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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Laurent smirked slightly when he saw how utterly oblivious Gansey was to the attractive waitress, feeling satisfied and triumphant that his claim on Gansey was safe. "Thanks," he said to the waitress, smug and slightly catty as he accepted his drink. He leaned forward over the table, letting her assume whatever she wanted--friends, boyfriends, whatever they were, they were both obviously more interested in each other than anyone else in the room.

"Study with me," Laurent said, heart quickening a little at the smile on Gansey's lips. "We'll need Koine for these, since that was the Greek of Alexandria, so I'll need to study that anyway. And we can always dip into Aeolic if we're lucky enough to find anything by Sappho."

Gansey's leg was warm against his own. It was a nice feeling, and Laurent pushed away a thought that he wouldn't mind more of that kind of contact, wouldn't mind crawling onto Gansey's lap and straddling his thighs for a kiss...

Biting down on his own lip, Laurent willed himself to focus on the texts at hand. Their legs touching meant nothing. It was just a gesture of comfort between them. Friendship. Gansey seemed relaxed again now, which meant he'd done the right thing.

"I wish I'd brought one of my notebooks so we can start work. We could do something easier--the Euripides, that we can compare against other surviving copies--while we're trying to identify some of the more obscure languages."

From the way her cheeks colored, it was obvious that she was assuming something more than friendship. A look of oh, duh crossed her features, as though that perfectly explained why Gansey hadn't openly gaped at her amazing rack. Her return to the kitchen to check on their order left them alone, snug together, as Gansey nodded at Laurent's words. It was... completely comfortable, being close to Laurent, nestled into a small booth while talking about languages. Even though they had just become friends, it felt like they had known each other for longer. And Gansey knew it wasn't because he was very familiar with Auguste—as far as brothers went, they had a couple of similarities, but overall were very different.

"Okay," Gansey answered, more than pleased to study with Laurent. His eyes glittered as he answered, and the look he gave Laurent was a bit too affectionate to be platonic—but he quickly schooled himself so that it was gone in an instant, as though it could have just been a trick of light.

"We can move between studying and translating. And, of course, identifying." He sounded quite excited about the lot of it, pleased to have so much to work on. It would give him direction, something to do while he was stuck at Charterhouse. Once he graduated he planned on traveling, working across ley lines. Not terribly far off, but long enough that the days until graduation had filled him with restlessness before this.

"Since we don't have our books now, how would you feel about working together tonight? We can hole up in the library or—well, if you don't mind coming to my room, we can work there." Gansey certainly didn't mind having Laurent over, even if he was bound to end up having a dangerous fantasy or two at the mere idea. "It's supposed to storm tonight. Usually I find the rain to be calming—makes it easier to study. Especially with a cup of tea or a latte. What do you think?"

Laurent nodded agreement, instantly tempted by the invitation. He wanted to know if Gansey's room would be composed of the same eccentric curiosity and intelligence that had won him over so securely when he'd seen Gansey's notebook. "Hot chocolate. I try to avoid coffee after lunch, or I won't sleep."

Smiling slightly at the pleasure of being so tempted by something, Laurent watched him. He loved the excitement in Gansey's eyes, the engaging smile that invited Laurent to share this with him. It was pleasant and painful to have a crush, mostly pleasant, and Laurent wanted to re-arrange his entire life to center around Gansey. Or, at least, his life at Charterhouse.

"Which room is yours?"

Their pizza arrived and Laurent helped himself to a slice. He ate carefully, holding the pizza on the tips of his fingers, and paused every so often to lick his fingers clean, being as fastidious as a cat. Curious, he took his second slice from Gansey's side of the pizza, laughing and wrinkling his nose at the taste of avocado-sausage pizza. "It's not terrible. Though I still think avocado on pizza is unnatural."

As soon as the pizza arrived Gansey dug in like a man starved, taking a healthy bite of his slice and devouring it in less than a minute. One would never know that he could easily put away a whole pie by himself with such a great figure; genetics were merely on his side, with a scoop of athletics on the side. It also helped that Gansey didn't eat often, seeing as he didn't cook, and often didn't feel like having what they offered at school.

