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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"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."

"Me too," Laurent said, since he always missed Gansey, even when they were only apart for a minute. Whole classes apart felt like agony. "I was dreaming of you," he said, though he hadn't been. Dreaming of Gansey seemed like a much nicer dream than the confused twisting passages and the giant frog in the dream he'd really been having. "Dreaming of kissing you. Telling you how wonderful you are."

Grinning sleepily, Laurent rolled onto his back. "Wishing you were here to keep me warm. Want to come join me?"

Dropping back onto his pillow, Gansey closed his eyes as Laurent spoke. Imagined those soft, generous lips and his lovely golden hair, smooth arms, sharp eyes. It was a much better image than the one that had woken him.

"I do," he smiled weakly, still feeling shaken, "but... I think I may be a bit under the weather. I don't want to bother you with that." His heart had only just begun to slow in his chest, trying to regain a normal pattern. Even though it had just been a dream the phantom pains lingered; his body hurt. It was the sort of state that could drive him into a panic attack. Would have, if he hadn't called Laurent. It was easier to ground himself with his voice in his ear.

"It sounds like you were having a nice dream. I'm sorry for waking you out of it."

"You aren't a bother," Laurent said, warm with affection. He hated the weakness in Gansey's voice. It was so unlike his confident, calm boyfriend, and Laurent wanted to chase all of Gansey's fears away. "Shall I come to you? It isn't as though it's all that far. And then you would be there to warm me up. And kiss me. It has been several hours since you last kissed me. I'm going through withdrawal."

Yawning, Laurent rubbed at his own face, smiling at the thought of climbing into Gansey's bed to steal kisses.

Gansey clutched the phone tight, smile growing broader. "You're right. It has been several hours since I last kissed you." The beating of his heart refused to return to normal, though now it was for a different reason. While he still felt guilty for waking Laurent, he wanted the comfort of his boyfriend's arms. To kiss him, press his face against his chest and fall asleep, safe and comforted.

"I... don't want to put you out," he said, slowly, struggling with what he wanted and making Laurent cross campus for him. It didn't seem right to make him do that. Not just because Gansey needed him.

"But I would very much like to kiss you."

"I'll see you soon," Laurent promised, and hung up. He pulled on Gansey's sweater, and some shoes, quickly tossing a change of clothes in his backpack. He liked it better when he was able to lure Gansey to his room, for the privacy, but he couldn't deny that Gansey's room was considerably more homey, and Laurent was starting to really enjoy the company of his friends. Especially, to everyone's surprise, Ronan. Their sharp edges were very different--Laurent was ice, cut glass, and crystal, while Ronan was blades and fangs, but Laurent recognized Ronan's ferocity and respected it, and liked to think that the respect was mutual. He rather liked the challenge of seeing which of them had a sharper tongue, and was always happy to start a verbal sparring match.

Slipping quietly to the top floor of Gansey's dorm, he let himself in. Dropping his bag by the side of the bed, Laurent kicked off his shoes, burrowing into his boyfriend's arms for warmth. "Hey, handsome."

As soon as Laurent hung up, Gansey missed him. But he was on the way over—what he wanted had won out over what he should have done. He should have assured Laurent he was fine. That he didn't have to come so far, for no reason. Even when Gansey still felt sick from his dream and tired, so tired, from never getting restful sleep.

He's dozing by the time Laurent arrives. They leave the door unlocked (really, who is gonna bother them? If anyone tried, Ronan would punch them in the face) so he's not surprised when Laurent's voice pulls him out of his odd, unrestful doze.

"Laurent," he sighed, relief seeping through his body like a drug. Arms tight around his boyfriend, Gansey buried his face in his hair. Just the warmth of him was helpful in pushing away those painful memories that so desperately wanted to linger.

"I'm sorry to make you come all this way." Nuzzling, he sighed again, "... But I'm grateful. Thank you."

Grateful for the warmth of Gansey's chest, Laurent nestled close, kissing at Gansey's throat and shoulders. "I think we should just admit that we're besotted with each other and share a bed every night," he said, voice teasing but entirely serious about the offer. "Then I wouldn't be always waking up cold in the middle of the night, and I'd always be nearby if you needed me. I miss you too much, when we're apart. And I don't care if Ronan teases us about being saccharine."

Gansey smiled, hugging against his boyfriend even tighter.

"I think he'd probably mock-retch from it. I'm surprised you two get along so well," he said, softly. "I'm glad you do. Even if I'll have no rest from you two sassing one another." Ronan was broken glass and rough edges. He didn't get along with most people well—but, he supposed, neither had Laurent.

And gentler still, Gansey added, "I miss you too. I don't like being parted." It was a tempting offer. Superbly tempting. Only, he wasn't sure he wanted to bother Laurent with his insomnia and nightmares. It was a heavy load; guilt from their existence kept him from outright agreeing.

"I think I agreed to kiss you, over the phone, hm?" Pulling back a little, he pressed a kiss against Laurent's forehead.

Laurent laughed. "That's the kiss I get, for coming all the way over here? Maybe I'll just head back to my room." He grinned, and kissed Gansey properly, then again, lingering in each kiss until he tucked his head down and drifted off to sleep in Gansey's arms.

