1. Caribbean Nights


"Fuck," Scout groans, pressing a hand over his face. "I think I'm gonna die."

The windows are open as far as they go, though it doesn't alleviate the dense humidity. This kind of weather is par for the course at St. Martin: deliciously balmy when hanging out by the water, markedly less so back here in the hotel room. The central air conditioning's down, much to the chagrin of all the guests, and although Will and Scout keep getting complimentary breakfasts while the staff try frantically to figure out what's wrong, it doesn't seem quite enough when it feels like they're being slowly spit-roasted over the fiery pits of hell.

They've stripped right down to their shorts, Scout sprawled out on his bed and Will lying on the floor, his skin sticking to the wood parquet whenever he tries to move. "I told you not to drink so fucking much, you idiot," he replies unceremoniously, brushing sweat-damp hair out of his face.

"Like that makes a difference," Scout says, his voice slurring. "I wasn't even talking about us getting oven-baked, man. I was talking about Bella."

"Oh," Will says unenthusiastically. He rolls over to a fresh patch of floor, emitting a loud sigh, simultaneously of boredom and of relief. The relief stems from the fact that the new patch of floor means brief coolness, the boredom from the imminent subject matter. The phone calls they'd made earlier that day hadn't, to all intents and purposes, been hugely successful. Caroline had dumped Will over the line because, as much as she had glossed the words over tactfully, she had met someone better in Paris. And Bella yet again informed Scout that she had not talked to her mother about The Problem. They had decided that the calls pretty much constituted disasters befit a ransacking of the mini-bar. After all, Scout's parents were the ones paying the bill.

"So, Bella," Will says with resignation, rolling his eyes when he is sure Scout can't see him. "What now?"

"She sees her mom every day," Scout moans, draining the last of the half-ounce bottles of mint Schnapps and tossing it onto the floor with a loud clatter. "And she doesn't get around to asking? How hard is it? It's just a question."

"She sees her every day in court, Scout," Will lifts himself onto his elbows with an effort, contemplates the empty mini-bottles littered around him. He can feel blood pulsing at the back of his burning ears. Perhaps admonishing Scout for drinking so much is a little hypocritical at this stage. "She's stressed about the gas station, just cut her some slack."

"It's… just… a… fucking… question," Scout repeats, his voice rising as he glances over at Will, looking betrayed. His skin is clear and flushed from the heat, his eyes scintillant under the lights.

Will holds up his hands, unsticks himself from the floor and crawls to the mini-bar, eyes on the final bottle of Jack. "Dude, don't look at me. It's up to her."

"Goddamn right it is," Scout said with a low, humourless chuckle, and he rolls over, burying his face in the pillow. "And you know what I fucking figured out? She doesn't even fucking care."

Will looks over as he twists the cap off the bottle. "What are you talking about?"

"She doesn't care if we're related." Scout's voice is muffled. He makes no move to realign himself. "That's why she doesn't ask."

"That's not true," Will says automatically. His mind, however, is far from Scout's romantic problems. In one week he'd have to move back into his parents' house, and that – though he doesn't say it out loud – is a shitload more important than the neverending quasi-incest melodrama. Setting his jaw, he tosses back a healthy gulp from the bottle and coughs violently before taking another swig, leaning back against the foot of the bed.

"It's been three fucking months since Charlie told me, and she never even tried to find out if it's true…"

(Will notes, with detached amusement, that the expletives in Scout's speech seem to go up in exponential proportions to the amount of alcohol he had consumed.)

"… meanwhile I'm the one doing all the fucking talking, I talk to my dad and I fucking try to get her to fucking talk to Donna…. But she does nothing. She… always does ab-so-fucking-lutely nothing…"

Will waits, rolling his eyes again, but no more sound comes from Scout. "Hey man," Will chuckles, throwing his head back to glance tipsily in the other boy's direction. "You suffocate back there or something?"

There is no reply.

"Dude," Will says as he grabs a handful of sheets, pulls himself unsteadily to his feet. Scout is still sprawled across the bed, his face firmly pressed into the pillow.

"Hey," Will say, half-stumbling, half crawling onto the expanse of bed beside Scout, fighting back a sudden wave of dizziness. He whacks Scout on the back. "At least fall asleep with your face up, idiot."

He is only answered by the sound of a soft snore. With a wry grin, Will hits Scout again, this time across the back of the head.

"OW! Fuck!" Scout gives a yelp as he rolls over, opening his eyes a crack. His face is bright red, with faint pillow creases streaking across his cheekbones. "Whaddya do that for?"

"I could've been saving your fucking life, you dumbass. How can you even fall asleep like that? Don't you realise you can't breathe?"

"Who even fucking cares if I die in my sleep," Scout mumbles, rolling onto his side and faces away from Will. "She sure doesn't."

"God, just get over it," Will snaps, holding his head. "God, I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Sissy," Scout mumbles through a wide yawn.

Will hits him again, half-heartedly, and Scout doesn't even bother hitting back. A few moments later there is the sound of a soft snore; he had evidently fallen right back to sleep.

Will shakes his head, finishing off his drink before he staggers across the room to turn out the lights. The sudden darkness snaps out what's left of his orientation and he loses his balance, falling back down on Scout's bed and nearly dislocating a shoulder in the process. He vaguely contemplates going to his own room, but a wave of drowsiness hits and the last thing he manages is to thank whatever power up there that Scout is rich enough to afford a room with a king-sized bed.

***

When Will wakes suddenly, his mind fuzzy with alcohol and sleep, he doesn't know what woke him. The heat has dissipated somewhat, and they have both burrowed under the covers, though it's more habit than necessity here in the sultry Caribbean night. The room is shrouded in darkness, with only a hint of starlight coming in through a tiny crack in the curtains. Licking his parched lips, he contemplates getting up for a glass of water, and then he hears the sound of rustling beside him and for a moment he thinks nothing of it. Then his mind clears and he winces, quietly shifts to the very edge of the bed and tries not to listen.

Scout's breathing is laboured, and although he seems to be trying to keep quiet a small moan escapes him as the rustlings grow quicker and more regular. Will swears silently and feels warmth rushing up to his cheeks; despite having shared a room with Scout for the past three months, this is new. He supposed they took pains to conceal these kinds of things from each other when they went to bed sober. He wants to put his hands over his ears but doesn't, lest he gives away the fact that he is awake. Scout would die of embarrassment if he knew. Will knows he would.

Rawley buildings. Crew. Sean's parties, he thinks, and tries Very Hard not to pay attention. The Regatta, Jake is a girl, Lobster rolls at Fanny's. Scout's breathing is coming faster and the small, persistent movements cause the bed to shudder under them. Will clenches his eyes shut, holds his breath inadvertently and only lets it out when his lungs are fit to burst. Bella's 16th birthday party, Finn holidaying in Costa Rica, I hope Ryder doesn't come back this semester, he thinks frantically, trying to ignore the rhythmic tremors in the bed, the sound of it, the whimper that escapes into the still air as Scout seems to forget that there is another person in the bed altogether and his movements grow jerky and abandoned. Caroline in Paris, Bella's mom selling the gas station, I have to go to Edmund High next semester. Scout shudders beside him, and Will bites down on his lower lip as he realises that he is growing hard despite his best efforts to ignore the situation. Scholarship applications, Shakespeare's sonnets, baseball and ice cream sundaes, working at Friendly's and diving into the lake, blueberry pie-eating competitions and the '77 Junior Division record and ABBA playing on the radio and topless beaches…

In hindsight, the last mental image is probably not that beneficial to what he is trying to achieve. Without his quite realising it, he finds his own hand slipping inside his shorts. Oh, this is so wrong, he moans silently, cringing. But then Scout lets out a small gasp and Will bites his lip once more, so hard he is sure he will leave teeth marks there in the morning, and he strokes himself, guiltily and quickly, in time with Scout's laboured breathing. Scout's movements grow faster, and he groans weakly as he exhales, and suddenly there is a tangible pause before he shudders again, arching slightly off the bed, stifling a cry.

Will's face burns in the darkness. He can feel the tense tremors running through Scout's body, and it feels like an eternity before Scout finally eases back, still shaking. "Bella," he murmurs, and his voice is harsh and jagged, like the sound of a suppressed sob.

