marlowemuses | ❥ sometimes it's meant to be

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❥ sometimes it's meant to be

Charterhouse was one of the most elite, exclusive schools in England.

It housed only boys. Boys of all ages, from ones first learning to button their pants on their own to the ones that couldn't seem to keep their pants on when in interesting company. With a campus that covered more than 27,000 acres, the schools had plenty of room to be spread across. Rich, green grass and old fashioned cobblestone streets—it was the pride of the academic world. Rich in history and pedigree, only the cream of the crop could even glance at an application, much less apply and attend. It was a school for future politicians, royalty, and celebrities. The men bred from Charterhouse were said to be the most cultivated in the world.

And, naturally, the richest. Only those from a well-to-do family could attend Charterhouse. Which was why one Richard Campbell Gansey the Third was one among the golden—like his father before him, and his father before him. The Ganseys were internationally known. Mrs. Gansey: a popular and well-known politician in the United States of America. Mr. Gansey (the Second): an ambitious and clever member parliament. Helen Gansey: fashion entrepreneur and lawyer, likely to end up going into politics once she tired of running the runway.

Richard Gansey the Third: one could only wonder what the future POTUS would do. On the campus of Charterhouse he was a golden boy. Popular—captain of the crew team yet also quite an intellectual, spending a great deal of time involved in the expansion of the library and archiving old, important texts. He was the man that everyone liked and talked to. The laughs of Ganseyboy were oft heard throughout the marble halls of the College campus. Handsome—he was more American than most of his peers, having a presidential and charming look about him, with a perfectly golden sun-kissed tan. Thick brown hair swept back neatly almost always, a square build, gentle olive eyes, and a straight nose. The sort of man that entranced those who spoke to him; that wasn't even taking the velvety, almost magical quality of his voice into account.

What the members of his crew team could never figure out was why Richard Campbell Gansey "Ganseyboy" the Third was always single. Never spoke about his sexual conquests, never brought a girl along to parties (when he attended, reluctantly), never even so much as mentioned being interested in anyone. It boggled their minds. The man spent his time with his nose in dusty old books and wandering around old buildings so often that they had grown concerned; the guy should get laid. As friends, as bros, as fellow eventual members of congress of what-have-you, it was their duty to see their beloved Ganseyboy paired off. Or, at least, getting some kind of action in his youth.

Which was why there was a plan. A plan, and a bet that eventually formed because of that plan. A bet in which a lot of money was placed. For, the subject of their little game (along with good old Ganseyboy) was the iciest, coldest, most shut off of all the students. What was the point if there was no challenge? No doubt, among the boys involved in the bet, there were a few that had been spurned by the ice prince, too. Revenge was a sweet thing. Two birds with one stone: they got Ganseyboy laid and they burned the ice prince that had burned them. Or three—someone was bound to make a tidy profit.

When one of the boys approached the ice prince's brother about setting him up with the charming golden boy on campus, the man had launched at the opportunity—for the happiness of his brother, no doubt, and he was not told about the bet.

That was how it would begin. It was a Wednesday, around 4 in the afternoon, when one of the boys dragged Gansey toward the library. The rest of the boys had made sure it was empty. The one dragging him—Charles Defonte the Second—had begged Gansey for some tutoring in history. It was agreed with Laurent's brother that he would also manage to bring Laurent to the library somehow—and the two of them would be left there together to formally acquaint.

There was no tutoring. Charles shoved Gansey into the library in front of him and then shut the door behind him and locked it. "Oh no," the boy faked a gasp, "the door has gone and locked itself, Ganseyboy! A ghost, it's gotta be. I'll go get the janitor. Be back as soon as I have lunch and then find him!" Leaving a very confused Gansey staring at the door and trying to push it open, to no avail. Locked.

"Do you really think it's a ghost?" he said to no one, because Charles had run off to tell the boys that he'd done his part.

There was another door on the other side of the library that was left for the same to happen to Laurent. Unbeknownst to Gansey, who took a seat at one of the tables and glanced around, quickly. A curious time for there to be no one else in the library.