Blissfully happy with his new relationship, Laurent stayed for breakfast, kissing Gansey to a chorus of groans from Ronan, and then rushed off to an early class, promising to meet Gansey in the cafeteria for lunch. He went through his day, as most of his days now, in a rose-tinted haze, thinking constantly about the next time he'd see his boyfriend.

"Do you think he's got the ice prince to spread his legs yet?"

Laurent froze mid-step, eyes widening and cheeks flushing. He'd just been about to walk into the cafeteria, around a wall that just hid the speakers from his view. Surprise hardened quickly into anger, assuming that the question--though slightly odd--was just another aspect of the normal vulgar heckling that Laurent inspired.

"I hope not," a second voice responded. "I put my money on November 3rd."

They were betting on him. Not just that, but they were betting on when Gansey would sleep with him.

"That soon? Ice prince isn't going to give it up that easy. How are we going to know, anyway?"

"Whenever the ice prince comes in walking funny."

General laughter followed that. Laurent clenched his fists, about to step forward and unleash his temper on the group.

"Gansey's the one who's going to win big, though."

That froze him again, heart suddenly choking him. What?

"Have you seen the amount of money bet in Gansey's name?" The speaker whistled.

Cold rage flooded through Laurent, and he almost stumbled with the horror of it. Gansey had bet on being able to seduce him.

Whirling around the corner, Laurent immediately spotted the group who had been talking. They looked startled with guilt, and Laurent grabbed the edge of their table, using all of his fencing strength to upend the table, spilling soda and soups onto the guilty parties. Then he turned and stormed out.

It had all been a lie. Gansey must be an impeccable actor. No wonder he'd been so perfect. All he had to do was pretend to adore Laurent. He'd taken every cue, even the anxiety, after Laurent had practically begged him to have anxiety.

He felt sick.

Locking himself in his room, Laurent curled up under the covers, willing his ice heart to harden into stone. The first time Gansey texted him, Laurent responded with just "Fuck off" and then blocked Gansey's number.

Gansey, for his part, remained completely unawares and in bliss. Having breakfast with Laurent had been wonderful and left him in excellent spirits. It even made sitting in class on a beautiful day tolerable. Lunch couldn't come soon enough, but before he could leave for the cafeteria, one of the teachers asked for his help moving some texts. It was one of the teachers he'd been sweetening up so that he and Laurent could use her private library to translate and work on texts, so he agreed with good humor, helping her tote boxes of books and student papers to her office. He didn't think Laurent would mind that he was running late.

But when he arrived at the cafeteria, he didn't see his boyfriend. Perhaps Laurent had gotten caught up as well? So he settled down at a private table in the corner of the cafeteria and read the news in the newspaper, nursing a cup of tea as he waited. There was no text, no call, nothing. After about an hour he grew concerned, worried that something might have happened.

Gansey texted first. Is everything all right? I miss you.

The response he got made his heart drop into his shoes. Blinking at the screen, at the words Fuck off, he simply didn't know what to make of it. Did he accidentally text Ronan? No. The contact clearly said Laurent. It even had the heart next to his name, as Gansey had set it. He tried texting back but his phone informed him that this number was no longer in service. What? It made no sense.

So he tried calling. He got the same message, this time as a verbal assurance.

Gansey's chest hurt. Had he done something wrong? Was Laurent mad that he was late, and hadn't let him know first? It seemed like an extreme reaction. Maybe he'd said something last night that Laurent decided that he hadn't liked? Maybe he was tired of Gansey's anxieties and worries? Maybe he'd found someone more worthwhile? Maybe—...!

He had to stop himself before he began to feel nauseous. Don't make assumptions. He didn't know. It was something he'd have to find out—and then apologize for. Gripping his phone, he stood, grabbing his bag and heading outdoors toward where he thought Laurent might be. His first guess was the library but that wasn't right. His room, then? Which was how he ended up knocking on Laurent's door, heart gone still with worry and dread.

"Laurent? Are you in there?"

It wasn't any surprise that Gansey showed up soon after the text. Laurent was expecting it, which helped him to be emotionally braced for it. He pulled the covers up over his head, trying to ignore the eager little skip in his heart, the masochistic idiocy that made him want to pretend that it didn't matter, pretend he didn't know, to be able to savor their false relationship for a few more weeks until Gansey dumped him.

He wanted to sob, but didn't. He felt empty, as if there were no tears in his body. He'd only ever been a heart of ice within a beautiful shell.

Gansey.

"Laurent," he pleaded, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the door. Where was he? Worry was making him sick. His heart hurt. What was he supposed to do?

He stood there for a long while, aching, hoping that Laurent might come by. Return to his room. Anything. Gansey missed him. Whatever he did, he'd apologize. Make amends. Whatever Laurent wanted. But for the life of him he couldn't puzzle out what he'd done wrong.

Nodding his chin up, he pressed a tender kiss against the door before he stepped back. It didn't look like Laurent was coming back anytime soon.

Once he reached outside he reached for his phone and called the first person he thought might know where Laurent might be: Auguste.

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