fun with his pet, the kid who thinks he can fit his regal throne and claim his place as king just because he’s good enough at parroting his grandness.

Mandy is trying to give Larry the crown she’d reserved for Johnny, despite both of them knowing they’re just playing part in a colossal, desecrating puppet show.

It’s all a big fucking joke on him; and, despite his self-sacrificing tendencies, he has more respect for himself than that.

His nerves snap. Peanut turns around without even answering and walks through the dance floor, the buzz in his ears completely covering the students protesting against him bumping into them. He dimly realizes he has even forgotten taking the punch cups. 

However, the only thing his brain can focus on is moving, taking long steps one after the other, keeping his fists inside of the pockets of his jacket. With the magnetic storm in his skull, all the words he never said and the contrasting emotions have him immobilized, only the automatic commands leaking through his paralyzed mind. 

He can’t decipher the click in his head when he’s able to see Hal, at a table, with Vance’s arm around his shoulder, Gord, Jimmy and Zoe sitting with them and five cups of punch in front of them.

At least he knows he’s not needed.

The sole thought cuts his breath for a second, and he has the definitive confirmation that he does need a cigarette.

His feet move on their own towards the door of the gym. He really should’ve stayed in his room.

Chapter Text

III.

At five in the afternoon, the cold of December has already pulled the sun down from the sky, letting the nightly dark take its place already. Peanut would give anything to be in an autoshop garage box right now, all the kids gathered around vehicles with the little space heater they all bought together, pretending to be fixing their vehicles but idly chattering the day away, protected from the snow on the ground outside and from the freezing, sudden gusts of wind.

Instead, he’s staring at the door of the English classroom, resisting the urge to bang his head against it. The mist the cold has created on the window of it blocks his view, but even watching inside couldn’t prepare him for the evening that awaits him.

He makes sure to avoid any trace of positive emotions as he enters the room with a dry «Good evening, Mr. Galloway.»

The teacher is leaning against the desk, as usual. He seems to be getting better by the day, this year; he is gradually more lucid, more thoughtful, more spontaneous. Less prone to let students’ misdeeds slide.

That is a collateral effect everyone would have lived without.

Tad Spencer is sitting in a desk of the first row, arms crossed against his chest and chin pompously high. Peanut will have to wave away the daydream of striking a hook right below it.

Galloway smiles at him, as kindly as the Devil before torturing the souls of the damned. «Good evening to you, Larry. We were waiting for you.»

A gesture from Galloway stops Peanut before he can sit down; he pushes two desks together, so that they form only one larger table, and nods at the two students to sit at the ends of it. 

If, up until a few seconds ago, Peanut could rely on some distance, nothing can save them now. Tad and Peanut find themselves staring at each other, stiff in their chairs. Tad is looking at him with pure disgust in his eyes, and, while it does itch on Peanut’s nerves, he can’t guess his expression conveys anything different.

Tad had hated Peanut’s guts since their freshman year, studying his every move as if he was planning on tossing him into a pit or burning him at a stake with no apparent reason. In the grander scheme of his fantasies, Peanut had assumed Tad was envious of him, that he’d managed to be the second in command of one of the strongest lineups of the Greasers, whereas Tad, lurking in Derby’s and in Gord’s shadows, had been left scrounging for crumbles from their leftovers.

What was really going on, though, behind the veil of his illusion, was much scarier, unsettling in a way that crawled under his skin and plunged away his guts, piece by piece, leaving him helpless to wait for the day that he’d find himself empty. Tad saw what he was, he knew perfectly how weak and fragile he really was, how much of him was a mere doll, molded around everyone else’s expectations and desires. 

Tad is able to read right through him, and nothing scares Peanut as much as that.

Certainly, it’s no surprise that his impulsive reaction to fear is anger; although, for sure, he recognizes that not waiting for the end of the English class might not have been a great idea.

If he had resisted just a few more minutes, he wouldn’t be stuck in this dusty room, almost chained to a chair, forced to stare at Tad’s scornful eyes. 

Galloway lays his hand on the desks between them, gathering their attention. «Now, boys. I think you both realize why we are here.»

Tad is the first one to speak, and oh what would Peanut give to close that trap shut. «It’s because this brute assaulted me in the middle of a class.»

«You’re speaking as if you didn’t spray deodorant in my fuckin’ face!»

The apathetic self-importance of Tad’s shrug only makes Peanut’s view redder. «I can’t help it if you stink like motor oil all the time.»

«I’m allergic to that crap, you moron! Were you tryna kill me or somethin’?»

«That would have been merely a side effect.»

«Boys.» Galloway knocks on the desk, gentle but firm enough to grab their attention again. Peanut rests back against his seat, but their glances are still venomous. «I’m giving the blame to both of you. That is exactly why the two of you are here and not just one.»

He pauses for a second, checking out their expressions and eventual replies. Nothing comes.

To be fair, Peanut isn’t in the mood to fight. He’s sick and annoyed, he wants to be anywhere but here and, although he still has no idea what Galloway has in mind, he already knows it will be a majestic waste of time, where he could have been fixing his bike or hanging out instead. For how much he might hate him and feel in a completely different world than Tad, he’s pretty sure they share the same sentiment.

Noting the absence of an answer, Galloway grabs two double lined sheets of paper and places them in front of them, with two identical black pens. «I want you to write about each other; say something positive, something that you might appreciate or that impressed you. At least two columns.»

«What?» Peanut’s reaction is immediate. «Two columns of nice things about this guy?»

Galloway’s kind smile feels a lot like sadistic mockery. «Exactly.» His eyes turn serious, and Peanut realizes he’s never really seen him being strict with his students before. «You know, I have talked to some of my colleagues; it turns out your conflict has been going on for quite a lot of time, and many have found the two of you debilitating them in their teaching. This has to stop. And I’m counting that, perhaps, there’s a chance that acknowledging something else about each other might help you reconcile, or at the very least hold you back from interrupting lessons.»

Tad is staring at the white desk, paralyzed in shame, and Peanut can’t blame him. He’s mortified; in the back of his mind, he had probably realized that they were causing some trouble to teachers and during lessons. But to be called out by Galloway, in this way, is almost like being stabbed in his pride. And to think he’s supposed to be a leader.

When will he finally become a mature human being?

After letting the admonishment sink in, Galloway lays his hands on their shoulders. Tad flinches at the contact. «I hope you understand the purpose of this detention. Know that I will read everything with much pleasure.» He walks to the door, putting his coat on and folding the scarf around his neck. «If it can help your dialogue, I will take a walk and come back every hour. After all, you’re not getting out until you have written your essays.»

And then he closes the lion’s gate behind himself.

The seconds where they just stare at each other are awkward in a way that makes Peanut’s flesh itch under his skin. Tad is chewing nervously on the cap of his pen, a puzzled frown fixed on Peanut’s face.

«Not so fun havin’ to study me now, huh, hero?» Hesitatingly breaking the silence, his voice is low as he remarks, bitter and just a bit zingy. 

It has never not annoyed Peanut, the way Tad seemed so interested in him. He’d never done anything to him, he barely considered his existence. And yet Tad had never left him alone, always chasing him from behind, always following in his footsteps and hiding in his shadow when he’d try to see what was going on behind himself.

Tad doesn’t answer. 

Yep. A completely different world.

His fingers toy with the cap of the pen, as the two of them just keep staring at each other. Staring until their eyes seem to be digging through their skulls, and yet finding nothing helpful to this situation.

The wind is the only one who seems to be trying to have a conversation, knocking against the windows. Some kids scream and laugh outside of the class, but on the inside everything is static.

Peanut’s patience finishes before the discomfort. «Look. I wanna get outta here, you wanna get outta here. Let’s find a way, alright?»

Snapping, Tad scoffs, sardonic. «That’s easy to say! What good thing could there be to write about you?»

It stings in a place that Peanut really isn’t in the mood to think about. His fists clench until his knuckles turn white, but he manages to keep them to himself. «As if you were a joy to keep ‘round.»

Tad’s eyes narrow, a sudden twitch in his lips. Peanut must have returned the favor fully. «I am so not taking criticism from you.»

«I know.» 

Peanut wouldn’t have expected to end a conversation this way, but there he is. He taps the end of his pen on the desk, trying to find some focus. «Whatcha have in mind to do? A secret for a secret? We say things ‘bout us and we find random stuff to put in this damn sheet. We fill the two columns and we can finally fuck off. How’d ya like that?»

Arms crossed, Tad twists his pen in his fingers. His eyes wander around the room — anywhere but on Peanut. «I don’t have secrets.»

He bats his eyes for a second. Tad doesn’t go on.