There is a moment of silence. Will swallows and remains stationary, his hand still wrapped around himself. He holds his breath; he lets it go. He wonders if Scout is going to clean himself up.

Evidently not. After another few moments, Will starts to stroke himself again, very slowly, trying not to think about the time and the place and what started this whole thing in the first place. But he freezes when Scout breaks the silence.

"Will?"

Will bites his lip and does not reply; he is semi-amazed that his bright scarlet face isn't lighting up their surroundings.

A pause, and he hears Scout exhale. "You're awake, aren't you?" Scout murmurs. "I thought I heard something."

Will stays very, very still, his hand still down his pants, and he clenches his eyes closed as he tries to wish his way out of this nightmare. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and swallows. His throat feels like coarse sandpaper.

Beside him, Scout gives an impatient sigh and a moment later Will feels the other boy's hand slide onto his stomach and he gives a violent start and nearly falls off the bed. "What are you doing?" he demands, and to his surprise his voice breaks halfway through the sentence.

"Proving you're awake," says Scout, matter-of-factly. His hand remains on Will's stomach, warm and a little damp. Will closes his eyes and swallows again, trying not to think about where it's just been and the wrongness of this whole situation. (Not to mention the disturbing fact that he is maintaining an erection through all this.) "What are you doing," he murmurs, and the sentence comes out sounding more like a plea than a question.

"Proving I still matter," Scout says, and there is an edge of determination to his voice, marred by what seems a hint of amusement that could have been brought on by his drunkenness, though at this point Will really can't be sure of anything anymore. "In some ways," Scout adds, and his hand moves down, slowly but persistently, until his fingers nudge the waistband of Will's shorts.

Will's breath catches in his throat. He swallows again, feels the warm weight of Scout's hand on his abdomen, and despite all this he could feel himself growing harder. "Scout," he says, his heart hammering in his chest. "This isn't right."

"Who said anything about right," Scout says, and as though that is an invitation of sorts he deftly undoes the top button and slips his hand inside Will's underwear. Will gasps, audibly, when he feels the other boy's hand close around his own. "Let go," Scout says, and his voice grows low and rough. "Let me."

"You're so fucking drunk," Will says, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Duh."

"We're not doing this, Scout."

"I think we already are," says Scout, and even with Will's hand under his he gives a slow, persistent stroke, as though in guidance, and Will's body tenses despite himself.

"No," he says, and the word comes out a whimper. It seems as though his brain is in danger of falling out of his head altogether and he keeps his eyes closed and mutters something he can neither hear nor understand.

"Please," says Scout. And out of all the words that Will thought he'd possibly say this is not one of them and Will's eyes fly open and they dart toward Scout incredulously, but of course he sees nothing in the darkness. Apart from his hand, which seems completely detached from the rest of him, Scout is far away. Their bodies do not touch at all.

"Please," Scout says again, and Will realises that he, too, must have closed his eyes. "Just… I wannna do this."

"Cos of Bella?" Will asks. Blood is pounding in his ears so loudly he isn't even sure he can hear Scout speak.

"Cos I want to make someone feel something," Scout says after a moment, and there is something dark and plaintive in his voice.

Will swallows again, and he exhales slowly. And then he lets go.

***

Scout is surprisingly adept at this. Or perhaps, Will thinks as he tilts his head back and bites down even harder and tries to blank out thoughts altogether, that all guys should be good at this and it shouldn't really matter if it were themselves or someone else on whom they do it. The practice is the same, the playing field only different in minor details.

The whole time the rest of their bodies do not touch. For all Will knows, Scout may well just be a disembodied hand, warm and steady in its grasp, stroking firmly, persistently, knowing just when to slow down and when to speed up without throwing off the rhythm or losing the mounting tension; and as Will comes, gasping for breath, he feels himself spinning into a darkness that is much denser than the Caribbean night.

Scout's hold eases. He strokes again, two or three times, slowly, in time with the last ebbs of pleasure, and then the hand retreats.

When the deeper darkness subsides Will bites his lip again and finds a faint taste of blood. He sighs.

"We don't talk about this," says Scout, as though he's read Will's mind. "Ever again. Deal?"

"Deal," Will whispers.

"Good," says Scout. And then he turns his back on Will and scoots over to his side of the bed. He seems to blend into the darkness, and soon his breathing turns light and regular.

But Will stays awake for another hour, staring up at the ceiling.

***

When he wakes the next morning Scout is already in the shower. If not for the sticky patch on his stomach Will would have supposed it was a seriously fucked-up dream. As it is, though, when Scout emerges from the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist, Will colours and turns away quickly and pretends to look out the window.

If Scout notices he doesn't say anything. They spend the day by the pool, as usual, drinking virgin daiquiris and checking out babes in bikinis. The words they exchange are few, but it doesn't feel out of place. There are a few laughs, and both stay true to what was agreed upon last night. They do not touch, however: no handshakes, no high-fives, no friendly pats on the back. Will finds himself wanting to sneak peeks at Scout when he's sure the other boy isn't looking, but he refrains. The night before is already fading, blurring at the edges to a murky, distant dream. Out here, watching the bright net of dappled light shifting through the blue water, one can't be sure of the other reality.

When they return to the hotel room after dinner, there is a brief, awkward lull, which Scout smoothes over by turning on the television and they spend the evening watching old movies on pay per view, Will leaning against the foot of Scout's bed and Scout stretched out on it. And then it's time to sleep and Will says his goodnights and goes to his own room next door and gets changed and climbs into bed and thinks that's that.

The sound of the door creaking open wakes him later in the night, and someone climbs into his bed. "Scout?" he asks, rather unnecessarily, as he feels the faint warmth emanating from the body next to him, though they still do not touch.

"Yeah," Scout replies, and without further elaboration he trails a hand over Will's chest.

"What are you doing?"

A pause. "What does it look like?"

"We were drunk last night."

"And?"

"I thought it was like… a one-off thing."

Scout chuckles low in his throat and his hand eases down the length of Will's body and undoes the drawstring on his pyjama pants. Will swallows again and tries not to bite his lip because it has been sore all day, but when Scout's hand closes around him he can't help doing exactly that and he feels himself blush when he realises just how fast he had become hard in Scout's hand.

Scout feels it also. There is another chuckle, simultaneously sounding of amusement and deeper, darker satisfaction. "Don't ask questions, man," he says.

Will sucks in a breath as Scout begins to stroke up and down the length of him, slowly, and it seems like a relived memory; suddenly it hits him that this is really happening, just like it happened last night. "Kinda hard… not to…" he murmurs, stifling a moan when Scout suddenly stops.

"Does it feel good when I do this?" Scout asks, simply.

Will bites his lip again. "Yes," he murmurs after a pause, and there is the taste of blood again.

"And you like it?"

"… I guess."

"That's all I need, man."

Scout resumes what he's doing and Will feels a shudder of relief run through his body; he relaxes into the rhythm and it surprises him how quickly that this seems to have become normal, even expected. The familiarity displaces any anxiety that he may have felt the first time round and he comes soon afterward, his fists closing around handfuls of bedsheets.

After he has mopped himself up he reaches over, a little apprehensive, but ready to return the favour. His fingers barely come into contact with skin before Scout swats them away, his voice suddenly stony. "What are you doing, Will?"

"I… I thought maybe… maybe you…"

"No, I'm okay," Scout says, and his voice is gentler now, though again he turns away from Will and scoots to the very edge of the bed.

Will frowns to himself, stung, and closes his eyes because he can think of nothing else to do. It is with a sense of unease that he finally drifts off.

He will awake later to the sound of Scout jerking off in the deep darkness, murmuring Bella's name.

***

A few days go by and the act becomes second nature. They spend the day by the pool or in the gym, laughing and talking and checking out girls like any two teenage boys on vacation; at night, together in Will's bed, they are something much less certain.

After the first couple of nights Scout simply abandons the pretence of going to his own room first and instead stays in Will's room after dinner, slipping into bed unceremoniously when the lights go out. Will wears his pyjama bottoms to bed at first, but that night as he leans back for the usual hand job he feels instead the dry cotton being tugged down past his hipbones, and the feeling of Scout's warm wet mouth closing over him pushes him over the edge almost instantaneously and he comes so hard that he nearly blacks out, and after that he doesn't bother with clothes any longer. Scout doesn't comment on that. He never does.

