Work Text:
Time seems to crawl whenever I set foot in one of these classrooms, yet the moment I get a bit of free time, it slips away like sand through my fingers. My dad spoke highly of this school, he’s a good liar, and even though my friends have tried to convince me that here is where i belong, I knew deep down wouldn't be able to fully get comfortable in this place.
Thoughts clouded my mind. I lay stiff on the bed, staring blankly into the dim room. A faint sliver of light made its way through and cast a dull glow on the wall in front of me. It was supposed to be a study afternoon, but I couldn’t get myself to move. Then, a faint noise by the door pulled me out of the haze. I heard my name being called but i wasn't surprised, as I recognized the voice. It was one of my classmates. He said we were meeting downstairs to head to dinner together. I muttered a half-hearted “mhmm,” just enough to sound like I cared. A few minutes later, I forced myself up, the same way I do every morning. I didn’t bother checking how I looked. I opened the door and headed to the hallway where the others were waiting. I greeted them half-heartedly. Even though I only considered two of them real friends, I couldn’t help but wonder why the others even bothered to include me when they’d just end up ignoring me, talking about things I didn’t relate to at all.
The night was unbearable. The temperature dropped sharply, November was near and I wasn’t ready for it, mentally or physically. I struggled to sleep, and when I finally did, I had a nightmare. I woke up drenched in sweat, which clashed harshly with the cold air in my room. I felt dizzy, as if something bad was looming. I couldn’t shake the unease. I lay there for minutes, oddly comforted by the rare silence, wondering what was waiting for me. Like every morning, I had to shut out everything going on in my head just to become the “Alex” everyone knew, the academically sharp and seemingly normal 17-year-old who works hard for a better future. I had no motivation left, but I knew I had to keep up the act. Maybe the worst part was knowing that even the people closest to me only saw the version of me that I let them see. And since that version didn’t seem to have any flaws, no one ever questioned whether I was okay or not. The bell rang, it was time for breakfast but I skipped it. The first class was math, followed by two or three more mind-numbing lessons. Time moved slower than ever. I felt like I was suffocating. The teacher’s words didn’t even register, but somehow, I made it to the end. At lunch, I sat with Josh and Raj, the only two I truly considered friends. We chatted about random things until Josh turned to me and asked,
“Have you met the new guy?” I raised an eyebrow, confused, until he pointed toward a table where a boy sat alone. I didn’t even bother looking. I just said I had no idea who he was. But what Josh said next caught me completely off guard.
“While I was switching classes, I saw someone moving a bed into your room.” I froze. I had made it very clear to my dad that I wanted my own space, and he had agreed. I spent a few minutes wondering what had changed his mind. I made up an excuse and went straight to my room, Josh was right. I was furious. Not just because I now had to share my space, but because of the absolute mess he’d made. Books were scattered across the desk, strange objects and notebooks were everywhere, and near the bed there was a large, untidy trunk. I moved closer to inspect it, but before I could see what was inside, I heard soft footsteps. I was still crouched down when I realized someone else was in the room. I saw him clearly for the first time. In just a few seconds, I studied every detail of his face, and his eyes, those were the same eyes that had haunted my dreams. Without a word, I stood up and walked out, shooting him a sharp, angry glare that made it clear I wasn’t okay with any of this.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in Josh and Raj’s room, finishing homework, joking around, maybe even too much it got late, and I had to go back. The moment I opened the door, I was hit by a horrible smell. I’d never smelled a dead body before, but I was pretty sure that was what I was smelling now. A light fog hovered around the desk. I rushed inside, I still now wish I didn't. It was like hell had taken form in front of me. There were vials of blood, dead and stuffed animals, some laying into the now-open trunk, and the worst part: a dead animal splayed open on the desk, surrounded by blood-covered tools. I flung the window open, barely thinking. If this was hell, I had turned into a fucking devil. Rage boiled inside me, spreading from my head to my toes like oxygen. I locked the door behind me, making sure no one else could see the horror he had created.I didn’t know his name, but I remembered that face. I stormed out, searching in the whole school until I found him, sitting alone in a dark corner of the courtyard, holding a knife.I broke into a run. My body moved on instinct. I slammed him into the wall, grabbed him by the throat, and knocked the knife from his hand.
