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fuzzykazeki87 · 2 months ago

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Tumult of Youth pt. 1

The student room at Lacombrade Academy hummed with the low buzz of conversations, the occasional outburst of laughter, and the shuffling of playing cards. A group of students near the window played a spirited round of poker, their faces a mix of bluff and mischief, while others leaned against bookshelves, exchanging whispered secrets or cramming for the next quiz.

Carl Meisser sat cross-legged on a cushioned bench by the room's large bay window, the warm autumn sunlight filtering through the glass casting a golden hue on his dark hair. He looked at Gilbert, who sat at the chess table a few feet away, his focus unwavering. Gilbert's sharp features were relaxed but determined as he leaned slightly forward, scrutinizing the board.

Opposite him sat Kurt, Necker, and Pascal, each equally engrossed, their expressions ranging from bemusement to outright frustration as they deliberated their next moves.

The blond hugged one knee to his chest, resting his chin on it, his other foot lazily bouncing in rhythm with the ticking clock on the wall. The polished chessboard reflected faintly in his green eyes, capturing the tension of the game. Gilbert’s fingers hovered over a rook for a second before retreating, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Checkmate's coming," Carl murmured, half to himself, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Gilbert, without glancing up, replied, "You always say that, and yet here I am, undefeated."

Kurt groaned, throwing his hands up. "Don’t let him get in your head, Gilbert. That's his game, not this one."

"Yours isn't any better," Necker teased, nudging Kurt with an elbow. "He’s got you all tangled up in his defense. Pascal, back me up!"

Pascal, who had been quietly observing, tilted his head and adjusting his glasses, "Gilbert’s playing the long game. Patience, my friends. Or at least, as much as you can muster."

Carl chuckled softly at their exchange, his gaze shifting to the intricate dance of black and white pieces. He had no stake in the match but found the scene mesmerizing—a brief snapshot of camaraderie and rivalry in the middle of the bustling chaos around them.

The tension around the chess table reached its peak as Kurt leaned forward, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. Beads of sweat glistened faintly on his forehead, his hand hovering indecisively over a knight. Meanwhile, Gilbert sat back in his chair, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, his emerald-green eyes fixed on Kurt like a predator watching its prey.

"You've got this, Kurt," Necker encouraged mockingly from the sidelines, though his grin suggested he knew otherwise. Pascal adjusted his glasses, his arms crossed as he watched the inevitable unfold.

Kurt finally made his move, sliding the knight forward with an air of desperate confidence. "There. Try getting out of that."

Gilbert didn’t respond immediately. He leaned forward, his fingers effortlessly picking up his queen and placing it down with precision. "Checkmate."

Kurt’s jaw dropped as the realization sank in. "What? No way! How?!"

Gilbert leaned back, folding his arms with a triumphant grin. "Simple geometry, Kurt. Chess isn’t about brute force; it’s about finesse."

Pascal burst out laughing, slapping his knee. "Oh, man! Again? Beaten by the ‘pretty boy’? How many times is that now, Kurt? Ten? Twenty?"

Necker joined in, his laughter louder with no less amused. "Honestly, you’d think you’d learn by now. Gilbert’s not just a pretty face—he’s got a brain behind those looks."

"Shut up, you two," Kurt grumbled, crossing his arms as a flush crept up his neck. "Next time, I'll—"

"Next time?" Pascal interrupted, barely able to contain his laughter. "Oh, I can’t wait for next time. It’s like watching a soap opera—same ending every episode."

Gilbert chuckled softly, his smirk never wavering. "Don’t feel too bad, Kurt. Practice makes perfect. Well, for some of us."

Carl, still observing from his spot by the window, chuckled under his breath. "Told you it was coming," he muttered, loud enough for Kurt to hear.

The room erupted into more laughter as Kurt slumped back in his chair, muttering something about “unfair advantages” while Gilbert sat there, victorious, and enjoying every second of it.

Kurt stared at the board, his face slowly turning crimson as the realization dawned.

"How...?" he mumbled, blinking rapidly. "That doesn’t even make sense! I had you cornered!"

Gilbert leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "Did you, though? You were two moves behind the whole time."

