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 knew that he was being selfish and unpleasant. Gansey's sweet, long-suffering temper must be running short.

"Whatever you like, Gansey," he said, forcing himself to sit up and get out of bed, even though the cold felt so sharp it hurt. The pain felt bracing, compared with the ache in his heart. Setting Gansey's sweater aside, he pulled off Gansey's t-shirt and started putting his own clothes back on. "I don't know if I'll be able to eat much. I'm feeling depressed and selfish, which doesn't usually make me particularly hungry."

He couldn't look at Gansey, forcing himself to move his arms and legs as he got dressed.

Gansey wasn't sure what he could do to help Laurent feel better. He was the sort to look for solutions when there was a problem—but all the solutions he could think up were either impossible or wouldn't work. Laurent didn't want him. Laurent didn't want Jack. What did Laurent want? Freedom? Gansey wanted that too. Sadly, he didn't have any to give his friend. None that would stick.

But he did have an excess of patience. It was simply the Gansey way. Calm and collected when someone was upset or unpleasant. Exuding certainty, steadfastness, willing to play the part of pillar. Gansey was a leader by nature, born to be a king but given the wrong place and time.

"What usually makes you feel better when you're feeling depressed and selfish?" he asked gently, reaching for the small pack of eggs cracking them over a bowl. French toast, then.

"Wallowing in self-pity," Laurent responded dryly. "Which I would still be doing, but I don't want to lose my only friend after only a day by refusing to stop sulking in his bed."

Laurent hugged his arms around himself, coming over to lean on the counter so he could watch Gansey work. "And you not being reasonable and mature. You're very good at being reasonable and mature. It's awful. Please be unreasonable and immature with me, I'd feel better."

His smirk grew slightly as he spoke, voice his usual cool and cultured Veretian accent with the hint of sharpness that made people feel like he was mocking them, which he usually was. But the edge had curled, for Gansey, so that there was only sophistication and a very dry humor laid over his abyss of pain and fear.

"Is it?" Gansey's eyebrows rose as he dropped one of the slices of bread into his egg mixture. Like a sponge, it soaked up some of what he'd prepared. "Hm. Maybe there's some validity to some of the guys calling me 'dad' after all...? I'm not sure how I feel about that." Old, probably.

Cocking his head, he gave Laurent an amused look, "You wouldn't scare me off by sulking around all day. I do, however, like having your company." Letting his pan on the stovetop heat up, he leaned on the counter beside his friend, still considering what he said.

"I can be unreasonable and immature with you." A beat, before he added, "So, how should I do that?"

Laurent smiled a little, feeling warmer just by the comfort of Gansey's company. "I don't know, but I will tell you at once if I get any irresponsible ideas. Also, definitely no nonsense about me accepting my fate or behaving with decorum. That should all be strictly discouraged."

Relaxing into the pleasure of joking with him, Laurent shifted a little closer. "And, if at all possible, helping me come up with ways that I can deceive my father and my brother without utterly betraying my country."

Sighing at that, Laurent's smile melted. He went and fetched his phone, scrolling through the dossier again. "There's nothing about his favorite books. It lists, instead, his favorite drugs."

"Drugs?" There was no doubt from Gansey's tone that he disapproved. Sure, drugs were fairly common on campus—rich boys with nothing to do? Of course. But Gansey was one of the ones that remained firmly clean. Boring, maybe, but he'd rather be boring than stupid. So he tsk'd with his tongue, tossing the slices of bread onto the pan now that it was properly heated.

"I can't say I like the sound of that." It struck him as a red flag. Less so that the man did drugs and more because he got caught enough for his favorites to be known and recorded, even by professional information gatherers.

"Maybe you could play sick?" he suggested, turning back to his friend once the toast was cooking. It gave off a pleasant vanilla and cinnamon scent. "Come down with a convenient fever?"

Laurent's attention returned to him at the tsk, grinning lopsidedly. "Tsk like that again. It makes you sound like you're about eighty. While also being adorable."

He tucked the phone into his pocket, distracted by the pleasure of Gansey's company and how much he wanted to bask in Gansey's attention.

"I assure you, I am not eighty," he laughed, shaking his head. "Is it that bad? Maybe I need to take lessons on how to act like the kids these days." Taking it in good humor, he raked a hand through his thick hair.

"Let me try. It's... wicked lame that your father—no, pops—is out to... what, do you dirty? That guy's he's hooking you up with is a regular—real—ham slice. Wait, I think ham slice is good?"

Puzzled, he tapped his finger against his chin, "Laurent, is a ham slice good or bad?"

Laurence laughed, surprised into it. "It's terrible," he said. "Now you sound like you're ninety."