“What the hell did you do?!” I demanded, my voice trembling with anger. He just looked at me, refusing to speak. I continued.
“Listen. As long as you’re in my room, you follow my rules. If I see another dead animal, I swear you’ll be the one dead.” I didn’t want to yell, but I couldn’t help it. His reply was cold, drained, almost annoyed,and I could feel the strain in his voice from the grip I still had around his neck.
“You should also accept the fact that you’re sharing that room with me now.” I hated every word that left his mouth. It made me even angrier.
“And try to keep the room clean.” I let go and walked back to the room, slower this time, wondering what the hell he was up to.
Days passed, and his presence only got more unsettling. He made me feel watched — even when I was alone. Sometimes, I could almost understand what he was thinking just by looking into his eyes. It was strange, like I could become him for a moment and see the world as he did, feel his twisted thoughts like they were mine. Whatever was happening to me, I was sure it was his fault
Two months after he arrived, I felt completely lost. He was everywhere. That afternoon, we were called to the auditorium. I still felt bitter toward my father for forcing me to share a room with that guy and I wasn’t sure I was ready to see him again. But I pulled on my uniform and headed out, finding a crowd of students trying to push their way inside.It wasn’t like my father to call for a student assembly in the afternoon, which made me a little nervous. I didn’t even get a chance to say hi to my friends, I just took the first available seat I could find. About ten minutes later, the room had filled up and everyone was seated. A few whispers buzzed around the hall, but finally, we were told the real reason we’d been called there. They announced a planned school trip to Scotland. We’d be visiting the city and a few landmarks, I didn’t really catch the details. What I did hear clearly, though, was that since the entire school was going to partecipate, room assignments would follow our current roommate setups to avoid any confusion. I wasn’t happy about it at all. There was no way I could come up with an excuse to get out of it, being the headmaster’s son meant I had to go. I didn’t have a choice. They gave us a quick rundown of what to pack, then smiled and dismissed us. The second the announcement was over, the room erupted. Students of all ages started cheering, laughing, yelling, it was chaotic. I didn’t get what there was to be so excited about. To me, the whole thing felt like just another reason to feel worse. There was no joy in it, not even a sliver of relief, only dread.I rubbed my eyes, still groggy from another restless night. My thoughts were already tangled with too much, and now I had to mentally prepare myself to travel to a different city, and worse, to be surrounded by the entire school. For a moment, I even found myself thinking that maybe math classes weren’t so bad after all. When I got back to the room, I found Nigel sitting at the desk, reading a book. Strangely enough, the room was spotless. The only light came from the desk lamp on his side, and I decided to take advantage of the calm to get some sleep, even though the idea of falling asleep while he was still awake made me uneasy. My eyelids grew heavier, and little by little, the tension in my body faded. But what replaced it was more disturbing: thoughts that weren’t mine. Words forming in my head that didn’t feel like they belonged to me. It was as if I were being guided into a dream that didn’t originate from me, a dream that wasn’t mine.
When I woke up, the room was empty. Only later did I realize it was three in the morning. I had somehow slept for about eight hours. The silence was thick, and the only sound I could hear was my own breathing. It took me a while to realize that Nigel’s absence should’ve worried me. Still, I didn’t rush. I slowly put on my shoes, my anxiety creeping back as I quietly climbed out the window to avoid waking anyone. The cold hit me immediately, biting at my skin. It was pitch dark. I didn’t expect to find him in the same place, he was always somewhere new, planning things I could never fully piece together. I knew something was happening, but my thoughts were always too scattered to form a clear picture of whatever that something was. I tried to use the solitude to clear my head. But peace doesn’t last long around Nigel. Out of nowhere, from the shadows, he appeared, i felt like he did it on purpose to make the whole thing look more mysterious. He called my name and said, “I’ve been waiting for you.” Those words sent a chill down my spine , it felt like he had known I’d wake up at time, like he’d been expecting me to come looking for him. I was exhausted, my thoughts foggy, and my patience thin.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? What are you doing out here?” He laughed, and the sound made my jaw clench with anger.
