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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"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."

"The mystery's been solved. Sort of." Grinning, Gansey studied the images in Laurent's phone while gently sitting on the edge of his friend's bed. He was so thrilled that he didn't even think about how he was sitting on Laurent's bed. Had he, he probably would have stood. It had a different meaning when you had feelings for someone—and if it ever did come to light that he'd ever thought about Laurent in that manner, he wanted to be able to say he had been as respectful as possible. Or something.

But there was translating and history to distract him from thinking too much. "Thank goodness for the internet." While he loved books, the internet was incredibly convenient for quickly looking up images. Not all sources were to be believed, of course, but it was still a bonus.

"If there are some we're forgetting we can order more later," he answered, grabbing the leaf from between his lips and tugging it slowly to get an extra nice, minty taste on his lips. "We shouldn't bite off more than we can chew. I think we should start with the Carthaginian. I feel like it wants us to decipher it, in a way. Do you know what I mean?"

Laurent actually laughed at that, too distracted to notice that it was the first time he'd laughed in months. "I think we should definitely bite off more than we can chew. More fun that way."

His eyes caught for a moment on the leaf between Gansey's full, soft lips, and his glance flicked up to Gansey's eyes, finding that he'd been caught looking. He dropped his attention back to the laptop, clicking order on his purchases.

"I'd love to start with the Carthaginian. I want to get to it before anyone else does, just in case it is something that has been lost for millennia. But unless there's a professor around who has a book on Carthaginian for us, it'll have to be one of the others."

Laurent selected all the pictures and sent them to his printer, which started spitting out pages as Laurent fetched a couple of blank notebooks and a cup of varied pens and mechanical pencils. Several of the pens were chewed on. "Let's organize and identify what we can, so we have some idea of what we have."

Grabbing the five pages that had printed, Laurent returned to the bed and dropped them on top of the notebooks, picking up a page and making a note of the language, skimming a few lines to see if he could identify the specific text. "I don't know this one." Handing it over to Gansey, he grabbed another page and repeated the process, starting to sort out the pages by language and then by author, as possible.

Studying the pages was quiet work and Gansey was steadfast about it. Once he became caught up in what he was doing, nothing distracted him from his work. Not having his own supplies, he had to borrow one of the notebooks and pens. Selecting a sturdy pen from the cup, he began to scribble in one of the books, making notes as thoughts came to him and copying specific words and phrases.

And of course there was sorting. Deciding if two works were by the same author or if two authors just had incredibly similar names. There were some he recognized and some he didn't—which was to be expected. Now that he had time to sit down and really look through the images, both printed out and the ones zoomable on his phone, it was much easier to try and figure out what was going on.

He only glanced up when the sound of thunder echoed throughout the room.

"Oh." Blinking owlishly, Gansey turned toward the window. Fat raindrops were splattering against the glass. "Looks like it's starting."

Laurent also looked up, surprised by the passage of time. "Oh! And we're nearly going to miss dinner."

Quickly gathering up papers and notebooks, Laurent tidied them into a messy bundle which he stuffed into his bag, grabbing Gansey's hand again to haul him out of the room. Locking it, he turned to go and got tangled in Gansey's arm, since he'd forgotten they were connected. Confused, he looked down, puzzled as to how they'd gotten linked again.

"Sorry," he said, letting go. A crease formed between his brows, perplexed as he was by this new tendency he'd developed. "I... that's..." Laurent put his hand behind his back. "Dinner."

Avoiding emotional problems was clearly preferable to facing them. Laurent headed for the outer door, peering out into the rain and wrinkling his nose. "Shall we make a run for it?"

Again, Gansey was winded when Laurent grabbed him and drew him out of the room. It was—an incredibly cute habit, Gansey had to admit to himself, even if it often meant that he'd leave messes wherever he'd been before Laurent whisked him away. This time the books and notes came with them.

"It's all right," he answered quickly, not bothered by it in the last. It seemed like Laurent was embarrassed about it so he wouldn't continue on to say that it was perfectly fine if he wanted to do that, for politeness sake. "Right. Dinner."

Following along, Gansey rested his hand on Laurent's shoulder as he peered outside to see how heavy the rain was. "I... think we can make it," he said slowly, as though he still wasn't quite sure. The rain itself wasn't terrible but it was going to get worse, if the thunder and lightning were any indication.

"If we get soaked, I can always lend you some clothes when we get to my room." Because dinner to go was beginning to look like a good idea.

Laurent's heart stuttered at the hand on his shoulder. It was warm and steady, and made him overwhelmingly want to turn into to the touch, curling into that warm, broad chest.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, Laurent flashed him a grin and ran for it. His bag should mostly protect their books, and all they had were notes and copies. More copies could always be made.

