Ryan took a deep breath and stepped into the classroom. Breakfast that morning had been quiet. At least, until his mother had asked him if everything was alright at school, at the classroom; he wasn’t in trouble, was he?

“No,” Ryan had said.

Then they’d asked him if he got into a fight with a classmate? Ryan didn’t answer, but that was an answer in itself.

“If you look like that,” his father had said proudly. “I don’t want to see what the other guy must look like.”

It was his attempt a joke, to lighten the mood, maybe get Ryan to crack a smile.

He just pushed his chair back and left. He didn’t want to see what Micah looked like either, but there was no avoiding it. Unless he skipped classroom. He considered it, but in the end, he couldn’t do it. Not a few weeks before graduation.

Thankfully, Micah wasn’t there yet when Ryan stepped inside. He searched the rows of students but didn’t find him. He briefly wondered if the boy would even show up. Ryan knew that he didn’t do well with attention. Would Ryan be at fault for making him skip class? Wouldn’t he get into trouble with his parents?

He bit his lip and considered his two seat options—his old place in the front row, and his seat next to Micah in the back—then chose a third, squeezing himself next to Lang and Billy in the middle of the right half.

“What happened to your face?” Lang asked in form of greeting.

“Hello to you, too, Lang,” Ryan grumbled.

Other classmates were starting to notice the scrapes and bruises on his face, too. He had a small cut on his cheekbone and his nose had seen better days. They started talking among themselves and calling out to him.

Ryan ignored them. Micah was right, other people really should just mind their own damn business.

Even Lang leaned in conspiratorially and asked, “Did you, you know ... get that from fighting monsters?”

“No.”

“Hey, Ryan. What happened?” someone asked.

“Nothing, I fell down the stairs,” he said with a little venom.

“Did you get into a fight?”

“What do you think?”

Just then, a huddled shape walked into the classroom and headed along the front rows. Ryan immediately noticed him and had to keep himself from wincing. Micah looked like he might get a black eye. His left-side jaw was an angry color that made Ryan’s gut wrench, but there was a spark of hope. The wounds looked somewhat muted. They didn’t stand out as much as Ryan’s. Had Micah put something on them already? Hopefully.

Lang must have noticed, too.

“Did you both get into a fight?” he asked, frowning. “With whom? Was it those Westgate kids again?”

Ryan didn’t answer.

Lang glanced at them both, frowned at where Ryan sat next to him, and finally took the hint.

“Oh.”

Then he nudged Ryan in the side, right in another small bruise he had from where Micah had punched him that last time, and asked, “Trouble in paradise?”

Micah dropping something on his desk saved Ryan from having to respond. It was a small wooden jar. Micah immediately turned away, never having looked at him, and headed back to the front row again.

Ryan snatched up the jar. He twisted off the lid and found a pale salve inside. It looked almost like the salve Micah had used to heal his wounds from the Tower back then. Ryan had thought he would have run out by now.

“What’s this?” he hissed down the middle aisle.

Micah stopped next to Camille and turned to look at him.

“Healing salve,” he stated. “For your wounds.”

Ryan already knew that. He wanted to know why Micah was giving this to him.

“I’m not Billy,” he said, somewhat louder than he would have liked.

Two seats over, Billy shouted, “Hey!”

It was hard, though, keeping his anger in check. Much harder than dialing down [Hot Skin]. “I don’t want your fu—” He noticed the youngest kids looking at him with wide eyes and took a deep breath. With a lower voice, Ryan said, “I don’t want your freaking healing salve, Micah.”

“Too bad,” he said with a sneer, “I made it with your ugly face in mind.”

That got a round of oohs and ahhs from their classmates. They were probably expecting a fight.

Micah nudged Camille. She moved over so he could sit down.

Ryan clenched the jar a little tighter than it could probably handle. He heard its wood creak already and slammed the lid back on, then turned it around, searching for something. Sure enough, it said “Ryan” on the bottom.

Fuck Micah.

He wanted to throw it at his stupid head, or even just in a random corner of the room and hear it break, but everyone was still watching, so he settled for slamming it on the corner of his desk. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He crossed his arms and considered pushing it forward a little, so it would “accidentally” fall down.

“If you don’t want it,” Lang said next to him, pulling the jar closer to see for himself. “Can I have it?”

“No,” Ryan said, getting out his things for today. He slapped his book down, his paper, and got out a pencil. “You shouldn’t use healing too often. It’s not good for you. Makes your body weaker in the long run.”

“Only if the one who made it is a hack,” Micah commented from two rows down.

“You’re a hack!” Ryan shouted. “And nobody’s talking to you, so stop listening to my conversation.”

Micah turned on him.

“Really? Cause you’re talking so loud I thought you were addressing everyone, mouthbreather.”

“Screw you!”

