It seemed like mere seconds when Miles pulled away from our kiss, but I knew that several minutes had passed. We were silent, and I thought about how I never saw Miles this way before; flushed cheeks, red lips, bright eyes. He never looked so relaxed before.

Reaching up, he rested his palms on my cheeks and leaned in to brush his lips against mine one more time. Then he pulled back and there was a familiar determination in his eyes. "Don't do it."

I blinked. It took me a good few seconds before I realised that he was referring to my decision to join Ursa. Then I was frowning, knowing that he was about to say something I wouldn't like to hear. "What are you – "

"Don't join the sorority," he said gently, cutting me off with another soft kiss. I almost sank into it again, almost, but I forced myself to return to the matter at hand. "You're not going to be happy. And I don't want you to do it for me. It's not worth it."

"You are worth it."

"In exchange for three or four years of unhappiness?" He shot back, and I remembered that he was intelligent and quick on his feet. It was an argument I was fast losing. "I don't think so. I'm not going to let you do that. Listen, Darcy, you did more than I could ever ask for when you offered to help me get into Corvus. You don't have to do anything more for me."

I let out a shaky breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the gratitude in his voice. It made me feel like I'd done the whole damn world a favour, when in actuality, all I'd done was a little planning and a little rescuing. I sighed and admitted, "but I hate feeling so – "

" – helpless," he finished and laughed when I stared up at him in surprise. "Yeah, I kind of figured. You've got to live with it though. And you've got to live with seeing me go through the Durden all on my own, without anyone to help me. And I'll be fine, I promise."

A part of me blanched at the thought of having to watch him go through it all alone. Miles was right, I hated feeling helpless. I needed action, needed to feel like I was making a difference. But it was his decision and I was in no place to argue with him about it.

"Seems like the damsel doesn't need the knight anymore," I muttered huffily, in resignation. "Fine then."

Miles's eyebrows rose at my words, and I let a slow smile curve across my face to let him know that I was joking. "I'll have you know I was always the knight," he returned, "just a knight-in-distress, that's all."

"And I'm the damsel to the rescue," I quipped playfully and he laughed, his chest vibrating beneath my arms. I stared at him for a moment, wondering if my gaze was clear and plain enough for him to see, wondering if he could see the affection I felt for him and all the other things in between.

"I love when you're like this," I admitted and he frowned in confusion, but I hastened to smooth his frown away with my fingertips. "Laughing. Happy. Safe."

"Yeah, and I love – "

" – you?" I supplied bluntly, cutting him off mid-speech. It was a shot in the dark, solely meant to be a joke, and so I didn't expect his reaction. I didn't expect him to fall silent, a flush spreading rapidly across his cheeks. Lifting his face up so he was looking at me again, I let a smile spread across my face, the most genuine kind that didn't need to be faked or forced. "I know."

But he was hardly assured. With a grimace that seemed like he'd tasted a sour lemon, he looked at me apologetically. "Too fast?"

I thought about it for a moment. With any other person, I would've believed it was far too soon. I would've high-tailed out of there and ran, never once looking back. But this was Miles and, as I'd come to learn, emotions seemed so uncomplicated with him. It all seemed so simple, so easy to fall into; but I knew that it wasn't a hangover love, the kind where you fell head over heels with eyes shut tight and desperate, fragile hearts.

This felt real. He never took his words back, never wondered if I'd say it back either. His emotions lay flat out on the table and I was falling with my eyes wide open knowing exactly where I'd land – with him, perfectly safe. And I loved that.

So I quickly pressed my lips to his in a kiss that completely stole his breath. It pretty much stole mine too. "I'd say you're three pages ahead of me," I mused with a light laugh, "but don't worry, I'll catch up pretty soon."

Even though I'd agreed not to join Ursa for the sake of getting Miles into Corvus, I was still offering my help at every corner and turn of the way. So it didn't surprise him when I brought up Ean's suggestion – about having my friends train him up. Keith, I knew, learnt professional wrestling outside of school, and I knew the others weren't above dealing out a blow or two if someone had the audacity to pick a fight with them.

"You're sure they'll agree to this?" Miles asked hesitantly, when I left the shack under Ean's supervision and dragged Miles along with me to where Greg and the others were.

"Of course. If they won't, I'll make them. Besides, it's highly unlikely that they'll say no, since they seem to like you."

With any other boy, I knew the answer would've been a straight out of course they do, I'm irresistible. But Miles simply looked satisfied, as though the thought of my friends liking him pleased him more than it should have.

We found Greg and Callum at their usual spot. These boys seemed to practically live at the beach and I shook my head fondly at them. "Hello, boys," I greeted calmly, grinning when they glanced up at me.

Callum, of course, fixed his usual sullen frown on his face. "What?" he asked bluntly, but I noticed him shooting a brief nod and smile at Miles.

"You could work to sound a little more friendly."

"Greg's friendly enough for the both of us."

"No, I'm all out," Greg chimed in, folding his arms lazily beneath his head. "I used up too much friendliness on a girl earlier and now I've got to save the rest for this evening. Speaking about this evening, hey Miles, remember when I texted you yesterday about the pickup line?"

