It's the usual boilerplate. Policies that no one will enforce, because they'll use their common sense. Rules that no one will follow, because they're letting their hormones drive.

Most of it is exactly what you'd expect. He doodles aimlessly as he skims through it. Matt isn't sure why they hand the things out every year. Whose idea was it, anyway, to attach a student planner to the handbook? No one besides him is even reading this crap.

It's not that he's triggered, or anything. His breathing is perfectly even. But Matt takes no small amount of pleasure in crossing out "Swimming" from the list of "Spring Sports" offered at school.

The rest of class passes by, unremarkable as always.

Between classes, Matt snaps a couple of photos 'for the yearbook'. Most of these probably won't make the cut, but it gives him an excuse to stay in practice. He hasn't gotten too many gigs, and any chance to take photos is a chance to improve.

The most visually interesting happening at the moment is the lacrosse players tossing a ball back and forth while other students attempt to navigate through, underneath, and around them.

Great, more pictures of athletes. The yearbook desperately needed those.

Well, he'll make it a good picture- the whole point of this is to practice taking better pictures on a short timescale.

Click. Matt takes the picture.

"Hey, dipshit, catch up. We're not halting the whole parade for you just because you're getting your rocks off."

...what? Since when does Whittemore care how he spends his time?

"Coming. Don't blow a gasket."

He jogs to catch up to the group of lacrosse players who have apparently been...waiting for him this whole time? He's hardly friends with the actual jocks. This is just Carrie waiting to happen. Matt plays along, though- in his experience, it's always best to play along.

"-can I go or what?"

"Fuck no, I was waiting for an excuse to stop you. That story is not getting any more airtime. Recycle it, find something actually worth the space it takes up in my brain next time. Danny, did you finish last night's assignment?"

"You're not cheating off me."

...

"He's so cheating off you."

"See? Matthew understands me."

He gives Matt the kind of casual, one-armed hug that is sufficiently masculine and platonic for all of them to accept it uncritically.

"Fine. I can't stop you from taking shortcuts, but we're going over the material. I'm not letting you be stupid enough to make me look bad."

Brian proceeds to fill the air telling a story about pizzas and harried service workers. It's not as funny as he thinks it is.

"-speaking of," Matt says, as though he's paid the slightest attention to what Byrne is speaking of, "this is my stop. See you guys around."

"You sure about that? I don't see Mr. Suckup anywhere."

Is he sure about where his next class is? Mr. Suck-up?

"Pretty sure I know my schedule by now, Whittemore."

"Oh, are we all just pretending like it's normal to stop at the wrong classroom? Sorry, my bad. Did you hit your head last night jerking off? Come on, we don't want to keep Harris waiting."

"It's fourth period. Economics with Mr. Harris. You good, man?"

He is not good, man. He doesn't know what kind of game these guys are playing, but he's no longer interested.

"Thanks for the advice. I'm going to head inside now, and actually work on making it into college instead of washing out of high school athletics."

-Danny places a hand on Jackson's shoulder, giving him a pleading look.

"-fine, whatever. See you later."

Jackson, along with the rest of his coterie, storms off.

That wasn't what he expected, either. He's revising his estimates up that this is some kind of elaborate prank.

He's about to ask Danny to explain what the hell just happened when-

"Babe, are you okay? This isn't like you."

Babe. Babe? Babe!? Babe.

What the fuck is today.

"Okay, I don't want to deal with this right now. Can you tell me what the fuck they're planning, or are you really this much of a dick?"

Danny backs up, glancing at the remaining trailing students- not enough for this to qualify as 'making a scene', but this really isn't a good look. What is Matt thinking?

"Why don't we take this a step back. Are you okay missing Econ?"

"I'd skip school to get away from whatever pig's blood bullshit they're planning."

His hands are starting to shake, and he can feel his heartbeat. He can't let them do this, he can't just let these guys walk all over him. They're the same damn age- he's stronger than some of them, he thinks, he could probably fight back.

"-Matt, what's going on? Are you okay? What do you need me to do?"

Phone out- text to Jackson, text to Stilinski- phone away-

Hand on Matt's shoulder-

"Don't touch me, you fucking prick!"