«Oh, come on. Just a bit. You must have something you don’t like t’say.»

«Of course I do. But I don’t keep anything properly hidden. No one can accuse you of cheating, if you don’t keep any aces up your sleeve.» He’s lapidary, dry; defensiveness, though, leaks through his voice. 

A small fire lights up in the bottom of Peanut’s stomach. Envy, for this boy that can just lay all his cards on the table. It takes guts. It’s a courage that he’s never had. «But you really need those, sometimes. Secrets, I mean.» His thoughts flow out of his mouth despite himself, the bottle of his suppressed feelings spilling. «How could anyone love you if they knew about…» About the ugly, unlovable parts. Mean and perpetually unfulfilled and demanding impulses, carefully locked in a drawer, where no one can see them; in a way that no one can hate him for them.

The words die in his throat.

Tad stares at Peanut’s implicit admission of his lies. In his eyes, though, there’s no condemnation.

He should be judging him. Why isn’t he? «But could you say they really know you, then?»

Peanut’s fingers are tightening around the pen, looking for anything to hold on to, but he’s only able to lay his heavy head on his arms. «They know what they need to.»

«But what about all the rest?»

His brain is on fire. He just needs to rest, and Tad is pulling too much out of him. He’s got all the ammunition he might need to finally take him down and fulfill his dreams. «I’m but what’s needed of me.»

No answer comes. Tad is pondering. Peanut can feel no hatred, though, right now, and it’s unsettling him, ground spinning under his feet. His insides rattle, as Tad can see right through them but he has no dagger in his hands to stab them.

Then, he adds, with a scorn that is just too perceivable to be genuine: «That’s a shit strategy.»

Peanut chuckles before he can control himself. «You’re one to talk ‘bout shit strategies. You’ve been blabbering about taking down Derby Harrington since freshman year, but look atcha now.»

Tad’s back stiffens. Despite him trying to keep his armor up, there’s a defensiveness to it that Peanut recognizes much too well. «That’s different.»

«Yeah. How.»

«I just—» He trips on his tongue, his words cut in the middle, reacting before his brain could follow along. His lower lip twitches, as he bats his eyes, as if to wash away the vulnerability that he let shine through for a single second; though, not fast enough to stop Peanut from seeing it. «I need to prove that I’m enough. They have to see that I’m…» A sigh drowns the last word. «I need to be deserving of that position.»

Deserving.

The word bounces around Peanut’s brain, on repeat like a broken record. 

Tad is climbing this mountain to the sky, holding onto any rock he comes across, scratching his fingers and arms — and yet the top never seems to get closer, as the Sun keeps laughing down on him, on his vain efforts. He’s giving all he has, risking each day that his hands collapse and he falls into the sea.

At least Icarus had been able to touch the Sun.

Peanut wishes he didn’t understand that feeling so well. 

But looking at Tad, as he fixes his already perfect hair, his mathematically symmetric tie, chews on his lips, eyes darting around the room nervously, something clicks inside of him.

His mouth moves before his nervous system does. «Maybe ain’t about deserving.»

The silence between them gains weight in a second. Tad stares at him, struggling to put syllables together. «…excuse me?»

Peanut could ask himself the same thing. He tries to process his own thoughts, though their path is a fucking labyrinth. «What if you’re jus’, I dunno, chasing the wrong thing. Like, maybe you jus’ don’t get what you want ‘cause you’re meant for somethin’ completely different.»

Against any potential consideration, looking into each other’s eyes is peaceful for a couple of seconds. They have dusted off a scripture that reveals the answer to a question as ancient as their existence, and feeling it sinking in is almost unreal.

«Like what? Failure?» Tad’s response is slow, weak; he’s trying to contradict him, but they both know they have unlocked something. 

«Could be a lotta things that ain’t “leader of the rich kids”.» And he hopes he isn’t projecting as he voices the first example coming to his mind. «Like, dunno. Being loved.»

The ache doesn’t stay in his mind; it flows through his voice, falls out of his lips despite his best attempts. He really shouldn’t expose himself to Tad this way, he’s much too aware of it; everyone around the school has heard him mentioning how he’d love to break him like a peanut and eat his insides until there’s nothing left of him. How he hates him so much that he can’t wait to see him disappear from the face of the Earth. 

Peanut knows he’s giving him all the information he could ever need. By now, Tad has all he could ever want to crack him open and finally get rid of him. 

Perhaps that’s just what he deserves.

No destructive intentions, though, surface on Tad’s face — just a confused, inexplicable disgust. He shakes his head, though his eyes are fixed on Peanut, judging him for the vile cockroach he is. «How can you be so unhappy when you have it all?»

Peanut’s eyes dart up, his defenses suddenly rising. Tad still doesn't get it. «Me, have it all? You kiddin’ or what?»

«Just look at you!» Tad jerks his hand forward, accusatory, words coming out in what sounds less like an imputation and more like a cry, tears forming in the cracks in his eyes. «Your clique and the whole school respect you! You're the leader, for heaven’s sake!»

«Sometimes Johnny doesn’t return my calls anymore.» It is sudden, involuntary. Please, understand what this is about. it’s not a proper answer to Tad, he knows it much too well. And he’s also aware that he’s being petty and demanding and that no one should owe him any of it. No one would put up with someone this messed up, a fucking baby that will cry and wreck everyone’s ears if he isn’t carefully fed every few hours. 

But it hurts him, nonetheless. «It must have to do with him being busy— I know that. Really.» His cheeks are wet. Oh, fuck. He can’t be crying. «And Lola comes back home to him everyday after school. It’s obvious, she’s his girlfriend. I ain’t.» Stupid, stupid, stupid. «Or his boyfriend. Or her boyfriend. I mean—» His words are making him trip, tangling with each other. He is stuck looking at the desk, as his emotions pour out of his little heart. «He ain’t in school anymore, right. He don’t owe nothin’ anymore— not that he ever did, really. I was the one who— he took me with him and the Greasers even if I had nothin’ to give, I was the one who owed him.» His hands shake in his own lap. He’s shrinking on his own seat, unable to stop himself from this charade. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he can become so small that he falls through the cracks of the pavement and vanishes forever; like he was never here to begin with. «I should’ve been content. I always should’ve. I envied him and I fell for him and for Lola, too— you shoulda seen her smile, she shines so bright when she smiles. But she’s his and he’s hers and I fit nowhere in that picture and I don’t know why I’m being so fuckin’ selfish— if I didn’t hide it they wouldn’t— I wouldn’t deserve their love.» 

His attempts at swallowing the sobs and the gulps are more or less successful, at the very least. He wishes he wasn’t always biting back all the shame of having to make up for being himself. 

He grabs from inside himself the courage to look at Tad again; though, his face is nothing like he expected it to be.

There’s no revulsion or scorn hiding in folds of his skin. Instead, he’s wide-eyed, lips half-open and muscles immobile. He’s a deer caught in the headlights, crystal irises flooded with shame. As if he’s seen himself in a mirror for the first time, his sole crime of being alive laid out before him and no excuses strong enough to justify his own existence. «I didn’t think… I thought…»

He tries to give out an explanation nevertheless, sentences slow and trembling in a plea, a small candle he’s lighting in the hope he will be seen for what he is. Please, understand what this is about. «I do get that. I swear, I tried to be perfect. I did everything all the other kids of my social class did. I organized parties, I attended parties, even when I didn’t like it, I always obeyed my superiors and Derby and my dad— I don’t know what I did wrong.» His fingers clasp his arm, the ghost of an old bruise stinging under them and contracting his rounded features. «I was there when Gord was puking his guts out for the anxiety, I always ran all the little errands Derby gave me, but look at things now. Gord doesn’t even trust me as second in command.» Both his hands fall in his lap, followed by his heavy eyes. «I guess the problem is me.» But then, he shakes his head. As if he realized no one asked him to share his feelings, too loud and whiny of a child to be appreciated by anyone. «I’m sorry.»

 It doesn’t sound right. 

Coming out of someone else’s lips, somehow, Peanut can’t make sense of it.

He’d always seen a wonderful beauty inherent to humankind. He could never help but look at other people and find something unique, something special to cherish and admire; never had he considered the possibility that a human could be intrinsically worthless. Even Tad, whom he had spent the most time despising personally and for reasons different from his wealth — he was cunning, tenacious, resourceful. He could never be caught unprepared. 

In Peanut’s view of the world, the exception was himself, his soul much too filthy and empty to hold anything of any value. 

In this moment, however, one in front of each other like endless mirrors, it doesn’t hold up; to Tad, the exception is himself. But then, what about him? And who is wrong? Is either of them wrong?

