They've been avoiding each other like the plague, for a few days now and it's been killing Nick.

School passes annoyingly slowly and slightly painfully. Nick keeps his head down and out of trouble, as best he can. He's been spending time with his mates, playing football and going to game stores, but in the nights, he keeps reaching out for Madison. A crushing disappointment and pain wracks his chest when his arms find nothing.

"Are you alright, Nick?" his mother is asking, through the phone. "Are you sure? I could cancel everything – I could come back, tonight."

"Nah," Nick says tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck, as he pads to the kitchen barefoot. "You need this meeting, don't you? You have to stay there and show all those old white men that their money should really be yours." He adds, as an afterthought, "And mine, by extension."

His gaze drags unwillingly, as it always does, to the counter Madison liked to seat herself on, the one he'd have to lift her onto because she was always too short to lift herself.

"Of course," his mother says, as she chuckles warmly. The sound is sweet. "I sent you a present."

"Is it more money?"

His gaze turns to the living room, where on the table there sits a rather large box, wrapped in a pretty pink bow. Nick's lips quirk a little and he moves eagerly. He's not had a lot of presents in his life, so he knows how to appreciate one.

"Go have a look, you goblin," his mother laughs at him.

Nick tears into the box impatiently, ripping apart the paper and the ribbon as it floats to the table in a soft heap. His brows furrow together in confusion.

"I think you've mistaken me for a girl," he tells her, as he brings out a bottle of some funny-looking stuff. Nick gives it a tentative shake. "Is this body butter?"

"Body butter isn't just limited to one gender," his mother tells him. "I was buying some stuff for my spa sessions, and I figured, why can't my son enjoy a spa, too? Body butter keeps your body soft. If that thing you're shaking is lotion, you better stop shaking it."

Nick rummages through the box quizzically.

Truth be told, a gift is a gift, and he doesn't really care about the gender-specifics. He's curious. He's never been in a spa before, but he's seen stuff on the television before. Just random girls with their towels wrapped around their heads. Before, he'd have been interested to attend a spa, more than interested, maybe even asked the girl if she wanted help with the towel-wrapping, but he keeps thinking of Madison's soft smile.

"This stuff smells nice," he says. "It's called face scrub. What's it do?"

"Exfoliates your skin, keeps it soft and acne-free," she tells him.

"That's awesome," Nick tells her. "Why haven't I ever heard of this?"

"Because men like to make fun of everything women like," his mother says. "I'm raising you to be better."

"Uh-huh, sure," he says distractedly, continuing to look through the box, his fingers pulling out different bottles that promise different results.

"Ask your girlfriend to sort through the specifics with you," his mother tells him. "I've got to go, honey. I love you, bye."

"Wait, I don't have a –," Nick begins, before his mother cuts the call, and he ends up staring at the phone, his cheeks warm.

His gaze turns back to the box again and Nick wonders if he could call Madison. Truthfully, he misses her deeply, and he'd give anything to have the days turn back to how they used to. Nick can just imagine the burst of laughter the box would emit from Madison, the way they'd experiment with everything in the package. The thought of it brings a bittersweet ache to his heart.

When the doorbell rings, he is so lost in thought he doesn't notice.

It rings again, and Nick almost jumps.

He moves to open the door and freezes, staring.

Before him, Mitchell eyes him quizzically. He is flanked by large men that Nick has never seen before, as Nick thinks quickly, his breaths fraught. Mitchell lets out a low whistle and looks up at the place.

"So this is your place, then, Nick?" he says.

Nick doesn't let a single thing show on his face, though his heart hammers hard in his chest.

He's never been more grateful that his mother is gone and even that Madison isn't here. If she had been here, in the early morning, she'd have been sleeping soundly, tangled up in his sheets. Though he had wanted it when he had woken, wanted her to be beside him so he could watch with delight when she woke and scowled at him, he doesn't want it now.

His gaze drops to Mitchell's fists, carefully, before turning to the men around him. New muscle, Nick thinks. Mitchell still looks as short and pug-like as ever, but there is no denying the pulsing, angry energy within him.

