Mild trigger warning for this chapter and any upcoming ones if you're sensitive to self-harm and/or suicide. There's nothing graphic/super descriptive, but continue with caution <3

Surprise this is the last chapter

"Nat," I groaned. "No more."

      "Aw c'mon," Natalie insisted, holding her camera up to her eye. "Just a few more. Mr. And Mrs. Morgan will kill me if I don't capture this moment to its full potential. You're graduating, Nate."

     "You've taken, like, seventy pictures," I deadpanned. "I think they'll be satisfied."

     "You're so whiny," Lucas said with a roll of his eyes, but he was grinning. I flicked his dimple defiantly, earning a pretty weird look from him.

     "Don't be boring," Renaldo demanded. "Do something gay."

      I was about to say something snarky when Lucas lifted the black cap from my head with one hand and used the other to pull me closer by the gown and press his lips against mine. I heard the click of a picture being taken, and pulled away to see Natalie grinning triumphantly.

    "Now I'm done," she said.

     "Does that mean we can leave?" I asked exasperatedly. I couldn't control my impatience—I wanted to get out of here. "Like, now?"

     Lucas chuckled at the way I was literally bouncing on my feet. "Yeah, let's get this over with."

      Natalie and Renaldo got into Natalie's car—I'd told them they didn't need to come with me, since Renaldo would obviously go to support Eric, but they'd insisted, which made me feel kinda fuzzy—as Lucas and I climbed into mine. Behind us in the backseat and the trunk were mine and his things, because after the ceremony, we wouldn't be coming back.

     Lucas, it turned out, had a lot of shit, and we couldn't fit everything in my car alone. All of the things that he didn't need but insisted on bringing anyways—posters, playbills, vinyls—ended up getting shoved into his dad's car. His parents would drive behind us to New York to say their final goodbyes and help us get settled, because they were just awesome like that.

     The parking lot was already full of expensive cars when we arrived, and all around me I saw teenagers walking toward the field adjacent to the school, dressed in their caps and gowns and followed by their families. Lucas and I joined the mass of students and made our way around the school, Natalie and Renaldo following close behind.

      "Jesus Christ," Natalie whispered as we reached the small, outdoor, Greek style amphitheater where the ceremony would be held. Her eyes scanned the sea of students around her in awe. "Your school is so . . . white."

     "You have no idea," Renaldo scoffed. "When I went here, I think there were about four other Hispanic kids in my grade."

      "We love diversity here in small town Nebraska," Lucas said sarcastically.

    The school had gone pretty hardcore with the decorations. At the edges of each seating row was a bouquet of white roses, and gold-sprayed petals sprinkled the entire area, from the seats to the stage to the green grass beneath our feet. Every light was strung with black and gold balloons, and the stage was adorned with what must have been every gold and silver  decoration at the special events store. Off to the side of the amphitheater, I could vaguely see the area we would be dining in. My eyes made out bright white tablecloths and, of course, more gold.

      We still had another half hour or so until the ceremony began, so we were forced to walk around and mingle with congratulatory others to pass the time. Lucas' parents found us pretty quickly, and they insisted on taking even more pictures, because apparently seventy-one wasn't enough.

     I was getting looks, I knew. After all, I was walking around with Lucas Morgan, not his brother or his brothers friends, and to everyone else, that was an anomaly.

     I didn't care.

     This was maybe the biggest day of my life. The day I would get out of here. I was going to spend it with the people I loved. As a matter of fact, any time I heard or saw one of my soccer teammates within ten feet, I turned in the other direction. I wasn't going to deal with them. Not today, not ever again.

     Teachers and administrators would stop to greet and congratulate me every so often, and I'd have to force a smile and act grateful as they blatantly ignored my equally deserving, equally accomplished boyfriend despite the fact that he was standing right next to me. Parents, too, whom I didn't enjoy talking to any more now than I had ten years ago as a child who was just starting to realize that the society he lived in wasn't quite fair.

     Talking to them was almost draining. I just wanted this dumb ceremony to be over so I could leave. I could tell Lucas was having the same feelings, because his expression was more annoyed than excited, and his fingers drummed impatiently against his sides.

     A genuine smile did reach my face, however, when I spotted my friends. Sae, Lilly, Eric, and Halima were all stood around their theater teacher, along with a few other kids from that class. Sae and Eric were holding hands.

     Renaldo ran up and tackled his brother from behind, scaring the shit out of Eric and earning a laugh from everyone around him.

     Halima was already crying, which I made sure to make fun of her profusely for. The theater teacher and his students seemed surprised to see me, maybe because I was with Lucas, but I ignored their awed expressions and chatted comfortably with my friends like someone who wasn't about to drive to a different state in a few hours.

      The ten of us found somewhere to sit in one of the middle rows of the auditorium, and were gradually joined by the parents of Halima, Eric, Sae, and even Lilly as the ceremony loomed nearer.