Are they both?

He should shut his mouth. He shouldn’t be looking this directly into Tad’s eyes. He shouldn’t be talking to him like he was staring at a reflection of himself in the clearest mirror he’s ever been in front of.

And yet.

He decides— dares to go on. Maybe the one knocking at his door isn’t a predator. Maybe it’s just another little scared rabbit trying to find a shelter. «I was the one who reassured Lola when her period skipped a month, not Johnny. And I was the one who stayed by his side when Johnny’s pop left on the day of his birthday, not Lola.» And he would do it all again. There’s nothing he regrets, obviously. «I’ve tried so hard to be good, and yet I'm always a second choice. Why wasn’t I still enough for anyone? What else do I need to do, to deserve to be a first choice?»

There are moments of silence, too many questions without an answer hovering over them.

And then Tad’s answer comes, a little sparkle trying to turn itself into a bright fire; it was foreseeable, but it still manages to turn Peanut’s heart upside down into his stomach. «Maybe it isn’t about deserving.»

Then he smiles. A relieved smile, the corners of his lips lifting up into his cheeks, freed of at least a bit of the weight that was pulling them down, the kind of smile he didn’t think Tad Spencer was capable of. Like a good mirror, Peanut smiles too. His head is spinning, his guts are completely misaligned, but hearing those words has warmed up something inside him. 

Usually, looking into his mirror only reminds him of how inadequate even his body is.

Turns out he just needed a better mirror.

The peace is interrupted by a knock on the door — it’s not loud, but in the silence that preceded it it is enough to make Peanut jump on his seat and Tad gulp, one hand on his chest.

Galloway peeks in, only his head visible. «Hello, boys. I wanted to check in, and I’m glad to see you still haven’t killed each other. How are the papers going?»

«Uh.» All of their pairs of eyes fall on the desolately blank sheets on the desk.

Checking his watch, Galloway sighs. «It’s okay. It’s only been an hour. Go on with your work, there’s no rush!» He gives them one last admonishing look — and make sure you don’t want to fight during class anymore — and closes the door behind himself again.

The exchange one look, and it is enough for the two of them to burst into laughter. A sincere, genuinely amused kind of laughter; it may have something hysterical to it, but there’s no trace of mockery or maligning. 

Tad tries to take a breath, though very little of the despair expressed by his words leaks out through his tone. «Oh, God. He really is keeping us inside this classroom until we have written these essays, isn’t he?»

«He totally fuckin’ is.» Peanut grips the pen and takes the cap off; he does have a different idea of his subject than when he entered the classroom, but somehow he still can’t picture anything.

It’s so pathetic he is about to laugh again.

Tad clears his throat. He’s pretty when he’s jovial, nose thin and the line of his lips connecting perfectly with his cheekbones. «Okay, I might have a little secret.»

There’s only playful spite in Peanut’s gesture of crumpling up a piece of spare paper and throwing it at Tad. «Y’said you didn’t have any, you liar.»

«No, I promise it’s irrelevant.» He points his index finger to create a moment of suspense, nodding at him to listen carefully; then: «I am quite good at baking.»

Peanut snorts. «You kiddin’.»

«I promise I am not. I will bring you something to try, one day.»

«Should I trust ya?»

Raising his eyebrows, Tad shows him the palms of his hand in a defensive gesture. «I can only go as far as telling you I am, in fact, telling the truth. The rest is on you.»

Any attempt at biting back his wide grin is useless, as Peanut finally grabs his pen to start writing. «What d’we have t’lose. He’s good at baking.» he spells out. «Great. Now I’m half a line into this shit.»

The laughter comes again, loud and vibrant, to the point that Tad even loses his posture for fractions of seconds. Peanut’s lungs are exploding, and it is so natural and right that he can’t find himself surprised. His own laughter blends with Tad’s in colors he’d never seen before, and he really wouldn't prefer to be anywhere else but here — despite the idea of being stuck in a room with Tad Spencer to write an essay for which none of them has any idea where to start.

«Oh, Lord.» Tad lays his cheek on a hand, going back to chew on the cap of his pen, though his lips are still curled up to his bright eyes in a smile. Peanut should really get a hold of his own feelings, but the spark in Tad’s eyes lights up his whole face so beautiful that he really would be happy looking at him forever. «I guess I’d better start too, then. What can you tell me about yourself?»

«Let’s see.» Peanut hums, intertwining his hands behind his head and laying his back on the seat. «I got it. I am…» He takes his chin in his fingers, in a jokingly flirty manner. «…a great guitarist.»

«I should’ve expected it.» The glance Tad returns him is teasing, like a challenge. «And what technically wonderful pieces can you play, exactly? I bet you know the Tragic Overture by Johannes Brahms like the palm of your hand.»

«Never heard of that. But,» The first song coming to his head is — of course — Johnny B. Goode, and it is obvious what will come if he lets it open his doors. Therefore, he steers all the other way, snapping his fingers. «I know by heart Back to the US by Chuck Berry. And I’m learning Teenage Letter by Big Joe Turner.»

Something lights up in Tad’s eyes, unexpectedly. «Wait, do you really listen to Big Joe Turner?»

Peanut can’t help but scoff, happy to have surprised him. «Duh! I’m a Greaser! What were you expecting?»

«I don’t know. Elvis. Chuck Berry, like you also said. But Big Joe Turner— I study his saxophone music a lot!»

His mouth is agape. «Saxophone?»

Tad smiles with a proud satisfaction, a timidity that has something almost childish to it. It’s cute. «I know a couple of things. But I like jazz. So.»

«That’s cool!» He’s probably a bit too abrupt about it, but Peanut can’t help but slam his hands on his knees for the enthusiasm. «We totally gotta play together sometime!»

He realizes with a moment of delay what he’s just said. Against any better judgment — as always — he’s suggested that the two of them, Larry Romano and Tad Spencer, get together to choose to stay in the same room and play the same song. Together.

It’s dumb. Absurd, at best. Until the morning of the same day, they would’ve killed each other on sight if it wasn’t illegal, and no one can count on the fingers of both hands how many times Peanut has answered with violence to an attempt of Tad’s at sabotaging him in any way.

And yet, never in his life has he felt connected to someone like the last hour; as if he’s finally found the puzzle he belongs in, the piece he actually clicks with. 

He used to be terrified of the way Tad was able to see right through him. Now, though, he knows he’s just recognized a human made of the same clay. The mirror they thought they were seeing into were glass windows all along; none of them really knows what “being enough” means, or how to calculate oneself’s worth. Perhaps, they could just learn together.

Tad’s smile is hesitating, unsteady but trying to stand up. «We might, actually.» He blinks himself and Peanut back to the present, clearing his throat again. They will get lost in the endless possibilities of the future later. «So, hold on. Let me write; he claims he’s a good guitarist—»

«“Claims”?» Peanut grabs the ball of paper on the desk and throws it again, getting a chuckle out of Tad. «I trusted you on the bakin’ thing, you traitor!»

Tad keeps writing, shaking his head. «I told you, the choice was on you! But I also wrote you have a stunning taste in music, do you see?» Theatrically, he lifts up the sheet, the same words he pronounced in black ink on the page.

It takes them three hours to fill out the two and a half columns Galloway requested. Some of it comes from other suggestions they try to give each other, more or less believable («How can you drive a motorbike so well if you don’t have a license?» «A license is only a piece o’paper, it’s the practice that makes perfect— and dontcha dare write “claim”, hero!») and punctuated by the lump of paper being thrown back and forth. 

The last line of Peanut’s essay, though, is something that comes straight from somewhere inside him. He doesn’t know if Tad had a similar thought for him too; he might as well delude himself into thinking he did, but he doesn't want to create holograms in his mind around Tad too. Not this time.

I hope one day he realizes his value.

IV.

Tad is rarely satisfied with his own choices. Most of the times, despite his best planning, they end up causing terrible responses from at least one of the people involved, and, when his father doesn’t punish him for it, his guilt takes care of it, eating him up from the inside. 

This time, though, he thinks he can pat himself on the back for having thought of slipping the tobacco and the rolling papers into the pockets of the jacket.

Gord often makes fun of him for being so insisting on not buying a packet of good cigarettes. Tad is aware of the time it takes, but the process itself of rolling a cigarette is already a first way of calming his nerves down. Plus, he cherishes the slight agency he has, at least, in being able to choose the singular pieces to his liking without consequences on anyone else.

Right now, for example, he can still feel the wall of the gym lingering against his back, the music becoming muffled and the people blurring together in front of his eyes as time passed by, his body turning into a statute and the wait for poison ivy to grow all over him, until he becomes completely invisible and eventually every person alive forgets about him. 

