Chapter Text
“I know I’m unloveable, you don’t have to tell me. I don’t have much in my life, but take it, it’s yours.”
Mud squishes under Edwin Paine’s feet as he crosses the grassy knoll. The air is sticky with the end of August heat; it plasters his hair to his forehead. He pauses, adjusting his grip on his suitcase with one hand and tugging his collar looser with the other. His joy at returning to Saint Hilarion’s School is off-set only by his utter intolerance for the humidity. Thus was the cost of boarding in the south.
Edwin pushes onwards, until St Hilarion’s is looming in the distance. It is a dark shadow in the otherwise unmarred horizon. The gothic exterior adequately captures the general environment: intense, merciless, vaguely threatening. Utterly intimidating, home to only the best. Edwin supposes he is part of “the best,” though that hardly feels real. In reality, he feels more orphan than protogé, and more tired than excellent.
When he reaches the main driveway, the path turns cobbled. Muck from Edwin’s shoes scrapes against the ground, and he supposes some poor maintenance worker will have to wash it clean – if the inevitable rain does not reach it first.
Around him, families bustle in and out of sleek cars. Parents kiss their sons goodbye, or help them carry their luggage, or leave without a fuss. All the boys are in pristine uniforms; no sweat rings on their collars or grass stains on their socks. There are perks to having parents with cars.
Edwin avoids the families at all costs. There is no pleasure in witnessing tearful goodbyes, or worse yet, tearless ones. Moreover, he desires to stay as invisible as possible this semester; catching the eye of a bully before he has even reentered the building is hardly an effective way of doing so.
So, when he spies Thomas talking with his mother, Edwin ducks into the entry building. Its main purpose served to impress the new families; a grandiose display of wealth, so you can be certain your child is receiving only the best possible education – after all, with staircases that shiny, there can hardly be any flaws at all! Beyond the waste of wealth, it does serve as a good hiding place from tormentors. Specifically Thomas.
Edwin continues through the entry hall and towards the Alder dorm building. He has roomed there for the entirety of his duration at St Hilarion’s. This year, he had been alerted that his scholarship would no longer cover a single room, and he would be moved to a double. Though it had been disconcerting to discover this a week before term began, Edwin could hardly complain. Attending on a scholarship rather than inherited wealth had its pitfalls; sharing a room is hardly a death sentence. He just hopes his roommate will allow him his solitude, and that he is not terribly rude.
Crossing the greenfield and doubling back around to the arts buildings allowed Edwin to avoid the majority of the foot traffic. Though the path is far less scenic, it provided protection, and easy access to the library. As appealing as stopping by it is, he knows he can hardly go in with his suitcase. He consoles himself with the promise of reading later that night. His steps have an added spring to them at that thought – he wonders if Madame Maxine had purchased any new mystery novels over the summer holiday. He will have to ask.
The Alder dorms is a tall building which looks more like a prison than Edwin would care to admit. The red bricks are pristine and newly painted, though by the end of the year, Edwin knows they will be chipped and faded, and more often than not bare some form of graffiti. But, they are the only dorm building with a working elevator, and they have centralized heating, which is more than the Greenwich dorms can say.
He enters the elevator and hits number five. He is the only one there, which is unusual, but he supposes he did show up rather early. Most students arrived in the evening.
The elevator, per usual, shakes and creaks alarmingly. It is almost a comforting sound, by now, and his legs certainly do not mind the break. Even having bussed down, the stop had been two miles back, and between the heat and his uniform, Edwin was thoroughly exhausted.
With a “ding,” Edwin is released from the elevator. He looks down the right side of the hallway, eyes scouring for room five fourteen. He finds it with the door already cracked open. Tentatively, Edwin pushes the door all the way in.
On the left bed, a boy is lounging. He has brown skin and curly dark hair. Over his uniform, he is wearing a thick navy jacket with a variety of pins adorning it. He is presumably Edwin’s new roommate.
Edwin coughs lightly. The boy’s head jerks up. He smiles brightly and stands. “Hi,” he says, “Name’s Charles Rowland.”
“I am Edwin Paine.” Edwin steps forward and reaches out his hand, like he had been taught to. Charles stares at it for a long moment, before shaking it. His grip is firm and uncalloused. “Pleased to meet your acquaintance,” Edwin adds, before stepping back. He puts his hands safely behind his back again, before remembering he has luggage. He moves it to the foot of the unoccupied bed.
Edwin examines the room, ignoring Charles’ presence. There are two beds, two desks, and a wardrobe. Simple, tasteful, practical. Charles has already hung pictures and a poster of a footballer up with tack. Edwin has seen other boys do this, too, though he hasn’t any photographs to hang.
“This is my first year,” Charles says. Edwin blinks. He is uncertain of the appropriate reply, so he simply turns to his suitcase and begins unpacking. He takes out his uniform shirts (all five of them) and begins putting them on hangers. “Any tips or advice?” Charles asks.