     "So," I said, nodding toward Eric, who had his arm around Sae's shoulders. "You finally stopped getting rejected, huh?"

      "Actually," Eric said smugly, "I didn't even ask. Sae made the move."

      That may have been the most shocking thing I'd ever heard in my eighteen years.

      "Yeah, because you were too pussy to do it," Sae scoffed, and Eric made a face at her.

     "When and how?" Lucas pried.

      "So we were at my house watching the Harry Potter movies, and she was like—"

      "Just tell them every detail of our relationship, why don't you!" Sae clipped, smacking Eric gently on the shoulder. "Ever heard of privacy?"

     "Privacy?" He raised his eyebrows. "Is that some kind of spice?"

     Halima put a hand on Sae's knee. "Oh sweetie," she said; she was still misty-eyed. "He's been drooling over you since the third grade; he won't be able to turn it off for a while."

     Eric stuck his tongue out childishly. "You're just jealous because I got myself a hot girlfriend and you're still single," he teased.

     Renaldo, who was sat right behind him, snorted. "And yet you'll still probably be a virgin until you're twenty-five," he retorted, earning a punch in the shoulder from his brother.

     "Thirty," Lilliana corrected.

      Eric glared playfully at her. "That's rich coming from you, since the most action you've ever gotten was making out with a gay guy for the school musical."

      "Still more than you, isn't it?"

      Lucas smirked as he glanced around at all of his friends. "Y'all are so innocent," he said. "It's cute."

      Halima rolled her eyes. "Not all of us can lose our virginity at fifteen."

      "I was sixteen!"

      Our banter was soon brought to an end as none other than the principal of Listrougth High stepped onto the stage, microphone in hand. Graduation had officially begun.

     "Ah," Lucas huffed distastefully. "The wicked witch of the west has entered the arena."

"Here comes Whorelington," Eric said, then laughed at his own joke.

Lilliana crossed her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes scornfully at the lady who ran our school. "Principal Harlington," she said the name as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. "She is a mythic bitch."

Lucas grinned. "Nice reference, Ronnie."

"Thanks, J.D."

I glanced back and forth between them, confused. Lilly's words were vaguely familiar, but far too distant in my memory for me to recall. "What am I missing?" Eric shook his head at me, rolling his eyes in a way that pretty clearly said they're just being nerds, ignore them.

The ceremony was as bland as everything else in this town. It took absolutely forever, and I was fairly certain that, at the rate they were going, I wouldn't get my diploma until it was nighttime.

Luckily, that wasn't the case. As annoyed as I was that I was even still here, I couldn't help but feel my stomach swell with pride when my name was called. Excited nerves tickled my insides as I stood on stage, receiving not only my diploma, but an MVP award that almost made being surrounded by guys like Shawn for the last several years worth it.

It was exhilarating, holding that paper in my hands. The one that opened the gate to my future—and better, my freedom. I had my diploma. I'd managed, despite all of the curveballs life had thrown at me, to graduate. I'd passed most of my classes, even if only by a small margin, and I'd done enough to get myself through. My exhausting battle with fate seemed to finally be nearing its end.

The trophy made me really happy, too, because I knew I deserved it. Since I started playing soccer, I'd pushed and pushed and pushed some more until I'd become the best. Out of all the talented boys on the team, coach had chosen me. Just like NYU had, out of all of the talented boys who'd applied, chosen to support me. And god knew, I needed the financial aid.

It was also pretty cool to know I'd beaten Shawn in the one category where he'd always reigned supreme. I, not him, had gotten the title of Most Valuable Player.

Speaking of Shawn, he was nowhere to be seen. His parents said he'd told them that he'd meet them here, but as the ceremony progressed, he never appeared. His name was called, and no one went to the stage.

The Morgans clearly weren't happy about this, but they chose to focus on staying positive and enjoying themselves for Lucas' sake. I'd never seen him look as nervous as he had when his name was called, but the crowd cheered just as much for him as they had for everyone else, albeit with less enthusiasm. They were horrible bigots, but at least they were sensible enough not to ruin a boy's graduation.

Finally, after what felt like a few wasted years of my life, the graduation itself ended, us students doing the cliché cap toss at the end.

But we weren't done yet. There was still the reception to take part in, and there were a few things that I still needed to do.

The amphitheater emptied with surprising speed; everyone, it seemed, was dying to put something in their stomach. I didn't bother eating, though—I was so stimulated all over, I was fairly certain anything I consumed would come right back out.

My friends dispersed to go eat with their families, take pictures, and celebrate of their own accord. I tried not to dwell on the fact that my own family was absent—I'd expected that. Didn't make it sting any less, though.

The blow was softened by Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. If anything, they were my parents.

They, too, seemed to wander off eventually, probably to socialize with other parents and talk about boring politics and weather and such. It wasn't long before I was left alone with Lucas. I glanced over my shoulder to talk to him, but he'd disappeared.