Kurt’s face burned brighter, and he slammed a hand down on the table, making a few chess pieces wobble. "Damn it! Why do I keep losing to you?!"

Pascal adjusted his glasses, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Because you’ve got no patience and zero strategy, that’s why. Admit it, Kurt, Gilbert’s got you wrapped around his little finger. Again."

"Pretty boy wins for the millionth time," Necker chimed in, shaking his head in mock pity. "You’re just a walking comedy at this point."

"Shut up!" Kurt snapped, his voice cracking slightly. He crossed his arms, glaring at the chessboard like it had betrayed him. His blush deepened, spreading from his cheeks to his ears. "I wasn’t even trying this time! Next game, I’ll wipe that smug look off his face."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning playful. "That’s funny; you said the same thing last time. And the time before that."

Pascal snorted, barely holding back his laughter. "Careful, Kurt. If you blush any harder, we might have to call the nurse."

"Shut it, Pascal!" Kurt shot back, his embarrassment only fueling the laughter around the table. He buried his face in his hands, muttering, "This is rigged or something. No way he’s that good."

Gilbert leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a teasing tone. "Don’t take it so personally, Kurt. Losing’s just part of life." His smirk grew wider. "At least you’re consistent."

The room erupted into more laughter, Kurt's protests drowned out by the mocking chorus of his friends. Even Carl, watching from the bay window, couldn’t help but crack a grin. "Classic Kurt," he murmured to himself, thoroughly entertained by the scene.

Carl sat quietly by the window, his gaze drifting back to the chess table. From his slight distance, he couldn’t help but admire Gilbert, who was basking in the aftermath of his victory. Gilbert’s usual aloofness and bad detachment had softened, his playful smirk slowly melting into something more genuine as he shared the moment with his friends.

He wasn’t the enigmatic, untouchable figure Carl often saw—this was Gilbert at ease, bonding, and for once, acting like a normal human being.

Carl leaned back against the window frame, his fingers absently tracing the edge of the sill. There was something magnetic about how Gilbert interacted with the others, especially now—teasing Kurt without malice, exchanging glances with Necker, and even chuckling at Pascal’s relentless jabs. It felt... refreshing.

If only he acted like this from the start, Carl thought, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. It’s strange how much he’s changed.

Gilbert had always been distant, caught up in his own world, almost as if he were untouchable—more of an enigma than someone to get to know. He wasn’t the type to open up, to let others in. But now, with his friends around him, he seemed almost... human.

Carl's gaze lingered on Gilbert’s face as he laughed, that same light that had drawn Carl in two years ago shining in his eyes, though it felt different now—more relaxed, less guarded. He doesn’t usually let people see this side of him, Carl mused.

Not until Serge came along.

It was Serge who had cracked through the wall Gilbert had built around himself. Carl knew it—he’d seen it firsthand. Serge had been the one to pull Gilbert out of his shell, guiding him to trust again, to open up to the friendships around him. The transformation had been slow, but undeniable.

Carl couldn't help but feel a touch of admiration for Serge, too. Without him, Carl doubted Gilbert would have ever shown this side of himself. But now, watching Gilbert interact so effortlessly, it felt like a reward for all the hard work Serge had put in.

Serge really did help him, Carl thought, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I wonder if he knows how much of an impact he’s had on him.

Gilbert caught Carl’s eye for a moment and offered a subtle nod, as if sensing the unspoken thoughts drifting through the room. Carl quickly turned his attention back to the window, a small flush creeping up his neck. Maybe it’s time I gave him more credit.

With that thought, Carl watched quietly as the group continued to laugh and banter. Gilbert was still the same, yet different—a little more human, a little more approachable. And for once, Carl found himself genuinely glad for the change.

The door to the student room swung open, and Serge Battour stepped in, instantly drawing the attention of everyone in the room. The popular new kid had naturally tan skin, dark curls that framed his face just perfectly, and big, dark brown eyes that seemed to calm anyone who met them. His presence, effortlessly cool and relaxed, had a way of making the room feel just a little bit quieter whenever he entered.

