Chapter Text
The State Chronicle — Year End Exclusive
Graduating students to embark on seniors’ retreat
Written by: Sidefall, Editor-in-Chief
As is tradition, the graduating students of batch 2026 will be having their three-day seniors’ retreat on June xx, 2026. This brief excursion, along with the subsequent prom night, serves as the final hurrah before tassels are turned and caps are tossed.
The retreat is a mandatory graduation requirement and is expected to feature reflection sessions, team-building activities, games, and other fun events aimed at strengthening bonds among the graduating class before the school year ends.
One of the highlights of the trip will be the banquet night, where students are encouraged to bring semi-formal attire for an evening of celebration and performances. Adding to the excitement, The Conspiracy Band, composed of members from the graduating batch, is set to perform during the event.
With memories waiting to be made and one final adventure ahead, students are encouraged to make the most of the retreat and celebrate the closing chapter of their high school journey together.
Chaos was not typically tolerated in the Aculon household. Flux knew that well.
Due to the reach of Aculon Corp, it was second nature for the family to maintain the image of a classy, well-established household, even when the paparazzi were nowhere in sight. This expectation extended to the state of their home, especially the living room, which was usually pristine enough to be photographed for a magazine spread.
Tonight, however, was an exception. An exception that would send Flux's fathers into cardiac arrest if they walked in right now.
Several guitar cases were sprawled across the living room, leaning against furniture. A keyboard stood propped against the wall, its stand folded into a metal pretzel beside it. The skeletal frame of an electric drum kit had been cast off to the side, slightly removed from the main mess.
The worst part? Black cables snaked across the floor in every direction, connecting to various amplifiers and other equipment like a technological vine system. It was a sprawling, tangled ecosystem of wires that seemed to multiply every time someone looked away.
It would be a miracle if they finished packing before dinner.
"Why can't the school just provide us with instruments?" Rotation asked as he coiled the drum kit's wiring around his arm. The cord bit into his skin with each wrap. "It's such a hassle to haul everything to the venue."
"Getting the stuff there is already tough," Gotoga added, zipping up the case of his bass guitar with a decisive tug. "Imagine how long it'll take us to set everything up and then clean up afterward."
"I think I'd rather jump off a tower," NewKids said, polishing his saxophone with unnecessary aggression. The cloth moved in sharp, furious circles.
"Oh, boo hoo," Snowbird shot back from across the room, not looking up from his keyboard stand. "Rotation and I have the heaviest equipment. You have one saxophone."
"Hey, this thing is delicate!" NewKids held it up, cradling it against his chest. "Go fight Sera, not me. She doesn't have to bring anything."
"Sera's handling the wiring to make up for it," Snowbird retorted, gesturing toward the corner where Seraphim sat in a nest of black cables.
"Thanks for answering my question, guys," Rotation said flatly. The sarcasm dripped from every syllable.
Thomas sighed and set down his guitar. The hard plastic made a soft thunk against the carpet. "Apparently, the school assigned us to a new venue at the last minute, and their equipment sucks. So we're stuck bringing our own."
"That still doesn't explain why we couldn't just rent gear there," Rotation muttered, unwinding the cord from his arm only to start rewinding it again.
"Because the school is cheap," Seraphim said from the corner. She was untangling a nest of cables. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pressed into a thin line. "And because Flux volunteered us before asking anyone."
Flux, who had been quietly adjusting the strap on his guitar case, froze mid-motion. His fingers hovered over the buckle. "I didn't volunteer us. I only suggested that we could help."
"Why on earth would you suggest that in the first place?" Snowbird asked, clearly exasperated. He'd abandoned his keyboard stand and was now staring at Flux with narrowed eyes. "We're supposed to be enjoying this retreat, not hauling equipment around."
"Oh, you guys don't know, do you?" Thomas said.
A hint of surprise colored his voice. He was grinning. That was never a good sign.
"Know what?" Rotation asked, pausing mid-coil.
