Archive of Our Own

Knox was six years old when the words, Never Enough tattooed the inside of his right wrist. The skin around his mark was sensitive to the touch, a small rash forming around the fresh ink. The words were in black ink, perfect yet improper cursive.

He wouldn't understand its significance until he turned eight. The words consistently burned through his veins, the itchiness becoming almost unbearable— no amount of cold compresses or ointment seemed to ease his discomfort. Oddly enough, it wasn't the artificial pain in his wrist that bothered him, it was the ache he felt in his chest. A heaviness in his shoulders that would leave him emotionally drained for days on end.

One evening, after a particularly restless night of uncontrollable tears streaming down his face— tears that wouldn't feel like his own, burdens that he'd yet to face. His mother would gently massage his wrist, the one with words too heavy to understand. She would then explain the very concept of soulmates, how the words on his wrist weren't reflected to his own being, but to the person he was destined to be with, platonically or romantically.

The burning sensations, he would later find out, only occurred when one's soulmate actively thought the words, feelings that were written on his skin. The calligraphy was chosen based off of the soulmate's handwriting, while the placement was possibly random? His mother didn't necessarily have an answer for this one. Although her answers to his questions filled his mind with understanding, it did little to ease his heart.

Why was his soulmate always thinking they were never enough? What did those words even mean? If he had his soulmate's biggest fears, reservations about themselves, what was tattooed on his soulmate's body? What was Knox's biggest insecurity; what made his soulmate's skin burn, the uncontrollable heartache? 

Knox was twelve when the pain stopped.

He had just sat through a three-hour long welcoming ceremony for himself, along with what looked to be twenty or so other boys his age for the upcoming school year. Welton Academy, an all boys boarding prep school, sixth through twelfth grade— prison for the next six years. Knox would be lying if he claimed he hadn't shed a few tears as his parents helped him unpack, how he hugged his parents a little tighter, the damn near mental breakdown he had to talk himself through once he was alone.

Although, according to the name plastered on their door above his own, he wouldn't be alone for much longer. This in mind, his nerves were slightly eased, he forced the tension in his shoulders to subside— he could only do so much, for his soulmate was currently troubled with their own insecurity. A glorious start to a new school year; abandonment and what should classify as a chronic illness, if only for the reason that Knox has never known relief.

All thoughts were abruptly interrupted, the door to his room opened. In the entrance, a boy that looked to be his age, in the same shitty uniform, a rolling suitcase in one hand and what looked to be an instrument case in the other. The boy was shorter than Knox, his brown hair was long yet still within the school's strict dress requirements.

"Richard Stites?" Knox asked, trying to remember the name that was on the door.

"You're going to wish I was," He threw his belongings on the vacant bed. "I switched the names. My roommate, ever the stiff he is, started dividing the room with white tape—"

"Are you allowed to do that?"

"Well, I am now." The corner of his lips curled into a smirk, "Charlie Dalton, your new roommate." He outstretched his hand out, although posture slightly stilted.

"Knox Overstreet." He responds, shaking the boy's hand. "Are your parents bringing up the rest of your things?"

Charlie stilled.

The facade he had been trying to upkeep in front of Knox, an indifferent and carefree spirit, seemed to shatter at a meaningless question. A question that was almost second nature to ask, an ice breaker for breakthrough conversations— wasn't the case for the boy standing in front of Knox, the knowledge of this came in the form of a god awful silence. A tension so thick, so vulnerable, a dull knife could easily slice through it like butter.

Then, as if only to make matters worse, the words on his wrist itched. The skin around his wrist ached, a pink rash forming the longer he remained unmoving. If his veins burned before, the inside of his body felt like it was on fire as he stared into Charlie's panicked hazel irses.

"My parents left too." Knox shrugged, "I guess they couldn't wait to dump me here— did you know they said they'd see me at Christmas. Christmas?! As if we don't have holidays before then."

"Oh, yeah?" He seemed to relax, if not from Knox's sympathy, definitely from the ridiculousness of his words. "I think I got you beat, my parents didn't even attend the welcoming ceremony."

Oh.

"They missed the bagpipes?" Knox feigned a gasped, "What a shame, really."

"Would've preferred an encore over trying to understand the meaning behind those fuck ass candles—"

"Language, Mr. Dalton." The voice of headmaster of Welton Academy, Mr. Nolan, called from the hallway. "This will be your only warning— that includes you, Mr. Overstreet."

"Yes, sir." Rehearsed politeness left their mouths in unison. The awkward yet passable postures; shoulders back, head straight, hands by their sides.

"Carry on then, gentlemen." He made his way down the hall, shoes echoing through the corridors.

"You think he noticed the room reassignment?" Charlie broke the silence, staring at the opened door.

"Oh, definitely." Knox scoffed, "Make sure you're on your best behavior."

"What's he gonna do that my parents already haven't?" He rolled his eyes, "Scratch that, probably a lot— you're right. Tomfoolery begins the week of classes."

The comment made Knox's heart squeeze ever so slightly. For once, it wasn't because of his soulmate having an internal crisis over not being enough nor was it the thought of his parents abandoning him to pursue an academic future that followed in his father's footsteps. No, it was all him, Charlie Dalton. A boy he had just met, living behind a mask of nonconformity and mischief as to not be seen as weak, incapable.

Knox watched as Charlie unloaded his suitcase, there wasn't much besides the necessities— seven, maybe eight pairs of their school uniform, toiletries, underwear and socks, two pairs of shoes, and sleepwear. No personal clothing, no individualistic items to liven his side of the room, no family photos. Scratch that, a small pocket-sized photo was taped to his desk set, a little girl around three years old.

"What do you play?" Knox found himself asking, gesturing towards the only piece of individualism the boy seemed to carry with him.

"Played the clarinet for years, picked up the saxophone to disappoint my instructor." He smirked, "Unluckily for her, I'm a god."

"Who the hell prefers the clarinet over the saxophone?" Knox made a face.

"That, Knoxious, is the million dollar question. Isn't it?" He turned to face him, a genuine smile graced his lips for the first time.

Cute.

"I'm going to mingle." Knox said, "Form a study group or something— want in?"

"Me?" Charlie raised an eyebrow, "In a study group... Do I look like I study to you?"

"You look the type to pass without trying, I do not possess such abilities." Knox smiled, "If not to study, then to help your damsel in distress of a roommate?"

He heard the hopeful tone in his own voice. Under normal circumstances, he might've been embarrassed— it was too much. The desperation, the longing for a companion he hadn't known he needed, the push for familiarity. Although, the brief moment of panic was silenced as he looked into those expressive eyes.

Knox would watch as the protective defense Charlie had meticulously built around himself, crumble at the mention of building a close relationship. The boy with practically nothing on his back besides an old saxophone and a photo of his sister. A boy with seemingly no identity other than a first and last name— was rendered speechless.

"Maybe even eat dinner with me, tonight?" Knox asked, "I'd like to get to know my roommate better... You know, since we live together." The last part added as an afterthought, for good measure.

"Wine and dining me, already?" Charlie smirked, walking forward as he wrapped and arm around Knox's shoulders. "Shouldn't you get to know me first, Knoxious?"

"Forgetting the first part," Knox stuttered out a reply, his face flushed at the insinuation. "I literally asked to do just that, god."

"Nope, just Charlie."

"Oh my—"

He shoved Charlie off of him, pushing him through the door as they made their way around the dorm hall. Making connections, learning names, and forming study groups for shared classes— the most normal, mundane tasks that were anything but for twelve year old boys. Especially if you were Charlie Dalton, Knox had learned rather quickly. Four boys hadn't been intimidated by Charlie's antics: Neil Perry, two doors down from Charlie and Knox. Roommates, Steven Meeks and Gerard Pitts. Lastly, Charlie's original roommate, Richard Cameron.

They had easily agreed, all a bit dysfunctional in their own ways. Although, isn't everyone? In a world where your biggest insecurity is marked on the skin of someone else, it's rather shocking that people still feel the need to view others as inferior. It's probably easier to hide behind a mask, knowing the chances of meeting said soulmate are slim. But, never zero. It's a can rolling around in a hot car, waiting for the exact moment to burst— face to face with your biggest insecurity, not knowing if the other person will loathe you for it or accept you.

A lifetime of pain with a miniscule chance at happiness, relief. It's the ultimate sacrifice, an act of selfless love just yearning to be selfish in all its entirety. It was romantic, it was suffocating, it was beautiful.

He'd never be able to pinpoint the exact moment his pain stopped. When would he have had the time? Between study groups, independent study sessions, extracurriculars, and his roommate's shenanigans; he hardly had enough time to breathe, let alone remember something so insignificant. Although, was it really so insignificant? Or is that just what Knox told himself as he caught himself staring at Charlie when the other wasn't staring back...

Knox was fifteen when Neil decided their study group needed a change in scenery.

For three years he was under the false assumption that Charlie was the only spontaneous one. Contrary to popular belief, Neil was the one to propose such an idea— there's a cave, just past the river on the outskirts of Welton. He had presented an argument with cited sources and experimental studies, much to Cameron's chagrin; a change in scenery has been proven to increase information retention.

So, here they were; six freshman boys, sneaking out of the Welton Academy dorm hall to fucking study. They were dressed in black puffer jackets to blend in with the night as well as to keep warm from freezing, early December temperatures. Their textbooks, journals, and pens hidden underneath their jackets as they huddled together and ran into the night— some scared shitless of the possibility of getting caught, others high on the adrenaline rush. Knox was both, if it made a difference.

"We left off on Latin—" Cameron spoke first, upon entry of the cave.

"I thought we agreed on Chemistry?" Neil blinked.

"I'm not even taking Chemistry..." Charlie said, "I brought Geometry," He lifted a second journal. "Also the Latin homework when I saw Cameron grab his Latin textbook."

"I'm not giving you the answers." He deadpanned.

"Are you really giving me the answers if I'm reading from your textbook?"

"I also brought Geometry." Knox chimed in, "I finished Latin earlier today—"

"Oh my god, you traitor!" Charlie gasped, "You did it knowing we were meeting for study group tonight?"

"We're clearly not the most coordinated." He shrugged in response.

Albeit highly dysfunctional, over the years their small group has learned to roll with the punches. The group had broken off into smaller sub-groups based off subjects brought: Charlie and Cameron with Latin, Knox and Meeks with Geometry, and Pitts with his limited knowledge of science trying to help Neil with Chemistry.

One by one as the hours went by, a textbook would close or a pen was thrown in frustration; homework was finally completed, studying long forgotten. Flashlights were used to point at one another rather than provide light to words on a page. A foundation for the almost foreign concept of friendship was built— Nolan would be pissed.

"You boys have soulmarks?" Charlie asked, breaking the chaotic flow of conversation.

"Doesn't everyone?" Knox raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued.

"Oh!" Neil shuffled in closer, "Mine says—"

"We're not supposed to show each other." Cameron warned, "At least not with the intention of finding your soulmate."

"You think I'd risk it all, like that?" Neil asked, "Certainly not with any of you, no less."

"Feeling the all consuming love, Neil." Knox deadpanned, "In all seriousness though, is it really something we should be talking about?"

"Anything that's said in the cave, stays in the cave." Charlie declared.

All in agreeance, the six boys huddled in closer. Their breaths could be seen lingering in the frigid air, anticipation clouded their self-preservations as the overwhelming need to tell someone, anyone. Neil was the first to reveal;

"Self-image." He continued where he left off, "I got it when I was thirteen."

"Irrelevance." Meeks spoke next, "Also thirteen."

"Worthlessness." Pitts followed, "Same age."

Thirteen.

Thirteen?

Knox got his soulmark at the age of six. Did that make him an anomaly? Should he even share the details— not to mention, everyone seemed to have a singular word while his own was a phrase. These insecurities were fears, a glass half empty mentality of potential future possibilities. These were common insecurities among teenagers that would slowly bleed into adulthood.

Never Enough. An emotion hidden within a phrase, almost as if they had been told from early on that their existence was meaningless. Similar to worthlessness, but somehow heavier? Worthlessness sounds self-inflicted, an insecurity from within oneself as they tried to find their purpose in a world of endless opportunities. Never Enough sounds like a repetitive phrase and over a period of time, you might just find yourself starting to believe it.

"I believe thirteen is the average, it's during the start of puberty when—" Cameron was interrupted by Charlie shoving his head sideways, "Also thirteen, Hip Dips." He grumbled.

Charlie's snort echoed in the cave.

"Hip dips?" Neil was shocked, "You don't actually have hip dips tattooed on your skin— you?"

"Why is that so shocking?"

"Because it's you..."

"Knoxious, what about you?" Charlie interrupted the banter between Neil and Cameron, curiosity filled in his voice.

"I don't think I feel comfortable sharing..." He smiled politely, "Thirteen's the average right?"

"Were you younger?" Meeks asked.

"Six." He nods, "It's also not a word— a phrase?"

"Six?" Neil furrowed his eyebrows, "Holy shit..."

"Soulmark's Honor; whatever you tell us, won't be mentioned again after this meeting." Charlie raised his hand.

"The fuck is Soulmark's Honor?" Knox asked.

"My word."

He was always weak when it came to Charlie anyways, "Never Enough."

Silence filled the cave once again.

Attention was now on Charlie, for he was the only member in their group to not reveal his soulmate's insecurity. In the three years Knox has known him, he's had the privilege of learning the other's nervous ticks and small quirks— right now, Charlie was uncomfortable. The way he started cracking his fingers one by one, the nervous bounce of his left leg, all of it led Knox to believe that there was a reason he had originally brought up the topic of soulmates.

"Well?" Neil broke the silence.

"I— uh," Charlie rubbed the back of his neck, "Well, I don't have one." A nervous chuckle escaped past his lips.

"You don't have a soulmate?" Neil asked, almost in awe.

Charlie shrugged.

"Statistically speaking, there are two far more likely possibilities." Cameron denied, "For one, your soulmate might be one confident mother fucker—"

"Language, Mr. Cameron!" Pitts and Meeks chastised in overly exaggerated, deepened voices.

"Or you showed your mark to someone with the intention of finding your soulmate, guessed wrong, and fate removed your mark..." He shrugged, "Doesn't mean you don't have one, it only makes it harder— or rather, you can now choose your own destiny."

"Is that why we're advised to not show our marks?" Pitts asked, clearly in disbelief. "I thought it was a metaphor."

"A metaphor for what?" Knox asked, "What could that have possibly meant if not literal?"

"I mean, not that I care anyways..." A shrug to his shoulders, "I've known my soulmate for a while now."

