#but compare him to max and el in half of theirs

[brionysea]

2.07 | 4.04 | 4.09

[bestillmyslashyheart]

follow on/compliant with this

for @el-gilliath because I promised her I would continue 

“I will support you in whatever you decide,” Isobel promised through gritted teeth. “But I need you to decide. Are we telling Maria the truth or keeping her in the dark forever? I can’t keep wondering what she does or doesn’t know.”

“We need to tell her,” Liz countered. “With everything that’s been going on with her mom? And with the cops investigating the Pony because of Noah? Keeping her in the dark is just putting her in danger!”

“But that’s not your call to make, Liz,” Kyle reminded quietly. “It’s theirs.” He nodded at Michael and Isobel. “And Isobel’s made it pretty clear it’s up to Guerin.”

Liz shook her head. “I can’t keep lying to her.”

“Well figure out a way,” Michael snapped. “Because until I decide to tell her you will keep your mouth shut. Max may have given you free reign with our lives and our secret but he’s dead and you’re almost out of rope.” 

“Michael,” Isobel quietly admonished. Alex knew she felt the same way but she wasn’t dumb enough to come out and say it. Not to Liz’s face.

“I respect that this is your secret and your lives that we’re talking about her,” Liz replied quietly with steel in her voice. “But you aren’t the only ones involved. It is dangerous for anyone associated with the two of you and keeping Maria in the dark while you’re sleeping with her is only going to put her in more danger. And telling her will not endanger either of you.” She grabbed her jacket and left before Michael could respond. 

“She’s not wrong,” Kyle added quietly before following. 

“Michael-” Isobel sighed.

“It’s up to me, right?” Michael looked at her. “I like having one person in my life not know what I freak I am, Izzy. Maybe we’ll have to tell her at some point but not now. Not yet,” he pleaded.

“Okay,” she agreed, lips pursed. “But tell me if you change your mind.” She cast a suspicious look at where Alex remained sitting in the corner and then she too left.

Michael and Alex were alone for the first time in weeks.

“You want me to tell her, too?” Michael snarked.

Alex stood up silently and stripped off his plaid shirt. “We aren’t doing that anymore or did you forget?” Michael told him slowly. As if he could forget. Alex ignored him and stripped off his t-shirt next. As soon as he started to bare his chest, Michael turned away.

“Look at me,” he ordered. Michael shook his head, his eyes fixed on the beer in his hands. “Michael. Look at me.”

Michael closed his eyes briefly before looking up. He flinched when he saw Alex’s scars. He had hundreds of tiny tally marks all over his body but his chest and back had the worst. Up until Caulfield, Michael would lave kisses over each and every one and curse the selfish asshole who’d caused them. ‘How could anyone tell this many lies when they knew it hurt someone else?’ he would ask. 

That all changed the day he realized that he was the selfish asshole.

“Guerin!” Alex yelled when he got to the Airstream. He saw Michael’s truck parked to the side and a bile of empty bottles by one of the rusted chairs out front. “Guerin!”

The door swung open and Michael leaned unsteadily against the door frame. He was drunk but that wasn’t surprising. Alex wasn’t sure if he’d been sober since the night Max died. What was surprising was that he looked somewhat cognizant. Maybe they could actually manage a conversation, after all.

“I thought I told you we were done?” Michael narrowed his eyes at him.

“You did,” Alex agreed. “We need to talk.”

Michael laughed, deep and mirthlessly. He took one step down and parked his butt on the step as he ran his hands over his face. “So we stop screwing and now you want to talk. Seems ironic.”

Alex shook his head. “Your truck is purple.” Michael flinched as a mark appeared on his shoulder. He looked from it to Alex. “The Airstream is orange.” Another mark. “I love my father.” A third. “I hate you.” A fourth. 

They both stared at the brand new marks etched into Michael’s shoulder. His skin was remarkably relatively unblemished. Enough so that up until now he could convince himself he didn’t have a soulmate, that it was a human only thing.

“What?” Michael asked, forcing his eyes over to Alex. “When- when did you know?”

Alex licked his lips. “You’re a miserable liar,” he echoed his own words from Caulfield. Truthfully, he’d suspected before then but the moment Michael stared him in the face and screamed, “I don’t love you!” and he felt the deepest mark yet carve itself into the flesh over his heart, he’d known. Michael had avoided him since then so he hadn’t had a chance to tell him. 