He shivers, nausea dragging him from the bleak present to a hopeless future. He has to remind himself how to breathe, how to control his own limbs. He grabs all the packets in his pockets, slowly starts to assemble a cigarette. All the undesired, apocalyptic thoughts, they dissipate one after the other, his mind rather occupied on the present of the objects between his fingers.

The movements of his hands cancel out any trace of worry to the point that he’s not even startled when a voice greets him, nasal and pitched. «Hey.»

«Hey.» he greets back, without lifting his eyes; he doesn’t need to, anyways. He would recognize it anywhere.

In a different time, he would’ve meant it with the utmost annoyance and irritation. Now, though?

It’s a bit more complicated than that.

Standing next to him, Peanut grabs his own pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. «I see you’re not the type for normal smokes?»

«Not really. I prefer buying thinner skins and— What?» He frowns, irritated and confused as Peanut chuckles.

«Nothin’, forget about it. ‘s jus’— the “skins” thing. That’s one o’your fancy British words, ain’t it.»

Tad would ask how Peanut would know British slang, but he’s not so sure he cares. «It is. What have you got to say about British words?»

«Nothing, I toldja, it’s cool. I find this rich guys thing a bit funny, that’s all.» The Clipper in his hand burns the end of the cigarette between Peanut’s lips; the orange flame, small and delicate, draws bright lines against his features, the cheekbones and the profile of his solid nose on fire. When he lifts his eyes on Tad, sparks dance in his irises, rapturing Tad’s gaze, inviting him to get lost among them. It scares him that his instinctual answer would be to accept.

Luckily for him, Peanut must’ve interpreted him staring as a request, because he points with his finger at the lighter, a question in his eyes; Tad replies putting his own cigarette in his lips and leaning with his face towards Peanut’s. His already burning tobacco lights his cigarette up too. It’s almost ritual, a gesture with an intrinsic meaning to it, too deep for Tad to quite grasp.

The nicotine burns pleasantly in the back of his throat, scratching already the itch of his nerves. He is even able not to snap when Peanut asks him, casually: «Lemme guess. No date?»

«You guessed right. And Gord left me alone for an hour to go with Vance.» It sounds like an accusation. «Not that he has any fault in it. After all, him and Vance—»

«I know.» Peanut exhales a curl of smoke with a sigh. «The two of them met Jimmy too. And Hal is with ‘em.» For a second, his cigarette remains mid-air, his face pondering; only a few words come out of his mouth, but Tad sees how a billion thoughts are stuck in his knitted eyebrows, clogging up the back of his throat. «Mandy Wiles asked me to be her date.»

Tad frowns with genuine curiosity. «Mandy Wiles?» Everybody at school knows about their incident, and, even though more than a year has passed by, no one has really forgotten. In light of this, though, it still surprises Tad that Mandy might want to partner with Peanut. Mandy, who used to fancy Johnny and spent years beefing with Lola over him—

Oh.

Maybe he has half a mind of what might’ve happened. It’s mean, but then, he realizes, Bullworth is worse than a jungle. Alliances and cliques exist exactly because everybody knows they have to be wary of anyone that crosses their paths — hell, Tad himself relies on the general distrust when designing his grandiose plans. How many people in this school wouldn’t hesitate to step on anyone’s feelings and respect to get what they want?

Actually, Peanut would. 

And Mandy must’ve hurt him.

Indeed, he takes another long drag of his cigarette. «Don’t wanna talk about it.» His tone is dry, at first; then, something in his expression shifts. His frown grows deeper, then relaxes almost completely, eyes lighting up with a flash. «Actually, I have an idea. C’mon.»

He’s walking away with long strides before Tad can blink. «Hey! Wait! What makes you think I will follow you just because you said so?» It’s useless to say it is a bit more than a formality, because he’s already walking right behind him, despite being naturally slower.

They pass through the metal gates of the autoshop, years of stained graffiti layering over the red of the brick walls and cigarette butts decorating the concrete like a distorted mirror of the starred sky above them. The smell of motor oil that imbues the surfaces itself makes Tad’s nose crinkle on itself, all his senses trying to work through this unfriendly ambience. Peanut, though, moves in it like it’s his natural habitat, hanging onto the corners to steer with a rotating, smooth movement; he opens the gate to a garage box like it’s made of butter, even though it’s probably heavier than him and full of rust, and extends one hand at his side, with a playfully gentlemanly gesture. «You first.»

It takes Tad a couple of seconds to get used to the dark of the room, so he doesn’t immediately distinguish all the crates and the writings on the boxes scattered around the room. What he is able to see as soon as he enters, though, are the five bikes chained together against one wall and an indistinct object, bigger than them and covered with a tarp over it. 

The noise of the other gate being opened reverberates in his ears, almost covering Peanut’s words; Tad pieces back together as a «Wait for me in the parkin’ lot, ‘kay?»

But I don’t really want to part from you. Tad doesn’t voice the first reply that his mind formulates, nor does he decide to acknowledge it.

Why did he actually follow Peanut Romano here, anyways? They have only spent one detention together and then happened to exchange a few stolen gazes and smiles. And of course, during that detention, he’d felt really understood for the first time in his life; a soul made out of the same material as his. His life had been a perpetual hitchhiking, asking for a ride to anyone who passed by, being dropped at some point, and now finally finding someone with the same destination as him — except that neither of them knew where it was.

They could only find out together, couldn’t they.

Standing all on his own in the middle of the parking lot feels desolatingly familiar, and he has to fight all of his instincts not to let himself relive each time he was looking around himself in a room full of people, unable to feel as human as everyone else in the room, planning accurately any potential interaction, only for his prediction to be wiped away by a sudden shift in the groups. Kirby Olsen and Trent Northwick are so busy making out in a corner like they are trying to devour each other that they haven’t even noticed Tad passing by, so he is now left with a silence only broken by the noise they make.

If it wasn’t almost disgusting, Tad would think this was in the top ten of the most awkward moments of his life.

His attention is caught by the sudden thunder of an engine. Remaining faithful to the promise and keeping his feet still, he leans his head forward to peek into the autoshop; a minute or so later, with the sound growing louder, Peanut walks out of the gate in all of his glory, riding a majestic motorbike.

All Tad can do is staring, wordless with his jaw dropping to the pavement. Peanut’s smile glows, as he holds his lower lip with his teeth. Enthusiasm makes his face light up; he probably wishes to look like an actor from a 50s Hollywood movie, but Tad can’t put in words how much more beautiful than that he looks, right now.

Satisfied with Tad’s marvel, he turns the handles of the motorbike, letting it roar like a lion. «Nice, ain’t it?»

«This is an original Harley-Davidson.» He’s never been good at expressing joy. Perhaps Peanut will grow tired of his attitude, someday; it might be the best outcome for both of them, and yet Tad can’t avoid dreading it. «How did you…»

«It’s more than original.» Ignoring Tad’s killjoy remark, Peanut points one finger to strengthen his correction. «Some rich guy must’ve thrown it away ‘cause it was too irrelevant for their collection of expensive bikes or whatever, but I happened to find it, I fixed it all by myself and in a coupla months it was ready to run again. Cool, huh?»

The hypothesis is more than possible. «All by yourself?»

«You betcha, hero.» His eyes gain a softer edge, almost reassuring, as he nods behind himself. «C’mon, hop on. We’re goin’ for a ride.»

Tad frowns. «Me? On the bike?»

«’Course. Why not?»

Despite the reply, Tad does climb on the seat behind Peanut, trying to find holds for all of his limbs. «Without helmets?»

Peanut’s laughter has a distinctive snickering sound that Tad thinks, in the back of his mind, he could get used to. «What, you scared of cops?»

«No, I am scared of running into a wall and smashing my skull, for example!» 

«Didn’t I tell ya I’m good at this? You wrote it in your essay!» It’s somewhat nice to know he remembers these small details, too. 

Tad’s rebuttal isn’t credible, if he giggles like this as he talks. «“Claims”, I wrote “claims”!»

 «You’re free to jump down anytime, hero. But I promise you ’s gonna be fine. And fun.» And Peanut actually stops; gives him the time to jump down, eventually. Somehow, though, the need for it doesn’t even cross Tad’s mind. 

The silence only lasts until another roar of the engine. «Good, then! How fast do you wanna go,» and he puts up one finger after the other as he lists, «medium, fast or super fast?»

Tad crinkles his nose. «Isn’t there a “slow”?»

«Nope, a bit of speed is necessary to keep the bike up. I sometimes forget you pay for your physics grades. Ow!» Peanut chuckles as Tad counterattacks his sneaky remark with a little peck on the back of his head, his three fingers still high. «So, which one?»