Mitchell's had it out for him, since Nick first showed up and called him a pug.

"Yeah," he says shortly. "You get my present, Mitchell?"

"Course I did," Mitchell tells him easily, relaxed. "Nice watch, mate. Thanks. You, uh, not going to let us in, then, Nick?"

"No," Nick says. "I told you, Mitchell. I'm out of that life, now. I don't want any trouble."

Though he makes an effort to look as relaxed as he can, he straightens his shoulders and tenses himself, ready for a fight.

"Trouble always has a way of finding you, though, doesn't it, mate?" Mitchel says and grins, showing his teeth. "Your mum at home, then?"

"No," Nick says again, curt.

"You got a girl, then?"

"No."

He can't let Mitchell even see Madison. If Mitchell even suspected what they had been to each other, what even he didn't know they were, Nick's sure Madison won't be left alone. She can take care of herself, but he can't risk that. There is something angry and desperate curling within him at the thought of Madison hurt.

He's seen what Mitchell does to people who go against him, remembers seeing broken bodies curled up and bleeding out on the concrete. Unbidden, an image of Madison in the same way flashes across his mind.

Nick is reeling, barely just stopping himself from clenching his fists. But he keeps his face as impassive as ever.

No.

He can't risk Madison.

"They say you've been going around calling yourself King," Mitchell is saying, chuckling lowly to himself. "What's a king without his throne, mate?"

"I haven't done anything like that, Mitchell," Nick says stiffly. "I told you, I don't want any trouble, Mitchell. I'm out."

He takes out the knife from his back pocket and offers it back to Mitchell, handle first. Mitchell nicks Nick's palm as he takes it, but his grin is blinding.

*

When Madison calls, Nick can breathe again.

It's the night before the charity ball and truth be told, he'd been wondering whether there would even be a dance between them. Their dance lessons had all but dried up and Nick had mourned their loss, having wanted to cherish the last feel of Madison in his arms again. The world is too quiet without Madison, Nick thinks.

He's never been more grateful to have a phone call in his life and the feeling of relief and happiness overwhelms him completely that it's almost embarrassing. For a moment, none of them speak, but Nick lets himself experience the sheer happiness he's feeling, before he has to confront himself about it, slightly startled.

"We need to talk about this," Madison says.

Her voice is filled with determination and the same confused grit that shows through their faces every time they pass the hallways in school. It's bewildering and somehow feels like something very painful is being driven into his chest and Nick's truly not sure if he'd be able to get through the days, feeling like this. He's filled with relief, at Madison's suggestion.

"The Love Shack?" Nick suggests, and when Madison says she'll be there, he's already on his motorbike.

Nervousness pounds through him, as his heart beats hard, when Nick pulls up to the café. There are memories upon memories pressed into that café before him, where he and Madison had fought, had worked together, had laughed.

God, he thinks, what had they been doing?

Madison is already inside, sitting in a different booth, and Nick gives himself a moment, letting himself appreciate her. She looks utterly glorious, an untouched vision, her dark curls gleaming around her shoulders, her fingers pressing down her ruffled skirt that slides teasingly against her thighs. Her shirt is white, and a few buttons have been left out, leaving the slightest hint of skin that makes his knees weak, as Nick remembers the way he'd made her moan his name, pressing his lips to her collarbone.

Nick moves, pulling up his sleeves and unbuttoning his own collar because he feels too hot now. He seats himself, proud of Madison when he spots the laden plate of teacakes and her steaming latte on the table.

"Hi," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

When Madison sees him, her breath catches a little, and Nick realises, he's not the only one affected. He'd thought it was only him who was being an idiot, but it seems that she might have, maybe, possibly, hopefully, missed him too?

"You're late," she snaps at him.

Nick lets out a breath.

Maybe not.

"It's great to see you again, too, Madison," he retorts. "And how have I been, you're asking? Oh, yeah. Just peachy –,"

"Something's wrong," Madison says, and that about sums it up. "Things – things aren't returning back to normal. We need normal. Especially for tomorrow's ball."

"Yeah," Nick says. "It's not working."

