Bear with me that none of these oncoming chapters are gonna be edited whatsoever lolol. I'll come back through and do a complete clean sweep either when I finish or when I hit another slump. Please give these boys all the love and encouragement you can, cause they love you!

*

We followed the Dean into her office and took a seat in front of her desk.

She could almost pass for a willowy old soul the way her slender, aging fingers brushed back loose tufts of cotton brown hair. Despite how frail and delicate she looked, somehow her movements still appeared strong and emphatic. I had a gut feeling she did ballet back in her day, which would speak a lot about her assertive personality.

When she picked up a pair of spectacles from her messily scattered, old fashioned mahogany desk, she pushed them onto her nose and leaned forward, staring straight at me. She cleared her throat and spoke.

"Right, Charlie Rascal. I know this was somehow your fault even without you telling me-"

"It wasn't!" Aubrey objected, taking both me and Mrs. Anderson by surprise. I looked at him, seeing his lips pursed with obvious disgruntlement. It was like he was genuinely offended for her being right on the money about me.

"Now, Aubrey. I'm sure you've had plenty of chance to grow closer in this last little while, but-"

"Mrs. Anderson, it really wasn't his fault," he insisted.

She sat back in her chair and folded her arms, raising her thin, partially drawn on brows in speculation. "Alright then," she conceded, "humor me."

Aubrey looked taken aback, puzzled. "Ah... huh?"

"From the time you entered that closet to the moment you got your head in his shirt," she instructed, "give me a detailed step by step account to convince me you were actually the one at fault."

"Well..." Aubrey faltered and looked at me unsurely. I grinned and nodded, egging him on to say whatever he felt like. Be it the truth or his own rendition of it, as long as he kept himself strictly out of trouble. Never mind me.

He looked back at the Dean and gulped.

"Yes?" Mrs. Anderson urged him on.

"We hid in the closet," he said.

"Okay...?"

I leaned my elbow on the arm rest, watching him with keen interest. How would Aubrey Keats get himself out of trouble with me, the predictably trouble-making class clown.

"And I stuck my head up his shirt."

"Pfft," I burst into laughter. He was really, really something.

He must have felt my eyes on him because he glanced at me and narrowed his eyes when he noticed my reaction. He was cute when he was caught in a pickle. I could no longer imagine him as a delinquent, no matter what. He was the purest, sweetest treasure I'd happily spend my life protecting.

"And?" she prompted, waiting for more as she looked back and forth between us expectantly. When she realized there was none, she sighed and rubbed her forehead.

"You realize I'm going to have to call both of your parents, don't you? This was a very compromising position and if I can't get a proper story from you, then they'll have to do so."

"Or," Aubrey said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk as he set forth to challenge her authority.

Strands of his blonde hair fell forward, framing his face like you'd see from a Victoria's Secret Angel. Even his threatening tone couldn't detract from his genuine beauty, not in my eyes.

"You can explain why the guy who beat Charlie to a bloody pulp and almost gave me a secondary TBI, putting us both in hospital, is back at school after only three days. Explain why he got the same sentence as Charlie, who the school knows is innocent, and was only punished to set an example to everyone else about fighting. If I can't get a proper story from you, then the press will have to do so."

Mrs. Anderson's eyes widened along with mine. Where did he get that nerve? The audacity? And how long has he been this bent up about that? I put my hand on his arm, shaking some sense into him, but he shrugged my hand away and didn't spare me a glance. He was clearly pissed off.

What if he got in trouble for this?

"You wanna know why we were in that closet?" he asked, cocking his head in question. "Because you let that dangerous asshole back into this school. You know why I didn't have a PTSD relapse? Because Charlie was with me. You know why I've been able to come back since that incident? Because Charlie was with me."

Mrs. Anderson's hand was in front of her face, mouth opened in astonishment. "Aubrey, I'm sor-"

Aubrey stood up from his chair and leaned one hand over the desk, hovering scarily close to her. She didn't look afraid, only disgruntled, clearly knowing his character well enough that he wouldn't physically lash out. He looked her straight in the eyes, like an unleashed beast. Was he always this fierce?

I'd only seen him looking docile since realizing he isn't some soulless delinquent. This was a whole new side to him that I'd never seen before. Another part I adored.

"You have no problem wiping the ass of a dangerous criminal teen but are all too willing to mess up the lives of two kids you see probably looking a little gay."