Licking the grease from his fingers before wiping his hands with a napkin. Laurent's reaction to the pizza made him laugh; most people did find the combo a bit weird, which was why he never told anyone to try it. "Ah, but since when is any part of pizza natural?" he argued. "By its creation, pizza is a combination of miscellaneous ingredients tossed together. The pizza—bread, sauce, and cheese—merely serves as a board for toppings, no limitations. My sausage and avocados belong there just as much as anything else."

But that didn't stop him from stealing one of the slices from Laurent's side.

"My room is in the east dorm," he finally answered, content that he had done enough defending of the sausage/avocado combo, "room 5. It's the top floor." Money afforded luxury; the dorm rooms were all fairly big, but the more expensive rooms were entire floors. Gansey hadn't cared, but the room had been given to him when he entered the school. When he left, some other rich boy with parents that were politicians would take it.

"It's the top floor?" Laurent repeated. His room was plenty spacious and comfortable, but even for their prince, Vere simply hadn't provided the budget to secure anything especially ostentatious for him. The ordinary security of Charterhouse was enough, especially since Laurent never left the campus.

"I think the mere existence of avocados renders me wary. They don't grow in Vere." He ate it anyway, finishing the slice and licking his fingers before reaching for another of his own.

He ended up eating only a third of the pizza--Laurent's build was slight, a scholar's build with only light musculature from the fencing practice he attended twice a week. He spent most of his time otherwise in study, or exploration, leaving him healthy and inclined to climb trees and towers, but with a much more slender figure than Gansey's square, broad-shouldered form. "I'll meet you in the library after class. We can study an hour before dinner, and then go to your room for hot chocolate and Greek afterward."

Suddenly remembering Gansey's texts and realizing he might have competition for his time, Laurent glanced defensively toward Gansey's phone. "If... you're not otherwise busy, for dinner."

"The whole floor," Gansey confirmed, polishing off what of the pizza that Laurent did not. "My grandfather, Richard Campbell Gansey Senior, attended Charterhouse back in the day. That was his room. When I came here, they thought it was an excellent idea to give it to me. Probably to pander the old man for some more donations." He didn't sound like he was particularly proud to be following in the footsteps of his family, explaining with none of the exuberance he afforded history. His family's legacy could be... tiring.

Gansey's attention was focused on Laurent's fingers when the man licked them clean. Unfairly fascinating. Again, he schooled himself, a stern reminder that friends did not openly admire the loveliness of their friend's hands.

At the mention of dinner plans Gansey shook his head. "No, I don't have any plans. Adam's working again—he works four jobs just to afford the portion of tuition they make him pay. Plus he needs a new sweater because one of the other students stole his. I offered to just buy it for him but he said no. Doesn't want to belong to anyone or owe anyone anything, that's what he said." Gansey rubbed his jaw, "I tried to tell him that it wouldn't be like that between us but he's stubborn. So he's working extra hours... I'm worried he won't take care of himself."

Pausing, Gansey suddenly realized that Laurent probably didn't care about his concerns. "I'm sorry, got a bit off topic there. That all sounds lovely. The very thought will get me through physics."

"I'm sorry for him," Laurent said, interested in Gansey and his friend despite Gansey's apology for the tangent. "It's unfortunate that Charterhouse doesn't have a better scholarship program. I've never thought about it before, but it doesn't. I know exactly the boy you mean--in the whole school there must be what, three, four? Boys who wear second hand sweaters."

Laurent's brow furrowed as he contemplated the situation. Scholarship boys at Charterhouse. He couldn't think of more than three of them. "There must be one per year. Out of hundreds of students, it's less than one percent. That's shameful."

It was a problem and a challenge, and Laurent was intrigued by it. Not for Adam's sake, but because he had simply been raised to think like a prince, and he liked things that provided opportunities. "Charterhouse prides itself on putting out the best minds of tomorrow, but it doesn't, really. It just regurgitates the wealthy."

Laurent chewed on his lower lip. "I'll put the idea in Auguste's head. Five percent scholarship boys seems reasonable, don't you think? Especially after that pricy renovation that they did on the alumni building. Auguste lives for projects he can champion. He'll start a petition, parents will start calling the school..." Laurent smirked and sipped at his drink. "Low effort on my part, and no way for your friend to reasonably suspect any involvement for you. We do need the improved diversity in our student body."