I was quick to spot him, talking several feet away with Coach Larmon. I smiled to myself as I watched them hug for a moment, and when they pulled away I could read Lucas' expression well enough to realize that he was thanking him. I remembered all of the times that coach had barked at our teammates for mistreating or excluding him. Coach had never for a second cared about Lucas' sexuality. Lucas was a good player, and that was all that mattered. Now, several months later, they were talking like old friends.

I walked over to join them, and coach grinned when he saw me. "There's my MVP," he said triumphantly, tugging me in for a half-hug. "When you're making star athlete money someday, remember me."

I laughed. "It would be pretty impossible to forget the man responsible for me ever getting star athlete money in the first place."

"Hey, give yourself some credit," he said. "I just did some pushing."

"A lot of pushing," Lucas corrected. He would know—I'd told him a few of my worst horror-stories relating to Coach and his methods. I couldn't complain, though—he'd made me the athlete I was, and I couldn't be more grateful. I'd be beyond screwed if I didn't have soccer under my belt.

"Very hard, very violent pushing," I agreed, and Coach chuckled sheepishly.

"I'll take that as a 'thank you,'" he said smugly. "I've gotta say, it does feel pretty good to know I trained the best soccer player your age in Nebraska," he admitted.

"Don't let Shawn hear you say that," I joked. At the mention of his brother, Lucas looked around, then seemed to sag a little in disappointment when he couldn't spot him.

"Who says I wasn't talking about Shawn?" Coach Larmon teased.

Laughing, I said, "Screw you."

Before I could say anything else, I was yanked by the arm away from Coach. I yelped in surprise, my eyes focusing on the grinning face of Eric, joined on both sides by Sae, Halima, and Lilly.

"You have got to try the shrimp," he said. "It's heaven."

Coach laughed as Lucas and I were dragged away by a frantic hispanic, who lead us over to an empty circular table and said, "Sit."

He ran off and I looked to Sae, who merely rolled her eyes and said, "I apologize on his behalf."

Eric showed up a minute later with every expensive finger-food they were serving balanced on two plates. "Eat," he said.

The others dug in, but I chose against it, because my stomach was still churning with anticipation. The clock was ticking.

Natalie and Renaldo appeared after some time and sat with us, claiming to be "bored of all the old rich people."

"You guys?" I said, glancing across at the friendly faces around me as I realized that this would probably be my best opportunity to get everything off my chest before the night was over. "I feel like I should say this now, because I probably won't get to if I don't, so . . . I don't know, I guess I'm trying to say that I love you all—a lot—and I'm really not sure what I did to deserve such wonderful people in my life and holy shit I'm bad at being sentimental." I chuckled awkwardly, feeling like an absolute idiot. But then I realized that my friends were all smiling—really smiling—and I didn't feel so shy.

"I had no friends before this year," I continued more confidently. "No real ones, at least. And I didn't realize how much I needed something like this—a group that is so unquestioningly supportive and fun and perfect—but I did. I really did, and it's crazy how much of a difference you've all made. Finally I have people who I can talk to without feeling like I'm taking up their time and it's just so shocking to me how life changing that is. You all gave me support and fun and more laughs than I can count. You gave me a home—I mean that literally," I looked at Renaldo and Natalie, who looked like she was about to cry. Halima had burst into tears ten seconds in, but then again, I wasn't sure she'd ever actually stopped crying since she'd arrived at the school hours ago. "And yeah, you really made my senior year."

Lilly took my hand across the table. Come fall, she would be attending an art school in California. "You made ours, too, love," she said. "I'm so glad Lucas fished you out."

Eric sighed. "I can't believe this is it," he said, his voice tinged with melancholy; his destination would be Massachusetts. "No more seeing you lameasses all the time. No more high school. True, high school sucked ass, but still . . . This year's been crazy."

"Insane," I agreed.

"Especially yours," Sae said to me; she was still beaming. Vermont was where she was headed. "I can't believe you survived it."

"I should make a web series about it," I joked. "'The Surprising and Somewhat Amusing Events of Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year."

Lucas smiled fondly. "This would make a pretty good season finale. The happy end we all waited for."

Halima, who would be studying abroad in England and was borderline sobbing at this point, stood from her chair to run over to me and engulf me in a huge, warm hug. I laughed in surprise, then felt the weight increase as Eric joined in, and then Lilly. Soon enough, I was surrounded to the point where I couldn't breathe as seven people drowned me in affection, and I may have teared up a little, too.

It was a good minute until they backed away, and I chose that moment to say my goodbyes. I wouldn't get another chance.

Then I stood, ignoring the quivering of my hands—of my entire body—and climbed up onto the table.

"The hell are you doing?" Eric asked, and I caught him wiping a tear from his cheek.

"Something stupid," was my answer. Then, much louder—loud enough for everyone around me to hear—I said, "Hey, so I want to do one of those really stereotypical heartfelt graduation speeches. That cool with you all?"