They broke off.

“Yeesh,” Lang said next to him. “No, take it. I really don’t want it anymore.”

He put the jar down in front of Ryan again, but Ryan just put it back in its corner. He saw some other kids eyeing it. They could take it they wanted. He was not going to use that.

“Everything alright?” Ryan heard Camille ask softly. She even nudged Micah a little in the side.

The pencil in Ryan’s hand snapped and he threw the two pieces at them. One of them hit Micah in the head. He immediately spun around and got up a little, as if he was ready to go another round.

Ryan got up, too.

Then he frowned at Ryan, glanced at Camille, shook his head and sat back down.

Ryan was disappointed. Then he was angry that he was disappointed. Why did he even want to fight again?

The teacher came in and he didn’t move to get another pencil. He didn’t take any notes that day. Everything sucked.

At least, Micah was safe. And Ryan was going to talk to Lisa later today to make sure of it.

Micah spent the rest of Monday sulking. The only person he could bear to be around was Neil, and only because the guy gave him task after task without acknowledging his face. He’d asked exactly two questions when Micah had shown up, using only five words.

“Instructor?”

“No.”

“Get into a fight?”

Micah didn’t answer, but that was an answer in itself. Neil put him to work in the private and back rooms, where the patrons wouldn’t see him. Or rather, where Prisha wouldn’t see him. She’d freaked out when she did, asking if these were wounds from the Tower.

“No, they’re from a classmate,” Micah spat. “From here, Westhill.”

That shut her up for a moment, and Micah took the chance to flee.

Working was good. Working was distracting. Or at least, it was until he started replaying the last two days over and over in his head. Then Micah couldn’t stand it anymore. He left early.

At home, he leafed through his book on alchemy and tried to ease out the creases. The first twelve pages or so were torn. Another twelve after that were bent. The rest were intact, except for the bottom bit of the book’s spine that didn’t hold properly anymore. Some of them had dents in them though, from the broken crystals.

Micah’s back still hurt from that.

Janet’s book was just bent diagonally down the middle. He must have bent it over something when he fell on it.

Micah opened the first book until only one damaged page was on the right side. He ran a hand over it to flatten it and put a stack of books on top. A few hours later, after dinner, he did the same with the next one.

It only helped a little, but Micah guessed he didn’t care all too much. He could still decipher everything after all. Nothing had been lost. Just … damaged.

Ryan and he ignored each other on Tuesday.

Micah’s parents came to visit him at Prisha’s afterward, which was weird because he was pretty sure that both of them should have been working then. Apparently, they caught wind of him skipping work more often from someone then. They came to find him where he was scrubbing tubs in the private rooms.

“Huh?” Micah asked from where he sat in one of them. He’d been lost in thought and couldn’t quite catch up to what they were saying.

And then he didn’t have the mental clarity to craft a good lie.

“What’s this about you skipping work?” his mother asked sternly.

His father looked less interested in him. That was also confusing. His dad has seemed somehow happy that Micah had gotten into a fight.

He couldn’t understand why.

“Just sometimes,” he said.

“How often?” his mother asked.

“Uhm,” Micah started, trying to remember all the times he’d skipped. “This Sunday, Saturday, Tuesday, the Sunday before that …” He counted them all of on his fingers. It was kind of painful, too, because a lot of those had been times he’d spent with Ryan.

“And what do you do then?” she asked.

“Hang out with friends,” Micah said.

“Who?”

Ryan …

“Ryan?” she asked, sounded surprised.

Micah looked up because he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“The boy who, ah, found you?” his father asked.

Neil appeared down the hallway and stepped up behind his parents, looking like he had something to say. He didn’t interrupt their conversation. He just stood there in the doorway, looking down at Micah.

“Yeah, him,” Micah said. “We’ve been hanging out a lot lately.”

His father didn’t look happy about that. Neither did his mother, but her face switched to concern a moment later.

“Even last Sunday?” she asked.

Micah glanced back at Neil.

Yes, he wanted to say, but then he realized why she was asking. She wanted to know more about his fight. He’d refused to tell her the “other boy’s” name—how did they even know it was a boy? Lisa could have easily have beaten him up—even though she had asked a million times.

“Ah, no. He wasn’t there on Sunday,” Micah said. “I was playing alleyball with the others, Lang, and Billy, and Finn … yeah.”

Neil crossed his arms and raised a single eyebrow. He knew Micah had been at Lisa’s again.

Please, Micah thought, remembering the way he'd promised him and Prisha that he would tell his parents about his second Path someday. Please, don’t tell them. I know, I know, I hate myself, too. Just please don’t tell them.

His brother-in-law seemed to have gotten the message because he rolled his eyes and gave him a barely visible shrug.