He's tried to spend his time with friends and doing work in school and anything else he can think of, but it's not working. Madison just refuses to budge from his head. Somehow, she's managed to bury her way in, Nick thinks, and she's too stubborn to get out.

"What did we do?" Madison says. "We broke the rules of the contact. You got too close –,"

"I got too close?" Nick repeats, barking out a laugh. "I seem to remember you were the one who was snuggling up to me in that fort, wrapped your legs around me and all. I was an innocent victim of your ...machinations."

"It's painful, how funny you think you are," Madison retorts.

Both of them stare at each other for a moment, before Madison laughs lowly to herself and Nick breaks out in a soft smile. His heart's been pounding like wild horses for the longest time, but this moment, in this time now, his heart rests easy, as though it's found its relief, its sanctuary.

God, he thinks, staring at Madison, he'd missed her.

They both sigh together, as Nick reaches to steal one of Madison's teacakes. Madison is staring at him and there is something fraught and vulnerable within her face.

"You were the one," she says, her voice quiet and still. "You ...you said those words."

Nick freezes.

Truth be told, he hadn't even registered saying those words. Well, he had, obviously, but Nick had been sleepy and filled with affection for Madison. They had fallen from his lips, before he could stop himself.

"I – I – what – what is this supposed to be?" he says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "What the hell have we been doing for months?"

He doesn't know what Madison wants and he doesn't know what he wants and – God, Nick thinks, he's so confused. Madison stares at him, her jaw taut, and his heart tugs a little, despite itself.

"I don't know!" she says, though her fingers shake. "I don't know what we're doing!"

Nick is frustrated, and he pushes away from the table, slumping in his seat, as he stares hopelessly at Madison. Even she is just as confused as him, and for the first time, they both have no idea what to do.

When a shadow casts over their table, Nick assumes it's the waiter. He barely lifts his head, still levelling his gaze on Madison's face. Her brows furrow together in confusion and it's then a familiar voice echoes.

"Nick. Fancy meeting you here," Mitchell says easily.

Nick's reaction is instantaneous, his entire body tensing and almost hitting his knees against the wood of the table. Under the table, his hands clench into fists, and his gaze lingers briefly on the men flanking Mitchell's side. Mitchell clearly feels safe enough, because he tells the men to go, beaming cheerfully at them.

"Mitchell," Nick says, his voice taut.

Madison's eyes widen briefly with realisation, but her face is a smooth mask when Mitchell looks at her. It makes Nick want to grin.

She's so smart, he thinks. No wonder I love her to bits.

"Mind if I sit?" Mitchell asks Madison, before attempting to sit next to her in the booth, Madison's look of discomfort clearly meaning nothing to him.

Any humour he might have felt is immediately diminished.

Nick is up like a shot, physically reaching for Mitchell and pulling him away from Madison.

The clear priority here is Madison and her safety, and he's not having Mitchell and his perverted ass anywhere near her. He forces a quick smile across his face, as Madison throws him a meaningful look that he knows means to play nice with Mitchell, his fury a tight, knotted ball within his stomach.

"Here, take my seat, Mitch," Nick says quickly.

When he looks at Madison, she is staring across at Mitchell, who has seated himself willingly, smirking across the table at her. Nick bristles angrily at the sight, not liking the way Mitchell is looking at his girl, or the way Madison seems to be looking at Mitchell. Something about it makes his hands clench automatically and Nick is thinking about how great it would feel to break Mitchell's stupid face.

And then, Nick pauses in confusion.

Why is he so angry?

Nothing has even happened, he thinks to himself, before shaking his head. Nick's gaze continues to linger on Madison and he can already feel his rage ebbing away, without realising it. It's her, he realises. He never realised just how much Madison has come to mean to him and this bout of jealousy might have just tipped him over the edge.

Oh, God.

Does he like –

"So Nick," Mitchell says, looking at him carefully, as Nick sits beside Madison, reeling. "You, uh, going to introduce me to your pretty lady friend? Or should I already order a room?"

His jaw tautens and Nick attempts to force a smile painfully but can't quite manage it. Madison is looking at him strangely, and she leans forward, her gaze on Mitchell.