My jaw dropped. Even Callum had reached up to pluck his sunglasses off his tanned face, staring at Greg in mild surprise. Only Miles seemed unfazed and he noded good-naturedly. "Yeah, what about it?"

"It worked," Greg crowed triumphantly. "Thanks to you, I've got a date tonight. I owe you one, man."

"Anytime," Miles returned easily but I immediately waved at him so his attention was on me. I noticed the twitching of his lips, infectious enough to make my lips curl up as well, but I was adamant to get to the bottom of this.

"Hold on a second. What pickup line?"

"See, the past few days I saw this girl at Aftertaste and she was always studying and I thought to myself – no, I couldn't go the usual way about it. Not those mindless pickup lines I usually used, this one needed some class. And Miles and I settled on one last night." None of us spoke, but each of us had an expectant look that was signal enough for Greg to continue. "I see you like science. Well, I've got my ion you."

The silence that followed was one of complete and utter disbelief. Beside me, Miles was laughing silently.

"Get it?" Greg pressed, flicking his eyes between Callum and me in an attempt to get a reaction out of either of us. "Ion? Eye on?" Neither of us spoke, and he sighed. "Well, she thought it was good."

"Of course she would," I muttered, knowing that it was more likely because of Greg's looks and charming nature that she'd agreed to go out with him, rather than the pickup line. "Okay, enough about that. I've come here to ask you both a favour. Keith and Vince too, actually, but since they're not here, you can pass on the message for me."

Callum regarded me with nothing but fresh suspicion. "Does this have to do with the fraternities again? Because you know I try to stay out of these things as much as possible. It doesn't bode well for me if I keep rejecting frat invitations and involve myself in the side-lines as much as possible."

"Yeah, I know," I rushed out, apologetically. "But you've got to help us – Miles, I mean. The last round's the Durden."

A startled silence reigned for a brief moment or two. And then Callum was sitting up a little straighter. Greg had completely left his perch on the deck chair, an expression of worry on his face. Neither of them seemed confused by the terminology, however, and I knew it was only because they'd seen and heard of things like these before.

"The Durden? Are you sure?" came Callum's crisp voice, calm even in a situation such as this. He was always the most levelheaded among the lot of us.

"Positive."

"We'll help," Greg's reply was swift and I caught the swift look of gratitude that Miles cast in his direction. "Callum?"

"Of course, and I'll say yes on Keith and Vince's behalf too. Just – give us maybe a day to figure this out, Darce. We've got to put our heads together to plan out a schedule – "

But I'd already flung my arms around his waist to hug him quickly, doing the same to Greg a moment later. Miles was more than grateful and took his time thanking them profusely. When we left, he had a dazed look on his features and I grinned at him.

"See? Told you they'd say yes. My friends are amazing."

"Yeah, they are," he returned rather absentmindedly, and then his gaze sharpened. "Hey listen, I'm sorry about earlier."

"What – " After a moment of confusion, I realised belatedly that he was referring to what happened earlier in the morning. Miles and I had gone to a nearby café to have breakfast together, only to run into a couple of his friends. I hadn't met any of Miles's friends before – I knew he had quite a few, but he had always seemed reluctant to tell me about them, or introduce me to them.

I'd initially thought it had something to do with me. It wasn't until they joined us for breakfast when I realised that the people Miles hung out with in school were exactly the kind of people I'd spent half my life running away from. Incidentally, they were the kind of people his Dad was sure to like and approve of.

It had been the most awkward of all breakfasts, which really peeved me since breakfast was supposed to be fresh and warm and lovely. But even the delightful blueberry pancakes and sizzling bacon couldn't stop me from frowning down at my plate, especially when his friends began to ask me what I planned to do for my future and why I wasn't in a college yet.

Miles had had to hush them up several times, going so far as to tell them it was none of their damned business. But when their curiosity proved insatiable, he'd hurriedly shovelled the rest of his breakfast into his mouth, grabbed my coffee and footed the bill and tip. Then he'd said a quick goodbye and led me out of the place, leaving his friends behind.

It wasn't that I hated Miles's friends – really, I didn't. But they struck far too close to heart. Interacting with them was like holding up a mirror and looking at it, seeing my haphazard past and blurry future and hating everything in between.

When we'd left the café, Miles had tugged me to a halt just by the roadside. Then he pulled me into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around me. He didn't say a word; just let me sniffle into his chest as a few stray tears stung the back of my eyelids. It was one of the moments I knew I would remember for a long time to come. The world seemed to stop turning on its axis and time paused, if only briefly, for us to breathe.

Then he'd pulled back and the clock began to tick again.

Pulling myself out of the little bout of self-pity I was wallowing in, I now smiled at Miles and shook my head. "Don't apologise for what they said. I'm fine now and it doesn't matter."

"You don't get it, do you?" He insisted, and the magnetic pull of his voice made me stop to look at him. "I've spent all my life around smart and successful people and when I was a kid I wanted to be just like them. But over the years I found that hardly any of them ever made me smile or laugh the way you and your friends and family do. So there is really nothing embarrassing about not being smart or rich because when you look back on your life these aren't the things you remember."