"Excuse me?!" Neil gasped, "You've got a red mark and you're only telling us this, now?" A harsh shove to Pitts' shoulder.

"Our marks aren't red." Meeks denied with a shake to his head, gesturing between himself and Pitts.

More silence.

"Our?!" Cameron and Charlie's voices echoed through the cave.

"Holy shit, I don't know anything about my friends..." Neil whispered to himself, "When did you find out?"

"Last year." Pitts answered, "It was by accident really, we were building a prototype of the radio we want to build—"

"One thing led to another, and we're talking about our hopes and dreams after Welton— you know, granted we survive this place and go against our parents expectations." Meeks continued, "Hopes and dreams turned into fears and foreseeable regrets."

"Long story short, we figured it out." Pitts smiled.

"If you know your soulmates, how are they not red?" Knox asked, "Even if you choose to remain platonic— shouldn't it still be red?"

"Who said anything about being platonic?" Meeks scoffed, "Keeping it simple, we haven't shown each other our marks yet."

"Why not?" Charlie asked, not to antagonize the couple, he was genuinely curious.

"What's the rush?" Pitts asked, "If we want to choose each other, we will. If we don't, we won't."

"Not to mention, Nolan would probably die if we go around showcasing our red soulmarks..." Meeks rolled his eyes, "I'm sure he'd put two and two together."

"Oh no, two men that were destined to be together actually chose to be with each other." Neil mocked in horror, "I've seen his mark, it's still black— makes you wonder if his fated love was a man."

"I don't want that image in my head, please and thanks." Charlie interrupted, "With the way he's so adamant about keeping our marks covered, it wouldn't surprise me."

Knox was still stuck on the fact that Charlie didn't have a mark. If he didn't, then surely he wasn't expecting his soulmate to come crashing into his life on a random Tuesday morning. If he didn't have a mark, this would give Knox more time to understand himself— why was he drawn to Charlie in such a way that he wasn't with the others? Why did he pay the same amount of attention to Charlie, if not more, than the soulmark around his wrist when he felt the burning presence.

He could say it's because their best friends. He could also say it's hormones, the added frustration of going to an all boys school. Although, wouldn't that be considered lying? Knox Overstreet is not a liar, but is it really lying if you don't have the damndest idea what you're lying about— but, you know for a fact it isn't the entire truth?

"In hindsight, you're probably lucky, Dalton." Cameron nudged him.

"Oh yeah, the luckiest." He grumbled, "The universe's last fuck you." He forced a smile onto his lips. "I wasn't even worth a hint."

Knox's wrist started to hurt.

"He's right." Knox spoke up, "It hurts." He visibly rubbed at his wrist, "Sometimes the pain is gone long enough to think, holy shit they're getting better. They're healing from whatever it is, whoever it is, that planted this seed of destruction into their minds..."

"Then, you wake up on a random Thursday morning, and everyday for the next month you're in constant pain." Cameron agreed, "Sure the mark burns, it itches, but the heartache? The absolute worst." He continued on, "It runs a hell of a lot deeper than fucking hip dips, I swear to god."

Maybe their words had struck something within Charlie, maybe it hadn't. Knox wouldn't ask, Charlie wouldn't willingly speak his thoughts on the matter. A simple study session that had quickly turned into something else. What exactly? Not exactly friendship, but the perfect foundation for one to form. A mutual respect between each of the members, although each held different core values, all of them were not only needed for their group to thrive— it was yearned, sought out for.

Charlie would start to distance himself from Knox when they were sixteen.

It was the start of a new school year at Hellton Academy. Was there a better way to farewell his parents by ignoring their backhanded compliments and comparisons to his fellow classmates turned friends, Neil Perry and Richard Cameron? Probably, but did he actually care? Not necessarily.

He made his way to his room, a new label on the door as it was every year. Although, after his first year, Charlie had made it a point to get to the dorms first to reassign himself to Knox's room. Now, though? The label above his own name was definitely not Charlie's name, it was Richard Stites, otherwise known as Stick.

It felt as if something inside of him had broke. The way his chest seemed to squeeze the air out of his lungs, his vision had blurred as he blinked away what could have been tears. He turned his head, two doors down he saw as Charlie shoved his way through the entryway of what used to be Stick and Cameron's room— now, Charlie and Cameron's room.

The redhead met his gaze, just as confused and somewhat unsettled at the abrupt change in routine. He furrowed his brows as if to ask, What the hell is happening? In reply, with a half-assed shrug and a disappointed frown, I don't even know.

He entered his room, having been the first to arrive and claimed the right side of the room even though every year since he was twelve he's always claimed the left. A heavy weight added to his shoulders as he slowly started to unpack. It didn't look right. It sure as hell didn't feel right.

Had Knox done something to offend Charlie? He couldn't lose his closest, oldest, most precious friend he had met at this sorry excuse of a school. Was it him, was he in the wrong? Too clingy, too disorganized, too lazy... Was he too much of something?

Although, his spiraling thoughts were soon interrupted as they usually were— a familiar weight resting into his side, an arm wrapped around his neck as if it belonged there. The familiar, comforting scent of cigarettes and sandalwood.

"You're willingly rooming with Cameron this year?" Knox asked, his weight shifting closer to the intruder. "I don't know why you think that's a good idea."

"Knoxious, Knoxious." Charlie tsked, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you almost missed me." He leaned closer, reaching up and tousling Knox's hair.

"Good thing, you don't know any better." He replied, turning his head to get a better look at him.

His wrist ached, the burning that would usually subside when he was back at Welton. If anything, it was more severe. The longer he stared at Charlie, the more pain he felt— from his own or his soulmate's, he wasn't sure. So, why does Knox feel the urge to say what he does?

"Of course I fucking missed you." Knox rolls his eyes, "You'd think you know me by now." He grumbled, pulling an all too compliant Charlie against his front as they properly hugged.

"For the record," Charlie said. "I tried to swap the names— got my ass handed to me when Nolan caught me."

"Why does he care now?" He deadpanned, "If he hasn't for the past four years—"

"This year's going to be hell, I can feel it." Charlie dropped his forehead against Knox's shoulders, "Onward young Knoxious, the study group awaits!" He pulls him out of the room, the grip on his sleeve loose enough for Knox to pull back.

He wouldn't. He never did.

They made their familiar trek towards Neil's room, although instead of the usual sight of Neil with his old roommate that Knox could never for the life of him, remember his first name— it was empty, desolate. A new name was displayed on the door above Neil's, and the boy in question was currently seated at the desk on the left side of the room.

He watched as Cameron hurried his way out of Neil's room, thoroughly flustered. Charlie, not wanting to address the elephant in the room, decided it was best to pretend it was an everyday occurrence— Hopkins rooming with Spaz across the hall instead of with Neil. He walked in as if he owned the place, sitting himself onto Neil's unmade bed.

"Rumor has it, you did summer school." Charlie smirked, pointing at Neil.

"I told my dad it was to get ahead." Neil rolled his eyes, "He doesn't need to know I had to retake Chemistry."

"What he doesn't know won't kill him." Charlie reached into the inside of his blazer, pulling out a singular cigarette.

"You better hope he doesn't find out." Knox confirmed, instinctively pulling out his lighter and lit the end of his best friend's cigarette.

"Oh, like you'd fink." Neil scoffed, grabbing the ash tray from his windowsill and setting it on the nightstand closer to Charlie. "Cameron asked about study group, we're still on right? Including Pitts and Meeks—"

"Why does he feel the need to ask every year?" Charlie sighed, "As if we haven't been studying with him since we were twelve." 

"We all know damn well, last year was different." Neil stated, "Before I forget— Charlie, Knox, this is Todd Anderson. Todd, this is Charlie Dalton and Knox Overstreet."

Knox looked at the boy. He was flustered at being put on the spot, eyes widening as the pink hue on his cheeks darkened. Todd held his hand out for both boys to shake which they had gladly obliged.

"Todd, you should join our study group." Neil suggested, "You guys won't mind, right?"

"The more the merrier." Knox agreed.

"Perfect!" Charlie exclaimed, "Your initiation will be telling us your Soulmark." He joked, flicking his cigarette into the ash tray.

Neil rolled his eyes, "Todd, you don't have to answer—"

"Self-Sacrificing." Todd's voice abruptly interrupted his roommate's reassurances, a shrug to his shoulders.

"I like you, Anderson." Charlie smirked, "Markless." He gestured towards himself.

"Still?" Neil asked, "And you're positive you've never revealed your mark to someone you thought could've been your soulmate?"

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Have you met yourself?" Neil asked, "Doesn't seem out of the norm—"

"Knox is the hopeless romantic." Charlie denied, "He'd definitely risk it all."

Knox rolled his eyes, "You literally hate being told what to do—"

A singular knock to the opened door. All attention was given to the man in the entryway, they recognized as Neil's father, Mr. Perry. The elder man cleared his throat, upon realizing the other people gathered in his son's room.

"Should you boys really be discussing your marks with each other?" His voice steady, judgement in his tone. "Neil." He tilted his head towards the hallway, not very discreet.

"Or lack thereof." Charlie quipped back, "Sorry sir, I brought up the topic..."

Neil stepped out into the hallway with his father, leaving the three to stew in the awkward atmospheric shift.

"Is it really so bad to talk about?" Todd asked, breaking the silence with a wavering voice.

"It's not advised." Knox shook his head, "Our friend group talks about it pretty regularly though."

"You don't have one?" Todd turned to Charlie, intrigue filled his voice.

"As Cameron put it," Charlie nodded, "My soulmate is one confident mother fucker..."

"You're quoting him out of context."

Why was Knox irritated? It's as if there was a completely different side to Charlie that in their three years of rooming together, he had never unveiled. Yet, here he is, yearning for what he doesn't have— meanwhile, Knox would sell his left kidney if only to be able to pick his own destiny. Sure, his soulmark makes him happy, a reminder that someone out there was picked just for him... He'd give anything for Charlie to be that person, because Charlie makes him happy too.

Fucking hell.

He'll get over this... infatuation? He'll definitely have to work through it, if only for the other boy to keep searching for him in a crowded room. If only to prove to himself that he could selflessly let go of the one he truly wants to be with, for a person he'll probably never meet— it's expected of him.

Here he stood in the locker room, thinking about their newly hired English teacher, Mr. Keating— with his unworldy teachings, shining a new light on every different perspective. He told them all to seize the day, Carpe Diem.

If he had an ounce of the courage that Mr. Keating displayed this afternoon, he'd have seized the moment by now. In a perfect world, Charlie would reciprocate these feelings. In a perfect world, he'd be markless as he pursued these irrepressible feelings without being overwhelmed with a sense of guilt. If Meeks and Pitts could be soulmates, who's to say that Charlie and Knox couldn't? It's not like Knox even knows what his own biggest insecurity is, it wouldn't be so crazy...

It was wishful thinking.

It was falling back into the same mentality, putting forth a mark before his own happiness.

"Study group tonight?" Meeks asked, looking between Knox and Charlie, both occupying the same mirror.

"I'll be there." Charlie answered, combing through his wet hair.

The shorter boy made eye contact with Knox through the mirror, awaiting a response. In previous years, he never would have done such a thing— I would have been We. When had they grown distant? If Knox had realized sooner, could he have stopped it? Prolonged the process if anything else...

"I won't." Knox answered, "I'm supposed to have dinner with the Danburry's."

"The Danburry's?" Charlie's eyebrows raised in surprise, "How'd you swing that?"

"They're a friend of my dad's or something." He let out an exasperated sigh, "Eldery no doubt. Not necessarily how I'd prefer to spend my evening—"

"Well, anything beats Hellton hash." Neil's voice called out to them, echoing slightly.

"You know what," Charlie turned slightly to meet Neil's gaze. "I'll second that."

Knox would eat Hellton hash everyday, every meal, if it meant he wouldn't feel imprisoned in his own body. If he could suppress the guilt, the shame, of not necessarily wanting to pursue his destined love over someone real— someone present.

It could have been anyone, he often tells himself. Although, no one else had ever achieved such a feat. Well, no one besides Charlie Dalton, and the boy in question hadn't the slightest idea.

"We'll see." Knox said, not that anyone had been expecting his reply.

Don't think Knox hadn't noticed the way Charlie had silently slipped passed him. The way he hadn't lingered in the doorway waiting for Knox to finish— he was like a ghost, a free spirit haunting their friendship with generic replies and half-assed reassurances.

The longer he stalled in the showers, the less occupied the locker room became. A singular shower could be heard; he knew it was Todd, having lingered long enough to see the other doing the exact same. Meeks was occupying the sink next to his, coiling his hair with his fingers as he stared at Knox through the mirror.

"Trouble in paradise?" Meeks joked.

"So, it's not just me?" Knox raised an eyebrow, "You see it too?"

"Charlie's distant." An affirmative hum, "It's kind of hard to miss when he used to be attached to your hip."

"Did he tell you anything?" He asked, "I've been trying to wrap my head around it..."

"If something is troubling him, he hasn't said anything to me."

"I think the shift happened that night in the cave, last year..." He pondered.

"It has to run deeper than that," Meeks denied. "Maybe being markless is affecting him a lot more than it should— he still doesn't have one, right?"

"Why would he want one?" Knox frowned, "It's burdensome, pointless."

"Burdensome, he says." His voice filled with intrigue, "Where's this coming from?"

"He's right, you know." Knox ignored the question, staring at himself in the mirror as if he could find an answer. "I would risk it all— I'd risk it all in a heartbeat if he asked me to, and that scares me."

"Risk what?"

"I want to be markless..."

Silence passed between them as Knox continued to stare at his own reflection, a lump forming in the back of his throat. His body physically rejecting that very sentiment, but the air seemed lighter on his lungs as the tension in his shoulders eased.

A sense of relief washed over him, if only for a moment as the steam from Todd's shower coated the atmosphere in a thick fog— a visual representation of his mind. The way he continuously fights to choose between a selfless act pressured onto him by societal norms or a selfish love that melts from his heart, yearning for what could be— what is, if he wasn't so fucking scared.

"Why would you want to be markless?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Knox countered, "Are you saying you're only with Pitts because you're soulmates?"

"I'm not with Pitts." A pink hue painted Meeks' freckled cheeks.

"How the hell can you stand there, claiming to be soulmates if—"

"We're not not together." Meeks sighed, "It's complicated..."

"How so?" Knox challenged.

"We're soulmates." He reiterated, "There's no feesible reason to believe that the moment we reveal our marks that they wouldn't turn red— that's not the issue."