“Micah,” his mother said sternly. “Skipping work, sneaking around to hang out with your friends, getting into fights ... We told you back then, didn’t we? You’re still under house arrest for the whole summer. Don't forget that. We’re going to have to punish you for this.”

“What?” Micah asked.

His father shrugged. “No allowance this month.”

Oh, Micah sighed inwardly. Just no allowance. He’d been thinking of worse things than that. Plus, he still had a gold coin and a half in his backpack at Lisa’s. It helped ease the severity of it.

His mother nodded approvingly.

“But this Ryan …” she said, sounding contemplative. “We never did thank him for helping you, did we?”

His father made a quick grumbling sound.

“Uhm, no?” Micah asked.

Pretty sure you did the opposite, he thought.

“What must his parents think? That we’re some kind of shrews. We should make it up to them.”

“What are you thinking?” her husband asked.

“Hm, I know,” she said. “We could invite them over to dinner. Then we could properly thank them for their son’s service, maybe get to know them better. It’s important to keep good relations with the community.”

Micah watched in open horror.

Just then, his parents looked at him and Neil widened his eyes in warning. Micah quickly put on a confused face. It was the best he could manage, considering the circumstances.

His parents stared, probably waiting for his opinion.

“Uhm, sure,” Micah started slowly. “But, uh, I think Ryan’s parents are very busy. They work a lot of evening shifts, you know? I’m not sure they would have the time to come to dinner?”

“Nonsense,” his mother said. “I’m sure we could find a day that works. How about you tell your friend to ask his parents? Does this weekend sound nice?”

“It sounds perfect,” his father said.

They looked at him again, their faces nudging him to respond.

“Yeah, perfect ... “ Micah croaked.

“Great, then we’re not going to keep you from your work any longer, son,” she said.

She startled when she found Neil standing behind her. Micah could have sworn she was about to hit him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, holding up his hands placatingly. “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“No, it’s alright,” she said, holding her chest.

“I just wanted to ask you if you want some refreshments,” Neil offered while they walked away.

“That would be nice.”

“Do you have any more of that dip from last time?”

Micah was left kneeling there in the bath with a sponge.

What just happened? he thought.

Ryan spent the next few days sulking. His face hurt. He still hadn’t put anything on it, except a bag of ice that his father procured out of nowhere. The jar of healing salve had been left sitting in the classroom on Monday. By Tuesday, it’d been gone. Ryan assumed Lang had taken it but didn’t ask. What was the point?

Micah avoided him. He didn’t play alleyball with others either. Not even when they offered to toss Ryan out of their team.

He knew they meant it as a joke, but it did nothing to improve either of their moods.

Instead, the boy spent all his time sitting next to Camille and Darren, reading that battered-up book of his.

Ryan asked Lang to go check what it was and found out it apparently had a bunch of different potion recipes.

“Hey, do you think he could make me a strength potion?” Lang asked.

Ryan ignored him.

Micah had a new recipe book? He mulled it over. And he had damaged it. That was just fucking great.

After that, every time Ryan saw Micah with that book of his, something twisted in his guts. He longed to go over there and ask him what he was working on, get his thoughts on potions, dodge questions about the Tower … maybe apologize?

He didn’t.

Other times he just remembered Micah shouting insults at him and felt like walking up to him and punching him in the face again. Or knocking the book off his desk in passing. Tripping him up, shoving him aside against a wall. Anything to make him listen, maybe start another conversation, maybe start another fight?

Micah was the stubborn one here, the irresponsible one, the one in the wrong …

Lisa wasn’t speaking to him. She’d told him to sort this out on their own or it would stay that way.

“I don’t have a side in this,” she’d said.

All Ryan could remember was Micah saying, Cool. Good for you.

Of course, she had a side in this!

Then on Thursday after class, Micah finally approached him and mumbled, “Can we talk?”

Some classmates gave him a thumbs-up in passing.

Ryan tried not to gloat.

“Sure,” he said.

They went to the yard and he waited for the other boy to start.

“I, uhm …” he said eventually.

Am sorry? Ryan hoped to hear.

“I wanted to ask if you’re free on Saturday?”

Wait, what?

“Why?” Ryan asked, scratching his arm and frowning. He paced from foot to foot and looked around awkwardly. He thought he saw a glimpse of Lang behind the corner of the classroom building and scowled.

“My parents,” he said. “They kind of want to invite yours to dinner?”

“You ratted on me?” Ryan asked.

“No!” he immediately said. “They’re just suddenly very interested in my life since I won’t tell them who I fought with. And they keep on asking questions … They sort of, uhm, want to meet you.”

“Why?”

“Because they were asking where I’ve been when I’m not working,” Micah mumbled. “And I sort of said that I was always hanging out with you. They want to offer you and your parents a much, much belated thanks for saving me.”

“Oh.”