“Since when do you care?” I didn’t answer. I just stared at his face, his cold blue eyes filled with something dark and unreadable, like he carried something I couldn’t touch but could feel crawling under my skin.
“Just as I thought,” he said, his grin widening into something more sinister. A soft, mocking laugh followed. He was trying to get under my skin. And it was working. He drew closer, I felt it before I heard it, the shift in the air behind me, the tension sharpening like a blade against my spine. I stood still, gripped by fear, but somehow words spilled out of me, fast, breathless, untamed.
“Just back off. Go back inside. Or if you’re staying, keep your mouth shut.” His silence was more unnerving than any response. Then, with a deliberate slowness, his hand landed on my shoulder,cold, unnatural, even colder than the wind that gnawed at my skin. I turned, almost against my will. His face was there, too close, his lips moving, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes followed the shape of his mouth, and in that moment, I was lost. He disturbed me deeply, but I couldn’t lie: within his gaze, I saw fragments of myself, in his silence, I heard my own thoughts echoing back at me, his presence wasn’t just unsettling; it was intimate, too intimate. That brief contact, the chill of his fingers took root in my mind like a cursed memory. A secret I wouldn’t even admit to myself. And the worst part? I knew he understood. He knew exactly what he was doing. For a while, we said nothing, just stood there, still, as if the world had been reduced to us only, shrouded in black, cloaked in quiet, the night made us its only story. I broke the spell with my footsteps, turning away, walking back to the room that no longer felt like mine. He dared whisper “Goodnight.” I didn’t answer, he wasn’t owed my kindness, not after unraveling me like that.
"Ignore me all you like, fate has already tied us together." His words didn’t just echo, they haunted, like whispers in an empty hallway that refused to die down. A shiver ran through me once again, sharp and unrelenting, as if my body had finally surrendered to the cold and the fatigue I’d been dragging behind me for days. My knees gave out. I collapsed, slipping into an uneasy sleep that barely lasted twenty minutes. When I came to, the world was unfocused, like I was stuck between dreaming and waking. My ears rang with silence, and for a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Panic stirred me,I pushed myself up too fast, only to be slammed back down by a pulsing headache that finally eased when I pressed my hand to my forehead.
“Alex?” No one was in front of me.
“Alex, can you hear me?” The voice was unmistakable,low, commanding. I was sure it was my father. I didn’t know why he was out there at that hour, or how he’d even found me. I didn’t ask, instead, I gave him what he needed to hear. A calm lie, smooth and convincing, just enough to keep the truth buried a little longer.
For a fleeting moment, I was convinced I’d slipped into a parallel world, a place suspended just slightly out of sync with reality. And perhaps, in retrospect, it would have been kinder to linger in that illusion. At that point, I couldn’t begin to decipher what I was feeling. My emotions had unraveled into a quiet void, my body operating in fragments, detached from meaning. I craved clarity, a single explanation to thread the chaos together, but something in me suspected the truth had already revealed itself to everyone but me, as though its presence was woven into the fabric of things, and I alone remained blind to it. The world around me had grown eerily still, alive only with the subtle sounds of nature: distant rustlings of unseen animals, the whisper of leaves carried by the wind, branches sighing under their own weight. My attention drifted, caught by the sudden appearance of a black cat slipping out from behind the shadows. A symbol, an omen, misfortune in feline form.I dismissed it at first. But then I remembered what was drawing near, looming, uninvited, just days away. Drained and shivering, I drew my coat tighter and trudged back to the dormitory. I was seconds from surrendering to sleep when my mind was jolted by the memory of an unfinished essay due the morning. No excuse would suffice. I was trapped. My limbs protested, but I forced myself upright, a small miracle in itself. That momentum, however, came to a halt the moment my eyes landed on my desk. Three sheets of paper. Neatly stacked. Perfectly aligned. On my side.I stared, perplexed. I hadn’t written a single word. At first, I almost believed it had been done for me by some stroke of fate, until I turned my head and saw him, Nigel. My immediate assumption was that the pages were his, but no. Nigel never invaded my space. If anything, he treated my side of the room like it was quarantined. His belongings lived on the floor, or nowhere at all. Never there. I had no desire to speak to him. Not after the morning I’d already endured. Not after the weight his presence had placed on me without permission. So I collapsed back onto the bed with a low, fatigued sigh and turned away, letting the darkness behind my eyelids swallow him whole. But of course, he couldn’t resist.