Ah, so he is nervous. That is very understandable. Edwin pulls out of the wardrobe and puts his hands back behind his back. He tilts his head to make eye contact with Charles, and says: “If you leave your clothes outside your shower cubicle, someone will steal them. You have to bring them inside with you.” He hangs his trousers then.
Charles blinks. “That’s bullying, isn’t it?”
“So?”
“Just hit them, and they’ll piss off.”
Edwin stares at Charles. Surely he is joking. “Do I look like I am capable of doing that?” He shoves his socks and pants into the right side drawer.
Charles frowns. He looks Edwin up and down with such intensity that Edwin feels uncomfortable. “You could always try.”
“I,” Edwin declares, “Do not have a death wish.” He closes his suitcase, pushes it under the bed, and smooths down his shirt. “I am going to the library,” he says, because it is conventional to announce your exit.
“Aces, mind if I come with?”
Edwin stares. Charles is acting exceedingly peculiar for a teenage boy. It is unfathomable that he would legitimately want to visit the library with Edwin, yet Charles cannot identify how Charles would harm or degrade Edwin by going with him.
“You should finish unpacking,” Edwin says. Even if his motive is unidentifiable, Edwin is not daft. He knows how it goes. He takes Charles to his safe space, and Charles finds a way to destroy it. And Edwin is left, once again, with less than nothing.
Charles takes a half step back. “Oh,” he says, and, “Yeah, all right. I ought to do that, yeah.”
It is only after Edwin leaves that he realizes Charles was already unpacked.
Madame Maxine is not in the library, which is peculiar. Edwin supposes that, since term does not formally begin for two more days, she hasn’t a reason to be present. However, the offset of her absence is that, if Edwin desires to read, he will be forced to reread his collection of Sherlock Holmes stories – which, while incredible, did lose a dash of their intrigue after the seventy-first reread.
Uncertain of what else to do, Edwin takes to wandering the upper floors. Though he had thoroughly explored the campus grounds in his first year, he finds new objects of intrigue every time he wanders: initials carved on the stone, abandoned blunts on the counter, alcove-hiding tapestries on the walls. Despite the items being fairly commonplace, Edwin likes to craft a mystery around them – something he knows he should not be doing, certainly not as a seventeen year old boy. But, having to restrain imaginings over the previous two months had been difficult enough; now that there is no one to bear witness, it proves impossible to resist. And really, as long as no one else ever knows, what is the harm?
So, Edwin hoists himself up on a windowsill, letting his legs dangle. He stares at a crack in the left corner, and imagines the possible causes.
A stray baseball from the pitch. A set of too-enthusiastic lovers. A skewed punch. A mistake with the application of the glass.
He decides a skewed punch is the most compelling story idea – at least, it is the only story he is willing to think of; baseball is horribly American, sex is hardly appealing, and there is nothing on this earth more dull than the application of glass.
Edwin does not think so much as he bears witness to the story.
A boy is sitting on a windowsill, much like Edwin does now. Another boy walks over and joins him. They sit in comfortable silence. Abruptly, the second boy asks the first what it is like to be kissed. The first brushes the question off. The second asks again, and the first responds with a shrug. A group of mean boys overhears this interaction, and begins tormenting the second boy for it. The first boy intervenes. He is pushed against the window, and his elbow slams against the glass. A crack begins to form, the noise loud and–
“Edwin Paine,” a low voice drawls. Edwin jerks out of his imagings and stares wide eyed at Thomas.
“Thomas,” Edwin acknowledges, sliding off the windowsill and edging around him. Perhaps he can get by without conflict?
Thomas reaches out and grips his wrist, and Edwin freezes.
“Where are you going?”
Edwin makes one critical mistake here. Because, in all honesty, he does not have a destination, and there is not an entirely plausible one regardless. So, he simply states the truth: “I am wandering.”
“Mind if I join you?” Thomas asks in a way which leaves no room for arguing. He reaches out and clasps a hand on Edwin’s shoulder, grinning down at him. It makes Edwin's stomach crawl. They begin walking, Edwin consistently trying to out-pace Thomas and Thomas constantly pulling him back and mind. It is a game of cat and mouse, neither of them willing to speak up, neither of them willing to stop. When they reach a populated passage, Thomas’ grip falls from his shoulder, though not before it trails down his back and lingers at his hip. Edwin makes no notice of it, nor the way Thomas’ fingertips continue to brush against his as they walk.
After they have exited the Atkinson building, Edwin mumbles an excuse about returning to his dorm.
“I’ll see you around, Edwin,” Thomas whispers, leaning uncomfortably close to Edwin’s ear. Edwin’s whole body is stiff. He cannot bring himself to move away, though he desperately wants to.
