'I'll kick your ass, Argyris.'

'Sure,' Hector says. 'I'd like to see you try.'

The air is thick with summer. Two boys, fifteen, hold each other with fiery regard. One feels invincible; the other is aware he will not be fifteen forever.

The low brick wall beneath Hector's feet is unstable, made of crumbling brick and cement. On one side, his school sits empty and silent.

Standing on the other is his best friend, Damien Frisk. A boy made of flaxen hair and marble skin. He seethes, hands balled into tight fists. Hector can tell his nails are digging into his skin, piercing through his palms, thirsty for his blood. His knuckles itch to plant themselves in Hector's nose, cheek, eye.

Hector beckons to them— he wants Damien to hit him. He knows he does; why else would he goad him so badly?

'I can't believe you,' Damien chokes on tears lodged inside of him. He sounds infinitely younger than he actually is. 'You said you didn't even like her.'

'I don't,' Hector says, and he's telling the truth. He doesn't, really. He shrugs, and it makes Damien angrier.

The girl in question is from their class. Hector does like her, though he's aware it's not the same way that Damien does. Guilt flickers through the Argyris boy. He acted without thinking, as he always did—perhaps he has gone too far this time.

Damien wipes at his eyes as the tears in his throat move to his eyes. Sweet silver. 'I know you only asked her to the dance because I told you I liked her.'

Hector considers his words. He opens his mouth. He doesn't get to speak.

Damien shoves him off the wall. Hector gasps. The world tilts dangerously, his arms pinwheeling as he tries to keep his balance. He catches a glimpse of Damien's face. His friend looks surprised, as if he hadn't meant to do what he did.

Hector hits the ground, and Damien catapults himself over the wall.

'Hector!'

He's by Hector's side in a moment, frantic hands searching for a head injury. Magic makes his palms hot against Hector's scalp. Their ankles brush; Hector closes his eyes. Damien tightens his fingers in his hair.

'I'm okay,' Hector says.

'Shut up,' Damien replies.

The blonde pulls Hector to his feet, and the two walk home together as the afternoon sun begins to tire. Hector leans on Damien. Damien holds him up by the waist.

Some days later, he tells the girl that maybe Damien would be a better partner. She admits she doesn't really want to go with either of them. He had been the first to ask, but not the last.

Hector goes to the dance alone. Damien shows up when the dances are halfway over. They sneak out onto the hall's roof.

They don't speak.