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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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.

Auguste was surprised by the call--he had Gansey's number, and they texted occasionally, but usually they both preferred the company of their own ring of friends, of which Gansey and Auguste were respectively the leaders. But because he knew that Gansey and Laurent were dating, he answered immediately, knowing that the call would most likely have something to do with his fragile, short-tempered younger brother. "This is Auguste," he answered, tucking the phone against his ear and waving to indicate to his friends that he'd be back in the ball game in just a minute.

"Sorry to bother you with a call, old friend," Gansey said, trying to sound as upbeat as possible, even if so very much wanted to go sprawl in the middle of the street and feel like garbage, "but I have a bit of a problem. You see, I can't get a hold of your brother, and I'm a bit worried. Have you any idea where he might be?"

He leaned against the hood of the Pig, chilled by the cool air. In as much of a rush he was he hadn't grabbed a sweater or anything of the like. It had been beautiful earlier but clouds were beginning to roll in, threatening a storm.

"I think I may have done something to make him angry—though I honestly can't think of what. I'd like to ask, but I can't get in touch with him."

Auguste smirked a little, not yet ready to be worried. "Don't worry too much, if he is angry with you. He's got a short fuse, but he's quicker to forgive than he'd like to pretend, and he's very obviously taken with you. I'll call him and then call you back."

Hanging up, Auguste rang his brother. It went to voicemail after one ring, clearly indicating that Laurent had declined the call. Auguste frowned, but still wasn't worried. He'd been navigating Laurent's temper tantrums his entire life.

He sent a text, I need you to confirm that you're not hurt or kidnapped.

His phone pinged almost immediately--they had a strict bargain in place regarding texting. If he would at least respond something to emergency texts, Auguste wouldn't bother him when he didn't want to be bothered.

Ugh you sound like dad.

Your boyfriend's worried about you.

He's not my boyfriend.

Auguste's eyebrows went way up at that. So Gansey was right to worry. He rang his friend back. "He confirmed that he's not hurt or kidnapped, at least. He... says you two broke up."

"Thank you, Auguste."

While he waited for Auguste's return call, Gansey studied the sky, still trying to think on what he'd done wrong. When Auguste rang him back he answered on the first ring. At first he was relieved to hear that Laurent wasn't hurt or kidnapped; that had been his first intense worry. Maybe some scoundrel had stolen his phone and texted those cruel words. Maybe he was in danger.

The second half of Auguste's discovery fractured Gansey's heart. He could feel it breaking into several pieces, half of them stabbing into his throat, the others spilling all over the sidewalk. He was quiet, uncomprehending for a minute, before managing to choke out a few weak words.

"Oh. I see. Thank... you for filling me in on that. That's... good to know. Excellent. Okay." His eyes stung. "Got to go now, old friend." He hung out without waiting for a response.

Carefully slipping his phone into his pocket, he calmly walked out into the middle of the road that lead off of campus, and laid down in the middle, staring blankly up at the sky. There was no color in the world. Everything was bland. Joy was dead. He stayed like that until a familiar voice, soft and worried, interrupted his anguish.

Noah leaned over his body, worry etched onto his smudgy face, "You're going to get run over by a car if you stay like this."

"Then my suffering will end," Gansey sighed, resting the back of his hand across his forehead. "Nothing's left to live for."

Noah made a face. "Come on. Let's go back to the room." When Gansey ignored him, Noah sighed and crouched, reaching into his friend's pocket for his phone to call Adam. "Adam? Gansey's saying that there's nothing left to live for. He's laying in the middle of the street."

On the other end of the phone, Adam groaned. "What? What happened? Ugh, okay. Ronan and I are coming to pick him up."

Which was how Gansey ended back in his room, tossed on his bed, his friends staring down at him and shaking their heads. Noah pressed his lips together and looked at Ronan and Adam, "I'll be back later." And he was gone, just like that.

"We should draw on his face," Ronan suggested.

Adam rolled his eyes.

Laurent stayed in his room for hours. He read over the poem Gansey had translated for him, then balled it up and threw it at the wall. He stuffed Gansey's sweater in the back of the closet, planning to burn it once he felt less raw.

He'd allowed himself to believe, briefly, that he could be loved. It was all a lie.

Auguste texted him intermittently.

Are you okay? Can we talk?

Laurent ignored the texts. He didn't turn his phone off, because that would be in violation of his promise, and he always kept his promises.

Opening one of the bottles of brandy he kept hidden in his dresser, Laurent began drinking heavily.

Gansey spent the next few hours thrown in his bed in anguish. Ronan and Adam tried to coax him to eat but eventually gave up, with Ronan cursing and suggesting they go drag Laurent from his room. Adam didn't think that was such a great idea. Which lead to Ronan suggesting they drive his BMW through Laurent's window. Adam thought that was a worse idea.

Then, Gansey finally sat up. Ronan perked up, "Shit, for real? Are we really gonna drive the BMW through his window? Holy fuck, and I thought you were lame. Let's—"

"No," Gansey said, glancing out the window, "I'm not going to give up. I need to talk to him. I need to see him. Adam, give me your phone." Eyebrows raising, Adam passed Gansey his phone, and Gansey scrolled through his contacts for Laurent's number. He may have blocked Gansey's number, but he doubted Laurent blocked Adam, too.