Their bodies grow closer, though they balk at full contact. When Scout gives Will blowjobs his fingers sometimes close over Will's hipbones and Will entangles his hands in Scout's hair and sometimes he will subconsciously push his hips up so that Scout nearly gags with the full length of his cock in his mouth and he will grab Will's ass to try and steer the other boy in a more comfortable direction; but that doesn't often happen and afterwards, they always fall asleep on the opposite edges of the bed, not touching at all.

Scout doesn't let Will do anything in reciprocation. When pressed he will say he prefers it that way. But as certain as their nightly trysts, Will always wakes up to the sound of Scout quietly jerking himself off into oblivion, his soft little moans indistinguishable from the sound of sobs, Bella's name escaping occasionally on a shuddering sigh. Those times Will doesn't make a sound and he is fairly certain that Scout doesn't know he is awake. But he is awake, and he remains awake long after the other boy finishes and drifts off to sleep.

***

The last day in St. Martin, they finally go to a topless beach like Scout had promised back in summer session. Had it only been three weeks? It seems much longer. Or, Will refines his thinking: the days have been short and concise; it's the nights that stretch out into the recesses of infinity, slowly melding with the other world of sleep and dreams until the two are indiscernible from each other and time ceases to have meaning.

The day is the same as usual: hot, sultry, with ice-cold drinks, beach umbrellas and fine white sand like powdered sugar. Except, and they both note this fact with much relish, there are many more racks on display. They ogle and compare, they snicker quietly to themselves, and award points out of ten on a merit-based system. They have a good time.

They are, somewhat inevitably, also extremely horny when they get back to Will's room. And when the door closes behind them and when the sun is still shining through the half-closed blinds at an oblique angle Scout pushes Will onto the bed and pretty much falls on top of him. Will groans because his sunburned back is chafing against the bedcovers and the light is falling across his eyes like a torch beam, but then he feels Scout easing back his swimming trunks and taking him into his mouth and he imagines what it must taste like with the sea salt and the smell of the hot day still lingering on him and his groan turns into something very different in nature.

It would have been surprising, not to mention disturbing, if Scout had been good at blowjobs from the outset. But Will is semi-amazed at how fast he became skilful at it; perhaps he modelled what he did on his own needs, or perhaps he picked something up from Paige. Will never knew how far Scout got with his girlfriend, and neither of them is much for kissing and telling. Scout knows now, though, when to flick his tongue lightly over the head of Will's cock and when to take the whole length of it into his mouth; he knows when to tease and when to keep up a steady rhythm as Will starts moaning in earnest and grabbing him by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the warm flesh.

Today, however, Will opens his eyes a crack and looks down at Scout kneeling at the foot of the bed, and catches a glimpse of dark lashes and cheeks hollowed with suction and it hits him with a violent jolt that he'd never seen themselves do this out of the cover of night. Their skins glow softly gold in the setting sunlight and his own nakedness suddenly seems very prominent. "Take your trunks off," he gasps as he pushes Scout away, scooting back against the headboard.

Scout looks up, and his eyes are misty blue in the light, with a translucent ring of gold around the irises. "What?"

Will swallows as he watches Scout lick his lips. The sight seems oddly obscene and at the same time it seems to create a hollow in his chest, a faint but recognisable aching. "Take your trunks off," he whispers.

Scout looks like he is about to refuse, but his eyes lose a little focus as their eyes meet. Will swallows again and bites his lip. Already he can taste the blood; he had been nibbling on the tortured lip so much lately that he is sure it'll never heal properly. They've never looked at each other before this. Not in daylight, and not in acknowledgement of the situation.

Scout keeps his eyes on Will. "Okay," he says, and he eases himself out of his trunks and climbs onto the bed, his gaze still burning into Will's own. Neither of them looks elsewhere as their bodies come into contact. Here are four legs intertwined. Here are two sunburned chests sliding against each other. Here is flesh and muscle and skin warm and salty from the Caribbean beaches. They keep their gazes interlocked; Will thinks it is probably because they are afraid to look down.

***

Will had only ever gotten to second base with Caroline, or any other girl for that matter. He doesn't know if Scout had done more with Paige or even Bella, and he doesn't ask. This is different to being with a girl, anyway. Girls are constituted from softness and curves and sugar and spice; Scout's body is hard and geometric, like his own, and when they explore each other's bodies they explore not the differences, but the similarities.

There is no penetration, and definitely no kissing. That doesn't bear thinking about. It is only the two of them, their cocks grinding together in sweaty, slippery disorder, frenzied breaths hot against each other's flushed skin. Will is secretly glad when Scout fumbles and gasps through this like he himself does, and comes before he does, too. Their stomachs are a sticky mess afterwards and they take a look at each other and actually manage to laugh about it before they clean up, showering separately because, of course, showering together doesn't bear thinking about either.

Later that night they do it again, in the more familiar setting of darkness, their moans louder this time, their touches more confident. Scout entangles his hand in Will's hair and as he comes he doesn't murmur Bella's name; he merely grabs Will's shoulder until his knuckles turn white and Will cries out as he, too, comes violently, and he digs his fingers into the small of Scout's back. Later he will find fingernail marks there, and he trims his nails hastily. Scout, as always, does not comment.

Afterwards they lie in the pitch black and they both stare up at the unseen ceiling. Their bodies are touching now, shoulder against shoulder, bare hip against bare hip, left leg resting lightly against right leg.

"So," Will says after a long silence. "Have you called her again this week?"

"No."

There is a lengthy pause, and then Scout adds, "I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get back."

Will nods silently. There is a slight, stifled feeling in his chest, which he studiously ignores.

"What about you, man?"

"Edmund, I guess," Will says heavily. "Movin' back home."

"If only you'd let my dad write - "

"We've been over this before, Scout. I don't want you fixing things for me."

Scout raises himself up on his elbows and glances over at him, catching a glint of moonlight in his eyes. "You let me fix you in other ways."

Will swallows and looks away. "It's different, and you know it."

Scout collapses back onto the bed and does not speak. A little while later, he sighs. Will sighs also, and the backs of their hands touch, and Scout doesn't draw away this time.

They fall asleep like that, side by side.





2. Rawley Days


They do not talk on the bus ride to New Rawley, nor do they touch. It seems like an unspoken code has formed with their implicit consent as soon as they'd set foot on this continent. The trees are turning now, like fragments of copper and gold bursting into flame against the sky. As they pull into town Will marvels at how much it has not changed, even though he doesn't know what he expected otherwise. For a moment he glances at Scout and licks his dry lips and wants to say something sly and meaningful, something that will speak about how much they have changed without being explicit or lewd about it, but he realises Scout isn't looking at him at all. He is looking out the window, and they have just passed the gas station.

She's standing outside with Sean, fixing her truck and laughing at something he said. As she smoothes back her hair, the autumn light spins it into pure gold. Will watches the muscles in Scout's jaw tighten and it feels as though something else is also tightening inside of him, like a fist slowly closing around his lungs.

"Maybe you should just talk to her mom," he says, and his voice doesn't sound like his own.

Scout turns, very slowly, and it seems like an eternity passes before their gazes finally meet. There is a rawness to Scout's eyes that Will has never witnessed before; in that moment Scout seems more naked than Will had ever seen him.

"Maybe I should," Scout says.

***

Scout and Bella's reunion is brief and awkward. Will, standing close by, feels like he is intruding and in many more ways than one. He doesn't doubt whether Sean, who makes a hasty excuse and gets away, feels the same.

Bella is as luminous as always, her face slightly drawn from the dramas of the past few weeks, though she and Charlie have inevitably emerged as the victors of the legal tussle over the gas station. When Scout casually asks if her mom is still in town Will can see a sharp, knowing light flaring behind her eyes, but she only replies that Donna is still hanging around, wrapping up what's left of her affairs in New Rawley. There is a moment of silence, his and her gazes intertwining in an almost comically intense way before they both blink and glance away, and Will again feels that tightening in his chest and has to back up, muttering something about going to see his mom. He takes the box of belongings he'd left in the gas station and heads home, leaving the two of them still standing there staring at each other and not saying a word. They barely register his absence.

His father isn't home when he gets back, and he thanks his lucky stars for the brief respite from reality. He talks to his mother, who is sympathetic but unhelpful, and after half an hour he gets antsy from her staring at him anxiously all the time while offering to make him sandwiches, so he says he should really unpack and she finally leaves him alone, glancing worriedly over her shoulder as she walks out.

