It's official, Pelham thought after two weeks of being cold-shouldered by his own best friend. He doesn't like me.

There was hardly any interaction exchanged between the two boys. Even if they did, it was merely an "Excuse me" from Roshon whenever Pelham was blocking his way. For instance; when they were filing out of the Chemistry lab and Pelham lingered at the doorframe in the hope of talking to Roshon. Not that the hope got any better. Roshon might not manifest his animosity towards Pelham, but Pelham would prefer that over acting as though they were complete strangers, as though they were less than acquaintances. He would rather have Roshon look at him as a nemesis, because at least they acknowledged each other's presence.

If Lucio had the faintest idea that the two best friends were standing at opposite ends of the spectrum at the moment, he hadn't uttered a single word concerning such matter. That was what Pelham appreciated about the boy. It was as though Lucio knew better than to interfere, especially since he didn't have anything to do with it. Amid the silent treatment given by Roshon, Pelham just knew he could talk to either Lucio or April.

Was it bad, thought Pelham, when he turned to Lucio when his own best friend was shunning him out? Because he didn't want to make Lucio Alves some sort of a back-up friend when all things went downhill, yet he seemed to be doing the exact thing; having Lucio over in the house to play video games, eating with him during lunch, chatting with him at night whenever he couldn't bring himself to sleep. They were all the things that he normally did with Roshon - maybe not the late-night chat. Is it bad? he kept thinking.

Then again, Pelham wouldn't know whether Roshon was also doing the exact same thing. After all, Roshon was the first one to get himself a 'substitute' - someone who neither of them rarely ever hung out with. Still, Pelham couldn't deny the fact that it had somehow gotten him pondering over who was being more inequitable here; him or Roshon?

Every now and then, Pelham couldn't help but think that he was simply spending his time with Lucio just to make Roshon envious. Am I, though? he thought, feeling more ill at ease than he normally was, and he couldn't absolutely tell whom that he was entirely concerned about. Am I using Lucio? He especially didn't want that, for he himself liked Lucio's company as immensely as possible that the thought of having him just to replace Roshon wasn't a necessity. He could spend his time with Lucio whenever he wanted.

But that had been the issue for seventeen-year-old Pelham over the past few weeks; he just couldn't settle down. Every time he talked to Lucio, he had the sense that Roshon was stealthily watching them from a corner, thereby the overwrought impression that he was somehow using Lucio. No matter how hard Pelham tried to ward such foul notion off his head, it kept coming back, causing him to think of Lucio more as some sort of a bait just to get his best friend at his side.

He didn't like where his mind was wandering off to for the past few days. It wasn't right.

Pelham felt like a monster as he sat there on the bench at the school compound, fiddling with his pencil while doing so. Lucio was sitting beside him with his head bent low, poring over his abnormally thick Mathematics textbook while the pen in his other hand scribbled down some formulas into his notebook that sat on his lap.

Pelham had gotten tense ten minutes ago when he saw Roshon walk past with his chin up, clearly not acknowledging his presence. Either that, or he hadn't realised Pelham was there at all. Pelham hoped for the latter, though he knew the odds for such wish to be true was running adequately low.

"Hey!" There was a light jab of a pen on Pelham's thigh that he let out a startled wince.

Pelham looked towards Lucio, rubbing his thigh as he did so. "That hurt," he remarked. "What was that for?"

"I've been calling you three times already," said Lucio, putting down his pen and stacking his scattered notes altogether. "Was tryna ask whether you're any good at Permutation and Combination. Apparently, you zoned out again."

"Did I?"

Lucio merely shot Pelham a narked look in response. "You're gonna have to talk to him, you know," he said, busying himself by rummaging through his backpack to search for something. "Whatever the problem is you guys are facing."

That had to be the first time that Lucio had ever mentioned of something that related to Roshon during the past week. He had been cautious to steer clear off such topic, which Pelham assumed was because it might rile him up.

"It's not a problem, really," said Pelham, not even certain whether the words contained any truth. He wasn't exactly sure whom he was trying to reassure.