It's Gansey. We need to talk. I'll be waiting for you at the fountain. I'll wait for as long as it takes. Please.

After hitting send he waited to see if the message was bounced back, and it wasn't. Tossing the phone back to Adam and making sure he had his own, "I'm going to wait for him by the fountain. I'm not going to give up on him. I love him." Adam's eyebrows shot into his hairline and Ronan made a face.

Just like that, Gansey was out the door and sprinting to the fountain. He didn't care that the clouds were darkening, becoming black overhead. It didn't matter that he forgot to grab an umbrella or a jacket. He only prayed that Laurent would come.

As promised, he sat on the ledge of the fountain and waited. Waited as the clouds covered the sky and it began to drizzle a cold, wet rain.

The rain suited Laurent's mood. He stayed under the covers, throwing his phone onto the floor after receiving Gansey's message. Whatever Gansey had to say by the fountain, he didn't want to hear it.

It didn't occur to him that Gansey would remain by the fountain, as the rain got worse. Curled up in bed in a miserable daze, an hour passed before there was a knock on his door. Auguste's knock, always distinctive.

"Laurent?" A sigh. The doorknob rattled. "Laurent, we need you to... Gansey's... he's been sitting out in this downpour for an hour. He refuses to come inside. Says he's waiting to talk to you." When there wasn't any response, Auguste hit the side of his fist once against the door. "Will you care if he's still out there in another hour?"

Another sigh, and then Auguste's footsteps receding. He went back downstairs to the lobby of Laurent's building, where Gansey's friends were waiting. At a loss, Auguste shrugged, and sat down to wait with them.

Laurent's brow furrowed. It didn't make sense. Even for method acting, this seemed extreme. Sitting out in the rain for over an hour? He'd get sick. Surely no prank was worth this.

He'll get sick, Laurent thought, heart aching at the thought. He wanted to go to Gansey, to protect him, to tell him to stop being an idiot. But that Gansey hadn't been real. This Gansey...

Why would anyone go to that length for a bet? Surely Gansey wasn't in need of the money.

The questions rattled around in his head, until Laurent found a new emotion: determined rage. He'd go to Gansey, and tell him to stop being stupid, and demand to know what kind of sick sadistic asshole he was to pull something like this bet.

Rolling to his feet, Laurent grabbed his coat.

He stormed out the front doors, past his brother and Gansey's friends, who gaped at him, and stomped out to the fountain and his drenched ex-boyfriend. "What the fuck are you doing?"

The rain also suited Gansey's mood.

When it began to poor he refused to budge. It chilled him to the bone within the first ten minutes. It was a cold, winter's rain, and he had nothing to cover him except his school uniform. Not even his sweater, since he'd given that to Laurent.

About half an hour into the downpour his friends had shown up to pick him up. He refused. They sighed and left, and Gansey sat in the rain, going from freezing to simply numb. It was probably bad that he couldn't feel his fingers, but he didn't care. It reflected how he felt on the inside, without Laurent.

By the time Laurent came, he was shivering, but didn't notice. Looking up from where he'd been staring blankly at his shoes, Gansey smiled, lips gone blue from sitting out in the rain for so long. "Y... y... you came." He sounded utterly relieved between barely being able to speak, heart warming at the sight of Laurent, even if he sounded pretty mad. But he came.

Trying to stand, he wobbled, dropping back down onto the edge instead. "I... I'm sorry. N... not sure, what I did. But... ca... can't we talk about it? I don't want to break ...up."

"Ugh," Laurent said, grabbing Gansey by the back of the neck and pulling him to his feet, propelling him steadily back to the dorms. He pushed Gansey into the elevator, pressing the button for the top floor and scowling the whole way. He didn't talk until they'd made it back to Gansey's room.

Slamming the kettle onto the stove, Laurent turned the heat on, annoyed. "Stop trying to make yourself sick."

Gansey shivered the whole way back, but the smile on his face wouldn't break. Laurent came. He was so relieved. Even if Laurent was still clearly pissed off. Once inside his room Gansey stripped off his shirt, lips still blue and body pale, but he was unwilling to part from Laurent long enough to take a shower and warm up.

"I'm not trying to make myself sick." He finished that with a sneeze, still shivering, watching Laurent with a sad expression.

"Why won't you talk to me? What did I do, Laurent? I can't figure it out." Why did you break my heart? Those were the words etched across his expression, what he really wanted to ask.

"Is there someone else?"

"You can't figure it out?" Laurent rounded on him, enraged. "You put a bet on me. So that you and your friends could bet on how long it would take you to seduce me. So you could make a fucking profit on breaking my heart. So drop the act. We're done. You're an incredible actor, and you fooled me. I bought it. I hope you're happy."

Rubbing at his face, Laurent turned away. "I'm leaving. Stop haranguing me."

