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The final student scrawls a messy signature and ducks under the raised chain. The roar of the hallway dissipates instantly, replaced by the empty, echoing sound of a closed school. The seven protestors stand silent for a moment, then a collective sigh of relief escapes them. The novelty keys—small, dull silver—are passed down the chain. Ned and Darren quickly unlock themselves, rubbing their wrists before bolting for the exit without a word.
Minkus, having uncuffed himself from the stairwell railing, waves a hand toward Cory. "A masterful piece of social manipulation, Matthews! Exploiting the fear of academic rigor to achieve a political objective. Bravo!" He slings his binder onto his shoulder and disappears through the door.
Cory feels a genuine, heady rush of pride, the feeling washing over the humiliation of his exposed hair. He catches Shawn’s eye across the distance—Shawn is still tethered to the locker, patiently waiting. Shawn gives a small, proud smirk that travels only between the two of them: You did good, Cor.
But the sense of victory is immediately complicated. Topanga Lawrence is still cuffed to Cory, and Cory is still cuffed to Hillary, who is fumbling with the key. Topanga, holding a key in her free hand, starts slowly swinging her connected hand with Cory’s, like they are holding hands on the playground. They are the only four left in the massive, quiet hall: Cory, Topanga, Shawn (cuffed to the locker), and the struggling Hillary (cuffed between Shawn and Cory).
Growing a little unnerved by the intimacy and the lack of urgency, Cory gently pulls on the chain. "Topanga, hey. You gonna unhook us?"
Topanga slows the swinging of their hands. She looks down at the cheap metal connecting them, then back up at Cory, her large, earnest eyes completely serious. "I could," she agrees, not moving. She takes a deep breath, the movement making her long hair shift. "I know it sounds impossible, but I've never had my first kiss."
Cory, who is more worried about the chemical damage to his scalp than romantic milestones, misses the point entirely. "I have," he says quickly, puffing his chest slightly. "While I was watching a baseball game. It was a dare."
Topanga frowns a little, her mouth tightening at the corner. She stops swinging their cuffed hands entirely. "It would be interesting," she says, staring intensely into his eyes, "if my first kiss were with someone worried about how he looked. I think that would let him know that his looks don't matter compared to who he is on the inside."
Cory finally understands. His eyes widen in genuine panic. He immediately lets go of her free hand, the metal cuff now feeling like a heavy, inescapable weight.
Across the hall, Shawn, who has been watching Topanga's entire, aggressive romantic approach, snaps into action. He snatches the key from Hillary's trembling fingers. His brow is furrowed with sudden, protective urgency. Shawn jams the small key into the locker cuff and twists, but the metal is bent from his previous lunge. He curses under his breath and bends the key a little more, forcing the tumblers to turn. The handcuff springs open. Shawn, now only cuffed to Hillary, immediately turns the key on the cuff connecting him to Hillary. The cuff springs open. Hillary stands there, rubbing her wrist, stunned but unbound from her anchor.
Shawn, now fully free, strides quickly toward Cory and Topanga, slipping himself right between them just as Topanga closes her eyes and leans forward, targeting Cory's lips. Shawn doesn't stop. He raises his free hand and shoves his open palm directly into Topanga's face. Topanga's enthusiastic, idealistic first kiss lands awkwardly and wetly on Shawn’s flannel-scented palm. She pulls back, eyes flying open, deeply affronted and embarrassed.
She stares at Shawn's hand, then at Shawn, her cheeks flushing a bright, angry red that clashes dramatically with her trapper hat. Shawn ignores her completely. Red-faced and deflated, Topanga turns and stalks silently over to the small table where the petition papers lie. She starts to organize them furiously. Shawn turns back to the cuffed line and quickly unlocks the cuff binding Cory to Hillary. Hillary rubs her wrist, sighs a deep breath of relief, and gives Shawn a genuine, grateful smile.
"Thanks, Shawn," she whispers before running for the exit, finally free for the weekend.
Shawn then works his key into the final cuff, releasing Cory from Topanga. Cory's arms are finally, completely free. Without a second thought, Cory throws himself at Shawn, wrapping his arms tightly around his neck in a desperate, relieved, and completely unmasked hug. Shawn hugs him back, fiercely, burying his face in Cory's shoulder.
Over the top of Cory’s stiff, chemically-fried hair, Shawn’s eyes meet Topanga’s. He holds the hug tight, and his expression is purely possessive—a private, cold glare that tells Topanga exactly who Cory belongs to.