"You sure?"

"He doesn't need me now," Pelham commented nonchalantly. "And I sure as hell don't need him."

"What are you - seven?"

"Apparently, I'm seventeen," Pelham noted in a tone that implied he might be a little indignant. "And it doesn't have anything to do with my level of maturity."

"So, you and Roshon aren't talking to each other because ... what, he hasn't returned your colour pencils?"

"Witty,"

"There's no need to go all emo on me, Pel," said Lucio, turning in his seat so he was facing Pelham's side. He rested a hand on Pelham's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze of consolation. Pelham fought the urge to lean in. "C'mon, where's the sunny side that I miss?"

"Weather hasn't been too good,"

Lucio simply gave a gentle shove of Pelham's shoulder. "He - you - you'll both come round," he said. "I mean, best friends fight too, right?"

That's the problem, Pelham wanted to say. We didn't fight.

Lucio brought his thumb and forefinger up and pressed them on either side of Pelham's lips, before stretching his lips apart into a Ceshire-Cat-like smile. "There you go," he said, withdrawing his fingers from the corners of Pelham's lips. "Smile."

At that, Pelham couldn't help but chuckle. "You sure are comfortable with this, aren't you?"

Lucio gave an indifferent shrug. "What's the point in hiding?" he said. "People are gonna find out eventually. It's up to us on how to deal with the consequences - accepted or not."

For a fleeting moment, Pelham caught a flash of despondency cross Lucio's iridescent eyes. But the boy was quick to cover it with an optimistic beam. And Pelham found himself musing on what exactly had happened to him, what made him so comfortable at being himself. He hadn't forgotten about what Lucio had said about putting up a fight with the school tyrants because he was simply fed up with them, yet still causing him to lie abandoned in one of the stalls in the men's room, sporting bruises and swells all over his face.

Yet Lucio was still there, smiling as though the problems around him could be solved by a mere flick of his wrist, as though they were just dust that needed sweeping. Lucio might as well be the strongest person Pelham had ever met.

"Who's Miguel?" Pelham blurted out before he could even think it through. He could distinctly remember seeing the ID flash on Lucio's lockscreen a few months ago when he dropped his phone at the same time that he received the text message. He honestly didn't know why he even brought it up today.

A crease formed between Lucio's eyebrows as he frowned. Slowly, he withdrew his hand from Pelham's shoulder. "Why - where did you-"

The rest of his sentences were either cut off or drowned out as the school bell rang across the courtyard. Upon hearing this, Pelham leaped to his feet, considerably glad to have an interruption. He didn't suppose he would have a plausible answer should Lucio finish the rest of his sentences. Though, he knew there was no wriggling out of this one; Lucio might as well bombard him with questions later on.

"I'm gonna be late," he said unnecessarily, slinging the strap of his backpack over his shoulder hastily.

"Pelham ..." It was Lucio's seemingly unfinished tone that caused Pelham to look at him, studying his bright eyes. His mouth was open, but no words came out. Like Pelham, it was as though Lucio knew that there was no point chewing over this new topic regarding Miguel.

"Yeah?"

It took a while before Lucio replied. "Forget about it," he said - which was exactly what Pelham had been about to say. "I'll see you, I guess ..."

With that, they departed in different directions, though the tension between them was thick. There's no wriggling out of this one, Pelham kept reminding himself as he made his way to his first class.

For the first time since the beginning of the school term, Pelham was relieved to be in a different batch from Lucio. He was growing fed up with his friend - his so-called best friend, as April would love to point out. It felt like a burden, for spilling the truth didn't bring out any auspicious outcome. It was like spilling black coffee all over a carpet with no hopes of washing off the dark blotches no matter how ferocious the scrubbing was, or how many detergents had been used.

It's up to us on how to deal with the consequences - accepted or not. Lucio's words played in his head like an incessant ring in your ears when the surrounding had gotten eerily quiet.