Mrs. Anderson didn't look prepared for this onslaught. She was completely taken aback, body rigid and lips pursed tightly, quietly taking in everything Aubrey said to her. She didn't argue, didn't defend herself; only listened. It was a quality I couldn't help but admire and respect.

"And what about Charlie's permanently stained record? Did it occur to you that you'd given him the same punishment as the monster who sent him to hospital? Why? Is his future that dispensable 'cause he's known to act like a clown in class? Is that it?"

She opened her mouth, trying to speak. "Aubrey-"

"Because he doesn't have connections with the school Principal?" he interrupted her. "Is that it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. "How did you-"

"Um," I chimed in, fiddling nervously with my fingers. I desperately wanted to make out with Aubrey after this, so I needed to try help wrapping things up as quickly as possible. "He's kind of been spouting it out to a bunch of us this entire time. Ha-ha, like, 'befriending the Principal's kid' and 'I am immortal'."

Aubrey looked at me with surprise. "How did you know?"

I shrugged. "Ben told me before."

Mrs. Anderson sighed and moved her hand away from her head. "Take a seat please, Aubrey. Let me explain something."

Aubrey furrowed his brows in confusion and sat down. When his arm reached his armrest, I grasped his hand and hoped my silent thanks would reach him. He looked over at me and smiled shyly, like he was embarrassed at his own passionate outburst. I really, really, really just wanted to snog him right now.

How could someone be so sweet?

"What I'm about to say will be kept strictly between the three of us," she said, looking each of us in the eyes. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes-"

"-Yes," we agreed in unison.

"Aubrey, Mr. Hardy made the suggestion to keep Charlie off for a few days. The hospital didn't sign him off for medical leave, but he needed the time to recuperate just as much as you did. It was also Mr. Hardy who helped the boys convince Principal Atkinson to shorten Donovan's sentence."

Aubrey looked dumbstruck. "...What?"

The Dean looked at me, now. "Charlie, I can assure you that this is not in your record. Mr. Hardy thought staying home and working on poetry together would be a good way to help alleviate some of the... aftershock, of what you'd been through."

"Oh, um..." While that was a relief, it wasn't something I'd thought much about, so I didn't really know what to say. "That's good."

Aubrey didn't look content with the explanation. "But why would Tom, er-" he paused and looked at me sheepishly before turning back to the Dean, "-Mr. Hardy, do that? Why would he help those jerks?"

"I'm sure you've heard some rumors about Donovan Hughes's father and his situation at home. We're not so cold as to turn our noses to one of our own students unsafe at home."

I snorted. That guy... unsafe? A tow truck couldn't bring that horse-boy down. Mrs. Anderson glared at my reaction, shaking her head with pity.

"Contrary to what you believe," Mrs. Anderson said, "he is as fragile as either of you and comes from a very broken home. We'll do everything in our power to ensure your safety while we wait for authorities to play their part in ensuring his."

The realization dawned on me. There must be stuff going on that made him as horrible as he is, right? It made sense. My sister always said I act up because I'm I'm the youngest and need attention. Aubrey's scared of situations because of his own trauma. I think I... got it. But Aubrey didn't look satisfied with this.

"But Mrs.-" He started to lift from his seat gain, but I touched his arm and shook my head when he looked down at me.

"It's fine," I said, as softly as I could manage. "We can always avoid him, and you know I'll always stand up for you if he causes more trouble."

Aubrey furrowed his brows.

"That's not what I..." He paused and sighed as he appeared to think about it. Soon he reluctantly nodded, then sat back down beside me.

"By the way, Mrs. Anderson," I said, looking over to her now. "Can you maybe keep the whole closet thing hush-hush from Aubrey's parents? You can vent to mine since they know I'm a super raging gay, but Aubrey..."

I glanced at Aubrey; whose pale face turned bright pink. I chuckled when I saw him divert his gaze all around the room as if it helped him to escape this conversation. It was just a tiny bit hilarious. "I mean it's not like he's actually gay of course, but it might put him in a awkward spot."

He looked at me with surprise, but I focused on Mrs. Anderson who nodded with understanding.

"I'll let this incident go," she said, making us both audibly sigh in relief, "under the condition that you two reserve any PDA for outside of school hours."

She rubbed her forehead as if this entire conversation had given her a mighty headache. "Just so we're clear, this has nothing to do with you being... gay. Your comment about cracking down on gays earlier... my god, my head hurts."

She rubbed her cheeks, grimacing as if holding back from saying what she really thought about the matter.

