Inferno: I was able to speak to my leader. He's willing to meet with you, no exchange needed. 7pm this Friday. The Pizza Hut on 17th Street. Be there.

Iris: What is it with you Supers and pizza?

Inferno: I'm not going to ask what you mean by that, but don't test me. It took a lot to get that man alone. I can always tell him you're no longer interested in our protection.

Iris: Sorry, sorry. I'll be there. I'm ditching homecoming for it.

Inferno: You better be. I'm doing you a favor, Crawford. Don't make me regret it.

˙⋆✮

Iris hadn't seen Wesley since their fight in her bedroom, which she'd decided was a good thing. He could stay as far away from her as New York City would be able to house.

Seeing him again would only conflate the frustration she had with the increasing levels of guilt, rising just to her neck and threatening to drown her entirely. While she was weighted down by anger, it was remorse that would do her in entirely.

She didn't have time for remorse. Not when her brother was back in town for a long weekend, her father and Jessica were increasing their antics in anti-Super bullshit, and homecoming was that very night.

Not that she'd be going.

Not that anyone knew she wouldn't be.

She kept up the lie of excitement for the dance to anyone who asked. Best not to draw suspicion — anyone who knew Iris would side eye her if she were to admit ditching the dance she'd been looking forward to since the school year began.

There were more important things on her plate. After what felt like ages of build up, she had a meeting with the leader of the Supers that night, and needed to get through her day at school without dissolving into a panic attack at the thought. He'd been kind the day the Bolter struck Wesley, but she had no reason it was a permanent behavior of his.

Now, seated in her Film class, she bit down on the end of her pencil and tried to focus on the movie they were nearing the end of — some 70s musical about Jesus, which she was surprised was allowed in a public school.

An autumn chill had worked itself into the classroom, the weather hung in that awkward spot where it wasn't cold enough outside for the school to justify turning on the heat, so she rubbed at her arms with her hands, chasing away goosebumps that gathered.

Being back at school had everyone — herself included, on edge. The Super attack remained firmly imprinted in everyone's minds, and with repeated anti-Super drills now wormed into their schedules, it was Iris now facing scrutiny for her mere existence.

No one wanted to be back at school, not with the risk of the Bolter's return. But more so, no one wanted to be in the building at the same time as Iris, the Bolter's intended target.

Part of her was surprised no one had tried to kidnap her and bring her to the Bolter themselves.

Just as the Judas character was about to hang himself (another eyebrow raise to Iris about it being allowed in school), the door flung open. Wesley, who'd been notably absent from classes for the past week, stumbled inside with his backpack flung over his shoulder and a pale tone cast across his face, like someone had sucked out the color with a sponge.

"Sorry," he managed to Mr. Kennedy, who sighed.

"Do you have a note, Mr. Moran?"

"I've been sick."

Somewhere near the back of the class, one of Brayden's cronies snorted. Iris bit down on her lip, holding back the urge to snap at the jackass.

"Do you have a note?"

"No," Wesley said in a dull tone, accompanied with a small shrug.

Another sigh emitted from the teacher, his hand lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger. It was obvious, the turmoil the teacher was going through — punish the obvious outcast kid, or play favorites.

He settled on the former, though his regret was thick. "Detention, then."

Iris dug her teeth further into her lip, to the point of pain.

"Alright," Wesley agreed, before moving towards his typical spot in the back of the classroom. He passed Iris's desk, head fixed forward, not sparing so much as a glance in her direction.

She closed her eyes. Took a deep breath, bracing herself for inevitable humiliation.

Then, reached into her backpack and pulled out her phone.

She couldn't pinpoint what exactly had driven her to this, save for a sense of evening a playing field Wesley had never demanded balance to.

It took mere seconds for her transgression to go noticed by Kennedy, who looked down his nose at her with an exasperated look. "Miss Crawford, how many times do I have to warn you about using devices in class?"

She ignored him. Opened a text chain with Miles, and pretended to text him. In actuality, her fingers weren't hitting any of the buttons.

Not that Kennedy knew that.

"Miss Crawford," he urged at her silence.

She gave an exaggerated roll of her eyes, glancing up at him. "What do you want?"

His nose twitched. "Am I going to have to give you detention as well?"

Yes.

