Miles laid out three copies of the playbill for I.M Hope on his bedside table, right next to his framed photo of himself and Tristan at the fair from last year. He took the photo out of his frame, stared at it for a few moments and then shoved it into his top drawer. There was no use for it anymore.

The playbills, however, would bring him the joy and the comfort that Tristan had for so long. They couldn't walk away – or roll away – and leave him for the promise of a better life. Miles closed his eyes and tried to do what his therapist had told him to when he felt like he couldn't breathe – think of the things that made him happy. A memory of playing Horse in the driveway with Hunter and Frankie runs through his mind, and he sees their kind smiles brighten up the cloud of darkness above their heads – but only briefly. He opened his eyes and took a long, deep breath. It's okay, you're okay.

The reality of it was that he wasn't alright, he just had to keep thinking those words over and over to convince himself that things would improve. A month out of the hospital, Tristan had dumped him. "I thought I could understand, get over it, but I can't," he'd said and then slipped his hand out of Miles's. He'd explained that his parents were transferring him to a different school that was better equipped to handle his condition. "I'll go with you," Miles had said. "Don't," Tristan had responded. It was pathetic the way that Miles had cried, begged him not to leave, begged him to be able to forgive him. And yet, Tristan had just avoided eye contact and said one more thing: "I'm doing what's best for me. You should too."

It had been a week and Miles still didn't know what he'd meant by that. The entirety of that week had been spent lying in bed, resisting the urge to light up a joint and biting his fingernails into nubs; the entire time, all he'd thought about was Tristan and how badly he'd fucked things up. He always fucked things up, it was like it was the basis of who he was as a person. For so long, he'd hoped and prayed that Tristan would be able to look past his label as a fuck up, but it looked like he'd finally figured out that he could do better. If he'd never cheated, if he'd never written a goddamn play about another person, things between them could've gotten back to normal.

But after a week of feeling sorry for himself, Winston had brought him some pizza and they'd eaten it while discussing trivial things like the weather and Winston's "Armstrong is gay" theory. Right before he'd left, he'd put his hand on Miles's shoulder and said, "You've survived everything life's thrown at you. I know you can survive this,"

It left him thinking about life more clearly than he had been since those awful words had left Tristan's mouth. At the base of the pain and the hurt and the fuckedup-ness, Miles was a survivor. He didn't run on messing things up, he ran on a subconscious need to keep pushing forward. He'd been through his father's abuse, crippling anxiety, drug addiction and suicidal tendencies and here he was, still standing. In retrospect, being dumped was nothing compared to all of those things.

So now, he just felt nothing. He didn't feel anger at Tristan or disappointment in himself, he just felt numb. It's a strange feeling, but not one he's unfamiliar to. Miles knows that the numbness will inevitably turn to a breakdown – all he has to do now is wait for it.

He considered replacing the frame that contained Tristan's photo just minutes ago, but decided against it. It all still felt too fresh. Miles sat down on his bed and ran a hand through his freshly cut hair. He looked down at the mattress beneath him – it felt like just yesterday that Lola Pacini laid here, kissing his neck and running her hands up and down his back. How quickly things change.

There was a loud knock at his door that tore him away from his thoughts and seconds later, it was followed by the appearance of his sister. "Miles, I need you to drive me to Lola's,"

Oh, the irony.

"Can't you get Hunter to? I'm busy,"

She raised her eyebrows. "Doing what? Sitting there doing nothing? And besides, Hunter's at Vijay's."

Miles sighed. "Fine. You know, one of these days, Mom and Dad really need to get you your own car,"

"Yeah, well, it seems the men in this house get far more freedom then the women do," Frankie crossed her arms over her chest and watched as Miles pulled on a jacket and his shoes.

They walked down to the garage in silence, Frankie texting and Miles staring straight ahead, anxious and afraid that somehow she was going to find out about him and Lola. Somehow, Frankie finding out was far worse then anyone else realizing something had gone on between them. Perhaps it was the trust Frankie placed in him, the childlike part of her that thought that her big brother would make everything okay for her. It wasn't as if Miles could blame her for that, he'd spent so long trying to earn the trust of his younger siblings, and now that they were finally in a good place, he was going to do whatever he could not to mess it up.

"Are you feeling any better?" Frankie finally asked once they were on the road.

Miles bit his lip. "I don't know,"

"What does that mean?"

He thought about it for a moment, choosing his words carefully. He stared off at the road so that he wouldn't have to decipher what her facial expressions meant. "Do you remember when you thought I was addicted to pot?"

She laughed, embarrassed at the memory. "Unfortunately, yes,"

"I smoked so much to . . . numb the pain, I guess. That way I didn't have to think about how hurt and angry I was. It's the same this time, except I'm not smoking anything. I just feel numb,"

Frankie nodded. "Are you sure you're not smoking anything?"