With that, I'd caught enough attention to deem the spectators looking up at me as an audience. Said audience cheered approvingly, which then caused even more faces to turn toward the commotion and watch.

I had absolutely no plan whatsoever for what I was about to do. I just had to do it.

"As most of you probably know," I continued, "I've lived in this town for all of my life. In those eighteen years, I've learned enough lessons to last me a lifetime, and I hope to god that I'll never forget them, because they're undoubtably my most valuable possessions."

More cheering, and it was louder this time with the increased—and still increasing—size of my audience. Parents and students stared admiringly up at me, waiting in fond anticipation for the golden boy to give his spiel.

"Here, I've learned friendship and acceptance," I looked down at my friends, who were staring up at me in surprise, still seeming to doubt that I was actually standing on a table giving a speech. "I've learned that, no matter what you're dealing with, you will always find people who love and support you—you just have to look hard enough. It's beautiful how much a few people can impact you—how they can help you appreciate yourself more, too."

I caught the eyes of the Morgans and grinned at them. My parents. Principal Harlington, who sat watching a few tables away, put her hand to her heart and awwed. As I looked around, I saw similar reactions from everybody else—cooes and smiles and even some tears.

"Here, I've learned isolation and fear and exclusion," I continued, and it was almost funny how quickly those smiles fell. "I've learned that it doesn't matter how incredible you are," I said, thinking of Lucas, "People will still find any reason to hate you and tear you down, especially in a place like this. It's not something you can prevent—all you can do is overcome it and remember that this isn't the place for you.

"I've learned that I've been living for the last eighteen years surrounded by absolute hypocrites, who will hate you for something you can't control, even if you're not hurting anybody, even if they've done worse things. You people find one thing that you don't like about someone and you use it to destroy them. You are racist, you are sexist, you are homophobic; you take the things that don't matter, the things that are uncontrollable and don't define a person, and you use those things as weapons against them. By some crazy logic, you are quicker to place blame on the black man, or the gay woman, or the transgender child, than the adulterer, or the bully, or the substance abuser."

Principal Harlington gave me a warning look and stood slowly from her seat, as if she would come and force me to get down from the table herself if I didn't stop.

I didn't stop.

"Unfortunately, the bad people outnumber the good here, and by a lot. To you bad people, I, quite genuinely, hope I never have to see a single one of your faces ever again."

"Nathaniel Jean!" Harlington scolded. "Get down from there this instant!"

All around me were disapproving faces and whispered sneers. Frowns and curses. Then there was Coach Larmon, who smiled proudly at me and saluted. I returned the gesture and, feeling more terrified and excited than ever, continued.

"I'd like to give a special shoutout," for the first time that day, I looked to my teammates, who were gaping at me in disbelief from their table. "To Damien Diggory, Cameron Shetwaldski, Tyler Fiero, Trevor Cazamn, and Shawn Morgan, who's not here right now—maybe one of you can bring the message to him. I'd like you to know that I genuinely hate you all, and pretending to be your friend for the last several years has been the most painful experience of my life."

Principal Harlington stormed over to the table where I stood. "Down!" She hissed. "Right now, or—"

"So as you can see," I continued, ignoring her entirely. "I've learned quite a bit. But there's one thing that's stood out the most for me. Cameron, you're on the school news committee, right?" I turned my narrowed eyes on him. I opened my mouth to continue, but my voice caught in my throat. I hesitated.

It was hard. I couldn't quite breath, and I had to hide my hands behind my back. But I was scared that if I waited another second, I'd lose my grip on the spectators. There was intention behind my words, and I needed that intention to reach the ears of every single person here. Even if they didn't change—which they wouldn't—they had to at least listen. Which meant I had to keep going, and I had to keep going now. 

"I've got some headlines for you:" I said, looking at Cameron but addressing everybody. "The Beloved Nathaniel Jean is a Fairy. Nathaniel Jean is a Queer. Nathaniel Jean is a Fag."

      I did it. I threw the words, the words that I'd been tortured with for years, right back at my persecutors. "Has a nice ring to it, huh?" I said, hiding my fear behind a bitter laugh.

      "By far the most important lesson I've learned in my time is that I, Nathaniel Connor Jean, am extremely, unchangeably, amazingly gay," I announced. "My beautiful boyfriend right there can confirm if you don't believe me." I pointed to Lucas, and for the first time in a few minutes, I took a moment to look down at him and my friends. They were beaming. For me. Everyone I cared about—Lucas, Elena, Bruce, Saeyoung, Eric, Halima, Lilliana, Natalie, Renaldo, even Coach Larmon—was absolutely glowing, and they were glowing for me. That pride in their eyes was mine.

Harlington was getting desperate now, reaching over the tabletop to grab at me. I stepped away from her easily.

"I'm gay," I said again, "For anyone who couldn't hear me over the sound of their ignorance. And I still have a better chance at getting into heaven than you bastards."

