Pete's in that half-asleep state where part of him is aware that he's dreaming while another part thinks it's all real. The first part is really appreciative of what his brain is doing right now; the second part is also appreciative, in a much more visceral way, for obvious reasons. ...except for Hywel's cock, that's kind of weird. But Peter—is Peter's cock that big irl or is his dream brain just making that up for fantasy reasons? actually he should ask that question about all of them—Peter pressed up behind him, Edmund jerking off to them, oh Tintin's fingers, and Tom...

Tom is so close. And Pete is almost afraid, almost terrified, and both halves of him find this arousing, too. The mouth of the beast indeed and oh he wants this, he wants Tom to own him so completely, he wants to be powerless in Tom's hand and let him do whatever he wants... The part of him that knows this is a dream is relieved about it, because that would actually be terrifying, but the other part is just resigned to it and revelling in it, feeling almost like, oh, I'm here, there's nothing I can do, so I should just enjoy the ride.

...the two parts start to merge, though, in that weird way they sometimes do where they get confused about which is which, and the being terrified bit gets amplified. This is real life, and in real life he doesn't want to be powerless in Tom's hands, he doesn't want to give in, he has, has things he wants to achieve, has people he loves and who love him and he can't be Tom's pet. He can't be Tom's slave. And he knows, knows more certainly than he's ever known anything in his life that that's what would happen, that's his Bad Ending. That, or he gets cut up into seven pieces, but right now the other possibility is the one that's becoming real.

He's scared.

He's scared scared scared, this is wrong, he doesn't want this, it doesn't matter how much his body is responding and how his hips are bucking up and begging for more, it doesn't matter how much he's leaking precum and how heavily he's breathing and almost moaning, he doesn't moan often but this is making him get close, he's definitely rasping and grunting and he's nearly coming and he doesn't want to come, he wants to run away, wants to escape, he needs to go, this is wrong wrong wrong—

And then he wakes up.

Tom's face is still there, for a moment, pale and moonlit in the darkness of the room, like the afterimage from the sun.

But he's alone.

The only reason he doesn't cry out is that his control over his muscles lags behind his growing awareness and by the time he feels able to say words again he's realised it was all, in fact, just a dream.

...he's drenched in sweat and his dick is so hard it's almost painful and Tom's face is what's swimming in his mind's eye and he thinks, oh, God, what was that? He supposes that having wet dreams starring Tom Riddle is, like, good for his plans of falling in love with him, but like, seriously, brain? Ugh, and now he really wants to come.

...

........

Is there a reason he shouldn't come? He'll be able to get pristine and clean as soon as he wants to and he's feeling so pent up after that dream and, yeah, Hywel is right over there asleep, but given yesterday's activities Pete thinks that even if Hywel woke up he wouldn't complain about looking over and seeing Pete jerking off.

Oh, right, much more worrying than that would be his ears, which—

—are not elfy? Still? He, like, noticed that his Disguise Self had laster suspiciously long, even though he renewed it while walking with Ed, but what time even is it—three hours after his last cast? the fuck? ok he guesses that's not a problem, then.

Is, uh, Hywel definitely asleep, though? He doesn't want to start jerking off if he's not.

Not as if he'd care, but yeah. Snoring like a chainsaw.

That kills the mood a bit but he can just go back to the dream and to...

...to...

...fuck him, the thing that's making him super hard right now is Tom's face, Tom touching him, Tom licking his cock, even the smell of Tom's toothpaste...

It doesn't take him very long at all to come, thinking of Tom like that, not when he'd been juuuust on the edge of coming from the dream itself, and that leaves him panting and covered in even more bodily fluids than a second ago and thoroughly content and sagging into himself.

Fuck that was hot.

But it is still the middle of the night and, following such strenuous activity, he will very quickly fall asleep again.

This time is much more restful.

And he is 1. clean and 2. elf-eared when he wakes up.

So, for Mary Sue reasons, his Disguise Self lasts a lot longer than it ought to, but not forever. Okay. It's easy enough to cast it once more.

Pete sure hopes no one catches the ears suddenly popping out however long later. He sets an alarm for three hours from now, goes fem again, and goes out to look for adventures once more.