“No,” Michael shook his head. “I- I can’t deal with this.”

“Fine,” Alex agreed easily. He’d expected nothing less. “But here’s the deal. I’m done getting scars, okay? I know you can avoid a topic just fine so figure out a way to stop lying. Or I’m going to start.” He paused and turned away. “See how you like getting your body carved up because someone can’t tell the truth.”

That was the last time they’d spoken and Alex had accumulated a few new marks since then. And even though he’d given Michael a few of his own, they didn’t compare. “You don’t want to tell Maria the truth?” He asked. “Fine. That’s up to you. But stop lying to her. Because I can’t take it anymore.” He unbuckled his pants and shoved them down his hips far enough to display a neat row of tally marks. “What were you talking about two nights ago?” Alex slowly slid his finger along the row. “Seems like you did a lot of lying.”

“We were talking about you,” Michael admitted, his voice rough. He seemed torn between staring at Alex’s skin and wanting to look literally anywhere else. 

“So you’re carving up my skin because of me?” Alex was suddenly angry. “You want to lie to her about you? Fine! I mean, fuck you, but fine. But do not lie to her about me. I don’t deserve that.”

“She asked if-”

“Don’t answer! I managed it just fine for 10 years, you can handle a few months!” Alex yelled. “Or better yet! Tell her the fucking truth. It’s better for her and it’s better for me.”

“But not me,” Michael yelled. “When do I get to pick what’s best for me?!”

“You’re a coward,” Alex told him. They both waited for the mark to appear but Michael’s skin remained as it was. “You want to be with her without telling her who you are. You’re not a bad guy, Guerin. She’s not going to run when she finds out the truth. Whether she tolerates exactly how much you’ve lying to her, that’s a different story, but tell her the truth and then let her decide what she wants to do. Because if you want to be with her for real?” Alex’s voice cracked slightly. “Then do it for real. Don’t half ass it and don’t spend your entire relationship lying.”

---

Alex had to hand it to Michael, he’d learned how to lie without lying. Several months after their conversation, Maria was still in the dark about most of her friends’ activities but Alex had hardly any new marks. He wasn’t sure how Michael had managed it but he wasn’t going to complain. 

He hadn’t seen much (or any really) of Michael since then. The only glimpses he got were of the few minutes they spent meeting about the plan to save Max and when he went to the Pony. Of course, at the Pony he had to see Michael and Maria being the happy new, loving couple that they were. So he started avoiding the Pony. And the Crashdown. And getting his car fixed on the other side of town.

It was a small blessing that the only new marks he’d gotten recently were almost entirely of his own making. Looking back over the last few months, the incident stood out as the one time they managed to coexist in one place for longer than 5 minutes and they couldn’t even manage it without a little bloodshed.

“Yeah, I can do that,” Michael offered when Isobel asked if he could get her car to Sanders’ without waiting for the tow truck. Alex felt a new scar appear on his bicep as he and Kyle waited for Isobel to be ready to leave with them.

“Hey Kyle,” Alex mused. Kyle looked over at him, a smile around playing at his lips. By now, Kyle was familiar with the particular tone of voice Alex used when he was about to spout nonsense aimed purely at putting a mark on Michael. “I want a pet shark.” Kyle laughed and shook his head while Michael flinched.

“Hey Iz?” Michael called. Isobel stopped and turned around halfway into her garage. “Your car needs new tires.” This one was almost in his armpit and Alex had to actively suppress his reaction.

“Oh, Kyle?” Kyle raised an eyebrow. “Did I tell you? I had a really terrible date last night.” He didn’t have any last night but if Michael wanted to interpret the mark as meaning it was a great date then so be it. A glance out the corner of his eye showed Michael fuming and rubbing at his hip. 

“Terrible, huh?” Kyle replied. “Better or worse than the one last week?” Alex smiled. His ‘date’ last week was at the local animal shelter. He was hoping to adopt a dog, maybe even a beagle, and he’d gone to meet a few.

“I’d say a little better.” Michael started rubbing his opposite hip. Kyle glanced over at him. Then back at Alex. Alex could see the pieces start tumbling into place and he cursed himself for doing this when they were together. It was easy to hide it when no one could see Michael get his coincidentally timed marks. 

Isobel came out of the garage, her phone in her hand. “You sure you don’t want me to call a tow? It’d be slower but probably a little bit easier for you. I know we’ve been strengthening our powers but I don’t want to tire you out too much if I can just call a truck.”

