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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"I've also been told I have terrible taste in fashion," he added, "and that I... what was it? I sound like a ninety year old man?"

Chuckling, he pressed his lips against the top of Laurent's head again. "I'm not sure I want to tell you more. You might decide I'm too much work and find a guy with more going for him."

Laurent snorted. "Unless Apollo shows up, I really don't think you have any competition. Rather, I might stop thinking that you're impossibly out of my league and that you deserve better than someone as temperamental and selfish as myself. Tell me. Please?" He gave Gansey a sweet pout, the one that had worked so well on Auguste when Laurent had been younger and more pliant.

"That look must have gotten you your way many, many times before," he accused, raising a brow.

"... And it seems it will once more." Really, how could he say no to that face? Utterly unfair. It didn't help that he was soft when it came to the ones he cared about. Leaning back and rubbing his chin, he glanced out to the lake. "It's a little harder to think on the spot... for one, I have a habit of being too blunt. I always try and choose my words before I say them but it doesn't always happen that way."

Teasing his thumb over his bottom lip, he glanced back at Laurent, "Would you really dump me if Apollo showed up?"

"Self-preservation," Laurent argued, with a coy smirk. "If I rejected him, he'd probably turn us both into trees."

Gansey was warm, and Laurent was pleased by how well the pout had worked. "Too blunt. All right. And yet you're ridiculously charming and popular anyway, so your tongue cannot be nearly as damaging as mine. I remain convinced that you deserve better, unless you plan to argue you have other flaws."

"Or that yours are not nearly as bad as you think," Gansey retorted, wrinkling his nose a touch. "You know, I do have to put a certain foot forward in polite company. There's not much to being charming other than nodding politely when someone's talking about themselves, and talking about things they like."

It wasn't like he went out of his way to be popular. A good name, the sort of name everyone wanted to be friends with, that was all it was.

"Other than that... I overthink everything. And talk too much. Still charmed?"

"Everyone overthinks things," Laurent argued. "And you only talk excessively when you're talking about fascinating subjects, so I don't think that's a flaw at all. So you haven't any real flaws? Maybe you are secretly a god..." He smiled, playful, and got to his feet. Facing Gansey, he took a step back to the edge of the stone, one leg half bent as though he meant to fall backward into the water. "Tell me a real flaw," he said, with just a hint of or I jump.

"You don't seem to think any of my flaws are flaws!" Gansey laughed, taking on an almost pleading tone. "I'm not sure what else to tell you."

Goodness, that was a threat. Gansey shook his head, still smiling, gently biting down on his lower lip. What else could he say? He didn't snore. Didn't curse. Didn't drink to the point of getting drunk. Even his feet smelled like mint, not Cheetos. The only thing that might really be considered a genuine flaw could very well ruin their playful banter. He wasn't sure if he wanted to bring up the fact that he'd already died once, and had a very stark expiration date.

"What do you even consider a flaw?"

"I don't know," Laurent said, laughing. "Ill temper, selfishness. Anything like that. Unreasonable sex fantasies? I suppose you've got at least a bit of recklessness. And the terrible taste."

Rolling his eyes at Gansey, Laurent dropped back down to sit beside him, sprawling out to rest his head in Gansey's lap. "You're hopeless. Flawless. We're going to have to break up on account of you being too perfect," he said, lips quirking to one side.

"I hope not," he said, running his fingers through Laurent's hair when he found his lap occupied. Maybe premature, but if Laurent broke up with him... it would break his heart. Perhaps a silly thing to acknowledge, especially since they'd been together for such a short time, but he knew himself. That was the risk one took when beginning a relationship, right?

But it wasn't something he was actually worried about. Massaging his fingers into Laurent's scalp, he smiled, twisting locks between his fingers.

"You'll discover my flaws soon enough. Feel free to tell me as you do."

"You said you understood anxiety and depression," Laurent said, voice tentative, which was very rare for him. He didn't feel he could outright ask, but knowing that someone as wondrous as Gansey felt anxiety would be deeply reassuring for him. "Those are flaws."

The fingers in his hair were soothing, and Laurent closed his eyes, letting himself trust.