There’s a moment — just a fraction of a second, really, where Tad actually ponders. There’s something inviting in going fast, watching as the world around them blurs, alone with the adrenaline in both their bodies and almost flying. He’s never tried, but he figures it must be a really close feeling to freedom. 

However, for the first time since he walked out of the gym, his common sense wins, and he touches Peanut’s thumb, the one he raised at medium. There’s a spark he detects in his eyes, as he looks behind at him, though Tad can’t quite identify it. He frowns. «What?»

«Dunno. The way you looked in that moment. You were…» Struggling to find the words, Peanut shakes his head. «Nothin’, nevermind.» He turns before Tad can add anything else, leaving him to stare at his finely combed ducktail. «So, medium is it?»

«Yep.»

«Great! Hold on tight!» 

Tad soon finds out that grabbing the seat, just behind his own body, is just enough not to fall down. At this speed, though, the wind is gentle against his face, brushing his cheeks and tickling his eyelids. The colors of the city flash beside him, the sea deep beneath the bridge and a white disk melting in it, a photo of the moon the water has taken, as if to hold it close to its heart, kissing it with the waves until it will be gone in the morning. 

And the two of them, one with the wind, are an intrinsic part of the city, drops of blood flowing through its veins. 

This city had never really welcomed Tad — or at least, so he’d always thought. He might have been born within its borders, maybe his family was one of the most generous funders for anything Bullworth could ever need. But he’d always thought of himself as a parasite, only hiding in the corners until he would’ve been found and rejected; his father hadn’t attended the local academy, nor had his ancestors planted their roots here.

Perhaps, though, it had always been just him, standing at the sides, so scared to be eaten alive that he hadn’t even tried getting closer. 

His eyes fall on Peanut in front of him, strands of hazel hair rattling in the wind. His body has become a part of the motorbike itself, moving through the dimly illuminated streets like the whole city is his home. Even in the brown, grimy colors of New Coventry, he fits perfectly into the picture, and it is enough to paint all of his surroundings in warmer tones.

How could a person change the aspect of the whole world?

Peanut stops the motorbike at a corner, and Tad feels almost disappointed that they are already getting off it. 

Kicking the prop stand open and jumping off the bike, he fixes his pompadour, theatrically pulling the comb out of the pocket with a cocky grin. Tad huffs. «Showoff.»

«I’ll take that as a compliment.» The comb slips back in the jacket and Peanut offers his hand to Tad. «I hope you liked the ride.»

There’s a moment of hesitation, where Tad considers hopping off by himself and leaving Peanut’s hand hanging mid-air. It might be funny, even; it would be the most reasonable thing to do. 

But, after all, any trace of common sense has probably slipped away from him when he walked out of the gym.

He holds onto Peanut’s arm to get his feet back on the ground, even though he decides to still retain some satisfaction from him with his unimpressed answer. «It was mostly enjoyable.»

The laughter Peanut lets out is sarcastic, barely hiding the layer of amusement in his eyes. «“Enjoyable”. Well, I’ll show you enjoyable.»

He takes one step forward; Tad’s hand feels profoundly empty without Peanut’s wrist in it.

Despite not having read the neon sign over the door, Tad doesn’t have trouble understanding they are entering an ice cream parlor. The white and green square tiles on the ground are well coordinated with the pastel colors dominating the interior, small and warm but devoid of excesses in a way that makes it pleasantly spacious. There are only five tables, one of them already occupied by a girl, eating ice cream out of one cup; in front of her, another girl looks out of the glass, at the street, tapping her fingers on the table with a ticking sound.

Peanut enthusiastically opens his arms, wrists rotating until his hands are resting on the counter. «Enzo, m’man!»

A man turns to them, a good-natured smile in his big, round face, and looks down on Peanut from his imposing stature. «Good evening, Larry! What are ya doing here at this hour?»

«It ain’t even midnight, the night is young!» When he’s at ease, Peanut’s smile narrows his eyes into shiny, hazel cracks. Tad is surprised realizing he’s been able to witness it first-hand. 

In this situation, still, he is the one to feel at unease, in a probably family-run ice cream parlor in a neighborhood forgotten by God himself. A sense of shame snakes in his brain at the idea of leaving Peanut to speak for both of them, and he’s aware once more of what a child he so often ends up being.

He really needs to mature, sooner or later.

It’s much better to focus on the conversation happening with Enzo, who rests his fists on his hips. «So, what are we taking tonight?»

Peanut taps his fingertips on the counter, knowing grin. «The special occasion dessert, Enzo. Two of ‘em.»

Tad still has no idea of what they’re talking about; Enzo, though, hums, interested. «I see; what are we celebrating, mh?»

And Peanut turns to look at Tad; he searches his eyes, and suddenly that dark cloud in his mind is gone. They have done this great escape together, and together they will spend this time. Peanut might be the one who already knew the place, but now Tad is welcome too. 

He doesn’t need to look from far away; he can take a step forward. And he can take part in this conversation too.

Tad clears his throat. «We are escaping the horrible musical nightmare that is high school Prom.»

Enzo glances at the two of them, like he’s trying to decipher something written on their foreheads; Tad hopes he finds nothing — or at least, if he does, tells them. Because he’s spent the past weeks trying to understand what it was that he was missing. Finally, he pats the counter with one hand, turning to the cases behind himself. «Two brioches with ice cream coming, then!»

With a speed that only practice can give, he opens two brioche buns in the middle and lays the plastic plates behind the ice creams. He doesn’t even need to wait for Peanut to tell him the flavors — vanilla and dark chocolate — while Tad points at the cherry and the yogurt. 

Before Peanut can get any money from his jeans, Tad has already handed Enzo a fifty dollar bill. Peanut has had the kind idea to take him out and show him a place that clearly is dear to him; paying is the least Tad can do. It feels terribly materialistic, not nearly as precious as the thought he’s had for him, but it’s something, at least.

The two girls are still sitting at the table in the corner, whispering and giggling between themselves, so Tad and Peanut slip into the chairs at the other side of the room.

«I know it ain’t no fancy international chef you might be used to, but I promise it’s the best ‘round.» Peanut is trying to make his smile natural, but there’s something apologetic about it, as if he was saying sorry. Like he thinks this is inadequate, not expensive or elegant enough for Tad. Oh. Shame. 

Tad hopes he hasn’t made any odd expression to give him this idea. Has he wrinkled his nose? Has he side-eyed him? The little spoon he has in his hand cuts through the bun, taking the cherry ice cream with itself. «It doesn’t look bad. I appreciate it. I really do. Thank you.» He keeps adding on to it, hoping the message comes across, despite how awkward and incapacitated to convey his emotions the right way he is. «I’m guessing you already knew this place?»

«Yep.» Peanut takes a spoonful in his mouth; he squints for a second, probably at the contact of the cold ice cream with his teeth. Tad almost chuckles. «My mom used t’take me here on special occasions — birthdays, holidays, shit like that, and we’d have a brioche bun like this for breakfast.»

Tad can’t help but smile. «That’s nice.» In the back of his brain, he imagines coming here with his family, a picture from a different life where they are just a normal, happy family, where his brother isn’t locked up in an asylum and his mother isn’t sad and silent most of the time. 

Oh, no, he can’t spiral right now. Instead of focusing on the family he will never have, he should just focus on the present, on the spoon that’s still in his hand and the ice cream that is already melting into the bun.

Taking the spoonful to his mouth actually works. His eyes widen. The taste isn’t particularly sophisticated or complex, but there’s something about its simplicity that Tad wasn’t expecting would’ve actually impressed him. «Oh! It is good!»

Peanut’s smile is satisfied, and he doesn’t mask the relief. «Toldja. It don’t even cost that much. It’s jus’ perfect, I’m tellin’ ya.» He stops a second, rethinking his own words. «I mean, not that it would be off-putting to you if it wasn’t.» Then, with more mocking sarcasm to it: «His Highness the Prince here certainly has a personal chef for every meal, don’t he?»

«You are right, I wouldn’t have troubles spending some more money on a good midnight snack.» He takes another bite, though this time keeping his back straight and a constructed decency on his face. «But, what can I say, one must try everything in life, aren’t I right?» His voice takes an unintentional inflection that calls back at something else in his mind, familiar and comforting. He chuckles at himself. «Lord, am I talking like Gord now or what.» 

«You mean Gord Vendome?» Peanut snorts. «He’s a funky guy. I want to smash his face everytime he talks about how “real” ‘n’ shit “poor people” are, but he did date Lola and face Johnny. That shit took guts.»

