There's a fish stealing his cereal when Sanders comes home from his date with Liam. (It was okay. He was shy, had a charming smile, was a gentleman. Sanders doesn't want to see him again.)

It's the same fish from when Maxon first moved in. The one he wanted to kick in the face. "Hello," he says, like he's not in Sanders's kitchen, like he's not eating his Fruit Loops or some shit.

Sanders does not have the energy for this. He takes of his shoes and waves at him. "'Sup."

He heads straight to the living room and flops down on the couch, putting his feet up on the table.

"I'm Suho," the fish says brightly, bringing the bowl of cereal with him, sitting next to Sanders. He slurps the milk loudly with a spoon. "Li Suho."

"And I'm tired. Very tired. Get out."

A chuckle. "You're grumpy."

Sanders grunts. He looks at him. "You should see the other resident in this house. What're you doing in my apartment, fish?"

"Maxon and Kaitlyn dropped by the convenience store to grab wine," he answers, grinning. His eyes are big. He looks like a puppy. A smaller puppy than Maxon. A Pomeranian? A Cavalier King Charles Spaniel? A Corgi. Yes. "We're having dinner. Maxon is cooking, and I got hungry."

Right. Maxon told them Kaitlyn was coming over. Sanders groans. "So you decided to steal my cereal? What are you, their kid?"

"No." Suho huffs. He offers a spoonful of Fruit Loops to Sanders. Sanders opens his mouth, and Suho feeds him. "I just think Maxon's cool. I used to do his laundry."

"Is that your only achievement in life?" Sanders snaps, through a mouthful of cereal. "Wanna put that on your CV or some shit?"

"Hey." Suho's eyes get bigger. He leans in closer to Sanders's face. "Did you know that taco cat spelled backwards is still taco cat?"

"I like you," Sanders says, grabbing the bowl. "You have permission to steal my cereal."

They share it. There's a cartoon playing on the television.

Becks comes out of her room, yawning. Before, before Maxon, she'd wake up from her nap and step out the room in a ratty, old sweatshirt and hideous neon green joggers, her curls all over her face, with drool on her cheek, demanding where the food is.

Cute little caveman, Sanders would think. And then he'd cook her something and feed her.

But she's in a shirt and shorts. Her hair is straightened. She clearly washed up before going outside. "Where's Maxon?"

"Out," Sanders says.

"Whoa," Suho says, jaw open, blinking really hard. "You're pretty."

"I like him," Becks says, flopping next to him on the couch. "Can I have cereal, too?"

Suho gives the bowl without a word. He's still awe-struck.

Sanders smacks him behind the head. "Fish, Becks Arlington. Becks, fish."

"Suho," Suho whispers. Then, he gasps. "Oh, shit. You—you won that—that boxing match before. I watched you! You were great!"

Sanders just rewatched that moment in which Becks tried to kill him. But, you know, it's gentler this time. It's a kid.

She's holding him against the sofa, forearm on his neck, grabbing his wrists with her other hand. "Suho. It's Suho, right?"

"I'm a virgin," Suho blurts out.

"Jesus Christ," Sanders breathes out, laughing. He throws his head back and laughs so loudly. Even Becks's lips are twitching. "Fish! Focus! You're minutes away from Death carrying you over if you don't listen to her."

"Death can't take me yet," the fish blabbers, blinking really rapidly. "My mom will say no."

"A mini Sanders," Becks says, groaning. And then she glares at Sanders. "As if having one Sanders wasn't enough."

"Babe. This flirting is really getting old. Just kiss me, I swear I won't reject you."

Becks rolls her eyes. She leans down, staring at Suho. "Please shut up about my boxing. I won't kill you if you do. Understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Arlington," Suho says, gulping.

Becks scoffs. "It's Becks."

"Yes, Ms. Becks Arlington."

Sanders pushes Becks off. "Okay, you've traumatized the kid. You good, buddy?"

Suho nods and grins at Sanders. "Did you know that rap stands for rhyme and poetry?"

"Okay, he's good—wait, what? Seriously? Becks, look, the fish knows things!"

When Maxon and Kaitlyn come back, holding bags of groceries, they're holding hands, smiling. Sanders watches Becks's face, but she only smiles at them, waves, and goes back to watching the cartoon. Suho runs to the kitchen to help.

Sanders slithers closer to Becks. "Hey," he whispers, nudging her. "You good?"

"What do you mean?" She's still finishing the bowl of cereal, eyes focused on the TV.

Sanders sighs. "How are you doing this? How have you been doing this for four years?"

"Being cool? I don't know, it comes with my personality."

Sanders manages a small smile. He shifts his torso and faces her. "No. I meant watching Maxon and Kaitlyn together."