Flux immediately shot Thomas a look that could have curdled milk. A silent warning: Don't you dare.
Thomas, completely unbothered by Flux's silent threat, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. "Guess who's part of the retreat planning committee."
NewKids tilted his head, thinking for a moment. His brow furrowed. Then his eyes lit up with the slow horror of someone connecting dots they wish had stayed separate.
"Saps?"
"Bingo."
The room erupted.
"Well, damn," Gotoga muttered, half impressed and half betrayed. He set down his bass case and stared at Flux like he was seeing him for the first time.
"I didn't know you were that much of a simp, Flux," Snowbird said, shaking his head slowly.
"I knew it," Seraphim added, pointing at Flux. "I knew there was a reason you were so eager."
"He folded so easily," Rotation said. "And he brought the rest of us down with him."
NewKids was still processing, his saxophone clutched to his chest like a security blanket. "So let me get this straight. You offered to play, to haul all this equipment, to perform, to do free labor, just because Saps is the one planning?"
"He asked for help," Flux said defensively. His voice climbed half an octave. "What was I supposed to do? Say no?"
"Yes," all five of them said in unison.
Flux crossed his arms, the guitar strap digging into his shoulder. "I'm not some asshole."
"That's also not how denying your feelings works," Snowbird shot back, gesturing wildly. "You're supposed to pretend you don't care, not volunteer an entire band for manual labor."
"What feelings?"
"Here we go again…" Rotation muttered, dragging a hand down his face.
Thomas clapped his hands together, grinning like the devil who'd just won a very satisfying bet. "Alright, alright. It's too late for any of this now. What's done is done. We're performing, and that's final."
"I hate it here," Rotation muttered, returning to his drum case.
"You love it here," Thomas corrected.
"Debatable."
Gotoga zipped up his bass case with a final, definitive sigh. "At least we get first dibs on the snacks. That's worth something, right?"
"No," Snowbird said flatly. "No, it's not."
"Let me have this."
Flux ran a hand through his hair and turned back to his guitar case. His face was still warm. His heart was still doing something annoying in his chest, something that felt suspiciously like hope mixed with panic.
"Can we just finish packing?" he asked.
"Only if you admit you volunteered because of Saps," Seraphim said, not looking up from her cables.
Flux stared at the ceiling. "I hate all of you."
"No you don't," they chorused.
He didn't. That was the worst part.
Twenty minutes later, the living room finally resembled something close to acceptable. Cases were stacked by the front door in a neat row. Cables were coiled and labeled with little pieces of masking tape. The amplifiers had been pushed back against the wall. The only evidence of their chaos was a single guitar pick that had somehow migrated under the couch, glinting faintly in the low light. (Flux would find it three weeks later, stuck to the sole of his foot.)
They collapsed onto the couch and floor, a heap of tired limbs and idle conversation. The clock on the wall read 7:42 PM. Dinner had been pushed back, but no one seemed to care. The kitchen was quiet. The world outside the windows was darkening into a soft blue twilight.
"We should've done this more often," Seraphim said, stretching out across the carpet, her arms above her head. "It's pretty fun."
"What? Coiling wires?" Gotoga asked. "You're on your own, Sera."
"No, not that," she said, her voice softer now. "Just hanging out. Or doing boring stuff together."
The room went quiet for a moment. A comfortable quiet.
"Any other regrets you wanna share with the class?" Rotation asked from the floor, where he'd sprawled out on his stomach.
Seraphim fell silent, fiddling with a few strands of her hair. Her fingers twisted the dark locks around and around, a nervous habit Flux had seen a hundred times but never commented on.
"Well," she began slowly, her voice careful, "I regret backstabbing Jophiel back in junior high. Completely ruined our friendship with that."
The room shifted. No one spoke, but the air felt heavier somehow, like someone had opened a window and let in a cold breeze.
"We were really close," she continued, staring at the ceiling. "Like, tell-each-other-everything close. Then I got jealous over something stupid. I don't even remember what. And I said some things I shouldn't have. Spread a rumor. She found out, and that was it."