"Do you... I want you to know, I'm asking this as your friend." He turned his attention away from the mirror, looking at Meeks with what he hopes is concern. "Do you not want to be romantically involved him?"

Meeks' eyes widened, his frown elongated at the corners as he shook his head frantically. The redhead was at a crossroads, fighting an internal battle that he had seemingly been losing, and for quite some time by the looks of it.

Upon further inspection, the contours of his friend's face were slightly protruding. His already pale skin looked almost ghostly, under the scrutiny of the blinding locker room lights. The bags under his eyes dark and puffy, sinking into the contours of his skin— surely a dead man walking, if Knox ever did see one.

"Of course I do." Meeks denied, "Holy fuck, do I want to!" His voice cracked, leaning his body forward to rest against the sink. "It's just complicated— I don't even know how to put my worries into words, it just... exists?"

"You can try?" He offered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It stays between us, Soulmark's Honor."

"We have different goals." He chooses his words carefully, "As we grow, so do our future careers, livelihoods, and personal interests." Meeks frowned, "I mean, he's going to Yale, I'm going to Harvard. He's going to be a Lawyer, I'll be a Software Developer."

"You're worried about having a life outside of one another?" Knox raised an eyebrow.

"What if we out grow each other?" He asked, "What if I'm left behind? I'm stuck in the present, waiting for our relationship to settle. Meanwhile, he moves on to bigger and greater things— or god forbid, vice versa?"

"Personally?" Knox took a moment to ponder an acceptable answer, "Well, I'd think you're an idiot."

"Thanks," He mumbled under his breath. "As if I didn't already have enough to think about..."

"Life won't give you handouts." Knox said, "You're just as responsible for getting your ending as fate was for writing it."

If their ending was already decided, why was Knox so determined to rewrite it? His ending, along with everyone else would consist of waiting for something— someone, who statistically wasn't going to show. Next thing he knows, he's thirty and decides to settle for the easiest person, society will force a woman for his hand in marriage to continue a loveless lineage.

Unless you're someone like Meeks, who found his perfect ending early in life. A companion, confidant whom he willingly wanted to spend his life with. The only setback being the exact insecurity that lingered in the forefront of his mind, deep within in his heart.

"Just because you're soulmates does not mean your relationship is going to be easier than those who aren't." Knox shrugged, "Your relationship has the same probability of failing as it does succeeding, Cameron could've told you that— I'm pretty sure he has."

"I thought your were supposed to be the romantic?" Meeks raised an eyebrow, "Persuading me to reveal my mark. Love prevails all, we'll make it because we're destined lovers..."

"I love love." Knox confirmed, a smile making it's way onto his own lips. "Love doesn't necessarily love me back, though."

"Why do you want to be markless?" Meeks repeats the question, voice soft.

"I don't want to feel the guilt of knowing someone is out there— fighting a losing battle of self-worth, because yeah..." His voice cracked, vision blurred as he felt hot tears fall from his lashes, rolling down his face. "They'll never be enough for me. No one will ever be enough because they're not Charlie."

"You'd risk it all." Meeks whispered, repeating Knox's previous statement. A unknown realization in his voice, a sad smile on his lips. "And he'd never let you do that..."

The stream from Todd's shower shut off as an echoing squeak from the shower curtains against the rod filled their ears. Knox and Meeks greeted the new member of their study group as he stepped out of the shower, continuing their routines in a comfortable silence. A mutual understanding, despondent over their lack of free will— Knox with a love destined for failure, Meeks with a love destined for greatness only to fall short because of his own insecurity.

Fuck fate.

"You should totally come tonight, Todd." Meeks smiled, "We don't bite."

"We don't, but Charlie might." Knox joked, ignoring the tears that continued to fall.

"I—" Todd stammered, "I don't know. I'll think about it." Avoiding eye contact, probably feeling the heaviness shift within the atmosphere.

Knox would find himself on the Danburry's porch step later that evening, escorted by none other than Dr. Hager, himself.

The door opened, revealing a girl with short blonde hair and blue eyes that crinkled in the corners. A large smile that looked to hide the wonders of the world. A smile so bright, yet so stilted and rehearsed. An indecipherable word was inscribed on her skin just above her collarbone, the dim porchlight in the early autumn evening had made it just visible enough to see that it was red— her soulmark.

"Did you need something?" She asked with a nervous chuckle.

"Uh, is this the Danburry's?" He asked, rather unintelligently might he add.

He had gone his entire life hiding his mark— even his parents that were miraculously soulmates, alway kept their marks covered unless lounging around the house. Now, here's this girl who is showcasing her red soulmark to the world, broadcasting her soulmate's deepest insecurity. It was quite remarkable, admirable even.

"Oh, are you here to see Chet?" She tilts her head in confusion, a cautioned in her demeanor.

"Mrs. Danburry?" He jokes, trying to ease any and all uncomfortable tensions he may have caused.

This causes a genuine smile to make its way onto her face, "No!"

An older woman appears from behind the girl, "Oh, Knox! Come in, come in, we've been expecting you." She gestures for him to follow. "Retrieve him at nine." She called out to Dr. Hager as she shut the door.

From there, the night was rather uneventful? It went about as well as you'd expect dinner with your father's colleagues without your father physically present as a buffer. The pretentiousness, the expectations regarding his future that his parents had chosen for him. A lawyer? He didn't want to be a lawyer, but he would act the part in respect for their sacrifices. He didn't want to attend Welton, but he'd endure the remaining years. He didn't want to live a life without Charlie by his side, but he'd be forced to.

His mind wandered back to the girl, he had earlier learned that her name is Chris Noel. The way she presented herself to the Danburry's, practically her future in-laws, if the relationship with her soulmate, Chet Danburry means anything. Another couple, destined lovers in the midst of billions, had seemingly defied the laws of statistics and found each other. A second chain shackled around his heart, restraining him from taking the leap— a leap he had dreamt of since he was twelve.

Currently, he found himself in front of another mirror, the Danburry's guest-bathroom mirror. A breath of fresh air, it did nothing to calm his own heartache. His hands were damp, using them to gently rub over his eyes and cheeks. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but note the similarities within himself that he had seen in Meeks; a shell of a man, haunted by what could be rather than what is.

He shouldn't compare himself to others, the anomaly that is willingly falling in love with someone who statistically isn't his soulmate. Especially so young, so naive as the concept of soulmates should be new— another anomaly as he's been bound to said person since he was six. A comparison would tell him to wait it out, wait for either the perfect girl, soulmate or not. A comparison would break his heart, and he's not sure who would help him piece it back together; surely not the one he wants, never the one he wants.

A soft knock on the door.

"Just a minute." He called out, frantically drying his hands as he fixed his hair to look somewhat presentable.

He opened the door, in the doorway stood Chris Noel in all her glory. In another universe, he'd probably fall in love with her, but here as she stood in front of him, he could only think about the one his heart yearned for. His eyes were drawn to her mark yet again, that burning ache he had been trying to quench? It was back.

"I love it, by the way." Knox smiled lightly, "Nolan makes everyone keep their marks covered..." He touched the inside of his own wrist, massaging the words he knew were there.

"Even if your mark is red?" She tilts her head to the side, a wonder in her eyes.

"Especially if it's red." He chuckled,  "I think he's bigoted, my friends think he has internalized homophobia— still an asshole, regardless."

She laughs, her nose crinkled as the smile on her face reflects the amusement in her eyes. As quick as it was to appear on her face, it's gone just as fast. A stilted posture and a practiced smile, the same facade that Knox has used all evening. It looked natural, although unnatural in the way that she should be comfortable in her boyfriend's parents residence.

What compels him to ask, "Are you okay?" He wouldn't know, but her reply would shock him.

"Have you ever been in love?" She asked.

He paused, "Where is this coming from?" Of course, he wants to say.

"A love so raw, fragile that you can't seem to take a step forward in the direction you want it to go— so fearful what they might think, assume if they don't feel the same?"

"Kind of?" He answered, "The person I love feels the same..." A slight hesitation in his voice, "Or at least, that's what I tell myself."

"Have you told them?"

"They know." He frowned, "They have to know... The distance between us grew when I denounced my soulmate."

"You denounced your soulmate?" Her eyes were wide, voice filled with wonder. Dare he say, hope?

"Not that I've ever actually met them," He mumbled. "It's the action in itself. If I believe it, maybe the one I love will believe it too?" A shrug to his shoulders, "Wishful thinking."

"It's beautiful." Her voice encouraging, her smile reassuring. "I don't love Chet..."

"Why not?" Knox raised an eyebrow, taking a sudden interest in their conversation. "He's your soulmate, isn't he?"

Knox knows, it was a hypocritical question. Although, he'd be lying if he said he didn't feel alone in his desires. If Chris Noel was not in love with Chet Danburry, maybe there was hope for him yet— maybe he wasn't an anomaly.

"Chet's a decent guy." She says, "He's attentive. He's charismatic. He has his entire life mapped out from entry level to retirement..." A sigh escaped her lips, arms wrapping around herself. "Every parent's wet dream for their daughter."

"It's not the life you want?" He asked, an understanding in his voice.

"People like us," She gestured towards him and herself. "Our parents have mapped out our entire lives from the moment our eyes opened— you wouldn't willingly be here on your own accord, otherwise."

Knox hummed in agreement.

"What happens if I let fate decide my love life, too?" She whispered, wavering from a fear of the unknown.

"You'll lose your autonomy." He answered, "It's one thing to accommodate our livelihoods to appease our parents— but, appeasing a concept that society tells us to follow?" Knox rolled his eyes, "Excuse my language, but fuck that."

God, he was really starting to sound like Charlie.

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid." Chris sighed, stepping around Knox to enter the unoccupied bathroom.

"If not Chet, then who?"

"No one." She smiles, "He's all I've ever known. Yet, oddly enough? I don't think I've ever loved him the way I'm supposed to."

"The way you were encouraged to." He corrects her, stepping away from the door.

Shortly after, Dr. Hager had returned to escorted him back to Welton. A blessing in disguise, as he had previously mentioned, he'd gladly eat Hellton hash everyday if it was more time spent with Charlie. If he couldn't have the boy as he desired, he could at least keep close and yearn for what could've been.

His mind kept replaying Chris' words and actions; how quick she was to approach him about the topic of love— as if he had all the answers. Who was she to assume that Knox could be trusted with her insecurities? Maybe it was a secret everyone knew, yet ignored. Maybe Chris was crying for help, seeing Knox as a bystander that would pull her out of a seemingly non-autonomous life. If Knox could defy fate, maybe she could too?

Knox entered the student lounge, finding his entire friend group and a few other bystanders. Occupying the table closest to the window; Neil, Charlie, and Cameron were huddled together trying to finish their trigonometry homework. Pitts and Meeks were seated at the table adjacent to them, working on their radio.

"You replace these numbers here with x, for x and y." Cameron was in-between Charlie and Neil, hunched over the table to look at Neil's textbook.

"Of course." Neil agreed, looking at the equation.

Cameron raised an eyebrow, sparing a glance at Charlie, who looked more lost than he had been previously. The two slowly turned their attentions back to Neil, who was still focused on the equation in the textbook.

"Of course..." Cameron repeated, "So, what's the problem?"

"My problem, is that my answer isn't the one listed in the back of the book." Neil flipped back and forth between the pages, trying to figure out his mistake.

"How is that possible?" Cameron frowned, snatching the textbook out of his friend's grasp.

"I got a negative." Charlie leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"Did you use cosine?" Neil asked.

"I used tangent."

"When in doubt, sine it out." Neil proclaimed, erasing his previous attempt and starting anew.

"Oh my god..." Cameron muttered under his breath, "You're both hopeless—"

Knox snorted.

Charlie removed his hands from his face, turning his head and locking eyes with Knox. A smile appeared on his lips, leaning forward in his seat again as he waved in greeting.

"Knoxious, how was dinner?" Charlie asked, changing the subject.

"Awful. Terrible." Knox made his way over, sitting in the unoccupied seat next to Charlie.

"That bad?" Neil looked up, an eyebrow raised in interest.

"The worst." Knox confirmed, "I met the most beautiful girl I've ever seen—"

"Sounds horrible." Charlie interrupted, his voice stilted.

He ignored the disinterest in his friend's voice, "It was, her name's Chris Noel. She's trapped in a loveless relationship with— get this, her own soulmate." He said. "She's practically engaged to the guy, Chet Danburry."

"Trapped?" Neil asked, "She didn't elaborate?"

"You didn't ask?" Cameron chimed in.

"I don't know, Cameron." He groaned, "I barely know the girl. Why would I ask?"

"Knew you enough to tell you she was in a loveless relationship." Charlie said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sounds like an invitation."

The distance between Knox and Charlie seemed to increase despite sitting side-by-side. A disconnect, a slight misunderstanding of the situation at hand; Knox was not interested in Chris like that, not in the slightest. She was beautiful, she was kind— she wasn't Charlie.

Instead of words, Knox moved his foot slowly to knock against the other's. A subtle attempt to ease his hostility for a girl he hadn't met, a girl that empathized with their situation. The action was met with Charlie's ankle curling around his own, their knees and thighs pressing against one another. Despite the annoyance still evident Charlie's attitude, his stiff posture eased as the tension in his shoulders visibly subsided.

"Doubt it." Knox disagreed. "I'm just a friendly face." He shrugged, leaning forward in his seat to take a glimpse at Charlie's homework.

"If she's beautiful, you should go for it." Charlie whispered, more so to himself. "Was the tangent formula not the right one to use? I didn't check the back of the book."

"You're beautiful too." He watched the way the latter's face flushed, a pink hue staining the apples of his cheeks. The words so quiet, encasing them in a blanket of vulnerability.

"No, it was right." If Cameron heard their little exchange, he wouldn't mention it. "The answer isn't a negative, though."

"I don't think I can focus on trig, right now."

"Of course you can't..." Charlie muttered under his breath, gaze still fixated on his trigonometry textbook.

The weight in the room shifted upon the student lounge's doors opening, the voice of Dr. Hager causing everyone to halt their conversations. The students in the lounge packing up their personal belongings, exiting the room in a practiced swarm.

He felt Charlie's leg retract from his own rather abruptly, shaking the table slightly as he did so. He slammed his textbook closed, standing up as he let the chair loudly scrape across the hardwood floor. Knox would remain seated, amused by the latter's actions.

"Gentlemen, five minutes." Dr. Hager's voice called after them at the doorway, "Mr. Pitts, that better not be a radio in your lap."

"No, sir." Pitts immediately denied, "Science project."