Tad didn’t want to dust off that time of the year. His voice is weak, almost asking for mercy, when he talks. «I dated Lola too.»

Peanut almost spits the ice cream. «Wait, serious?»

«Right after Gord did.» She had invited him out. It was a study date, but it had still been her initiative to meet up for an afternoon. She’d complimented him and given him so much attention, she’d asked him how he was and she had smiled at him. She was still cheating on her boyfriend, but it meant Tad was worth it — didn’t it? 

But then again, she was just another one to take advantage of his lonely heart, giving him just enough to let him fall at her knees and then leaving him in the mud. «But I don’t think Johnny ever found out about me. Not that he would’ve cared, probably— she didn’t even kiss me, when we met. After all, she got with Chad right when she saw him, I was just a second choice to spend some time.»

Peanut scoffs, but there’s no trace of amusement in it. «Don’t be so sure ‘bout that, ‘s not a kiss that makes the difference.»

Tad knows this kind of answer. He’s trying to contradict something he’s said, spitting out just a minimal part of the whole thought process that his words have triggered in him. Now, the challenge is to identify what that something was. «Have you ever kissed her?»

Peanut’s eyes are struck by a flash, something incinerating inside of them. He shifts a bit his weight on the seat, unsure; a prey animal checking for hunters in proximity. «We ain’t telling nobody this stuff, right?»

«Nobody, you have my word.» And Tad exposes his open hands, to take away any doubt about crossed fingers. You’re safe.

He purses his lips together a couple times, frowning at the bun like it has personally hurt him. «Just a peck a coupla times. But y’know how it is — Johnny. They’ll always be each other’s first choice. I’m just… dunno, out of it.»

«Isn’t it better for you?» This is a stupid thing to say, in these circumstances. He knows it as soon as Peanut lifts on him an interrogative gaze, defensiveness all around his eyes. He might as well get up and walk away and abandon Tad here. He probably should. «I mean, they are bad. They are basically enslaved by each other, just rolling together down a hill.»

«I kinda know that.» There’s a sort of pout on his lips, a child withdrawing in himself to preserve just that bit of certainty remaining in a growing pool of questions. «But I’d like not to have to stand and watch.»

Instead of insisting, saying something to comfort him, Tad’s brain freezes. He wants to let reason speak, but as always his heart gets the best of him; because he knows what Peanut means. It must be horrible, almost traumatizing, to sit in a car as it wrecks down and goes up in flames in an accident. But you can only witness accidents happening to people close to you so many times before you desire to be in the burning car with them.

Reason isn’t enough to drag himself nor Peanut out of that mindset, not in the span of a night, anyways. All he can do is let out an eloquent, clear «Oh. I see.»

Both of their pairs of eyes fall on the table, the buns staring back at them as the ice cream keeps melting, uncaring of them needing some more time to eat it, the giggles of the girls on the other side of the room accompanying the noises coming from the street, muffled by the glass.

Always the first at breaking the silences — Tad is most grateful for that talent of his — Peanut sighs. «Well, then, y’know what.» He takes a piece in his spoon and lifts it towards the center of the table. «To be the first choices, someday.» There’s something hopeful in his crooked smile, like a spark that just lit up just by looking at Tad.

He finds himself wondering how someone like him could have this kind effect on someone like Peanut. Despite how lacerated his heart is, how disaggregated his soul is, he’s always finding the energy to get up and find something to smile for, swallowing the blood and the tears, moving forward. He can’t imagine Peanut giving up on anything, no matter how many hits he takes and how many times he falls to the ground. 

Tad is merely surviving through life, wallowing in a sea of bitterness and envy, finding himself hating any flower for the crime of being pretty like he knows he could never be. 

How is it possible, that one second ago Peanut found that strength to smile in Tad’s sole presence?

He could ask it explicitly. He could voice all of his concern and his doubts and remind him of the fame he has, that everyone says he’s a backstabbing little spit and not even his best friend trusts him.

However, he takes his spoon too, lifting it towards Peanut’s. He’s smiling, despite himself. «To be first choices.»

They are the last clients to get out of the parlor. Peanut says goodbye to Enzo with a gesture of his hand, as they walk out back into the alley. Tad bats his eyes a few times before they can get accustomed to the darkness again.

Stretching his arms, Peanut leans against his motorbike, ankles crossed and hands on the seat. «So? What now— any ideas?»

One day, Tad will tell him how charming Peanut can be, nonchalant attitude accompanying his rough but somewhat gracious figure.

Joining his hands, Tad places himself next to him. «I don’t know. I’m not familiar with this area, I already told you.»

Peanut hums. He tilts his head, pensive, as if trying to read an answer in the air. «We might as well just drive out of the city.»

«Where?»

«Outta here.» he repeats, simply. «Just anywhere outta this dump.» And he lowers his gaze onto Tad. The dirty, yellow light of the streetlamp pouring over him leaves golden specks in his eyes, as they stare at Tad; they are looking for an answer to his question, but there’s also something else inside them, something similar to fondness. Returning it is so natural it is almost accidental.

Especially considering the size of Bullworth, it is a very vague proposition. There are barely a few kilometers left, from their current position to the borders of the city, and who knows what is outside of it.

«How do you intend to do that?» Tad shakes his head lightly. «It’s already midnight, and I don’t think it is a good idea for us to be missing from school tomorrow morning.»

Peanut snorts, gesturing with his hand. «It won’t take more than half an hour to get there, and an hour to get back t’school. We have all the time we need. So, what’d ya say?»

And Tad laughs. He does before he can think better of it, nor does he know where it came from. Probably from his soul — he can feel his heart beating into his chest, and he suddenly is aware of being a real person, capable of genuine joy for small things.

God, when did this happen to him?

«Yes, I think that is a good idea.»

Peanut jumps on the motorbike with a howl of happiness. «Then hop on! We’re goin’ for a trip!»

Tad couldn’t predict the enthusiasm he climbs behind Peanut with. The sudden start of the bike pulls him backwards, so his hands instinctively reach for Peanut’s waist. 

At first, his brain kicks off the alarms. It is a close contact, almost intimate; certainly it’s not appropriate, it is too early and it will drive Peanut away. In a few seconds, though, it becomes natural, almost familiar, as if his hands were meant just to wrap around his waistline, slipping under his leather jacket and reveling in the soft fabric of the cotton shirt.

If Peanut notices, he doesn’t say anything, and Tad couldn’t be more grateful for that. A myriad of thoughts is whirling inside his skull, but for once he’s not so sure he wants them to shut up. It is a pleasant kind of vertigo, where he’s safely sitting in a flying vehicle but the whole world unwinds below him, sucking his gaze into the infinity of it. 

The motorbike slinks through narrow alleys and half-hidden back streets, until the houses become more big and sparse and concrete seas of buildings are replaced by endless fields of grass. The screams and motors are replaced by a calm noise of crickets lazily calling each other.

Peanut stops the motorbike next to a sign, the Bullworth writing covered by a bright red line. He jumps off, but Tad’s hands don’t stay empty for too long — Peanut grabs one in his, to drag him with himself, a laughter extending from one ear to the other. «We’re out of the city! Check this shit out!»

He runs, getting farther from the street; Tad could make a joke on his childish impatience, or he could pull his own hand away. Although, he chooses not to do either of them, rather following Peanut and trying to keep up with him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realizes the grass won’t probably be good for his slacks or his designer shoes, much less adequate to the occasion than Peanut’s combat boots. However, in this moment, his hand clasped with Peanut’s, no one’s eyes to judge him and evaluate his performance of decency, he couldn’t give less of a fuck.

They only stop when their lungs are exploding, the motorbike and the sign distant enough that only the outlines are visible. As soon as he can breathe again, Peanut throws his head backwards, and his mouth is wide open with wonder. 

Tad’s gaze follows his, and he can see how even Peanut could’ve been left wordless. He’s suddenly aware of never having really seen the night sky before; he was used to looking up to a black stretch dotted with sparse shiny grains. But this?

Over them is a blanket of the most precious fabric, blue and black and purple tangling with each other in elegant, divine shapes. Glowing specks lie all over it, a crowd of stars of the most varying sizes and strength, drawing patterns and shapes that twist and change at every blink of an eye.

«You ever seen somethin’ like this?»

Tad turns his head to Peanut. His eyes would fit perfectly among the stars above them.

He shakes his head, receiving a grin in response. «Me neither.»

In the silence, they both let their gazes fall between them, where their hands are still holding onto each other.

Maybe he should leave it. They have stopped running, after all. 

Tad tightens his grip; so does Peanut, taking one step closer. His face looks better every step he takes. «Maybe we could dance.»