Same plan as yesterday: if he runs into plot he will have plot, otherwise, he will swim until breakfast time.

The pool is largely unoccupied! There's a few other bathers, but the only one he recognizes is Mortimer Clarke. Who is wearing trunks down to the knee and a swim shirt.

He notices Pete, makes as if to wave, then notices Pete's much more European-style swimwear and starts blushing and shrinking.

Oh no poor Clarke and now the universe is literally telling him to accept this side quest he can just not, he can just have a chat without going on any missions to rescue poor souls can he yes.

...he won't, but he can. That's his story and he's sticking to it. 

Over to Clarke. "Morning," he says with what he hopes is an appropriate and not excessive amount of cheer.

"Morning," Mort says gamely. "You, uh. Swim?"

"I do, yeah, but just for fun. And kind of surprised there's anyone here other than me at this time in the morning."

"...it usually has fewer people in the mornings," Mort admits. "Less... flesh. But I'm - I mean, I don't want to drive you off."

"Less... flesh?" he asks, sounding confused. And, like, he knows what that's about as of last night but Clarke did not tell himand he doesn't want to sound like a gossip.

"Skin? The. It's uncomfortable, a little, when people are. Showing off. Not that I'm, um, accusing you of exhibitionism, I probably shouldn't even have said that."

He is, actually, an exhibitionist, so uh. Whoops.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable. I could change into something less like this?"

"If you've got a spare Victorian-style bather, go ahead. I really don't need you to inconvenience yourself."

"I might be able to find one. But, um, may I ask why it bothers you? I mean, I'm not saying it's bad or anything, just, maybe I'm being too American here but I thought Europeans were more chill about this kind of stuff."

"You are rooming with Jenkins," Clarke points out. "He'd distort your sample size if anyone would. And it's not like I'm judging? I just... maybe it's oversharing, but it makes me kind of sad?"

"Sad?"

"...I don't... I mean, you're wearing that because it looks good on you, right, I can see that. You like the way you look and you want people to see how you look. I don't? I want people to think as little about how I look as possible? But if I did look good I'd want people to see it too. So it's... just, you know, sad. And my own problem, and I really don't need people feeling like they're hurting me by doing what I'd be doing too."

"Is that problem more shaped like you wish people thought you looked good right now or more like you wish you were a different shape which you prefer or should I just shut up and mind my own business."

"The second. I can tell you to mind your business when we get deeper into my business."

Bonus Style Points immediately comes to mind. If people can change shape, sex, and even species, he's sure Clarke would be able to look however he wants to look.

If Pete tries to seduce him, that is. Or, rather, succeeds at seducing him.

"My brain went into problem-solving mode, I have to admit, and it's probably not that kind of problem. I guess I should say, body dysmorphia sucks, I'm sorry."

"It does suck! And, uh, no, it's definitely not that kind of problem. They don't even make hormones for my thing-I'm-not-talking-about-in-greater-detail. If they did, I'd probably have been hunted down by NHS agents and injected with them already, they're very proactive."

........the NHS is proactive about people's hormones? Did some Traveler come over and fix them? Then again, Rowling doesn't exist here, and he supposes trans issues are probably less prominent in UK politics.

"Well, if—I guess this is silly, there probably isn't, but if there is any way I can help, let me know. I can procure a Victorian-style bather and wear that when I see you here."

"If that sounds fun, I wouldn't dream of telling you otherwise. Are we going to swim, or just chat?"

Time for a scene wrap, he supposes. "It's what I came here to do." Even though he spent a long time chatting but he's sure Time Enough For Love means that they'll be able to just swim as long as they'd originally wanted to, right? That whole conversation happened between scenes.

Yep! Clarke, who was after all here first, finishes a little bit sooner, but they've both got in a good workout well in time to be hungry for breakfast.

Now for breakfast, does he get to see his boyfriend again?

...should he be spending so much time with Ed? He wants to but also he has other people he should be talking to annnndd that's the kind of thought people who don't have Time Enough For Love have, what is he on about, of course he gets to spend breakfast with his boyfriend and still spend time with other people to develop relationships with them, duh.