She paused.
"I've wanted to apologize for years. Every time I see her in the hallway, I freeze. She doesn't even look at me anymore. I don't blame her." A small, bitter laugh escaped her. "I just wish I could go back and not be such an idiot."
Gotoga was the first to speak. He lifted his arm from his eyes and turned his head toward her. "Have you tried just walking up to her? Saying sorry?"
Seraphim's fingers stilled. "It's not that simple."
"It kind of is."
The conversation drifted after that, lighter but still thoughtful. The confessions came easier now.
Gotoga admitted he wished he'd joined the robotics club. They went to nationals, and he stayed home playing video games, convinced he wasn't good enough to try out. Rotation confessed he still thought about the basketball tryouts he bombed freshman year, the way the coach had looked at his shoes and said "maybe next year." NewKids mentioned how he'd cut his own bangs before picture day and had to wear a hat for an entire semester. Snowbird and Thomas mourned a few missed tournament activities, the chess championship they'd slept through, the battle of the bands they'd entered too late.
They laughed, but it was the kind of laughter that came from knowing they were running out of time. Graduation was weeks away. Soon, these nights, these stupid, wonderful nights of tangled cables and crowded couches, would be memories. Photographs in a yearbook. Inside jokes that no one outside the room would understand.
Then Thomas turned to Flux.
His eyes were steady. Calm. But there was something underneath, a curiosity that looked a lot like concern.
"What about you?"
Flux raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"
"Biggest regret in high school." Thomas's smile was too innocent, too knowing. "Anything you wish you'd done? Or said?"
Flux knew exactly where this was going. He could see it in the way Thomas's eyes glittered, in the way Snowbird suddenly looked up from his phone, in the way Seraphim stopped fiddling with her hair and leaned in. The room had gone still again, but this was a different kind of stillness. The kind before a storm.
"No," Flux said.
"No regrets?"
"None."
"Not even..."
"Thomas."
"...about a certain someone?"
Flux's jaw tightened. He didn't have to ask who Thomas meant. They all knew. The air between them hummed with the weight of the unspoken name.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, turning away. His gaze landed on the stack of instrument cases by the door. On the guitar case. The one he'd packed so carefully.
"Sure you don't."
"Oh, come on, Flux, you're not fooling any of us," Snowbird chided.
Flux's hands stilled in his lap. His fingers had been picking at a loose thread on his jeans. Now they froze, mid-tug.
"We're just saying," Thomas continued, undeterred, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, "that if you had any regrets, they'd probably involve a certain white-haired classmate. You know, the one you've been looking at like he personally hung the stars and then named every single one after you."
Flux's ears burned. "I don't look at him like that."
None of them looked convinced.
Flux ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd never been able to break no matter how many times his fathers told him it was unbecoming. The room was watching him. Waiting.
"Okay," he said finally, quiet enough that they had to lean in. His voice was barely above a murmur. "Fine. Maybe I have one regret."
Thomas's smile widened. "And what would that be?"
Flux didn't answer immediately. He thought about Saps. About the way he laughed, bright and unguarded, like he'd forgotten anyone was watching. About the way he tucked his hair behind his ear when he was concentrating, the small furrow between his brows. About the way he said Flux's name, like it meant something. Like it was a word worth saying.
"I never told him," Flux admitted. His voice cracked slightly on the last word. "How I feel."
The room went quiet. Even Gotoga stopped moving. Even Rotation stopped breathing.
"You've had years," Rotation said. Not unkindly. Just a fact. A simple, painful fact.
"I know."
"So why didn't you?"
Flux let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. It came out shaky. "What if he doesn't feel the same? What if I ruin everything? We're friends. Good friends. I didn't want to lose that."
"But we're graduating soon," Thomas said. His voice was gentler now. "After this, you might never see him again."
Flux's chest tightened. The words hit him like a physical blow. Never seeing Saps again. Never hearing his laugh. Never catching his eye across the classroom, across the cafeteria, across the stage.