“Gratitude isn't one of your strenghts, is it?” His voice cut through the quiet like a slow, deliberate needle.I sighed, heavily, impatiently, somewhere between exhaustion and surrender. I had no interest in conversation, so I simply lifted my head a fraction and offered a single nod, It was enough, at least for now.
The day of the trip had finally dawned. We were set to leave in the afternoon, a calculated decision meant to grant us enough time to acclimate before nightfall, to arrange ourselves for the days that would follow. Yet any illusion of order was drowned beneath the clamor that surged through every corner of the lodging. Voices collided, footsteps echoed without rhythm, and suitcases wheezed under the weight of frantic hands. All I craved was a moment of stillness, something delicate, untouched by the disorder around me,but serenity seemed like a privilege long extinct. I hadn’t yet crossed the threshold, but already I felt the familiar coil of anxiety tightening its grip. More than anything, I wished for a room of my own, some private, unshared haven. But I knew such hope was naive. Luck and I had always been distant strangers, nodding coldly from across the room. When it came to chance, I was never chosen, only handed the leftovers. Then, as though summoned by the very thought of inevitability, my father’s voice began to rise in the distance, each syllable drawing closer like a slow-moving tide. "You’ll find your names posted on the doors of your assigned rooms," he murmured, his tone cool and impersonal,less a statement, more a verdict. I couldn’t find Josh, nor Raj, nor even Nigel. I wandered the maze of unfamiliar hallways, dragging my feet past door after door, each one marked with names that weren’t ours. My patience wore thinner with every step, and fatigue settled into my legs like lead. After what felt like an eternity, though it had only been about eight minutes, I finally reached the far end of the corridor.
There it was: Colbie / Forbes.
The sight of our names brought a brief but much-needed sense of relief. My muscles ached from the day’s relentless walking, and the thought of finally setting down my bag and collapsing onto a bed felt like salvation. Nigel, I assumed, hadn’t arrived yet, typical of him to lag behind or wander off.
I grabbed the handle and pushed the door open.
And there he was, already inside, already unpacked, the room was still, dimly lit by the pale glow of the window. His things were arranged in perfect order, books stacked with precision, clothes folded with unnatural care. For a moment, I stood motionless in the doorway, unable to process the quiet invasion, but then my eyes landed on the bed, one, singular, bed. Everything in me recoiled, surprise hit first, and then came the anger, sudden and consuming. I didn’t say a word. I simply turned on my heel and stormed off, heart pounding with disbelief. This had to be a mistake. A joke. Some ridiculous prank meant for humiliation. I muttered curses under my breath as I weaved through crowds of students, picking up speed. I didn’t care who heard me, I cursed the school, the trip, the people organizing it. I cursed my own last name.By the time I reached my father, I was practically vibrating with fury. I grabbed his arm and pulled him aside, away from curious eyes and listening ears.
“You think this is funny?” I hissed.
“Who the fuck thought it was a good idea to put one bed in that fucking room?!” My voice cracked with rage, and I could feel the heat rising in my face. I was breathless, chest heaving, eyes locked onto his with a glare that dared him to justify this mess. He looked at me with the calm patience of someone who had already anticipated this reaction.
“We told everyone,” he said gently, “you’d need to adapt to the arrangements you’re given. It’s only temporary.” I shook my head, fists clenched.
“No. I’m not sleeping in the same bed as anyone. I don’t care who it is.” He placed a firm hand on my shoulder not forceful, but grounding.
“Just one night,” he said. “Sacrifice a little comfort. We’ll sort it out in the morning.”