Watching him with a lingering smile, Laurent felt his heart thud, and lowered his eyes slowly, savoring the yearning he felt. As painful as it is, he liked knowing that he was capable of being infatuated with someone. It was better feeling unrequited love than feeling nothing.

"I wish he were you," Laurent murmured, very quiet.

It was such a quiet murmur that Gansey was almost sure that he had imagined it. That the bread had toasted too much and had sizzled some words. Or that it was just a whisper of the wind. But the bread was still cooking fine and the wind outside was gentle, in comparison to the night before.

I wish he were you.

Because he wants it to be a friend. Because he wants him to be someone compatible. Because... his mind reeled off a series of explanations, but Gansey... Gansey was tired of listening to himself. He had to do it all the time, and it was simply exhausting. That inner voice never shut up.

Making it into a joke would be easy. Only, Gansey didn't want to make it a joke.

"Me?" he asked, just as quietly, looking at Laurent dead on.

Laurent nodded, considering the grain of the carpet. His heart ached.

"Maybe he'll be a little bit like you. I'd like that. Even though it seems like you couldn't be more different. Maybe the partying is just a cover."

He didn't believe it. Looking away, Laurent hugged himself tighter, feeling miserable.

He hoped, at least, that Gansey would take it as a compliment. He didn't seem like the type to lash out over someone having a crush on him.

Gansey, on his end, was still a bit confused. Was Laurent saying that he just hoped that the man turned out to act like he was ninety as well, or that... he had feelings for him? At first he could only think that it was the former—but Laurent's body language was strong. Hugging himself tight, looking away, looking like a tragedy had occurred.

Which was why he stood there for a good minute, rubbing his thumb over his lip again and again, trying to make sense of everything. But Laurent expressed that he had no interesting in anything when they first met? Though... he had been difficult to read since. But he was also not going to betray his country, even if he did happen to like Gansey.

Finally, he asked, "Do you like me?" quite bluntly. Otherwise the gears in his head would never stop turning. Laurent could shoot him down directly—his firm no would set Gansey straight.

Edited 2016-10-17 03:29 (UTC)

Laurent's eyes flicked toward Gansey, then back down. His shoulders lifted another inch, nervous and defensive.

Nodding briefly as a blush crept over his cheeks, Laurent dug his fingers into his own arm, anxiety increasing. "It's a crush. It doesn't have to mean anything."

"Oh."

He was a bit dumbfounded. Had he misunderstood everything so thoroughly? Then again, he supposed, most of the time he hadn't allowed himself to think... for fear of rejection, and ruining their friendship.

"I see." Flipping the toast with his spatula, he blinked, still wondering at it all.

"Then I suppose it's only fair to tell you that I have a crush on you, too." The second piece of toast flopped and sizzled. "I was afraid you'd hate me if I said so."

Confused and yearning, Laurent stared at him for a minute. His brows were furrowed, lips compressed. He didn't know how to process what Gansey had said.

Walking away, he sat down again on the side of the bed, frowning at the floor. Gansey had a crush on him? That didn't make any sense. Gansey was out of his league. Laurent was unlikeable. Or, at least, unlovable.

"Because I'm pretty?" Laurent asked at last, trying to piece together a world that had just fractured.

Gansey's brow furrowed when Laurent asked that. Standing in front of the stove still lest he set something on fire, his gaze flicked over to where his friend was seated.

"What? No." No, he definitely did not have a crush on Laurent at first sight, because he was pretty. "I think you're funny, smart, and interesting. You're clever and passionate. You care more than you let on. I never know what's going to happen with you. You have strong opinions, we like the same things, and I can't help but to feel light when I'm with you."

He hadn't meant to go on a speech but... it was Gansey. Of course there was a speech.

"That's why."

Confused but utterly enraptured, Laurent walked a few steps closer. He felt magnetized by Gansey, wanting to burrow into his arms. "You deserve better than me," he said, softly, like Gansey might somehow not know this obvious fact.

He remembered the way Gansey had looked, when he'd recited that poem. It... sounded different, in his memory, if he considered that it was coming from someone with a crush on him. A love poem, recited for him. To him.

Laurent took another step closer, hesitating for a moment before he began to recite, soft and sweet, in Greek.

"Οἰ μὲν ἰππήων στρότον οἰ δὲ πέσδων
οἰ δὲ νάων φαῖσ᾽ ἐπὶ γᾶν μέλαιναν
ἔμμεναι κάλλιστον ἔγω δὲ κῆν᾽
ὄττω τὶσ ἔπαται."

Blushing as he finished, stopping just within reach of Gansey, Laurent found himself briefly tongue-tied as he realized that the translation he knew best was in Veretian, and he was forced to mentally translate on the fly. "Some say a cavalry, some a battalion, some that a fleet of ships is the most beautiful sight on the black earth. For me, it is the one I love."