Meeks chimed in almost immediately, "We want to get to nationals this year." Holding the antenna above his head, demonstrating— what, exactly? Who the hell knows.

Dr. Hager furrowed his brows in confusion, turning his attention elsewhere.

"Did you see her naked?" Charlie asked, leaning away from him.

The question would be perceived by others as a joke. Although, Knox knew his best friend better than that— the underlying implications in his tone, his pupils constricted in misdirected anger. All of it, a sign of jealousy, yet why would he be jealous? Almost as if they were together, but that's just it isn't it...

They're not together.

"Very funny, Dalton." Knox finds himself saying, "No, I didn't— don't want to either." He added the last part for good measure, breaking eye contact before he revealed everything.

Well, not that that the other had heard his response. The moment the question had left Charlie's lips, he was walking away. Instead of following closely as Knox usually did, he stayed behind to allow the other to put distance between themselves.

One minute would turn into two, before he began the trek back to his room. The door was left slightly ajar, an unofficial invitation for anyone willing to enter. Upon entry, he watches as Stick, his new roommate this year, is reorganizing his side of the room.

Knox stepped into the room, closing the door behind him as he started to undress for the night. He started with taking his blazer off, yanking a free hanger out of his closet and putting it between the sleeves of the well worn jacket. In the mirror on his closet door, he locks eyes with his roommate, who decides it was the perfect time to engage in conversation.

"Are you ever going to tell him?" Stick asked.

"Tell who, what?" He asked, feigning ignorance.

"You know who." He gave a pointed look, irritation in his voice.

"You can't just say it out loud." Knox hissed. "If the wrong person finds out—"

"None of us would incriminate you." Although, it did little to reassure him.

"The students, probably not." He agreed, "Nolan, though? He would."

"Fuck Nolan."

Knox ran a hand through his hair, pulling at the ends in reflex. He could feel a migraine forming in the back of his eyes, a constant pulse of aggravation and built-up anxiety. The night, although neutral through the eyes of a bystander, went poorly for himself as far as stanards go.

The words from Chris had been eating away in his mind, finding a home in his frontal lobe— the voice in his head, mumbling "limbic system" sounds a lot like, Cameron. Chris' words repeating, "People like us."

People like us.

Her situation had put his current mindset into perspective; could he be content in a loveless relationship? If he adhered to his parents plans for his future, following in his father's footsteps and becoming the lawyer they wanted him to be or rather, needed him to be— what else could they decide for him? How far would this game of push-and-pull go before Knox inevitably stopped pulling? How long before he willingly gave up on true love, and followed the script that was written for him?

God, he should really start listening to his own advice.

"Why are you afraid?" Stick asked.

Afraid.

Was that what he was feeling? Maybe his worries had nothing to do with his current soulmate. Maybe it wasn't necessarily guilt as it was fear— a fear of not being chosen, his perseverance for love in the person he wants, only for him to not reciprocate his feelings. A fear of being too much or not enough, all at once.

"You know, he feels the same..." Stick whispered, "Right?"

"It doesn't matter." Knox frowned, "Why should I confess, if I know he'd never let us be together?"

"Peace of mind?"

"Honestly?" Knox blinked, "I'd rather die."

"A bit dramatic."

"I'm serious." He sighed, shrugging his dress shirt off his shoulders. "We're not soulmates, Stick."

"So?"

"So?" He mocked, "He wants me to find mine, for whatever fucking reason." He collapsed onto his unmade bed.

"He wants you to be happy."

"He makes me happy."

"Maybe, try telling him that?" Stick offered, turning off the light on his side of the room.

Maybe.

Here he was, standing on Mr. Keating's desk alongside Meeks, staring down a the classroom from a different perspective. Neil and Charlie had just stepped down from the desk, walking to their seats to gather their belongings as the bell rang.

He watched as Charlie lingered, stood by the bookcase in the back of the room, observing. Their eyes drawn to each other like a moth to a flame, a hidden desire. Charlie's eyes trailed up and down Knox's body, longing for everything he was— everything they could be, together, yet they never would. His pupils dilating the longer he stared, the green they usually held lost in a sea of black.

Quickly, Knox jumped down from the desk as if he had been burned. He felt Meeks' gaze from above, burning a hole in the back of his head; he was exposed. If Stick knew, his roommate whom he had probably had four conversations in his entirety at Welton Academy, who else knew? Of course, besides his study group— friend group.

"Thoreau once said, most men live lives of quiet desperation." Mr. Keating projects his voice through the room, "Don't be resigned to that. Break out!"

Knox made his way back to his desk, watching as the rest of his friends take a stand on the desk. A different perspective shone through the eyes of each individual that stepped up and onto the desk— Stick, in awe and wonder of a world he'd yet to discover. Cameron, seemingly fighting an internal battle of acceptance and resistance. Pitts, anxious at the thought of a world more complex than originally assumed. Finally, Todd stood alone on the desk, the only one Knox had yet to fully understand.

Mr. Keating started aggressively flickering the lights, gaining the attention of everyone in the room.

"In addition to your essays, I would like each of you to compose your own poems and present them in front of the class."

The entire class groans, some walking towards the exit.

"Bonne chance, gentlemen!" He exclaimed, "And Mr. Anderson, don't think I don't know this assignment scares the hell out of you—" Mr. Keating cuts himself off, flipping the light switch off.

Todd was left to himself, standing on the desk in slight embarrassment from being singled out. Knox watched as the boy climbed down from the desk, slowly making the trek back to his desk as more students filed out of the room.

"Hey Todd," Knox called out to him. "Neil called for an emergency study group tonight, you going?"

"I can't exactly say no to him." He awkwardly laughed, voice soft. "I'll be there."

"Good." He responded, turning to follow the herd of students out of the dark classroom.

Before he could make it out of the room, a hand clasps on his shoulder. He was pulled back slightly, half turning to make brief eye contact with none other than, Todd. The boy was slightly out of breath, uniform slightly disheveled from his bag that had been thrown haphazardly over his shoulder.

Todd's hand retracted from his shoulder almost instantly, a moment of recognition flashing within his eyes from his own actions. He shifted from one foot to the other, walking side-by-side with Knox down the almost empty hallway. Although intrigued, Knox was patient. He knew better than to disrupt Todd's thought process— if it was important, he would say it. If it wasn't? Well, he'd enjoy the company and respond when prompted.

"It's none of my business..." The other began, trailing off slightly as he tried to think of the right words. "But, no one's exactly given me an answer."

"Ask away."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong." He apologized, his tone anxious. "Are you and Charlie like, a thing?"

"No hesitation, huh?" Knox chuckled, "We're not, but we also kind of are— at least, we want to be."

"Why not?"

"That, Anderson." Knox smiled lightly, "Will forever be a question I don't have the answer to."

"Neil thinks you're soulmates."

"I don't see how we could, Charlie doesn't have a mark."

"You're pretty confident." Todd shrugged, "Hypothetically, if you were... Would you be?"

"Be what?" Knox asked, as they turned a turned corridor. "Together?"

"It seems like that's the only exception holding you back."

"Me?" He scoffed, "If I knew my feelings would be accepted, we'd have figured our shit out a long time ago..."

"Accepted, not reciprocated?" Todd questioned with intrigue, "Odd choice of words." He raised an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips. "Confidence."

Knox's pace slowed, shoes scuffing against the hardwood floors with each step taken. Todd's figure walked ahead, leaving him behind as if he hadn't just planted a small seed of hope into his subconscious. The same hope he had uprooted from his heart last year upon finding out that Charlie was in fact, markless.

Should Neil's assumptions and Todd's words matter as much as they do? Definitely not. It begs the question; does Charlie want to distance himself because he thinks his feelings are skewed from a divine power's intervention? Or was he distance because he believed they weren't?

Knox already accepted the truth. Despite the pain in his chest, swallowing the rise of bile in the back of his throat. His body physically rejecting his deepest desires, trying to revert his feelings to the way he was seemingly programmed, to follow the script and play the bystander in his own story.

Knox had already accepted his truth. The truth being, it had always been Charlie— it was always going to be Charlie. Todd's words would have given himself a last surge of hope, a last attempt to make things right. Now, though? As a hopeless romantic, he hoped they weren't destined to be together. He wanted the opportunity to prove himself worthy to the nonconformist, Charlie Dalton. A boy who bent the rules, challenged authority. A boy who chose to silently suffer, willingly obey the laws of fate for the sake of Knox's happiness.

"I hope to god, we're not." Knox whispered to himself 

If they were, there's no reason to believe why Charlie would want him. It's because he wouldn't— even if he did.

Later that evening, he would find himself in the cave with everyone. A second change in scenery, although this time was different; not only was Todd present, the air around them was charged. Anticipation, excitement, and an underlying love for the people he chose to surround himself with.

He was sitting on a small ledge provided by a spot on one of the cave walls, low enough to keep his feet planted on the ground but high enough to maintain a decent height advantage. On the ground by his feet to the right, sat Charlie with his chin resting on Knox's thigh as he held a conversation with Cameron, who was to Knox's left.

It was as if the distance that the latter had forced between them at the start of the year, ceased to exist. Knox's fingers instinctively entangling in Charlie's hair, nails lightly scraping against the boy's scalp every now and again, massaging the tension of the day away. Intimate, could be used to describe their current position. Debauched, was a good one— more accurate.

"I know what I want to do." Neil suddenly exclaimed, the small sub-group conversations came to an abrupt halt. 

"And what do you want to do?" Pitts asked.

Neil dropped a flyer in the center of the cave, the dim light from Meeks and Pitts' flashlights made the words, A Midsummer Night's Dream legible in the darkness.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream..." Todd read aloud, "What is this?"

"A play, dummy." Neil chuckled.

"No, I get that." He stammered, "I mean— I guess what I'm asking is, how does this pertain to you?" The boy clearly flustered at being put on the spot, his arms wrapping around himself a little tighter.

"I'm gonna act." Neil declared, arm outstretched with his hand balled into a fist. His brown eyes were filled with determination, focus. "Yes, I'm going to do it— I've always wanted to try, obviously my father never let me pursue it..." He rambled, slightly off topic. "But, this time I will! Whether he let's me or not, Carpe Diem."

"How are you going to be in a play, if your father won't let you?" Todd questioned.

The atmosphere changed at the mention of Mr. Perry, a bitter cloud encased their once sacred space. The despondence in the air was contagious, the unfortunate reality for people like them— all sense of autonomy was relinquished, marionettes in their own stories as they were forced to live out their parents expectations, their parents dreams.

Knox's fingers that were entangled in Charlie's hair stilled, looking down to meet eyes with the boy in his lap. A silent conversation passed between them, the mutual consensus to remain quiet as Todd and Neil argued back and forth. An argument between roommates; one a realist, the other an idealist.

Charlie shifted his head slightly, his cheek resting on Knox's thigh as he continued to communicate with him through prolonged eye contact. His hand continued it's ministrations: twirling strands of hair, combing out the knots with his fingers, lightly tugging at stray pieces every now and again. He watched as the other's eyes closed in content, his face neutral and relaxed from its usual mirth and mischief.

"I don't even have the part yet, can I at least enjoy the idea for a little while..." Neil's voice cracked, determination lost in the guilt.

Todd stared at his hands in his lap, silent once again. An apology in his eyes, but the refusal to say the words aloud, whether it was pride or his right to feel anxious for Neil's sake, as a concerned friend— maybe more? Knox wasn't sure, but the tension between them was charged, regardless.

"We support you." Knox's voice breaks the silence, "We're allowed to worry."

Neil hummed in appreciation, a small smile on his lips.

"What do you guys make of Keating's assignment?" Pitts changed the subject.

"Definitely not looking forward to it." Cameron shrugged, "I'm no poet."

"We have to present them..." Todd mourned tomorrow, the anxiety evident in his voice.

"There has to be a subject," Neil said. "What will your subjects be—" He cut himself off abruptly, letting the question linger in the air.

"Cameron, you could write about hip dips." Charlie's eyes averted from Knox's own, meeting eyes with his roommate instead.

"Fuck off, Dalton." The redhead rolled his eyes, all in good nature.

"Huh?" Todd asked, the joke flying over his head.

Knox let his fingers fall from Charlie's hair, knuckles trailing the bare skin of the junction of the other's neck. He could see the faint trail of goosebumps left from his touch, the stutter in the other's breath as he exhaled. His neck flushing pink from the sudden attention, rising upwards to his face. A small hum of pleasure, only audible to himself escaped the other's lips.

"His soulmark." Knox clarified.

"Hip Dips?!" Todd's voice cracked, the surprise clearly evident.

Cameron grumbled in embarrassment, "It's not that surprising..."

"I told you." Neil chuckled at the reaction, "It's only hard to believe because it's you."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean." He heaved an exasperated sigh, "Our soulmarks don't represent ourselves."

"Your soulmate is very vainful."

"Charlie, that's not even a word." Meeks chuckled, "It's just fascinating how your soulmate worries about their appearance when, well..."

"Are you saying, I don't?"

"Not necessarily." He shook his head, "It's more so—"

"We feel your insecurity reflects on your personality rather than your physique." Knox commented, "I think you're confident enough in your appearance— it's a compliment."

Cameron may have rolled his eyes, but Knox saw the small smile grace his lips.

"Back on topic, though." Cameron interjected, "What the hell are we supposed to write about?"

"Anything you want." Charlie answered, "C'mon Cameron, don't you get anything?"

"What are the limits?" He asked again, "We've never been given this much literary freedom."

"So, run with it."

"I know what I want to write about..." Knox spoke up, fingers now tracing the contours of Charlie's face. "I probably won't, though."

"Why not?" Todd asked, eyeing him from across their makeshift circle.

In hindsight, there wasn't a good enough reason for Knox to not write a poem about abadoning his nonexistent-existent soulmate, so he could yearn for his best friend instead. A guilt-free, fear-free life of watching his requited love suffer in silence as they waited for different outcomes in their own stories. Fuck fate, fuck conformity, fuck love. It's all the same in the end, anyways— forced obedience and despair.

"I feel too much." He answered, "It'd probably sound more like a rant, than a proclamation."

"It could be as simple as, a cat sat on a mat." Neil disagreed, "It could even run as deep as Shakespeare. Remember? Mr. Keating said, we don't read and write poetry because it's cute. No, we read and write poetry because we are members of the human race— what have you got to lose?"

"Did you seriously remember that, word for word?" Meeks asked.

"Does Mr. Keating's lessons mean anything to you guys?" Neil groaned, "We can make a difference. We can reevaluate our lives, do the things we want to do— not just yearn for what could've been."