He returns to his box, and the first thing he takes out is the team picture from the Regatta. And as he stares down at the monochrome print, the other shoe finally drops and the bottom of his stomach falls out and he realises that they are really not in St. Martin anymore.

Scout is at Rawley, in the dormitories, and he is here, in a little house on Cedar Street, and when night falls that will remain the case, and may well remain the case always.

***

He makes his way back into town, even though he doesn't know what he will do once he gets there. Maybe he'll talk to Bella. Despite all that has changed over the summer, he remains certain of their friendship, the purity of it, and like a drowning man he grapples at the fact that things have not altered between them, even if everything around them has been distorted like things left out on the beach for too long, warped by the sun and wind and the salt water's endless caress.

Bella isn't inside the gas station when he gets there, and not over in the diner, either. Will is walking back toward the garage when he overhears Donna Banks' voice by the side wall and on instinct he ducks behind the gas pumps. This is partly because he doesn't want to make awkward small talk after last having spoken to the woman ten years ago, and partly (mostly) because she is talking quietly to Charlie and he'd just said something that sounds suspiciously like John Calhoun. "You know what happened back then, Charlie," she says, sounding frustrated and very much like Bella on a bad day. "I told you everything."

"I didn't believe you then, either," Charlie's voice is grim. "Come on, Donna. Everyone knew you were in love with him. Everyone."

Out of the corner of his eye Will sees a flurry of movement. He turns sharply, just in time to see Scout rush up to him with a wide grin, brandishing a piece of paper. Will places a finger to his lips, and something in his eyes must have spoken more eloquently than the gesture itself because Scout falters, the grin slipping from his face, and he steps closer. Will beckons him into the shadows of the gas pumps and again motions for silence. He is acutely aware of the warmth from Scout's body as they stand in the shadows, very close together, straining to hear.

"I was in love with him," Donna's voice rises. "But that didn't mean I slept with him."

"Donna." Now Charlie's tone is exasperated. Scout glances at Will again, who suddenly finds himself unable to look back.

"Never," Donna says, resolutely. "I never had sex with John Calhoun."

Even though Will thinks he should have expected this all along, it still seems like the ground is being jerked away from under his feet. Even without turning he can sense the relief radiating out of Scout like lines of fire, and he thinks he can't possibly bear the expression that must be on Scout's face. He knows, however, even without looking, that Scout will have squeezed his eyes shut. His mouth will be slightly open, as though he is fighting for air. He will look like he is communicating to some secret god. Will knows this because he has seen that look at other times, the crystallisation of pain and pleasure and, above all, relief from some sort of tension building and building until it becomes very nearly unbearable.

"Donna…" Charlie says, but trails off into silence.

Another impatient sigh. "Why would I lie to you now, Charlie?"

"Bella's not… his?"

"Is that what you've been telling her? God, I was wondering where she'd gotten the idea…"

"What? Did she… did she ask you already?"

"Two freakin' weeks ago, Charlie. She asked me and I told her the truth. Now would you mind telling me what the hell is going on? Why this sudden interest in John Calhoun? All that's ancient history…"

"You'd better come inside, Donna," Charlie says after a pause, and there is the sound of footsteps coming straight toward them. Will springs to action and grabs Scout by the shirtsleeve and drags him to the side of the garage just as Charlie and Donna emerge. Scout lets himself be tugged along, his body leading his stumbling feet like a puppet immersed in water.

Will doesn't let go until the adults make their way into the gas station. Even then, he can't bring himself to meet Scout's eyes.

"I called her exactly one week ago," says Scout finally, his voice a mere whisper as he looks away from Will and into the fading sun. "I asked her."

"I know," Will says, and he fights a sudden and violent shiver, even though he isn't cold at all. They stand there, in the warm dry afternoon, the sunlight coating them like a thin layer of gold foil, and he wants to touch Scout on the shoulder but finds that he cannot lift his hand.

"She said she didn't ask."

"I know."

Scout continues to stare into the sun and some part of Will wants to tell him to look away because if he continues doing this he might make himself blind, but he doesn't say anything. He is supposed to be the wordsmith, but he can never find the words at times when they might actually matter. If anything, he feels like the idiot in the fairytale, the blind one, with his tongue cut out.

"Hey guys!" Bella says, emerging from the back of the garage where she'd evidently been locking up. She is grinning, and she looks from Will to Scout, then back to Will again. "What's up?"

Scout turns to her. His eyes are transparent amber in the fading light, and when Will looks up and into that anguished gaze he feels that it is him, and not Scout, who is drowning. He watches the smile on Bella's face dissipate; he watches as Scout turns and walks away without a word. He is still watching when for a moment Scout seems to remember himself and turns back to Will and shoves the piece of paper he's holding into Will's hands and then he turns away again and he walks off down the road, and as they watch his retreating figure he breaks into a run.

"What's going on?" Bella demands, swirling back on Will.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, the navy Rawley insignia, the black type upon white, and at the foot of it the scrawled signature in blue ink. He reads the letter once, carefully, and then he folds it up and puts it in his pocket. He turns to her.

"You should know," he says, evenly, though it feels like there is a gaping hole in the back of his throat and for every word he utters there's another hundred draining away.

She looks surprised at first. Gradually a light begins to gather behind her eyes but by then he has also turned away from her, and he walks down the street, toward the distance, toward Rawley Academy.

And as she calls his name he too begins to run.

***

"Scout," Will says as he bursts in the door to their dorm room, panting from his mad sprint. "Scout…"

Before he has a chance to catch his breath or even get his bearings Scout comes toward him like wrath personified, a blur of forceful grasps and burning eyes, and he pushes Will back against the door, which slams shut with a bang. Scout slides the bolt home and then his mouth is on Will's, messily, desperately, and his teeth catches Will's lower lip and the pain travels like lightning down to the base of Will's spine, but he forgets about it as soon as it happens because Scout's tongue is in his mouth, probing, seeking something that he may or may not be able to give, and suddenly this is something new altogether. Before he even knows what he's doing Will finds himself kissing him back and he entangles his fingers in Scout's hair and he could feel Scout wince from the recklessness of it, the sudden pain, but then they are stumbling toward the closest bed and then Scout is on top of him and unzipping his jeans and pulling his own shirt over his head all at once and he is kissing Will again, and Will can feel the other boy's erection pressing against his inner thigh and instantly he is hard too and it feels strange and beautiful and horrible all at once to be doing this, not because they want to do things to each other, but because in actual fact it is because Scout wants to do things to Bella, things that could be awful and tender and heartbreaking, but he has to make do with Will instead. It feels strange to be doing this not in the sultry heat of St. Martin but here, here in their little dorm room at Rawley, not exactly the Waldorf but… he gasps as Scout slips a finger into him and his eyes fly open just in time to see Scout grab a bottle of lube from the nightstand drawer and he doesn't know why Scout had it in the first place because he's never even brought a girl back to the dorms before… and then Scout is kissing him again, the finger easing back into him, and then there are two, and Will is gasping for breath and writhing helplessly here on this bed, here in this familiar dorm room, and he doesn't know whether it is out of anxiety or discomfort or pleasure, or perhaps a mixture of all three. He closes his eyes and thinks of the sunset over the Caribbean Sea.

When Scout first pushes into him it hurts so much that tears spring to his eyes and he is sure that they can't do this, not just an emotional can't but a physical one as well. "No," he moans, but then he hears Scout sigh softly above him, whether in disappointment or in pleasure, and somehow that makes things slightly more okay. He spreads his thighs and lets Scout edge into him, slowly and with much difficulty. His teeth tug on his lower lip and he tastes blood again, except this time, it feels like a kind of comfort.

When Scout is all the way inside him, he panics at the utter intrusiveness of it, and it seems like he might just split apart at the seams and that everything that he'd so painstakingly kept hidden within might just come spilling out, but then Scout withdraws, carefully, and the pain is a different kind altogether. Will reaches up and digs his fingers into Scout's shoulder and holds on, not caring about bruises or cuts this time, because somewhere in the back of his mind he knows Scout is capable of disappearing.