"Yeah," he said quietly, staring at his hands. "I know."
Seraphim sat up, her eyes soft in a way Flux rarely saw. She was usually all sharp edges and sharper words, but right now she looked almost tender. "Then tell him at the retreat."
Flux blinked. "What?"
"The retreat. You'll be stuck in the same place for three days. He can’t run away." She shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "Sounds like the perfect opportunity to me."
"That's insane." Flux shook his head. "You make it sound like I'm kidnapping him."
Flux looked around the room. Thomas and the rest of them were grinning, not their usual devil's grin, but something smaller, something hopeful.
"You're all serious," Flux said.
"Dead serious," Seraphim confirmed.
Flux sat back against the couch cushions, his heart doing leaps in his chest, like terror and relief and hope all tangled together.
"What if he says no?" he asked.
"Then he says no," Thomas said simply. "But at least you'll know. At least you won't spend the rest of your life wondering."
Flux stared at his hands. The loose thread was still there, hanging from his jeans. He resisted the urge to pull it.
"I'll think about it," he said.
"That's not a yes."
"It's not a no either."
The Conspiracy exchanged glances. They knew Flux. They knew that "I'll think about it" was as close to a commitment as they were going to get. He wasn't someone who made promises lightly. When he said maybe, he meant I'm scared but I'm considering it.
"Fine," Thomas said, leaning back. "But we're holding you to that."
Flux didn't answer. He just looked at the stack of instrument cases by the door, at the one in the middle, the extra one, the one no one was supposed to look inside. He thought about a boy with white hair and a laugh that made the world feel smaller and bigger at the same time.
Maybe. Just maybe.
When they arrived, the venue was exactly what he'd expected from the brochure. Rows of wooden cabins stretched across the grounds, their roofs dusted with fallen leaves from the autumn before, or maybe from this spring. Flux couldn't tell. The main hall stood at the center of it all, a large building with tall windows that caught the afternoon sun and threw it back in golden shards. A porch wrapped around the entire structure, lined with wooden rocking chairs that looked like they'd never been sat in. String lights hung between the trees, not yet lit, drooping like dormant vines waiting for nightfall.
It was the kind of place that looked like it belonged on a postcard. The kind of place where people went to fall in love or have their hearts broken. Flux didn't care about the scenery. He was looking for a different kind of view.
"Alright," Thomas said, clapping his hands together as they stepped off the bus. The sound echoed across the gravel parking lot. "Let's get this equipment inside before the others show up. I don't want to be hauling cases while everyone else is hugging and crying."
"Grab the guitar cases first," Flux instructed, pointing at the pile of luggage being unloaded from the bus's underbelly. "We need to set up on stage before the teachers start assigning us other jobs."
The Conspiracy nodded and got to work. Cases were lifted, cables were slung over shoulders like bandoliers, and the bus pulled away in a cloud of exhaust. They hauled everything up the main hall steps, seven people carrying what felt like seventy pounds of equipment, through the heavy wooden doors that groaned on their hinges, and onto the stage at the far end of the room.
The hall was empty. Quiet. The only sound was the echo of their footsteps and the occasional thunk of an instrument case being set down on the wooden floor. Dust motes floated in the streams of sunlight slanting through the tall windows. The stage lights were off, leaving the platform in shadow.
"Not bad," Seraphim said, looking around. She spun in a slow circle, her arms outstretched. "Good acoustics. Hear that?"
She clapped her hands once. The sound bounced off the walls and lingered for a beat too long.
"Focus," Flux said, setting down his guitar case. "We need to set up before..."
"Yeah, yeah. Before the others arrive. You've said it three times on the bus."
"Because no one was listening."
"We're listening," Gotoga said, not looking up from his bass case. He was carefully removing the instrument from its velvet-lined home. "We're just not obeying."
Flux sighed. The sound was lost in the vastness of the hall. This was going to be a long day.
It was as they were setting up the instruments on stage that Gotoga made his discovery.