"Easier said, than done." Charlie commented, voice solemn.

Everything. Knox could lose everything.

This right here; Charlie's head in his lap, his hand tracing patterns onto Charlie's skin, the soft exhales in content and pleasure from Charlie's mouth.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

He could lose the one person he wants the most— the one person he couldn't fucking have.

Charlie was everything.

"Sidenote, that poem was riveting." Charlie deadpanned, "Don't let Hopkins hear it, he'll steal it."

"Quite the contrary." Neil smiled, "I stole it from him."

Two poems laid out in front of him on his desk. One showcased his full intent, heart ripped out of his sternum and displayed for the entire class to envision the reason why his heart beats, whom he yearns for. The other, a simplistic rhyme about a girl he met almost a week ago— it was an easy read, feigned obsession with a girl that he had no interest in.

Be the hopeless romantic that everyone wants him to be— risk it all for a girl whom he had already forgotten the name of, instead of the boy who sits behind him. It was reasonable, it was expected, it was just like Knox Overstreet. You know, what was also like Knox Overstreet? Ripping up the poem of a girl with blonde hair and a fake smile, holding the poem of a boy with brown hair with an antagonizing smirk, close to his heart.

"Mr. Overstreet, the stage is yours." Mr. Keating called his name next, enthusiasm in his voice.

With a heavy hand and a fragile heart, he stood from his seat and walked to the front of the room. He locked eyes with Todd, who sat in the front row on the right side— well, only the right side if you're facing the class, which he indeed was.

Thank the heavens in all its divine power, for Charlie to be more focused on the doodles in his notebook than Knox's less than stellar poem. 

Todd gave an encouraging smile, which only irked him, albeit not for long. It's not like he could stand in front of the class and list the reasons why he idolized Neil, which he'd love to see by the way. He couldn't stay annoyed for long, for one, it was physically impossible to be perturbed with Todd Anderson. And two, he should be talking now— he should be reading his poem, and yet the words were stuck on the tip of his tongue the longer he stared at his active audience.

"To the one..." His voice was soft, hardly above a whisper.

"A little louder." Mr. Keating encouraged, "Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes."

"Walt Whitman." Cameron said, giving a singular nod for Knox to continue.

"To the one who's not my soulmate.

There's a sweetness in their smile,

Bright light shines from their eyes

Life is fragmentary— contentment resigns

Knowing that they will never be mine."

He looks up from his poem, making the unfortunate mistake of sparing a glance at Charlie. The boy is smiling, but the light doesn't seem to reach his eyes— in this moment he understands, the one he loves does not understand that the poem was intended for him. Well, he does, but he doesn't want to believe that Knox would willingly choose him. That Knox has repeatedly chosen him, over and over again— that he would continue to do so, until the other finally realizes his own worth.

With an even heavier heart, he crumples the poem in his hand as he makes the trek back to his desk. The sound of a few students snickering at his attempts to showcase his heartache from an unrequited-requited love.

"Sorry, it was stupid." Knox apologized, sitting down as he lowered himself into his seat.

"No, no!" Mr. Keating denied, "It touched one of the major themes in poetry, love." He clasped his hands together, encouragement in his voice. "A major theme not only prevalent in poetry, but life as well."

A hand tapped on his shoulder, he turned his head slightly to make eye contact with the theme of his poem, Charlie Dalton. It was always, Charlie.

"I'm sure Chris would've liked it." A strain in his voice, almost as if it physically hurt him to say the words. In fact, he should've just kept them to himself, it would've hurt Knox less.

Unfortunately, Knox was not a subtle man. He exhaled rather obnoxiously, an audible groan escaped past his lips as he practically banged his head on his desk. The comforting hand on Knox's shoulder squeezed a few times, before retracting completely.

"The cat sat on the mat." Hopkins' voice rang in his ears, the memory of yesterday replaying behind his eyelids.

How could their feelings be reciprocal in the walls of a cave dwelling in front of their friends, but nonexistent in each other's private company? A far more ethical, safe space in the world they seem to live in. After all these years, of living together and invading every aspect of each other's lives, that he still sees himself as expendable? When the truth was, Knox couldn't replace him even if he were to try.

He lifted his head slightly, meeting eyes with Pitts who was seated across the room. A look resembling pity, remorse for his current situation— probably having heard Charlie's words of encouragement? Anyone else, would have ignored his attitude, anyone that hadn't known the true meaning behind his poem. Pitts knew, which meant the other Soulmark members knew. He'd be damned if Charlie didn't...

Class ended with Todd's improvising a poem on the spot— front and center, Mr. Keating's hand covering his eyes as he recited an original piece.

In another life, Knox would have listened to his friend's poem. Currently, in this life, he watched as the puzzle pieces seemed to align within Neil's eyes as the boy stared lovingly at Todd. In another life, he would've been happy for his friends for unveiling what everyone had seen coming. In this life? It wouldn't be far off to assume he was jealous. When would it be his turn to be happy?

Any other day, Knox would have lingered in the classroom as he watched others race out as the bell rang. Instead, he was the first person out of Mr. Keating's classroom. As fate would have it, Pitts practically sprinting after him as he exited the classroom hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Knox." Pitts called after him, "Cut him some slack—"

"How long?" He asked, "How long do I have to pretend that what I feel for him isn't real?" 

"He just wants—"

"Oh, my mistake. It's what he wants." Knox chuckled, "That's always the answer, isn't it?" With each step closer to the common area, his footsteps seemed to hit the ground harder. "He wants, and wants, and wants— what about what I want?"

Pitts remained silent, keeping rhythm with Knox's frantic pace.

"Because it's real for me, Pitts." Knox whispered, "Holy shit, is it real..."

"Have you talked to him?"

"When would I have been able to?" He asked, "He keeps his distance unless we're in a group setting."

"Maybe..." Pitts pondered with his thoughts for a moment, "Instead of reverting back to old habits in group settings, keep your distance as well?"

There was an idea.

Instead of walking out of the building, he made an abrupt left as he reached the bottom of the stairs. The rotary phone hung off to the side, unoccupied. He placed his textbooks into Pitts' arms as he reached into his pocket to pull out a quarter.

"What are you doing?" The other asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.

"I'm going to call her."

"Her?"

"Chris." Knox clarified, "Im going to call, Chris."

"Wouldn't that do more harm, than good?" He shook his head, "You know damn well, that wasn't what I meant."

"If he wants me as much as everyone says he does, then he can come get me himself."

"In the end, you're going to get hurt." Pitts denied, "If anything, this might delay this— this, whatever this is."

"Here's food for thought," Knox frowned. "What if I'm already hurting?" He abruptly stopped in his tracks, "I've been wearing my heart on my sleeve for four years, and for what, for him to have replaced me with Cameron?"

"He hasn't replaced you."

"Oh, bullshit." He hissed.

"I thought you didn't like Chris, like that?" He asked, attempting to understand Knox's thought process.

"I don't." He confirmed, "Charlie doesn't seem to understand that, though."

"I'm trying to understand..."

He needed distance. He needed space to breathe, time to talk with someone who understood his situation— someone that wasn't Charlie. Chris Noel seemed like the safest option, she didn't know him well enough to pass judgment on every decision. Although, calling her would unintentionally confirm Charlie's assumptions, that he was interested in Chris.

Ignoring the pain in burning sensation in his wrist, the constant throb in his veins with every wrong decision. He inserted the quarter in the slot, pressing his finger into the hole as he turned the dial clockwise, continuing the motion until he heard the first ring— waiting, as he heard the second.

Never Enough.

Never Enough.

Never. Fucking. Enough.

Pitts dropped their textbooks to the floor, grabbing the phone and placing it back on the handset, abruptly ending the call;

"Hello—"

"Pitts, what the hell?" Knox asked, making to grab the phone again.

"If you call her," He spoke slowly, making direct eye contact. "You'll only confirm his assumptions, and his deepest insecurities." A frown on his lips, "Are you still willing to make that sacrifice?"

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

"The point is..." He sighed, "Pitts."

"Go on." He raised an eyebrow.

"I can't be the only one making an effort." He whispered, "I deserve better than that, right?"

"I wouldn't know..." He answered honestly, releasing the grip he had on the phone. "I keep making excuses to not reveal my mark, I'm not exactly perfect, either."

He'd ignore that comment for now, solely focused on himself for the time being. If he didn't make this call now, he'd never muster the courage to make it again. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a second quarter and repeated the action; dialing the Noel household for a second time, tonight.

Pitts bent down to pick up the scattered textbooks, reorganizing them by name and subject as he waited patiently for Knox to finish. In the distance, Knox locked eyes with Charlie entering the common area with watchful eyes, immediate interest.

"Hello?"

"Hey Chris, it's Knox." He says, gaze still fixated on Charlie as he slightly angled his body away.

"Oh, Knox!" The delightfulness in her voice made him squirm, guilt starting to settle. "I was just about to call you, Chet's parents are away on business this weekend— there's going to be a party, won't you come?"

"A party?" He asked, "Yeah, I'll swing by."

"Wonderful! Saturday at seven."

"Saturday at seven." He confirmed, "Got it."

He didn't respond to her farewell, somewhat abruptly ending the call. In all fairness, Pitts had warned him, but did he listen? Definitely not, and he'd suffer the consequences of his actions, sooner rather than later.

Knox grabbed his textbooks from Pitts, walking past Charlie and out of the building for some fresh air. A slight change in scenery from the student lounge, away from the questioning stares and longing gazes. Well, before he could make it outside, a familiar hand grabbed his shoulder to garner his attention.

"We have a soulmark meeting on Saturday." Charlie whispered, almost gritting his teeth.

"I'm sure you can survive one meeting without me, right?" He refused to look the other in the eyes.

He knew he'd cave if Charlie asked him to not go to the party, he almost wished those words would leave his mouth. Something, anything to prove to himself that the longing gazes, lingering touches, the soft whispers— all of it, wasn't just in his head. That his feelings were reciprocated, their love was real in all its entirety.

"Why are you going if you don't like her?" He asked.

"Why do you care?" He retorted, slightly shaking off the other's hand as he continued forward.

"What?" He called out, irritation evident in his voice.

If you want me, ask me to stay. He wants to say, instead he settled for, "I'll be at the next meeting, I've already committed to going."

"Right." He released the grip he had on Knox's shoulder, "We wouldn't want you to disappoint someone else."

With that, Charlie's presence was gone. And Knox, stayed at the entrance of the building facing outwards to the courtyard. If he turned around, he might've made the impuslive decision to run after the other— maybe even cancel his future commitments.

"You know, as much as I hate to admit it..." Pitts' voice sounded from beside him, "Your methods may be too much for me, but it might be just enough for Charlie to understand."

Too much.

He was always too much, wasn't he?

The days dragged, the closer Friday seemed to get, the more it felt like it should already be Friday.

Knox and Charlie avoided each other like the plague, never being in the same room for too long— breakfast, lunch, and dinner proved to be a difficult feat. An unspoken agreement that Knox wouldn't be present for breakfast, Charlie would skip lunch, and they would both be present for dinner in an awkward silence. Despite their bitterness towards one another, they continued to prioritize each other's health and overall well-being.

Currently, Knox was in his room with the bedroom door slightly ajar, a silent invitation for anyone to join him. He was lounging on his bed, reading through the Mr. McAllister's Latin homework— unsuccessfully, might he add.

An overly enthusiastic knock resounded in the room, the bedroom door slamming against the door-stop. The hinges squeaked in protest, Neil emerging through the entryway with the biggest smile on his face. Charlie and Cameron visible behind his figure, as the boy rushes forward and jumps onto the empty space in Knox's bed.

"I got the part!" He practically yelled, "Holy shit, I really got it!"

"Yeah?" Knox smiled.

"I'm going to be, Puck!" He clenched the script in his hand, thrusting it upwards into the air.

Charlie and Cameron decide to fully enter the room. The redhead sitting on Stick's unoccupied bed, as Charlie took to leaning against the windowsill. Next, Todd entered along with Pitts and Meeks, all three of them smiling at Neil's excitement.

"Okay, how exactly are you going to pull this off?" Todd asked, "You got the part, now what?" Although concerned, his face betrayed him as his smile never wavered.

"I can write a letter to Nolan from my father's behalf, on my behalf."

"What?" Cameron furrowed his brows, trying to understand.

"Keep up, Cameron..." Charlie said, "Forging a letter, that just might work."

"Just hope that Mr. Perry doesn't find out." Pitts warned, "He made you quit the annual, I can only imagine—"

"Well, don't." Neil interrupted, "He's not going to find out."

Neil gets up from the bed, walking over to the typewriter on Knox's desk. He places a piece paper inside, brainstorming with Meeks and Todd hovering over his shoulder. One telling him what to type, the other offering silent support for his friend's dreams. Dreams that were now within his grasp, dreams that were slowly becoming a reality.

Conversation buzzed in the room, everyone interjecting with their own opinions on the words to be used in Neil's letter. Cameron's concerned drowned out in the background, but participating regardless. All of it, was as if the group dynamic hadn't changed over night. A confirmed sanctuary found in each other, a form of support system within themselves.

They could put their problems on hold. For instance, Pitts and Meeks being soulmates although not taking those important next steps. Or Todd and Neil, awkwardly skirting around each other's blatant feelings. Himself and Charlie, stewing in their self-loathing until they inevitably graduate Welton Academy, never to see each other again— always wondering, what if.

The only one without issues was Cameron, and unfortunately everyone should have been prepared for that. Or rather, he didn't make his issues everyone else's problem— a good man, he is.

"I was going to play my sax during tomorrow's meeting." Charlie whispered to Knox, leaning over while maintaining a respectable distance.

"I miss hearing you practice." Knox hummed, looking up to meet the other's eyes.

"You have an open invitation to hear it again." He said, "If you want..." He mumbled the last part, voice quiet.

"Is this you asking me to not go to the party?" He raised an eyebrow, feeling the slight lift of his lips. "Or are you offering to show me what I'll be missing?"

"Does it matter?" Charlie tilted his head, his bangs falling into his eyes.

"No." He whispered, "I don't think it does."

If Knox were to decide, he'd ultimately choose one-on-one time with Charlie, hands down. Although, not going to the party upon request to ease the other's worries, he wouldn't hesitate. He'd gladly scrounge around for an unused quarter, walk the distance to the nearest rotary phone, call Chris and decline her invitation— if only Charlie were to ask, alas it seemed the decision was his own to make.

He stared up at Charlie, providing adequate time for him to take the initiative, to allow himself to be selfish for once. He watches in silence as the other fights a losing internal battle with himself.