A small moan escapes and Will isn't sure whether it was he who made the sound, and then Scout is pushing back into him again, and it hurts so much that he actually finds himself unable to breathe for several terror-stricken moments, and he wants it to stop, but the word No, or any word at all, turns to dust in his mouth. Scout's eyes are open and glassy, in concentration perhaps; and although he stares down at Will's face Will doesn't think he sees him at all.

"So… fucking… tight," Scout gasps, and it seems like such a clichéd thing to say at a time like this that Will almost feels a mad urge to laugh, but it still hurts, maybe more than he can bear, so he merely grimaces and closes his eyes again. The sunset over the sea is not like the sun setting over dry land; it is infinitely more beautiful there, a strip of brilliant gold spreading over the rippling water, a shaft of blinding light, and at times like these one could maybe even believe that they are staring right into the face of God himself. And as Will recalls the radiance of the sun over the ocean Scout pushes into him again, and again, and again, and gradually it begins to feel like the ebb and flow of the tide.

Scout has eased his body down and now their chests are pressed together, and the hard lines are familiar, the symmetry of it, and Will locks his hands behind Scout's back and interlinks his fingers and when Scout thrusts into him once more he moans, and this time it isn't just the pain talking. Scout's eyes lose the glassy look and as he gazes down at Will he smiles a tiny smile. Will gasps as he feels the other boy's hand close over his cock wedged between their bellies. "Scout," he whispers, or he might be saying Oh god, and he doesn't know which one it is and strangely enough he doesn't care.

Scout pushes into him again, and for the first time since this all began Will can feel himself relaxing against the rhythm of it, and a moan rips its way out of the base of his throat. Scout draws back and slams into him, recklessly this time, and Will lifts his hips and he groans as his cock grinds into Scout's stomach. "Oh god," he whimpers, but he doesn't close his eyes as Scout drives into him again, and as he stares up at Scout's face it starts to feel almost right, and almost easy.

Will comes a second before Scout does, groaning with relief, his muscles contracting around Scout's cock and pushing the other boy over the edge. Scout cries out as he comes, and Will can feel it inside of him and that is the most horrifying thing he has ever experienced and he turns his face away and squeezes his eyes shut because he fears that if he doesn't he just might weep and maybe he will never stop once he starts. But then he feels Scout's fingers digging into his shoulder, and he is gasping like a drowning man, and Will reaches up and holds him as tightly as he could, trying to keep him from sinking into that dark place, trying to keep his head above water at all cost.

They cling to each other through the shocks and the aftershocks, anchoring each other through the storm.

They stay like that for a while, either because they are too tired to move or too afraid of finding themselves in yet another unfamiliar situation. Even with his eyes closed, Will can sense darkness slowly encroaching.

Eventually Scout rolls off him and onto his back. The bed, unlike the one in St. Martin, is too narrow for the two of them to lie comfortably apart, so Will wraps an arm around Scout's shoulders. As he does so he feels, very acutely, the awkwardness of the situation, and he looks at Scout as though for some sort of affirmation. Scout, however, still has his eyes closed.

"Will," he whispers after a while. "You're the only thing that's keeping me from going insane."

Will remains silent. He remains silent because he knows that if he opens his mouth the water will rise up above his eyeballs, and that he will drown.

Much later, when he is sure that Scout had fallen asleep in his arms, he presses his lips to Scout's temple and says in a whisper, "I think I've already gone insane."

***

"Before we move on to Shakespeare in a couple of weeks," announces Finn on their first day back, "I would like to start us off on Margaret Mitchell's Gone With the Wind."

The entirety of the crew team groans their displeasure. The girls in the class, however, squeal with delight. Jacqueline Pratt, now decked out in the Rawley Girls' standard issue skirt and blazer, merely smiles and refuses to take a side. As Will glances over at her holding Hamilton's hand, very much heterosexual and now very much openly in love, a sense of irony curls around his heart. He looks askance at Scout, who is staring out thoughtfully across the water. But when Will follows his line of sight he only sees trees and sky, nothing else.

He makes a point of checking out the other guys on the crew team when they practice, the muscles flexing under the T-shirt sleeves, the strain in the well-toned legs. From Second Seat he can see Hamilton's working biceps, the tension in his neck, the V-shaped upper body, and it becomes blindingly obvious that he feels absolutely nothing. When they pull in after practice, however, he sees Scout push his sweaty hair out of his eyes and suddenly Will could feel himself growing hard again, and that's when he finally admits to himself he is in Deep, Deep Trouble.

***

"Bella," he says as he strides into the gas station.

"Hey," she says carefully, looking up from her seat at the counter.

He leans against the doorframe. "So, about yesterday."

"He knows, doesn't he?" she asks immediately, her lashes sweeping downward.

He watches her, from behind what he hopes is an expression of disinterest, and he takes in the slim build and the golden hair and the careless, innocent sexuality, and he stuffs his fists into his pockets because she is beautiful. She has never been anything but beautiful and no guy in his right mind would not fall in love with her. That is the natural state of things. He wonders if all of this would have been easier if he, too, had taken that path, the easy road, the one more travelled; he wonders if there's a chance that they could be happy.

"Will?" she asks, and he wrenches his gaze away and pretends to look across the road. Something boils inside of him, white-hot and nauseating, and it takes him a moment to realise it is hatred, or something akin to it.

"He knows you're not related," he says woodenly, after a pause. "More importantly, he knows you found out two weeks ago, and you didn't tell him when he called you from St. Martin."

"Oh god," she says, and she presses a hand to her mouth. He looks back at her, and as he watches her crumpling face he almost feels a smile tugging on his lips. But then the little voice in his head, the stern one with the unfailing undertone of disapproval, the one that usually sounds like Finn, speaks up and demands that he walk over and put an arm around her and so he does that, even though he feels nothing that remotely resembles sympathy. She begins to cry. He pats her on the shoulder, awkwardly; he does not know if the awkwardness is natural or feigned, and doesn't much care.

"He dumped Paige today," he says. "I saw her crying by the lake earlier."

"Oh god," she says, burying her face in her hands. "Oh god…"

"Yeah," he says, and tries not to sound too unkind.

"What do I do now?" she whispers through a sob. "I don't know what to do."

"You don't know what to do," he echoes, and the words seem to be cutting into his tongue as he says them. "What is there to know, Bella? I thought…"

She only cries harder, and he trails off. "I don't understand," he says finally, and before he realises it his fingers tense around her shoulder, like a vice grip, and she shrinks away, looking up at him with reproach.

"Sorry," he says, and wishes that he could have squeezed harder when he had the chance. He would so much like to see that peaches-and-cream complexion bruised. For a moment he finally and fully understands what it means to have inherited half his gene pool from Brian Krudski.

"No," she says through a faint hiccup. "You don't understand."

Despite the stern Finn-voice in his head he feels gratified as he looks down at her, the blotchy cheeks, the red-rimmed eyes, the running nose. No longer so beautiful. But then the true weight of her words sink in and he draws in a sharp breath and suddenly his mouth is bone dry. "Do you still even love him?" he asks, and his voice comes out raspy and forced.

"Stop," she whispers and looks away. "Will, just stop. Don't do this to me… not now…"

It feels like there is a seam in his heart and it's unravelling slowly as he inhales and exhales. "Oh," he says. "Bella."

"Don't say anything to him," she says after a pause. "Please."

He does not answer.

***

That night they settle into the accustomed rhythm of things. The unspoken code about stopping once they're back at Rawley seems to have dissipated, at least with the onset of recent events. When Scout eases into Will this time, it ceases to feel almost right and almost easy and instead it feels like his heart is tearing in two. Will comes quickly, biting down on Scout's shoulder as he does, hard enough to draw blood. And then he lies there quietly, his face buried in Scout's neck as the other boy moves inside him, sounding like he is holding back from crying out. He breathes in the mixed scent of soap and Calvin Klein aftershave and it feels like he is floating in space. When Scout comes Will pulls him down and kisses him on the mouth, and he closes his eyes.

Scout kisses him back, carelessly, but then he pulls away and when he does Will thinks his torn heart, like his lip, will never fully heal.

"Scout," he says, raising himself onto his elbows as Scout slides off him and rummages through the nightstand in search for Kleenex. "What are you gonna do now? About… her, I mean."

Scout pauses and turns to look at him. There is barely enough light in the room to catch the glint from his eyes. "Why?" he asks, and suddenly his voice is aloof again.