He can't do this right now, he can't. Matt stalks off, trying to control his breathing. His breathing is his. His lungs are his. They belong to him, and if anyone tries to touch them again, he's going to kill them. It's as simple as that. He's had that clarity for years now. It's not happening again. He's never going to be just helpless again.

Matt does end up skipping school.

He manages to avoid the panic attack, or flashback, or whatever they're called. He avoids his classmates, too. He ignores his phone for hours, after which he has missed calls from "Stiles Stilinski", Jackson, Danny, Brian, and his parents.

He takes photographs. Photographs of moments in nature where the lighting and the wind and the leaves are just right. Photographs of people who look like they have interesting stories, who make Matt want to go up to them and demand to unfurl their skin and see the secrets inside. Photographs of anything that catches his eye. Matt takes photographs. That's what he does. It makes sense.

Several other things don't make sense.

For example: when Matt gets home, his parents are conspiratorially jovial but authoritatively firm, rather than deeply concerned and perpetually confused.

For example: "Stiles Stilinski", an annoying guy Matt barely knows, has left him a 13-minute voicemail.

For example: Danny Māhealani, the most eligible gay kid in their county, has been texting him like he's a concerned boyfriend, rather than a mere acquaintance.

For example: the schedule he penciled in at the front of his agenda/planner/handbook is completely different than it has been since the school year started.

For example: ...

For example: the list of spring sports in the student handbook does not mention swimming.

For example: the website shows no signs that swimming was ever a sport offered by Beacon Hills High School.

For example: the high school yearbook from that year, dog-eared on the pages where those attempted murderers stared out at him mockingly- it's missing.

Like none of it ever happened.

It's not a hypothesis. It's too ridiculous to be a hypothesis.

Matt decides to check in the morning.

It's the same the next day, after he's done his usual morning routine.

There are other differences, too.

There are different (and more) posters on his walls. He has a stack of comic books he never bought. He owns swim trunks.

It's ridiculous, but. The yearbook is still missing. The handbook still says that there are all kinds of spring sports, but doesn't include swimming.

Matt takes a picture, first. The handbook page, looking just as it does now. Maybe it won't matter, if this is really something- beyond his understanding.

But it's worth a shot.

It should be a simple test. First, Matt looks for evidence that he expects to change.

• His own yearbooks, which shouldn't disappear but should be changed by what he does.
• The school's website, which should reflect the sports BHHS offers
• His photos, which currently includes pictures of his "boyfriend", Danny, wearing his lacrosse uniform

Then, he crosses it out.

Lacrosse.

And a photo of that.

Not that it will matter, not if the photographs he's taken are changing, too. But that's the point of the test.

Click.

Matt checks. He checks the yearbooks, the website, and the photos of his boyfriend, Danny.

Danny plays water polo now. Of course he does. He's idly curious if Whittemore would have gone for it, or if he's drilling for basketball while Matt is delaying breakfast. Speaking of Whittemore...

Shit. If there never was a swim team at BHHS, and if that means that it never happened- Matt checks his contacts for Isaac.

Not there. Did they lose touch? What kind of heartless- well, he knows the answer to that. It's not like he stayed friends with Isaac to begin with, why should he expect better from the unfucked version of himself.

He wonders if his parents are happier.

Breakfast is...smooth. No worried glances, fewer grey hairs than he remembers, and overall, mostly signs of a normal, functional family dynamic. A marriage under less strain.

Matt stews as he chews his toast. He makes the usual noises. His parents seem surprised by what must be a change in his demeanor, even though he's being perfectly civil, perfectly pleasant, perfectly everything their perfect little son must have been.

He doesn't finish his toast.

The real question on his mind is, what are the rules? Can he go back to his original world? Is he working with a single timeline, permanently wiping out what came before, or is he jumping tracks? Is he on his third timeline?

Matt considers the conundrum. He could erase his strikethroughs (which unlike every other piece of evidence, don't seem to vanish, because they're an essential part of the mechanism?), but he isn't sure-

He isn't sure his original timeline is a better one to work from.

In this version of events, Matt Daehler has popular friends that like him.

In this version of events, Matt Daehler has a happy family that trusts him.

In this version of events, Matt Daehler has a charming boyfriend that wants him.

In this version of events, Matt Daehler has leverage. He plans to use it.

"You know, if you want to get into law school, you're going to need to apply yourself. Study. Read a book, at some point. This won't fly forever."

