Miserably, the next day was Monday – a school day – and through to Friday, there were many times when Aimee and Emma would cross paths, stare awkwardly at each another, with Stefan trapped between them as misplaced as a needle in a haystack. Stefan and Aimee avoided the cafeteria at recess because being there was too unnerving. Instead, they picnicked under a tree behind the assembly hall.

They went to GINM each day after school. They both trained in the Ranking Room, lifting weights with Dominick, and Finn sometimes showed them how to do backflips and cartwheels and all the acrobatic things that made them look like pompom-less cheerleaders. Aimee had continued to face the Cerebral Simulator, even though it was the one thing that always freaked Stefan out the most. Maybe it was because it was the only part of her training where he could not be with her. It was almost scarier to watch her sit in that chair than to sit in it himself.

Stefan always had memories and scenarios that involved his parents:  there was one where he had to race through a maze to save Janet from a pit of fire that she was suspended above with an old rope that threatened to give out. In another, Buckley was being mind-controlled – he assumed this based on the fact that this Buckley was silent, unlike his real father, and robotic in the way he moved and rarely blinked – and they had to fight each other to the death.

Then came the sessions in The Arena, where Stefan and Aimee forced themselves to grow less hesitant when they had to kill the bodies that resembled their friends and family, but at the same time looked nothing like them. Later, Stefan even taught her how to climb trees and choose other places – caves or ruins or in the foliage on a lakeside, depending on the Arena – for optimum stealth and camouflage.

They ended every day at the shooting range. By then, Aimee's parents had gone home, and Gavin was elsewhere. Aimee figured it was for the best; they had not seen him since he blew up on Stefan for the second time, and he would not reply to any of his texts, except the one in which Stefan apologised and admitted that Gavin was right. His reply was a simple Thanks.

Saturday came around and it was always different, more enjoyable somehow. That afternoon, Stefan drove Aimee to his house, once they had endured the training and exhaustion that GINM had to offer and after using the shower facilities there. They drove in through the automatic security gate and parked in the driveway, before the two-door garage. Stefan climbed out swiftly to open Aimee's door. As he reached for the handle, his keys escaped his grasp, yet he opened her door casually as though nothing had happened, and although Aimee would have liked to play along, she could not contain the laugh bubbling inside her.

She climbed out, and retrieved his keys for him, and he thanked her with a blush on his cheeks.

"You're welcome," she said, still recovering from her laughter.

Aimee turned to the Summers' house, swiftly deciding that it was by far the most stunning house that she had ever seen. They had a mahogany double door, Victorian or something, and the grandest windows all along the walls on the front of the house. Stefan aided her onto their low porch, which hadn't any stairs, and then unlocked the door and held it open for her.

When she walked in, her jaw slackened instantly, her eyes fixed on the grand staircase in front of her and the long tanzanite rug that ran down its chest. The outsized foyer that she stood in had an oval-shaped glass table, a coatless coat rack and a watered bonsai in a large hourglass shaped pot, which stood against one of the buttery beige painted walls of the quadrilateral room. There were tall double doors to their left and right.

"Welcome to my abode," uttered Stefan.

Aimee glanced at him, "You have this entire castle to yourself?"

"No," he replied. "I mean, there's housekeeping and the chef."

"You have a personal chef?" she gasped as he nodded. "Okay, I'll be moving in then!" she said, only half joking.

Stefan laughed and gestured leftward, playing a different kind of agent: the real estate agent, "The TV room is right this way."

He gave her a tour of the first floor, starting in that room, which was more like a holiday home lounge or a cinema. Aimee fought back any and all curse words. The other door in the foyer led to the combined kitchen and dining room. And clearly any kitchen that big automatically came with a chef. He stood there in his tailcoat and apron, and did not say much, but he was the first to wave.

"That's Cornelius. Cornelius, this is Aimee," Stefan introduced them.

The man nodded at her, "A pleasure."

She observed her surroundings as Stefan walked her through the kitchen, every piece of furniture looked like it cost an arm and four legs. It seemed absolutely unneeded, considering Stefan and his parents were hardly ever there, but she did not complain about it, or mention the starving children around the world, because truthfully, she was in awe of it all. It was like being inside a museum.

"I'll show you upstairs, but first: lunch," said Stefan.