"My name is Madison," she tells Mitchell. "I'm Nick's English partner. It's nice to meet someone who knows Nick, but we're quite busy analysing Shakespeare. Go book your room for someone else, because this pretty lady friend wouldn't go to Heaven, if it was with the likes of you."

Mitchell chuckles lowly and lifts himself.

"I know a hint when I see one," he says, before inclining his head meaningfully towards Nick. "Come not between the dragon and his wrath."

*

Madison frowns after Mitchell, as he leaves.

"Do all your friends make a point of quoting Shakespeare?" she asks, attempting to inject some amusement.

Nick still hasn't left her side, not that she's really complaining, and he's tensed all over, his hands clenched into fists. She had been worried, thinking he might attack Mitchell across the table, but for what reason, she hadn't the faintest idea. Some stupid male ego thing, Madison had guessed. Nick presses his lips together.

"I have to fight him."

Of all the things he'd say, she hadn't been expecting that.

"What?"

"He's challenging me. The dragon and his wrath. It's a – it's like a mocking thing. Like, come and fight, if you can. Truth be told, his face does need rearranging," Nick says, so flippant she could kill him. Madison parts her lips furiously to retort, but Nick adds, his voice so low she can barely hear him, "And he disrespected you. I can't let that lie."

Her cheeks grow scarlet. Madison hates that she is flushing and clears her throat.

"I will deal with him," she begins to insist.

"My way is better," Nick argues.

"If you want to get arrested," Madison points out angrily.

"It's not like I wouldn't have you to bail me out."

"No, you're right," Madison says, though she's lying. She'd do almost anything for Nick, now that she actually thinks about it. "You wouldn't."

"My father raised a gentleman," Nick says, though he's snickering as he says it.

Madison's gaze moves to the burn mark on his shoulder and is completely unamused.

"My mother raised a lady," she rebuffs. "And ladies take care of their own problems."

They both get up from their seat at the same time and though Nick tries, he cannot make Madison stay.

She's too stubborn and angry, because she has to avenge her own honour, too, but she also has to make sure that Nick doesn't get beaten to a pulp, like the idiot he is. When they make it outside, they see Mitchell waiting and Nick moves slightly in front of her, his large, hulking frame towering over hers protectively.

"You can't have your men come to protect you," Nick says, his voice tight.

Madison stares at him hopelessly, the words stuck in her throat, but she doesn't know what to say.

She digs her nails into her palm, nervous to the point of sheer terror, even as Mitchell agrees to the set rules of the fight. Nick gives her his jacket, his fingers briefly brushing against her own and leaving a searing trail of heat in its wake. Madison grips his jacket tightly, as though she'll never let go, her gaze fixed on the stupid boy before her, her fingers tight.

She's almost shaking, when Mitchell lunges for Nick, and has to bite down her protests, when Nick almost manages to get away from being decked in the face. Nick grapples with Mitchell in the fight, both of them evenly matched, as Mitchell drives his fist into his face. Using the opportunity to slam Mitchell into the concrete, Nick moves and turns aside, blocking Mitchell's next blow.

"You stupid idiot," Madison is muttering under her breath, fraught with tension and utterly distraught.

It's not like it was with Ash, she thinks, her panic rising within her so that it almost threatens to strangle her. Ash was crazed and clumsy and untrained, and Mitchell is everything but. And Nick's good in a way that reminds her that he had a life before he turned up to Redwood in a leather jacket and a motorbike.

Mitchell is saying things to Nick, taunting him about his mother, but Nick doesn't rise to the bait, simply waiting for Mitchell to move first. Madison's gaze is stuck on Nick in worry, so that's why she only feels Mitchell's eyes, rather than sees him coming straight for her. It's why she doesn't move fast enough out of the way, as Mitchell reaches to grab Madison's arm.

The jacket slips from her arms, but Madison grips it tightly, tossing a confused look at Mitchell as she attempts to pull her arm back.

"What are you doing?" she says, her brows furrowed together.

But Mitchell is not looking at her.

His gaze is on Nick, whose face is darker than anything she's ever seen, and God, he's angry.