(Also he does not want to be weighing his time in his mind like that, like, let him just spend some time with his boyfriend, okay? Okay.)

By way of positive reinforcement, Ed gives him a big hug when he spots him outside the cafeteria! Slightly rib-creaking but only slightly.

Edmund would've been a lot less able to do rib-creaking to og Pete, but that's a little bit gender euphoria, too.

.......but you know what would be funny? It would be funny for him to hug Edmund right back and lift him up in a way that ordinary physics and biology would look askance at, so that's what he's doing now.

Edmund squeaks about this very gratifyingly!

"Your rugby's paying dividends, I see," he says breathlessly once he's back on solid ground.

"We'll say that's what's happening and try not to wink at the camera while we do it."

"Right, yes, that was the amount of winking I was doing and you have chosen to wink slightly harder. On which note, you smell faintly of chlorine, have you been visiting plot-relevant zones without me?"

"I think every zone I'm in automatically becomes a plot-relevant zone. But the pool does seem to have become the hub of this dating sim, yeah."

"Some zones are created more plot-relevant than others. I would be more surprised if something interesting happened upon you entering my bedroom than Riddle's, for example."

"Riddle's bedroom is your brother's bedroom, that's like a boss battle waiting to happen; your bedroom will more likely have a threesome. Which of these is most plot-relevant is not as obvious as you might think."

Sporfle.

"We can't strictly rule out a threesome there either, you know. Obviously Peter would rather unman himself currently, but you do have a way with people."

"You know, that's really very flattering coming from you. But come on, let's go eat."

"Sorry, you want breakfast?"

But Edmund walks in and buffetwards, his fingers twined between Pete's.

"I want to scene transition to breakfast, how's that? I need some variety sometimes in how I say these things."

"Not really what I meant, but point taken. -oh, d'you want to watch the next season of KSBD tonight, by the way? I've been itching to see what you think of Meti."

"I absolutely do! ...do we have a better place to do it this time or do we want to risk jumpscaring Eric again. On the assumption that we're not going to limit ourselves to just the TV show."

"He did say not to let it happen again."

(Edmund might not be that opposed to the idea. Judging by the way he shivered a little bit there.)

"Come on, you're showing me anime, surely you're familiar with the concept of a tsundere. Man I want to seduce him now. Get him into my harem. I don't even know if I could fall in love with him, but clearly you could and I want to see the faces he makes when he begs."

"Sorry, I'm just imagining poor Eric's reaction if you called him a tsundere to his face. He might demand satisfaction."

"Oh, for the love of God. Would you believe I didn't set that up on purpose?"

Pete grins. "I will pretend I didn't notice it, then."

"No, I won't. I'd love to give him all the satisfaction he demands~"

"His demands might surprise you, you know," Edmund muses. "You know what they say, about repressed men."

"My dear friends!" Tintin says, coming up behind them in that stealthy way he does. "And what should they be talking about but sex. Mon Pierrot, you are stuck on heat. It cannot be healthy, and I fear its contagion."

"You say that as if we're not all teenagers. You're randier than I am!"

"And think of the consequences should that be amplified!" He pats Pete on the back. "We shall find a cure, one day."

He opens his mouth. 

Then he closes his mouth. 

Then he opens his mouth again. 

Then he shakes his head and looks at the camera and thinks, very loudly, that if he's going to be given so many opportunities and set ups the story should hurry up and let him eat this boy out already. Or something. Okay maybe not, maybe that'd be going too fast, it would be he thinks a lot more satisfying to get into Tintin's pants after some buildup and stuff but. But. But he's gonna get a lot of buildup with Peter and Tom and Susan and probably Eric already, please? Can he have the cute boy too? Pretty please? 

No? 

What was he expecting, an answer? Not really. He's just really hoping that the medium he's in will convey these thoughts to the audience.

What this entire thing will look like to people on this side of the fourth wall though is him looking very conflicted about how to respond for a second and eventually settling on, "Good morning, Tintin. Did you sleep well last night?"

"I am sorry to tease," Tintin laughs. "-oh, and I nearly forgot - did you wish to investigate a Mystery tonight? Perhaps we can knock off one of the easy ones, like the wailing hallway?"

