The Covenant belongs to rich people, as do Caleb Danvers, Pogue Parry, Reid Garwin, Tyler Simms... basically everything you recognize is not mine. Sorry.

Dear Caleb,

Pogue scratched the letters out, tapping the lid of his pen against his lower lip. Scratch that.

Caleb –

No, now he sounded like a note from the Provost's office.

Hi.

Are you kidding?!

Cay.

His pen hovered over his eleventh sheet of paper, debating. Eh, good enough.

Cay.

How are you?

"God," he muttered, as he scratched that out too. "What is this, a thank you letter to Aunt Agnes?"

Caleb glanced over at him, curious, and he surreptiously moved the stack of loose leaf away from Caleb's prying eyes. Not that he was really prying, per se... Pogue was pretty sure he was just curious because he'd been muttering to himself during class.

Cay.

I'm writing this to tell you...

"Not a jailhouse confession," he muttered, crumpling that piece up too.

The English teacher was starting to notice Pogue's growing pile of crumpled papers, but he didn't really care. Let him stare. English was really more of Caleb's subject anyway.

Speaking of...

Cay.

Ever had a song stuck in your head for weeks, and you can't get it out, no matter what? This is a little like that, only no song, and it's been years, not a

English has evil affects on my brain, Pogue thought mutinously as he crumpled that attempt up vindictively small, and lobbed it across the room at Tyler's head.

The lackadaisical brunette nearly jumped when it landed on his head, disrupting his nap, and grumbling, unfolded the paper. He stared at it for a long moment, then gave Pogue a WTF? look.

Pogue shrugged, and returned to his stack of paper.

Cay,

I wanted to try something

Cay,

Want to go to

Cay,

Nicky's after school? I have questions

Cay,

This has been bothering me

Cay,

Have you ever wondered

Cay,

I was thinking

Cay,

How about after swim practice you come over to my place and we order

Cay,

Got

Cay,

Was thinking

Cay,

How about

Cay,

Ever considered

Cay,

Was Abbott right? Do you

Cay,

Abbott's a jerk. Did you hear what he said about

Cay,

We need to break into anywhere again?

Cay,

Any good parties coming

Cay,

Pogue growled at his stack of paper balls, growing more and more frustrated.

It wasn't like he wanted to say anything earthshattering. Well, actually, it was, but it still shouldn't be this hard to write.

Glancing at his best friend, he frowned slightly, chewing on his pen lid. Caleb was reading along with the teacher, the way Pogue was probably supposed to be, brow furrowed just a bit in the centre as he concentrated on the words on the page. He was biting his lip, glancing up at the teacher as he recited points, marking them on the board. Caleb was scribbling them down in a battered lined notebook, the same one he'd lend to Pogue after class so he could copy the notes he should have been making during class. His nails were cut square, instead of close like Tyler's or chewed down like Reid's. Caleb would tap them idly against the spine of the book as he wrote.

His hair had gotten longer since the beginning of the school year, slightly scruffier since the whole Ascension fiasco. It could use a trim, but Pogue was hardly the one to tell him that.

The tie around Caleb's neck was slightly loose – he'd pulled it that way at lunch, when Reid had dared him to eat the jalapeno. He'd refused, of course, then Tyler called him a pussy, and one thing led to Caleb guzzling his, Reid's, and Pogue's milk, trying to sooth his tongue and throat.

He was Pogue's best friend. His confidant, if he chose to use the 'girly' word for it. His amigo.

Saying this, then – or writing it, as the case was – shouldn't be so hard.

Okay. He thought. Break it down. Make it simple. What do I want to say?

On the next page, in bold, irrefutable block letters, he wrote exactly what he wanted to say:

CAY.

I WANT YOU.

He frowned slightly, tilting his head to the left, and the right, to examine it.

"Huh." He muttered, surprised.

It said everything he wanted it to say. It was firm, not wishy-washy, absolute, undeniable. Strong. It couldn't be misunderstood, there was no flowery, girly, Shakespeare language.

"Perfect." He muttered, pleased, then took the sheet, and, when Caleb looked up to see the next point, placed it on Caleb's notebook.

Caleb looked down, dark brows furrowing even deeper in confusion as he read it, then consternation as he considered it.

He glanced up, eyes finding Pogue's, and held up the sheet. "You?" he mouthed.

Pogue smirked slightly, and nodded.

Caleb lay the note back down, staring at it for the rest of class. They hurried then to history, where he proceeded to stare at it. Pogue diligently took notes for the both of them. After all, it was his note that had distracted the dark-haired jock.

Pogue lost track of Caleb somewhere between history and the change room. Caleb normally just stopped by his locker, then the room, but Pogue had to grab his towel from the dorm room upstairs that was officially his, but he never stayed in. For that matter, it was supposed to be his and Caleb's – his parent's estate had paid for him to have it all the way through, and Caleb's mother stubbornly paid for it every year in the hope he'd one day accept she was fine and go back to living at school.

The room almost always sat entirely empty, used only as an occasional after-party crash pad, a place to escape roommates for their girlfriends – if they had one – or a great place to take advantage of the school's free towels for the dorms service.

So when he opened the door, he blinked in surprise to find Caleb sitting on his bed, knees spread wide to place his feet firmly on the floor, elbows on his knees, hands folded, shoulders hunched, head down.

"Cay?"

"Hey Pogue," Caleb smiled slightly, looking up. "That was some note."

Pogue shrugged. "I went through about fifty different ideas first."

"I noticed. I was reading them, trying to figure out why you were writing me."

"Huh." Pogue blinked, slowly closing the dorm room door. "I didn't notice. You were sneaky."

Caleb shrugged.

"So, ah..." Pogue looked around. "What are you doing up here?"

"Thinking."

"Thinking." He repeated.

Caleb slid over on his bed, patting the mattress beside him.

Pogue took the silent offer for what it was, and sat beside the other.

A moment later, Caleb was cupping his face, tilting his head, and was kissing Pogue eagerly, needily. Desperately.

Pogue moaned happily, and squirmed forward, giving as good as he got. Finally, he pulled away, breathing heavily, and Caleb gasped, "I want you too."

"I gathered." Pogue smirked, carefully taking Caleb's hands, pulling them down to be pinned between their chests, and reclaimed Caleb's mouth to write the kind of message that didn't require any words at all.