A laughter escapes his mouth. Everything about the situation is absurd — and yet, he can’t help but feel that nothing in his life had ever made sense before this moment. «To what music?»

«I can make the music, if you say yes.» Peanut’s expression is playful, but the hope for his answer is more than real.

And Tad fulfills that hope, lays one hand on Peanut’s shoulder and lifts up their joined fingers. «Let’s hear this music, then.»

Peanut rests his free hand on Tad’s waist, only the space of their breaths separating their bodies. He clears his throat, and, though his singing voice is slightly croaky and technically more than imperfect, it is enough to mesmerize Tad, fill his ears and let his heart beat to the rhythm. «And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow; you're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be and I don't want to go home right now…»

Their dance moves aren’t even technically good; they’re just taking steps in all directions, occasionally spinning around their joined hands, loosely following the off-key notes of the song Tad doesn’t even know. But Tad’s breath and giggles tangle in mid-air with Peanut’s, their intertwined fingers fit together like the pieces of a puzzle, their bodies close the distance when they clumsily bump against each other and their eyes are chained together.

It’s more than just dancing with someone, or looking into a mirror like he sometimes thinks. It’s their souls calling, recognizing each other, yearning to reunite after lifetimes of being tossed in a world where they were always feeling out of place, terribly different and unbelonging with anyone else’s.

Even when Peanut stops singing, the soft melody keeps playing in the back of Tad’s mind. His wrists are crossed behind Peanut’s neck, his hands solidly holding Tad’s waistline, as they still sway, slowly and delicately, to the hovering rhythm of the music. 

«Tad?» Peanut’s voice is low, soft. His eyes are lost in Tad’s, laying somewhere between the folds of his soul. «Can I say somethin’ without you makin’ fun of it? Like, ever.»

Tad reflexively joins his hands, as if Peanut’s shoulders weren’t solid enough of a handle. He’s been so good at building walls around him his whole life, to keep himself and everyone else safe from his tendency to sabotage anything pure and good. But his feet are losing too much grip on the ground under him to give in to the urge to ruin this, right now. «Sure.»

Peanut is hesitating. He has spent a whole life learning to say just the perfect things not to upset anyone, to please and to be a good kid; never contradict anyone, never do anything against anyone’s better wishes — and if he ever does, keep that shame inside only for him to drown into.

But somehow, Tad wants him to feel safe; he wants to be contradicted, told the wrong thing, hurt, even, as long as Peanut doesn’t feel afraid to show him his heart. After all, Tad understands it much too well to get mad at him in any way.

As his fingertips reach Tad’s back, pulling him just close enough that the edges of the leather jacket brush over his suspender, Peanut tilts his head forward, the tip of his nose almost touching his. «I think I want to stay here forever. Like, in this place. With you.» He squeezes his eyes; Tad hadn’t realized they hadn't broken the contact until now, but his mind feels empty without Peanut’s eyes in it. «I’m sorry.» Oh.

And Tad’s heart sinks.

«Don’t apologize.» Tad has never been good at consoling people, making them feel better. He’s settled for refining the art of hurting them more, if anything. Trying to be gentle to someone is new. 

He doesn’t know how to comfort. What he does know, though, is that it’s okay is never enough to make that primordial shame disappear, dismantling the bomb ready to explode at any little mistake and let the brain torture every part of himself. It’s a reaction that one can only learn at a young age, but haunts a whole life, blocking adulthood out of the door.

Tad should know.

«You can tell me what you’re feeling.» He rests his forehead against Peanut’s. Gently. Peanut dares to open his eyelids, gaze made of fragile crystal. «Are you sure?» There’s the insecurity of a child in his eyes, as he looks into Tad’s eyes for a confirmation that he hasn’t said the wrong thing, that he was allowed to say what he just did.

«One hundred percent.» Tad doesn’t know why he wants this secureness for Peanut. A couple of months ago, he would’ve wanted him to shit his pants just at the sole sight of him, to wonder how many plans he had schemed to take him down and still be caught in the back. 

Now, though, there’s something different. Maybe he just sees in Peanut the half of himself that has been missing his whole life. Maybe he wants to tend through him to the child inside of himself no one ever tended to. Or maybe, fuck it, he’s just grown soft from all of his failures.

What’s sure is that something heats up inside of him when Peanut smiles, soothed and calm. He returns the gesture of resting his forehead against Tad’s, the tips of their noses brushing, and it warms his chest, like the flames in the fireplace when he was a child alone at home with his brother.

«Plus, if I have to be honest.» And then he peeks from his walls; maybe to give himself some gentleness, too. After all, if Peanut is wrong in considering he doesn’t deserve any, why wouldn’t Tad be? «And I think it’s the same, for me.»

Peanut is just as astonished as him. His eyes widen, become so large and deep that Tad could dive into them and let himself forever be lulled by the waves. «You mean that?»

«I do.» He doesn’t resist the impulse — and why would he? — to let his fingers slide across Peanut’s cheek, caress his cheekbone and reach his jaw, admiring the silver shades on his skin and the little moles he could draw constellations into, just as wondrous as the ones in the sky above them. Peanut’s eyelids relax, fall just a bit, as he leans into Tad’s hand.

Peanut’s voice comes out in a murmur, the breath lingering over Tad’s lips. «Do you know how beautiful you are?»

Tad is caught off-guard. Whenever he would look into the mirror, only regret was returned to him. His nose has never been as gracious as Gord’s, his figure never as sinuous as Derby’s or as bulky as Parker’s or as strong as Bif’s. He’s not as tall as Bryce nor as mature as Justin. There’s always something missing, something wrong and horridly inadequate. Beautiful is a word he would never use for himself.

There must be something bitter in the smile he pulls up, because his own chuckle doesn’t feel sincere to him. «I’m not.» 

«Promise you are. A lot. I…» Peanut tries to put together a few syllables, but the attempts are left alone with a giggle, as spontaneous as only Peanut could be. «Look, we both know I’m much better at Physics than English. But I swear you’re glowing, t’night. Like these stars, y’know.»

The adoration in his eyes reflects his words, and Tad is suddenly aware of the way Peanut is opening all of his doors to him, letting him in and trusting him with everything he has. He’s locked parts of himself to everyone he’s ever known, even Lola, even Johnny, terrified of chasing them away for being too much or not enough. The fear of being a burden has always kept him at a distance even from his closest friends, leaving him to interact with them from the hole he dug from himself.

But for Tad — he’s peeking out of that hole, standing close enough that Tad can see his whole self without Peanut hiding away.

And it’s Tad. Tad Spencer, the boy no one trusts, the ugly duckling of the Preps, the kid who had schemed from his first day just to find a way to be loved by his peers. Ever since he was born, since his father locked his brother away and despised him for being the only potential heir left, he’d known that his worthlessness went much farther than merely being unreliable. He’s rotten, a taste for destruction inbuilt in his soul.

«I will hurt you.» It’s not an intention or a threat as much as it is a matter of fact. He stares at Peanut’s nose, ashamed and extremely undeserving of the yearning gaze of his eyes. 

«You won’t.» He has no idea how Peanut can keep his own voice firm in a moment like this. 

Tad is warning him of the danger. He’s trying to remind him of just how vicious and unfaithful his very nature is, how he will only slip into his daggers if he gets too close, how he is incapable of nice things.

«Everybody knows the shit I say.» Deep down, he knows this is just another attempt at self-sabotaging. You can’t fall from grace, if you have nothing to lose in the first place. «Why wouldn’t I?»

«I think I’d break your face.» 

Peanut’s reply is so casual, so spontaneously unserious that Tad finds himself chuckling. Why is he smiling? The joke was lame, “playground fight” level of lame.

He’s smiling, nevertheless. «Oh, would you?»

«Yep.» And the wit falls away, as he continues, softly: «’Cause I don’t wanna hurt, with you.» The breath he takes is shaky; the nurturing instinct to stroke his cheek comes to Tad by itself. «I’ve spent all this time just tryna be perfect for everyone. I was so scared to be alone that I don’t even know what I am, I only know what I am not and that hurts. You know that, right?»

And Tad knows. That’s what they’ve been telling each other and themselves their whole lives, isn’t it.

«I can never live my life, if I don’t know what myself is. But tonight I felt like I was really alive, Tad.» His eyes are so glossy with tears that aren’t falling that Tad can almost see the reflections of his own eyes inside of them — or maybe it’s just Peanut’s words resonating in his chest like they were his. «Please, let’s just be ourselves together.»

It shoots a dart right in the slits of his walls.