With that, I hopped off the table and grabbed Lucas' hand. "Gotta go," I said, my voice back to its normal volume but shaking more than I'd have liked it to. I glanced around at my friends one last time. "I love you all, but bye." Then I added, raising my voice to the crowd once again, "Thanks for your time!"

And then we ran.

I would've been fine with walking, but Damien Diggory's face appeared a few feet away, and I realized with a jolt that he was really going to do the idiot-jock thing and chase me down. Him, Trevor, Tyler, and Cameron. So we ran.

It must have been quite the spectacle, really. Six boys sprinting from the reception, holding up their graduation gowns like Disney princesses. Two of them laughing like maniacs, the other four spitting curses and growling like dogs. Very stupid dogs.

It was fun. Running hand in hand after just doing the most terrifying thing I'd ever done. Laughing because it had been so stressful that I felt hysterical, then laughing because I felt great, then laughing because the immaturity of our pursuers was hilarious.

At the last moment, when we'd reached the edge of the auditorium and almost hit asphalt, I jerked back with a choke, feeling fingers at my collar. I turned around to see Damien glaring as intensely as I'd ever seen him.

Looking back, I was glad he'd grabbed me, because it gave me the opportunity to do something I'd been wanting to do for years.

I punched Damien Diggory square in the jaw, so hard that he fell backward into the other three boys. It was the best feeling.

Then I grabbed Lucas, who was gaping and laughing and cursing at Damien's stumbling form, and we raced to my car. I hopped over the hood and jumped into the driver's seat just as the boys recovered. They were way too late, though. I shoved the keys into the ignition, slammed on the gas, and left them behind.

Lucas laughed incredulously. "I cannot believe you just did that!" He exclaimed.

"It seemed like the All-American Idiot thing to do," I said, grinning from cheek to cheek.

And we were off to New York.

Until, less than a mile from the school, Lucas gripped my arm gently. "Nate?"

"Hm?" I glanced over at him, frowning when I saw his expression. "Woah, what's wrong?"

"We have to go back," he said, urgency in his voice. "To my house."

"Why?" I said, trying to suppress my disappointment. I wanted to finally leave, and I wanted to do it without wasting a single minute. "Did you leave something?"

He shook his head. "No. But we have to go now. I have a bad feeling."

     "About what?"

     "Can you just turn back?" Lucas insisted; his grip on my arm tightened. Not wanting to upset him further, I did as he said and turned as soon as I could.

     The car was silent save for the music playing on the radio. Lucas kept an almost painful grip on my arm, and his anxiety quickly fed my own. I didn't know what his deal was, but I felt tense all over.

     Lucas practically leaped out of the car when I parked in front of his house, and I had to run to keep up with him as he rushed inside.

    "Call help," he commanded as he took the stairs two at a time. I'd never heard his voice sound so gravely serious, and it scared me.

     "Lucas, what is going on?" I worried as I pulled out my phone to dial 911. He didn't even seem to hear me as he raced down the hall, yanking open every door as he passed and looking into every room. I followed behind, nearly running into his back when he stopped in front of the bathroom door, staring into the room with horror written across his expression.

     "Oh god," he whispered. He looked like he was about to throw up, or faint, or both.

     "What is it?" I asked, stepping next to him to look into the bathroom. All of the air escaped my lungs at the sight of Shawn Morgan lying motionless against the tile floor.

    Lucas grabbed my phone and rushed to Shawn's side, simultaneously checking his pulse and talking to the 911 operator. I didn't hear a word he said—his voice seemed miles away. Everything did.

Everything except Shawn. His skin was ghostly pale, and inches away from his limp arm was a small plastic bottle, and around that a scattering of pills. For the first time ever, I saw Shawn Morgan completely unraveled. I caught the circles under his eyes, the sweat clinging to his forehead, and the frown that, even in unconsciousness, turned his lips downward. I saw the Prince of Listrougth, broken, revealing each and every of his scars.

Shawn had overdosed on pills—now wasn't the time to marvel at what I'd been blind to for years. Now was the time for action. It was action or death. That is, if he wasn't already. . .

I knelt next to Lucas, unable to drag my eyes from Shawn's form. The sight was so awful, I almost felt myself drift again. But I shook my head and focused on staying tuned in, staying helpful.

"Okay, okay," Lucas was saying to whoever was on the other side of the call. I forced myself to look at him and saw too many emotions to read on his face. "Okay I will, thank you. Be quick." The he turned to me, and he seemed to instantly gauge where I was at the moment. "I get it, you're freaked out," he said. "I am too. God, I wanna curl up and cry right now. I'm shaking. But this isn't the time to freeze up. I need you to help me."

I tried to respond, but my lips felt numb, and I could only nod to show any form of understanding. I, despite my efforts at competence, found myself absolutely unable to function properly in my state of shock. While Lucas took the initiative, directing me and speaking on the phone, I moved thoughtlessly and sluggishly, as if my brain couldn't catch up to my body, or maybe vise versa. I heard Lucas' commands and I followed them, but I felt as though I were inside of someone else's body while doing so. From the moment I stepped into the bathroom to the moment we set Shawn down in the grass outside, I didn't say a word, and I didn't think one, either. My mind was blank. I was a robot, following a programmed protocol.