Despite the situation being a win-win scenario it was simultaneously a lose-lose scenario. If Charlie wants alone time with Knox, the other will still go to the party. Asking Knox to stay would put their alone time at risk, the other members more than likely to join. In another life, they wouldn't skirt around their own desires— in another life, they wouldn't doubt themselves to the point of self-sabotaging their own happiness.

Knox opens his mouth to speak, but the words get caught in the back of his throat.

He watches the way that familiar, obnoxious smirk makes it way onto Charlie's lips, his head gesturing towards the door. A silent offer to leave the room, a decision.

"You going to serenade me?" Knox joked, quietly getting up from the bed as to not disturb their distracted friends.

"Something like that..." He mumbled under his breath, grabbing Knox's wrist as he lead him out of the room.

He spares a singular glance at their friends, everyone distracted and hovering over Neil's shoulders as they write a letter of approval. Well, almost everyone. He locks eyes with Cameron, instead of drawing attention to them leaving the vicinity, he briefly smiles while discreetly offering a thumbs-up.

His marked wrist was burning. The material of his white button-down irritating the sensitive skin as it repeatedly dragged along the weighted words. Even if it was meant to hurt, bring forth caution to Knox's subconscious; Charlie's hand around his wrist soothed the pain, muted the guilt. It felt right, like it belonged there— like the soulmark on his wrist was the outlier, not Charlie. Never Charlie.

They made it to Charlie and Cameron's shared room, the door closed rather than slightly ajar. A silent demand for visitors were not welcome, that the ones behind said closed door were to not be disturbed. Whatever Charlie had wanted to play for Knox, was clearly meant for him to hear— and only him.

Knox sat on the other's bed, patiently waiting in a comfortable silence. He watched Charlie at work, tuning and checking his saxophone to perfection, testing a notes as a slight warmup. Standing in the center, in between both beds on either side of the room, knees slightly bent to accommodate the instrument as he leaned his body back with ease.

"Always Too Much by Charles Dalton."

He introduces his piece.

A chaotic tune starts to play, a slew of notes that didn't work well together.

"Itching, burning, pain, shame.

It's too much. It's always too much."

The same chaotic tune plays again.

"Conscious screaming, conscious dreaming.

It's too much! It's always too much!"

Charlie's voice cracks, the pain and self-loathing shone through. Knox doesn't think the other meant for it to, so he remains composed and expectant. He continues to stare longingly, a look of what he hopes is neutral, but that wouldn't that be wishful thinking— he feels the compassion, the warmth, a fucked up version of empathy.

A beautiful tune begins to play, different memories and melodies from the past start to play alongside him. All of them are Charlie, from twelve years old to just last year before they left for summer break. The practiced present piece starts to intertwine with the less experienced versions of the past. A version of Charlie that was his, no one else's— another reminder of what the current Knox, could only dream to have.

"You got your mark." Knox whispered, finding it rather hard to catch his breath.

It wasn't a question.

"I did." He confirmed, "Cameron was right..." His voice wavered, left hand pressing firmly into his hip bone as if to stop the pain. "It fucking sucks."

"How do you feel?" Knox started, "Does it feel different— some have said to feel complete, does it feel like that?" He hesitated, but he felt compelled to ask, regardless.

"It's just another reminder that I'm going to disappoint someone else." He shrugged, taking interest in inspecting the instrument in his hands.

"You've never disappointed me."

"Well, I've got my mark now." Charlie ignored the sentiment, "You can stop worrying that I'm going to die alone... Or whatever."

The moment— their moment from this point onward would shatter. The olive branch to mend their relationship that had seemingly strained over the course of one fucking summer, had snapped. Was it anger? No, the strings between them were too interwoven for an emotion so broad, disconnected. Disappointment, maybe? Disheartened.

"That's what you think this is?" Knox frowned, "After all these years—"

"What else could it be?" A question so genuine, filled with the utmost insecurity he had ever heard from the other.

"If you have to ask that," Knox swallowed, a lump forming in the back of his throat. "You really don't know me at all."

Knox stood up from the bed, gently shoving his way past Charlie who still stood in the center of the room. He grabbed the doorknob, turning his head slightly but made a point to not turn back— if he did, he wasn't responsible for the confession that would inevitably tumble out. A small inhale, an even larger exhale, he closed his eyes to will the tears away.

"Sorry you got your mark." He spoke, voice void of any and all emotions. "Nothing soothes the pain, you'll just have to suck it up— like the rest of us." He opens the door, leaving without a second thought.

As he left, he'd ignore the burning and the itching. He'd ignore the buildup of bile rising from the back of his throat, burning his esophagus as he swallowed the urge to expel the leftover remnants of his lunch. He'd ignore the guilt of leaving his best friend behind to deal with the confusion and pain that came with having a soulmark, by himself. He'd ignore all of it, if it meant he didn't have to bare witness to Charlie telling him that Knox only loved him out of pity.

Pity.

If only the heavens had made them especially for each other— but, not everyone gets to be happy, right? Quite the contrary, the exact opposite is taught from a young age, in Knox's case, eight years old. And yet, the happiness that's taught and understood, only exists when he's with Charlie Dalton.

Charlie Dalton, who's not his soulmate.

He couldn't sneak out of the dormitories fast enough, come Friday night. Stick was, per usual, not interested in his nightly escapades, promising to cover for him if caught, as the good roommate he is, should be.

Unfortunately, four shots in? Three by force, one by his sheer determination to forget about his woes that were soulmates. Not just his own, but Charlie's as well. Oh, let's not forget about Chris', she'd appreciate the gesture— Fuck it, why not everyone's soulmate? Everyone in fucking general. Yeah, fuck everyone.

So, maybe it was a little more than four.

"Knox, it's good to see you." Chris smiled, sitting on the arm of the couch he was practically sprawled out on.

"Likewise." He hiccuped, "How have you been, since you know, last I saw you?"

"Same as before." She answered truthfully, "And you?"

"I wrote and recited a poem to them— well, to the class... It was an assignment." He explained, "Didn't go over too well."

"They didn't feel the same?" Her voice wavered, a fear hidden from within.

"More like, didn't realize it was for them."

"I thought you said—"

"It's not like I can use their name, Chris." He sighed, "It's different."

"How is it different?" She pressured, "Love is love. If you love—"

His eyes widened slightly, sparing a glance in every direction. No one seemed to be listening in, the fear of persecution thrown with caution in the wind. Maybe it was the alcohol, he felt less tense. Chris' presence helped too, judgement free in her rather public display of allyship.

"Them..." She emphasized, "Why should you have to hide it?"

"It's illegal?" He furrowed his brows.

"No, I meant—" She cut herself off, a groan escaping past her lips. "If you love them as much as you say, why can't you just admit it to them?"

"That's a good question..." He trailed off, "I love him, but I don't know how to show it."

It's the second time he's admitted those words aloud— he's in love with Charlie. Not the idea or the prospect, he hadn't denounced his soulmate because he hates the idea of not being able to choose. No, he denounced his soulmate because he loves Charlie. He's always known this, the students at Welton knew, hell maybe even the faculty.

"You said him." She smiled softly, voice hardly above a whisper in the chaotic threshold of the Danburry's living room.

"I did." He replied, just as soft. "His name's Charlie Dalton, he's not my soulmate."

"I figured." She nodded solemnly, "Although, you don't seem to really care about that..."

"I don't." He confirmed, "I used to think he didn't either, now I'm not so sure."

"What changed?"

"He's been distant, I found out that he recently got his mark— the timing was pretty convenient." He sighed, taking a large swig out of the vodka in his plastic cup. "You told me you've never been in love, I wish that were my case."

"You said he wrote you a poem." She said, "That had to mean something, right?"

"His poem was admitting to having a mark." Knox said, "For all I know, he's had a mark this entire time— not like anyone would know, we're forced to hide them, anyways."

"Say he has," She nodded along to the preposterous theory, clearly alcohol induced. "Why bring it up, now?"

"Guilt." A shrug to his shoulders.

"Why does he feel guilty?" She challenged, "If you can sit there and believe your feelings are one-sided, ask yourself this, why is he telling me now?"

"Why is he telling me now?" He repeated.

"Knox, it's a rhetorical question!"

"Well, obviously I don't know!" His voice raised to match hers, a slight laugh at the end of his proclamation.

Clearly inebriated, he tilts his head back on the couch and finds himself staring at The Danburry's living room oddly textured ceiling. He turned his head, the movement dramatic and slightly dizzying, locking eyes with Chris again to continue their... Conversation? That's what it was, right? It felt like an intervention.

"Maybe he wants to hear you choose him?"

"Sounds like you don't have the slightest idea, either." He pointed a finger, a smirk on his lips. "To love is to yearn, that's what I want— that's what we have, I want it all." He admitted, "But, to yearn is to get hurt."

"That's too much." She frowned.

"It always is, isn't it?" He knew his smile didn't reach his eyes, it hardly reached his lips. "Believe me, you don't want a love so raw, so fragile."

"To be hurt is to know you're still human." She said, "If Chet were to break up with me today, I don't even think I'd cry— that scares me."

"Yeah." He whispered, "Fuck fate?"

"Fuck fate!" She yelled with a certain excitement, the hand holding her plastic up raised above her head.

Through unforeseen turn of events, Chet Danburry had kindly-not-so-kindly dropped off Knox and his bike two blocks away from Welton Academy. With a drunken farewell, Knox stumbled his way back to campus, as quietly and efficiently as possible.

The fact he could still reach into his pockets, and drop the dog treats on the ground at the bottom of the stairwell, was a miracle in itself. An even greater miracle, that despite his loud footsteps and stumbling mess of limbs, that no one seemed to notice his arrival. Or maybe they heard, but had collectively decided that the hangover he's to face tomorrow would be a far greater punishment than any demerit could ever warrant.

He stumbled forward, trying not to use the closed doors as impact for his falling figure. The less people knew about his nightly endeavors, the better— although he can't confirm his suspicions, he's pretty sure he's headed in the opposite direction of his bedroom. Everything door looks the same, instead of two name labels per door he's seeing four, it's all meshing together.

Muscle memory takes over, fourth door to the left would be Neil and Todd's room. Across from them, would be Cameron and Charlie— Charlie.

Fuck, he missed being his roommate. He missed his best friend. He missed loving him in silent, without the societal pressures. They should have never went down to the cave last year, they should have never told each other their soulmarks. If he had known then, what he knew now? Fuck.

His hand grasped the doorknob, slowly turning before a hand clasped onto his shoulder. It pulled him back harshly, guiding him— somewhere? Two doors down, and shoved him forcefully into the abyss of the dark bedroom. Oh right, his shared room with Richard Stites, Stick. As he fell through the entryway, he couldn't stop the involuntary, slightly uncontrollable laugh falling from his lips. He collapsed to the floor, his laugh increasing in volume.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The blonde whispered harshly, squinting in the dark without his glasses.

"Charlie—" Knox tried to catch his breath, "I had a question."

"I'm sure it can wait until your sober." He hissed, closing their bedroom door.

"Stick, you don't get it." He groaned rather loudly, pulling himself into a sitting position.

"Try me." He crossed his arms, hovering near the bedroom door for obvious reasons.

"I mis— misunderstood his poem."

"You're the one who wrote the poem." Stick said, thoroughly confused.

"No, no." Knox shook his head with vigor, "He made one for me— I think it was for me?"

"About?"

"Himself."

His mouth felt like sandpaper while simultaneously producing an influx of saliva. God forbid, his stomach decides to empty itself onto his roommate's bare feet. The room was spinning; the memory of Charlie's poem, Chris' words, and Knox's inability to interpret hidden meaning clouded his subconscious.

"I think he wanted to show me his mark." Knox spoke with hestiance. "And, I think he wanted to see mine..."

"You're soulmates?"

"No." Knox's response was immediate, although the answer in itself didn't hold the weight it used to— progress, maybe? "But, I might've fucked up? I don't know."

"What happened?"

"Nothing." An aggressive sigh, "Nothing fucking happened, that's the problem!" He put his hands in his hair, trying to wrap his head around their situation. "I did nothing, he deflected, and now, I'm apparently Mutt Sanders younger brother—"

"What?"

"The point is," Knox backtracked, "I love him."

Even in the dark room, he couldn't miss the way Stick smiled at his proclamation. In retrospect, it was probably in Knox's best interest to not face his demons at three in the morning, inebriated to the point of seeing double, and on the verge of vomiting. Despite his robust demeanor, Stick had put Knox's well-being and personal relations before his own— he'd be thankful come morning, right now, though? He feels rightfully annoyed, slightly discouraged.

"I'd like to tell him that."

"You can." Stick encouraged, "I can't with good conscience, let you do that, now." He shook his head, "Wait 'til morning."

"Liquid courage." Knox challenged, "If I don't do it now—"

"You'll regret it." Stick denied, "You'd also kill me."

"I wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Regret it." He hiccuped, slightly burping on the last syllable. "He needs to know while I still..."

"And he will, just not tonight."

Knox crawled to his side of the room, not trusting his legs to hold his body weight. Ignoring the way the world seemed to flip on its axis as he lifted himself onto his bed, he sprawled out atop the comforter. Still dressed in the clothes he wore to the party and shoes still laced and on his feet, he closed his eyes to swallow the embarrassment.

The inability to be indifferent, detached about his feelings for his best friend. In the past twenty-four hours, he has told two people that he was in love with Charlie Dalton. Sure, it came as a surprise to no one, his feelings were an open book to those willing to take the time to look— but, admitting it to himself was arguably different than admitting it to others. Especially to others that he has never been osely associated with.

Sensing his apprehension, "Conformity." Was whispered into the vulnerable silence, all sense of caution thrown to the wind.

"Huh?"

"It's my soulmark." Stick reiterated, "Conformity."

"Never Enough." Knox opened his eyes, looking over at him, "You know your soulmate?"

"I think so." He frowned to himself, "I've debated on approaching the topic— I probably won't, though."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to rush a relationship just because fate decided we were the most compatible people for each other." He shrugged, "Similar to you— not against it, but I'd prefer a connection."

"Who is it?" Knox asked.

"I'd like to keep my suspicions to myself."

"You suck." He groaned out, eyes falling closed again.

Although, this time he wouldn't have the energy to reopen them. He heard scuffling around the room, along with silent instructions to throw up in the trash can by his bedside and not the floor. He'd have time to regret his decisions in the morning, as well as hound Stick for more information on his supposed soulmate.

