Chapter Text
There were books. Everywhere.
On the floor, the windowsill, the shelves meant for folded uniform shirts; every possible corner was crowded with the wilted pages of paperbacks and hardcovers. Among them were merit classics, Salinger short stories, stolen library books and poetry, all of which overflowed with both dust and annotations.
Eiji gripped the leather suitcase by his hip as he stared, too distracted by the sudden smells of lemon polish, parchment, and cigarettes -- cloves, to be exact -- to notice the other person in the dormroom.
“Ash darling, who’s this?”
The other people.
Eiji whipped his attention towards the voice, owlishly blinking past his curtain of dark bangs. There, lounging in the crumpled right-hand bed with his arms folded behind his head, a stocky boy lay smirking.
He had a cigarette dangling between his crooked teeth and a pair of circle shades on his nose, the ones drivers and debutants would wear. His uniform was already breaking several dresscode violations -- discarded blazer, undone buttons, loose tie -- and it hadn’t even been a full first day. Even his shoes were scuffed, crossed at the ankle and dirtying the sheets. “You’re new,” the boy accused. Eiji struggled to answer.
“That’s the roommate,” another voice piqued in reply; Eiji’s attention was snapped like a rubberband.
Beside said bed, a blonde boy stood, his lean posture haloed by the streaming afternoon sun. His shoulder blades writhed against his untucked blouse as he lifted handfuls of books from a nearby box, lining them up against the crowded windowsill like birds upon a telephone wire. He didn’t turn around.
Ash darling. “Mind the books.”
Eiji swallowed, settling his suitcase in his grip like a nervous habit. “Alright.”
The smoking boy on the bed took a drag -- he had a peculiar way of carrying himself, Eiji noted, with movements bordering both laziness and confidence -- and puffed it back out leisurely. “Lucky devil,” he muttered through the sweet smoke. “Scholarship or trust fund?”
It took Eiji a couple moments to realize what this boy was asking, and he gave his own mutter to the question. “Scholarship...” he sidestepped the towers of books beneath his saddle shoes, heading for the unclaimed bed, “...for athletics.”
A beam of interest pricked the smoking boy’s face, and he let out a bark of a laugh, “Brilliant.” A perk of interest. “Ash darling got pinned with the doe-eyed athlete.”
The darling ignored the taunt, focusing instead on the wisping clove as he plucked it away from his friend’s lips, two deft fingers acting out of nonchalance; the two were more than comfortable to share both jokes and vices alike.
Ignoring the comment as well, Eiji placed his suitcase on the sheetless twin-size mattress, finding the creak in the springs disappointing -- with the cost of tuition, he expected lush king beds and threaded pillowcases. Nonetheless, he shot a quick glance around the room, soaking in the details of the space while Ash darling and the smoker carried on.
The two beds were pushed into each corner and divided by a mahogany desk, about an arms-width of distance between them. Against said desk were two large windows, which fluttered cream-colored curtains and stood behind each headboard. There were two wardrobes in the opposite corners, and the light grey walls behind them were just as bare. Everything came in pairs, just like roommates.
Eiji finished his assessment with a pause on the softly lit darling, surprised to find that the boy was already staring back. Ash’s jaw was strong, nose perfected, lashes long against his sloping cheek. The stolen cigarette lay nestled between his pink pouting lips, and his round glasses casted grey shadows of his skin -- renaissance.
But it was his eyes that rendered Eiji completely helpless; he had never seen such a shade of green, shimmering like a Hollywood star and reminiscent of James Dean, and he had no idea Americans could be so…
...angelic. “Are you Aslan Callenreese?”
The boy on the bed scoffed as Ash-possibly-Aslan tensed, his green eyes flickering across Eiji’s face like he was trying to figure something out. “Ash,” he corrected, turning back to his books with patient scrutiny complete. “Just Ash.”
“Jesus,” the other boy laughed, “I haven’t heard that mouthful in years. It’s shit, you know that right?”