“Nah, Izzy, I’ve got it.” The mark showed up on the back of Alex’s hand and Kyle caught it before Alex could hide it. He looked at Alex with wide eyes then back at Michael. 

“Alex?” He whispered. Alex shook his head. 

So he figured he was due. After all, Michael wasn’t generally known for his overwhelming honesty or for being considerate for long periods of time. Alex just hadn’t quite expected how the next mark would come. 

For starters, Michael told Maria and invited her to the next Saving Deputy Evans planning party. They spent most of the time letting Michael and Isobel explain everything they knew about their species and their history before delving into Noah and then finally Max. 

“So you can move things with your mind?” Maria checked with them. “And read people’s minds? And heal?”

“It’s not quite that simple,” Michael argued. “For the longest time we each only had one power but since Max died, Isobel and I have been strengthening our other powers. And it’s not so much mind reading as it is sort of getting into someone’s mind?”

Maria nodded and then asked another question which Liz answered. Alex didn’t hear. He was too focused on Michael. Michael kept glancing over at him, a strange look on his face like he was gearing up for something big. Alex knew whatever it was, Michael would bring it up later, but he couldn’t help but tense up the longer Michael kept looking over at him. He’d been doing it all night but it had only increased in frequency.

“Alex,” he said suddenly. The room quieted at once, everyone turning to face him but he only stared evenly at Alex, his eyes never once leaving him. “I love you.” Distantly, he heard Maria react but it hardly registered.

He’d thought he’d known pain before, though he would never recover from the wound he received at Caulfield. He was wrong, though. Because nothing compared to the bone deep agony of a fresh mark carving itself deep into his chest at Michael’s words.

[hargrove-mayfields]

A Stake of Holly in Her Heart Pt . 2

Pt. 1

At 6 in the morning, the time they had agreed upon years ago as their time to wake up on Christmas Day, it’s Susan who gently shakes Max awake, not Billy putting the blaring alarm clock up to his sisters ear.

But Max is already awake, her tears soaking the sheets on her brother's bed, wishing her mom would just forget to wake her up entirely and leave her there to weep.

The first “Merry Christmas” she hears is from Neil as he grabs beer out of the fridge, not Billy, who would’ve said it with as much sarcasm as possible as he shoved her out of the way so he could get to his presents first.

There’s no doubt in Max’s mind that Susan told him to say it, that he didn’t actually have any Christmas spirit in that Scroogey old heart of his to spread wishes of holiday cheer, which only makes the sentiment hurt more.

It’s her sitting on the floor by herself with a flashing camera in her face, tearing wrapping paper off of a bunch of pointless gifts with as little enthusiasm as possible.

She notices that, compared to previous years, there aren’t a whole lot less presents under the tree, and that only makes her feel worse about opening them without her Billy there to put sticky bows in her hair or toss wrapping paper balls at her.

By the time she opens half of her presents, including a makeup set she isn’t going to use, a cassette from a pop band she’s never even heard of, and a new pair of chucks she’s probably going to be made fun of for, Max feels her lip start to tremble, and her eyes blur over the multicolored lights on the tree.

The floodgates really open when, after lowering her camera, the dreaded question comes past her mother’s lips,

“What’s the matter Maxine, honey?”

That’s all it takes for her to be a bawling mess in the middle of a pile of wrapping paper and presents she doesn’t really want anyways.

Because there’s so much that is the matter in this particular moment that no answer any shorter than a 30 page thesis could even begin to describe what Max was feeling on that Christmas morning.

She wants to tell them that she doesn’t want these generic gifts from parents who know nothing about her, that she doesn’t want to be forced into the role of the perfect, cookie cutter family you’d see on a Christmas card, that all she wants is her brother back, but she's choked up, any attempt at speaking drowned out by a sob.

In this house, authority demands a response, an explanation is due for why their holiday is being ruined by such behavior, so Max has to choke back her sobs and whine out some pathetic excuse.

She comes up with something like ‘Dustin said he was getting a new Nintendo and I didn’t,’ but nobody really believes that.

They work it out of her eventually, earning a confession through threats of taking presents away like she was a toddler, and when that doesn’t work, a backhand to the face and a hand in her hair like she was any older than fourteen.

But telling them that she missed Billy a lot and that she felt guilty celebrating the holiday she knew was secretly his favorite without him around was apparently not the answer they wanted to hear, because Susan drops her camera on the carpet, and Neil leaves the room entirely.