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After a moment, Laurent sat up from one of the couches. Lovely and graceful, Laurent blinked at the question, and at the puzzled young man sitting alone at a table.

Laurent had arrived early. Little more than his brother's request--meet me in the library, at four--had been necessary. He had no idea of the plan, of the bet, of the way his brother had frowned until the conspirators had said the name Gansey.

Meeting Auguste in the library had been no great trial. Laurent spent most of his time there anyway, so he simply curled up in a quiet corner with a book to wait. When, just before 4 in the afternoon, the library had cleared out with laughter and shushing, Laurent simply assumed there was some pep rally or prank to be had elsewhere in the school. When the door near him slammed shut, Laurent blinked and lifted his brows before returning to his book.

It was only when the far door slammed shut, followed by some query about a ghost, that Laurent began to suspect that something was awry.

"There isn't any such thing as ghosts," he pointed out, shutting his book and setting it aside. Resting his arms on the back of the couch, he watched Gansey with boredom in his light blue eyes.

Richard Gansey the Third. Laurent knew him by name, and, to a degree, by reputation. He was wealthy--as were they all--and charming, with a careless confidence that Laurent found to be ingrained in all entitled young men of wealth. That was as much as he knew, except for two things which Laurent actually rather liked: first, that Gansey was often to be found in the library, too buried in his own research to bother anyone else, and second, that Gansey had never treated him like he was something to be possessed.

He was caught slightly off guard by the voice that suddenly joined him, but quickly chided himself for it. Of course there were other people in the library. Even if it seemed terribly vacant... well, the rest of the boys were probably similarly draped across couches and chairs.

The young man that spoke, however, was not one of the students he was better acquainted with. Gansey knew him, of course. Name and reputation. Was it not like that for all of them? All they were until they swapped plastic smiles and called one other old bean like they meant it. A game Gansey was marginally talented at playing despite his aversion to it.

Yes, he knew this one. Not as The Cast Iron Bitch, however, as most of the study body liked to call him (a nickname Gansey found to be terribly distasteful, in fact). The first thought Gansey had was: Ah, that's Auguste's brother, isn't it? Not that he would call Auguste a close friend; just the brother he had spoken to before. On pleasant terms, at that. Gansey couldn't recall if he'd spoken to the younger one before. Probably not. Most often he'd seen him in the library, something sitting on the edge of his radar while he devoured books about old Welsh kings and leylines.

"How do you know?" he asked, cocking his head as he studied the other man. Not in a way that was addled with lust (which even he knew was a common occurrence, locker room whispers were no secrets) but merely curiosity.

"Lack of evidence," Laurent said, lazily resting his chin on his arms. "The burden of proof must lie with the assertion. If you assert that ghosts do exist, the onus is on you to prove it. The evidence in favor, as I have encountered it, is upon the eyewitness accounts of several persons inclined to embroider the truth, countless second and third-hand stories, and the happenstance that someone has taken advantage of the fact that the library doors lock on the outside in order to pull a prank on you."

Satisfied that he had won the argument, Laurent took up his book and returned to reading. It didn't bother him terribly that he was also locked in the library. Auguste was coming to meet him. He would be rescued momentarily.

Gansey thought much the same. Charles would be back with the janitor after he'd... eaten lunch, apparently, and this would be a momentary divergence from the every day.

"Very logical," he agreed, using the time while waiting to clean the books that had been left dashed across the table and return them to their spot on the shelves—right across the way. Pure laziness was the culprit in their lack of safe return. He slid them in with care, so as not to rumple any pages mistakenly. "Most evidence of their existence has been disproved, or taken from unreliable sources. The accounts of Gwynedd and Driscoll have the most weight, with leylines cutting across much of Wales and several parts of America they sailed to, the ghost road particularly strong around the east coast, but those are old texts."

Sliding the last book into its spot, he shrugged, "Very likely, such things don't exist. Not in a way we can perceive them. But, I'd like to believe that they could. Even if it seems as though my current poltergeist shut me in here to get my share of lunch, no doubt."

