It would be a month before the two boys spoke again.

   It wasn't that Ethan was purposely avoiding Vincent; he just didn't necessarily like the feelings being around the blue-eyed boy sparked within him. To avoid that, Ethan was willing to do just about anything, even if it meant hurting both of them.

   But was he really the one to blame?

   At least, Ethan didn't think so. It wasn't his fault that Vincent's mere proximity made him question his sanity, made him think such lewd thoughts he'd never even had about a girl, for crying out loud.

   Vincent had tried to reach out to his friend—though he wasn't entirely certain he could call him that—but it proved to no avail. He texted him constantly, bugging him about their project and how they were running out of time.

   Truth be told, they had plenty of time, and even Vincent knew that. Eventually, he got tired of feeling like a desperate, clingy leech, and gave up entirely. Consequently, their encounters were limited to curt nods and tight smiles in the rare occasion that they passed each other in the hallways.

   Ethan wasn't going to lie. He missed Vincent's company. Missed his snarky replies, cheeky smiles, and bright, bright, eyes. But he knew better than to fall into the temptation that was Vincent Samuel. He was going to get over him. He had to.

   Conveniently enough, Winter Break was creeping up, and, with it, came football season. Practice was drilling the players into the ground, but—for once—Ethan found he didn't mind it. The hours he spent running around the field provided him with enough distraction that he couldn't afford to let his mind wander for a second. And, when he returned home, he'd be too exhausted to function properly, let alone think about the boy.

   But, because Ethan couldn't get a fucking break, Vincent seemed to worm his way into his subconscious mind, haunting his dreams so that every time he shut his eyes, Ethan would find himself drowning in blue.

   Still, he could deal with that. As long as Vincent didn't plague his conscious mind, everything was right with the world.
 
   It was only in History class—because, God knows, that was where everything bad seemed to happen—that Ethan found himself unable to escape the inevitable. Mr. Brown, as obnoxious as he always seemed to be, trotted into the room with a cryptic smile and an eerie skip in his step.

   That only ever meant one thing: he was here to make them suffer. It was like the sadistic old hag gained some satisfaction from watching his students in pain. It certainly wasn't normal that the middle-aged man only ever looked sane and somewhat content when he was inflicting torture upon other people.

   Or maybe Ethan was slightly exaggerating.

   But still, the young jock physically could not feel any emotion other than contempt swell in him when Mr. Brown spoke, "Okay, losers. We're taking a break from the schedule for today. Go ahead and sit next to your partners to discuss the project, for those of you who hadn't a chance to do that. By next week, I expect a progress update. And please, for the love of all things good, try to impress me."

   If looks could kill, the teacher would've been six feet under. Ethan was glaring so harshly at him that he didn't realize someone had sat down next to him. Too transfixed with the heat of his anger—boiling, scorching at the pit of his stomach—he almost jumped when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

   Vincent recoiled in surprise when he saw the murderous look in Ethan's eyes. Immediately, said gaze softened at the sight of the pretty, blue-eyed boy. He looked a bit shaken, but anyone would be. The jock, though cheeky and playful most of the time, looked downright terrifying.

   Still, Ethan kept a frown etched on his God-like features, fighting down the amusement threatening to claw its way onto his face. All he offered Vincent was a nod of acknowledgement, before plugging his earphones in and slumping his head down on the desk.

   Vincent raised his eyebrows, frustrated at the cold shoulder Ethan seemed to be giving him. He'd figured it out a while ago. The nerd was a fool to believe that the popular jock would want anything to do with him, let alone be friends with him.

   But had it really come down to this? Ethan didn't even have the decency to speak to him anymore?

   He slumped, deciding that he wasn't going to give a damn anymore. If Ethan didn't want anything to do with him, so be it. He wasn't about to chase him like a needy bitch and beg for his attention.

   Regardless, Vincent was determined to ace the History Project. And by some cruel twist of fate, the pair had ended up working together. The best course of action would be to finish it in as little time as possible, so they both could go their separate ways and pretend to never have known each other.

   Soon after, the bell rang, startling Vincent out of his thoughts. By the time he'd finished packing, Ethan had already bolted out the classroom.

   Huffing, he rolled his eyes. He didn't want to have to chase after Ethan yet again, but if they didn't resume working soon, they'd be dragging on something that was burdening both of them.

   Running to catch up with the athletic boy, he finally grabbed a hold of his hoodie, yanking him backwards. Ethan turned around, stance aggressive and ready for a fight. Vincent was only a few inches shorter than Ethan, which really didn't help the situation.

   Before the blue eyes could register in Ethan's brain, his reflexes had kicked in, his fist flying forward and knocking the other boy into the ground.

   As if smelling the tension in the air, everybody in the hallway instantaneously grew quiet. They all stood, shocked by the commotion, trying—with wide eyes—to gauge the slightest hint of what was going on. Once people grasped the gist of what'd happened, it was almost ironic how the previously deafening silence was swallowed up with excited murmurs, rumors already bubbling from the lifeless teenagers' throats.

   But Ethan couldn't see or hear any of it.

   All he could focus on was Vincent, still on the floor, clutching his throbbing cheek and groaning in pain. Ethan could see the soft skin of Vincent's face; once pale and flawless, it was now an angry, swollen red that would no doubt leave a bruise in its wake. Ethan didn't realize he'd punched that hard.

   Hell, he didn't realize he'd punched at all until his fist made impact.

   He crouched down into a squatting position, reaching out to gently touch Vincent's bicep. Had the boy not been dizzy with pain, he would've shoved Ethan away. Instead, he shamelessly basked in the comfort it brought him, letting out a set of overly dramatic whimpers just to provoke a reaction of the stone-cold beast.

   Perhaps that was taking it a bit too far, because Vincent found his desires satisfied in surplus. Surprising everyone—even himself—Ethan hooked his arms underneath Vincent's knees and hoisted him up. He carried him bridal style to the nurse's office, all the while whispering apologies and sweet nothings into his ear.

   And for once, Ethan didn't fight his feelings, allowing himself to be completely, utterly, devastatingly worried about the beautiful boy in his arms—if only for a little while.