From behind her, she heard a shuffling. Didn't need to look to know that Wesley was squirming in his seat, likely knowing exactly what she was doing.

"Don't know, don't care." She clicked her tongue. It came naturally, the bratty attitude she'd been trying to tone down.

But maybe she didn't need to, if it served her well. Maybe there was a good she could concoct in bad.

"Fine, then. Detention for you as well."

Only then did she turn her phone back off and tuck it into her backpack, hiding a satisfied smirk behind a hand.

"I know we're all excited about homecoming tonight," Kennedy said to the class, sounding just as tired as he looked. Iris almost felt bad for the guy, and what he had to put up with on a daily basis. "But there's no reason to be late, or on our phones rather than paying attention." A knowing look was sent from the teacher between Wesley and Iris. "Now, if we could return our attention to the movie."

The rest of the day went by in a long, drawn out slog, in which the rest of the school was abuzz with the homecoming dance that Iris had no intentions of attending.

Even if she didn't have the meeting with Mr. Moran and the Inferno that night, she wouldn't have gone. Not without a dress and a date.

Any other time, she might feel left out by the excitement she couldn't engage with. Try to butt her way into it, find common ground with the rest of the student body.

Now, she couldn't be bothered.

"Iris!"

She spun around, just as she was about to round the corner and head in the direction of her self-induced detention.

"Jessica," she sniffed as the girl approached her, bouncing down the halls with a kind smile on her lips. It was frustrating, how difficult the dark haired girl made it to hate her, when that was all Iris wanted.

"You look like hell," she said with a frown as she stopped a few feet away from Iris, eyes scaling her. "Everything okay?"

"I have detention," Iris answered, the only excuse she could think of to her sour mood. She didn't bother concealing the irritation she felt every time she was graced with the girl — half due to her inability to truly despise her when she overflowed with kindness, and half regarding what she'd done to earn her ire in the first place.

In actuality, her detention was a long time coming.

Wesley had, when they'd first met, thrown himself into the detention wolves for her. Wasn't it Iris's obligation to do the same?

There was an unspoken tension between them, evident by the way he'd rushed out of the classroom the moment the bell had run and spent the other hours they shared missing. She'd wondered if he'd gone home, until she spotted him at lunch, sharing a table with that redhead kid.

They'd made eye contact. Then, before Iris had time to look away, he'd gotten up and left the cafeteria. The redhead guy had watched him walk out, remaining seated as he did.

Iris only looked away when he turned his attention towards hers.

She could handle Wesley's ire. She couldn't handle that of his friend, and not knowing how much he knew.

Jessica's nose scrunched. "Dang, that's rough."

Iris threaded her fingers through her hair, not quite sure what she was meant to say. "Uh, well, I should probably—"

"Wait."

She stopped, just as she was about to lurch in the direction of Kennedy's room.

"I just...I wanted to ask..." She tugged at the hem of her shirt, unable to hold eye contact. "Listen, I'm working on that Super campaign with your dad, right? And like, it's totally chill, but I think...I think it'd be more impactful if you were to join."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"I mean, you and the Phantom broke up, didn't you?"

"I...what?"

"Did you not?" Jessica's brow furrowed. "Everyone assumes you have. Your dad told me you did."

"Why the hell is my dad gossiping about my relationship like a middle schooler?"

"Iris, he cares about you."

"Oh, you get to talking about me in between your weird prejudice?"

"It's not prejudice — you were there! At Lucy's, they could've killed us. Had you not..." She blinked once, twice, then shook her head. "I don't know what you did, but whatever it was, it stopped it. But they're dangerous, Supers. You know that, I know you do."

Iris supposed she was right.

If she wanted to be, she could be dangerous. If she wanted to, she could tell Jessica to stop breathing.

If she wanted to, she could force her to abandon the cause Evan roped her into.

Why it'd not occurred to her to do that until this moment, she couldn't be sure. And yet, even as the thought cemented in her, she knew she was unable to go through with it.

It was one thing, getting out of detentions and ensuring her father didn't send her off to the mental hospital again. Saving her and Jessica from Supers and getting Miles to leave her alone when he was being extra annoying.

It was another to impose her own demands on the free will of someone else. She didn't want Jessica to stop helping Evan because she was forced to, but because she picked Iris over him.