And then there was Lucas. He was shaking—from head to toe—and he was crying. But he spoke clearly and firmly and worked quickly and effectively. He would, no matter what, save his brother.

It wasn't until the ambulance arrived and I, for the second time now, watched a Morgan brother be loaded into the back of a truck, that I seemed to wake up. "Holy shit," I breathed. "Holy shit."

"Car," Lucas said. "Now."

We hurried into my car and sped behind the ambulance. It hit me all at once that Shawn had really, legitimately tried to kill himself. On the day we were supposed to graduate, he'd attempted suicide. And had Lucas not made me turn back, he might have succeeded. He might still succeed.

God, Lucas. I took his hand and gripped it tightly, and I could feel from the small touch alone how much he was breaking. How he was trying to hold himself together, for his brother, but that was his brother, and he'd just tried to take his own life. I knew that the shock I'd felt as a spectator must have been nothing compared to the shock felt by family.

And yet Lucas had reacted so much better than I had. I mentally strangled myself for freezing up, for becoming so damn useless right when I was needed most. I'd been unresponsive and slow, like a zombie just brought back from the dead.

"God, Lucas," I said. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head, though I could see him swallowing a lump in his throat. "It's not your fault."

"Not for that. For—For panicking and not helping more when . . . I can't imagine how hard this is for you, and I didn't make that any better. I'm sorry."

He turned to look at me. He was pale and his pupils were dilated, but still looked like one piece. Strong, for his brother. "I know that's what you meant," he said. "Not your fault."

It wasn't until we were at the hospital, sat outside the ER, that he finally gave up on being strong.

He cried. God, he cried. He cried hard, and it hurt.

I held him close as he wept into my chest, running my hand down his back and saying whatever reassuring things I could think of. He didn't calm down, he just kept breaking more and more until I felt as though I would have to be careful—that if I loosened my grip, his pieces would fall, and there would be too many to put back together. So I held him tight and gave him everything I could, because I was determined to be what he needed, even if I didn't know how.

His parents were there soon, and suddenly I was supporting two more people, holding all three together, trying to save my family, trying to keep them in one piece. Everything was broken, and I felt responsible to fix it, even if I didn't know how.

Behind that door, a life was being either preserved or lost. I hoped with everything I had that Shawn would be okay. Not just for Lucas—Shawn, as complicated as he was, deserved life just as much as anybody else. Nothing he'd done was ever bad enough to put that into question. But if the worst did come, as I prayed it wouldn't, I wouldn't let my boyfriend or my mom or my dad struggle through it without doing everything I possibly could to help them, even if I didn't know how.

      Hours. It took hours. One would think crying would cease with time, but with every passing minute the stress in the hall increased and increased, and the tears increased with it. Around me was a family who could lose a member, a member who'd been so miserable that he'd tried to leave with only eighteen years behind him. Poor Shawn wasn't something I was used to thinking, but poor, poor Shawn.

     For every minute of those hours, I got strange looks from passerbys. Adults who'd known me since before I was born—Nathaniel Jean, son of Robert and Cheryl Jean, star athlete, good Christian. And in my arms was Lucas Morgan, the Lucas Morgan, the gay Lucas Morgan, who I occasionally kissed on the forehead, or the nose, or the cheek for comfort.

Those passerbys guessed the obvious. It only helped that texts were coming in from parents and siblings and children and spouses to confirm—Nathaniel Jean is a fag.

Their looks made me recoil. I felt self conscious about my grip on Lucas, about the ring on my finger. I didn't like the disapproval, it was hard to tolerate the disgust, I couldn't stand the hate. Time after time, I would look away. And time after time, a part of me—that scared, anxious part that I would never lose—wanted to give into their demands and let go.

I didn't, though. I refused, because Lucas needed me, and I wasn't going to abandon him now. This wasn't about me. It was about Shawn.

Lucas knew, though. And soon he was holding me tighter, too. Instead of me holding him together, we were carrying each other. We worked well as a team.

     When the doctor finally stepped out of the room, we all leaned so far out of our seats that we nearly fell.

     The doctor brought good news. Shawn was okay. He was okay. He had failed, and his failure was the biggest success of all.

The Morgans practically jumped up, and they moved so fast it seemed like a competition to see who got into the room first.

They were in there for a long time. I sat awkwardly outside, checking the time every ten seconds and trying to pretend that I didn't see the stares I was getting. But I did see them—sometimes accompanied by nasty remarks that were either whispered to a colleague or spat in my face, not to mention the constant buzzing of my phone with angry messages—and it was hard, now that Lucas was gone, to hold myself up.

When said boy emerged from the room—his parents remained inside—he looked sort of dazed. It was comforting to see his dry eyes. "Well?" I said, offering a smile. "Everything okay?"