She had not realised how hungry she was, how her stomach growled at her. They had not eaten and they had already been through all of their daily training.

"That's the best thing I've heard all day."

They sat down at the table. Thankfully, Aimee thought, they were not still in their uniforms – hers was in her backpack in the trunk of Stefan's car, and his was on the backseat – since they had showered at GINM. She observed her clothing, the tie-dye top, which she usually would not sport in public, paired with three-quarter jeans and the black ankle boots that Stefan had given her what felt like years ago. She almost felt underdressed, but Stefan was there, in casual denims and a dark T-shirt which accentuated his blue irises – and some fancy Vans sneakers Aimee secretly wanted.

Stefan gestured Cornelius over while Aimee ogled the massive six seated dining table. Of course it had a thick, embossed glass top because that was so necessary. Cornelius came to the table with a lighter to ignite the trio of scented candles upon it. Again, necessary.

"Cornelius cooks what he wants to, so I'm sorry if it's unappetising," murmured Stefan.

"My food is never such," he insisted. "I'm not considered a five-star chef because of my moustache."

Aimee snorted, in an attempt to withhold her laughter. He did have magnificent facial hair.

Stefan let him have it is his way, "So, what's on the menu this evening?"

"I don't know yet."

"Wonderful," said Stefan, simultaneously anxious and excited.

Cornelius returned to the kitchen. He was a fast cook; he had been gone for no more than fifteen minutes and he was done, bringing them their meal literally on a garnished silver platter. Aimee beamed, amazed at how it all looked, even though did not recognise the dish, and Cornelius refused to say what it was. He went about preparing dessert, while they went about diving into the meal laid out before them. The food was divine, celebrity standard in fact. It did not matter that what it was would forever be unknown.

Dessert arrived in two elaborate porcelain bowls that, in shape, resembled wine glasses. Crème Brûlée. Aimee knew that one. She and Stefan hardly had the space for it, but it looked too good to pass up. However, they allowed their food to settle first. Aimee sat in silence, taking in her surroundings and all the ways in which she was being spoiled. It felt like a date, a date with a prince in his palace at his fancy table. Aimee clasped Stefan's hand in hers, enjoying her fortune, and the time they shared alone.

Cornelius cleared the table and blew out the candles once Aimee and Stefan finished. They continued their tour upstairs immediately, followed the tanzanite rug to the peak of the staircase. To the left was an enormous study with countless books on countless bookshelves. It was dark; the walls had no space for windows. Stefan turned the light on and, at the same time, the wood in the fireplace mounted to the back wall kindled. Aimee ambled into the room, amazed even though she had expected nothing shy of exceptional. The fireplace seemed so warm and inviting and the hearth was so clean that the flames reflected in it – the thought of curling up afore it might have crossed her mind. Stefan explained that there was a bedroom and bathroom through the study and that there were three other bedrooms upstairs, apart from his. They walked down the hall and to his room, past a few closed doors and paintings of anything and everything but the Summers family. Aimee followed him inside.

Stefan's bedroom radiated security and a strange familiarity; the walls were the colour of Aimee's room when her curtains were drawn. He had this unique bed that looked more like a big designer couch. A neat arrangement of musical instruments, ranging from the electrical guitar to the violin, was either hung or placed on a shelf on one wall, and Aimee wondered if he could play them all. His father probably forced him to take classes for each of them. The other wall, which Aimee was completely captivated by, had been brought to life.

"Did you do this?" she asked, tracing the artwork beneath her fingers as though it were fragile.

She felt as though she had opened a door into his dreams. She saw his galaxy, his blue and white and purple and pink clouds blending together like the ocean's waves. Every colour spoke to her, had a name and a meaning, and she wanted to speak back.

"That depends on what you think of it," he laughed nervously. His cheeks were turning red, and, for a moment, he looked like a little boy.

Aimee smiled at him and breathed something that felt appropriate, "It's beautiful, Stefan."

"Thank you," he said timidly. "I wanna show you something."

He stepped up to his desk and picked up the book that had been laying there, one that Aimee had been curious about. Was it a diary? Stefan plonked onto his bed and she joined him. He paged through the book quickly, skipping many drawings, but if the masterpiece on his wall was anything to go by, they were probably all amazing. And then he stopped.

"This is my favourite page."