A shiver runs down Will's spine because that tone makes him remember the second night back in St. Martin, Scout pushing his hand away, the vast empty space between them in that bed, filled with shadows and faint regret. He swallows and opens his mouth and it catches him by surprise, the words that gush forth as though they don't come through his brain but from directly inside him, a place that he hardly knew existed. "Have you ever stopped to think that maybe," he says quickly, "maybe she doesn't want this as much as you do?"

"You don't know what you're talking about, Will," Scout says after a moment of excruciating silence, and he stands up and walks over to his own bed.

"I'm just saying that…" Will trails off. The truth is, he reflects, that he no longer knows what he wants to say. He hears the creak of bedsprings and realises that tonight, unlike last night, Scout will not fall asleep in his arms. The thought numbs and pains at the same time, as though he's been thrown into a tub of ice water. "Scout?" he murmurs.

"Will," the voice floats over in the darkness, thin and steely and cold like the flat edge of a razorblade. "It's not… it doesn't concern you."

"It…" Will's voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. "It doesn't?"

There is another pause. Then Scout sighs. "Will," he says. "Can't you see you've got no right… no right at all?"

For a moment Will finds himself unable to breathe. His lungs turn to fire and as he struggles to inhale he feels two lines of hot tears streaming down his face. But all this happens in silence, and perhaps Scout mistakes it for acquiescence.

***

"I am sorry for you, Scarlett," Finn reads aloud as he strides between the students sitting out on the lawn, a copy of Gone With the Wind in his hand. "Sorry - for me?" he continues, his voice rising a couple of notes to denote character change. Will hugs his knees to his chest and tries not to look at Scout lying on the grass several feet away.

"Yes," Finn continues to read, his voice once again lowering in pitch to mimic Rhett Butler's drawl. "Sorry because you're such a child, Scarlett. A child crying for the moon. What would a child do with the moon if it got it? And what would you do with Ashley?"

A child crying for the moon. At that moment Will looks up as though he expects to see the moon overhead. He only catches a bright fragment of autumn sun in his eyes, and he doesn't know what he had expected otherwise.

"Yes, I'm sorry for you," Finn reads. "Sorry to see you throwing away happiness with both hands and reaching out for something that would never make you happy."

A dry breeze stirs Will's hair and he exhales. Then he looks at Scout and wonders if these words have made any impact whatsoever.

Scout doesn't look like he is thinking about the text at all. He has pulled himself up, his eyes trained on the distance. Will follows his line of sight, expecting again to see nothing, but instead his gaze falls on Bella, standing out by the boathouse, a tentative smile on her face, the silver sun lightening her hair to the colour of cornsilk.

Will doesn't need to look at Scout. He feels the uncertain silence beside him, and then a subtle shifting of the air, as though a veil of stony tension has been lifted despite the indecision. That is how he knows Scout is smiling back at her, and the seams in his heart unravel completely.

After class he stays behind and watches as Scout walks briskly up to the boathouse. He watches as they talk for a few moments, with hesitant smiles, and then he watches as Scout takes her into his arms. They kiss, somewhat awkwardly; her arms snake up to wrap around his neck. Then he pulls back and places a hand against her cheek. She smiles and all of a sudden he clasps his arms around her and pulls her into a tight embrace, as though all his emotions have rushed past a collapsed dam, and he buries his face in her hair, holding on so tightly that she gasps for breath. Will hears a dim roar in his ears and for a moment he thinks it is only the sound of the lake lapping against shore, but then he realises it is in fact the sound of his world crashing down.

***

Later, at the diner, he talks to Sean over a plate of fries.

He sits with his back against the sun, because the light is hurting his eyes. "So it's over between you and her?" he asks, and his voice is flat and calm as befit a third party observing from the sidelines. He is proud of the fact.

"Yeah," Sean says, picking over his food. "I didn't wanna get dragged into the whole mess, you know."

"It is a screwed-up situation," Will says, with conviction.

"Exactly," says Sean. "Let them have the drama. I don't wanna get caught in the whole Romeo and Juliet saga again. Enough's enough, you know? I'm out."

"You mean." Suddenly Will's mouth is dry again. "You mean you dumped her? But I thought…"

"She didn't wanna break up," Sean says in a low voice, and he looks up. "But it's not like she's prepared to give him up, either. I'm not getting stuck in the middle of that, man. If she wants me, that's fine; if she wants him, that's fine too, she can call the shots. I'm cool with that. But she doesn't seem to know what the fuck she wants. So I guess in the end I made the decision for her. It's easier on all of us that way."

"Do you think she wants him?" asks Will, and his voice cracks halfway through the sentence and he hopes that Sean doesn't notice.

Sean looks at him. His eyes are dark and sage in the afternoon light.

"For her, someone is better than no one at all."

***

When Will returns to the dormitory, he finds Scout waiting for him. "We gotta talk," says Scout nervously, rising from the bed as Will comes in.

"You're back together with Bella," Will says tiredly, leaning back against the door.

There is a slight pause as Scout looks at him, an expression of vague guilt crossing his eyes like wind over water. "Yeah," he says, sticking his hands in his pockets.

"I guess… congratulations?" Will says, not meeting his eyes.

Scout opens his mouth and then closes it again. He swallows. "You helped me through a really bad time, Will," he says, lowering his eyes to the floor. "I…"

He stops and sighs. Will can't help but sneak a peek at him, the straight aquiline nose, the downward sweep of the lashes. He looks away.

"Thanks, man," Scout says. "For being such a good friend."

Will looks back, and wills himself into stone. He smiles carefully. "Any time," he says.

"So… um," Scout looks uncomfortable again as he holds out his hand. "We're cool? Friends?"

Will takes his hand and shakes it. "Friends," he says.

And then Scout smiles and lets go of his hand and turns away.





3. Snapshots


Time is a strange landscape, and it undulates and contorts and falls away in differing patterns, with ridges and valleys where one least expects it. For Will, time ceases to be linear. Instead it coagulates like expired milk, clotting in odd lumps and shapes. Sometimes days go by without his realising any time has passed at all, other times he could swear that he is standing alone for hours and hours, drowning in his own thoughts, when his wristwatch tells him otherwise.

Much later, when he looks back upon these few weeks, he sees only snapshots in his mind, monochrome (his pain seems to have bleached all the colours away) and always of the same subject matter. Scout and Bella. Scout and Bella. Scout and Bella. He repeats these two names to himself, running his tongue over the syllables, tasting the weight of them, until they lose all discernable meaning. He watches when he is working at the diner; he watches from the window of his dorm room. He watches from afar and watches from closer. He has perfected the art of watching without seeming as though he is paying attention at all. That is how he gets these snapshots, a wealth of them, and when he closes his eyes and lays them all out, playing the images like a filmstrip across his mind, he sees a map rising from the fragments.

Snapshot #1: She is standing outside the gas station, working on a fender job, her hair catching hints of the pale sunlight. He comes up behind her, wraps his arms around her, kisses her cheek. She smiles at first, but when he closes his eyes she turns away a little, and there is a blank weight in her gaze.

Snapshot #2: They are sitting on the edge of the docks, dangling their feet in the water. His arm is around her waist, his eyes vibrant and blue against winter-pale skin. After a while he leans his head on her shoulder, and she shifts away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. He rights himself, glancing at her quizzically, and she only shrugs.

Snapshot #3: The gang meets up at Friendly's after school. When she slips into the booth he leans over, but she turns slightly, and a kiss somehow gets truncated into an innocent peck on the cheek. Will sees Jacqueline and Hamilton exchange a significant glance. And then he looks back at Scout and realises that Scout, too, is looking at the couple, his jaw hardening.

Snapshot #4: They are hanging out in the gas station, watching an old movie on cable. Jacqueline and Hamilton are curled up on the couch, leaning against each other, their hands intertwined. From Will's spot in the armchair he can see Scout seated on the floor before the couch, and he leans back against Bella's legs. She lets him at first, but a few minutes later she complains of pins and needles and draw her legs up, tucking them underneath her so that they are not touching at all. Scout turns back to the movie, and the light plays across his face but it does not touch his eyes.

Will sees all this. And at night, when he lies in his bed listening to Scout's quiet, regular breathing he jerks himself off quietly and he doesn't make a sound, and as he comes he bites down. He has grown to like the taste of blood in his mouth. The salt reminds him of the Caribbean Sea.





