The next morning dawned bright and clear, and I woke up to the sounds of laughter - rich chuckles from Ean and Dad, hearty light ones from my Mom. As the sole late-riser in my family, their laughter had become the alarm clock that dragged me out of deep slumber each day.

I lay in bed, watching the sunlight stream through the thin curtains. For a moment, I felt completely at peace, the kind of lull that one enjoyed while half-awake, barely registering the craziness reality often brought.

Then my cell had to ring.

Flicking a wary gaze at it (no one ever called me this early), I reached over to the bedside table and swiped at the screen. I hardly registered the name on the screen as I pressed the phone to my ear. "Yeah?"

"Oh, good, you're up," it was Marcel, her voice crisp and impatient. "I would've killed you if you weren't, because I got up early for this. Anyway, you should know that the ninth round of initiation takes place, like, now."

I bolted upright in bed and winced when I experienced vertigo, black spots dancing in front of my eyes briefly before fading away. "What? Why did you tell me only now?"

She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Because Liam left for the campus last night and he didn't tell me about it. It wasn't till I got up this morning and wondered where the hell he was that he actually told me."

"What?" I repeated, blankly, as it seemed like the only word I was capable of saying. Then my eyes narrowed at no one in particular. "Why doesn't Liam tell you anything? Why didn't you ask?" I was well aware that my voice was shrill, jarring amidst the silence of my room, but I couldn't help it. The panic that rose within me was too quick and overwhelming to quench.

"Oh, please. I know you think that Liam and I are madly in love and that our lives revolve around each other twenty-four seven. But it is not necessary that he tell me every little bit about his life and vice versa. Besides, you know that Liam is rather tight-lipped about everything since he is obliged to be loyal to Corvus. Tipping me off is already the most he can do and you know that's not - "

"Okay, okay, I got it," I cut in wearily. Marcel could talk a mile a minute, and boy did I know it. "So where is Miles?"

The pause that followed gave me the answer I needed to know. I could almost imagine her rolling her eyes at me on the other end of the line. "Campus, obviously. These boys lack a lot of imagination when it comes to the setting, I'm telling you."

"Got it." Clambering out of bed, I was just about to end the call on her when I paused, and pressed the phone to my ear again. "Hey, Marcel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," my voice was soft, "I really appreciate all your help. Miles and I couldn't have come this far without you." And I did. Marcel had proven to be the most useful person during the Hell Weeks, tipping me off even though we both knew very well it wasn't her duty to do so. Gleaning information about Corvus from Liam had probably taken her a lot of time and effort to do so.

Her laugh was amused. I could almost imagine the satisfied smirk on her face. "Alright, quit kissing my ass and be on your way. Your knight needs saving."

I ended the call with a tight smile on my face. Right. The initiation. I wondered why Miles hadn't told me. The thought of that sent a little sting in my chest, because weren't we together in this? Or did he still think it was a lone battle, even though we'd come so far?

But I needn't have worried. Because just before I set my phone down, I caught sight of a blinking light in the corner of the device, signalling that I had an unread message.

And as I opened the message, I realised that Miles had been even more prompt than Marcel. The text had come a good fifteen minutes before Marcel had called, and it read:

9th round now. Should be done in half an hour. Doesn't seem too harsh.

I took a deep breath. The level of harshness seemed to differ from person to person. To me, everything about the Hell Weeks seemed unforgiving and severe. To Liam, a member of the frat, it was simple and easy.

But I supposed there came a time when one had to let go. There were places Miles had to be and things he had to do without me. After all, he'd been doing them all his life before he met me.

So shutting my eyes briefly, I hoped against hope that he was going to be fine, before texting him back:

I'll be waiting. You know where to find me.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

Time seemed to pass dreadfully slowly, even though I knew very well that the next round was not going to take long. Mom seemed to sense that something was up when I came down for breakfast, because I could barely stomach the bowl of cereal she set down in front of me.

"Everything okay?" She asked, a small frown creasing itself on her smooth forehead. "You seem very jittery."

"Oh, no, I'm good," I hastened to assure her, forcing an innocent smile on my face when she narrowed her eyes at me. It was fortunate that Dad was buried behind his newspaper, because one perceptive, curious parent was more than enough.

"You look sickly," and this came from the boy sitting at the table across me.

I scowled in response. If I was cautious about the perceptive, curious parent, I had clearly forgotten about the nosy, shrewd sibling. "No, I just have a lot on my mind, that's all," I said, giving him a pointed look when his eyebrows knitted together.

My look was sufficient to send him leaning back, shutting his mouth with an audible click. A flicker of realisation dawned upon him after awhile and then I saw it - the fear and worry in his eyes that I knew were reflected in mine. For a moment, Ean and I were mirrors of each other, two reluctant bystanders who had been swept up and carried away in the hurricane that was the Hell Weeks, albeit in varying degrees.

It was all I could do to stomach the rest of my breakfast to prevent Mom from probing again. Then I took off, but not before Ean had grabbed me by the arm just before I shut the door.

"Do you need help?" he asked, and I couldn't help but feel fortunate that he was my brother, despite the fact that he could be such a pain sometimes.