"... Yes," Gansey answered after a moment, still running his fingers through Laurent's hair, "I do understand them." It was a bit sobering to think about those things but... it was something they both felt, wasn't it?

"I've struggled with both. Moreso anxiety. I would say it's one of my flaws." The roots of which were from other flaws, other fears, other obsessions that he wasn't sure Laurent would even believe. One day, he would tell him.

"I don't usually sleep well because of it. Not the only reason for my nightly insomnia but still a reason."

There was also the incredible guilt he felt about feeling either; why should a man as privileged and fortunate as himself feel anxious or depressed? He had no right. The world was at his fingertips. Which was why he tried so hard to talk himself through those feelings, to not indulge in them. If someone cracked his head open and heard how loud and busy it was, they probably wouldn't find him very charming at all.

Admitting it at all was difficult. But, if it eased Laurent's heart, he could do it.

Laurent's smile was full of warmth and relief, chest flooded with gratitude to have someone who understood. He was happy, not that Gansey had to struggle with it, but that it was something that they shared.

"I hope I'll be able to ease it a little for you," Laurent said, sitting up so that his eyes could search Gansey's face. "Or, even if I can't, that I can be by your side and support you, when you're struggling." Shy but also full of faith, Laurent smiled at him, wanting very much to have a place at Gansey's side for decades to come.

"Don't tempt me," he smiled, "or I'll call you at three in the morning, when I'm feeling lonely and restless." It was a marvelous thing to say. Ronan and Gansey had an understanding, but it wasn't a verbal one. Their demons played well together. But to have a connection with someone, to have someone say the wanted to be by his side... how on earth could Laurent think so low of himself?

Gansey pressed a kiss against Laurent's forehead, "Thank you." Leaning back so that he could properly see Laurent's face, he continued, "I'd like to do the same for you. Whenever. I don't ever want you to feel like you're alone."

"Call me at three in the morning," Laurent said, interest sharpened by the suggestion. He'd be sleeping, but he didn't care. The thought of being awoken by someone who needed him, wanted him, was irresistible. He sat up the rest of the way, moving to straddle Gansey's lap. "Promise that you will."

His eyes flicked between Gansey's, magnetized by the thought of meaning that much to someone. "Or show up at my door. And even if I'm groggy and half asleep, I'll still be grateful to fall back to sleep with you keeping me warm."

Sliding his arms around Laurent's hips to keep him secure, Gansey tilted his face up, a little enchanted at the way Laurent's hair fell around his face. By the slope of his soft, generous lips.

"I promise," he smiled, "I'll call you at the worst possible hours. Just to hear your voice." If he heard Laurent's voice, at least, heard his breathing... it would put his mind at ease.

"And a late night visit isn't off the table."

Bowing, he let his forehead rest against Laurent's chest, "You're amazing."

Laurent hugged him close, incredibly grateful to have Gansey in his arms, and to give and receive comfort. "Gansey," he murmured, feeling better about their new relationship. Being able to comfort Gansey for his anxiety and depression, being needed at three in the morning, it made him feel as though he had something to offer, something that mattered. It wasn't him damaged and Gansey flawless. They could be damaged together, and help each other to function.

"Don't want to let go of you," Laurent murmured, resting his cheek against Gansey's hair. "You're warm."

"Then don't let go. I don't want you to."

He was more than content to embrace and be embraced. The breeze was nice, and there was nowhere they had to be. No one would be looking for them.

"Tell me more about yourself?" he asked, still pressing his face against Laurent's chest. "I want to know more. Anything."

"I don't know what else to tell you. You already know about my favorite topics of study, of my fears and insecurities, of my temper, my home and my brother. My love of challenges and games." Laurent closed his eyes, absorbing the warmth and comfort of Gansey's embrace. "Do you know that I fence? A couple of times a week. Auguste is by far the best. I'm good, but nothing exceptional. I don't know, what else? I'm ticklish."

"I didn't know you fenced," Gansey said, voice light with wonder. "I'd love to see that one day." Thinking on it, it seemed to suit Laurent, with his slender yet strong build. Some of the boys at Charterhouse were beautiful yet built like a waif: slim, no muscle, soft. Gansey found Laurent far more attractive, sturdy enough to hold tightly, yet lean.

