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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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.

When he felt the softness of lips against his cheek, a mass frenzy of butterflies erupted in his belly. Could a man feel so light at just a gentle touch of lips to his cheek? He had never felt it like this before. Even the kisses he had before, infrequent dates he had, never made him feel much of anything.

"You know," he smiled, closing the distance between them again, standing beside the other man and allowing their arms to brush, "you're very cute when you blush. I like it." Jam and chocolate, jam and chocolate, how could he think about those when there was something so much sweeter?

Innocently, like he hadn't just been flirting, he asked, "How do you take your tea?"

Laurent smiled and blushed more, feeling all the hairs on his arms rise in response to the sweet flirtation. "Milk and sugar, if you have it," he said, because that was how he liked his tea, even though he usually drank it black, catering to his habit of privation to punish himself for existing.

Around Gansey, he felt inclined to allow himself pleasures. He watched Gansey every moment that he could, glancing away only when Gansey caught him looking. Blushing with nerves and pleasure, he poked at the toast in the pan, debating whether or not it was time to flip them.

"We do, luckily."

He retrieved both and left them on the counter beside the mugs. As he prepared the teabags and cleaned up some mess, Gansey stole a few glances of his own, still in wonder at the fact his feelings were reciprocated. That Laurent didn't hate him for liking him and, what's more, felt similarly.

"Hm. I wonder how Auguste will take this," he mused idly, tilting his head in thought. "Do you think he might approve?" He wasn't sure how his friend would feel about Gansey dating his precious little brother.

"I think so," Laurent said, deciding to flip the toast. It was slightly burned on the underside. Laurent grimaced. Well, this one would be his. "He likes you. I think he'll be glad that there's something that makes me happy, aside from books. He worries. He tries to hide how much, but he worries."

Tipping the toast onto a second plate when it was done, Laurent added jam and chocolate to his, taking the mug of tea and sipping at it between bites. His eyes still lingered on Gansey, addicted to him. "Where do you want to go on this date?"

"I was thinking we could go somewhere the kids go," he grinned, leaning on the counter as he nursed his own cup of tea, similarly made with sugar and milk. Pressing the rim to his lips so that he could take a sip, he considered. Something fun... something low key. Something that their dates might never get the chance to be again if they're likely to be followed around by paparazzi or whatever else royals had to deal with. Paparazzi were considerably less interested in the sons of politicians than they were in the sons of kings.

"How about a movie in town? Maybe the bookstore beforehand? Of course, I'm a gentleman, and will have you home by 11 sharp."

"The kids?" Laurent repeated, smirking. "The young whippersnappers?"

He chewed on his lower lip, watching Gansey with a smile. Things felt easy with Gansey, as though they'd already known each other a thousand years. "That sounds nice. We could also pack dinner and go hiking in the woods. I know of this old ruined--it looks like a temple. I think it's some architectural relic that belonged to the school. Or maybe that belonged to the estate the school was built on."

"Oh?" Gansey snapped to attention at that, looking very interested indeed. "Can we? That sounds great, let's do that." Were he a dog, his tail would be thumping on the floor in excitement.

It was likely that, if it was old, it belonged to the estate the school was built on. Which Gansey found much more interesting than anything that the school would have built. Sure, there was some merit in the foundation of Charterhouse... but there were so many more vastly interesting things in the world.

"Maybe we'll find something interesting there. Can you imagine? Ah, but people have probably been through there dozens of times."

Laurent's smile widened, much happier at the prospect of a date that was so them. The idea of a formal date, with dinner and a movie, sounded excruciating. Going to dinner or a movie with his boyfriend sounded fantastic. But as long as Gansey was going to insist on a date, to see if they were romantically compatible, Laurent wanted to do something where they'd be themselves.

He wondered at that, since he'd never felt like himself before. Around Gansey, it felt as though he'd discovered the true Laurent hidden under all the layers.

"Maybe we'll find something," Laurent affirmed, smiling fondly. He finished his first piece of toast, but he was still hungry. Digging in the fridge, Laurent pulled out the pack of bacon, putting another piece of toast in the french toast mix. "I desperately want to skip class today."

Gansey finished his own toast, rubbing it down into the jam before taking a bite. "Mm?" Class? Oh, right. Class. "I shouldn't tell you to skip," he said warmly, "but I do think you should do what you'd like. Assuming you aren't a serial skipper. If you are, get your butt to class." Glancing out the window, he watched as some old droplets slowly dripped off the panes. "The storm was pretty bad last night. Classes might just end up canceled today. Depending on how the getting power back situation is going across campus."

One of the downsides of having such a huge campus, he figured. Finishing his tea, he helped himself to another glass and grabbed his phone.

"The weather should be clear tonight," he said happily, "so we shouldn't have any problems being outside. It might be damp, but as long as we wear boots it should be okay."

"How do you make bacon?" Laurent asked, slightly more competent once he had made french toast once. He learned quickly, especially since bacon and french toast weren't difficult.

Once the bacon was cooking, Laurent gave him a pleased smile, drinking the last of his tea and getting himself another cup. "What do you want to do for the rest of the day?" Laurent asked, with a coy grin. "Or are you actually going to go to class?"

"Maybe, maybe not," he tossed back with an amused raise of his eyebrow, "but I'm a Senior. My classes are just a formality at this point. It doesn't really matter." Which didn't answer the question, no, but a little flirting couldn't hurt. "I could be persuaded to play hookey. Ah... but you did mention that I look like I've never broken a rule in my life. Should I shatter that pristine image? Decisions."

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