"You don't need to apologise, you just gave me far too many openings and I couldn't figure out which to pick and decided to exercise the Virtue of Self-Control. And yes, I would love to."

"Excelsior, then! We shall strike when the ghosts least expect it: tonight, at eleven PM. In the natural sciences building, where they live. ...ah, reside."

"...ex who now? That sounds like something a comic book character would say, is that a real word?"

"It is Latin - exceeding all, above the highest, better than the best. Used as an imperative interjection, excelsior, find glory, as one might say godspeed! I know it from a poem that I like particularly. It was written in your country, actually, but that is no guarantee one will have heard of something... it is about a man who must climb a great and dreadful mountain, knows he must. Everyone tells him he cannot, that they want what is best for him, they offer comfort and he wishes for it, but he needs the summit more. And he does achieve that summit. He reaches the highest peak, even if he never comes back down."

"I am a philistine, at least according to Mr. Jones," he says with a half smile. "So TIL."

"Mr. Jones is a snob," Tintin says haughtily. "The only reason I know this poem at all is that I had nothing but nineteenth century literature and poetry to learn English from! I developed a taste, but that does not make me any cleverer than you!"

"Oh I think I'm perfectly clever, just uncultured. And I have to own it, I feel no particular embarrassment about it, I'm a STEM girlie."

"You... smoke a great deal of weed?"

"Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics," he explains. "I'm a math guy."

"Ah! I despise acronyms; thank you. Anyway, one can be mathematical and 'cultured,' though I hate the term. Tom is truly frightening in our calculus lectures, but he adores the classics."

Edmund does not twitch. Edmund is very carefully also not not-twitching, which means that Tintin probably doesn't notice, it being that he does not have even Pete's limited access to the narration pointing out how very much Edmund isn't twitching.

"You're taking calc with Tom? Someone's an overachiever."

"He's insufferably brilliant, but you have to be if you want a scholarship to Valentine."

"You are in terrible danger of inflating my ego."

"Maybe I should get some tutoring from you, then, not being insufferably brilliant myself."

"Not even in your STEM? I am honestly surprised."

"I'm probably alright at the sciences," he concedes. "But that was flirting. You know, suggesting more opportunities for us to spend some time one-on-one in which I get to admire your intellect and personality?"

"Ah, I see. Perhaps you desire my tutoring in Latin? Catullus, and other men of that kidney."

"No one has used the phrase men of that kidney unironically in at least eighty years."

"Damn. But I like it."

"What kidney exactly is this, was it a shared one or. ...I really should stop shitposting aloud like that, that's Viv—a friend's remit, not mine."

"Anyone who shared a kidney with Catullus would regret it. What with the drinking and whoring."

"I'm calling you there. We're not reciting Catullus 16 at the breakfast table."

This is a face of extreme displeasure.

Pete sporfles and covers his lips and nose so that he can try to get his coughing laughter under control.

"May I please change the topic."

"Yes, sir," he says between coughs, "so long as we put a pin on that suggestion for later."

"I should be happy to. Just as I should be happy to put-"

"Anyway! Pete, tell me about your Viv. Quickly."

"You but delay the inevitable," he says in a low voice, shaking his head and grinning. "Viv is one of my best friends. She dances on the tightrope between butch lesbian and transmasc and the highest calling in her life is making sure no one around her has a moment of peace in their lives. She, ah—" Pause. "When I was first exploring the, ah... idea... that I may not, altogether, all the time, be the most masculine man alive, she was one of the first people I told this to. She's as close to me as my sister is."

"I'm sure nothing about making sure no one has a moment of peace made it into your expression of that femininity, either," Edmund smirks.

"She sounds lovely. She is across the Atlantic, I imagine - do you keep in contact? I suppose it has not been so very long since you arrived."

"It hasn't, no. And actually, you know the employee at that café you took me to, Niamh I think was her name? There was a certain je ne sais quoi to her that kept reminding me of Viv. Very different gender expression but suggesting dropping scalding tea onto one's privates was very much something Viv would do too."