Gansey watched as Laurent mused, fascinated by the mechanism that was the other man's mind. It was a clever plan—Auguste had good standing with both students, their parents, and the staff. He was well liked. He was known for petitioning and doing generally good deeds. And Laurent's comment was correct; Charterhouse was simply percolating in its own riches. Gansey had never agreed with the fact that a scholarship student had to pay anything at all. Wasn't the tuition each boy paid enough to cover three scholarship students?

But Adam had balked at Gansey considering bringing it up to the board. If there was anything Adam truly hated, it was pity. He would get through Charterhouse on his own or not at all. To him, Gansey acting on his behalf was giving up. Was allowing Gansey to take control. Adam couldn't abide by that. Pride.

"... You're really kind," Gansey mused. It was mostly to himself but it was spoken as he smiled at Laurent with affection. Perhaps he wasn't doing it solely for Adam's benefit but ... watching him, Gansey couldn't help but thinking so. Laurent was kind. He wasn't the heir to the crown, Gansey knew, but he couldn't help but thinking that Laurent would have been a good ruler to his kingdom. Smart, yet compassionate enough that he would be fair and unswayed by greed. Just. Fair to his people. History had plenty of rulers and politicians both that were corrupt and selfish. They never would have given the myth of Arthur such criticism for the abandonment of his people.

"I'm glad you decided to be my friend, Laurent. I feel like I've known you for a long time." His eyes were clear and bright as he spoke, a few wisps of hair curling against his forehead again.

Laurent's eyes widened in surprise at the compliment. His heart quickened, staring at Gansey for a moment before he snapped his eyes away. "I'm not kind," he argued.

He took a few bills from his wallet, tossing them on the table. He knew how much pizza cost, and the tip was almost as much as the cost of the meal, exorbitant considering how much he'd disliked the waitress. Or, perhaps, making up for his behavior to the waitress.

"I'm a cruel, icy bitch. You can ask anyone." Laurent got to his feet, avoiding Gansey's eyes. Avoiding that look in Gansey's eyes, the one that had affection and admiration in it. "We should get back. I have class."

"I don't believe that," was Gansey's serene response, standing and brushing the crumbs off of his uniform. Laurent had his edges, there was no doubt about that. But he also&mdash'felt. Felt. Strongly. A true cruel, icy bitch wouldn't be so passionate. Not that Gansey was really okay with calling anyone a bitch. Honestly, people could be so tactless and crude.

Gansey had originally been intending to pay but didn't contest when Laurent did—he would get the hot chocolate later, or dinner, or whatever else. The waitress watched him leave from the counter, still sighing, muttering to her friend All the hot ones are gay. Gansey still didn't notice.

When they reached the Pig he gave the hood an affectionate pat, opening the car doors and swinging into the driver's seat with careless grace.

"What class do you have?" he ventured, worried he'd said something wrong before. Did Laurent dislike being called kind? Did he hate compliments? Perhaps, Gansey figured, it was simply weird of him to be so forthcoming with them. But he merely had said what he felt.

"English," Laurent said, and wrinkled his nose. "It's kind of funny and kind of awful. The teacher and all his books have this attitude like English literature is the only literature that has ever existed. I've resolved a dozen times to stop challenging him on it, but then he says something really insufferable and I can't help it."

Laurent grimaced. In addition to his ancient languages, he was fluent in Veretian, English, and Russian. His accent in English was excellent, but there was a crisp elegance to the words, a slight amount of additional care placed on each syllable. The Veretian accent had the slightly gutteral curl of French with the sharp edges of Latin and a little bit of the back of the throat rumble of Greek. On Auguste, the accent was full and throaty, fully leonine. Laurent's accent was more tempered, easier to overlook, until a word curled too sharply or drawled too long on his tongue. He naturally mimicked the English accent of most of the students, but in Gansey's company, it had swiftly started to gain a Virginia drawl that favored his natural accent and tempered the English crispness of his words.

He leaned his head against the window, staring out at the passing trees. "That poor waitress. She wasn't your type?"

Laurent's issues with his English class made Gansey smile as he pulled the Pig out of its spot, heading back toward Charterhouse. It was almost sad that their rendezvous had been so brief. At least he'd gotten to spend some time with Laurent before he had to drag his ass to class—he didn't skip like his unofficial roommate did, but his heart wasn't in it. His own private studies were much more interesting than learning British history over and over as though it was the most valuable culture and history to learn about.