"Hey, Flux?" Gotoga called from behind the amplifier. "What's in this case?"
Flux looked up from the guitar stand he was assembling. His stomach dropped. The world seemed to slow down.
Gotoga was holding the extra guitar case. The one Flux had brought himself. The one he'd told everyone was just a backup instrument. The one he'd packed very carefully the night before, after everyone had left, in the dark of his room, with shaking hands.
"Nothing," Flux said. His voice came out too fast. Too high.
Gotoga tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. "It's really light."
"It's an acoustic. They're lighter."
Gotoga shook the case gently. Whatever was inside shifted with a soft rustle that definitely did not sound like a guitar. It sounded like paper.
"Acoustics don't rustle," Gotoga said slowly. He was grinning now. That was not a good sign.
"Maybe it's the case."
"The case is made of hard plastic, Flux."
Flux opened his mouth. Closed it. His brain scrambled for an excuse that wouldn't sound completely pathetic. His heart was pounding against his ribs.
"Extra padding," he tried weakly.
Gotoga raised an eyebrow. Snowbird had stopped what he was doing. He'd been adjusting the height of his keyboard stand, but now he was watching the exchange with sharp, hungry interest. Thomas set down his guitar, the neck resting against his shoulder.
"Flux," Thomas said, his voice calm but firm. "What's in the case?"
"Nothing important."
"Then you won't mind if we open it."
"I mind."
"Then it's important."
Flux felt his face heat up. His ears burned. His neck burned. He was pretty sure he was turning the color of the emergency exit sign above the door. "Can you just trust me?"
"No," all six of them said in unison.
Gotoga unlatched the locks. The metallic click echoed through the hall like a gunshot.
The room went very, very still.
Inside the case, nestled in a bed of crumpled tissue paper, was a bouquet of sunflowers and hyacinths. The sunflowers were large and golden, their petals slightly crushed from the journey, pressed against the velvet lining of the lid. The hyacinths were smaller, clustered together in shades of purple and white.
No one spoke for a solid three seconds.
Then Seraphim gasped, a sharp, delighted sound. "Are those..."
"Sunflowers and hyacinths," Snowbird finished, staring at the bouquet like he'd just seen a ghost. "Saps's favorite flowers."
"You're actually confessing?" Thomas asked, and for once, there was genuine surprise in his voice.
Flux swallowed. "I said I'd think about it."
"This is not thinking about it." Thomas gestured wildly at the bouquet, his hand cutting through the air. "This is full commitment."
"People change their minds all the time, you know."
"Not about flowers this specific."
Snowbird let out a low whistle. "I didn't think you'd actually do it. I thought you'd chicken out.”
"So did I," Flux admitted quietly.
Snowbird let out a low whistle. He reached out and touched one of the sunflower petals, his finger pressing against the golden surface. Then he snorted.
"Wait. These are fake."
"Yeah, dumbass," Flux said. "Real ones would've died already."
The Conspiracy stared at him.
"When did you have time to get these?" Thomas asked.
Flux rubbed the back of his neck. "I asked Ender to buy them last night while we ate. Had to give him extra money to not ask questions."
"Your brother?"
"He's discreet if you pay him."
The Conspiracy stared at him. At the flowers. At him again. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant sound of birds outside the windows.
"Why?" Seraphim asked. Her voice was soft. "Why now?"
Flux looked at the bouquet. The sunflowers were slightly bruised, but they were still beautiful. Still golden. Still hopeful. Then he looked at the stage. At the empty chairs that would soon be filled. At the doors where, in a few hours, Saps would walk through with his clipboard and his committee lanyard and his smile.
"Because I don't want to be a coward anymore," Flux said. His voice was steady now. Steadier than he felt. "I've spent years being scared. Years telling myself 'maybe later' or 'what if it goes wrong.' Years of watching him from across the room and doing nothing about it." He shook his head slowly. "I'm not going to graduate wondering what if. Even if he says no. Even if it's awkward forever. Even if I have to switch schools and move to another country." A small, nervous laugh escaped him. "At least I'll know."