He was laughing again as they crashed through the doors to safety, darting up the stairs to the dining hall on the second floor. Grabbing a to-go box, he handed one to Gansey and started loading up with food, twitching and smirking every time the thunder rumbled.

He was halfway through the buffet when the power suddenly went out, miring them in darkness. Laurent just grinned. Shutting his box of food, he drifted his fingertips over Gansey's shoulders and secured his grip on Gansey's sleeve. "Come on," he murmured, closer to Gansey's ear than he realized, and tugged him through the darkness toward the stairs.

The instant they crashed through the doors the rain began to come down even harder, pounding on the building. The cafeteria was desolate; everyone else had grabbed what they wanted and ran for cover already. Even the staff was absent, probably off cleaning up puddles of mud left behind by rambunctious boys.

On Gansey's end he'd stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth almost as soon as he reached the buffet, and had been trying to decide of he wanted to bother eating anything else when the power went out. The only light was what was offered when lightning flashed across the sky, soon followed by the rumble of thunder.

The buildings were old. Power could easily go out with how it was structured, though it rarely did. There were back-up generators in some newer buildings but the older ones remained without. Apparently, most of the money students spent on tuition went into pockets of the board.

Fingertips brushing across his shoulders almost made him shiver in pleasure. It felt good. Way too good. Thankfully the dark was the perfect cover for his flushed face and throat. Paired with a voice so close to his ear that he could feel the warmth of sweet breath? Oh, darkness was his best friend.

Following along once more, Gansey dropped the empty box and swallowed the rest of his roll quickly, sinking into the shadows toward the stairs with his friend. Even though he knew the school well he'd never bothered to scamper around it at night.

"Where are we going?" he asked, keeping his voice low like they were sneaking around, rather than just students stuck in a storm.

"Your room," Laurent said, as if Gansey had forgotten. There was a window in the stairwell, giving them enough light to get down safely. Laurent pulled him back to the main doors, looking down into the downpour. "East dorm, right?" he said, squinting down at the heavy sheets of rain.

Letting go of Gansey's sleeve, Laurent ran, expecting to be followed. He hadn't left Gansey with much choice. It was either follow and be drenched, or stay in the safe haven of the main building and leave Laurent to be stranded and alone on Gansey's doorstep.

He didn't stop running even as he reached the dorm. Long-legged and fast, Laurent darted up the stairs, pausing only briefly on the landing to make sure Gansey was still with him. Drenched now and dripping, Laurent's grin was wide, because he lived for reckless adventure like this, and he'd had so little opportunity to find it until Gansey had walked into his life.

"I've never been lead to my own room before," he chuckled, glancing out the window when they passed it by. There wasn't much time for there to be more said; Laurent darted out into the storm and of course Gansey followed. Leaving Laurent to soak was unacceptable, of course, but mostly because he wanted to chase him. Chase, but never catch.

When he finally managed to catch up he was drenched. Slicking his hair back from his face with rainwater he grinned, delighted. What was a little rain? It was cold but it made him feel so very alive. Right down to the marrow.

"You should run track with those legs!" he proclaimed, chest rising and falling from sprinting. "You're a regular cat." Fumbling in his pockets for his key, Gansey took the rest of the stairs two at a time. When he reached his door he pushed it open, tossing the keys into a bowl on table beside the it.

It was a spacious room, but odd. The living room was like a bedroom, with a desk underneath the window strewn with books and papers, a queen sized bed (unmade) in the middle of the wall, a dresser, a well packed book case, and walls covered in maps. There was a small kitchenette off to the side that was clearly never used and three doors down the long hallway.

Gansey went to the dresser right away and began digging through it. Holding up one of his cotton T-shirts and a pair of his sweatpants he asked, "Do these seem okay? They might be a bit big on you, but they're dry."

Laurent nodded, dropping his bag by the desk and taking the dry clothing. He trusted Gansey now, trusted him not to be crude or lecherous, so he had fairly little problem stripping off his shirt in front of him. His pale skin was pricked with goosebumps from cold, and his pink nipples were hard. His flat stomach fluttered briefly with nerves as the shirt was over his head. He hated being vulnerable, even if only for a moment, even in trusted company, but insisting on changing in the bathroom would be to admit that he was vulnerable, and that was worse.

The dry shirt was too large on him, and it smelled like Gansey. Mint and laundry soap. Laurent felt briefly dizzy.

Kicking off his shoes, he shed his pants almost as quickly. There was a brief flash of underwear--briefs, close-fitted, in a satiny dark blue fabric--and long white legs--the light golden hairs so pale and sparse as to be nearly nonexistent--and then the sweatpants were safely on. "Do I get a tour?" he asked, eyes lingering on Gansey. He didn't want to get caught looking, but he certainly wasn't planning to miss any nudity on Gansey's part.

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