Over stupid political beliefs that would only wind up with people like Wesley hurt.

Brayden, she didn't give a damn about. Let him get thrown into jail for all she cared, if powers were to be made illegal. But Wesley...

"I think it's bullshit, Jessica. And I think you know it too."

"Brayden hurt you," she insisted. "And he hurts others. He's an asshole, and you know it. Until he was outed as the Bravin' Raven, he was a bully, and I know you know that."

Iris balanced a hand on her hip. "Your point?"

"My point is that Supers abuse their powers."

Right. This was why she didn't like Jessica. She could go from kind to an absolute idiot in moments.

There was no use being angry on Jessica's behalf, when she was so clearly in full support of Evan's beliefs. What had once been admiration of the Phantom had spun itself on its head the moment they became too real.

At least Wesley had gotten over that crush. She doubted he'd have any luck now.

"Brayden can fly," Iris said. "I don't see what that has to do with being an asshole to people in school. Unless there's something I'm missing."

Her cheeks heated up. "They like hurting people, is what I mean. With or without using their powers."

"Brayden hurt people because he's a dick, not because he's a Super."

"Why are you defending them. You broke up with the Phantom!"

"You broke up with the Phantom?"

Iris spun around at the familiar voice butting their way into the conversation. Backpack slung over his shoulder, Wesley's brows were arched in a feigned casual interest, though she didn't miss the slight twitch of his eye. The only indication he cared at all — perhaps more than he should.

"Hey, Wesley," Jessica greeted with a chipper smile, the serious tone she'd taken in their discussion gone. "We're just talking about—"

"The Phantom," he finished. "I heard." His gaze slid towards Iris. "I also heard he's quitting."

Iris bit down on her lip, considering what to say.

"Good," Jessica concluded. "Maybe Supers can be rehabilitated...if they stay out of organizations."

"Right," Iris clicked her tongue, irritation practically seeping off of her. "Like the Bolter? The Buzzer? As in the people who made you hate Supers in the first place?"

"I don't hate Supers," she corrected.

"Could've fooled me."

"I don't!" Jessica insisted. "I think it's possible for a Super to be integrated into society as long as they don't use their powers. Maybe it's possible to, I don't know, remove them?"

"Remove their powers?" Wesley repeated, sounding a bit woozy. "That sounds...complicated."

"Surely there's a way."

"You're disgusting," Iris hissed. "You can't just...remove people's powers. That's part of their identity. That's sick, beyond sick."

"Would you rather they be imprisoned?"

Wesley coughed into his elbow.

"I think I'd rather let Supers do whatever the hell they want. As long as they follow the law, what does it matter?"

"They don't follow the law, though. Half of them are literally Villains."

"And Heroes. Brayden Berry is a Hero — there are dozens of them."

"If you care so much about morality, why did you date a Villain?"

It wasn't an accusation. Still, Iris fought the urge to slap Jessica.

Her anger didn't even come from self defense. She could care less what people like Jessica thought of her powers, if they ever were to come to light.

It was Wesley she worried about. Wesley and all the faceless, nameless people like him.

"I didn't come here to start a fight," she insisted. "I just was curious what happened with the Phantom."

"Nothing happened," she snapped. "The Phantom and I are still together — and he's not quitting." The final few words were spoken with a glance at Wesley, who stood perfectly still, not reacting at all. "You shouldn't listen to baseless rumors. He was hurt, and he's recovering. That's all there is to it."

"Are you sure?" Wesley asked. "I heard he's, uh...not going to homecoming with you."

Oh, this asshole.

"My boyfriend has more important things to do than a stupid school dance."

"I'm surprised," Jessica said with a pensive tap of her chin.

Iris's eyes narrowed. "Surprised about what?"

"Just...I figured you two were dating for a status boost. I'm surprised you'd still be with him after such an embarrassing fail. And that you'd be with someone who wouldn't go to homecoming with you — isn't that important to you?"

Wesley coughed again, this time louder. His cheeks, when she glanced his way, were bright red.

"You must not have a very high opinion of me, if you think that's what it is. That I'd dump my boyfriend over being hurt. That I'd prioritize a school dance over him."