The room was silent.
Rotation nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. "That's brave."
"Don't tell anyone."
Snowbird picked up his phone from the floor. He'd dropped it at some point during the commotion. He pointed it at the bouquet, framing the shot carefully. "I'm documenting this."
"This is blackmail."
"I never said that."
Flux closed the guitar case, hiding the flowers from view. The latches clicked shut, one after another. They weren't ready yet. He wasn't ready yet. But soon.
"Alright," he said, turning back to the stage and picking up his guitar stand. "Let's finish setting up. The others will be here soon."
The Conspiracy nodded, returning to their tasks. The tension dissipated, replaced by the familiar rhythm of work. Cases opening. Instruments being tuned. Cables being plugged in.
But every so often, Flux caught one of them glancing at the guitar case. At him. Smiling.
He pretended not to notice.
The main hall filled slowly over the next hour. Students trickled in, dragging luggage with squeaky wheels and complaining about the bus ride. Teachers directed traffic, pointing at room assignments and handing out schedules on neon-colored paper. The air grew louder, warmer, filled with the sound of reunited friends and nervous laughter.
Flux watched from the stage, pretending to tune his guitar. His fingers moved over the strings automatically, tightening and loosening, but his ears weren't listening to the pitch. His eyes were somewhere else.
He was looking for one person.
"Stop staring at the door," Thomas said, appearing beside him like a specter. He was holding a cup of what looked like coffee but smelled like instant hot chocolate.
"I'm not staring."
"You're looking for Saps."
Flux's fingers slipped on the tuning peg. The guitar made a sad, discordant sound, a twang that echoed through the hall and made a few people look up.
"I hate you," Flux muttered, adjusting the peg with more force than necessary.
"You don't."
Flux didn't respond. Because Thomas was right. He didn't hate him. He hated that Thomas was always right. He hated that Thomas could see right through him like he was made of glass.
Then the door opened, and Saps walked in.
He was laughing at something someone behind him had said, someone Flux couldn't see, didn't care about. His head was tilted back, white hair catching the fluorescent light like it was sunlight. Like it was made of something other than ordinary hair. He was wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, nothing fancy, but Flux's heart stopped anyway.
There he is.
"Your face is red," Snowbird said from somewhere behind Flux. The voice was distant, muffled by the rush of blood in his ears.
"Shut up."
"Your face is very red."
"It's warm in here."
"It's air-conditioned. I can feel the vent from here."
"I run hot."
Snowbird snorted but didn't push further. The others exchanged glances. Flux could feel them watching him watch Saps, but he couldn't look away.
Saps crossed the room, weaving between clusters of students. He found his friends, a group gathered near the front windows, and waved at someone across the hall. He looked happy. Comfortable. Like he belonged here. Like he'd always belonged everywhere.
Flux's hand drifted to the guitar case hidden behind the amplifier. His fingers brushed against the cool plastic of the latches.
He thought about the flowers inside. Sunflowers and hyacinths. Saps's favorite. The ones he talked about constantly, the ones that made his whole face light up whenever they passed a flower shop.
"I'm not going to graduate with regrets," he murmured to himself, so quiet that no one else could hear.
"Did you say something?" Thomas asked, sipping his hot chocolate.
"No."
"Are you nervous?"
"No."
"You're lying."
Flux took a breath. Exhaled. The air was cool against his warm face.
"Yeah," he admitted. "I'm terrified."
Thomas didn't make fun of him for it. He didn't smirk or raise an eyebrow or make some clever comment. He just nodded, like he understood. Like he'd been there too, once.
"Good," Thomas said. "That means it matters."
Flux looked at Saps one more time. Saps was laughing again, bright and unguarded, his whole body leaning into the joy of it. His white hair caught the light. His eyes crinkled at the corners.
And Flux felt something settle in his chest.
It wasn't courage. Not yet.
But it was close.