With a smile, the first of that day, I shook my head. "It's alright. Just cover up for me when I'm not at the shack later."

"Got it," he promised, and after giving his hand a grateful squeeze, I left.

It was a beautiful day, one of the best I'd seen all summer. The sun was shining fiercely, but the wind was cool against my cheeks. But I could hardly appreciate it, any of it, especially since my nerves were tingling with leftover worry that somehow couldn't ever fade away. I'd been this way since I'd met Miles, and the feeling hadn't ever stopped, not for a moment.

There was hardly any traffic as I made my way to Miles's house, and so I got there in good time. I'd just rounded the driveway leading to his porch when the door opened and a familiar figure stepped out. A part of me wanted to hide away immediately, but no - it was too late, and I stifled a groan as the person spotted me.

The expression on his face was stoic and unusually calm, which made me all the more uneasy. "Good morning, Miss Evers," Miles's father greeted, "didn't expect to see you here so early."

My jaw slackened in surprise. "You remember me?"

"It's rather difficult to forget the face of the girl who practically ran away from my house just a month ago with her brother," he returned dryly, not a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yes, I-I apologise for that, Ean was feeling under the weather that day." And now I was stammering. Maybe being in his presence tended to have that effect. Clearing my throat, I squared my shoulders and tried to meet his gaze. "I'm here to see Miles. Has he returned yet?"

His eyebrows knitted together, and there was that grim, taut line of his lips that made me squirm. "He left early this morning and he hasn't."

It was difficult not to let that flicker of disappointment show. Still, I tried to keep my emotions in check and smiled at him politely. "Thank you. I'll just be waiting here then."

"You could wait inside - "

"No, just here's fine, thank you." The thought of being in Miles's house without Miles was sort of unnerving. "I promised him I'd wait here."

He surveyed me for a brief moment before managing a curt nod. "Alright then. Have a nice day, Miss - "

"Please, call me Darcy."

" - Evers," he reiterated, firmly, before walking past me and heading down the driveway. Then he paused in his footsteps, turning around slowly. "I hope I'm not being too blunt with this question, Miss Evers, but are you and my son dating?"

My mouth fell open again, and I hastily shut it. "We - " but what were we again? We were on the same page, that was for sure, but were else? I hardly liked to put a label on it - it seemed so definitive. " - well, we both have feelings for each other," I concluded simply.

"I thought so," he replied, calmly. And then, equally as calmly, without so much as a blink, he continued, "you should know, however, that I don't approve of this - you, if I'm being completely honest."

My heart sank a little at his comment. I was, after all, well aware that Miles and his family and all his problems were in a package. Getting Mr Callaghan to like me was actually one of the small problems within the bigger picture, and I couldn't help but feel disheartened that he didn't.

"That's okay, sir," I found myself saying instead, and I surprised even myself at the steadiness of my voice. "This might sound impertinent, and I apologise beforehand for it, but I don't approve of you being Miles's father either." There was a fleeting glimpse of surprise in his eyes and I pushed on. "But he can't choose who he wants his father to be, just like how he can't choose who he wants to fall in love with."

"The both of you are really in love, then?"

His reply had come so quickly that I faltered. No, no we weren't. It was far too soon for love or any sort of ridiculous notion. "Do you know how much Miles loves you? And how much he's had to go through for you?" I asked abruptly. It was blunt, but the words had come too swiftly and I needed to turn the tables on him before I found myself floundering again.

His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "I beg your pardon?"

"If you'd just look at him for once, maybe you'd understand," I said, softly. The expression on his face was an odd one, a fleeting moment of hesitation and curiosity that made me wish to retract my statement. But it was said and done, and I held his gaze as best as I could. "Nice meeting you, sir."

"Same to you, Miss Evers."

He walked away and I watched his departing figure with an uneasy feeling in my chest. Perhaps I had said far too much. I didn't really know much about the relationship between Miles and his father, except that it was strained. Nevertheless, as I thought about seeing Miles the other day after his argument with his father, I couldn't help but think that maybe it needed to be said. Maybe some things were not better left unsaid, and there came a time where we could no longer let emotions fester and grow within us.

With a sigh, I shut my eyes for a brief moment and lowered myself onto the upper step of the porch. It didn't take long before familiar footsteps rounded the driveway, and then Miles was there. Immediately, I shot up and ran to him.

"Are you alright?" I demanded, before falling a step back when a putrid stench hit me so hard I almost felt nauseous. "What happened?"

On a closer look, I realised that he was covered in grime and some odd, slimy liquid. Chips of eggshells and other miscellaneous things I couldn't quite decipher. I didn't want to either.

He smiled tiredly. "They dumped stuff on us. If we made a noise or stumbled, we were out. I got through, I guess, because next thing I know they were congratulating me."

That was it? I frowned slightly before wrapping my fingers around his arm and leading him back to the house. He navigated me through his house, upstairs, where his room was. When we were in his bathroom, I gently pushed him down on the edge of the bathtub.

Settling down on my knees in front of him, I began to pick arbitrary bits and fragments out of his hair. "Well, you passed," I told him cheerfully, "so that's always a good thing. You did great - "

But I was stopped when Miles caught my wrist, pulling me away gently. "Aren't you disgusted by this?"