He didn't seem to know the answer himself. "I guess," he said as he took the seat next to me. "But he was really weird."

"Weird how?"

"He wasn't angry, like he was—" Lucas didn't complete the thought, but he didn't need to. Like he was last time. "I think he . . ." he shook his head as if to clear it. "I think he just apologized to me . . .?"

     That was, to say the least, unexpected. "For . . . For everything?" I stammered. I couldn't picture Shawn apologizing for anything, let alone years of torment.

     "Let's go walk outside," Lucas proposed, standing up and offering a hand. I took it, and we walked out of the hospital hand-in-hand. The sky was black and the moon was out, sliced perfectly in half.

      "So," I said. "An apology, huh?"

     Lucas sighed. "Something like that. I mean it didn't make that much sense, and he was all over the place, but yeah."

     "Did you forgive him?"

     "Not really."

     Lucas didn't have to explain why. As terrible as I felt for Shawn, one night couldn't erase years. To say "it's okay" would have been artificial, because it wasn't okay. 

     "Will you?" I asked tentatively. Lucas thought for a moment, wordless as we strolled down the sidewalk.

      "Not now," he said eventually. "Not when he's tripping on meds. And not after he made hell out of nearly three years of my life. Maybe . . . maybe eventually."

     "So then . . ." I glanced at him, pursing my lips. "What now?"

     "Now, I make sure he's okay. And then we leave."

      "And after we leave?"

      Lucas played with my fingers distractedly. "My parents are talking about him going to, you know, a hospital. In New York. At least until school starts," he explains. "After that, maybe a therapist, I don't know. He's actually agreeing, which is the crazy part, but maybe it's just the after-effects. I'll check up on him as often as I can, because he's my brother and I care about him despite all of the shit he's put me through, and I'm gonna support him and try to help him get better in every way I can. But that doesn't erase what he did. I'll move past it for the time being, because there are more important matters at hand, but . . . If, after all of this comes to a close—if it ever does, and I really do hope to God it will—if he still wants to try and start over . . . then maybe I'll listen. Maybe in time I'll be able to forgive him. But that might not ever happen. Maybe everything will go back to the way it was when we leave this hospital."

     I let go of his hand to wrap an arm around his shoulders. "You're a pretty good brother, Morgan."

     He shrugged. "What, you wouldn't do the same?"

     I scrunched up my nose. "I don't know. I can be pretty petty."

     "I'm well aware," he teased.

    "Hey!" I said, scoffing indignantly. But I wasn't finished with the serious talk yet. "So how are you handling all of this?"

     Lucas huffed. "You wanna protect someone, you know? And you sometimes can, if you're protecting them from an accident, or a heartbreak, or another person. But it's really, really hard to protect someone from themselves. I can't get in his head—I wish that twin-telepathy shit was real, because I think I really could boost him up if it was. But I can't, and it really, really sucks," he finished. Before I could make any response to that, he changed the subject. "And how are you handling all of this?"

     "Just trying to be there," I answered honestly, because that was all I had the power to do.

     "No, I mean the other stuff."

     The other stuff. The hateful looks, the angry texts, the harsh words. That stuff.

"It's scary," I said, which was a major understatement. It was terrifying—I couldn't describe how many times I'd felt close to panic when I was waiting in that hallway in front of Shawn's room. "And I guess I didn't really have time to prepare, because I thought we'd be gone as soon as I was done with that stupid speech."

     Lucas frowned. "I'm sorry today didn't go as planned."

     "I don't really think you should be apologizing for that," I said with a shrug. "I'm sorry I can't fix the world for you, but it is how it is. It's kinda crazy, how much you've dealt with. If I could, I'd make the last few years of your life go away with a snap of my fingers."

     "I don't think I'd want you to," he said, taking me by surprise.

     "No?"

       "The last three years, as god-awful as they've been, set me up for something a lot better. I'd say it was worth it."

      I thought about how much I had, up until Senior year, hated my life. It was terrible. But this, this was good. "I'd say it was worth it, too."

    He took hold of the front of my shirt—our graduation gear had long since been discarded—and pulled me into him, wrapping his arms around my neck and setting his chin on my shoulder.

Shawn was asleep when we got back, and the four of us had to leave for the night to go sleep, though the Morgans begged to spend the night in the hospital with their son. We were back there early the next morning, and for the first time, I went into the room.

     Shawn didn't even seem to notice me when I entered. I sat down in the visitors' seat next to Lucas and put an arm around him, surprised when Shawn's only reaction was to glance at us impassively and say nothing.

     "So, how are you feeling?" I asked awkwardly. Shawn raised an eyebrow at me, and if his expression hadn't been so dry, I'd say he almost looked amused.

     His skin had regained some of its color, but he was still paler than usual, and the circles under his eyes were darker than before. He looked awful. "Alive," was his response.