I don't need him, he thought, setting aside the fact of how puerile he was behaving. I have April and Lucio. He has his geeky friends. And Pelham cursed at himself for even thinking like that. For one, he didn't suppose any of it was any where near unerring. Yet, he kept doing it; lying to himself.

Because, apparently, that was the only thing that he was very good at; building up walls of fabrications to ward off the off-putting reality, putting on a mask so as not to be affected by his vicinity. There were times where he couldn't distinguish the difference between falsehood and corporeality. And he couldn't say that he wasn't afraid. As a matter of fact, he was beyond that. If only he could go back to being five years old ...

Here he thought his main concern was coming to terms with his sexual orientation. Though, it appeared that there was more than one conflict, that there was more than being an invert.

Accepted or not.

And Pelham found himself actually listening to Lucio's small piece of advice. Accepted or not. If Roshon was finally cutting the bonds, then so be it.

Again, there was always more than one complication.

Pelham had been ready to get over it, to stop sulking around when his best friend was ignoring him, when he knew he had to accept the fact that not everyone - even the closest around him - will accept him for who he was. But he was doing it on the wrong day at the wrong time - and at the wrong place.

From the corners of his eyes during lunch hour, Pelham could distinctly make out the figure of Roshon coming from the other side of the hallway. The saunter with the slight hop at each pace that he had grown very accustomed to was not hard to miss.

Knowing fully well that Roshon would pay no heed to his presence, Pelham simply shoved his textbooks into his locker. Like strangers, he thought, fiddling with his earpieces while doing so. He would simply pass Roshon and that would be it.

But that was where he was wrong, for he could feel a presence behind him that caused the air to grow dense. Without as much saying anything, Pelham swivelled round on his heels and was met by a pair of chocolate eyes staring back at him.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said in a falsely thick Posh accent.

Roshon scowled, but replaced it immediately with a neutral expression. Though his fingers were fidgeting with the strap of his backpack, his kept his stance straight and somewhat assertive. Pelham chose to ignore those.

"I think I left my Chemistry notebook at your place," Roshon began.

Pelham raised an eyebrow. "Which one might that be?"

"The one you borrowed,"

"In that case, you haven't exactly left it at my house," Pelham noted. "Rather, I borrowed it from you. There's a huge difference, dear child, like a thick border that separates the word 'left' and 'borrowed' - the same one that's currently separating us, of course."

Pelham allowed himself to feel smug when he saw the small flinch from Roshon. "Dude-"

"It is 'Pelham Nixon', in case you've forgotten. Not 'dude' - that's highly unprofessional,"

"Can't you just give it back? I need it,"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't you say I can return it to you after our 'AS' Levels since you have another copy in a PDF form? I knew we should've used a formal letter that requires our signatures for this."

"Well, I do have it in PDF form ..."

"Then I see no problem,"

"Look, Shawn wants to see whether-"

"Oh, of course!" said Pelham, shaking his head. "Yes, yes. How silly of me. I forgot he even existed. He wants the notebook? No problem. I have a Maths session with Lucio at my place this evening anyway."

Again, the last sentence was not entirely necessary. Pelham didn't even know why he said it. But he could just make out the scowl returning to Roshon's face. This time, the boy didn't even bother trying to hide it.

"What is wrong with you?" said Roshon, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

Pelham couldn't believe his ears. He let out a dry, humourless chuckle. "What's wrong with you?" he shot back, feeling suddenly incensed.

"Nothing, really," said Roshon sardonically.

"Yeah, I thought so too," Pelham agreed, sounding just as sardonic. What he hadn't realised was the attention they were attracting, for a few students had stopped doing what they were doing to witness the row of counters exchanged back and forth between him and Roshon. "I'm having the time of my life here, enjoying the view of your back - pun intended. It goes both ways. Depends on how you interpret it, really."

Roshon snorted, clearly oblivious to the horde of students that had amassed around them. "Fag," he murmured, probably thinking that Pelham wouldn't catch it.