“Like Shorter’s any better?” just-Ash quipped back, though his tone lacked any malice. The boy, Shorter, made a face, muttering something colorful before turning back towards Eiji.
“What about you, sweetheart?”
Ash intercepted the question, extracting a heavy bundle of Britannica's while doing so. “Do you ever turn it off?”
Eiji found himself smiling politely at the pair, breezing past the nickname and insults with a mumble. “Eiji Okumura,” he introduced. “I’m -- uh, I'm the exchange student.”
Shorter sat up urgently. “You’re the vaulting star?”
“I suppose so,” Eiji smiled, unsure as to how many newspapers the others must read -- by the state of the room, he could rightfully assume that a fair amount of time was wasted on words.
“Well, shit, Okumura,” Shorter picked himself off the bed, movements as sudden and as sporadic as his conversation changes, “I’m off to help my own idiotic room-mate, but I'll catch you.”
“Don’t forget my statistics textbook,” Ash grumbled to his sheared headed friend, who’s brown hair swayed down the center of his head like a horse's mane. “I know that the fucker has it.”
“You can’t insult the habits of Alex anymore,” Shorter replied, drawing the cigarette away from Ash’s lips with a swift and careless motion. “He took a chastity vow over the summer.”
“And Mother Mary wears leather. Can you just get it back?”
“Pretty boys like you shouldn’t worry so much.”
“I’d rather be pretty and worrisome than carefree and bald.”
“You’re breaking my heart,” Shorter beamed, flicking the butt of the clove into the trash can. “Oritur sol, you son of a bitch.”
“Et occidit,” Ash smirked, and Shorter bounded out of the room with a clack of his mussed shoes against the wood. All of the energy, much like the smoke, dispersed with his leave.
Eiji wasn’t exactly sure what to say. Or do. He had known of the brash habits of Americans, especially rich ones, but he assumed that in a place like this, their rebellion was squashed by academia. By tradition and teachers and the fear of God.
Another cigarette was lit.
These boys did not cower for anybody, it seemed.
Ash extinguished the match with a flick of his wrist, catching the curious stare of those wide brown eyes. “I’d say ignore him,” he hummed, puffing a few drags out the corner of his mouth in scraped politeness, “but that’s impossible.”
Eiji smiled at that, a nervous but genuine laugh rippling out of his chest. “Are all Americans like that?” he asked, alluding to the nicknames and the flirts and the teases. Ash nodded, succumbing to a smile.
“Afraid so, bluebird,” he said, and the entire room grew two shades too bright.
Afraid so.
*
Oxford saddle shoes and soft linen socks. Crisp white button-ups tucked into tawny slacks and fitted blazers the color of twilight. A crimson tie. Cashmere and wool.
Eiji felt ridiculous. To say the least.
He glanced around the crowd of well-dressed classmates, assessing their uniforms with just as much scrutiny as his own. Everyone looked the same, he realized. Everyone looked too proper and preppy and fake, like schoolboys pretending to be men.
“Excuse me,” he mumbled, slipping past a particularly large group of these pretenders. They were loitering near the dining hall entrance like a school of fish in sports coats, and this metaphorical sea parted reluctantly as he neared.
A new kid was rare, they knew, especially one that wore the senior pin on his lapel and looked to be younger than a first-year. But instead of his peers' visual curiosity, Eiji focused on the clacking sounds of his footfalls, avoiding their gleaming eyes and knitted brows.
Clack, clack, clack.
The dining hall was like everything else in this building: collegiate gothic. Stained glass encrusted in the walls behind the seats marked for teachers and staff, lamps and candles flickering on either side, long tables the color of rosewood reserved for each grade level. He followed the sounds of his chattering classmates like a dog whistle, searching for his vaulting teammates among the crowds.
“Hey bluebird!”
Fate was a peculiar little thing.
