Chapter 56 Hey, Let's Go Home

Chapter 56 Hey, Let's Go Home
The McFarland Wing felt cavernous without Leo’s presence. The "Open Door" was still propped wide, but the golden light spilling into the hallway felt hollow to Franklin. Every few seconds, his eyes darted to the threshold, expecting to see a familiar satchel and a shy smile. When the clock chimed a quarter-past, the silence in the room became unbearable.
"He’s late," Franklin muttered. He stopped his pacing and stared at the empty seat next to his. "Botany ended ten minutes ago. Even with the crowd in the quad, he should be here."
Echo didn't look up from her ledger, but her pen stopped moving. She knew the social climate of the Academy better than anyone; she knew that every victory for the Wing came with a cost of bitter gossip. "Franklin," she said quietly, "the halls are... loud today. People are talking. And they aren't being kind."
Willow looked up, her expression pained. "I heard a group of sophomores in the hall earlier. They were saying things about the scholarship list, Franklin. They were saying it looked like... a trade."
Franklin’s face went pale, then a dangerous, hot red. He didn't say another word. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and bolted. He didn't check the cafeteria or the library; he knew Leo’s heart. He headed for the only place where the noise of the Academy didn't reach—the koi pond at the edge of the old gardens.
The Confrontation at the Pond
He found him slumped on the stone bench, a small, solitary figure against the dark water. Leo’s shoulders were shaking, his head buried in his hands.
"Leo!" Franklin called out, his voice breathless as he sprinted across the grass.
Leo jerked upright, his eyes red-rimmed and fierce. As Franklin reached for him, Leo scrambled back, putting the length of the bench between them. "Don't," Leo snapped, his voice cracking. "Just... don't, Franklin."
"What happened? I’ve been looking everywhere—"
"You want to know what happened?" Leo’s voice rose, the dam finally breaking. "I walked through those halls today like a target! I heard it all, Franklin. Every disgusting, whispered word. They say I’m a 'strategic investment.' They say I’m only with you because my name was on that scholarship list you signed! They think I’m buying my way into this school with... with whatever this is!"
Franklin took a step forward, his hands out. "Leo, you know that’s not true—"
"Do I?" Leo yelled, the sound echoing off the surface of the pond. "Because they’re also saying you’ve lost your mind! They’re saying you’ve always dated the most beautiful girls in the valley—the legacies, the debutantes. And then there’s me. The scholarship kid. The boy from the town who barely belongs here. Why me, Franklin? Why now? Was it just because your world fell apart and I was the first person who didn't scream at you? Am I just a project? A way for you to rebel against your father?"
Leo was shaking now, his chest heaving as he threw the accusations like stones. "They say I must have done something to you. That I manipulated you. Because why would a guy like you ever look at a guy like me unless there was a reason?"
The Breaking of the Script
Franklin stood perfectly still, letting the waves of Leo’s hurt wash over him. He didn't look angry; he looked devastated. Slowly, he reached out and took hold of Leo’s wrists—not to pull him, but to steady him.
"Are you finished?" Franklin asked, his voice low and vibrating with an intensity that silenced the birds in the trees.
Leo let out a jagged breath, his eyes searching Franklin’s face for a lie.
"The girls?" Franklin started, his grip firm but gentle. "That was Mark Dorset’s son playing the part that was written for him since he was five years old. I dated those girls because I thought I had to. I thought if I followed the lines, the house wouldn't fall down. But the house fell anyway. And when I was standing in the rubble, I realized I didn't want the debutantes. I didn't want the 'beautiful' legacies."
He stepped closer, closing the gap until their foreheads were almost touching. "I wanted the person who saw me when I was invisible. I wanted the person who made the library feel like home. You think I’m helping your scholarship? Leo, I’m using the McFarland name to protect you because if you leave this school, there is no 'Wing.' There is no revolution. There’s just me, alone in a cold office, playing a part again."
Franklin’s voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't care about the girls. I don't care about the gossip. I care that when I hold your hand, I can finally breathe. You aren't a project, Leo. You’re the only thing in my life that’s actually real."
Leo’s resolve crumbled. The anger drained out of him, replaced by a heavy, exhausted relief. He leaned forward, burying his face in Franklin’s chest, his hands clenching the fabric of Franklin’s jacket.
"It’s just so hard," Leo sobbed into his shoulder. "Everyone is looking."
"Let them look," Franklin said, wrapping his arms around Leo and holding him like he was the only thing that mattered. "Let them wait. We’ve got the 'Open Door,' remember? If they don't like what they see, they can keep walking. But I’m not letting go."
They stayed there by the pond for a long time, the only sound the soft ripple of the water and the steady, shared heartbeat of two boys who had finally decided to write their own story.
"Hey," Franklin said, his voice bright and defiant against the fading echoes of the gossip. "Let’s go home."
Leo wiped the last of the moisture from his eyes, looking up at Franklin. The fear hadn't vanished, but the shame had. Seeing the absolute, unwavering heat in Franklin’s gaze acted like a cauterizing iron on his wounds. He gave a small, resilient nod. "Yeah. Let's go home."
They didn't take the back paths. Franklin led them straight through the center of the Great Quad, right past the stone arches where the "lookie-loos" were most likely to congregate.
Franklin didn't just walk; he strutted. He leaned down, whispering something ridiculous into Leo’s ear about the way Mr. Henderson probably polished his head with floor wax. Leo let out a genuine, melodic laugh, the sound cutting through the stifling tension of the courtyard.
Every head turned. Every whisper died in the throats of the onlookers.
They saw the Dorset heir, the boy who was supposed to be the Academy's golden standard, looking at a scholarship student with more pride than he had ever shown a debutante.
They saw Leo, no longer ducking his head or clutching his books like a shield, but walking with his shoulders back, matching Franklin’s stride beat for beat.
As they passed a group of senior girls who had been particularly vocal earlier that morning, Franklin didn't look away. He slowed their pace, squeezed Leo’s hand, and gave the group a polite, freezing nod. It wasn't an apology; it was a dismissal.
"You know," Franklin said loudly, enough for the surrounding tables to hear, "I think we should add 'Mandatory Manners' to the next Oversight agenda. Some people seem to have forgotten how to mind their own business."
Leo giggled, bumping his shoulder against Franklin’s. "Careful, Franklin. You’re going to give Echo more paperwork."
"She’ll live," Franklin laughed, pulling Leo closer. "As long as we bring her some of that Glimmer-berry punch, she’s practically invincible."
By the time they reached the McFarland Wing, the heavy atmosphere of the morning had been replaced by a light, electric hum of victory. They stepped through the Open Door, the stone weight still holding it wide, and the golden light of the common room washed over them.
Echo, Dean, and Willow looked up from the table. They didn't need to ask what had happened. They saw the joined hands, the wind-swept hair, and the way Leo looked like he had finally found his footing in a world that tried to trip him.
"You're late for the afternoon brief," Echo said, though the corner of her mouth quirked up in a rare, soft smile.
"We took the scenic route," Franklin replied, leading Leo over to their chairs. He didn't let go of Leo’s hand even as they sat down. He looked at the family portrait on the wall—the one that captured them all in their messy, beautiful truth—and then back at the group.
"Okay," Franklin said, his voice steady and home. "Where were we?"