"It was very something. She gives me déjà vu like anything - I had a mate who talked just like that back in primary school and I keep wondering, you know, is that just how... some..."

"Oh, God. She's going to make me suffer for this, isn't she."

"...okay you're going to need to explain the thought process there I don't know what you're talking about."

"I had a mate in primary school, N- fuck, I have to forget that name now, he-eeeeee, uh, they were very fond of. Talking in the way that Niamh talks. And moved towns very abruptly before Year 6 and now I have a much better guess why. And would definitely have not re-introduced themself purely so they could make me twitch, vindictive b- ah, b- hm. Bugger."

Tintin listens to this with growing delight. "Oh, you poor idiot."

Okay it's back to giggling for him. "Oh can I watch, can I watch, I want to watch what happens when you tell her you figured it out."

"But I must be there as well! Can we make an expedition -"

"For the love of God. Yes, you may both watch as she dances on my charred remains. We are not going right now. We can do lunch. Breakfast is almost over anyway."

"Excellent, it's a date."

Breakfast is, indeed, almost over.

Next up: assembly! Again!

...right. That thing. Again. Which they're going to have every day.

He's a bit too young to properly be a NuAtheist but he's feeling some sympathies right now. Like, come on, he just deconverted!

Pat pat.

When they arrive at the amphitheater: Susan! She waves.

"Peter wanted to talk to you," she says to Edmund. "Might need to un-limpet."

"Awh," he says, un-limpeting. He offers Pete a kiss on the cheek.

He leans into the kiss with a grin before turning said grin to Susan. "Good morning!"

"And also with you!" she chirps.

"Ready for an hour of being bored out of your mind?"

"Oh, it's not a full hour, it only feels like one for the godless. ...like to know a secret, though?"

"What kind of question is that, who'd say no? 

"...by which I mean yes."

"Oh, I do like you," she says, taking him by the hand and dragging him onward.

She reaches a girl of her apparent acquaintance and gives her an arcane hand signal. The girl rolls her eyes and salutes. Then Susan drags Pete in an entirely different direction. It's very much away from the assembly.

Oh he'll be dragged alright, when a pretty girl wants to take you away to a secluded corner you have to follow he is not far enough along Susan's character route but a boy can dream.

They fetch up at the chapel. Susan takes two bobby pins kirby grips out of her hair, strips the ends, and picks the lock.

"They don't take attendance except by signing a sheet," she says as she does so. "A reliable accomplice works wonders. You should still go sometimes, and you'll need your accomplice to tell you announcements and all, but it's better than not-praying every day."

The door pops open.

"And everybody who wants to pray right now has a great place for it," she finishes.

Oh he thinks he's in love not really but this is how crushes start.

"This godless heathen is feeling very thankful right now. I might actually share my skincare routine with you, for this."

"Hosanna," she says gravely.

The chapel is modestly but beautifully appointed; lots of intricately carved wood, some murals. The seats have misericordia, which is probably an affectation unless the chapel was imported from a fifteenth-century monastery. Susan leans on one, despite not being an elderly monk.

She sighs. "Say what you will about God-bothering, but it makes such pretty things."

"Oh it does. I was a Catholic until recently, you know, and I didn't get the instant hatred thing baby atheists do that makes me not appreciate the awe."

"Yeah. For me it was mostly just... sad. Not having it anymore. Or realizing I hadn't for a while."

"...yeah. Realizing I hadn't for a while is... yeah. I used to pray every night before bed, did it for as long as I remembered, before. Until the day I stopped."

"Like Wile E. Coyote. There will come a day when your sins are forgiven, there is someone above all who loves you more than you can know, the arc of the world bends towards love, et cetera... until you look down and it all puffs into smoke."

She thinks about it. "Until you look up, I suppose."

"I think that the thing with—" He pauses, then shakes his head. He shouldn't bring up Travelers. It would've been half a lie anyway. "It's hard to move on, but I think I'd been going in that direction for years, really. When I realized it I wasn't... surprised. I didn't believe ninety percent of it. Not Hell, not miracles, not really. I realized that I wasn't going anywhere, afterwards." After dying. "Not really. Not where they said I was going. I didn't feel it, didn't expect it, I said the words but I didn't trust them."