"I'm a shoo-in, trust me. Maybe your parents need you to put in some effort; I can coast. I put the effort in where it matters, Daehler, and don't you forget it."

He winks.

"You don't actually need to fix Jackson's personality, you know. He likes it that way, you're fighting an uphill battle with this one."

"I'm trying to look out for a friend. Recruiters only get you so far, and we both know you're not following your dad's undergrad strategy."

He does know.

It's taken some time, but he does know. Matt knows a lot about Jackson Whittemore. He knows what makes the guy tick. He knows the shape of his political ambitions, he knows his insecurities about his adoption, he knows his unhealthy relationship to perfectionism- he knows a lot more about Jackson Whittemore than most.

It takes time, to spy on someone well enough to know how to work all their buttons, but not as long as it might without the handbook.

It wasn't hard to figure out the small tweaks needed to make his relationship with Jackson closer- he just needed the right combination of sports, in the end. Jackson Whittemore is disappointingly simple, when it comes down to it, as far as Matt is concerned. Between track & field, soccer, and ultimate, Matt weaseled his way into Jackson's past. He's made decent headway over the past several months.

(The real secret, of course, was that in a world without being nearly drowned by the high school swim team, Matt had apparently been the type of person to keep a daily journal. It was a valuable resource, really, how much his alternate past selves wrote in the damn thing. He tried to imagine writing any of his innermost thoughts in a journal and wanted to scream, so- he supposed it was convenient, that these boys he'd never been were so open-hearted.)

"I'm going wherever I want to go. The system is rigged, you expect me not to use it?"

The real trouble is figuring out how much is for show. Jackson isn't excelling academically, but Matt does believe that he's putting in some effort.

Could he put in more? Does he need advice? Support?

Not important to find out now. Matt has other priorities.

"I support you wholeheartedly in exploiting the system to your advantage. You gotta use the leverage you have, right?"

"Why do I put up with you two?"

"Right in front of my homework, too. You're shameless."

They are occupied, so they don't dignify that with a response.

Jackson tries to focus on studying.

(Mission accomplished.

And he gets to kiss a cute boy, too.)

It's not precisely that Matt thought he was straight before this. He just hadn't looked at it too hard. He'd never really considered his interest in guys as unusual, among the other straight guys he knew.

He's pretty sure, after months of experimenting, that the conclusion is written on the wall.

Eventually, after they've both had their fair share of the activity:

"So, about the convention- do I need to dress up?"

"You definitely don't have to be into cosplay to date me, Māhealani. It's not really my thing. I wouldn't say no if you wanted to show off..."

"I don't really know comics. Maybe I could go as Catwoman. I've got the ass for it."

"You do. Just for me, though. I've got to keep a tighter leash on you."

"Not in front of the missus. He'll be jealous, and he's not pretty when he gets jealous. Catty, vicious queen."

He is so good at studying.

So. Good.

"I don't want to bore you with too many panels. We can find some artists to check out, I think you'll find something to like there. And there's always some kind of game to join, if I can sweet-talk you into playing..."

"I'm not a nerd, babe. Maybe next year. This time I'll just be the eye candy on your arm."

"You're more of a nerd than I am. I've seen your bookshelf."

"It's all for show. I'm illiterate."

"You don't have to pretend to be dumb, you know. You're allowed to win. No one would even envy you, they're too busy loving you."

He sighs, pulling back slightly.

"Do you think popularity happens by accident? I built my life the way I like it. It's not the easiest edifice to hold up, but it's worth it to me. I like to be liked. Is that a crime?"

It's unstated, but Matt can hear the 'It's never bothered you before.'

"Sorry."

Danny goes in for a hug, somewhat pensively.

"Tweedledum, Tweedledee, focus on what's really important. My homework won't do itself."

"Fuck off," he says, as he slowly disentangles himself and goes to help.

It's going well.

That's what he reminds himself, as his anger flares, watching Danny fawn over Jackson. It's an unhealthy dynamic; the besotted gay guy insisting he's no such thing, while his straight best friend engages in the kind of homoerotic horseplay that every high school athlete is prone to.

It's not Matt's business. Everything he wants, he has. Or at least, he's on the right track.

He's found one of them. He's a mechanic, at a local shop. Owns it, apparently. Very good reviews.

Matt has the inklings of a plan.