May
1989

As May settled across their grey town, bringing more sunshine, and longer days, the trio spent less and less time together. Peter decided to take his revision seriously, while Jenifer's stepfather kept her inside, spewing some nonsense about keeping her away from distractions. This all left Danny, who couldn't care less about exams, at a bit of a loose end.

He had more time for drama club, and threw himself into it head first, trying to fill the void his friends had left. It gave him relief to stand up on stage, in front of a gaggle of misfit theatre nerds, and pretend to be someone else for a little while. He spent more time pouring over scripts than he ever had over revision notes. And when it came to theatre, deadlines were warmly anticipated. He craved the adrenaline of stepping into the spotlight, and finally putting his emotions to good use. No one cared about his bruises, or his messy hair, or what grades he got. He could just tune into whatever character he was playing, and live life through their eyes for a few moments. It was a wicked form of escapism, and he loved every moment of it.

They sat through their first exam in the stuffy hall, a bee caught between the window panes buzzing away as the clock ticked by. Danny stared down at his paper, guessing half the answers, and leaving the rest of them blank. He saw his friends frantically scribbling away at their own desks, and wondered what that was like; to be as smart as Peter, and as determined as Jenifer.

When they filtered out of the exam hall, he held onto a scrap of undeserved hope that maybe he could spend the afternoon with his friends, after going so long without their company. He missed their faces. He missed their bickering. But of course, he should have known better; Peter rushed past, mumbling about their next exam, while Jenifer complained about how far behind she was with her maths revision. He was left alone to tug at his blond hair, and wonder if it was time to get a few more friends; ones who didn't care about school so much.

He trudged into town, bored, desperate to get out of his trailer, hands in his pockets, lines running through his head. Drama was the only thing he was passionate about. The rest of it was all bullshit. And the one thing he liked was impossible to reach. The word 'actor' hung above him like some unspeakable curse. Because how could he even have the nerve to think about ever reaching such a ridiculous goal? Acting was for people with connections, years of experience, teeth that weren't chipped, and hair that wasn't scruffy.

He stopped outside the bakery. He didn't want to stop, but he couldn't seem to keep moving. He watched Scott through the glass for a moment, packing away the bread, and switching off the lights. He was wearing his apron, and had flour in his hair.

Eventually, Scott appeared outside, locking the door behind him. When he saw Danny, he froze, then fixed on that crooked smile he shared with Peter. "Hey."

They hadn't seen each other since Danny's birthday — not really. They walked to school together, with Peter as a sort of sponge between them, sucking up any secrets that may get caught in the sticky air they shared. In the corridors, they didn't even smile at each other, just grazed past like strangers. Maybe that's what they were — they certainly weren't friends.

"Hi, Scott." Danny finally said, smiling softly, "You alright?"

"Yeah." Scott fiddled with the strap of his backpack, "You?"

"Yeah, I'm good, I'm good." He nodded dismissively, "You wanna walk home together?"

There wasn't the option to refuse. They were heading in the same direction. "Sure."

Danny felt guilty, even though he shouldn't have to. There was a feeling of loose ends, and things left unsaid. "So, uh..." He cleared his throat, "We're good, right?"

Scott looked across at him as they began their trek back towards the trailer park, the sky beginning to dim as the sunlight drained away. "Sure." He said again.

Danny didn't say anything at first. He thought about the dozens of scripts he had obsessed over in the past few weeks. He thought about the characters; the heroes, with their honesty, and bravery, and big strong voices. Maybe he could take a little of them with him once he stepped off the stage. Maybe his performances didn't need to happen in stuffy auditoriums, but here, in the streets of his hometown, walking side by side with Scott. "I want us to be okay." He said finally, bravely. "I don't want us to... I don't want you to hate me."

Scott stopped walking, his eyebrows knitting together, "Why would you think...?" He buried his hands in his pockets nervously, "I don't hate you."

"You should." Danny told him firmly, "With Snowy...with Pete and Jen...they were brave. They stood up for you. I just...I just stood there." He shrugged helplessly, "I should've helped you."

Scott looked down at his feet, then shrugged, "S'okay. Not a big deal."

Danny reached out and took Scott's cold hand in his, forcing the other boy to look at him. Big brown eyes met wide emerald ones. Danny smiled reassuringly, "It is a big deal. I've been hating myself for it, so maybe you should hate me a little bit too."

Scott didn't rip his hand out of Danny's. He knew that he should; that the boy in front of him was inevitably going to destroy him, and the longer he let him, the more it would hurt. But how could he? When Danny had that charming smile, and those sparkling eyes, and really fucking soft hands. "I don't hate you." He said once more.

"Well, maybe you should—"

"Danny." Scott cut him off.

Danny's grip tightened, and he tugged Scott into an alleyway, and nudged him against a wall, and kissed him hard on the lips, and acted like he wasn't killing Scott from the inside out.

Scott should have pushed him away. He should have told him what a terrible idea this was; what a terrible idea Danny was. He should have pushed him away when he kissed him, and he should have pushed him away when Danny slipped a hand past his belt, and he should have pushed him away when he threw his head back in pleasure, and moaned into the darkness.

But he didn't.

He let it happen, because Danny was intoxicating. Danny was dangerous.

And now Danny's wet lips were on Scott's neck, his teeth grazing his throat, tongue sweeping across his collarbone. His shirt was pushed up, Danny's fingernails dragging across Scott's chest, while his other hand rummaged around in his underwear. There was heat and static and the dirty feeling of danger. Of doing something they weren't supposed to be doing, and enjoying every fucking second of it.

When Scott tugged at Danny's belt, lust in his eyes and heat in his cheeks, Danny pulled away. "No." He muttered, grinning as he tried to readjust his tousled curls.

Scott tried to mask the frustration in his eyes, "What?" He mumbled, catching his breath, and straightening up.

Danny picked up Scott's backpack for him, and slung it over his shoulder, "It's getting late; we should head back. I have an exam in the morning."

Scott stared at him, and wondered how it was possible for Danny to crush him this many times. First, when he told him he knew about the note, and squeezed his arm in that annoyingly friendly way. Second, when he had sex with him, only to call him 'mate', and tell him he wasn't 'like that'. Third, here, in this cold alleyway, with that mischievous grin.

When they walked home, Danny's pretence went right back up again. He rambled about how hard his exam was, what plays they were working on in drama club, and baby names he had gone over with Jenifer. They stood apart at all times, walking like a couple of old friends, as if Danny's hand wasn't down Scott's pants just moments ago.

As if they weren't slowly destroying each other.