Laurent couldn't help but listen as Gansey kept talking. He was intrigued by how Gansey seemed more interested in the possibility than he was in winning the argument. Watching from the corner of his eye, Laurent saw how Gansey tidied up the books, meticulously returning each one to their place, even though there were servants who came and tidied the library several times a day. Laurent liked quiet people who respected books, so he couldn't help but be curious. Even though he would prefer to be left alone until rescue came. At least Gansey was easy on the eyes.

Laurent had never been to America, and knew little about the mythology of--what seemed to him a tiny country--Wales. As the younger prince of the tiny European country called Vere, he was just enough of a political and diplomatic prize as to stand out even amongst the boys of Charterhouse, though with no real power or influence of his own, even within the social spheres of the school. All of that centered around his brother. Laurent was only valuable as a marriage prospect, a guaranteed alliance to a tiny but wealthy little European nation.

"You could always defy your poltergeist and climb out the window," Laurent suggested. They were on the second floor, but that just seemed to Laurent like a challenge.

Even in their top-notch school, being locked in a library with a prince of a small country would make most of the students nervous. Especially this one; beautiful in an almost ethereal sense, and just as untouchable, wearing either a haughty or icy smile. Some young men would pay money to get a chance to get the young prince alone, even if they were nervous all the while. Often times, Charterhouse men thought with the wrong head. There was a hierarchy even among the elite: rich from humble beginnings, rich by money, rich by money and blood. Prince stood at the top of the pyramid. It was a chance that every other member of their year would launch at: seduce the prince, get revenge for being slighted, something.

Gansey just laughed. It was light, hearty, and genuine. Not the posh laugh of cultivated taste. "Oh?" He leaned back, looking at Laurent from over his shoulder, wearing a crooked grin. "If I didn't know better, I might ask if you were trying to tell me to go jump out a window. That sounds like a very polite way of suggesting so." Maybe he'd use it in such context, one day.

Looking away, he sent his gaze back to the door. It was eerily quiet. No usual footsteps, no one even trying to get in. Suspicious. It made no sense for the time of day. More and more, it was seeming like a prank, though Gansey couldn't quite grasp what the point if it was supposed to be.

"Maybe that's his aim. I can't imagine what the rest of this prank is." Unless there really was a ghost. In which case, they would both be eating their earlier words.

"I wouldn't object," Laurent said, but he set his book aside and got up. Crossing to the window, he pulled it open, leaning his entire upper body over the ledge to inspect the situation.

"It'd be an easy climb," Laurent said. "All this thick ivy." He leaned back in, all careless, lithe grace. "But there is a slight overhang on that archway at the bottom. Good place to lay a trap, if they are counting on you to climb down. Or me, I suppose. This sort of thing isn't really Auguste's style, he's more hands-on. They could be waiting for one of us at the bottom with a bucket of ice water."

Intrigued by the puzzle, the challenge, Laurent sat on the ledge and leaned back out the window so that he could look up. Fearless, he held himself in with one hand on the window, leaning far back for the best view. "Or we could go the other way."

When Laurent went to the window to glance out and observe, Gansey followed suit, peeking out and admiring how logically Laurent deduced a plan of escape. It would not surprise Gansey terribly if the man had to think of clever escapes before—there had been passing stories of boys who had been drunk on just breathing the same air as the handsome prince.

"Perhaps so," he agreed, rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip as he studied both options. Gansey did not go quite as far as Laurent—who was quite fearless, he saw—and kept close to Laurent's waist as the man moved as sensually as a feline.

"I might prefer up to down," he decided, "because if there is a trap, I think, I would not like to drop into it." Glancing up at Laurent with curiosity, his olive eyes sparkled.

"Do you climb buildings often?"

"Not as often as I might like," Laurent said. He couldn't resist flashing Gansey a brief grin, pleased that Gansey would consider the reckless proposition. Not waiting around for him to come to his senses, Laurent got his grip and swung out the window, starting to climb.

He took care with his footing, making sure that hands and feet were secure as he started to climb. The ivy was thick and twisted, making it almost as easy to climb as a ladder. Not going far just yet, Laurent looked back to see whether Gansey was following.