At the mention of being ticklish Gansey grinned, peeking up at Laurent from where he was so comfortably nestled, "Where are you ticklish?"

Laurent grinned back at him, shy but also full of trust. "Where am I not ticklish?" he responded.

Winding his hands into Gansey's hair, Laurent tilted his boyfriend's head so that they could kiss. He made a very soft sound as their lips met, satisfied and yearning at once. "Gansey," he murmured, once, against his lover's lips, and then he deepened the kiss, pressing closer against Gansey.

Laurent's hands in his hair felt absolutely heavenly. Eyelids fluttering with the sensation, he was pliant and putty between his boyfriend's palms, his own sliding up the curve of the other boy's back as their lips met.

Gansey made a soft sound of his own when Laurent deepened the kiss. Parting his lips, Gansey allowed Laurent to take the lead and have whatever way he wanted, grip tightening as their bodies pressed closer together. There was no denying the thrill that shot through his system; feeling incredibly warm under the collar and only cooled by the breeze from over the lake, he focused on Laurent's lips, trying very hard not to have a .... reaction.

When the kiss reached a natural break, Gansey smiled against Laurent's lips.

"I think," he hummed, "we should make this our spot."

Laurent kept the kiss mostly chaste, tongue only shyly brushing against Gansey's a few times as their lips moved together.

"I'd like that," Laurent said, brushing his nose against Gansey's cheek and watching his boyfriend's eyes before he was drawn into another kiss, then another.

He started feeling heated quickly enough, but he was too nervous and shy to want to pursue that feeling just yet. Untangling from Gansey, he got to his feet and held out a hand to help Gansey up. "Shall we head back?"

"Let's," Gansey said as he slipped his hand into Laurent's and stood, "before someone misses us too much." It was a long walk back and the days were growing short, autumn soon falling into crisp winter.

It was blissful. When they got back he dropped Laurent off at his dorm and stole one last kiss before they parted, high on what had to be the beginning of love. He insisted that Laurent keep his school sweater. His mood was so fantastic that even Noah commented on it when he saw his friend back in their shared floor, blue eyes brighter than usual as he regarded Gansey with a knowing smile. Noah always knew.

And things were blissful until two nights later when he was gripped with a nightmare. The same that had plagued him so frequently when he did manage a few hours of shuteye. A dark forest, tripping, the prickling feeling of his body slowly being covered by a thousand tiny little legs, fuzzy bodies, the unforgettable buzz ringing loud in his ears until—pain.

He woke up in a sweat. It was late. 2:38 a.m.

Gripping his phone, he stared at the background he set that day before shakily pressing the call button under Laurent's contact. Guilt plagued him at first—would Laurent really be okay with him calling so late?—but he wanted... needed to hear his voice.

Laurent's voice was groggy with sleep when he answered, barely registering Gansey's name on the screen but smiling all the same. Any mention of Gansey, any thought of Gansey made him smile.

He'd spent the past two days feeling watched. Every boy in the school seemed to have an eager interest in their new romance, though Laurent supposed that made sense. They were both high-profile, both in and out of the school. There was plenty of innocent interest and plenty of jealousy all around them.

Laurent was especially pleased because the timbre of the heckling he got had changed. Most of the call-outs he got were either mockingly asking if he was in love or more rudely asking if Gansey had fucked him yet. Either option was better than the crueler attention he'd gotten before.

"Gansey?" he asked, pulling the covers up over his head for warmth. "You okay?"

He had been right. Just hearing Laurent's voice filled his chest with relief, even if his heart was still beating wildly in his chest, and cold sweat still chilled him. Which was why his answer wasn't immediate—it was almost a struggle to speak, trying to back himself down from the terror of his nightmare.

Swallowing, he finally managed to speak, "Yeah. I'm okay." He didn't sound very okay from how weak his voice was, not smooth and velvety like when he was talking passionately. No, it was small, much more fragile than anything he'd ever offered before.

"I missed the sound of your voice."

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