For now, he'd sleep soundlessly for the first time since the fall semester began. A weight lifted from his shoulders, despite the position of his current situation with Charlie— the first step was admitting it out loud;

Knox Overstreet is in love with Charlie Dalton.

Weeks.

It's been weeks, since Charlie and Knox were even seen in the same room together that wasn't for scheduled meals and classes. Fortunately or unfortunately, they had even coordinated an alternating schedule for the Soulmark meetings. If Knox was desperate enough, he could be seen begrudgingly spending breakfast with Spaz. Although, it wasn't ideal, having the opportunity to see Charlie just as miserable, struggling just as much, was somewhat rewarding.

So much time had passed since Charlie and Knox's... disagreement? If it could have even been called one— opening night for Neil's play had completely crossed his mind. He hadn't been a good friend as of late, dealing with his own internal problems, but like hell he'd miss it.

That is, if the rumors didn't reign true.

He had heard from Stick, who was informed by Meeks, who had supposedly spoke with Todd in passing, that Mr. Perry had found out about Neil starring in, A Midsummer Night's Dream. Surprisingly or not-really-surpringly, however you wanted to view it, he had made the executive decision for Neil to drop out of the play. Abandon his dreams, crushing what little control he had seemed to have over his own life.

The play was tomorrow night for christ sake, Mr. Perry could've been a little more considerate. Not that it would've made a difference, anyone who burnt out the flame to his friends' fiery passions and interests were no acquaintances of his—

A soft knock on his bedroom door pulls him out of his thoughts.

"Come in?" He called out, more so a question than a command.

The door opened, Neil in all his glory, shuffled quietly into the room and made sure close the door behind him.

He looked as if he had been crying, so much so that his face was stained with tear tracks and swollen from the dehydration. The once confident stature was now a shell of a teenage boy, simply existing to appease his father's desires and surpass those expectations.

"Oh, are you busy?"

"For you?" Knox asked, closing his trigonometry textbook. "Never."

"I don't know what to do..." He admitted, "I just lied to Mr. Keating, I never do that—"

"Neil, you lie quite often." Knox laughed lightly as to ease the tension, "With good reason, of course."

"It's usually only to my father." He agreed, "But, it's only because..."

"I know." A gentle smile, "We all do it."

It wasn't necessarily a lie, they did. Although Knox's parents were very adamant on what they wanted him to achieve in life, they couldn't care less about his extracurriculars and interests. In hindsight, this was probably why he was more willing to to comply to their demands— it wasn't fear induced. The same couldn't be said for Neil, the boy standing before him as he vibrated with anxiety, so unlike his usual demeanor.

"I told my dad I quit the production." He started, "Instead, I went to rehearsals and prepped for opening night." Neil let out a wavering sigh, willing himself to not cry again. "I told Mr. Keating that my father is allowing me to perform on opening night, which is just bullshit—"

"What they don't know, won't kill them."

"What would you do?" He asked, "Would you drop out of the play, knowing you would only disappoint yourself... If it was one of the few things that actually made you happy?"

Knox let a humorless laugh break the unnerving question, "I already am, aren't I?" He shrugged his shoulders, "I've always been a people pleaser—"

"You're a go-getter." Neil denied, "I need to know what you would do."

"What are you even talking about?" Knox's voice raised, on the defensive from the vague, introspective deflections.

"Charlie."

Oh.

"What does Charlie have to do any with this?" A deflection from the deflection, this conversation would get them nowhere.

"You love him." He stated, as if were a matter of fact.

Almost as if was easy as breathing, as if it was normal— The sky is blue, grass is green, Neil has a lead role in a play, and Knox was in love with Charlie. 

"I do." He confirmed, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

"If I can't prove my father wrong, go against his expectations for me..." Neil started, but forwent the rest of his sentence. "Fuck it."

Instead, his hands forcefully pulled the tie from his neck as he started to unbutton the first few buttons of his dress shirt. He moved his collar to the side, revealing his collarbone that had two words inscribed with red ink, every letter was capitalized and slightly tilted. Knox recognized the handwriting as Todd's, having peer-reviewed most of his essays throughout the semester.

Knox smiled at the words, Self-Image. It truly made sense the more he thought about it; seeking a sense of validation within the group, as if he wasn't a part of it. The desire to contribute, but the fear of judgement stopping him from doing so. It was all, Todd Anderson— and it was the perfect match, unfortunately or fortunately, he couldn't decide.

Why was fate always right?

Why was he not perfect enough for Charlie?

"What makes me think I deserve this?" He gestured to the mark, "I don't. I really fucking don't—"

"You deserve it more than anyone."

"Todd deserves better, if I can't even choose him over my own father..." He shook his head, letting fresh tears fall from his eyes.

"How can I help?" Knox asked, "You said, you need to know what I would do— How will my answer help you?"

"If anyone tried to stop you from loving Charlie, would you listen?" Neil asked carefully, "They don't know anything about him; how he makes you feel, his mannerisms, his gentleness—"

"Are you sure we're still talking about A Midsummer Night's Dream?" He tried to joke, although the rawness in his voice would give it away.

"It was never about, A Midsummer Night's Dream."

Knox briefly pondered the question, despite knowing the answer. He'd allow himself to be push-and-pulled through life, build a career based off of merit and longevity rather than passion and interest. He'd allow himself to be influenced on the latest trends, beliefs that mattered not— such as divine intervention.

What he wouldn't do, is force himself into a loveless relationship because an outsider, such as his parents, perceived his unyielding love with Charlie as immoral. What he wouldn't do, is stand aside and watch as Charlie stayed obedient to the life he detested for the sake of Knox's happiness. What he wouldn't do, is continue to love Charlie in silence when the other yearned for reassurance.

"No." Knox answered, an involuntary smile made its way onto his lips. "Not even fate itself, could stop me from loving him— Todd told me, you think we're soulmates."

"Don't you think you could be?" He tilted his head, "It wouldn't be so crazy..."

"Believe it or not, I just came to terms with the fact that we're probably not..." Knox remincised, how far he's come to accept himself for who he is— not what everyone expects him to be.

"What changed?"

"Knowing that my love for him wouldn't change, regardless if we're soulmates or not." He answered from the heart, a light smile graced his lips.

The silence that passes between them is charged, determination or realization— he wouldn't know, but there's a newly lit fire within Neil's eyes. Almost as if Knox's answer had been exactly what he needed to hear.

"I loved Todd before this." He gestured towards his mark, "Wanting to be with my soulmate doesn't make me a conformist, right?" He pondered, "It'd certainly be real hypocritical of me..."

"I think," Knox interrupted, "That fate wanted you to be happy, so it chose the person your father would disapprove of, knowing you'd think this way."

"I guess you are a romantic, after all." Neil smiled, holding his shoulders back in new-found confidence. "I'm choosing Todd." He exclaimed, "I'm going to do it— fuck my father."

"Fuck your father." Knox agreed, lifting his fist in the air as a form of moral support.

The air around them was lighter, and for the first time since Neil entered his room, Neil was smiling. The light shone outward from within, a fierce sense of determination to make a decision for himself. Gone were the endless days of self-sacrifice to appease the demands of others, specifically his father— especially his father.

A decision that would not only allow himself to put his needs above anyone else's, it would provide the reassurance that Todd needed. Neil's happiness would indirectly affected Todd's as well, the textbook definition of perfect compatibility.

It was beautiful.

"Have you told Charlie?" Neil asked.

"Have I told him, what?" Deflection was instinctive. The less people knew of his feelings, the more he could pretend it didn't hurt.

"Your feelings."

"He knows."

"But, have you told him?"

"I don't see why I have to." Knox answered, "I think my intentions are crystal clear."

Neil looked at his wristwatch, a whispered curse escaped past his lips. He reached for the handle of the door, turning the knob, hesitating on the pull before turning his head towards Knox. A look of understanding, irritation hidden underneath it, but understanding no less.

"You know, you should really listen to your own advice." His gaze hopeful, voice harsh as if trying to breakthrough— what, exactly? He wouldn't know.

And with that, Neil left.

The boy had left the door slightly ajar, a welcoming invitation to anyone willing. Instead of correcting the gesture, Knox let it lie— and if Charlie took the invitation with open arms? Well, that wouldn't necessarily be anyone's business except for their own. If the evening ended with Charlie and Stick swapping rooms for the night? That also wouldn't be anyone's business...

They're just old friends rekindling after an argument;

Although, old friends wouldn't fall asleep in a tangle of limbs after angry tears and whispered apologies. Old friends don't act the way they do; the physical affections, the jealousy, the guilt— none of it. If they could admit it to themselves, why couldn't they admit it to each other?

It was the opening night of A Midsummer Night's Dream. Truthfully, Knox would have preferred they left fifteen minutes ago, whomever said, boys spent less time getting ready than girls— they were wrong.

Knox was sitting on the windowsill in the bathroom, watching as Pitts, Meeks, Todd, and Cameron fought for dominance over the mirrors. Charlie was hidden away in a bathroom stall, definitely not taking a shit catching the brief glimpse of red paint and paintbrush in the other's hands as he disappeared into the stall. Questions would only slow them down, as long as they left before seven-thirty, they could still get decent seats— as long as they left by eight, they wouldn't be late.

"Where's Charlie?" Cameron asked, shoving Todd for disheveling his hair a second time.

"He said something about getting red." Knox answered, checking his wristwatch for the nth time.

"The hell does that mean?" The redhead asked, furrowing his brows.

"He's your roommate." Knox retorted, still a little peeved about this fact.

"That is not my fault." Cameron pointed, "Seriously though, we should leave soon if we want decent seats."

"Mr. Keating isn't here yet." Todd reassured, "It'll work—"

The stall that the boy in question occupied, opened rather abruptly causing a few of them to startle at the intrusion. As the hinges squeaked in protest, Charlie smirked as he showcased the opened tube of red paint and the now used paintbrush. The first five buttons of his light blue button-up were left unbuttoned, revealing slivers of his flushed and freckled skin.

"So, what's this getting red bit?" Knox asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Instead of providing a verbal response, Charlie opens his unbuttoned shirt further as he reveals the a nearly dried, red lightning bolt across his chest. In other circumstances, Knox would have taken his time mapping out the details of the other's naked torso. Now, though? He needed to ignore, avoid, and herd the group to the lobby— wanting to do the exact opposite; stare, yearn, and claim what was his. Alas, they were running late, Charlie was not his, and tonight was about Neil.

"It's an Indian warrior symbol for virility. Makes me feel potent." He started to button his shirt, briefly making eye contact with Knox. "Almost, like I can drive someone crazy." A dramatic wink.

What was Knox to do? Other than blush like a middle-school girl, of course.

"Oh, gag." Cameron shoved Charlie's head half-heartedly, taking this as his queue to exit the bathroom.

The rest of them would follow suit, walking to the lobby as they awaited for Mr. Keating's arrival. Instead of being greeted by the sight of their English teacher, Chris Noel was standing in the lobby. Snowflakes sprinkled in her hair, arms wrapped around her body to shield herself from the cold as she looked around, blue eyes frantically searching before locking with his own, crinkling in delight.

The urge to heave an almost agitated sigh, stopped in his throat. If Chris was here, searching for him no less, it must've been important. On instinct, he spared a moment's glance at Charlie— the way his cheerful demeanor turned morose, his usual smirk replaced with a neutral expression. Knox rushed forward towards the girl, ushering the girl outside before a faculty member caught sight of her.

"Chris, what are you doing here?" He whispered yelled, "If Nolan sees you—"

"I needed to see you." She spoke with a sense of urgency, "I've thought a lot about that night..." She trailed off, fidgeting with her gloved fingers. "I broke up with Chet."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, "Oh, I'm sorry?" It came out as a question, the smile on her face was off-setting the words that left her mouth.

"Don't be." She reassured him, reaching over and grabbing his forearms. "It was a long time coming— although, if I had never met you, I don't think I ever would have found the courage."

"Oh god, so it's my fault?" He asked, almost breathless. "Is this the part where you tell me that you're in love with me?" Instantly filled with dread, a fear of the unknown.

She laughed at his theatrics, "I came here tonight to thank you." Her grip was tight, her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. "If I can be happy, I just know you can too."

In a perfect world, Knox would have confessed his feelings already. In a perfect world, the concept of soulmates would cease to exist— the term reserved for couples to decide for themselves. In a perfect world, Charlie would choose him too.

Alas, the world is an imperfect place.

"You know, I can't do that." He shook his head, "He—"

"You once told me, that you believed the feelings were mutual." She exclaimed, stance unwavering.

"It's what I like to tell myself." He corrected, "If I believe he does, then I won't get hurt—"

"You're already hurting!"

"It's better than not having him in my life at all..."

"Is it, though?"

No.

It absolutely, was not.

"If he's happy, then I'm going to force myself to be happy for him." Knox whispered, "Even if it's not with me."

Chris spared a glance over his shoulder, her eyes softening at the sight. Curious, Knox turns his head in the direction of her gaze— in the window connecting to Welton's lobby, stood Charlie Dalton. The boy stood alone, gaze fixated on the floor as his body leaned against the nearest wall, hands tucked into his pockets to appear casual. Knox knew him better than that, though.

Knox wanted nothing more than to ditch this rather meaningless conversation, close the distance between himself and Charlie. Break down the walls that the other had seemingly built around himself this past summer, the same walls that everyone was able to get through, everyone except himself. This primal urge seemed to be reaching its boiling point as he turned to face Chris, an epiphany threatening to spill from the confines of his heart.

Charlie's acceptance didn't matter as much as he anticipated. The underlying implications of their feelings meant everything, but the assumptions were killing them. If either of them could be honest, wholeheartedly, regardless if they were on the same page— they would get through it, together.

"Is that him?" Chris' voice in awe at the sight, breaking the fragile silence.

"Yeah." He whispered into the night, his breath visible in the freezing air.

"He's cute." She teased, elbowing him slightly. "Go. Go to him."

"I— Chris, I don't think I can."

"I need you to put your own happiness above his, for once." She frowned.

"What if..." He trailed off, the uncertainties stuck on the tip of his tongue.

"What happens if you don't?"

Knox turned his head back to campus, seeing that Charlie was still in the lobby. It was official, the latter was waiting— waiting for him, specifically. As if sensing his presence, Charlie's gaze lifted from the floor and locked with Knox's through the glass window.

"Fuck fate." He finally agrees, "I'm going to do it— Soulmark's Honor."

"What is that?" She furrowed her brows, a bright smile on her face.

"My word."

"You're quite the character, Knox Overstreet." She laughed with excitement, "Maybe in another life, I would have fallen in love with you..."