Ryan felt really still just then. He didn’t know what to think.

“Much belated indeed …” he mumbled a few moments later. “I’m not sure …”

Micah looked up for the first time during their conversation and quickly said, “That’s fine. You don’t have to come. They just … want me to tell you to ask your parents whether or not they can come and then get back to me.”

“Right,” Ryan said.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to meeting Micah’s parents again—they were frightening people, the both of them—and he knew for a fact that his dad had a shift on Saturday evening, but …

“Sure,” he said. “I can ask.”

Maybe his dad could switch with someone?

“Great,” Micah said, nodding a little.

“Great,” Ryan agreed.

They just stood there for a moment.

“I’ll just go then …?”

“Sure, sure.”

Micah started walking away slowly, hesitantly, as if he still had something to say. Ryan felt a bunch of things swirling around in his head, too.

“Micah?” he called.

He was halfway across the yard by then but turned back anyway.

“Yeah?”

This doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry about your book. How’s your alchemy coming along? Any new potions? I’m not bringing you into the Tower again. Ever. Do you still have some of that salve left? Go fuck yourself. Thanks for not telling on me. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Can you forgive me? Aren’t you going to apologize?

What were you thinking?

“Nothing. Bye.”

“Bye.”

When Micah was gone, Ryan walked around the corner of the building to check, but Lang wasn’t there.

He went to his afternoon classes.

It turned out, his dad could trade shifts on Saturday. And his mom didn’t have to work then anyway, so after school on Friday, Ryan told Micah that they could come.

“Really?” the boy asked, sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Ryan smiled, enjoying his dismay.

“Really, really?”

“Yep.”

“But your dad—”

“Has the day off,” he lied.

“Oh. That’s just … great?”

He told Ryan the time and address—even though he already knew both—and left, looking lost.

The moment he was out of sight, Ryan immediately turned around and ran down another street to find Lang. He caught up to him two streets over and pulled him into a halt.

“Ryan?” he asked. “What’s up?”

Ryan needed a moment to catch his breath before he spoke.

“I need that healing salve.”

Lang frowned. “I don’t have it.”

“What? Didn’t you take it on Monday?”

“No, I left the jar lying there.”

Ryan gaped, not knowing what to do.

“Everything alright?” Lang asked.

“Yeah, yeah … “ he said. “Sorry. Bye.”

“Bye?”

Lang kept on walking, glancing back at him a few times.

Ryan’s mind was racing. Then he followed it and ran home. He got his savings from his room and searched the house for spare change, then ran through Westhill, looking for an Alchemist’s shop he knew had to be around here somewhere. There were three of them in Westhill. He was bound to find one.

It took him almost half an hour. He’d ran past it once before, he realized, when he spotted the sign and skidded to a halt. Gardener was not going to be happy that he was late for training.

He might even have to skip, depending on how long this took.

Ryan pushed through the door, sounding chimes above, and found a young woman with ridiculously good-looking skin behind the counter.

“Good day, my name is Janet,” she said, getting up from her chair and folding her magazine against the counter. “How can I help you?”

“I need a healing potion, Janet,” Ryan said. “That can fix this by tomorrow evening.” He gestured at his face.

There was no way he could show up in front of Micah’s parents looking he just got out of a fight. He’d already made a poor first impression by sleeping on their doorstep in a blood-soaked shirt with a sword in his lap, he couldn’t cement that impression during their second meeting by looking like a delinquent.

The woman hissed a little as she looked at his face.

“Ooh, yeah, that looks pretty bad.”

She poked his cheekbone and Ryan flinched back, biting back a remark.

Who the hell does that?

“What for?” she asked. “Hot date? Interview?”

Ryan scowled and shook his head.

“Sort of,” he said. “Meeting the parents.” He was simplifying the situation by a lot, but at least it got the urgency across.

“Oh,” Janet said. “That’s rough. I’m not sure we have something that can work that quickly. How much are you willing to spend?”

Ryan upended his pockets full of spare change on the counter. The coins clinked and rolled, some forming piles, some almost tumbling off the edge before the two of them slapped them down against the wood.

Janet’s eyes were wide, but then she started counting quietly, rearranging the coins one by one, and Ryan counted with her. A minute later, she took in a sharp breath and switched to just mouthing the numbers instead.

A part of Ryan’s mind was telling him that he was being stupid. His best friend was an [Alchemist] and here he was, spending money on a potion elsewhere. But what other options did he have?

Halfway through, Janet gave up and looked at him. She had a considering look on her face.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ryan.”

She kneeled down a little to push all of the coins back to his side of the counter. Then she gave him a dangerous smile. It was made even worse by her spotless appearance.

“Ryan,” Janet said. “I think I have just the thing for you.”

Ryan didn’t think. He just said, “I’ll take it.”