The migraine got tighter, the tension radiating through his skull, through his body. The youth centre's doors opened as Will was scrambling to get his phone from his pocket. In the entrance was a shock of red hair, accusing green eyes—Kyle. Kyle's expression was a carefully molded one of annoyance and not giving a damn. "If you were going to be this late why even bother coming?" He asked, in his usual sharp tone.

For a second, Will didn't even register what he'd said. When Will was able to focus, and work out it out, a long pause had already stretched out. Kyle's annoyed expression flickered. He shifted his weight, and some red went into his cheeks.

"I mean," Kyle followed up, speaking quickly, casting his eyes to the floor, "I'm not trying to be a brat, it's just—you said you were coming last night. You promised me."

Ah, Kyle couldn't have looked more embarrassed if he tried. Seeing Kyle's anxiety made some of Will's lessen. One of the reasons he'd started to like Kyle, after a few disaster meetings, was that he always thought Kyle's sharp edges were decidedly blunter than first appearance. It was a front. It wasn't nice to see it crumble, seeing as the Kyle left behind looked self-conscious and nervous.

"I overslept," Will said. His voice was hoarse, as if he were sick. He gave Kyle a second look. "Was someone calling you a brat?"

Kyle's eyes shot down, his cheeks going even redder. He mumbled out, "Dad. I annoyed him."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I, uh, just we had guests and he didn't like the way I spoke to them." Kyle's hand lifted, quickly wiping his eyes. His slim shoulders looked particularly vulnerable when they trembled like that. Lower, he said, "And you called me a brat before too."

Will couldn't remember doing that, but he could picture it. "Well, I don't mean it in a bad way."

Kyle's eyes flashed up, watery, but the set of his mouth bitter. "It's always a bad way."

"My boyfriend called me a brat before, and it wasn't because he hated me." Will shared. He made a decision, seeing the instability in Kyle's eyes, to risk an explosion and put his arm over Kyle's shoulders and pulled him to the walkway up to the centre. They sat on the wall with Will's arm hooked around Kyle's shoulders. Kyle didn't explode; but buried his face against Will's collar.

"Why did he call you a brat?" Kyle eventually mumbled.

Well, Will wasn't going to mention the time it happened during sex. "Because I was being one. It's nice acting spoilt every now and then."

Kyle was quiet.

"You remember that waitress, the one you said was checking me out?"

Kyle nodded.

"She gave me her number on a piece of paper. I was joking around with Gabriel later, saying I was going to call her. That's when he called me a brat." Will paused, then admitted, "I don't remember calling you a brat."

"You said I was like a bratty sibling."

Will rubbed Kyle's arm, hearing in his voice that he was still upset, and close to tears. "That's not a bad thing. I never said it was a bad thing, did I?"

"You got mad at me before."

"For bad-mouthing Laragh. I'd get mad at you if you started doing that now too." Will squeezed his shoulder. "I like you though."

"You have to say that."

"Why would I?" Will asked.

"Because you're nice."

Will's breath caught. His stomach became uncomfortable at the statement. All of him did, really. It didn't feel true. Probably because it wasn't. He put Gabriel and Dune through too much shit to still call himself a nice person. "I'm not. And I feel like a year ago I was a lot nicer than I am now."

Kyle shuffled to turn his curious eyes up to Will. "Why? What changed?"

What changed? A lot had changed. Will's entire situation was different. A year ago he had his mom putting him down, impossible to please, with Leah taking her side. His dad drinking himself into oblivion. Jack... who always had other friends who came first. Will sat back, looking at the grey-cast sky. If he took out Dune, Gabriel and Cassie, who he didn't have a year ago, then he was left with a lot of people who only cared about Will when he was being nice. But if he thought about it, had he ever been overly nice to the people with him now? He'd bend over backwards offering Jack and Amanda lifts and favours, and did everything possible not to get on his mom's nerves—though that never seemed to work.

He fought with Dune. About Birch, about leaving the football team. He'd pushed and pushed with Gabriel, when the right thing would have been to accept that he was forbidden, and Will could literally ruin his life if he didn't stop.

"I don't think it was me," Will admitted. "I think it's just I left behind the people I had to be nice around. I mean," he continued, feeling like his insides were sharp and brittle, "I could have a total screaming meltdown at Dune or my boyfriend, but they wouldn't cut me out of their life for it. Honestly, they wouldn't even get angry about it."

Kyle's look was critical. "So they let you walk all over them."

