I knew Clive was going to cozy up to the girls. We had a conversation in our dorm some night before the ball. A beautiful night.

"I'll be talking to the girls," Clive said, "and flirting. I want you to know.

"But remember, you're mine," I spoke.

Clive laughed in his carefree manner, arm now completely healed. He slept with me sometimes, but it was astonishing how deep Clive slept and even if I cuddled, he would slap my arm if I touched him.

Still, that night we kissed and made out heavily.

It was the farthest I've went with Clive, with me biting his neck and leaving hickeys without thinking of the consequences.

Clive's skin always smelled like him, a strange scent of citrus and rosemary oil. Or some scented oil he would occasionally put on his hair to keep it from being more frizzy than it was.

I liked running my hand through that hair, and when I saw his closed eyes without fear of me on top of him I felt a closed door in me open.

Clive, why don't you ever tell me about your pain? Why do you always smile and act as though everything is fine? What will happen to us when we graduate? Are these girls just safety measures for the future you'll leave me?

"Don't you dare leave me," I said out loud.

I went down his body, kissing his abdomen lined with scars from sparring. I kissed each past injury, and played with his erection.

Clive was suppressing signs of pleasure but began to tremble as he spoke.

"Nathan—stop playing with it—"

I put it in my mouth and it was surprisingly like second nature.

I knew the way I liked it and did it to him until he cummed, pulling out my hair as he stretched his neck out, head tilted back.

The sight of Clive being so helpless at my very mouth made me more excited and soon it was my erection throbbing.

"You have a nasty streak," Clive said as he leaned forward. "How am I supposed to hide these hickeys?"

"Say they are bruises."

"What about this big bite?" Clive scolded, and I found him incredibly adorable trying to be the serious one, and hugged him, to both of our surprise.

I was horny, yes, but a part of me wanted to simply return to those summer nights where Clive was only a friend.

That night is forever in my memories, a night we giggled and played together, curtains half closed with the bright moonlight illuminating our skin. We both laid at the foot of my bed, tired and sweaty. We reached out to touch the light on the other side and giggled.

"That day will never come," Clive whispered suddenly, resting his chin on the arm resting under his face. His other arm touched mine, sticky but fragrant.

"We will never leave one another?" I asked. "Even if circumstances make us?"

"There's no such circumstance," Clive said. "There's no love where you only look for the reason you would break up. Instead of searching for one, shouldn't we be enjoying every minute with each other?"

I was stunned. He was right.

"But doesn't it scare you this moment won't last—that this whole thing won't last?" I grabbed his outstretched hand, both of our hands silver and white under the moonlight.

"It scares me, but I'm happy." Clive flipped over to see me, head on the bed like mine. "So happy I can't see anything but you."

We brought our entwined hands inside and between our chests it was like we had a third heart. I firmly felt the muscles and nerves in my hand thudding like a heart and wondered if Clive felt it too.

"You've changed me. So much of me," I whispered. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me, Nathan. You've changed me, too. I thought I'd never trust anyone once. I've told you more than I've ever told anyone, and I will try to tell you what you want to know—but not tonight. It's too lovely to go back to the past."

Clive was chattering on like he did when he was happy and my eyelids closed in relief.

He wasn't afraid of me.

I loved too hard, I fell too deep.

But he accepted that, like all the awful parts of me.

"Here." I managed to throw a blanket over him. He laughed and snuggled closer with the blanket over both of us.

I felt the rush and lust disperse into warmth in my chest, and as we cuddled for the first time I smelled his hair and clutched his waist.

Clive probably found it hard, but he threw an arm over me.

That night he didn't recoil his arm back.

That night we were young. We were seventeen. We might've been foolish, but I still think we were wise.

It's not love if you're thinking of how hard the breakup will be. It's a painful lesson I later learned.

***

The ball was the biggest event to these boys who usually only wrote to girls. These were girls who had families with connections, girls who had brothers and fathers (and even grandfathers) of knights. Important girls.

The usually sealed off auditorium was opened. It didn't have seats, which was why the large space was reserved for the ball.

It was pretty, decorated with flowers of all kinds, the pollen making the boys sneeze. They had vases of flowers and flowers on the walls. The idea was to create a spring in winter, and the teachers worked hard on it.

All the 400 boys lingered there with other grades. Thankfully the eleventh and twelfth years had robes so the tenth years understood who to respect. Twelfth years had their caps and satin sashes showing their accomplishments.

Clive and I had stuck together, agreeing it would be better for girls who talked better in group settings as I was usually quiet and Clive was a bit of a tease.

The doors opened, and the girls who entered had expressions like ours when we saw the beautiful flowers. Girls laughed to each other shyly before walking to the grades they wanted.

Another piece of information Cory told us was most of the girls went to the twelfth years right in the beginning, eager to find their dream boy and get engaged. It was a war, Cory had warned. We stayed away from them and the girls who came to the eleventh years and were eleventh years were most likable. We didn't like the tenth years who went for the older boys nor the twelfth years hoping they would find an eager eleventh year.

Each conversation was the same: we stayed our name and grade and asked for theirs. If we were not of the same grade they made short idle conversation before bowing out.

A group of girls had formed around Clive, the girls all laughing at his jokes and pickup lines.

"I bet you already have ten sweethearts strung up!" one girl teased, and the group laughed. "Tell us, do you?"

"If only I could, I would have all of your names jotted down right now!" Clive winked.

"Would you really write me?" they all asked and waited for answers.

"I'm so happy," he said, and my ears perked up to catch the rest, "so happy I can only see you girls, not even the flowers."

"Oh, I don't mind if you write to all of us," a girl said.

"Me too," another added.

"And if you can, tell which which girl really has your heart."

"We will write to you, Clive!"

They were all bashful at his answer and gave their names. Clive's nodded.

A girl waited until the girls had to rotate groups came to Clive when most were gone. She was pretty, but I felt with her cold demeanor to the other girls she was not likable. She had sharper features and seemed calculating, like the step mother to Snow White. She stopped before Clive to speak.

"Your words last year meant a lot to me. Do you still remember who I am?" she asked, voice gentle unlike her exterior.

"Lilac. Of course I do." Clive was too smooth.

"You changed my perspective and I think I've become more mature, maybe even to dare ask you to write me. Even if you do not I will not hold it against me, but I've changed, Clive," she said softly.

"And you've changed me, too. Lilac, I thought bullies wouldn't change, but you allowed me to dare and talk to my own bullies," Clive lied.

He would never be bullied. Also, Lilac was a bully? I could see it, but what had he said?

It didn't matter, everything out of his mouth was a lie or fake flattery. The same words he said to me he was saying to all the girls.

I swallowed my complaints and nodded to the girls who talked to me. There were only two girl trying to talk to me but I was too focused on Clive and the girls surrounding him and Lilac that I knew the two didn't like me.

It was the big ball, but nothing could calm me down. I was being possessive. I was being petty. I knew that—but why?

Nathan, what do you really want?

I wanted Clive to myself.

I shook off the thoughts and forcing myself to smile, ignored the sweet things Clive was telling all these other girls, even the whispers he gave some girls' ears.

He had strung up a sweetheart, and that sweetheart was pretty mad.