A regular Tarzan, this boy was. Gansey's eyebrows lifted in amusement as he watched Laurent swing out the window and, looking up, as the blond began to climb. It there were saviors coming for them, clearly the thought was a fleeting one. Not that Gansey had been stressed at being locked in—no, he merely followed along because he wanted to, entertained by the recklessness that most boys would only joke about at Charterhouse. Usually they were much too uptight or scared to truly do something dangerous.

It helped, Gansey supposed, that he spent the time he wasn't at school to climb through ruins, though that was usually paired with the proper gear. Free-climbing? Not so much.

When their eyes met Gansey offered a short laugh, "Yes, I'm mad enough to follow you. If I fall, I shall be the ghost, and I will return to haunt you. Just so you're aware." A joke, mainly, because the thickness of the ivy made it easy to climb. The main fear here would simply be of the act itself; they had done worse things during gym classes.

Since most young men were either dining at the dining hall or returning to their rooms, there weren't many people out in the quad. No one noticed them. The boys with their ears pressed against the library door no doubt were incredibly confused, the low murmur of voices gone and replaced with still silence.

"I shall count on it," Laurent said, grinning wider and then continuing to climb. "If I fall, I trust that you shall catch me."

There wasn't far to go. Laurent was careful to avoid the third floor windows. The rooftop was crenelated, and it was easy enough to climb over the edge. He hovered nearby, grabbing Gansey's arm to steady him as he helped to haul him up onto the roof.

Once they were up and safe, Laurent kept hold of Gansey's arm for just a moment, pleasure and respect in his eyes at Gansey's willingness to take Laurent up on a challenge like that. He let go quickly, cheeks slightly colored as he turned away.

Striding across the wide roof, which had four towers and a central sloped roof with a comfortable balustrade around. The trap door leading down was locked, but Laurent had a plan for that. In no hurry whatsoever and curious to find out how Gansey would react when--if--he realized that their only options were the locked trap door or climbing down the outside of the building. Or calling for help, Laurent supposed, but that barely counted as an option.

Tossing himself down against the slanted roof, Laurent leaned back, putting an arm behind his head and lazily watching the clouds roll by.

It seemed his day was to be filled with being locked places. It was something, however, that he did not mind. As far as company went he had quite the interesting specimen; not many people Gansey knew would delight in his tendency to foolishly go along with whatever seemed intriguing, danger be damned. What was really the thing that intrigued him—the climb or Laurent—remained to be determined.

To his vague surprise the roof was quite... peaceful. None of the noise of the other students. No need to dodge hands slapping his back (or ass, truth be told, but he took it like a champ).

He did not miss the slight coloring of Laurent's cheeks as he glanced away but was polite enough to ignore it and chalk it up to the climb. Taking a deep breath, he glanced over the edge, leaning against one of the four towers as he studied the expanse of property. Charterhouse was huge. Miles and miles, far as the eye could see, though much of the surrounding property was green grass and thickets of wood.

"It's beautiful up here," he said softly, stepping back after a long moment to copy Laurent by leaning back on the roof. Stretching out, he draped himself in a manner that wasn't quite cat-like yet refined in its own way; knees bent and head resting back against the roof, eyes drawn to the clouds.

"I wouldn't mind scaling walls more often for this."

"Plenty of other roofs on campus," Laurent said, glancing over to consider his new friend. Gansey was very handsome, in a broad-shouldered, wholesome, healthy way that made Laurent's heart flutter.

The thought annoyed him, and Laurent scowled up at the clouds. Young men like Gansey grew up to marry rosy-cheeked heiresses, sweet and uncomplicated. Not sharp-edged problems like Laurent, no matter how lovely he was.

He stopped himself from mentioning some of the other roofs he'd managed to access. No reason to give away his secrets. It would just end in Gansey bringing some local girl up here to shag, and Laurent's sanctuary would be shattered.

"If you find yourself plagued often by this same ghost..." Laurent said, eyes on the blue sky above them. "You know the blank panel in the back corner of the library, the one part of the wall that isn't covered with bookcases? It's a doorway into the servant's corridor. Easy enough to open once you realize what it is. Please don't tell anyone else--the servants actually use the corridors, and the last thing they need is to be bothered by troupes of students thundering through them on pranks."