Jessica's face fell. "I—"

"I'm with the Phantom because I love him. That's all there is to it."

She couldn't look at Wesley, as a strangled sound emitted from his throat. Couldn't bring herself to pay him any mind as she began to storm off, heart thundering in her chest at the weight of her confession.

"Do you know who he is?" She blurted, just as Iris circled around her. "The Phantom, I mean. Do you know his real identity?"

Halfway down the hall, she spun back around. Didn't spare a second to glance in Wesley's direction as she spoke. "If I did, I wouldn't tell you."

And with that, she shoved herself through the door and into Kennedy's room, slamming it shut behind her.

The teacher was absent, much to her annoyance, with instructions written on the white board that implied he had no intention of monitoring the detention at all. She could guess he'd had enough of them.

Fair enough.

The instructions said to work on homework, which Iris had a plethora of. The chaos of the past month or so had left her behind on nearly all her classes, her already poor grades diving into what she'd been informed might cause her not to pass. The threat of summer school was hanging over her head in spite of it only being fall.

She may be about to meet with Supervillains — the very ones she'd been too frightened of to consider just weeks ago, but she still needed to pass her French exam.

So, she slid into the desk closest to the window, pulled out her overflowing binder of homework, and began to attempt algebra.

It didn't help that Wesley was in the classroom moments later, the only other occupant. Shutting the door behind him, he too read the white board before taking a seat as far away from hers as possible.

He didn't address her as he grabbed a textbook and began flipping through the pages, though one look his way told her he wasn't actually reading.

She bit down on the end of her pencil. Tapped her foot against the floor, knee bouncing up and down at a rapid rhythm. Dug her fingers into the edge of her paper, until it was crinkling.

Her mind wouldn't focus. Not on the homework spread out on the desk, nor on the significantly more important meeting she had approaching that night. Not even on homecoming, and the distress that she'd be in about missing, had the circumstances been any less dire.

Instead, it was her own words haunting her.

Outside of her family, there was only one person Iris had ever considered herself to love. Helena Haider, who was as close to dead to Iris as someone who'd been her world could be.

She'd all but worshiped the ground Helena glided over. A thin line danced between wanting to be her and wanting her. A friend, an idol. Someone with the power to make her feel like the most special girl in the world...and the biggest bother.

Wesley Moran was different.

Up until the night in her bedroom, he'd never made her feel anything other than wanted.

Even then, she'd been the one to pull away.

It'd been a test, which he'd failed miserably. Still, there was no innocence in what she'd done in the first place, paving an incorrect path for him to go down.

Now, it was her turn to betray him — if it counted as one. He'd wanted her to meet his dad, but the reasons were entirely different from why she'd decided to.

The lie she'd been keeping hadn't felt like a burden around Wesley, even if she knew she could never confess the truth.

Going behind his back, meeting with his dad about powers he didn't know she had...

She didn't have a clue what would happen if he were to find out. If he'd be furious at the lie, the sneaking around, or perhaps excited at a similarity between the two.

The latter wasn't likely, and the risk wasn't worth it.

She barely had him.

And, Iris understood with a deep ache in her gut, she wasn't ready to let go entirely. Not when she'd spoken a terrible truth to Jessica.

She may not love the Phantom.

But she did love Wesley.

She loved him, and it was going to ruin her life.

Eyes shutting, she sucked in a breath.

She didn't deserve him. Not when every word she let out drew blood, like opening her mouth was in turn biting down on flesh when she closed her jaw again.

Being kind, being good, was more than just making an absentminded vow. It was something bone deep, like a gene she'd been born without.

Maybe she'd had it at one point, she supposed as she considered it further. If she had, it'd been taken away from her when she'd found her mom's dead body, and refused re-entry entirely when her life intertwined with Helena's.

It didn't matter, though. Being good and being in love didn't go hand in hand. Plenty of bad people loved and were loved in return.

The only difference was, Iris wasn't willing to accept anything given back. Not when she knew Wesley could do so much better. Someone good. Someone prettier and funnier and less of a mess. Someone who could get through meals and didn't have scars littered on their thighs and didn't need to use superpowers to convince their father not to ship them to a hospital.

At least, if anything had come of the past few weeks of chaos, it had been a distraction from the turmoil in Iris's mind. She was, all things considered, happier.