I paused for awhile and thought about what I'd seen and experienced all my life. My hyperactivity. Miles's trouble getting through high school. The Hell Weeks. The way we all got swept away and lost ourselves in it. How the Hell Weeks probably didn't end there, not for everyone at least; for there was always going to be a harsher place to fit into, a crueller world to live in, a more brutal lens to judge people with and to be judged with.

Somehow, trash seemed vastly trivial compared to everything else. "It's just trash," I said gently, pressing my palms to his cheeks and brushing the pads of my thumbs across his skin. "Nothing disgusting about that."

It wasn't until I'd shut the door to the bathroom, leaving Miles to take a shower, when I realised that something was terribly wrong. The ninth round seemed mild compared to everything that they'd been put through thus far. Which could only mean one thing - the tenth and final round was going to be insane.

Without a second thought, I was pulling out my cell and sending a quick message to Marcel:

I will need to know what's going to happen in the last round asap.

Her reply came barely moments later, which wasn't a surprise since she always had a phone with her:

I'm on it.

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

When Miles came out of the bathroom, I'd managed to school my feature into a calm expression that gave nothing away. But he still saw through me, and a frown wedged its way on his forehead as he stared at me.

"What's wrong?"

I watched him towel dry his hair, damp brown locks falling into his eyes, and I wondered if it was the best idea to let him know what I'd came to realise moments ago. No - I couldn't. The thought of having to make him wait on tenterhooks was enough to send me shaking my head.

"Nothing much. I saw your Dad earlier," I blurted, as an afterthought, when he still didn't look convinced. "We talked a little."

"Fuck," he muttered, under his breath, but it was loud enough for me to catch anyway. My eyebrows rose high on my forehead, lips twisting into a smile as I heard the unfamiliar word spill from his mouth. It just seemed so unlike him.

"I see Greg's been a bad influence on you," I remarked lightly, amused when he blushed several shades of red. It was always heart-warming to see glimpses of the shy boy I'd met that first day at the beach. "It wasn't a bad conversation, to be honest."

"What did he say?"

"Well, here and there, really. Nothing much - "

"Darcy," he'd taken a few steps forward, and his expression was grave, eyes serious, "what did he say to you?"

Breaking away from him, I wandered over to the living room and sank down on the couch. I could still feel his probing gaze on me, and with a sigh, I glanced over at him. "Come sit and I'll tell you."

Heading over quickly, he sat down beside me. It was an instinctive action, but I immediately found myself curling up against his side, my head resting against the damp towel where it was hanging around his neck. I felt him stiffen a little in surprise, before he carefully placed an arm around my shoulder. The contact was light, each movement of his seemed calculated and his inexperience shone at every turn.

"Your Dad remembered me," I began softly, "and after I'd asked where you were and he said he didn't know, he asked if we were dating. He doesn't exactly approve of well, this, basically and - " but I trailed off when I noticed the expression in his eyes. A blend of crushed rejection and resignation that made me pull away, if only to get a better look at him.

"Yeah, should've known," he murmured, almost inaudibly. He seemed so heartbroken for a moment that my heart ached just looking at him. But it lasted for a brief few seconds before he glanced up at me, fixing an apologetic smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Listen, I'm sorry you had to hear that, you - "

"No, stop," I hushed him quickly, fiercely. "Don't ever apologise for him because you and he are not the same person."

He was silent for awhile. When he spoke again, there was a distant look in his eyes. "Sometimes, I-I'm terrified that I will be." There was a tremor in his voice that was hardly there, but I could hear it. "My brother used to be terrified of that too. He started out fine. He kept telling me that he didn't want to be like our father, that he'd do anything to not be him. But as the years went by, he became a little more unfeeling, a little less humane. Did you know - " he swallowed briefly and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were carefully blank. "Did you know that he was the one who started all the initiations and hazing in Corvus?"

My throat was dry. And the room was so silent I swore I could hear my own heart tremble. "What?"

Miles laughed, but it was a bitter one that made my toes curl. "It's irony at its finest."

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" I couldn't help but ask, even though the words left a sour taste in my mouth at the mere hypocrisy of it all. Who was I to ask him this, when I hadn't even ever mentioned the best deal-breaker of all?

"I-It's not something I like talking about. It's sort of like the old saying - what goes around comes around; and who would've thought that the person who came up with the hazing had a brother who would have to suffer through it too? Actually, no one ever thought that, because I never told anybody about wanting to join Corvus. I never even imagined joining Corvus."

I thought about the likelihood of Miles's brother setting up the initiations if he'd known that Miles would be a part of them merely years down the road. And then the answer came to me, clear as the water's reflection on a warm summer day. "Until he died," my voice was a mere whisper.

The calm expression on his face shuttered, then, and he inhaled shakily. "Until he died," he repeated, his voice flat, but it did not deceive me, not one bit.

I desperately wanted to know the how and the why and the when. But shoving my curiosity firmly aside for a moment, I leaned in to grasp his face between my hands. Keeping my movements gentle, I stroked my thumbs against his cheeks softly, tilting his face up so that his lips met mine.