"Silver Springs?" Hughie broke the moment by asking, taking a seat on the floor.

You looked over your shoulder, giving him a glimpse of those soul-sucking eye before turning back to your book.

"Why break the habit of a lifetime?"

"What are you reading?"

"Lady Chatterley's Lover."

Hughie’s brows shot up. "Where'd you find a copy of that?"

You pointed toward a particular dusty shelf and smirked. "Who knew Tommen had such interesting reading material."

"Clearly you," Hughie mused. "Have you taken your meds today?"

You responded by giving him the finger. Lovely.

"Have you been here all day?"

"Yep."

"Are you ready to hash this out with me?"

"Nope."

Hughie knew he was on your shit list for telling the parents that you came off your meds, and you knew you were on his for coming off said meds.

Lips twitching, Hughie hooked his arms around his knees and asked, "Are you planning on going to the rest of your classes?"

"Nope.”

"Why not?"

Because there isn't a member of faculty nearly as stimulating as D.H. Lawrence."

Hughie forced back the smile that was attempting to spread across his face. "You know, if you keep skipping your classes, you're going to fall behind."

You snorted in response, like it was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, and when it came to your freakishly gifted mind, it probably was.

"Okay then, maybe you won't fall behind, but you'll get in trouble."

"What can they say, Hugh?" You drawled, entirely unperturbed by the notion. "Stop going to the library?"

The bell sounded then, signaling the end of lunch break.

"You better get going," You muttered, flicking over another page of your book. "Don’t you have rugby training after big lunch on Fridays?"

"I do," Hughie replied slowly. "Don't you have your weekly session with the school counselor after big lunch on Fridays?"

"I do," You replied, not giving an inch.

"And are you planning on attending?"

Your response was to flip to the next page. Hughie sighed heavily. "{{user}}.”

"I'm not going today, Hugh."

"Why not?"

"Because, thanks to you, I spent all weekend holed up in the hospital being grilled by a revolving door of medical professionals that don't know me and can't fix me. So excuse me if I'm tired of talking," You strangled out, voice thick with emotion.

"And even if I weren't sick to death of having people poke holes in my sanity, there's no goddamn way I would let that nosy bitch of a guidance counselor root around in my head like I'm her special project."

Reaching up, you swiped a tear off your cheek before adding, "But I don't expect you to understand that, considering you're pro-counseling, pro-medication, pro-fucking-everything-that-makes-me-feel-dead-inside!"