Aimee was pink, speechless, spellbound. He had drawn her, faultlessly. The hours and effort that went into that artwork, that piece he had of her which he called his favourite, she could only imagine. She did not know what to say, but no words were needed. He gave her a smile as his hand slowly journeyed to her jawline, cupped her face. Stefan closed his eyes, and he kissed her. Blindly, she put his book down on his bed, and then caressed his neck in her quivering palms. Stefan's free hand positioned itself on the middle of her back, tamely pulling her closer.

Stefan lowered Aimee onto her back, and his kisses strolled up the side of her neck before settling on her lips. Then, leisurely, he rose from her, waited patiently for her coffee-coloured eyes to open, and when they did, he smiled contently. That boyish smile that made Aimee smile, too. He rolled over on the bed and rested his hands on that six-pack of his, and then he laughed, unhindered.

Aimee crawled up to him on her elbows, smiling cordially, "Still chivalrous I see."

"Mm-hmm. You know, most girls wouldn't complain," he said in jest.

"I'm not complaining," she uttered, pseudo defensively, while resting her chin on her good hand and gently combing through his wild hair with the other. "So, I was wondering: was lunch, like, a date? I mean, it felt like a date, but..."

"No way," he uttered, biting his lip and then laughing again. "You'll know when it's a date."

"Hey, I don't blame you, with all of this training –"

"Aimee," he said sternly, rising from his lie-down position, "you're still entitled to a life, no matter how complicated things get." When she sat up, he knelt on the ground in front of her and grasped her hands. "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me, so I'm not gonna let our being together become a burden, just because we live a little differently." He said it; not I but we.

She looked at him as though he had promised her the world. Of all the supernatural things he had ever told her, that was the most impeccable, the most warm-hearted. He had a habit of leaving her speechless, of taking the simple act of breathing and complicating it for her.

"Come on, I have another something to show you," he said endearingly, hoisting her up from her place.

Stefan led her to the back door downstairs. The frosted glass window above its handle made Aimee curious as to what was, almost hidden, behind it. Trees blocked the windows from outside, so the natural luminosity in the room was inconsequential. When Stefan opened the door, a perfect garden was unveiled, compelling Aimee into its depths.

Stefan trailed behind her, explaining, "This is some of Buckley's technology for the first Arena. Eventually, he decided that it would be more challenging if The Arena was made up of something that could change depending on who was inside it. He wanted a training simulation, not a garden of Eden."

She nodded in understanding; that sounded like Buckley. Stefan glanced at her, how enwrapped she was in their jungle. It was so green that it seemed unreal, but it looked beautiful. They walked further in, through the quaint shrubbery and to a vast clearing of grass. When they reached the centre of the clearing, Stefan sat down and watched Aimee absorb the countless unrecognisable yet elegant plant species around her, before sitting down next to him. An opaque glass ceiling curved into a dome above them, containing the inexplicable exquisiteness that grew here.

There was definitely a sense of GINM about it; the dome reminded Aimee of the roof she had seen above those balconied levels, and the plants reminded her of the vacant foyer through the front door. She thought about how the building was a skyscraper, yet looked residential from the street, how it was as camouflaged as the cameras in The Arena. She realised then that Buckley truly was a genius. She just would not admit it.

Stefan lay back on the grass with his head on his hands as Aimee brought her knees to her chest. He kept staring at her abdomen, where a scar remained underneath her top. It had healed so much and he had no idea. She smiled at him, her eyes unashamedly concentrating on his.

"This can be our first date," she said.

She lowered herself and cuddled beside him, resting her head on his chest. He wrapped one arm around her, as if it was second nature, and they lay in each another's easy, undemanding company.

The air grew colder and the light dimmed around them. The sky outside was turning cobalt and the sunlight had hidden away. Aimee was not sure whether it was the cold or the grass finally getting to her, but she sneezed. Stefan broke into laughter and she sat up from her cosy position to smack him on the arm.

"Don't laugh at me!"

He tried to apologise, but in his attempt, he found himself laughing even harder. He jumped up before she could smack him again, because he knew she would, and she sighed as he offered her his hand to help her up.

"It's late, let's get you home," he said.

She agreed, but ignored his hand totally and got up on her own. And after dusting herself off, she punched him on the arm again.

  "Ow!" he groaned, and she chuckled as they walked back inside, him a safe distance behind her.