"Heaven was never really it, for me... but I know the feeling."

She leans her head back, knocking it lightly against the pew. "What a conversation to be having with someone I met two days ago. Though I suppose I should grade myself on a curve; I haven't yet proposed mashing our faces together, so I'm in good shape among Pevensies."

"I'm sure it'll have to be me who proposes it though I would be very flattered if it weren't.

"But, you know, that said, I feel like that's kind of how you make friends? Share weirdly intimate things about yourself before you're totally sure they'll land and then when they do, bam, that's relationship escalation for you."

"You know, if that's how you do it, it sort of explains your success with my brothers. Excessively intimate details are like their cocaine."

"I kind of noticed it! Fits well with me, I have made more than one person uncomfortable by misjudging that. What's your cocaine, then?"

"Oh, same thing. We're all fiends for it except Lucy, who thinks that excessive intimacy is almost nothing like victory in battle, and therefore irrelevant."

"Victory in battle... I can see it, from the five seconds I've interacted with her for. Though something like that is not not Peter's thing, even if the angle is different."

"We are related, you know. Lucy's got Peter's righteous determination, Ed's got my nosiness, I've got more than a few neuroses in common with Peter myself, Ed and Lu are both incorrigible gremlins..."

He grins. "...now that's making me miss my siblings, I should message them."

"Of course you should. Reports from their sister abroad: flirting outrageously with everyone in arm's reach, hiding from Anglicans in the chapel, did something to poor Jonesey that's got him practically spinning with frustration..."

Their sister... Pete's not sure how to feel about that one. It's one thing to have "she" used as a pronoun, but that one... hm. He'll have to think about it.

He's almost certain Susan will notice the hiccup. "Friends in High Places" probably doesn't cover whatever it is that the Pevensies have clearly got going on, here, even if he's trying.

"I don't flirt with everyone in arm's reach, or at least not outrageously. I'm more selective than that. I've no idea what it was that I did to Jonesey, though."

Mildly apologetic smile, as if Pete needed confirmation. "He may just be suspicious of your immediate success with Edmund. He held the prior record on acquiring Ed as a duckling, and he had the natural advantage of a much smaller version."

"Oh, that. Yeah, hopefully I can be relentlessly nice and well-intentioned and that'll cover both his suspicions and yours."

"I'm not actually very suspicious," she says quietly. "I joke, but... they've been lonely for years. Always, maybe. It doesn't surprise me at all that they'd leap into your arms. And maybe that means you'll hurt them worse if you let them down, but. You have to live even if it kills you."

"Surely someone has tried this before, though, you're all smart, driven, interesting, drop-dead gorgeous people, has no one shown any interest?"

"Ed is too neurotic to notice or accept anyone's affections unless beat around the head and neck with them. Peter has found some perfectly legitimate reason to deny everyone to show an interest thus far, and when someone pushes past and leans on him, he retreats into his burrow. You're persistent without being... insistent, I suppose."

"Huh. Well, I'll take it, you're right that they definitely look like they could use a friend or two."

"They've got friends. What they need is... someone who will prioritize them."

"A best friend or two, then," he says, grinning. But then he turns a bit more serious. "I—hope for more, but I can't, you know, promise for sure. If nothing else we might go up in flames despite our efforts."

"Guarantees aren't really what I'm looking for. I just want you to try to be good to them, and I'm –- trying, however incompetently, to gesture at how you can. That's all."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll do my best."

"What am I supposed to say to that, then? Good boy?"

"If we're flirting by apophasis then I could say I'd flutter my eyelashes and grin bashfully if you did."

"...I'll bear it in mind. In case it's ever merited."

They return to Assembly™ before it ends so that Pete can meet up with his age(?)mates and they can go to class.

Tom waves semi-ironically as he walks past.

Pete waves at him completely genuinely.

...he looks pleased.

...oh right.

"I feel like I should be explaining myself."

"You don't have to. The boys did tell me you... like him."

"That's... not exactly true but not exactly false either."

Susan's mouth works a bit.

"If you do feel like explaining, go ahead," she says, instead of whatever she was trying to phrase.

"...can you tell me? About..."