She thinks of how the scene’d make the perfect Hargrove-Mayfield family photo.

The time between opening gifts and Christmas dinner at 3 o’clock was typically reserved for putting batteries in toys, plugging in new electronics to make sure they worked, and trying on new clothes and shoes, but Max’s meltdown under the tree had been enough to set the whole house on edge.

In the chair in the living room, where he always seemed to just sit around and scowl with a beer in his hand these days, Neil was that much grumpier, and Max stayed that much further away from him.

In the kitchen, Susan gets a little clumsier, the sound of her nervous hands clanging pots and pans together reverberating through the eerie quiet that’s come to settle over the house.

Max decides to go back to her room, to avoid all the noise and tension. She lays on her stomach across her double bed and grabs her walkie from where she left it under her pillow.

Tuning into the channel she knew would be occupied by her friends, she hears the boys and Eleven, who had come back with the Byers’ to Hawkins for the holidays, already on their own radios, talking a mile a minute about all of their presents.

That was supposedly a tradition of theirs, calling each other up to share the news of all they’d gotten, but she hadn’t been able to take part in it last year. She feels sick to her stomach thinking about last Christmas, the last one she would ever spend with her brother, so she keeps eavesdropping without telling her friends she’s there.

After so long, the boys all have their turns to gush about their new NES games and records, and in El’s case Barbie dolls and comic books, and the conversation slows down a little so Lucas can ask, “Has anyone heard from MadMax?”

All around there’s denial, and she hears Lucas sigh and say, “I’m getting kind of worried about her.”

A buzz of static from Mike's end, “She'll be fine, dude.”

“Way to be an asshole, Mike.” Dustin cuts in.

Defensively, Mike says, “What? I just meant that she’s like, super tough.”

Will tunes in then, the sound of his laugh cutting through the scratchy static, “Aren’t you not supposed to talk like that about other girls in front of your girlfriend.”

“What do you know about girlfriends?” Mike exclaims, clearly offended from the way his voice breaks.

And from there the conversation keeps on like that, just a couple of teenage boys loudly arguing over things that are not her problem, so she shuts the walkie off.

But, as she rolls over onto her back, what Mike said is really sticking with her.

Was she really supposed to be fine?

She couldn’t wrap her head around how everyone else was able to just keep on like normal while she was stuck mourning the greatest loss she had ever experienced on a day typically reserved for cheerfulness. It didn’t seem fair.

Staring up at her popcorn ceiling, she lets her thoughts drift back to times when Christmas wasn’t like this.

Her first Christmas without her dad, she remembers being upset the whole time, his singular gift he sent to her in the mail not really enough to make up for his absence. At the time she was too young to realize it, but Billy had put extra effort into cheering her up that day, letting her pick all of her presents out first, and giving her all the cookies that didn’t get burnt in the oven.

Now that Billy’s the missing piece, she has no one.

On Christmas Eve a few years back, Neil kicked Billy out of the house, and he had to spend the holiday at a friend’s place. He called Max that morning to tell her that she could open his presents if she wanted to, and to be careful around Neil. She understood that Billy was looking out for her when she saw her stepfather smack her mother for the first time under the mistletoe.

Last Christmas, her and Billy weren’t really on speaking terms, and just the thought of the way things were between them filled her heart with so much remorse. She thought she had all the time in the world to be angry with her brother, never in a million years would she have thought that Christmas of ‘84 would be his last.

In retrospect, knowing now that just months after the fact Billy would be gone, there was so, so much she wished she would have done differently.

Because he’d been trying to make up for it, had made his attempt at earning her forgiveness, and she’d rejected every last one. She thought he deserved it then, but she would give anything to be able to go back in time and accept his ride to the snowball, to drink the hot chocolate he made her instead of letting it sit until it got cold, to take new Christmas photos where she didn’t have a scowl on her face every time she was near Billy.

Before she can dig herself too far into her grave of despair, she’s interrupted by the dull tone of the ringing phone.

Without anybody even telling her to answer it, she knows it’s her Aunt Nicole, who always called her on Christmas like she was still a little girl because she wanted to hear what all Max got this year.

She sighs and wipes away any lingering tears from her face, dragging herself off the bed and trudging across the room as slowly and loudly as possible, just in case there was any question as to how exactly she felt about forced family bonding.