After a moment, Thomas pulls himself away, and begins walking towards the Burton dorm house. Once he’s a while down the path, Thomas looks over his shoulder. He smirks when he catches Edwin’s eyes lingering, and Edwin forces himself to look away, cheeks flushing.
He blames the heat.
When he reaches his boarding room again, Charles is not there. Edwin wonders absentmindedly if Charles is lost.
Noting the early hour, barely past two o’clock, Edwin relents himself to finishing reading his first history textbook of the semester, Medieval Britain. As the title suggested, it covers the Medieval period; while it is not Edwin’s preferred period of history, he is not directly opposed to it. And, really, anything is better than the mounting boredom of having an entire day to himself.
Really, he should be better at keeping himself occupied – but the facilities do not properly open until the first day of term, he had no chores to be done, and he had already finished the required English reading for the year and then some. Until homework began –and it began heavily–, the next two days would leave much to ask for. While Edwin understands the idea that the first two days are meant for meeting your peers, Edwin is well familiar with his peers, and they are generally loads of shit. Occasionally, there are some people who are lesser degrees of shit, shit is still shit, and ought to be avoided.
Edwin is reading the last chapter of the textbook, which discusses the Treaty of Edinburg, when Charles returns.
“How was the library?” Charles asks.
“Closed,” Edwin replies. There is a beat of silence, so Edwin adds: “Madame Maxine, the librarian, sometimes opens early. I suppose she has yet to arrive.”
Charles nods, and sits on his bed. He pushes off his loafers, undoubtedly scuffing them. “Any plans for the rest of the day?”
Edwin frowns. “Not particularly.”
“Do you want plans?”
Edwin closes his book and looks up at Charles. “I do not understand what it is you are doing.”
Charles stares at Edwin as if he is daft. He is not daft. “I’m befriending you.”
“Why?”
“‘Coz. We’re roommates. Thought it was pretty self-explanatory, that we ought to get along.”
Edwin bites back a speech about roommates being arbitrary and meaningless – because, frankly, the only thing that would prove is that Edwin is a dick. Instead, he pushes down the mess of feelings welling in his gut, and says very pointedly: “I am not interested in having any friends.” He clears his throat and adds, “It is not personal. I just operate better alone.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“That is my life.”
Charles stares at Edwin like he is seeing into his soul. It makes Edwin distinctly uncomfortable. “Right, well, when” he says, “you change your mind, you know where to find me, yeah?”
Edwin opens his book again, and Charles pulls out a walkman. Edwin glances over to see what cassette he is listening to, but it is obscured by his hand. There is a decent chance the walkman case covers it to begin with.
Pointedly not sighing, because he pointedly does not have any feelings about the situation, Edwin returns to reading his book.
At some point, Charles slides on his shoes and leaves. Edwin does not take note of it. When it is time for dinner, Edwin goes to the dining hall. Charles is there already, sitting with Brad, Hunter and David. Edwin bites back a scoff of surprise – of course, the supposedly “friendly” roommate would fall in with those types. It is just Edwin’s luck.
Edwin eats dinner silently and alone, just as he should. He returns to his room, writes in the journal he keeps hidden at the bottom of his suitcase, then prepares for bed. By the time Edwin is just drifting off to sleep, Charles enters the room. He tries to do it quietly – really, he does, closing the handle softly and taking extra care when removing the key, but with the lights out, he ends up running into both the bed and the wardrobe.
“You can jus’ turn on a light,” Edwin mumbles.
Charles jumps, “Didn’t know you were awake.”
“‘M not.” He pushes himself up and wipes the sleep from his eyes. “Rather, I was not.” He clears his throat, it is terribly gravelly and low. Charles is staring at him. “I prefer light to noise,” Edwin says, “So if you come home after I am asleep again, though I doubt during the school year you will, please just turn on a light instead of sounding like a blind man.”
Charles blinks. “Do you party during the school year or something?”
Edwin laughs, loud and bright. “Hardly.” He stretches his back, satisfied at the popping noises it makes. “I stay studying in the library until it closes. Madame Maxine typically lets me stay there even longer. Sometimes two or three hours.” He shrugs. “I stay until she forcibly removes me.”
“Why?”
“I am here to learn; maintaining a rigorous academic schedule is the optimal way to accomplish that.”
“Seems rather dreary.”
Edwin stares at Charles. “You do not know me, Charles Rowland, and despite what you may believe about me, I am living a perfectly comfortable life. So I would appreciate if you would keep your opinions to yourself, and let me sleep.”
Charles ducks his head. “Yeah, ‘course. Sorry.”
Edwin turns on his side, so his back is to Charles. He stares at the white walls. Charles moves behind him, and Edwin can hear the sound of him changing clothes. Edwin tunes it out and imagines mysteries and magic until he falls asleep.
Yes, this is certain to be an interesting year.