Peanut is trusting him with his heart. He's asking him to take care of him, of his neglected, needy soul; and to do the same for Tad, to be close without him running into his rabbit hole at the first loving touch. He’s asking to strip themselves of their skins, being vulnerable and allowing each other to take care of them. For once, accepting that maybe, just maybe, they do deserve to let go of the demons they thought were there to keep them in check but were just poisoning them from the start.

It's a bad decision. Careless at best, destructive at worst. Tad will blow it. Tad will drop Peanut’s heart on the ground and use it as a step to reach some star too high for him — that’s what he always does to people, isn’t it.

And yet, for once, he wants to try. Wants to take that heart in his and reassure him — and maybe a bit himself — that he can do this; that he will let Peanut inside his walls, if anything to keep him safe and warm. 

If he can learn to love himself through learning to love him, so be it.

«Yes.» Among all the thoughts whirling in his head, only a couple of words are able to leak through to his mouth. «Yes, I want to learn how to be ourselves.»

Peanut smiles. The three tears that have fallen are warm on Tad’s fingers, taking away with themselves any trace of pain in his bright eyes. Tad must’ve hurt him, just now, letting if for a second his fear pour over Peanut's already unstable hope. 

He should really say sorry.

But anything he might say is cut out of his brain, as Peanut kisses him.

It’s sudden, Tad’s hand almost losing its grip on his cheek and behind his shoulder. Still, the pressure on his lips wakes up the butterflies that must’ve been asleep in cocoons inside his stomach. He hopes they are calling him too, because never like now has he felt sick of being a little caterpillar closed up in himself.

Peanut pulls away before Tad can bring himself to react. His cheeks are flushed, as if he’s confused by himself. «That was— Did I misread this? I’m so—»

«Hey.» He stops him successfully, Peanut’s mouth immediately shut. «What have we said before? Don’t apologize.»

«But I— uhm.» He leans forward again, just lightly, and he awkwardly clears his throat. His voice croaks, a theatrical chivalry that makes Tad giggle in amusement. «May I, my prince?»

Both his hands cup Peanut’s face, as he nods, with the same tone: «Yes, dear knight, you may.»

Their lips meet mid-air, and Peanut’s are still salty with the tears from before. Yet, they’re soft and warm, so inherently sweet that Tad can’t help but think they were made just to be kissed, touched with all the kindness this boy needs. 

From a different perspective, it would be an awkward kiss. Their lips are just disclosed enough to feel their breaths, and they are trying to tilt their heads in ways that manage not to make their noses bump against each other by accident. 

But Tad feels like his hands were made just the perfect size to hold Peanut’s cheeks, his fingertips caressing Tad’s back like they already know the land they’re trying to map. It would probably surprise none of them if their skin fell off, only leaving their souls to confront each other. They would probably be fine with it, too. 

When they part, Peanut’s lips are a shade of pink, curved in a tender and somewhat lively way; Tad is sure he mustn't look much differently, either.

Is this what happiness feels like?

The grass under his feet seems a fit place for all the butterflies still storming in his whole body, blending with all the feelings and the thoughts that are just too much to stay inside his brain or in his chest. It’s one of these that probably gives him the initiative to speak, although a bit panting: «We should try this again sometimes.»

Thinking about it, his words are quite vague — he might be talking about either the escape out of the city, the kiss or the whole thing. 

Peanut, though, doesn’t ask questions. He just nods, a pining in his eyes that makes Tad wish he could stay in this moment forever. «Totally should.»

It’s almost painful to let his glance fall on the watch and conclude that it might be time to go back to the school. Even as they walk back to the street, Peanut keeps an arm around Tad’s shoulders, holding him close to himself, fingers squeezing softly over his shirt in a gesture to remind him that he’s there, that he’s going to take care of him the same way Tad promised he would of Peanut.

This time, as he climbs on the motorbike behind him, Tad wraps both his arms around Peanut’s waist, laying his head on his back. He’s tired, almost letting sleep get the best of him during the trip back to Bullworth, but it’s different from what he’s used to. He knows how it is, to be exhausted as soon as he wakes up, to feel like he needs a rest from the world.

Right now, his heart tingles in the most blissful of ways, floating in his chest to meet his skin where Peanut’s fingertips have left the feeling of them like ink stains. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel his lips over his, and he could revel in this bodily memory until the end of his days.

The gates of the school have never been this detested. The beats of some preregistered music are still audible, but the chattering of students has more or less died down. At three in the morning, most of the students will already be in their rooms, whether they are sleeping or keeping themselves occupied in other ways. Therefore, they meet no one, as Peanut drives the motorbike back in the garage box. 

Resting his feet on the ground, Tad doesn’t know if he’s starting to feel cold because of how empty his arms are now, left to cross on themselves, or because of the night breeze in early April.

Peanut clasps his hands together, grin crooked and teasing. «How ‘bout we go to my room?»

Tad frowns; he’s already trying to figure out how to answer, before Peanut intercepts his train of thoughts. «I was kiddin’, don’t worry. We’ll go slow. As slow as we need to. About everything.» 

It was supposed to be serious, but then he lets go of a loud yawn, which calls for another one from Tad. «For example, I think now we both need some sleep.»

The silence between them as they walk out of the autoshop is awkward, and unfortunately their pinky fingers hooking around each other don’t help it — despite it, of course, still leaving a sweet taste on Tad’s tongue. 

They get to the corner of the courtyard in front of the Harrington House, and Peanut turns to stare at him before he can turn and walk to the boys dorm. «So.» His speech is stumbling, but Tad can’t blame him.

What can you say after a night like this?

Nothing could be enough to wrap it all up. There would always be something left behind, something left unsaid that will weigh on their minds for days but will never again find its way out of their mouths. 

Leaning against one pillar of the stone portal doesn’t seem to help him, as Peanut rubs one hand behind his neck. «See you tomorrow then?»

When he didn’t know what to say, Tad always knew that the best thing would have been to act, even if he was never able to gather enough courage. Now, though, he doesn’t give himself the time to hesitate.

He grabs the collar of Peanut’s shirt and crashes his own lips onto his, pushing him against the wall behind him. Peanut is quicker to react than he would’ve imagined, both his hands flying behind Tad’s neck to drag him closer. 

It’s rougher than before, the satisfied longing turned into a bone-deep hunger and bodies looking for each other like they’re trying to mesh together, but the sweetness that lingers when they part is just the same.

Tad takes one more second to fix the shirt he has wrinkled — just an excuse to keep staring at Peanut’s liquid eyes and his reddened and perhaps a bit swollen lips. 

Unable to let go, he finally forces himself to give him one more pat on the chest. «I guess so.»

They exchange one more smile; then, Tad swiftly turns his back and walks to the House. He could look back and check on Peanut. See if he's strolling away with his feet floating over the ground, if he’s still standing where Tad left him. 

But he doesn’t look back. He wants that smile to be the last picture of Peanut in his mind, the one he will see when he closes his eyes to drift off to sleep.

There’s a chance that tomorrow will come and nothing will have changed. Kids of all classes will keep chasing each other around, the smallest kids will be beaten up in the bathrooms, the prefects will spend their days looking for nonexistent crimes to punish. 

Maybe he will never talk to Peanut like that again. After all, despite their initial promise in that December afternoon, they still haven’t played any music together. Tomorrow Tad will look at him and there is a possibility that he will barely return his glance, only to go back talking to his boys one second after. 

Hell, in a couple of months they will graduate. Will they even remember about each other, then?

He worries too much — he’s aware of that. For any nice gift the present gives him, he will regret the past and grieve the future. It never gets him anything, except taking away the few, quick moments he might actually be grateful for.

And it is exactly why he only wants to savor the current feelings, all the sensations and the emotions that still fill his whole self with an unfamiliar joy. 

He only quickly passes by Gord’s room to take the tie he left on his vanity; the bed is empty, just as he would’ve imagined. He will most probably barge in in the morning, tell him his amazing story of the night and joke about how Tad must’ve gone to bed early and had a good time in the arms of Morpheus. Tad will just nod with an amused smile — he isn’t sure it is the case of telling whose arms he was actually into.

As he gets changed, he realizes his shirt is still smelling like Peanut’s cheap citrus cologne and motor oil.

For the sake of spite, he murmurs to himself: «How gross of a stink.» — although, the smile that unravels on his face and the fingers holding the fabric closer to his nose say otherwise.

His feathers mattress welcomes him and his weary limbs, inviting his eyelids to fall down as well. He considers leaning forward once more to kiss the smile he can see still in front of him, just before the entirety of his consciousness switches off completely, closing the door on the night that he wishes would never really finish, letting him slip into a dreamless sleep at the tune of a distant melody — off-key, out of tune and belonging to a song he will never know the title of.