Will nudged Kyle's elbow. "You've got a smart mouth, but I know when you asked why I even bothered to come, that you didn't mean you didn't want me here. It's not that they let me walk all over them, more that they give me the breathing room to be an absolute disaster and not make me feel like shit for it."

"If you keep being a disaster than you're just taking advantage."

"Yeah." Will agreed. The migraine inside him loosened, and relaxed. Something clicked into place; an understanding and a realisation. Will had been taking advantage of Gabriel's and Dune's feelings for months and months, and in return he'd been a nightmare. Not on purpose, not because he wanted to be—but because he didn't know how not to be. Will sat on the wall, considering the fact that he really had no clue how to turn his relationships into healthy ones. Considering the fact that he had no clue how to stop being a disaster. How to stop being a weight on all their lives. Was it possible? Was there ever a version of himself that was happy and healthy? If there had been, he didn't remember it.

Will shelved those thoughts. Instead, he focused on the more pressing matter: Where was his bag? Who was threatening him, and why?

His migraine came back, swimming and tightening in his head. He tried to remember. He tried to recall what happened yesterday, but the memories weren't just out of reach, it was if they didn't exist. It was a black void.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked. "You just went really pale."

"I'm okay."

"You look like your about to pass out."

Will pushed his palm against his forehead. Yeah, he thought, that might be what's about to happen. Kyle hopped off the wall, "Come down." He tugged on Will's wrist, until Will slid off, and stumbled. Kyle did his best to catch him, but he was tiny. Kyle let out a little yelp as they fell against the wall.

"Sorry." Will mumbled.

"What's wrong?" Kyle's voice had lost it's biting edge in favour of sharp alarm.

Will was sweaty and hot, and every breath felt like humid air that wasn't enough to fill his lungs. His vision was splotchy, all he could see was areas of obnoxious brightness contrasted with shadows of pitch black. The light on the ceiling was a sun; the shadow cast by the door was a black pit. Voices were asking was he okay, but Will found them impossible to decode. The only thing grounding him was Kyle's skinny shoulders.

"Bathroom," Will managed to say.

Between one second and the next, Will was in a bathroom. He dropped to his knees and threw up.

When he was done, the pressure inside his head eased up. Someone offered him a glass of water, which he sipped. Someone told him they were sorry when he started crying. Someone gave him back his stolen phone with a pale, trembling hand. That someone tried to retreat, but Will caught their wrist.

"Do you mind shutting the door?" Will asked. He had to blink a few times to see it was Laragh he was asking. Dimply, he realised she looked worried. "Please." He added. His voice sounded all messed up.

"I'll be right outside." Laragh told them.

Will let go of the wrist, and sat with his back against the cool tiles of the bathroom. His shirt was damp with sweat, and he felt his hair sticking to his face. "I haven't thrown up in months," He said.

Kyle's shoulders bunched in, tight and small. "I'm sorry." He whispered. "I didn't think—you weren't like the other kids in the programme. You were normal, and high and mighty all the time, and I just wanted to see you squirm."

Will blinked up at Kyle. His emotions felt spent, but the key one that filled him now was relief. Because Kyle had seen those texts, and Kyle had made that threat, and Will didn't see Kyle as someone particularly threatening. "You changed your mind." Will said.

Guilt shone in Kyle's eyes. He looked everywhere except at Will.

When he didn't answer, Will sighed. It didn't really matter, did it? "Do you have copies of the texts?"

"No, I printed out the screen-shots from your phone."

"Has anyone else seen them?"

Kyle shook his head.

"Have you told anyone about them?"

Kyle shook his head again, "I'm not going to. I never planned to either."

"You just wanted to fuck with me."

Kyle flinched. "I can get you the money for replacing the keys. And whatever the shoes cost."

"It doesn't matter." Will climbed to his feet. He turned over his reclaimed phone. He remembered losing his keys had ruined his day. He remembered losing his bag had made him feel like total shit. This was so dumb, and shit, and now that he knew none of it had been his own fault didn't matter—he'd already thrown up. His emotions had already been exhausted, and he didn't care.

"I'll make it up to you."

"It doesn't matter." Will repeated. He finished the pint of water and ran his fingers through his hair.

Outside the bathroom, Laragh was waiting. She immediately tried to usher Will into a private room.

"I'm heading home to rest." Will told her.

"We can talk later?" Laragh asked, hopefully.

"I'm tired." Will replied.