The mention of the waitress surprised him. Glancing at Laurent in his mirror for a split second before turning his attention back on the road, he remained quiet for a moment. Should he have gotten her number for his friend? If it would make Laurent happy, he would have, even if it would have made Gansey quietly miserable for reasons he wouldn't allow himself to entertain. But that was the sort of thing friends did.

"No," he said, softly. While he genuinely hadn't noticed her the times after the first, having her breasts almost right in his face had been hard to ignore. It wasn't like he was impervious to them; he was a man as hot-blooded as any other. But he had felt no connection, no desire to pursue anything. There wasn't much point for him if there wasn't some kind of connection. He didn't want to just—have sex with someone and then never call them again. He wanted someone to connect to, someone that he couldn't stop thinking about, always wanted to talk to. Someone that made him feel light. Someone to read books with, curled up beside a fire together. Someone to talk about nothing with. Someone to listen to breathe as the slept. A relationship.

Flicking on his blinker, Gansey eased onto the main road back to school.

"Why? Do you think I should have gotten her number?"

"No," Laurent said, giving him a confused glance for the question. He turned it over a few times, but the purpose of the question evaded him. Gansey's evident lack of interest in the waitress had reassured him, and he had continuing possession of Gansey's full attention, along with plans to possess his attention for all the rest of their free time for the day.

The new possessiveness puzzled him, but he assumed it was some new element of his crush. He'd never had a crush quite like this before. Usually it was a momentary thrill, a physical reaction to a handsome face or muscular body. The weightier infatuation on Gansey was a new thing, and he wasn't familiar with all the strange new facets of it. "Why would you get her number if you weren't interested?"

If Laurent wasn't going to say he was interested then Gansey wasn't going to bring it up. Which was a bit odd considering he would for Adam—it was a good thing to do, bringing people together. But he had just become friends with Laurent and didn't particularly want to share him with the waitress.

"You said that poor waitress," he answered after another minute of quiet. "Would it have been kinder to just take her number and let her think that I found her charming? Honestly, I'm never quite sure what to do in those situations. I don't always handle them well." It was easier when they were older women just having fun. "I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings but I also don't want to lead them on. I actually haven't dated much—I suppose that sounds a bit sad?"

Their schoolmates often ragged on him for it. For not grabbing girls, or going out with them to hunt girls, find some way to get laid. It didn't even have to be girls—they'd be just as happy to wingman for him if he wanted men. Possibly even moreso, because there were definitely some boys that had an obvious crush on him. Problem was that Gansey never told them what he wanted.

"You weren't the one who was rude to her," Laurent said, with an amused and puzzled little smirk. "And no, I definitely don't think you should have taken her number, but I generally prefer to both give and receive honesty, even if it's painful. And I'm the wrong one to try for sympathy when it comes to dating. I haven't dated at all. Rumor is around the Veretian court that I haven't got a cock."

Laurent wrinkled his face, irritated and using his annoyance to protect the loneliness and hurt in his heart. "So no. I don't think it sounds a bit sad. Plenty of sadder stories in the world than the two of us spoiled assholes feeling lonely."

Gansey snorted at that last commented, relaxing back into his chair. His first reaction was to say that he wasn't lonely—but that wasn't exactly true, was it? Surrounded by people who liked him for his wealth and name, while he might not be alone, it was a little lonely. Only Adam and Ronan were really interested in his rants about sleeping kings and history. And Laurent, he reminded himself, glancing at his new friend with a peculiar little smile.

With such excellent friends, he wasn't too worried about romance.

"At least we've got each other for company," he teased gently, hands steady on the wheel as he sped down the road. Now, he hoped, they could let go of the business with the waitress—better to focus on texts and languages, right? Even if he wanted to ask Laurent if he was interested in dating, or was his type was. They weren't close enough for that. Maybe when they were better friends Gansey could even tell him about all the silly thoughts he'd had and they'd laugh about it together. Even if the twist in his stomach at the idea told him that he would probably never find it very funny.

"What's your favorite book?" he asked suddenly, thinking on what Laurent had said of his English class before. "Or story. Out of everything in the world." They had about ten minutes before they arrived back at school and what better way to spend time than to learn more about this fascinating creature?

Laurent smiled at the gentle teasing, pleased by it. He was glad that Gansey had insisted on his friendship, glad that he'd been willing to weather Laurent's temper and end up here with him.