He hid his eye roll. "Yes, I'm sure,"

"Sorry. But you know, you never tell me when you're using. I have to just figure it out for myself,"

"I never tell you because you don't need to know,"

It was then that Frankie placed her phone on her lap and focused her attention purely on her brother. "You don't need to suffer in silence. You can talk to me – I want you to talk to me,"

"Suffer in silence? That something you heard in therapy?"

She squinted her eyes and sat back up straight. "No. I read it in a self-help book. I've been reading a lot of them since Jonah and I broke up. Actually, I think it's normal that you're not feeling upset anymore. I cried over Jonah for so long and now I'm over it. It's high school. People break up,"

"Yeah, but me and Tristan . . . he always talked about us like we were gonna be forever and then he just ended it. I should still be upset,"

"You cried for a week. That's enough,"

Miles shook his head. "I don't feel anything, Frankie, you don't get it. Ever since I stopped crying, I haven't been able to feel happy or sad or angry or anything. I just exist. Is that how you feel?"

"No," said Frankie. "I don't think I've ever felt like that,"

He turned the corner to the Pacinis' cul de sac. The family lived in a middle class neighborhood, their home painted bright purple, making it stand out from the others. Lola's eccentric father had painted the shutters a bright gold the year before to match the cantina. The sight of the place should've made Miles shake his head or think it odd, but all he could think about was Frankie and her finding out about what had gone on between him and Lola. Still though, the worry was deep seeded, and he wasn't torn up over it anymore like he had been for the past few months. It didn't even feel like worry – it just felt like a thought passing through his mind.

"Thanks for the ride," said Frankie, throwing her bag over her shoulder as Miles pulled into the driveway. She turned to him a final time. "Just remember you've got me and Hunter no matter what, okay?"

He nodded. "I know. You have fun,"

Before Frankie could even get out of the car, out of the house and down the steps came the blue haired, four foot eleven Lola Pacini. She was grinning so brightly that her smile took up almost the entirety of her face and the moment Miles laid eyes on her, it seemed as if everything in his vision blew up in colors. No more were the dark clouds and in there place were thousands of rainbows. Lola's shriek of "Frankie! You're never gonna guess what Shay heard about Tommy Morris!" erupted in his ears and the sound of her voice unlocked something deep within him.

The sound of the car door slamming brought Miles back into reality, but only for the briefest of moments. Lola grabbed Frankie's arm and turned to look back at him and their eye contact made Miles's heart jump in his chest. He watched the two of them walk inside, focusing on the way Lola's pigtails bobbed up and down. He remembered the feeling of her hair in his hands and the way she used to look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky. And then suddenly he wasn't in the Pacinis' driveway, but back in his bedroom, holding Lola close to him, listening to the steady beating of her heart. She seemed so peaceful with her arms wrapped around his chest, snoring soundly.

He thought then that those times with Lola were the best of his life.

And seeing her just then, after basking in solitude for a week, made him feel again. It was like the sun came up. She was the light at the end of the long tunnel of darkness that had been his entire life.

"Te ves hoy linda muy," he'd said to her in the hallway as she applied an extra coat of lip-gloss. They hadn't seen each other yet that day and Miles had wanted to impress her with the Spanish he'd been learning.

Her cheeks turned red but still, she shook her head. "Te ves muy linda hoy," she corrected him.

"Ah, gracias," said Miles, shoving his hands into his pockets. He had been feeling more cocky than usual that day.

"I told you, you don't have to learn the language to work at a restaurant," she'd explained. "Half our employees don't know a word of Spanish,"

"Yeah, but you know me, always going the extra mile," he leaned up against the locker next to hers as she closed her own gently. "Plus I want to be able to talk to you without other people knowing what I'm saying,"

"Oh, really? And what would you want to say to me that other people shouldn't hear?"

He bit his lip. "I guess you'll just have to wait and find out,"

Miles smiled at the memory. He'd tried not to think of Lola since Tristan woke up, but it was times like this where he wished he'd thought of her every day. Maybe then, he wouldn't have shut himself in for so long. Lola made him happy, happier then he'd ever been. She inspired him, just the sight of her unleashed the best parts of him. Maybe he'd been wrong to choose Tristan – maybe just because he'd been his sick boyfriend didn't mean anything. Maybe Lola was better for him than Tristan had ever been. He'd really made a mistake when he'd left her, abandoned her like she was nothing. He needed to fix that and he needed to fix it now.

Author's Note: Hi lovelies! This is my dream season four that will probably never happen, and I thought because I'm semi-okay at writing Degrassi, I should gift this to my fellow Miles/Lola shippers who wish for a better relationship for our boy.