4. Panacea


Will is sitting in the diner, peeking out through the windows, at Bella leaning back against the gas pumps and Scout standing close to her, one hand placed possessively over the dip of her waist. As he leans in to kiss her his eyes fall closed, but her eyes remain open, and she edges away a moment later, touching him on the cheek and saying something that Will, behind these plate glass windows, cannot hear.

Scout looks like he tries to smile, and then he shrugs, sticking both hands in his pockets. She gathers her hair into a ponytail and turns back into the house. He remains standing as he watches her disappear.

"A couple of months," says Jacqueline, sliding into Will's booth.

He gives a start, upsetting his soda. "What?"

"I give them another couple of months," she says, matter-of-factly, stealing a fry from his plate.

He blinks. "Before what?"

She looks at him as though he is very dim indeed. "Before they call it quits."

"What? Why?"

"You're telling me you don't see the way she looks when he tries to kiss her?" she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "Her heart isn't in this, Will."

And suddenly he hurts again, all over. He inhales shakily and glances back toward the gas station. Scout is still standing out there, immobile, looking up at the sky with the sun reflected in his eyes.

Beside him, Jacqueline exhales. "It's not a healthy relationship," she says softly. "They shouldn't have gotten back together."

"But they found out they're not related," he says. "That was the only thing stopping them…"

She looks at him. There is something akin to pity in her eyes. "It isn't the only thing," she says.

He meets her calculating gaze and then hastily looks away, reaching for his Coke, which has gone flat and warm. He takes a long sip, wondering if she's expecting him to say something in reply.

"Just give it time, Will," she says, and her voice is gentle. "I know it's hard for you."

He chokes on his drink and looks wildly in her direction. "Wh… what? Why?"

"I've seen the way you look at them," she says, with a wistful smile. "No one looks like that unless they want something they can't have."

"Oh," he says faintly. "It's… it's that obvious?"

"Trust me," she says, her expression earnest. "She doesn't love him. And she knows it, too. Don't give up, man. One day she's gonna realise who's been there for her all these years. One day she'll see you as you want her to see you."

He stares at her for a moment longer, before the realisation and the relief hits in equal measures. All of a sudden he can feel a mad laugh bubbling up to his throat, and he fights and fights and only barely holds it in. "Oh," he says, and looks down because his facial muscles are contorting also, caught somewhere between a grimace and an insane grin.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, trying to wipe the mirth from his expression. A few moments pass and he looks up again, suddenly alert. "She doesn't love him? She told you this?"

"I don't think she knows what she wants," she says slowly, with a shake of the head. Her eyes cloud over and she suddenly looks as though she wishes she were elsewhere.

"So I've heard," he says quietly, glancing over the road again. As he watches, Scout gives a resolute shake of the head and strides off toward Rawley.

"Poor Scout," says Jacqueline, snapping out of her reverie. She takes another fry from Will's plate. "I think he's finally starting to figure it out, too."

"Figure out what, exactly?"

She looks back at him and chews meditatively. She swallows before she answers.

"That she isn't his miracle cure."

***

For the Halloween dance Will decides to go as Shakespeare. He rents the full costume, including a large hat stuck with an ostrich feather, and as he stands in front of the mirror in the full getup he feels - as he is wont to do - pretty ridiculous. He grins to himself and takes off the hat.

"Whoa, tights," says Scout as he emerges in the doorway. He is dressed as Zorro, complete with black cape, hat, bandit mask and a little stuck-on black moustache.

"Shut up," says Will, grinning. "Like you can talk with that 'tache."

"I think it's kinda dashing," Scout laughs as he walks in, struggling with the tie on his black cape. "Damn, this is tangled."

Will volunteers to take a look at the knot and Scout acquiesces, with only the barest look of discomfort as Will eases the tie at his throat and tries to undo the mess. His finger slip against Scout's throat and Will tries to ignore the beat under the paper-thin skin, the unmistakable acceleration.

"I hear you're taking Grace Banks to the dance," Scout says after a moment, with a quizzical look.

Will shrugs. "She said she wanted to go. Since I didn't have a date, I figured I'd do her a favour."

"That's cool," Scout quirks an eyebrow. "You know what they say about taking Gracie Banks to a Rawley function, though. Guaranteed lay."

"I can't believe you just said that," Will says, feigning indignation. But he can't help a small grin. "It's not like I'm a Rawley Guy in the classic sense. I grew up with her, it's just a favour."

"Right," says Scout with a devious smirk, and for a moment the atmosphere is warm and amicable and simple and all the things that they were to each other, once upon a time, and like everything else it feels almost right and almost easy.

Then their eyes meet, and Will can feel the grin slipping from his face. Clearing his throat, he jerks his gaze away. "It's done," he says, and is surprised at how hoarse he sounds.

"Thanks," Scout says after a pause, taking hold of the cape at the throat. Their hands touch, briefly, sending a jolt that travels rapidly up Will's arm and flares into something sharp and painful in his chest, like a sudden flame. His breath catches and he takes a hasty step back. When he looks up again, he finds Scout still staring at him, spots of colour flaring on the tops of his cheekbones.

The moment suddenly seems full of possibility, like the semi-weightless feeling of toes curling over a window ledge. Scout unconsciously licks his lips, and Will almost moans at the sight of it; the urge to make a sound is there, a sound of longing, or in acknowledgement of the situation. This could be it, then; this could be…

"Um, so," Scout says, looking away. "I'm thinking of… maybe bringing Bella back… afterward, you know. It'd be cool to have some privacy. D'you think you could…"

Will's insides seem to split open and turn over. "What," he says, and he looks at Scout, really looks at him, taking in the bright cobalt of his eyes and the expectant lift of the brow, and even though he hasn't chewed on his lip in a long while, he tastes blood once more.

Scout sighs, shrugs, looks uncomfortable. "I'm asking you as a friend, Will."

"And is that all I am?" Will whispers. "A friend?"

Scout's eyes are very blue in the light. "I don't know what you want me to say," he says softly.

"How about admitting that this relationship isn't right?" Will explodes, his fists clenching in his pockets. "How about admitting that you know as well as anyone that you're not happy with her?"

Scout's jaw clenches, but he doesn't talk.

"God, I'm so sick of this!" Will exclaims, taking a step forward. "Everyone else can see it, Scout; everyone can tell. Why do you cling onto a dream that doesn't exist? You're… you're throwing away happiness with both hands and chasing after something that will never make you happy…"

"I am happy," says Scout, vehemently. "She makes me happy."

"Does she?" demands Will, and he takes another step toward Scout. "Does she?"

Scout stares at him, and there is a pinpoint of brightness in his eyes, which grows more prominent even as Will stares into them.

"Why are you doing this to me?" Scout whispers, and the brightness grows clearer still; there is liquid intensity to them, a desperate and final restraint.

"Because I love you, you idiot!" Will yells, and silence falls.

Scout's eyes flare intensely blue for a moment, whether out of surprise or incredulity. "What," he says numbly.

Will exhales. "You heard me."

Scout's hand is still closed over the clasp of his cloak, and his grip tightens around it. But he doesn't say anything.

"And I admit it's stupid and fucked up and… yeah, insane," Will says, wearily now. "But I don't take it back. It's just how things are. You ask me why I'm doing this to you…" he looks away, blinking away the tears. "Well, Scout, I do this to myself too."

Scout closes his eyes and squares his shoulders. But he remains silent.

"She's not your miracle cure," Will whispers. "Everyone knows it, I think even you know it, despite everything. You thought she'd make you happy. Are you happy now? Fuck, Scout, answer me that. Are you happy now?"

Scout doesn't open his eyes, though his shoulders are trembling under the silence of restraint. As Will watches, a tear trails down his cheek and catches the waning sunlight.

Without another word Will leans in and presses his lips to that tear. It is a brief, fragile kiss, devoid of fervour or want. Then he turns and heads out the door.

It is only later, when he finds himself in the relative safety of a bathroom cubicle with the door locked securely, that he finally begins to cry, biting down on his knuckles so he would not make a sound.