Gansey had been expecting a lot of things. That he'd said something poorly, that Jack had texted him and it turned out they had a lot in common, that he'd never really liked Gansey at all and had just wanted to get out of the arrangement. He was not, however, prepared for the accusal that he put a bet on Laurent.

Startled, he stands there just shocked for a moment, but not long enough to let Laurent get away.

"What are you talking about?" Brow furrowed, he reached out to grab Laurent's shoulder so that he couldn't go, fingers still icy and numb. "I would never do something like that. Where did you get an idea like—?"

Cheeks burning with what was probably a fever, though he chalked it up to being upset, he continued, "You know me, Laurent. When would I—or Ronan, or Adam, or Noah—ever do something like that?"

"I thought I knew you," Laurent said, yanking away from him. "Don't touch me. You broke my heart!"

His voice cracked, hands shaking. "I thought I knew you. I thought I loved you. So, congrats. You did a great job. You got me. And if your stupid loudmouth friends hadn't been bragging, you might've won the bet."

The shattered pieces of Gansey's heard stabbed into his throat, his ribs, his belly, his feet. Everything hurt. Eyes glassy and expression set, he pressed his lips together, trying very hard to keep his composure. It was getting difficult. His head hurt, his throat throbbed, and his body was freezing. Nothing felt right. It would have been better to get run over by a car.

"You keep talking about a bet. What bet? I've never taken part in any bet." At a loss, Gansey followed, refusing to lose Laurent. There was something wrong, and it was unacceptable.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Laurent. I love you. I haven't—I don't know what great job I've supposed to have done!"

"Please stop," Laurent begged him, backed up against the door and refusing to look at him. "It hurts."

Tense and angry, Laurent quieted, folding his arms over his chest and reassessing. Gansey wasn't letting him leave. Gansey was still doggedly, cruelly, acting like Gansey.

"I overheard some of the boys talking in the cafeteria. I was coming around the corner. There are bets as to whether--or when--you'll fuck me. Now I get why half the school seemed so interested about the progress of our relationship. Word is that the amount of money bet under your name is... significant."

Laurent hugged his arms tighter over his chest, feeling vulnerable and broken, more alone than ever.

Gansey was eerily quiet as Laurent explained. His confusion and sadness quickly sparked into anger, which melded into a deep, burning rage as Laurent described what he had heard.

"Is that so?"

Furious. He was utterly furious. His tone had taken on a grit that it never had before; icy, dangerous, even and calm like the eye of a storm. His jaw was set and his eyes were narrowed.

"I see. Bets. On our relationship." What they had meant by the money under his name, Gansey had no idea, but it didn't matter. Suddenly puzzle pieces were coming together. Why he'd been locked in the library. Why he was constantly asked about how things between him and Laurent were going.

Quietly, Gansey pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolled through his contacts. Pressing down on the screen, he put the phone up against his ear, "Hello? Chairman? Yes, it's Richard Gansey, good to talk to you again. Yes, I'll be forwarding you a list of students for expulsion tomorrow. Yes, yes, not living up to the Charterhouse name. We wouldn't want people like that graduating. Yes, mother's doing well, thanks for asking. Anyway, until tomorrow. Thank you."

Laurent's eyes flicked up at the new tone in Gansey's relationship. Nervous and cold, he watched as Gansey made his call, brows rising at the severity of that. He wondered how many boys were going to land on that particular list.

Part of his brain, hurt and panicky, was still trying to protect him by insisting that this was all a ruse. But the level of psychotic mastermind it would take to expel a group of students to cover his tracks was... implausible. Especially when the alternative was that Gansey simply hadn't known.

Someone might have made the bet in Gansey's name. As an additional, tasteless joke.

Laurent wilted, defenses crumbling into sheer lonely misery. He reached for Gansey, pulling him close and clinging to him.

When Laurent reached for him, clung to him, Gansey's arms fell. At first he stood, still chilled and miserable, body and soul aching from the agony the day had dragged him through. Somehow he found the energy to lift his hands and wrap his arms around Laurent's waist. Head bowing, he rested it against Laurent's shoulder and closed his eyes.

He was burning up. Between laying in the street and then sitting in the rain, he had gotten sick. As he stood there hanging onto Laurent, his body felt weak. His head hurt. It was difficult to tell if it was from the anger that still burned up his chest or if it was from something else.

It hurt to think that Laurent would believe he would do something like that. It hurt to think about how he'd been dumped. It hurt to think that his classmates would be so cruel, so tasteless. It hurt to think, period.

Sagging against Laurent, he willed himself not to think at all.

Gansey was too warm, too weak, wrong entirely, and it took a few minutes for Laurent to recover from his own pain enough to notice it. Gansey leaned against him too heavily, like he was exhausted.

The kettle whistled loudly, jolting Laurent out of his reverie. It was loud enough that he wondered how long it had been whistling without him hearing it.

Letting go of Gansey, Laurent went and removed it from the heat, setting it aside and digging in the cupboard for two mugs and tea. He poured water in the cups, glancing over at Gansey. He seemed sluggish. Wrong.

Leaving the tea to steep, Laurent went back to him, taking Gansey's hand and pulling him over to the bed. "You're soaked through. We've gotta get you changed into pyjamas."

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