When Laurent spoke, Gansey was utterly enchanted by his voice. A lovely thing. Especially so when he was speaking another language. It was almost belated, realizing that Laurent was reciting a poem back to him.

Oh. Cheeks coloring with pleasure, Gansey smiled, unable to look away from his friend as he gave an English translation. On the stove the French toast was sizzling and deftly, he reached out to flick off the flame, not looking away from the young man in front of him.

"That was very beautiful," he said, lips quirked in an adoring smile. He had chosen In Adoration for a reason.

Using the closed distance between them, Gansey reached out to take Laurent's hand in his. Turning it, he traced the lines of the other man's palm with the tip of his index finger. Like he might have been spelling something out. The parts of him that had argued against pursuing something with Laurent were eerily quiet now.

"Would you allow me the pleasure of taking you out on a date?"

Laurent stepped even closer, back into the warmth of Gansey's arms. He slid a tentative arm around Gansey's neck, shivering once as he adjusted from being cold to absorbing heat.

"I was trying to keep myself from asking if you'd be willing to pretend to date me," Laurent murmured, resting his head on Gansey's shoulder and re-assessing everything he'd said and done over the past day. "But it doesn't seem fair to you. You'll be the focus of a substantial amount of media attention. We'll need to be seen together. I know your family is used to handling the attention of press and society, but... this would be different."

As soon as Laurent pressed against him, Gansey looped an arm around the other man's waist, pressing his palm against the small of his back. Just enough pressure for Laurent to know he was resting it there.

"I'm not worried," he said, as though it was the simplest thing in the world. More than anything, Gansey wanted to know if they had something. If they did, he didn't want to let it go. From the beginning he felt that it had been a good thing they met.

"Let's go on a date tonight. Just one, without all of that." His mouth quirked into a lopsided smile. "Then you can decide if you're going to see this Jack fellow this weekend. Does that sound fair?" If they wanted another date after the first... then it would be worth it, Gansey thought.

"Yes," Laurent said, smiling at the feeling of being held. "No."

Sighing reluctantly, he let go. This time, he stayed within reach, feeling more relaxed now that he had a possible escape from his fate. His skin tingled, wanting very much to just hug back into Gansey's arms and stay there forever. He was pretty sure that was called cuddling, and he earnestly wanted to research farther on the topic.

He poked through Gansey's cupboards, looking for tea or coffee. "Not the bit about me deciding. I already know perfectly well what I want, and it isn't Jack. Have you got coffee? Or tea?"

"Both," he answered, reaching up into one of the highest cabinets. The coffee they had was instant and the tea they had came in little bags, not the usual rich boy stock, but Gansey and Ronan never much cared about brands. And apparently, Noah was just never hungry.

"I'm too weak for coffee," Gansey admitted with a laugh, "so I always go for lattes or tea. I don't know why, but it's usually just too bitter for me." Retrieving the same mugs he used last night and putting them on the counter, he flicked the stove to life again so that he could heat some water.

"Would you like something for your French toast? Jam, chocolate syrup, butter..."

He browsed the fridge, naming off a few things that might work on top of French toast.

"All of the above," Laurent said, smiling wider as he started to make them both tea. It felt wonderfully domestic, making breakfast with Gansey like this. Teasing and flirting. Laurent ached with yearning to steal a kiss.

"You eat the first batch. You cooked." With some effort, Laurent figured out how to start the kettle, after first checking to make sure it had water. Repeating what he'd seen Gansey do, he put a slice of toast in the french toast mixture, watching it soak up the milk and egg. He wasn't, however, sure what to do next. Did it matter what level of heat the stove was at? Was he supposed to butter the pan? He felt like that was a thing that people did.

Gansey watched Laurent as he figured his way through the kitchen. It was a delightful sight. Stealing a kiss would make it perfect—was it all right to do so, when they hadn't even had a proper first date yet? A first kiss was special and Gansey could be sentimental about such things. Then again, wasn't spending the night together because of a storm even more special than a regular first date? Ah, the problems that arose when you debated with yourself.

"You'll want to put butter on the pan," he confirmed with a smile, holding out the butter and a butter knife so that Laurent could do it himself. "Usually I'll check to see if it's hot enough by holding my hand over the pan for a second. If I can feel the heat, then it's probably enough. Then just toss them on."

Gansey leaned against the counter, because there was no way he was going to eat without Laurent.

Laurent smiled, following the instructions as he cooked another batch of french toast for them. "Jam and chocolate syrup," he said, nodding at the already cooked breakfast which Gansey was specifically not eating. He grinned, leaning over and pressing a soft, sweet kiss to his new boyfriend's cheek.

The pleasure of being able to kiss Gansey sent a thrill all the way through him, and Laurent was blushing as he returned his attention to the food.

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