***

Jacqueline shows up at the dance dressed as 'Jake' and creates a stir, and as Will watches Hamilton drag 'Jake' out of the main hall, he feels a sudden sense of foreboding. He glances at Bella and notices that she is also watching them with a slight furrow of the brow. But then he has to look away because he sees Scout standing next to her, and the sight of them, with their hands not quite touching and their eyes not quite meeting, is too much for him to bear. When Grace tugs on his hand and demands that they dance, he gladly obliges. As she drapes herself over him out on the dance floor, he recalls his earlier conversation with Scout, and he gets an idea.

He takes her down to the boathouse and there she slyly shows him the hip flask she has concealed inside her coat and he is glad for that because it makes everything that comes after a lot easier. She drinks most of the contents of the flask but he downs enough to get a nice light-headed buzz and then he fucks her in the darkness of the boathouse. It's obviously not her first time and he doesn't tell her that it's his first time with a girl and he is somewhat surprised at how good it feels. As he moves in and out of her he thinks about Scout doing the same to Bella. Would his fingers be tangled in her golden hair? Would she smile up at him as he enters her that first time? Would he stay silent during, like he does with Will? Would he hold onto her as he comes until his nails bite into her flesh, or would he be gentler than that? Will thinks about this as he fucks Grace Banks in the darkness, down on the dirt floor, and in the awkward, hurried tussle he skins his knees.

It's all over in a matter of minutes. He pulls his pants up and helps her brush the dirt off her dress as best as they could, but as they head out the door they come face to face with Bella and Scout, much sooner than expected. They are standing out on the docks, still not touching, still not looking at each other. It is as though the moonlight had turned them to stone.

One look at the state of their rumpled clothes, and Bella's expression turns incredulous. "Will?" she demands. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like," giggles Grace, and she pulls out her hip flask and drains the last dregs.

Slowly, Bella turns to Will. He avoids her eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't," she says, very quietly.

He inhales and looks up, but instead of meeting her eyes he looks at Scout, who is staring at him, slightly open-mouthed, his eyes blank in the pale moonlight.

"He could say that," giggles Grace as she stumbles from them, toward Rawley with its hundred shimmering lights. "But he'd be lying."

For a moment they watch her as she makes her way toward the hall. And then Bella turns to Will and slaps him across the face.

The hurt is brief and bright. The sheer force of it surprises him and sends him staggering backward, nearly losing his balance. "You fucking bastard," she whispers, her voice like shards of ice. "I will never forgive you."

He knows he should feel shame, but for once the Finn-voice in his head is silent, and he merely nods wearily as he watches her turn and stalk away. A few moments pass before he realises that Scout has not chased after her.

"What are you still doing here?" Will says, pressing a hand to his smarting cheek. "I think today I managed to fuck up all our relationships for good. Go, do the concerned boyfriend thing. Leave me alone."

There is a moment of silence, and he shivers in the early winter chill.

"I'm not her boyfriend anymore," says Scout, and he walks out onto the docks.

After a stunned moment Will follows him. "What do you mean?"

Scout glances over his shoulder. "I think I was reasonably clear, Will."

"But," Will manages to choke out. "It doesn't… doesn't make sense…"

"It makes a lot of sense," says Scout, calmly, and he sits down at the very edge of the docks and stares down into the water.

After a moment Will sits down next to him. "Did she…" he begins to say, but falters and wonders how he can put this delicately.

"Dump me?" Scout glances at him. There is a semi-amused quirk to his lips. "No. We had a long talk and decided to call it quits. It's been dragging on long enough."

"Was it…" Will can't quite get the words out. "Was it because of… what I said?"

Beside him, Scout gives a short laugh and nudges him with one shoulder. "Bit conceited there, buddy."

Will chuckles weakly and looks up at the sky.

"No," Scout says, his voice turning sombre. "It's a little more complicated than that. Or maybe it isn't complicated at all. Like you said, everyone could see it." He sighs, looks down and examines his reflection in the dark water. "Yeah, even me."

"She wasn't making you happy?"

"It's funny," Scout says. "Did you know I used to lie awake at night and think about every single possibility that could have occurred between the two of us? What would happen if we were related? What would happen if we weren't? What if we found out we weren't related but she chose Sean over me? What if we found out we were related and decided to be together anyway?" He chuckles, low in his throat. "Sick and twisted, yeah, I know. But I thought about it anyway. I thought about everything, all the possible ways our relationship could play out."

There is another moment of silence. And then he adds, "But I never thought - even for a moment - about this."

Will shivers in the night air and edges a little closer to the water. But he doesn't look down.

"She was supposed to be the Forever Person, man," Scout says softly, staring at their reflections. "I think it takes an amazing amount of energy to convince yourself otherwise."

Will sucks in a breath and opens his mouth, and has a brief moment of panic when he realises he has absolutely nothing to say. Scout chuckles and makes a gesture as though to cut him off mid-sentence, though of course there is no need. "So… Grace, huh?"

"I don't know what I was thinking," Will says, closing his eyes. "I just wanted to…"

"Forget," Scout finishes for him. "Believe me when I say I understand."

Will exhales, and he doesn't open his eyes. "Of course you do."

Beside him, Scout emits a long, drawn-out sigh. "I think this is the end of the tunnel. Five months, man; it doesn't sound so much. But… it feels like I've lived longer than that, you know? Lifetimes."

"Time distorts things."

"She kept telling me I was selfish," Scout says meditatively. "Over the summer. About how I couldn't let it go, about how I kept pushing her to find out, to meet my dad, to talk to her mom…"

"I don't think it was selfish," Will says. "You were in love with her. You needed to know."

"I don't think I was selfish, either. She just didn't want to know. That should have been my first clue that something had changed." Scout sighs again. "I guess I'm a little slow on the uptake sometimes."

"But I have been selfish," he says after a moment, turning to Will. "You think I don't notice things, and you think I don't remember them, but I do. You are the only thing that kept me from going insane. I meant it then, and I mean it now."

Will bites down on his lower lip and closes his eyes again, clenches them shut until he could almost make out the stars imprinted on the backs of his eyelids. "What I said earlier," he says shakily. "I meant that, too."

"I know," says Scout, and Will can feel the weight of Scout's hand reaching up and resting against his cheek, pulling him gently around until they are facing each other. He opens his eyes.

Scout is gazing at him, his eyes translucent in the semi-darkness. "This feels… really weird," he says with a self-conscious grin.

Will tries to smile but finds that he cannot, and he begins to turn away. But Scout's hand lingers on his cheek and holds him there. "Just because I said it's weird doesn't mean it isn't right," Scout whispers, and he leans in and kisses Will on the lips.

And all the seams inside Will unravel at once, but this time the unravelling is smooth and soft and it feels like he is made entirely of water and he is splashing down over warm sand. Scout's lips are cold, but this time there are no almosts about it; this is right, and this is easy.

After a moment Scout pulls back, and he smiles. "I'm thinkin' we should celebrate."

Will raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Are you serious?"

"Fuck, Will," Scout whacks him on the shoulder as he jumps to his feet. "Is sex all you think about? Jesus."

Will chuckles apologetically as he gets up also, and he furrows his brows as Scout sheds his cape and hat and also takes off his shoes. "What are you doing?" he asks.

Scout merely grins at him, and then looks toward the water.

"You've got to be joking," Will exclaims. "You'll freeze your ass off!"

Scout tosses him another grin, and then he is off, sprinting down the docks and toward the lake. Before Will could protest he cannonballs into the water with a tremendous splash. "Oh, my god," Will moans. "He's in."

"FUCK!" Scout gasps when he surfaces a moment later. "FUCK! It's freezing in here!"

"I told you so," Will calls, shaking his head. "Come out already, Jesus. I don't want you dying of pneumonia."

Treading water, Scout grins, his teeth clattering, his lips already blue-white with cold. "Then I guess you'd better come rescue me."

"What? No way," Will laughs. But as he looks toward the dark head suspended above the water, the teasing grin, he could feel something dislodging in his chest. Here are unknown terrors. Here, then, is the way things are.

"All right," he murmurs as he kicks off his shoes. "Here I come."

He catches a glimpse of Scout's pleased grin as he runs down the docks, his feet striking a staccato beat against the wooden floorboards. And then the water closes over his head and it stings like a thousand needles jabbing into him all over and when his head breaks the surface of the water it feels like his lungs are giving out. But then he feels Scout's arms around him, and Scout is kissing him again, out in the freezing water, under the night sky with stars like silver pinpricks, and finally everything becomes - without a trace of a doubt - right, and easy.


The End