Blood all over Thomas’s shirt as he dragged Andrew away from the wreckage—
“There’s something else you should know.” Lana’s voice sounded odd. “They’ve put up a fence between the school and the forest.”
Andrew shredded the rest of his roll into tiny pieces. “Okay.”
“No more class hikes. No more exploring. Immediate expulsion if anyone’s caught climbing the fence.”
She had to be warning him for Thomas’s sake.
Thomas, who breathed best with his cheek pressed against a tree and never wasted a chance to slip out and be as wild as his soul demanded.
“Everything is shit.” Lana propped her chin against her fist and sighed. “No offense, but I have no idea why you wanted to come back.”
The reason was obvious; it didn’t need to be said.
“I should go find Thomas.” Andrew slid from the bench. He flexed his scarred fingers and slipped his hand into his pocket. Paper crunched and he frowned at the unexpected scrap. He hurried away from Lana before he took it out and smoothed the corners.
Thomas’s work, unmistakably. A stark winter forest, every tree burned white with frost. A boy with horns and roses grown from his eyes held a knife, and he was midway through carving the heart out of another boy with moth wings who knelt in the leaves, his face tilted upward in supplication. Vines blossomed around them, tangled and unruly.
Thomas always drew like this—murderous and dark, sentient forests with teeth and claws, boys made of thorns, studies of hands with flowers blossoming from cuts. Beautiful and horrible all at once.
He drew like this because Andrew wrote like this. They fed off each other relentlessly, their fever dreams bleeding through their eyes long after they woke.
Andrew burst out of the dining hall. He’d barely eaten, but it didn’t seem important. If Thomas had illustrated Andrew’s story, it had to mean something. Or maybe it didn’t. Thomas drew Andrew’s work all the time—how was he to know that last story had been a confession about how Andrew felt about him?
Andrew hated the way his brain did this. Destroyed beautiful things. It was like he couldn’t just hold a flower; he had to crush the petals in his fist until his hand was stained with murdered color.
The corridors lay empty. No sign of Thomas and Dove. They’d probably be outside, letting the dusk eat their angry words.
The noise from the dining hall turned muddy the farther he walked, and he kept waiting to bump into other students. Counselors touring new kids around. Clumps of friends catching up. Teachers coming and going from offices. The manor should be busy.
Andrew paused in the darkened foyer. It was a rare thing to be so perfectly alone. He breathed out slowly and tried to shake the anxiety thickening in his stomach, but all he could smell was the forest. Damp leaves and mud and the fresh smell of snapped, green sticks.
He shouldn’t be able to smell the forest all the way up here.
Someone moved behind him. He didn’t turn because it was obvious the person was trying to sneak up, feet too heavy and breathing muffled as if they were on the cusp of bursting out laughing. He knew it was Thomas about to pounce on his back. Andrew relaxed slightly. His fight with Dove must be resolved. Everything would go back to normal.
“I can hear you,” Andrew said, a small smile forming.
Thomas flung his arms around Andrew’s back and they stumbled forward a few steps. Andrew grunted, but he secretly enjoyed it. He started to jab an elbow into Thomas’s ribs.
But something soft and warm pressed against the nape of his neck. Mouth to skin.
For a minute, Andrew did not move. His stomach swooped so violently he didn’t know how he stayed standing.
The foyer was so still, darkening around the edges.
He heard Thomas stop breathing.
The weight hanging off Andrew’s back felt heavy now, too much to hold. He had to say something. He wasruiningeverything. What did Thomas want from him?
Hot breath brushed the back of his neck again and then, inexplicably, a tongue slid soft and wet up to Andrew’s ear. It was a line of heat, sensual and terrible and confusing. What was Thomas doing? This wasn’t—this—
Andrew whirled around, shoving Thomas off. But the force of dislodging another body threw Andrew off-balance and he fell down to one knee. When he scrambled up, breathing too hard, the foyer was empty.
Silence stretched in front of him. He touched the back of his neck.
Wet.