"I know you're growing adults," she said, "but this is a school. Any PDA besides simple hugs and hand holding are strictly forbidden."

"So no stuffing out heads in each other's shirts then?" I asked... for clarification.

Aubrey snorted.

"Get outta here you rascals," she said, waving us away with her hands. "Don't let me catch you doing something so suspicious again."

"Yes, Mrs. Anderson-"

"-Yes, Mrs. Anderson," we said together then left the room in fits of laughter.

Aubrey looked at the time on his watch as we stood idly outside the Dean's office door. "Ten minutes to the bell," he said. "What should we do?"

It was pointless going back to the courtyard when it'd take eight of those ten minutes just to get there, so I figured there were probably better ways to spend this time. All I could picture was how defensive and passionate he got when it came to protecting me and giving me fair treatment. I was too stunned to really grasp any sort of feeling on it, but now I was being overwhelmed with a sense of... need. A need to hold him in my arms and kiss every inch of his face.

Then an idea struck me.

I didn't answer his constant questions as I dragged him all the way back to the closet. There was nobody around, and as long as we kept quiet this time, nobody should find us back in here.

"Here again?" he asked, looking puzzled.

We entered inside and I made sure to lock it this time. Aubrey's a lot taller than me, and as much as I fantasized pinning him while holding his cheeks and kissing him as much as I wanted, I couldn't exactly reach. This was making me develop a real height complex for the first time in my life.

I wanted to grow taller than Aubrey Keats and by God, I will.

Instead, I had to bring him my level and so I took a seat back where we sat before and gestured for him to join me. When he came over, however, he knelt down in front of my legs, resting his hands on each of my thighs, and caught my lips in his. It felt so natural, so right.

His warmth, his tenderness; even his seconds of awkwardness and rigidity felt perfect before he melted into the kiss. As he settled back onto his knees, I inched forward to make sure our lips didn't part for even a moment. My hands were planted on the ground to keep me steady, but I wanted to bury them in his hair. We spent some time like this, stopping only to catch our breaths before carrying on.

When we did pull apart, we slumped against the wall first, before he let his body fall against mine. I put my arm around him and pulled him against me, stroking whichever part of his shoulder my hand rested on. We took some moments to calm our labored breathing, even though I already had an unparalleled impulse to pick up where we only just left off.

The bell rang, but we didn't hurry to move. Aubrey barely flinched when the sound blared all around us, with the small confined space working only to magnify the screeching sound. His fingers, however, clutched at my leg and tightened slightly until the ringing ended.

There was stuff on my mind I didn't really know how to verbalize. How to let him know how grateful I was that he stood up for me, to see how much he cared, to know how important I really am to him.

"You know..." I started, but quickly decided to skip the bush-beating and get straight to the point. "...Thanks."

He lifted his head and looked up at me with certainty. "I meant it, you know."

"Which part?" I smiled.

"All of it," he said. "I always skip English 'cause I get really shaken up from PTSD. It's all to do with my grandad and accident."

"Old man Robert?" I said.

He nodded. "How did you know his name?"

"I met him..." I paused and corrected myself. "I met you both at an art gallery years ago. He'd told me stuff that stuck with me and made me love poetry this whole time."

His brows furrowed contemplatively. "You were that small kid asking all those questions after my grandad asked you like, one?"

I chuckled. I guess that's how he remembered me. "Guess so."

Aubrey pulled himself up and looked at me for a moment, his face was only inches from mine. Then without a blink, he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. "It makes me happy you met my favorite hero."

"He was mine, too," I whispered, feeling my heart rate shoot up at a million miles per second. I thought it'd burst at any second. How beautiful could one guy be? It was too much for my feeble heart to take.

He kept staring at me, making flush and feel a sweat coming on. His lips slowly turned up into a knowing grin. "You're completely red."

"You would be too if you were me," I muttered, looking away nervously. When did he get so brave? So strong? His character development was so progressive, so quickly. It barely matched my original image of him.

"Let's meet here like this sometimes," he whispered, kissing my cheek once more. And then again. I was beginning to feel hot. Too hot. He needed to stop before biological phenomenon occurred that I was sure to regret. It was break time and this was my perfect chance for a safe getaway.

I'd really have to find a way to get a handle on this if I wanted to meet him for strictly innocent rendezvous. All I could imagine was his hair pulled back, eyes looking up at me... Shit.

"Alright," I agreed quickly, "but we should go get our stuff before people start coming into the gym.

And before I got harder than a nanosphere.

God help me.