Sanders thought about all the times he watched Becks and Maxon together, and felt like his chest wasn't rising and falling hard enough for him to breathe. He hates it. One of the top ten in his 'things I hate' list. Becks shrugs and smiles at him. "I don't know. I got used to it. I got used to knowing that they're in love, Kaitlyn knew him first, that Maxon will never see me in a romantic way. I have no right to be hurt. I'm just happy Maxon's happy."

Sanders doesn't know what to say. He says, "You're a fucking idiot."

She glares at him.

"A fucking beautiful idiot." He sighs again and leans back, dropping his head on her shoulder.

"Well, you're a loser. What happened with Liam? Liam, right? And, um, Scarlet?"

Sanders wraps an arm around her waist. She feels so warm. "Things happened," he murmurs.

Becks tenses. Sanders can feel it. But it doesn't show in her voice when she says, "Oh. That's good, then. So you're hung up on...one of them? Both of them?"

Sanders snorts. He wishes he were. Maybe then he'd finally get a permanent divorce. "They're not you," he mumbles, turning his head, positioning his lips over her racing pulse point. She smells good. Body wash.

Becks doesn't push him off even though she finished the cereal. The bowl is just there, milk going cold, in her hands.

At dinner, she doesn't eat much even though she's supposed to.

And then Sanders catches her watching Maxon and Kaitlyn. Maxon is stupid. Maxon looks stupid looking at Kaitlyn like that whenever she laughs.

Sanders sees Becks's hand close in a fist on her lap. Her other hand is stabbing her food.

Slowly, eyes on Maxon, like he's listening to the Golden Retriever, Sanders takes her hand under the table. The one on her lap. Interlaces their fingers together.

Becks doesn't move. She keeps stabbing her food with her fork.

It's not even—if Sanders can explain himself, he'll say it's not even meant to be a romantic gesture. It doesn't have anything to do with Sanders's feelings. He can ignore his feelings. He can ignore those little Sanders in his head, heart—he can let them panic, die, dance, strip, hold a funeral, whatever—but what he can't ignore is Becks being hurt. It's number one on his 'things I hate' list. Up there. Way, way up there.

Her palm is rough, and her knuckles are red. Their hands don't fit, but it's warm.

It's not a romantic gesture. It's not for Sanders. This is Sanders, Sanders Rush, Becks's best friend. He's her best friend before anything else. He's her best friend first—before anything else.

Becks understands. She gives him a small smile. Squeezes his fingers.

*

Suho drinks all the milk Maxon bought. He steals Sanders's food, too. Stays for breakfast and eats a lot.

("Is there a mix between angry and sad? A word?" Suho asks, angrily biting his pancake.

"Uh, disgruntled? Malcontent?" Becks says, chewing.

"Smad," Sanders says. "Soggy. Like a spaghetti noodle. What's up, little dude?"

"You're out of maple syrup," he mutters.

Sanders sighs. Makes a mental reminder to buy more maple syrup.)

Terry rings up the almond milk with a smile. Sanders grins back, salutes him, and leaves the convenience store.

At school, Rosen and Sanders breeze through their jog, workout, and drills. Rosen isn't shutting up about Adan.

("People keep thinking we're banging!" Rosen snorts.

"Your hand is literally always on her ass," Sanders says.

"I'll put my hand on your ass—")

They get scolded because they keep talking, and the whole team needs to jump up the Gray Stairs twenty times, and Rosen pushes Sanders, Sanders pushes him too, and they almost send one of their teammates to the hospital and the Coach yells at them.

And it's actually not the worst punishment, he thinks, because when he drops by the gym, after winning two games, Becks is on the floor in a plank position. She's on her forearms, legs stretched behind her, fists closed. Her face is red, and she's squeezing her eyes shut. Sanders can see her muscles straining, her composure breaking.

"If you fall down, you'll get another ten minutes," her coach warns her, kneeling down on her level. Her other teammates are watching, worried.

Sanders grabs Adan's arm. "What the fuck happened?"

Becks's friend looks up at him, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth. "Her weight hasn't been going up."

Sanders groans. He runs his hands through his hair like he's pulling out the strands. "Jesus Christ."

"Which is weird," Adan says, scratching her head. "Coach watches what she eats most of the time. He makes her eat three trays of food. But for some reason, nothing's happening."

Maxon is happening. Fucking Maxon is happening. "How long?"

"It's been eight," Adan whispers.

Becks yells. She yells so loud, and at the end, there's a cry. Like a choked out sob.

Sanders sits down. He can't do anything about it.

Becks falls down on the floor as soon as the timer makes a sound. There's sweat running down her face, and there's water under her eyelids.

