text: “It was me!” Jim exclaims as soon as he sees what is piled on the Deans desk. He knows what he’s saying, knows the consequences even before the words leave his mouth. There is no moment of disbelief or doubt in his mind. There is no question that Jim is going to do this. He will take the fall for this because if he doesn’t, the consequences will be unbearable. His friends stop shuffling in front of the Dean and freeze in shades of confusion and guilt as the prefects shove them to attention in their pyjamas. Adam turns his head to look at him out of the corner of his eyes, face pale in shock. Dave trips over his own foot, coordination a pipe dream in old joggers and a tee, no shoes on his sock-clad feat. He almost pulls Ian down with him as he tips over. He might or might not have done better fully dressed and in daylight, though Jim can't judge. The Dean misses none of this, her clear dark eyes flowing over them with barely hidden derision as Dave and Ian manage to get back to their feet. Her eyebrow and her lip quirk as the two teens struggle to keep each other on an even keel. She gives them a moment to collect their barely extant dignity before turning her attention to him. “ You are at fault?” The Dean asks, her tone doubtful. She crosses her sweater-clad arms and tilts her head, just so, and he knows she doesn’t believe him. Even in her casual clothes and bare face, she sees right through him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even matter that she is right to disbelieve him. Who’s going to prove otherwise? Adam was his first friend here, the first that hadn’t laughed at him, hadn’t called him by a girl's name. Dave and Ian, on account of no longer being the only queer kids, had declared him one of them. Friendship had come after solidarity, after shared slurs in the halls and the odd threat at recess. None of them have his academic standing, and he can't bear to know what would happen if Ian's parents found out about this. “Yes, Ma’am. This is all my fault.” Jim reiterates, absolute in his conviction. He meets Adam's eyes past the Dean's shoulder and tries his best to indicate that he should back him up. Adam frowns. Dave and Ian share a look, though only Ian seems to understand what he is trying to do. “Don’t be stupid, Jimmy,” Ian interjects. “You had nothing to do with this.” The Dean releases a frustrated huff as Adam and Dave look at Ian in disbelief. Jim looks from Ian to the Dean and to the scene of the crime, then back to Ian. Jim may have been lying, but claiming that he wasn’t involved at all was stretching the bounds of credulity. It might have helped if Ian hadn’t slurred his words. One of the prefects snorts inelegantly. Jim turns and glares at the boy, then remembers that pissing off a prefect probably won't help the situation at all. “Shut it,” he hisses at Ian instead, who hisses back wordlessly and rolls his eyes. “Are you boys quite done?” The Dean states, clearly indicating that they are, even if they disagree. Jim and Ian disengage their staring contest to look at the ground at the Dean's feet instead, chiming in with Adam and Dave when they reply in the affirmative. “Frankly, this is the stupidest waste of an evening I have been subjected to, and I don’t really care that much who did this.” She says, indicating the incriminating pile on her desk. “I understand that you are teenagers, and I understand that a certain amount of mischief is to be expected, but there are limits.” Jim isn’t sure how far past the Dean's limits a few ‘suggestive’ zines are, never mind that he is pretty sure they are on loan from Adam’s mom. Mrs Ghetty claimed that they were age appropriate when Jim’s dad had called her with his concerns. The Dean picks up the top copy, a relatively low-quality print of a pencil drawing, depicting two men holding hands under a black and white rainbow. She leans against the desk as she thumbs through the yellowed paper, then throws it back on the pile. “This is nothing.” The Dean says, tone stern and suddenly Jim realizes that she isn’t looking at them this time. She is looking at the prefects, Thomson and Frank, two boys a year up, assigned to patrol the boys' dormitory. They had burst into the room Adam shares with Ian and crowed at finding the four of them together, Jim not in his assigned single room, well past curfew and reading ‘illicit’ and ‘inappropriate’ materials. Thomson frowns in confusion from behind Ian, then strides forward and grabs a zine off of the pile. “But it’s porn!” he exclaims, not bothering to open it, just thrusting the paper at the Dean, barely holding on to it as if it might infect him with prolonged contact. The Dean turns an unimpressed eye on him, takes the paper from his hands and opens it. Inside there are pictures of queer couples, yes, but none of them are naked. The most contact they have is on page five. One man hugged another from behind in an intimate embrace, both fully clothed. They are standing in front of a house that looks like it might be in the countryside, and smiling. It is a good picture. Dave had needed to wipe at his eyes when he had seen it, had given it a long and still look, had turned and held Ian’s hand tightly, as they read the accompanying text. “ ‘The Queer Guide to Queer History; We’re still Here’,” she reads off the title page, then flips it back on the table. The Prefects shuffle behind them, suddenly unsure of the situation. Jim shares another look with Ian, equally bewildered. “You four,” she starts, pointing at the pajamaed boys with a wave of her hand, “can’t be meeting past curfew like this. Detention for all of you, and don’t do this again. Come see me in the morning for the particulars, and to pick up these zines once I’ve reviewed their appropriateness.” The Dean says in a clear dismissal, then rounds on the prefects as Jim grabs Adam and follows Dave and Ian out of the office. “Now, you two, on the other hand...” is all Jim hears as the door closes behind them.