As soon as Kurt spotted Serge, he practically leapt from his seat. With a dramatic flair, Kurt stormed over, his frustration still fresh from losing the chess game.

"Serge!" he exclaimed, gripping Serge's collar with both hands.

"You’ve got to tell me—what the hell do you feed Gilbert to make him this smart, Monsieur Battour? I lost to him again!" Kurt shook Serge slightly, his face flushed with embarrassment and irritation. "I can’t take this anymore!"

Serge only chuckled, unfazed by Kurt’s outburst. "What, you think I’ve got some secret brain food I’m feeding him?" he teased, his grin wide and carefree. "You know Gilbert, Kurt. It’s not about food; it’s about patience. And maybe a little bit of luck."

Kurt huffed, but his grip loosened as he saw the amusement in Serge's eyes. He let out a long sigh, slumping his shoulders in defeat. "I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

"Nope," Serge said with a laugh, playfully ruffling Kurt’s hair. "But hey, you’ll get him next time. Maybe."

Carl, watching from the sidelines, couldn't help but feel a little envious. Serge had that effect on people—everyone around him seemed to relax, as if his calm energy could smooth over any tension. And it was no wonder that Gilbert, usually so closed off, had let Serge in so easily.

Gilbert didn’t say a word, but as soon as Serge entered the room, it was as if an invisible pull drew him towards him. Without hesitation, the blond stood up, his movements fluid, almost magnetic. Serge turned toward him, and as their eyes met, a soft, knowing smile spread across Serge’s face, his dark brown eyes sparkling with warmth.

Carl watched as Serge’s hand reached out to meet Gilbert’s, his fingers gently brushing against Gilbert’s, the touch tender and effortless. The simple, intimate gesture felt like it was meant for no one else in the room but the two of them.

To Carl, it felt like something personal—too personal. It made his chest tighten as if witnessing something he wasn’t meant to see, something that felt almost like a sin.

A wave of jealousy coursed through Carl. He couldn’t deny it. There was a quiet ache inside him, a feeling he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. Do I like Serge? he wondered, his mind racing. He couldn’t deny that his feelings for Serge were genuine—stronger, deeper, more rooted in who Serge was than the fleeting attraction he’d sometimes felt for others.

But seeing that connection between Serge and Gilbert stirred something else in him—a mix of admiration, longing, and confusion. Did he like both of them? Or was it just the fact that Serge had the ability to make everyone around him feel important, like they mattered?

Carl's gaze lingered on the pair, watching as Serge’s fingers lightly traced over Gilbert's hand before gently interlocking with his, a gesture that spoke volumes in its simplicity. The warmth between them was undeniable, and Carl couldn’t help but feel an ache, a longing he wasn’t sure how to handle. It was as if, in that moment, Serge’s attention was a treasure that was just out of reach.

Carl watched the scene unfold, his eyes shifting around the room. It was almost comical how everyone seemed to gravitate toward Serge, each one vying for his attention. Even his own little brother, Sebastian, who usually kept to himself, was eagerly trying to engage with Serge, his voice full of enthusiasm as he asked about Serge’s latest compositions.

Who wouldn’t want Serge’s attention? Carl thought, his mind almost bitter with the realization. A popular pianist, with smooth dark skin and that natural charm, his bushy dark curls and expressive brown eyes, Serge seemed to captivate everyone effortlessly.

Everyone here’s after him, Carl mused, his gaze flickering across the room as Kurt and Pascal also moved in, all trying to be the first to claim Serge’s focus.

Even Sebastian, Carl noted, feeling a twinge of surprise at his brother’s eagerness. Usually, Sebastian was never interested in any boys, content to stay in the background, but now he was leaning in, trying to get Serge’s ear like the rest of them. Carl couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of jealousy and frustration.

Who wouldn’t be drawn to him? Carl continued, the thought swirling in his mind like a quiet storm. He’s everything—talented, charming, easygoing. People flock to him without even trying. It was hard not to feel a little resentful watching everyone fight for Serge’s attention, as if he were some rare treasure, something to be claimed. Even Carl, who had known Serge sinxe the first time, couldn’t escape the pull.