Partially due to Wesley. Partially due to her own distractions. Partially due to Helena and Brayden no longer a persistent toxic influence in her life.

It was funny, in a way. The one person she'd never have looked twice at just months ago was now quickly becoming the center of her mind, her thoughts. Her heart.

Her pencil snapped in half, her grip gone too tight.

"Are you okay?" His head was cocked with concern, the first emotion she'd seen on him all day, aside from the feigned intrigue with Jessica.

"Fine," she sniffed. "I'm fine, why wouldn't I be fine?"

"About the other night..."

Whatever he wanted to say, he never did, trailing off.

Iris stared at him, long and hard. "Yes?"

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me," she lied. "No one hurts me."

"You don't need to pretend it's okay."

She could barely hear him from the other side of the room, his voice brought down to a near whisper.

"I'm not pretending anything," Iris insisted. "You were right. We'd never work."

His jaw shifted. "Yeah. Like you said, social suicide."

She had said that, hadn't she?

"I'm too much of a bitch for you."

"I'm not popular."

"I'm too much."

"I'm not enough."

No, she wanted to say. It was nothing like that. He was just enough for her — she was the problem. She'd always been the problem, ever since she'd used blackmail to force him into her life in the first place. Publicly aligning herself with the Phantom whilst refusing to acknowledge the man behind the mask.

Iris had stopped caring about popularity the moment she thought Wesley had died.

But that didn't mean his opinion on it — on her — had altered.

If anything, a near death experience would solidify what he did and didn't want, Iris no doubt in the latter. When had she ever been good for him? When had she ever been the person he deserved?

"I know I'm not what you want, Iris," Wesley went on. "And that's okay. I'm not mad at you. It's for the best."

It was for the best. Even if the thought made her want to die.

She swallowed down the urge to counter this, and instead fixated back on the homework she had no intentions of finishing.

"Are you going to homecoming?" He asked after a few minutes of silence, clearly in the same boat as her — unable to concentrate. The way he spoke was casual, more so than either of them had any right to be.

"I am. Not that I should. I don't have a date — or a dress." The lie came easy, making her seem ever so slightly less pathetic.

"Didn't get that six hundred dollar dress you wanted?"

"You remember?"

"It was what you wanted from me at first, when we...made our agreement. At Helena's party."

"Right." A small smile slid across her lips. "I totally thought you were going to kill me."

"I probably should have," he said with a similar amused look. "I considered it."

Maybe it should've frightened her, such a shocking admission, but it didn't. It instead drew out a spark of curiosity, bursting through the wall of ice their coldness towards each other had built.

"Why didn't you?"

"I'm not a good Villain."

She supposed that was answer enough.

"Are you actually quitting?"

"I have to." He closed his eyes and inhaled a deep breath. "There's something I need to do, to make sure my dad stays in charge. Once it's done, I'm turning in my mask. We'll fake the Phantom's death or something to the public. Hold an election for my replacement in line for the Villain's leadership."

"Do you have to, or do you just not think you're good enough?"

"I'm not good enough," Wesley emphasized. "After what happened with the Bolter—"

"—that was my fault—"

"—I couldn't stop him."

"Neither could I!" She was nearly shouting, each time they spoke their voices finding a new elevation.

"You're not the Super, Iris!" He slammed a hand on the desk, hard enough she winced in sympathetic pain. "For fuck's sake, it's not your responsibility! It's mine — it always is."

"Wesley—"

"How many times do I have to ask you to not call me that?"

She bit down on her lip, not willing to heed his demands but too on edge to fight back.

"I'm sorry," he coughed up, chest heaving up and down with the weight of his breathing. "I shouldn't yell. I'm sorry. I'm just..." His hands ran through his hair, tugging at the ends. "Iris, did you...did you mean what you said to Jessica?"

She didn't play dumb. Nor did she submit herself to be further humiliated. She may deserve his ire, his rejection, but that didn't mean facing it wasn't an ache she wasn't prepared for.

"I have to. Until we publicly break up, I love the Phantom." She cocked a brow. "Why? Did you...want me to mean it?"

"Of course not," he rushed. "We're just faking it."

Her throat tightened. Fingers curled into fists.

For a moment, Iris thought she might throw up.