Eiji turned to the very back corner of the senior table, catching the shaded eyes of that Shorter boy. His arm was flailing wildly above his head, doing everything he could possibly do to capture both Eiji’s attention and embarrassment. “C’mere!” he called once more, his voice practically booming across the mundane chatter.
Ash darling sat by his side, shooting an apologetic gleam behind his glasses. A few boys around them turned as well.
Eiji, facing no other choice, made his way over.
“Everyone,” Shorter introduced as he neared, his flailing hand now gesturing, “this is our darling’s roommate; the athlete I was telling you about.”
A boy with chestnut bangs and prominent features gawked. “God, Shorter, you're right." A blink. "His eyes are huge.”
Another boy, with scrawny legs and messy hair, smirked. “Alex, dear, I thought you were saving yourself this semester.”
A groan, strewn out and theatrical. “How many times do I have to explain this?”
“As many times as it makes you mad.”
“Well, it wasn’t a fuckin' nunnery, guys. It was a goddamn summer camp.”
“Whatever you say, sister.”
A few punches were then rowdily thrown, leaving Eiji to awkwardly loiter until the appropriate space was made. He squeezed himself besides Alex, who already had a hard line of annoyance painting his brows, on the bench, across from a silent but observant Ash.
“Eiji here is from Japan,” Shorter continued in praise, taking a sip of his complimentary waterglass. “And, unlike all of us, he is on scholarship money.”
“You must be really good then, huh?” the scrawny one bounded. He extended a hand, “Bones.”
Eiji took it. The kid on the other side of him thrusted up his own.
“Kong,” he hummed, large palm warm and dry. Ash, Shorter, Bones, Kong: strange names.
Strange people. “So, is Okumura becoming a part of the study group, then?”
Shushes and kicks were dealt around like candy, encouraging Bones to put up his hands in mock surrender. There were sentences Eiji couldn’t quite catch for both their volume and contexts, sentences like “we don’t talk about it,” and “goddamnit, are you dense?” and “he wouldn’t even survive initiation, anyway.”
Lost, completely lost, Eiji turned to look at Ash for an answer, who only studied him over like one of those well-read books. Ash tilted his head just slightly, trying to assess the situation, before opening his mouth in rebuttal.
Shorter interrupted. “Twelve o’clock.”
The table straightened like soldiers. Ash’s lips snapped shut.
Above them, way back in the wings of the softly lit staff and stained glass, a stout man with fitted suits and Italian leather loafers approached the podium. Eiji recognized the tautness of his face from the back of all the school’s glossy pamphlets -- the headmaster. Principle.
Golzine. “May the Lord be with you.”
The entire school answered his call -- the lightning of youth to the thunder of prayer. “And also with you.”
Eiji couldn’t help but notice that the brash boys surrounding him were all silent, taking up a form of protest he couldn’t quite place. They all looked impossibly stony, no longer the people of previous conversations. He swore Alex even rolled his eyes.
“Welcome back,” the headmaster echoed, commanding the room like Christ to his disciples. He glanced across the fields of fresh faces with a satisfactory nod, looking damn well proud to be in charge of them all. “I hope you all enjoyed your summer. Responsibly, of course.” A smile of amusement. Alex muttered something about his head getting shinier. "But tomorrow marks the first day of classes, and I expect certain behaviors to stay behind -- do I make myself clear?”
A melody of yes’s rang across the arching room, encouraging Eiji to wonder if they rehearsed this little call and response. Just as he began to feel even more out of place than before, he caught sight of Golzine’s eyes in a flash of wrinkled blue, startling his spine into a straight line.
Before he could dart away, a smile breached the old man’s lips, and that thunderous voice rang out once more.
“As part of our new athletic program...” he eased. Eiji swallowed. “...and thanks to our scholarship funds, of course,” a leathery hand was raised, “we must welcome Mister Okumura to our vaulting team. Will you make yourself known?”