I pressed him. “Can’t you bring in another bed?”
He exhaled. “Not tonight. I’d need to call the property owner, and he won’t answer at this hour. First thing tomorrow, I promise.” It wasn’t what I wanted to hear, but I couldn’t deny that one night sounded better than a week. So I nodded, still seething but slightly more composed, and headed back to the room. When I walked in, everything felt quieter. Nigel had tidied up every corner of his space. His shoes were aligned, his coat folded neatly over the back of the chair. There was a strange order to it all, unsettling, almost clinical.
“You’re sleeping on the floor tonight,” I declared without hesitation, my voice slicing through the silence like glass. He didn’t flinch, he simply looked up at me, brows raised with effortless arrogance.
“And why, exactly,” he asked, his tone dry and cutting, “should I be the one on the floor?”His eyes locked on mine, unblinking. For a second, that gaze stirred something in me, uncertainty, maybe, or just discomfort, but I didn’t let it show. My pride was roaring too loudly.
“Because that’s your place,” I said, my voice sharp and cruel. “It’s where you belong.” A long pause followed. I waited for the smirk, the snide reply, the verbal dagger he always had ready, but for once, he said nothing, and in that silence, I felt something unexpected, victory, perhaps. Or maybe just exhaustion in disguise.
We turned in early that night. I lay in bed, tense, unsettled by the sound of Nigel’s steady breathing just a few feet away. There was a strange heaviness in the room, as if the air itself carried the weight of something unsaid. I shifted beneath the covers, trying to get comfortable, but every time I closed my eyes, his voice would return, those same words, over and over again, echoing inside my skull like a whisper I couldn’t shut out. They weren’t loud, but they clung to me like smoke, refusing to fade. The room wasn’t fully dark. A faint, pale glow leaked in from the hallway through the bottom of the door, casting long, soft shadows across the walls. I imagined the sky outside cloud-choked and starless, as empty as I felt. I tried to clear my thoughts, to silence the noise in my head and surrender to exhaustion, but my body resisted. My muscles were tight, my chest heavy. Sleep hovered just out of reach. And when i finally found sleep, something shifted. At first, I thought I was imagining it, a trick of the mind. But the sensation was too real to ignore.
A cold touch, far colder than the air around us, ghosted across my chest, barely grazing me through the fabric of my shirt. It wasn’t sudden or aggressive, but it wasn’t warm, either. It felt... intentional, calculated. My breath caught in my throat, my eyes flicked open, though I didn’t dare move. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if it had actually happened or if it was just some dream that had slipped too far into reality. But I certainly knew one thing: I hadn’t imagined the chill, and I hadn’t imagined how familiar it felt. I knew it was him, there was no need to turn. Nigel's presence was like a weightless pressure against my spine, unmistakable in its stillness, yet potent in the silence it carried. For once, I didn’t brace myself. I let the stillness stretch, linger. His breath, barely audible, settled at the edge of my skin, a whisper grazing the back of my neck. The room was dim but not dark, shadows melting gently into one another, the faint light from outside washing everything in a quiet silver. The stars were absent tonight, an empty sky stretched above us, as if even they had turned their gaze elsewhere to give us this moment. I closed my eyes,not from fear, but from a sudden, disarming clarity. Something within me, long dormant, stirred. It wasn’t longing in the usual sense, not the kind I’d ever known. It was something quieter, older. As if a thousand unnamed questions were, at last, beginning to answer themselves, not in words, but in nearness. I didn’t speak, instead, I reached behind, fingers searching, and found his hand, colder than I expected, but I didn’t let go. I traced the lines of his palm slowly, deliberately, letting him know I wasn’t retreating. I heard a change in his breath, a pause, then a deeper inhale, as if my response had disarmed him, too.