"Right. Faking it." Her words were stiff as she rose onto her feet. "You should do better to keep up with the act, then. Don't forget how it benefits you too. You're nothing without me. Moron."

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, something thudded behind her, but she didn't care enough to spin around and check. Nor did she let herself take in the words Wesley shouted after her as she stormed out of the classroom.

˙⋆✮

Iris only realized her phone was missing when she got off the bus, a block down from her house. She fumbled around in her backpack for five minutes before accepting the truth — she must've left it at school.

Grumbling to herself, she debated waiting for the next bus and going back to the building, before deciding it wasn't worth it. She could check the lost and found on Monday. If that didn't work, she'd just convince Evan to buy her a new one — say he couldn't track her without it. It'd certainly be a much easier thing to sway him into than that dress he'd denied her.

At least, she supposed as she shoved herself through the front door to her home, she didn't have the temptation to doomscroll through her Instagram and see all her classmates enjoying the homecoming she couldn't go to.

At least Evan wouldn't be able to track her to this meeting with the Villains. The only flaw was her inability to contact the Inferno beforehand, in case plans changed.

Whatever. If they did, they'd find a way to find her. They were Villains, after all. If they could leave notes in her underwear drawer, they could find a way to communicate outside of Instagram DMs.

Miles was situated on the couch, sprawled out with his legs hung over the arm rest as he watched some sport on the TV, and perked up at Iris's arrival.

"Hey." He frowned the moment they made eye contact. "You okay?"

Huh. She guessed maybe the emotions from her confrontation with Wesley were more visible than she'd thought.

She glanced down, then sighed. Her hands were still shaking.

After storming out of detention, she'd spent five minutes in the school bathroom gathering herself. Willing herself not to cry — it'd ruin her mascara, and then where would she be?

There was only one time she'd felt the sting of rejection this bad — and it was when Helena had picked Brayden over her.

Only difference was, Helena hadn't been a loss worth mourning. Wesley Moran was.

And the moment she'd been hurt, she'd lashed out. Pushed him even further away.

She'd kicked the stall door with the end of her boot, hard enough to leave a scuff against the tan.

"I'm fine," she promised with the roll of her eyes.

"No need to snap, I'm just checking in on you."

She could make him stop, she thought. Risk a bloody nose.

She hadn't used her powers since the day in the dress shop. Had no desire to potentially pass out again, make a fool of herself and cause worry.

Besides, she'd been doing better with taking care of herself, since the slap in the face her being rendered unconscious had been. The moment it'd occurred to her that being weak would get herself — and others, hurt, she'd worked into her mind that perhaps healing wasn't a punishment.

It wasn't as easy as that, though.

Not that she'd ever admit it. Slow, steady steps, was something her old therapist would've said.

Iris took that as a win. Like she was moving forward. Even if she hated herself for relying on old therapy terms, which she'd long ago insisted were useless.

A broken clock was right twice a day, she decided.

"Where's dad?" She eventually asked, glancing between Miles and the direction of the kitchen.

"Press rally. The election is in like, a month or so."

"Right." She bit down on the side of her mouth. "Wonder if Jessica will be there."

"Jessica," he repeated, tilting his head to the side. "That's the girl dad's been helping prop up his campaign, right? The girl that was there with you when those Supers attacked Lucy's?"

Iris nodded, carefully considering her words. "Yeah, she's...well, she was almost going to be my friend, but now she's helping dad. Pisses me off."

He hummed in agreement. "That's so shitty. You deserve a friend who doesn't go behind your back like that. I'm sorry to hear that."

The first civil conversation they'd had in what must've been a year.

Iris didn't know what to make of it.

"Hey," Miles said, shifting so he was sitting upright. "Do you want to get ice cream tonight?"

"Ice cream?"

"Yeah, I mean, I have some homework I need to finish..." He glanced towards the TV. "Which I've been procrastinating. But maybe later tonight?"

She almost said yes. Not due to a desire for ice cream, but rather to further inch towards what was seemingly a landing in the turbulence she and her brother flew in.

Stopped herself just before she could agree. Stupid fucking Villains.

"Uh...I'm a bit busy tonight."

A second paused, then, "Right, right, homecoming."