"I agree. I would not want the servants to have to deal with that."

Gansey turned his head so that he was no longer looking at the clouds, but at Laurent instead, green eyes bright in the sun as he studied his companion. "I'm not fond of pranks and the like, myself. No doubt they would abuse what's meant to be something helpful." He was grateful for the tip; it was likely that if they started pranking him now, they would keep it up. And he couldn't fathom any reason for it other than they'd simply gotten bored enough to start bothering him. To his memory, it wasn't even prank week yet.

"Thank you."

Turning his head back, he watched as the clouds gently moved across the sky. "I can't say that I'm horribly put out by this ghost, though," he continued after a moment of contemplation. "He led me to you. I think it was a good thing. An unintentional good thing, likely, but a good thing nonetheless."

There was something ... quiet about Auguste's brother. Gansey had been trying to put his finger on it ever since they met but hadn't been able to. It wasn't that the man was shy or quiet... it was different. But it was something that Gansey liked. Even when reigning as a king in Charterhouse with seemingly effortless charm, he often found being around so many people difficult. It was learned, not his nature.

In this moment, he felt natural. One day, he thought, he might have a better description of it. For now that was the best he could think.

"But I should have eaten lunch," he added sadly, closing his eyes as a breeze ruffled his thick hair.

"I don't know what you mean," Laurent said. His cheeks flushed again, giving him away, at the suggestion that them meeting was a good thing. It sounded like a come-on, and that made all of Laurent's defenses go up. He glared up at the clouds, sharp and challenging.

"I'm sure that lunch is still waiting for you," he continued, with the icy, brittle tone that had earned him his nickname. "There's no need to stick around on my account."

"I thought we could be friends," he said simply. If he noticed how Laurent's tone had gone cold, he certainly didn't show it. Didn't move so much as a hair. Serene and peaceful as a sun-kissed angel, if it was a come-on, he was doing a poor job of making his move.

"I think you're very interesting." Finally, Gansey cracked his eyes open again so he could glance at the other man. "And we like similar things." He would not explain the quiet phenomenon he discovered; that might be too much, and most people didn't understand what he meant when he tried to describe it. It might really scare the young prince off.

"So, I would like to. Ah—..."

He paused, considering, choosing his words carefully. "If you don't want to though, I understand. People often say I'm difficult to put up with." Putting it nicely. Those who discovered how eccentric and anxious he could be were often surprised.

"You think I'm very beautiful," Laurent said, irritable and spooked. He didn't find it possible that any of his peers would like him for any other reason than his physical beauty or his political and financial value. "And I know exactly what you would like to, ah..."

Sitting up, Laurent shot him a glare. He'd been through this too many times. People wanted to possess him, or they hated him. Often both. There was simply no other way that his peers ever reacted toward him. Servants and working-class people were different: they knew immediately that they could never possess him, and subsequently they treated him like an actual person. Laurent went well out of his way to be considerate to them in return. The staff of Charterhouse loved him almost as much as the students of Charterhouse resented him.

"Just leave me the fuck alone. You're not the first asshole to get the idea that he's charismatic enough to tame the cast-iron bitch. I'm not interested."

At the accusation, Gansey's eyebrows rose. How much had the other boys harassed Laurent? That was the first thought that popped into his head. Yes, Laurent was good looking, but so were many other students. Was the student body so fascinated, and had they been so salty when they'd been turned down?

The tone didn't bother him. Gansey's friend Adam often spoke to him the same way—accusing, harsh, often angry—because of the differences in their class. Adam was a scholarship student that could barely afford a school sweater. No one wants to hear about a rags to riches story until it's over, Adam had said, bitterly. What was Laurent's story?

"I'm not sure what I did to give you that impression," he said, quizzically, "but I assure you, I'm after nothing of the sort. I think you're smart, clever, and I like talking to you." This was almost as bad as that time a girl thought he thought she was a prostitute.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I don't consider my words carefully." That much he could admit easily—history was definitely an indication of that.