He moved closer, not with haste, but with that calm certainty that always bordered on unnerving. This time, though, it wasn’t menace I felt, it was inevitability. The kind that settles deep in the gut when you realise that no matter how hard you’ve tried to resist something, it’s been moving toward you all along. There was no conversation, no witty line or sarcastic deflection, just the quiet recognition of shared understanding, fragile, but anchoring. His hand, once tentative, grew more certain. I let him guide it, still turned away, and with every inch that passed between us, I felt another barrier collapse. I wasn’t afraid. Not of him, not of myself. Perhaps for the first time, the chaos of my own thoughts went quiet. I felt him trace the edge of my shirt, pausing at the hem, not to ask, but to give me time. I nodded, barely, but it was enough. Fabrics shifted, the air growing colder against my back, the open window behind us a silent witness. The wind crept in like a secret, but it was his touch that truly left me exposed, not to the cold, but to everything I’d been refusing to feel. He didn’t take, and I didn’t give. We met in the in-between, halfway between surrender and defiance. His touch wasn’t demanding, it was reverent. He moved with dominance, with the grace of someone who knew that power was part of the understanding. I felt small under his gaze, not diminished, but seen in a way that left no space for my usual armor. And for reasons I couldn’t explain, that vulnerability didn’t feel like weakness. It felt like truth. The closeness, the silence, the pulse of something unspoken between us, it wasn’t about desire alone. It was something deeper, heavier. A moment carved not from lust, but from longing, from grief, perhaps, or recognition. The kind of intimacy that asks nothing but takes everything. We continued to quarrel, not through discourse, but through gestures laden with a certain unspoken carnality, a silent tension that wounded and soothed in equal measure. I knew it for what it was: a transgression, yet perhaps the most exquisite one I had ever committed. With each graze of skin, I felt both unburdened and ensnared. It was a strange liberation, one veiled in guilt, but wrapped in a sweetness too potent to resist. Each touch felt like an unraveling of some tightly coiled thread within me, and each breath became a confession my lips dared not utter. My thoughts, usually precise and reluctant to surrender, melted into incoherence, succumbing to the immediacy of sensation. My body had long since surrendered to the truth that my mind hesitated to name: not only did I comprehend what was transpiring, but I found myself yearning for it, entirely. Time abandoned us, dissolved into something formless and still. I made no protest, save for the involuntary sounds of release that echoed not from pain, but from the sheer, unrelenting pleasure of proximity. His frame, as it aligned again and again with mine, awakened something primal, almost holy, as though I had stumbled upon a forbidden grace. I clung to him, half out of need, half out of reverence,as if anchoring myself to something fleeting but undeniable. His moans, soft and frequent were a new kind of music to my ears, delicate sighs that filled the silence with unspoken promise. His hands traced the contours of my legs, dispelling the last remnants of cold with a warmth that felt like benediction. The chill of the room was soon supplanted by the hush of breath and movement, by the heat shared in proximity. That warmth did not merely settle on my skin, it sank into my bones, into the very core of me, and I did not wish it away. Throughout the night, we moved carefully, as if our silence were a sacred pact. There were moments of stifled gasps, of laughter lost in throats, and once sound threatened to betray me,he pressed his palm against my mouth in a hush. I bit gently in reply, a wordless defiance that made him still and then continue. It was fervent, intense, yet something remained untouched, a longing left quietly unmet. I craved the taste of his lips, not with urgency, but with a growing, aching curiosity. I wanted to know him in that singular, tender way: the slow press of mouths, the quiet collision of breath and intention. But that moment did not come until everything else had fallen still. He kissed me first. Fingers found the line of my jaw, one hand steadying itself against my cheek as if he feared I might vanish. My eyes fell shut in instant surrender, and the kiss that followed was soft. A culmination, a revelation. It held no lust, no force. Only silence, and something just shy of love.
Later, we lay still in the bed, the cold returning like a tide we had tried to hold back. That night, quiet, frozen, unforgettable, etched itself into memory with the clarity of frost under moonlight. And as we drifted into silence, I could not help but wonder: what were we, now?I had never considered him a friend. Truth be told, I had spent more time building walls between us than bridges. But now… I did not know whether I wished to love him, or simply cease to despise him. I wished to ask, what did this mean? But no words came. And yet, as I turned my head slightly in the darkness, I felt he already knew.
Before my mouth could form the question, the answer was resting quietly between us.