But that seemed to pull the trigger, for Pelham suddenly lunged at Roshon and shoved both of his hands flat on Roshon's torso, sending the latter crashing against the lockers behind with a loud bang. He became aware of how deep his breathing had become, as well as the adrenaline rushing in his veins. He could feel the heat radiating off his body.

"What the hell-" Roshon began.

But Pelham had shoved his forearm across Roshon's chest, pinning him against the locker. "You say that again," he hissed, humour gone, replaced by ire that he was at the verge of detonating right there on the spot.

"Which one, 'what the hell' or 'fag'? The latter, I'm assuming? Sounds about right, don't you think?"

Before Pelham knew it, his fingers had curled into a fist and he sent it straight to Roshon's jaw. The taller boy staggered sideways, clutching at his jaw, obviously not expecting the sudden blow. Even Pelham was reasonably stunned at his own action. He watched with horror as Roshon looked daggers at him. Never in his life had he ever sent a punch to his-

WHACK!

Stars burst in Pelham's line of vision as he stumbled backwards, trying to regain his balance at the sudden dizziness. He could feel the pulse at his temple throb. He blinked, and as his vision sharpened, he saw that Roshon was standing before him with both of his fists raised before his chest. And in that moment a memory struck him; Roshon Ledger wasn't one to mess around with when it came to a fist fight. He'd seen Roshon fight with street gangs the previous year when they were heading home from an arcade, and he remembered saying to Roshon: If I were them, I wouldn't try to land a punch on you.

Yet here he was, initiating a fracas, knowing fully well that Roshon wouldn't end a brawl without having his opponent lying unconscious on the floor. He had clearly forgotten what Roshon was capable of. Now he was only messing around with what seemed to be his impending doom.

But Pelham stood his ground. He sidestepped another punch that was hurled in his direction by Roshon. He stuck out his leg and swung it under Roshon's, causing the latter to trip and plunge to the floor - but not without pulling Pelham with him, so now they were both down, trying to tear at each other with strained huffs and grunts. Roshon was stronger than Pelham - both of them knew it. Still, Pelham didn't suppose that was any competition compared to the fury raging inside him.

Perhaps that was what caused Pelham to roll on top of Roshon and send more punches here and there, releasing all of his resentment towards the one boy who he thought he could trust. Roshon's fingers barely scraped against Pelham's face, he hissed anyway.

Like an unleashed monster.

It wasn't necessarily a detrimental fracas. Not until a voice called out, "Why are there two sissies fighting?" did it rile the monster inside Pelham even further.

Roshon shoved Pelham off him, glaring, a trace of blood visible on his lower lip. But Pelham was already on his feet, his eyes locked on the source of the voice. He recognised the face instantly as Bryce, the leader of the school tyrants, standing not a few feet away from them along with the other mass of students. The Upper Sixth-form student had a smug expression on his face as he surveyed the fracas with his arms crossed over his chest, no doubt his cronies were also doing the same.

On any other day, Pelham would stay away from them. He always had. But today, the wheels were turned; he and Roshon got into a fist fight; Roshon loathed him; and a monster was unleashed from Pelham.

"'Sissy', did you call me?" Pelham breathed at Bryce, now standing directly in front of the older boy.

Bryce shrugged, not amused. "It fits you, whatever your name is," he said, as though he was talking about Pelham's clothes. His cronies sniggered behind him. "No, wait - 'fagissy' fits you."

"A visionary one, aren't you?"

"Thank you, Fagissy,"

Bryce didn't see what was coming for him - nor did the other students encircling them. Pelham's fist came unforeseen, sending Bryce doubling over, clutching at his stomach as he wheezed. That was enough to quieten down the hallway.

Pelham didn't regret it.

"You son of a-"

Bryce lunged at him this time, both of his brawny arms spread out as he tried to wrap his rugged fingers around Pelham's throat. Pelham, seeing it coming, dodged just in time. But one of his fists connected with Pelham's temple, sending Pelham staggering backwards.

He refused to back down, however. Instead of running away like he normally would in any normal circumstance, he strode up towards Bryce and pulled his fist back to gain some momentum-

WHACK!