She didn't deny this. Evan knew she wasn't going — had told her she shouldn't, considering the Bolter, and for once, she'd not argued back.

Apparently, Miles hadn't been let in on that. "Yeah. I, uh, I'm going stag."

"No Phantom?" He gave her a teasing smile.

Iris stuck out her tongue, all she could do to conceal the pang of pain the name sent piercing through her. "He's not feeling well. Getting struck by lightning is pretty hard on the body."

Apparently it wasn't, actually, considering Wesley seemed physically just fine. But Miles had no way of knowing that.

"Right." He said again as hee stretched out his legs, knees making a cracking sound. "I probably should get to homework. A long weekend just means my professors get crazy when we get back. But...it's nice seeing, you're doing alright, Iris."

"Why do you think I'm doing alright?" She blurted, the question erupting to the surface before she could find a way to contain it.

He gave her a bemused sort of smile. "You're not shouting at me, so that has to mean something. Unless...something's so wrong you don't have the energy to."

All she could manage was a shrug. "I'm fine. Really. I just..."

"Iris," he said, shifting about on the couch until he was entirely on one of the cushions, a new spot of space next to him. "Sit down."

It would've been so easy to argue. She always did, it wouldn't have caused an eye to bat if she went down her typical path.

But what had it ever gotten her? Shouting at Miles had never given her results she wanted. Maybe Evan deserved her ire, and maybe Miles hadn't always been the world's best brother, but he'd seen the worst of her. He'd been there too, when she'd found Mom. He'd held her hand while she talked to the police. He'd packed her clothes for her when they'd moved across the country to live with Evan, and let her cry it out that night when she couldn't sleep in an unfamiliar place.

Didn't that have to mean something?

Maybe it did — and that was why she'd been so insistent on pushing him away. The fact that there could be good was so frightening, because goodness didn't last.

It hadn't with their mom.

Maybe that'd been her main draw to Helena. Not the popularity. Not the attention. Not even the way Helena made her heart race with every pretty smile shot her way.

Maybe it was because, deep down, Iris knew losing her wouldn't be the blow that it was losing her mother. Losing Wesley. It would hurt, it had hurt, — but it'd be for the best.

"Iris?"

The moment she was seated next to him, she burst into tears.

"Oh, no, don't cry." He looked like he were about to do the same, the way he looked at her with watering eyes. Hand extending, he wrapped his arm over her shoulder and pulled her into a tight side-hug.

Iris clung to that as best as she could. The feeling of a love she'd done nothing to deserve, but managed to have anyways.

Miles and Evan may not know how to love her in the way she wanted, but that didn't mean there was no love at all.

And yet, she wasn't sure she could accept it. Take it in instead of throwing it back.

"I'm horrible, Miles."

He shook his head, a soft sigh emitting from his slightly parted lips. "You're not horrible."

"I am!" She insisted, practically choking on her words. Closing her eyes didn't help with the tears, only bringing Wesley's face to the forefront of her mind — and the flinch that had shaken through him at the last words she'd spoken to the boy. "I hurt people. I always do. Every time I try to be good, it fails. Every single time!"

"You're doing your best."

"And it's not enough! I'm such a bitch, and I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to stop hurting people. When I feel like I'm about to be hurt, or when I am hurt, I...I bite back. I don't want to be that person for any longer."

His hand stroked up and down her arm as he asked a gentle, curious question, though she didn't miss the slight pinch in his tone. Worry, impossible to fully hide. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not going to do anything stupid," she promised through her tears, streaking down her face and splattering onto her shirt. "I'm not like that anymore."

"Can I trust you?"

It was more painful than she wanted to admit, the fact that he had to ask. A unique sort of guilt puddled in her gut — god, she'd caused them so much pain, hadn't she?

She swallowed a lump that formed in her throat, another sob threatening to build. "Yeah, you can. I'm not...I'm not suicidal, not anymore. And I haven't hurt myself in like, eight months."

A smile crossed Miles's lips. "I'm so proud of you. Really. I am."

"There's nothing to be proud of," she sniffed. "I'm evil. I'm bad. I'm worse than any Villain out there. Worse than the Phantom by a long shot. And...I don't want to be someone people are afraid of anymore."

"The world's a scary place," her brother reasoned. "Sometimes, you need to be scary too."