The phone she used to keep on her dresser had since been thrown out the window in a fit of Neil’s rage, so she has to go out to the kitchen to answer it.

Right now, listening to the shrieking and dehumanizingly pitiful voice of aunt Nicole was the very last thing she wanted to do, but Susan sends her a stern look from where she’s stood at the stove that tells her she has to.

“Hiya Maxie!” Every year she underestimated how loud her aunt was, and always had to pull the receiver back away from her ear. “How are ya?”

“I’m alright Aunt Nicky.” It had seemed like the right thing to say, nobody wanted to hear about her being all depressing anyways, but she regrets it the moment Nicole’s response comes.

“Oh, that’s great honey! You know, I would’ve expected you to be all mopey over Neil’s boy.” She chuckles at her own words, though through the static of long distance it sounds more like a cackle, and continues on, “Lord knows how emotional you get over such silly little things.”

Then, as though she hadn’t just doubly insulted her niece, she asks, “Anywho, did ya get anything good this year? Maxie?”

But Max doesn't even hear the question. She drops the receiver and walks away, entirely unable to stomach what Nicole said.

The phone is left dangling from its cord for her mother to pick up, as she blinks away the bitter sting of tears and marches straight through the living room.

But before she can escape back to her bedroom, Neil catches her wrist on the way through, his grip tight enough that she can feel her bones grinding together as he holds her there.

She hears Susan in the next room frantically trying to explain the situation to her sister, making up a more respectable excuse about boyfriend drama, which would’ve made Max pretty upset if the very angry step-father trapping her in the living room wasn't the greatest of her worries.

Once Susan is off the phone, Max gets herself a good old fashioned talking to, the same ‘respect and responsibility’ speech she’d heard a thousand times before, accented with a twist to the wrist if she doesn’t answer quickly enough or assuredly enough, or forgot the yes sir tagged onto the end.

After he’s confirmed it a good five times that Max fully understands the consequences of disrespecting her family, he squeezes harder and her wrist pops and her fingers go numb. Susan must decide that’s enough, because she asks for Neil’s help with something in the kitchen.

Without looking back once to see the scene she was leaving behind, Max seizes the opportunity to escape back to her bedroom, though she can feel Neil’s eyes burning a hole in her back as he watches her scurry away.

It’s with shaky hands that she locks the door behind herself, and she sits down with her back against it. She flexes her fingers to make sure they still work, and moves her wrist around so she’ll know if it’s broken, coming to the conclusion that, other than the dark red fingerprints blemishing her pale skin, she’ll be alright.

There’s a battery operated radio on her nightstand that she turns on to try to drown out the sound of the developing screaming match in the living room, since the topic of discussion is her, but the irony of every song telling of love and joy and peace on earth is too much, and she shuts it off.

She sheds a few tears for her childhood, for nostalgia of simpler Christmases as it fades away to the sound of her fighting parents, and for the ache pulsing in her wrist and other silly little things, but most of all, she cries for her brother.

Read also on ao3!

[breakthestrutura]

so much more than this

so I was reading @heyailin‘s fic (check it out!) and it reminded me of this oneshot I was meaning to write back in the day, before I had this idea, so despite my hurt wrist, I set to write it as part of my prompts challenge. hope you guys enjoy!

this is covering prompt #7. you can send me a character/pair + number and I’ll write something for you, check the list.

also available on ao3 and FF.net

The clock's arms moved awfully slow for a class that prioritized numbers. Bored out of her mind, El would glance at it every eternity, but it always came up only a couple of minutes top ahead of the last time she checked.

Whoever said that school was great was an idiot.

"What's up with you?" Dustin hushed at her. He was the best of math out of all of them, so it was nice of him to sit by her side (since she still had a bit of a hard time sometimes), but mostly, El just wanted to be out of there.

"Nothing," she said keeping her eyes ahead. "I'm just exhausted."

"How can you be exhausted? It's Monday!"

It wasn't Monday, but he liked to be dramatic. Slowly, El turned her head to look at him.

"So?"

He didn't have an answer for her, as expected, so she nodded solemnly and glanced at the clock again. Only one minute had passed.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" El exclaimed frustrated and perhaps a bit too loud.

"Hopper!" the teacher repressed. "Language!"