"In every lifetime, I think—" He shook his head, "No. I'd always choose, Charlie."

"You don't want to keep him waiting." She sing-songed, pushing him forward. "It was nice knowing you, Knox."

"Likewise, Chris."

He walked towards the school building with purpose, slipping on the icy sidewalk and tripping over snow-hidden cracks. Snowflakes melted in his neatly styled hair, his face numb from the cold as he walked into the warm atmosphere of the lobby. The hinges on the double-doors shook at the force used to open them, slightly startling the other.

Charlie and Knox stared at each other, a charged silence filled the space between them. It wasn't awkward, it wasn't forced— they knew what needed to be done, it was a matter of how and when?

"You waited." Knox broke the silence first, it wasn't a question, an observation.

"You came back." Charlie answered back, pupils slightly dilating.

"I'll always come back." To you, went unsaid.

"Then, I'll always wait." For you, also went unsaid.

No other words needed to be exchanged, the two exited the doors of Welton Academy and started the trek to the Henley Hall Theatre. They would walk in silence, an unspoken-mutual agreement that tonight was about Neil— and only, Neil.

In the freezing streets, in the Vermont winter night, they allowed themselves to stand a little closer. Their shoulders brushing with each step taken, arms pressed against one another in feigned attempts to preserve warmth, pinkies intertwined.

They might've arrived later than expected, whispering a thanks to Cameron who had, according to Pitts, fought like hell to reserve them. The lights would dim as they took their seats, watching as Neil finally accomplished what he set out to do—

And he was good. He was really good.

Unfortunately, good things don't always stay good— sometimes, it's ripped right out from underneath you.

"Mr. Overstreet." Headmaster Nolan's voice echoed through the dormitory halls, "Where is Mr. Overstreet?"

Knox had been in the middle of brushing his teeth, when Neil came barreling through the bathroom doors. Hopkins, Stick, and himself startle at the abrupt intrusion. He instinctively wiped the foam from his lips, staring at his friend as if he had grown a second limb.

"Knox, I'm sorry." He practically yelled, "I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't—"

"Move aside, Mr. Perry." Nolan stood behind the boy spewing apologies from his lips like a prayer, mortification in his demeanor. "Mr. Overstreet, I'd like to speak with you in my office— effective immediately."

"Yes, sir." He answered, handing his toothbrush to Stick as he followed Nolan out of the bathroom.

Still clad in his pajamas, he followed Nolan back to his office as the usual crowded hallway parted like the red sea. He could feel the stares from his fellow classmates and friends alike, the curiosity burning through his skin. Uncertainty and dread weighed atop shoulders, the closer they got to Nolan's office.

The office was eerily quiet as he stepped into the threshold, a soft click of the door could be heard from behind him. Knox stood with his shoulders back, eyes fixated on the diploma hanging above the Headmaster's desk, hands resting behind his back.

"Mr. Overstreet, it has been brought to my attention that you have been encouraging others to engage in homosexual activities."

"What?" Knox asked, "I haven't—"

"Surely, you don't think your closeness with Mr. Dalton has gone unnoticed?" Nolan asked, sitting in the chair behind his desk.

"Sir..."

"You do know such acts are a violation of the rules we have placed here at Welton Academy." He said, "I presume, you do know such acts are illegal, outside of this building..."

"If I could just—"

"There's no sense in denying—"

For fuck sake.

"I'm not denying the way I feel." Knox abruptly interrupted the elderly man, "I do love Charlie, I'm not going to deny that— whether you expected me to or not." He glared, "I am denying the false accusations of encouraging my peers to engage in such acts..." A brief moment of pause, before adding a less than polite, "Sir." As an afterthought.

"Would you mind walking me through the events from the night of the play with a heavy focus on the day before, as well?" Nolan presented the documents to Knox, sliding them across his desk.

The document was a formal letter from none other than Mr. Perry, himself. A letter he was now certain, passed judgement onto Knox after Neil decided to choose his own destiny. Rather than self-reflection, it was easier to blame someone else— someone like, Knox. A boy who loved with his entire being, a boy whom just so happened to love another boy.

"Neil asked for advice, about the play..." Knox skimmed over the letter as he spoke. "He simply asked what I would do if I were in his situation, I was being honest."

"Neil claimed to have shown you his soulmark, is this correct?"

"Yes sir, that is correct." He nodded in agreement.

"What did it say?"

"I don't feel comfortable disclosing that—"

"You're in no position to withhold information, Mr. Overstreet." Nolan's voice was stern, eyebrow raised in suspicion.

He closed his eyes, swallowing the lump forming in the back of his throat. "Self-Image." He whispered.

"Neil also claimed that his soulmate is, Todd Anderson— is this also, correct?"

"Yes sir, that is correct."

Knox took in a deep breath, as he decided to use this time to risk it all. If it meant protecting Neil and Todd's honor, a form of happiness they had chosen for themselves. If it meant salvaging Charlie's reputation, saving his future, then he would do it. In hindsight, Knox was the outlier in this scenario, it was always his fault wasn't it?

"In all fairness, sir." Knox spoke up, "I'm failing to see how I'm at fault for Neil's decisions..." He held his head high, "If Mr. Perry wants to persecute me for engaging in such acts, that's fine. However, I will not be blamed for Neil following the ending that fate had planned for him since the beginning." A determined glare set on his face, voice filled with unfiltered heartache. "Isn't fate always right? That's what we're taught, right?"

"Mr. Overstreet—"

"If anyone should be punished for defying fate, it's me." He continued, "Not Neil, not Todd— please leave Charlie out of this." He lightly bowed his head, finding more interest in the floor than the intimidating gaze of Welton's Headmaster. "He's not my soulmate."

"Mr. Dalton is not your soulmate?"

"Probably not, sir." He confirmed.

The silence that passed between them was weighted, a heaviness lingered in the air.

"As previously mentioned, Mr. Perry is adamant with your involvement with his son's decision to start a relationship with Mr. Anderson." Nolan reiterated, "However, after speaking with you, I've determined this is not the case."

The evidence, in the hands of the wrong person, would have been determined as the opposite. Knox's unorthodoxed beliefs could be seen as persuasion to an outsider's perspective, Mr. Nolan seemed the type to pass the same judgement as Mr. Perry— why change his ways, now? Why for, Knox of all people— others more worthy, others who would willingly conform to the beliefs Welton stood for.

"The reservations you have when it comes to Mr. Dalton, the attentiveness and caution with which you use in your partnership, is the only reason I'm able to protect you from these allegations." Nolan said, "It is my job to prepare you boys for college, what you get up to in your private life is quite frankly, none of my business..."

"Yes sir." Knox nodded, "Thank you, sir."

"However, it is within my obligations to warn you of the consequences, if this were to ever get out— fall into the wrong person's hands." Nolan raised an eyebrow, gesturing towards the letter in Knox's hands. "Maybe one day things will be different, but today, plausible deniability is the only way to guarantee your survival."

Knox placed the letter on Nolan's desk, the elderly man immediately discarding it through the shredder.

"You're a good student, Mr. Overstreet." Nolan filled the silence with reassurance, "Which is why, I'm going to tell you this..." He sat up straight in his desk, "Sometimes, fate is wrong." He cleared his throat, "Now, get out of my office. If you hurry, you will still make it to breakfast."

Without another word, Knox turned on his heels and left the office. His feet felt anchored to the floor, wanting to reflect on the conversation he was just a part of— how Nolan hadn't reprimanded him, called him slurs, nor expelled him. He simply couldn't care less about Knox's preferences? Dismissing the legality of it all, he had inadvertently been given the greenlight.

Maybe his friends were right, maybe it had always been a form of internalized homophobia.

His bedroom door was left slightly ajar, the murmuring voices of his friends inside caused him to halt in his tracks;

"Knox responsible for Neil?" Charlie's voice was broken, visibly angry. "Is that what they're saying?"

"It's what my father is claiming." Neil spoke next, "He saw my mark, so I was honest— I didn't think he'd..."

"Neil, no one expected this." Todd tried to be reassuring, "Don't blame yourself—"

He heard footsteps start to approach the door, what sounded like a scuffle ensued. Through the crack in the door, he watched as Charlie tried to shoulder pass Cameron as the other held him back. The redhead standing firmly between Charlie and the door, holding his shoulders firmly as he tried shoving him in the opposite direction.

"Cameron, get out of my way." Charlie's voice cracked, trying to not take his anger out on their friend.

"I'm not letting you go out there like this." He rejected the other's request, "You need to calm down."

"If he's out, I don't want in."

"He's not out, yet." Cameron tried to reason.

"You don't know that!" He raised his voice, trying to move forward. "Get out of my way, I need to go in there. I need to tell him— Cameron, I have to fucking tell him..."

"And you will, just not like this."

Whatever fight Charlie had in himself, seemingly left his body as his legs gave out from underneath him. A heartwrenching sob ripped out of his throat, echoing through the dormitory halls. Cameron held him upright, as Neil and Meeks rushed forward to gently guide their crying friend to the ground.

Sometimes, fate is wrong.

Fate is wrong.

Wrong.

Instead of walking into the room, Knox took a step away from the door. His heart lurched at the action, wanting nothing more than to comfort the boy that held his heart captive. Ignoring the ache in his chest, he walked into the nearest opened door. His knuckles tapped against the door to announce his presence, the two boys looked at him.

"Overstreet?" Hopkins asked, "You're still..."

"I'm in." He confirmed, "Do you have pen and paper?"

The other occupant in the room was a blonde boy, a name he had not remembered nor had he read at the labels on the door before entry. He ripped out a page in his journal as well as pulling out a spare pen, he silently outstretched his hand towards Knox.

He took a seat in Hopkins' unoccupied desk, starting to write the words in his heart. The same words he had held confined for so long. Words so sacred, so damning that with each sentence written he felt the need to erase, revert to old habits. Although, as Nolan told him, fate is wrong.

"What are you doing?" Hopkins asked

"Choosing my own destiny." He replied, not sparing the other a glance.

Charlie was his, no one else's— and it's about time, Charlie knew that.

Discretion and plausible deniability, Nolan had advised him. Fuck that, Charlie Dalton deserved the world. Charlie Dalton deserved the version Knox Overstreet that he knew he could be, the version of himself that knew he was underneath. The version of himself that always threatened to breakthrough his reservations.

So, here he was—

Briskly walking through the halls of Welton Academy, towards the dining hall after spending a majority of his morning in Hopkins' room. He was clad in his blue plaid pajamas, practically sprinting down the stairs shoeless as he shouldered past those lingering in the stairway.

If the force at which he opened the dining hall doors hadn't garnered himself any attention, his conspicuous attire sure did. The pattering of his socked feet sounded against the hardwood floors as he sprinted through the aisles, trying to find his friend group in the sea of people.

Although most tables were occupied, a good number of students and staff alike were still in the breakfast-line. A few faculty members were trying to gently herd him back to his bedroom, while others simply attempted to guide him to the breakfast-line, their efforts were to no avail. In a last ditch effort to assert his presence, he uses the chair as a stepping stone to stand atop of the table.

Most eyes were on him, although no one attempted to usher him down. The dining hall, once filled with murmurs and endless chatter was now silent. If one were to drop a pin, it would have been heard as it made contact with the floor.

"The heavens made a boy named Charlie"

He searched the sea of students and faculty, before finally making eye contact with the boy he sought out for. Although too far away to really see his hazel irises, he could envision the look of relief and unshed tears that threatened to fall from his long lashes.

Charlie was seated at the table closest to the breakfast-line, closest seat to the exit. The seat beside him was empty, and then Neil. An act of respect, a reminder that Knox couldn't be replaced— not if under Charlie's supervision.

"With skin and heart of gold"

If he had taken the time to observe the others, he would have noticed that his disruption was the last push they needed;

Neil had reached over the table to offer his hand to Todd, a seemingly selfish decision. After the years of self-sacrifice, never prioritizing his own desires, his own happiness. A reminder that sometimes fate was right, the perfect person for was in the likeliest of places.

Meeks and Pitts would turn their attentions to one another, side-by-side they stared longingly into each other's eyes. In a moment's decision, Pitts reached to remove the bandaid behind his right ear, Worthlessness written in black, the penmanship almost illegible. Simultaneously, Meeks would pull his left pant leg up his knee, pulling down his sock to reveal Irrelevance also written in black, every letter lowercase.

They watched as their marks turned red, the drive to risk it all— as Knox is currently doing, taking control of their lives, their relationship. Showing each other that they were finally ready, have seemingly always been ready. What obstacles may stumble their way, they would face them together.

Stick was last, leaning over his seat to gently tap Cameron on the arm. Let the record show, they could be seen whispering back and forth with each other— a suspicion, an assumption that there is a possibility that they could be soulmates. Although not absolute, a newfound friendship between old friends with the mutual decision to approach the topic with caution. The mutual decision to explore their options, whether that be with each other or alongside one another.

"To know him would be paradise"

Knox wouldn't get to continue his poem as Charlie jumped out of seat, and closed the distance between them. A hand closed around his wrist, pulling him down gently from the table as the latter dragged him out of the dining hall.

Charlie didn't stop there, he hauled Knox up the stairs and practically shoved him through the threshold of his shared bedroom. Regaining his balance, he watched as the other turned the lock on the door and finally turned to meet his gaze.

The tears were now involuntary streaming down his face; they stood in silence, their eyes searching for something, anything to prove their assumptions wrong. When they couldn't find it, they moved in unison.

Knox unbuttoned the sleeve of his pajama shirt, rolling the sleeve up the expanse of his forearm. He slowly lift his arm upright, revealing the words on his right wrist to the other.

Charlie started loosening the notches on his belt, unbuttoning his slacks as he pulled the waistband down from his left hip. He turned slightly, giving Knox a better look at his own words.

Never Enough

Always Too Much

It was instaneous, the black ink on their skins disappeared.

A weight seemed to lift off of Knox's shoulders. It was a long shot, the likelihood of their soulmarks turning red— and yet, this was the best possible outcome. They could choose their own destinies. fuck fate, because sometimes fate is wrong.

"We're really doing this?" Charlie breathlessly whispered, with the largest, most genuine smile Knox had ever got to bare witness.

"Oh, yeah." Knox whispered back, just as breathless.

A similar smile on his face as he stepped forward, cupping Charlie's face with his hands. He leaned down to capture the other's lips in a kiss, feeling Charlie's hands hold his waist as if he was something worth protecting.

This is where he wanted to be— this is where he needed to be. Fuck fate, they would make this work because they had each other.

And sometimes, the best soulmates are the one's who were never destined to be together in the first place.