Rubbing his chin, he sat up, "But if you want me to leave you alone, I won't force myself on you."

Edited 2016-09-30 19:46 (UTC)

"I don't believe you," Laurent said, to Gansey's reasons for wanting to be his friend. His experience hadn't allowed for the possibility. He'd never had friends. Even as a child, there had only been three types of people in the world. The servants, who were kind to him, the nobles and their children who wanted to possess him, and Auguste.

When he'd tried to gain friends, other children had always dismissed his interests and pried for rumors about Laurent's more interesting connections. They weren't interested in him, they were interested in his father, his brother, or that their parents had told them that if they were friends with the prince they would never want for anything ever again. Vere was a brittle, dangerous court, and even the children of the court were petty and selfish, always on the lookout for their own advantage.

Laurent's love of libraries had developed very young. Books didn't ask for anything from him.

"And I was perfectly fucking clear the first time I told you to leave me alone."

He didn't bother offering any suggested avenues--there was only the locked door, which Laurent knew how to circumvent, or the ivy down. The safest route down the side of the building would be straight onto the headmaster's third-floor balcony, which led to almost certain detention. Laurent felt far too defensive and hostile to be of any rational help.

Edited 2016-09-30 21:46 (UTC)

Gansey remained silent as he rubbed his thumb slowly across his bottom lip in contemplation. Truly, he wasn't sure where he'd messed up this one... but he'd have to take care to watch what he said in the future, he promised himself. A promise he'd made a hundred times. Sometimes he could be far too blunt.

Standing, he brushed off his pants and stretched his arms over his head, not inclined toward invading Laurent's personal space if he wanted to be left alone. Leaving through the door didn't even really occur to him; yeah, he could, but he'd climbed up. Why not climb down? It struck him as good as anything else.

Stepping toward the edge of the building, he studied the expanse of green grass and buildings again.

"There's a shipment," he started, "of scrolls from the ruins of the Ancient Library of Alexandria coming to campus in the morning. They'll be examined and archived here. I was invited by chairman to participate in the cataloging and transcribing. If you're interested, feel free to come by. The basement in the South Building."

Finally turning his head, Gansey flashed Laurent a kindly smile, "I'm quite excited about it. Well then, give my best to Auguste." And with a boyish hop, he dropped down the side of the building, like Aladdin stepping onto the magic carpet—with no magic carpet, of course.

Laurent's scowl faltered as Gansey spoke. The offer was immediately intriguing, even before Gansey had finished speaking.

He felt a moment's flare of jealousy that he hadn't been invited to participate, but of course he hadn't. He hadn't made himself available, hadn't befriended any of the faculty. He avoided most of them, same as the students. When faculty started taking an interest in him beyond what was strictly professional, that was even worse than when the students did it. They had authority over him, often enough to make them forget how untouchable he would be to them in the world outside these walls.

It didn't occur to Laurent that just because one teacher had once made some very inappropriate advances upon him, that didn't mean that the whole faculty was capable of such things.

The familiar weight of loneliness in his gut was something he was accustomed to, every time he'd brushed off an offer of friendship. So what if some of them were real? He'd encountered enough that weren't. It wasn't worth the risk.

He didn't give Gansey's regards to Auguste. When his brother tried to speak with him, Laurent slammed the door in his face and locked himself in his room. It happened often enough that he knew Auguste wouldn't take it personally.

Seven o'clock in the morning, since he hadn't been given a specific time, Laurent was waiting outside the South Building. He sat on the low wall outside the doors, legs dangling as he ate an apple and waited for someone to come along with a key.

Luckily, Laurent's estimate of time was more or less correct. The documents had arrived the night before and were being kept in the basement, still sealed, and Gansey arrived around fifteen minutes later, paired with a leather-bound book tucked under one arm and a styrofoam cup of hot chocolate in the other.

It was also early enough that he hadn't bothered putting on his school uniform. His normal attire made him look like a young professor—the nerdy kind, in an endearing sort of way. A pastel blue polo paired with a tweed blazer, black pants, and loafers. Normally he didn't wear his glasses out but, as an insomniac, he hadn't fallen asleep until quite late... an hour of sleep made putting contacts in so early an irritation to weary eyes.