Mulling briefly over the question, Laurent drummed his fingers against the arm rest. "There's an old story from Vere. Half fairy tale, half history. That there were two princes, of two countries, who loved each other. The countries were at war, but the two heirs had fallen in love. They went through an array of trials to preserve their countries and those they loved, but at the end they ascended their dual thrones and united their countries.

"The territory of their country combined both Vere and Akielos, to the south, and over the centuries we've become two separate countries, two distinct cultures, though the ruins of that ancient civilization still pepper both our countries. The story remains popular, especially in Vere, where same-sex love is venerated. Do you know that? I know we're a small country. We have a dread of illegitimate children. Heterosexual romance is strictly for the purpose of heirs and alliances. Love affairs are almost always homosexual."

"I didn't know that," Gansey admitted with a bit of wonder, fascinated by Laurent's culture. It was so very different from where he grew up (America) and were he'd spent most of his travels (the UK). Illegitimate children were an issue for politicians but usually only because of how they made them appear in the public eye—though, he supposed, marrying for influence and support wasn't so very different from marrying for heirs and alliances.

"I like your story," he added thoughtfully, watching the road. "Being able to serve their countries and also have their happy ending—I like that very much." Even if Laurent had called it half a fairy tale, Gansey wanted to believe it was all true. Likely wasn't but wouldn't it be something?

It also was not lost on him what Laurent's explanation might suggest. That, perhaps, he hadn't been interested in the waitress either— quietly Gansey shamed himself for jumping to conclusions. He must have merely been annoyed that she had been negligent. And he also had to remind himself that just because Laurent was probably interested in men didn't mean in the slightest that he was interested in Gansey, or ever would be.

Selfish thoughts buried again, he was pleased to know more about his friend. And now he was more interested in Vere; a small country, perhaps, but clearly rich in history and culture.

"Tell me more about Vere?" he asked, tilting his head. "What are the lands like? What do you export? I've know Auguste since our first year but I don't think I ever asked him." To be fair, Auguste was usually quite busy, as was Gansey.

"It's small, but wealthy. Our lands are rich, and our people have decadent tastes, so many of our exports are luxury goods. Veretian fruit brandies are sold internationally, at a very good price. We have thick, ancient forests, fertile fields and meadows. It's beautiful, really. Many of our people are still farmers, and our population is low. We have long depended on alliances with nations around us--Vere is vulnerable, and wealthy, but that helps us stay neutral between our more aggressive neighbors. No one would dare risk incursion unless they planned to go to war with all of Vere's neighboring lands."

Laurent's eyes lingered on Gansey as he spoke, curious about him. He understood the American political system only vaguely--there were elected officials, but they always seemed to be monied, so how was that a democratic system? People joked that Gansey would be president one day. Laurent didn't understand how they could be so certain, regardless of Gansey's charisma or leadership qualities. Weren't there millions of people eligible for the position?

"You may have heard that we're a rather libertine culture. We have pornographic entertainments in the royal palace rather frequently, and there are no punishments for public conjugation. It's funny to me how shocking pornography is, and how sex is treated like some kind of shocking secret. I haven't been able to get a straight answer out of anyone yet--if you came across a pair of cows rutting in some lovely English field, would they be arrested for public indecency? Obviously not. It's the same act, for humans, so why is the latter worth a public outcry?"

"Because of the church," Gansey replied simply. "At least, that's a very big factor in the states. Conservative ideals are usually very traditional and rooted in the bible, where sex is considered a tool for reproduction and not enjoyment. And, of course, people love to impress their own ideals and opinions upon others. Especially cultures so vastly different from their own. Of course, there are also those that disagree, and places where you can go where you can enjoy what you want. The United States is varied in that way."

They were almost back to school and Gansey regretted it, even though he had plans to see Laurent later. As he pulled back onto campus grounds he slowed their pace a hair to meet the slow speed limit of school roads, glancing at the clock as he did. They made good time. No risk of either of them being late to class.

"It sounds like a beautiful place. Maybe I'll have the pleasure of visiting one day." Gansey loved nature and from what Laurent said, Vere sounded like a lush, full place. He didn't particularly care about eroticism on display, either, so he wasn't concerned with what he might see or not see. He was also interested in whatever ruins they might have, any old texts, their architecture. As expected of a giant nerd.

"What building are you going to? I'll drop you off outside," he offered, glancing at his friend again. "Looks like it might start raining any minute now." The sky was grey and cloudy, promising thunderstorms later.

