Author's Note: Actual plot is starting, I promise. Thanks for the favorites/follows; they mean a lot! This is the first story I've written in a long time, so your support is greatly appreciated.

It had been two months since his father had 'temporarily' relocated to New York, and Lucas still felt like he was suffocating every day. He was doing remarkably well with the whole tell no one policy; he doubted any of his friends had even an inkling anything was wrong. The onset of colder weather had reinstated flannels as a key part of his wardrobe, and they were effective at hiding the errant bruises on his arms. Thankfully his father had restrained from hitting him too hard on his face- "the only part of you worth anything"- which meant he hadn't had to lie about any unfortunate black eyes. All in all, Lucas was feeling relatively successful; it was just that he sort of felt like crying every time he moved or opened his mouth or saw Mr. Matthews smile at Riley.

He was fine.

Really.

Taking as steadying a breath as he could considering the weight on his chest, Lucas entered his history class. Despite its constant reminder of what a loving parent-child relationship looked like, history was one of the few hours of the day when he could honestly say he felt happy. Sure, it was draining and made reality hit all that much harder later, but seeing his friends made it infinitely worth it.

Riley and Maya were already entrenched in some sort of debate that sounded like it was mainly on the topic of whether or not it was morally acceptable to build a barricade to keep Mr. Matthews out of the classroom. Sliding gingerly into his seat, Lucas turned to Farkle.

"French Revolution?"

Farkle nodded eagerly. Lucas could only grin as the potential barricading victim walked through the distinctly non-barricaded doorway, effectively ending the argument. Maya threw her hands up in the air, turning back to face the front.

"Well now look what you've done. Didn't even have time to stack a few desks."

"Do I want to know?"

The class collectively shook their heads.

"Figures. Well, before we actually start class, I'm going to hand back your essays from the other week. I have to say, I'm very proud of how you all did."

Mr. Matthews set his briefcase down on his desk, pulling out the mentioned stack of red marked papers. While he set about returning them, the class resumed their previous conversations. A tap on Lucas' shoulder had him suppressing a flinch, grinning with a careful turn as he moved to face Zay.

"Hey man, my folks want you to stop by for dinner this week. Say they haven't seen enough of you these past few months, and they ain't wrong. You haven't had mama's food in a while, and you know how she feels about you missing out on a good meal."

Lucas' smile turned brittle as he fought against the sudden wave of guilt.

"I can't, I'm sorry."

He couldn't even come up with any sort of reason for turning down a visit. The fact he was in the first place already had Zay suspicious, as he raised a questioning eyebrow.

"What do you m-"

"Mr. Friar."

Zay's disbelief was cut off by the rather fortunate timing of Mr. Matthews. Lucas barely managed to keep his relief off his face as he shifted as quickly as he could.

"Yes sir?"

"Your essay."

All Lucas could see was the red. The marks decorating his paper may very well have been wounds on his already dwindling self-esteem.

"You should be very proud, you did incredibly well."

Lucas shot him an incredulous look before actually studying his paper. Sure enough, a large A was written at the top; all the red marks he had seen at first, scratched over the paper, were actually comments ranging from 'excellent thesis!' to 'solid analysis, demonstrates in depth understanding'.

"Keep up the good work, Lucas."

He could barely muster a nod. He felt pathetic, looking down at his essay with tears pricking at his eyes. That had been the first time in months he had heard praise from anyone, and it was nearly enough to overwhelm him. Thankfully, Mr. Matthews had moved on down the row, meaning he didn't see Lucas' shaking hands. Zay was momentarily distracted by his own essay, and, before he could return to his interrogation, class actually began.

-00000000-

Lucas wasn't sure how he had managed to make it through the whole class, considering he could hardly pay attention. Mercifully, he hadn't been called on once; if he had been, he would have surely been unable to make a single word come out. Despite not being totally and utterly overwhelming, those few words of encouragement had certainly shaken him. The weight on his chest had moved solidly onto his neck, the emotions choking him. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk to Zay like this, so when the bell rang he bolted as quickly as he could; there was no way he would be able to explain why he couldn't come over when his throat was clamped tightly over the sobs in his lungs.

While Lucas got the hell out of dodge, Zay took his time. He knew there was no way he could catch up with his far more athletic best friend, and he had someone he needed to talk to.

"Mr. Matthews? Something's wrong with Lucas."