"Fifty jump squats," her coach says, standing up. "Fifty and then you eat."

Sanders scoffs. A ten-minute plank and then fifty jump squats? He's fucking crazy.

He's about to say so, opening his mouth, but Becks opens her eyes. She catches the look on his face, and she shakes her head, panting, catching her breath.

Sanders clenches his jaw. Becks's teammates leave the room, and Adan sits next to him. "He was asking if she's dating someone."

"That's none of his business."

"It is if she's not watching what she eats. You saw what happened at her last match—she was too worn out. She needs to bulk up."

Becks does her fifty jump squats. She counts quietly, under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to keep her breathing even and stable.

Sanders watches her. He can't do anything but watch.

When she's done, she lies down on the floor for five, maybe ten minutes. She doesn't speak. Sanders opens his water bottle and crouches in front of her.

Becks takes it. She's covered in sweat, skin shining, and her face is hot, and she looks tired. "Thanks," she mutters quietly.

"Come on." Sanders slings his bag over his shoulder. Adan grabs her things. "Let's go home. We'll order food."

"Wait," Becks croaks, gripping his hand when he reaches it out to help her stand. Her face scrunches, features drawing together, and she hisses in pain. "I can't—my muscles."

Sanders bends down. "I'll carry you. Come on."

Becks doesn't even have the energy to protest or to fight. She just wraps her arms around his shoulders, legs on his waist. Sanders stands, hooking his hands under her thighs.

"Sorry I'm heavy," she whispers. Her breath fans the nape of his neck. "I'll walk half the way."

"No," Sanders grits out, exiting the gym. "It's fine."

He walks in silence, Becks on his back. She keeps tightening her hands on his shoulders, and he can feel her sweat dripping on his shirt. Adan's following them quietly. Becks thanks her.

They order in food as soon as she's showered. Her legs are still shaking, and her arms hurt whenever she raises them. Sanders found out that her coach made her do six rounds of sparring instead of four. Raised up her workout and drills. No wonder she couldn't move.

She and Sanders eat. She eats more. Maxon isn't here.

Sanders turns and tosses over on his bed. Kicks off the blanket and pulls it up to his legs again. He tries taking off his shirt, but somehow, the feel of the covers irritate him more, but he's too tired to look for where his shirt had landed and just—lays there.

But then someone knocks, and the door creeps open. "Sanders?" Becks asks quietly. "Are you asleep?"

"No," Sanders says, scooting over to make space. He taps the bed and motions for her to come over.

It's a Sad Day. She's tired. She's been beaten up during training. She probably cried.

Becks shuffles inside, feet padding quietly across the room. And then the mattress dips, and Becks is slipping under the covers, scooting closer to Sanders when he opens his arms.

Becks's head fits on his chest. Sanders throws his leg over hers. He inhales softly and hums in contentment. "You smell good," he mutters.

"You too," she whispers. Sanders can feel her breath on his bare skin. "Where's your shirt?"

"Felt hot. Sorry. Want me to put it on?"

"No," she says, shaking her head. Her curls tickle him a bit. "S'okay. I'll probably cry on you, though."

Sanders manages a small laugh. He tightens his arms around her. Ah. Fucking warm. "S'fine, Becks."

She's silent for a moment. Sanders thinks she fell asleep, but then there's wetness on his skin, and Sanders can feel her shoulders shaking.

He sighs. "Do you like Maxon that much?"

Becks doesn't answer. She cries harder.

Sanders feels like his body is melting. His brain is shutting off. His heart hurts—and it hurts to breathe. This is why this is number one on the list. This is why Sanders hates it.

Because when Becks is hurt, Sanders can feel it. He can feel it hurting him, too.

That's unfair. That's fucking unfair.

In the quiet, amidst Becks's tears, Sanders says, "Go out with me."

Becks stills. She raises her head. Her eyes are red, stained with tears. No flames. "What?"

"Go out with me and I won't tell Maxon."

He's not planning on telling him. He's just—he's selfish, and nasty, and he wants more. He's all of that. Sanders knows he's all of that.

But he's also not capable of handling any more of Becks hurting. If she can use him as a distraction, if she can just use him enough—Sanders will take it.

She can use him. It's okay if she uses him. He wants her to.

Becks looks at him. "You won't do that to me."

"I will if you keep crying over him like this."

That's a lie. He's not telling him. He can never betray Becks like that. He can never hurt her like that.

"Sanders," Becks sobs out. She bows her head. Covers her face with her hands. "Sanders."

"Think about it during winter break," he says, closing his eyes. "I'll ask you for an answer when we come back. Go to sleep."

Becks doesn't say anything more. Sanders waits for her tears to stop, and then feels her breathing slow.

*

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