"Old Main," Laurent said, indicating with a flick of his finger. His eyes lingered on Gansey for one last moment before he opened the car door and got out. "You may consider yourself to have a standing invitation to Vere," he added, and shut the door, heading for class without any additional context on that invitation.

They were friends, after all. Laurent would love it if Gansey came to visit him. Perhaps over the summer break. They could attend the city festivals, ride through the countryside, explore ruins, kiss in a forest glade...

Cheeks heating, Laurent scrapped that last thought, trying to focus on his classes. His attention remained elusive, all too eager to stray toward Gansey. He lingered, again and again, on the daydream of sitting at a table in the library when Gansey slid up behind him, winding arms around his waist and pressing kisses down his throat which, in the dream, was bare.

He loosened his tie, for once, and made his way to the library.

"Oh it's Prince Bitch," one of the seniors said, laughing and falling into step at Laurent's side. "Too good for us, bitch?"

Lifting his chin and glancing over with a castrating look, Laurent curled his lip and continued walking.

"Aw, you're breaking my heart here, princess. C'mon, just suck my dick once? Royal charity?"

Ignoring this, Laurent kept walking. The senior opened his mouth to say something else, but then one of his friends grabbed his arm and pulled him away, hissing something to him.

Puzzled, Laurent paused to frown at them. It wasn't someone who would usually come to his rescue, and there was something odd about it, some context that Laurent had missed.

His heckler smirked at whatever his friend said, and lifted his hand to flip Laurent off.

Pulling a rude face in return, Laurent walked away. He mulled over the incident on his way to the library, bothered that it seemed to indicate some kind of joke about him that he didn't know. That made him feel distinctly unsafe, but then he reached the library and saw Gansey, and the entire episode was forgotten.

"Gansey," he said, and smiled, pretending that his heart didn't flutter at the sight of Gansey's handsome face.

Gansey had likewise forgotten the incident that had brought them together in the first place. The prankster had scuttled off, no longer interested in being tutored, and nothing else had come of that dare. Gansey had expected something but as time went on it seemed more like the boys had decided to bother someone else.

Which was why when Laurent told him he had a standing invitation and walked off, Gansey's heart felt as light as air itself. It was only when he'd parked the Pig and plopped himself down in class that he realizes that he hadn't had any intrusive thoughts when he was with Laurent, aside from the thoughts related to the man himself. It had been quiet. Normally the inside of Gansey's head was very loud. With Laurent, it felt like it did the day they met in the library. Silent aside the sound of one man's voice.

He spent the entirety of his class staring out the window, contemplating what that might mean, and what he might do about it. He was the sort to mull over something for weeks. Months. Especially once he resolved to keep in check—Gansey knew himself well enough that he didn't feel platonic toward Laurent. But risk their friendship? He didn't know if he wanted to. It was already precious to him.

When class ended he floated to the library, ignoring a series of highfives he would have normally entertained, not even noticing them. Settling down on one of the fine couches by a window, he entertained his thoughts with tales of Northern Ireland until Laurent arrived.

And when he did, Gansey perked up instantly, suddenly very aware of those around him. Because suddenly, it was important.

"Laurent," he greeted, wearing a sloped, happy smile. It was smaller and more muted than his practiced ones, which was a sign that it was real. What truly brightened when he was happy was his eyes—a clear hazel, almost bright green with flecks of brown.

"How was class?" He had been lounging out across the couch but swung into a sitting position so that Laurent could make himself comfortable.

"Fine," Laurent said, and shrugged. "Class." He sat next to Gansey, tucking one leg up and stretching one leg out in front of him. Looking around, Laurent didn't see any relevant books, and he frowned a tiny bit. Getting up, he wandered off without a word and started browsing through the languages section. He found plenty on Greek and Latin, and plenty on modern languages, but none of the Greek books were the dialects he wanted, and there was only one book on Egyptian writing, which was almost a thousand years off from the Hellenistic era texts that he had. Laurent snagged it anyway, and headed to the history section, where he found only two books that were tangentally related. Dropping them into Gansey's arms, Laurent frowned at the minimal and tangental selection they'd found.

"No good," he decided, taking the stack back and dropping it on a table. Taking Gansey's hand, Laurent pulled him from the library.