Spotting Laurent waiting, he perked out of his tired slump, offering a pleased smile. Making no comment about the other man joining him, Gansey simply greeted, "Good morning." The keys to the building jingled from the ring caught up in his fingers, and he somehow managed to maneuver enough to keep hold of the leather-bound book and hot chocolate both as he opened the door. Pushing it open with his shoulder, he left it open for Laurent to follow along.

"The others won't be by for a little while longer. I usually like to work without them for a while." There were indeed benefits to making friends with the faculty—it was more peaceful working without some of the history professors gasping every three seconds.

"Did you sleep well last night?"

The ghost of a smile flitted around Laurent's lips at the sight of Gansey. He looked charmingly rumpled and tired. The glasses and the fatigue took away the veneer of perfection and made him look human and flawed. He had some opinions about Gansey's eclectic wardrobe, though all of it was obviously expensive and fitted flawlessly to his well-formed body.

Laurent was dressed simply in the school uniform, which he wore at all times. It made things easier for him, because it drew less attention. His uniform was always flawless and crisp, collar closed and tie knotted, even in hot weather.

Extending a hand to hold the door while Gansey juggled everything he was holding, Laurent followed after him without comment. They reached another locked door, and this time, Laurent reached out and lifted the hot chocolate from his hand so that he could open the door without trouble.

Dropping his apple core into a waiting trash can, Laurent held out the cup as soon as the keys were back in Gansey's pocket, and walked forward to inspect the waiting scrolls. Most of them were still in boxes. Each scroll had already been carefully sealed between sheets of plastic, protecting the fragile parchment and vellum.

Utterly reverent, Laurent bent to study the ones on the table already. The light was low, and he felt incredibly privileged that their school was well-funded enough to have museum-quality archival lights and supplies. "This is Koine," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I studied Attic. Do you read Greek?"

Gansey thanked Laurent for his help, and even though he didn't receive a response to his inquiry, he didn't seem too bothered. There were much more important things to think about—specifically, the beautiful scrolls they found upon reaching the basement. Truly they were lucky—even boys with power and influence weren't always able to get their hands on such important, rare documents. Charterhouse had its upsides, even if Gansey found the school to be fairly stifling.

Carefully, Gansey rested his book down on a clear desk along with his drink, not allowing it anywhere near the scrolls. The scent of dust, parchment, and ink was heavenly. Were he not destined for politics due to his parents' incredibly annoying expectations, Gansey would happily have planned to spend his life as a museum curator that spent a great deal of time exploring ruins.

When Laurent examined one of the documents Gansey stepped close to the other boy, peering down at the piece as he rubbed his thumb over his lip. "Some, but languages aren't my strongest suit," he admitted. "I'm sure you're much better than me." He sounded impressed—as far as he knew, none of his friends or other peers knew Greek. Or... cared about it, honestly. They preferred buying cars and getting girls.

Still, he could recognize it for what it was, and could understand a fair amount of words. The grammar was mostly what stuck him when it came to Greek. He was much better at Latin.

"This is... Euripides?" His voice was low, a gentle caress in the utter quiet of the archive room. "Amazing. I believe we're holding these while one of the museums is under construction."

Intrigued, Laurent glanced over at the scroll Gansey indicated. "Medea," he confirmed, with a nod. "My favorite."

His shoulder pressed against Gansey's as he drew his fingertip along the line. "Eroti thumon ekplageis Iasonos. I never thought translation could do justice to that line. It suggests a sort of overwhelming passion of the mind and soul. More than just love. They're absolutely obsessed with each other, a bonfire sort of love, so they can't help but burn everything around them."

Reaching past Gansey, having completely forgotten all his defenses in the immediate rapture of scholarship, Laurent picked up another document, peering at it in fascinated befuddlement. "What is this? I've never seen it before." He searched his mind, but he couldn't match it to the dozen ancient dialects that he could recognize.

[I'm thinking Carthaginian. *geeks out happily* If Gansey wouldn't recognize it, there can certainly be a sticker on the back corner of the sheet. XD]

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