I stared at him for a long moment. There was nothing quite like the calmness and surety of a moment when you realised you liked someone more than you ever thought possible. That you liked someone so, so much until you felt that your heart might burst with feelings.

When the lines began to blur and there was no front side, no flipside, it was just a bigger picture. You could see it all. It fell into place and everything just clicked.

It was that simple.

When I didn't say anything, Miles began to fidget, biting his lip nervously. "D-did I say something wrong?"

"No, not at all," I hastily assured him and smiled, reaching down to lace my fingers with his. "Just that I think I might've caught up with you. Now we're on the same page."

Preparation for the tenth round began. Callum drew up a schedule that revolved around spending several hours at the gym, spending another few hours at Keith's house for a one-on-one practice session and a strict protein diet, just to name a few. It gave me a headache just looking at the schedule he'd came up with, and I pushed it away when Callum and the other boys had showed it to me.

"It looks good," I said faintly, trying to smile when Miles cast a worried glance in my direction. I was glad to see I wasn't the only one looking rather pale and intimidated by the whole thing. "Just don't make me be there."

Greg looked confused. "Be where?"

"The gym, Keith's house, anywhere," I muttered, waving a dismissive hand at them and returning to stocking the shelves at the shack. "I don't want to be a part of this."

"You already are," Callum pointed out shrewdly. I didn't turn, but damn him. He was right. I was a part of it, a big part of it, ever since I first met Miles. And I couldn't remove myself from it either. All I could do was watch pathetically from the sidelines while Greg and the others trained him up.

I hated feeling so helpless. But, as Miles said, it was a feeling I had to live with from time to time.

And so it began. The mindless routine that they fell into, day in, day out, making the best of summer while it lasted. Miles somehow managed to push around his schedule so that he still had time to teach me everyday. He came over every single day, sporting new bruises and small cuts, bruises and cuts that I tried to fix and heal consistently. He always looked tired to the point of exhaustion but still eager to teach me.

I didn't know how he could stand it. I felt tired just looking at him.

Some afternoons, when he was far too tired to even speak, let alone teach, I simply dragged him away from the table and forced him to lie down on my bed. We didn't talk, because sometimes silence was the best remedy to a lot of things. Instead, I wrapped my arms around him and breathed him in as he fell asleep, his heart thrumming steadily under my chest.

On several occasions, I began to wonder if his father knew what he was going through. Surely, surely, he had seen the bruises and cuts his son was sporting. Or maybe he never looked at his son to begin with. Maybe that was why Miles ached for just a simple glance from his father.

My answer came on one of the afternoons, when Miles and I were lying on the bed. He wasn't asleep, his eyes stared fixedly ahead, his fingers tangling and untangling themselves between locks of my hair.

"My dad spoke to me today," he began softly, so softly I almost thought I was imagining it.

My ears perked up at that and I shifted so I was propped up on my elbows. "What did he say?"

"Well, first he asked how the initiation was going, if I'd gotten through already. Then he asked where I was getting all these marks from. I guess wearing a sweater around the house doesn't do much to cover up," Miles added, with a light chuckle.

A small part of me desperately wished that his father had listened to me that day, when I told him to look at Miles for once. Maybe he was slowly understanding. Maybe I'd gotten through to him. That was a bizarre thing to wish for, but I'd kept my fingers crossed behind my back and hoped for the best.

The days flew by and before we knew it, we were at the doorstep of the tenth round. Miles still came to teach me the day before the Durden. But I could tell that he was a little on edge that day. He wasn't in a bad mood – no, it was something else. The way his fingers fiddled anxiously with nothing at all, the way his jaw clenched and gaze grew distant every so often.

We finally gave up on studying, and I spent the rest of the hour applying cream and antiseptic to his cuts and bruises. They didn't seem to hurt much but I knew it was only because Greg and the other boys were taking it easy on Miles. I tried not to flinch when I saw a particularly nasty bruise on his knee, keeping my lips shut tight as I applied cream to the spot.

Miles noticed me hovering worriedly over that spot, and he chuckled. "One more to add to my collection of battle-scars," he quipped mock-cheerfully, before shaking his head with a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Bad joke."

"You're not wrong. They are battle-scars," I murmured. There was no stopping the following words that streamed past my lips, even though they were barely audible. "But you are a foolish warrior and this is a meaningless war."

He flinched and I knew that I had hit a raw nerve. Because as meaningless as this whole thing was to me, it was the real deal for him. His last glimmer of hope, to get the love and attention he so craved for from his father. I was just about to apologise for my blunt words when I heard him speak.

"I'm scared."

His voice was so low it was almost inaudible. I glanced at him, but his jaw was clenched as he stared at the floor.

"I know what's in store for me. A part of me would kill to get in, but the other half of me would do anything to get out."

I studied him, and couldn't help but think about how entirely raw and honest this moment was. Most of us, at least, were filled with false bravado, and it was entirely unexpected to hear a boy confess how he was feeling.