It was only halfway down the hall that Laurent realized he was holding Gansey's hand. Letting go quickly, Laurent looked distinctly embarrassed for a split second before he pulled up his cool facade. His room wasn't far from the library, and he unlocked it and walked in, trusting that Gansey would follow.

The room was extremely tidy, to a point of repression, marked by several very distinct exceptions. The desk was one, scattered with books and half-done homework, and more books and papers lay on the floor near and around it. Disturbingly, the books and papers on the floor didn't look like they'd been tossed carelessly. They had the distinct splay of items that had been shoved off in a fit of temper.

The bathroom mirror, visible through an open door, was shattered.

"We'll have to raid some of the private libraries of the classics teachers," Laurent said, sitting on the edge of his bed and considering his bookshelf. "But we may as well order most of the books we want. Continental Europe, especially Greece, teach Koine, so we should easily be able to find textbooks with the dialects we want for Greek. Whatever we can find for grammar and dictionaries for the others, and specialized histories of the era. I want to know what that other language is, and it makes most sense to consider what major world powers Alexandria would have been trading and interacting with. What is that, at this period? Persia, though it was sort of still a Hellenistic colony. Mediterranean and Black Sea cultures. Etruscan? No, it would have been Rome by then. Carthage. What the hell language did Carthage speak around... They all looked Hellenistic to me, don't you think? 300 AD?"

Gansey did some skimming of his own when Laurent headed off, trying to see if he could find anything helpful. No such luck. The books in the library were largely catered to what the boys in the school might actually read. Class related content and history books about, of course, the grand and glorious England. English books. Far too much poetry by Frost. Nothing that would truly help them, as far as Gansey could tell. He supposed it made sense; the school bought books based on the classes they offered first, and then considered what the boys might like for pleasure reading second. There were plenty of books by Chuck Palahniuk and Steven King.

Slightly remorseful that he hadn't had time to put the books away, as he preferred to clean up after himself, he was very distracted by the fact that Laurent was... grabbing his hand. Perhaps utterly tame, but holding hands was one of Gansey's biggest relationship fantasies. The comfort it offered, the relationship it showed—not that they were in a relationship, Gansey reminded himself, telling the inner fantasy mechanism of his mind to cool its heels. Friends didn't think about holding hands while snuggling with friends.

When Laurent let his hand go, Gansey's fingers curled inward and he gave his friend a soft laugh to show him that he hadn't minded being dragged along. It was—sad. The missing warmth. Like he had something and that it had been taken away.

Upon reaching Laurent's room he entered easily; even if he was certain he had something of an unwarranted crush on his friend, he wasn't a shy maiden afraid to enter his beloved's bedchambers. It was a bit surprising to find it so... bland? Not much character. Very tidy. Too tidy. The desk was an oasis even with its haphazardly scattered papers on the floor. It was a style he recognized; one of his unofficial room mates had a temper. While he noted the mirror he said nothing. It wasn't his place.

"I can probably call in some favors," Gansey mused, reaching into his pocket and taking out a tiny leaf, which he dropped onto his tongue and began to suck. Almost instantly the minty scent was noticeable. "Some professors don't mind when I browse their collections. Some I can probably sway." Ordering books was obviously no problem.

Listening to Laurent talk was lovely. He could, Gansey thought, listen to Laurent talk all day. Especially when he was so enthused about his subject.

"Carthage... let me think. If memory serves, the original developed from a Phoenician colony. Destroyed during the one of the Punic Wars—third, maybe—around 150 BC... it was rebuilt as Roman Carthage. That may have been around then... we can probably find an account or book about the language and its changes through time. If I had to guess—Phoenicio-Punic? I could be wrong."

Teasing the leaf on his tongue, he considered the timelines.

"I do have some books in my room, if you'd like to take a look."

[I meant 300 BC, whoops!]

"That's a good guess," Laurent said, grabbing his laptop. "And we're going to your room after dinner. Here, look." Pulling up a visual example of Phoenicio-Punic, he flipped through his phone until he found the relevant image. "It is. It's Carthaginian. Annnnd... there are enough sources that it can be translated. Good."

Sitting on the bed with legs crossed, Laurent opened a notebook by his side, browsing to find dictionaries and grammar texts for the languages he wanted and ordering one or two of each. "Do you think that's everything? Koine Greek, Classic Latin, Phoneicio-Punic, wasn't there one in Sanskrit? And Coptic."

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