     "And that's amazing," Elena said from my other side, a smile on her face. But Shawn looked away and didn't say anything, and her smile dropped. It was replaced by the crestfallen expression of a mother who's son, though alive, was still just as destroyed as he'd been the moment he'd swallowed those pills.

     We spent most of the day in that room. Talking to Shawn could only be described as interesting, because he wasn't exactly himself, but he wasn't exactly different, either. He wasn't mean, but he wasn't nice. Mostly he just seemed dry—the tired kind of dry that you only see in someone who's felt a certain way for a long time and wishes more than anything that they could feel some way else. I'd felt that way before.

    Watching him interact with Lucas was even more interesting, because their usual dynamic wasn't totally there, but it also wasn't totally gone. They spoke conversationally, and Lucas' sexuality wasn't brought up once, but the heat in Shawn's eyes was the same as it had been since sophomore year. Less intense, but the same. The heat was in Lucas's eyes, too. After the events of last night, they were coming together, and yet they were still miles apart. It was so painfully obvious that they cared for each other, but they couldn't break through the tension.

Shawn seemed almost confused, as if he couldn't figure out which role to play. He was halfway between himself and the masked version of himself that he always presented, and he couldn't quite get to either side.

    I could see Lucas' frustration, and that of his parents. Shawn never let the conversation delve past shallow, and he brushed off any words of love or encouragement. But he heard them—I think I was the only one who could tell, but I was sure. He heard them, and he needed them.

     It was nearly nighttime on that second day when Bruce and Elena pulled us outside of the room to talk without Shawn.

     "We think you should leave," Bruce said, his voice somewhat hushed to keep away other listening ears.

     Lucas' eyes doubled in size. "What?" He said incredulously. "Are you kidding?"

     Elena ran her fingers lovingly through his dark hair. "You've got a dream to go live," she said. "And it's already been delayed."

     Lucas shook his head, staring at the two of them like they were crazy. "I've gotta make sure he's okay before I go!" He insisted.

     Elena smiled. "He is okay," she said. "You've seen it yourself."

     Lucas scoffed. "Alive and okay are very different words."

      "And we don't know when he'll be okay," Bruce said solemnly. "Lucas, we're not asking you to abandon him. As soon as we get him to New York, it'll be you who has to make sure he's okay. But for right now, let us be parents, alright? We're going to take care of our son, because this is the one area where we haven't done a good enough job. It'll only be a few days—he'll have some time to relax a bit, he'll graduate—then we'll drive him over, and it's up to you to keep tabs. We're trying to give you some time to do what you've been waiting for your whole life without any pressure, and we're trying to give ourselves the chance to make up for lost time. Trust us, okay?"

      Lucas considered this. It was clear that he didn't want to leave his brother this state, but there was also the question in his eyes of how long he could stay.

    He told his parents to give him some time to consider. Some time turned out to be forty-five minutes of him going back and forth between possibilities. I had to tell him over and over not to think about me in making his decision—this was way beyond me. But I think he did anyways, and I only hoped he didn't let me be the deciding factor.

       One way or another, he ended up going inside and saying his goodbyes to Shawn, then his parents. Half an hour later, we were standing in front of my car, making sure we were ready to leave.

     "So this is it, huh?" I said, smiling as I gazed around at what I'd be leaving behind. "Our final escape from Nowhere, Nebraska."

     Lucas chuckled. "I love that you call it that," he said. "Not gonna miss it."

     I took his hand and yanked him towards me, hard enough to make him yelp as he stumbled into my chest. "Not one bit," I agreed, staring over his shoulder at the face of Mrs. Montgomery, who embodied everything I hated about this town and was glaring at Lucas and I through the hospital's clear front doors. I stuck my middle finger up at her a planted one on Lucas, feeling anxious and excited at the defiance of it all. Everything we stood for was wrong to her, and it felt great to throw it in her face.

     Lucas smiled against my lips, his hands pulling me closer. "They're not gonna forget us here," he said as he leaned back. His eyes were alight with the proposition of freedom. Mrs. Montgomery was gone.

     "I'm counting on it," I said, and I kissed him again, harder this time, because I didn't want to forget, either. I wanted to carry with me forever the memory of my last kiss in Nowhere, Nebraska. "You're a dream, Lucas Morgan," I mumbled into the kiss, full of love and excitement and fear and the thought that I was actually leaving, and I was leaving with him.

     I gasped as he pinched my side. "You awake?" He asked, and I grinned.

     "Yeah," I said. "Which is crazy, because you're still here."

     His eyes sparkled. "Maybe its a daydream," he suggested.

     We climbed into the car and drove away from the hospital, away from Nowhere, Nebraska. Off we went to New York, holding hands and tossing our heads to the song American Idiot.

    So my season finale hadn't gone quite as planned. But it had gone, and now Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year was over. And the next season would be even better.

***

Don't worry y'all there's an Epilogue comingggg
(Also no I'm not alluding to a sequel)