"He killed my friend. What more do I have to explain? I'm not the one with mixed feelings about him."

He flinches like he's been punched, and his heart starts racing. "I don't actually know what happened. That's not the story he told me but I—know that he's not even just biased, about this. But I don't actually know. Sorry I can—ask someone else if it's—"

Pete kind of wishes he could use Backchannel here but the thing about Backchannel is that it requires him to want to know what he wants to communicate? And he doesn't. Or, he wants her to know that he—knows what he's doing—but he's not sure he does, actually? Except by narrative fiat, and there isn't really any way to talk about that without going into how he's a Transfer.

He definitely can't say that he thinks he'll be able to bring her back eventually. Even though he will.

The anger drains out of her face; it was never really at home there. She shakes her head to clear a few tears. "No - no, I'm being completely unfair... you don't know, you wouldn't know. I'm just–"

She inhales. "I'm sorry. I'll tell you. I... don't think you'd get the whole story from anyone else, and I won't pretend I'm not biased either, but."

"Okay. ...I'm not sure if offering you a hug is the right kind of thing to do but, well, I guess I'm offering."

He kind of could use a hug, now, though that'd be selfish, since the reason he wants a hug is because he accidentally stepped on an enormous emotional landmine and upset her.

"Please." Hug. Ridiculous, for her to need a hug after as-good-as slapping Pete in the face, but she's allowed to be selfish.

"...Ulyana transferred in year nine," she says after a few seconds. "She was on scholarship, and her English wasn't so good but her French was good enough that Ed and I could talk to her, and Peter could muddle through. She didn't know very much outside her books. Raised Orthodox.

"She was so lonely.

"I – thought Tom seemed lonely too, when he asked her to study with him. Maybe he was. He learned Russian for her. They were... cute. If you didn't look too close. But he took something out of her. She made herself sick for him, cut everyone off, stopped studying. And he just got happier, as she was dying.

"I don't actually know if he meant her to kill herself. It seemed a shock to everyone. But you don't have to want someone to die, to be the one who kills them."

...yeah. Yeah, he knows.

"Can I... tell you about someone I once knew?"

"Go ahead."

He has to pull away from this hug because it's hard to talk about and he might want more hugs later but right now it, it feels... wrong.

"His name was Matt. Matthew. He was... He wanted to be a pilot. An airplane pilot. He was obsessed with airplanes, he..." God, thinking about this is painful. Really, really painful. "He was also really depressed. His family life was... not ideal... I think the obsession was some way he found to escape, not that it wasn't genuine, of course, but still, he was..."

Pete squeezes his eyes shut. "He was in love with me. And I wasn't in love with him. But I—made a mistake. We got together, we didn't, didn't exactly date but we didn't not date. I really liked him. As a friend. I liked to listen—" No, let's not go there, he doesn't really want to remember what he liked about Matt, that'll just hurt more. "I never led him on. Or, not on purpose. I explicitly told him I didn't, wasn't, wasn't in love with him. I wasn't going to give him what he wanted from me. And he got—I don't know if he got worse. But he started to really depend on me. Airplanes and me. And he said—"

"Matt said he needed me. He said he couldn't imagine a life without me. He said he couldn't live on without me. He said, on a very bad day, that if I couldn't be with him then he'd kill himself." He licks his lips, mouth suddenly really dry. He still doesn't open his eyes. They seem to be starting to burn for some reason. "I told him that I couldn't be that for him and that he, he, I couldn't be someone's lifeline. Couldn't be someone's only person. And later, when he was having a good day, I told him that if he ever said that to me again I'd—leave." He swallows. "I know it was selfish, I know it—but I couldn't. I couldn't have this on me, couldn't be that for him, couldn't spend so much time worried about him and wondering if today was going to be the day he was going to decide it wasn't enough.

"He agreed. He said that it wasn't okay for him to do that to me, he said that I was right, he said he was going to—go to therapy, to figure something out. I believed him, at the time, I don't know why. But he never did. And he still had bad days. Still needed me. And he had another really bad day just like that one and—

"The last contact I had from him was him stopping at my place while I was away and dropping a book for me. It was a book he really liked. About airplanes. I never saw him again, or, he didn't use Instagram or anything else, and I don't..."