She raised a hand not half as apologetically as she should be, and then rolled her eyes wondering what kind of fucked up curse she was in for school not to be over already. She had things to do! Things that were way more interesting than sitting through this class making letters turn into numbers, who the fuck cares about that shit? Things like… having Eggos with Hop for his work break and… softball practice, and…

Okay, fine, none of those things mattered either. What El really wanted, really looked forward to, was Mike. And she couldn't wait, she just couldn't wait to find him as soon as the bell rang, because he was the only one who held her interest for long enough, the only one she'd like to talk to and hold, and, fine, kiss many, many times.

There was no Mike in math class! They shared English, German and social studies, and they had the same PE period, though separately, as well as the same lunch period, which apparently was a miracle, but none of those things were enough.

El was so deep into her mopping that she almost didn't process the bell ringing. Almost because she was so conditioned to bolt out of the room as soon as class was over that her body reacted to the ringing faster than her mind. Almost with a robotic precision, El shoved her things inside her backpack and was out of there before Dustin or anyone could direct a word at her.

"El, where are you going?" Dustin called, getting a few confused glances from his classmates. Everyone thought her name was Jane, and it was too soon into 9th grade to explain how her nickname had nothing to do with her name.

El knew exactly where Mike was, so instead of turning right – to where her next class would be – she turned left, walking as fast as one could without actually running (apparently, it was a Big Deal to run in the school's corridors and she could get into Deep Shit if she kept doing that, another thing that made zero sense in this world). With her backpack hung on one shoulder, she passed by jocks and cheerleaders to find him in front of his locker stashing some books in.

"Mike!" she called catching his attention.

He looked at her and smiled warmly, making her heart skip a beat, and as soon as El was close enough, she dropped the backpack and threw her arms around his neck, locking lips with him passionately.

Barely able to react, Mike arms went around her waist and El stood on the tip of her toes, one hand in his hair as they stumbled against the lockers loudly, without a care in the world. Mike's hands went up her back to steady her and they parted for just a second to catch their breaths, eyes still closed as they collapsed again now full on French kissing, tongues tangling and small bites.

The first bell rang announcing five minutes to next class, and on the back of her mind El thought about how time decided to pass quickly now, though the thought wasn't strong enough to make them stop. They did slow down a little, but still seemed far from resume their make out session.

"Uh, excuse me? My locker," someone said behind Mike, but El just waved the person off, getting a confused "What the fuck?" in response.

"Sorry about that," someone else, Will to be exact, said. "They're annoying, I know."

El smiled in the kiss, not even tired of kissing Mike yet. Hell, she'd been waiting for it since second period, when they had to go to separate classes. She just wanted to be with him all the time, and she had no idea if that need would ever ease. To be fair, she didn't even want for it to ease, because nothing could compare to Mike. Hop kept saying that it'd pass, that they were too young to feel so strongly about each other, but Karen knew better when she took a look at them and just… nodded solemnly, as if it was settled – which, to be honest, was.

"…the third time this week, and it's Wednesday!" the locker person kept complaining. "Dick, come on, do something."

Oh, crap.

There was a loud bang against the lockers right by El's head and slower than they probably should, she and Mike separated, their lips and the tip of their noses showcasing the same shade of red, and they looked at Dick, the inspector, apologetically.

Behind him, they spotted Will shaking his head tiredly, as well as Lucas and Max looking at them with that bored expression of theirs, as if they were tired of their shit, which was probably the case.

"You know what I'm going to say, right?" Dick said very seriously pointing a finger at them.

"Get a room?" El suggested. Mike chuckled.

"That would be Lucas," he said to her and she nodded. True. Dick frowned at them.

"No," he replied annoyed. "What I'm going to say is scram! You're on the way."

El opened her mouth to answer, but Mike was faster, pulling her by the waist from the lockers before she could run her mouth like she always did.

"Sure, yes, of course, sorry," he blurted out in one breath and she looked at him wondering what the hell.

Mike just smiled and nodded in a series of cordialities she was still unaware of, even with the crazy amount of soap operas she watched, until the inspector turned around and left. Their friends stepped closer, mostly because one of the lockers they'd been obstructing was Max's.

"You guys are a pain in the ass, you know that, right?" Max complained doing her best to change books as fast as she could before the bell rang again indicating the beginning of 4th period.

El just shrugged and looked up at Mike, who smirked, his arm now around her shoulders. She held his shirt pulling him closer and he leaned down for another kiss. Everyone around them moaned.

"Oh, my God!" some exclaimed.

They didn't care. Never did, never would.