Eiji felt the beady eyes of all his peers shoot to him like bullets, each line of fire being both curious and scrutinizing in their wake. Slowly, and unsure if it was what he was being asked, Eiji rose, standing across the fields of seated classmates like a revealed debutant. He pressed his lips in a polite smile, aware that his face must be as warm as those burning candles and as fake as these uniforms.
“Mister Okumura is the most renowned pole-vaulter in his country,” the headmaster praised, though it did not bring Eiji any comfort. A round of applause rang out like rain against a tin roof in response. “We are very lucky to have him.”
Eiji gave a quick nod of thanks before shrinking back down to his seat, flushed and pink like a budding spring rose -- thorns yet to grow in. Alex patted his back sympathetically. Shorter clapped the loudest.
Ash’s eyes darted away.
There were a few more announcements and regulations expressed, each one more daunting than the last. Finally, just as the food was being revealed on silver platters on the ends of each table, one last tradition was crossed off. “Now,” Golzine eased, voice sickeningly sweet, “may I ask the valedictorian to lead us in the Lord’s prayer?”
It took Eiji a second to realize that it was Ash who stood, movements as rigid as everything else in this stuffy room. He made his way forwards with the cadence of his polished shoes, soles against marble, and Golzine practically beamed towards the sound. Clack, clack, clack.
And there was something wrong, Eiji knew. Something was wrong with the way in which Ash apprehensively approached that podium, and how the hand of his headmaster, his dictator, lingered on his shoulder for a second too long. It was all wrong.
He swallowed away his worry as Ash began, reciting the words of a religion lost. “Our Father,” he started, voice clear like Sunday bells, “who art in heaven, hallowed be--”
“--thy shame,” that group of rowdy boys replied, smirking lightly at the joke only they could hear. Eiji couldn’t find what was so funny about it, but he hummed along, anyway.
“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,” everyone read, though it was still Ash’s voice who echoed the loudest -- deep and rich and slow. Marmalade. “Give us this day our daily bread,” his honey tone became tense, “and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
There was a pause in the prayer, and Eiji lifted his head to find those green eyes staring him down, submissive to the intensity of those shimmering jades. Right now, Eiji realized, Ash’s words weren’t reciting scripture; they were genuine. Real.
“And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Begging.
He did not mutter his amen’s.
*
Eiji woke to the sound of sliding glass.
He peered against the blue-dark night, groggy with the restlessness that had been his sleep. He watched as a catlike body slipped through the opposite window’s opening, its shadow stark against the moonlight and hair beaming bright. It was late. Impossibly late.
“I have study group tonight,” Ash had said just hours earlier, throwing on a loose cashmere sweater over his blouse and popping the collar. Eiji nodded from his place against his bed, checking over the schedule for tomorrow’s classes and wondering why on Earth there was a study group already -- what was there to study?
“Don’t wait up,” was all Ash said in goodbye, stepping over a particularly large stack of his books before exiting their cluttered dorm room, the mess all of which was his.
Eiji hadn’t exactly been planning on “waiting up,” whatever that meant, but now here he was, watching as Ash threw his muddy shoes onto the bed with a careless toss. Immediately, the smell of rich smoke and apple champagne burned Eiji’s nose, and he couldn’t help but notice the gentle sway plaguing Ash’s silent movements.
He was drunk. Of course he was drunk.
But before closing said window and trapping the September air inside, Ash poked his blonde head back out the pane, calling down to the leaf littered sidewalk of their dorm.
“Oritur sol,” he laughed, a rich sound. A melody of voices replied, each one more joyful than the last.
“Et occidit,” they shouted, and the window gave one last groan as it was shut. The night, as gentle and as good as poetry, became still once more.
Eiji listened to the slow breaths of his dozing roommate -- the valedictorian, the Hollywood star, the reader, the drunk -- with a starving prick of curiosity. Out of all the people in this stony school, he thought, of course he was paired with the leader of this reckless gaggle. Of course.
He ran the Latin words around his head like a song, memorizing the melody of a language, of a boy, not yet known.
Oritur sol, et occidit.