He's finding it hard to breathe. Hard to speak. His shoulders are shaking and he doesn't know why, or he doesn't want to know why, because he hasn't thought about Matt in this much detail in—over two years, not that he can tell Susan that, since he's pretending not to be eighteen, but—he doesn't want to think about this.

He keeps talking. "I d-don't know if-if he's a-al-alive. I d-don't kn-kn-know what happened t-to him."

He's having trouble breathing again. "You d-don't have to want s-someone t-to d-die." Gasping breath, calm yourself down, man. "To be the one who kills them."

Okay now she's the one hugging.

"I'm sorry. I'm —”

(Sniffling.)

"—you tried to help. Right? You said it, you were miserable by the end."

Yeah he will actually accept the hug this time, God he hadn't realised how much that still hurt. And he feels like such an asshole to be hurt like that because someone else was hurt, like, how fucking selfish does he have to be, right—

And the Spirit gave him a way to fix that, to be able to be that for someone, to have Matt come out—alright—at the end—

Oh thinking about that is actually making him cry harder, God fucking damnit, now he can't even speak.

Two teenagers crying on each other in the middle of campus is concerning but not by any means unprecedented. Susan gets them both over to a bench.

Yeah, good, sitting down is. Probably a good idea.

Once Pete's finally recovered the ability to speak he says, "I d-did." Still not totally stable. He clears his throat. "I did try to help. But—" Deep breath. "My friends didn't know. About a-any of that. They knew I'd been going out with, with h-him, though he wasn't from our school so they didn't kn-know him otherwise. But they didn't know about... e-everything else that was going on. Not until much later, when I told them. ...I told my sister at the time. But, I mean...

"...I looked fine. F-from the outside. They were all, like, surprised. They'd had no idea. And I'm not, I'm not, I know Riddle is—I'm not trying to defend him. Or anything. I'm just, it's—complicated. And hard. Even if he—I'm sure he—I don't know how to say this without sounding defensive. He's awful. He's a dick. He's—I don't know. It's just—we're teenagers. Even Peter, eighteen is still a teenager. We, our brains don't even finish properly maturing until our twenties, we're, we're all dicks to each other all the time. We're awful. We do awful things. We make awful choices. And we beat ourselves up about them, or we don't, and maybe we live in denial, or maybe we make those choices a deep part of who we think of ourselves as, and that's, it'd be bad if I did that.

"I don't know where I'm going with this. Just—I guess. The story rang a bell."

Susan takes a couple of deep breaths herself.

"...I am sorry," she says. Calmer than before, more of a statement than a reflexive sob. "I haven't really... talked about it, with anyone outside the family. Talked about him, especially. And. I don't know. I – could justify myself, the things I was saying, but I don't think it'd make them right. So I'm sorry."

"I—don't think you need to justify yourself. I understand." Better than she thinks. "Just—I guess—um, there's probably a way to say what I mean that sounds less selfish than 'I don't want that to reflect badly on me'. Or less dumb. Maybe something like, I'm not—blind. I guess. And I don't think—I don't know. That it's okay. What happened. ...I swear I'm usually more articulate than this."

"I'm not saying I like him, or even that I don't think he – did all that. But I'm not going to tar you by association, and I don't need you to agree with me or get out of my life."

"Alright. That's—all I can ask for, really." Also, Time Enough For Love can you please not make this whole thing have taken a completely implausible amount of time? It's fine if it gets fudged around the edges but this much conversation should at least make them late for their first class, come on now. He's going to tell Susan eventually! He promises! Not now, though.

"You could very reasonably ask for more. I just can't give it."

She can, however, give hug.

Yeah. Hugs are good, almost tautologically.

"Anyway, uh, sorry for crying all over you, I did not expect—to be like this today." Melodrama, woo.

"Well I'm sorry for making you cry all over me, you hopeless martyr. And it's not as if I wasn't crying all over you."

"Hopeless martyr? I'll have you know I left all of my Catholicism behind!"

"I've yet to meet anyone who managed that."

"Shush, let a boy live in a dream."