It was so effortless for everyone else.

But I—

Carl paused, feeling the knot tighten in his chest. His feelings for Serge had always been more genuine, deeper than just the surface-level admiration others seemed to have. And yet, watching the scene unfold now, Carl couldn’t shake the sense that no matter how much he tried, Serge’s attention was always just a little out of reach.

His thoughts swirled, his gaze lingering on the group as everyone tried to engage with Serge. There was a quiet tension in the air, the competition subtle but undeniable. Yet, it was clear to Carl who the true winner was—the one who always seemed to draw Serge’s full attention, no matter what.

Gilbert.

Even as everyone else tried to pull Serge into their conversations, Gilbert stood there, leaning casually against the wall. Serge’s eyes naturally drifted toward him, a soft, affectionate smile crossing his face. Without missing a beat, Serge took a few steps toward Gilbert, his attention already shifting away from the others.

Of course it’s him, Carl thought, a quiet frustration rising in his chest. Gilbert’s the one who gets Serge’s full attention every time.

It wasn’t just because Gilbert was the loudest or the most demanding—no, it was something more. Gilbert had a way about him, a little devilish beauty charm that made Serge always feel like he had to take care of him. It was almost like an unspoken bond, something that no one else could replicate.

And now, as Serge reached Gilbert, it was obvious. His posture softened, his expression turned gentle. Without hesitation, Serge gently nudged Gilbert’s shoulder with his own, his voice warm as he said, "I’ve been meaning to check on you."

Carl couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest. It was the same every time. Serge’s first instinct, his immediate priority, was always Gilbert. It didn’t matter what anyone else needed or wanted. He’s the one Serge needs to look after. The one who gets his attention fully, Carl thought, almost bitterly.

And that’s because of that unspoken thing between them—.

For all his charm and natural appeal, Serge didn’t need to be pursued by the others. When it came down to it, his focus was always on Gilbert, and Carl couldn’t help but feel that sharp stab of envy.

Gilbert gave Serge a quick, reassuring smile, his green eyes glinting mischievously as he said, "I’m fine," his voice light and casual. Before Serge could say anything further, Gilbert reached up, his hand gently cupping Serge’s neck for a brief moment. The touch was soft, almost tender, but just as quickly, he let go, his fingers brushing the side of Serge’s skin before pulling away.

He turned his head slightly, avoiding Serge’s gaze for a moment, and with a half-smile, muttered, "Shouldn’t we head to the library? That was the plan, right?"

Serge blinked, the moment of closeness lingering between them, but he nodded, already turning his attention back to their original plan. "Yeah, right. Let’s go."

Carl with his book open on his lap, fixed on the door as Serge and Gilbert left the student room. Serge walked just behind Gilbert, the two of them sharing some quiet exchange that Carl couldn’t hear, but he knew it was more than just casual conversation. He watched as the door swung shut, the sound of it clicking into place echoing in the room.

Inside, Kurt was still sulking over his chess loss, his brow furrowed as he stared down at the game board in front of him. Necker, ever the tease, was laughing softly at Kurt’s expense, clearly enjoying the sight of his friend's defeat.

Carl’s attention, however, was elsewhere. He was still thinking about the way Serge had walked away with Gilbert, how their presence had filled the room, and how Gilbert always seemed to effortlessly draw Serge’s attention. The quiet moments between them lingered in Carl’s mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more between them, something just out of his reach.

"That was cute," a voice suddenly said, breaking his thoughts.

Carl turned to find Pascal standing next to him, a grin on his face. Pascal’s glasses glinted in the light as he looked toward the door where Serge and Gilbert had just exited. "What do you mean?" Carl asked, his voice a little more guarded than he intended.

"You know," Pascal said, still smiling as he nodded toward the closed door, "the way they were with each other. It’s like they’ve got this unspoken thing going on. It was cute."

Carl’s lips pressed into a thin line, his stomach twisting slightly. Unspoken thing, he thought. He didn’t want to admit it, but Pascal was right. It was cute, the way Serge had followed Gilbert out so naturally, the way they seemed to fit together in their own little world.

"I guess so," Carl muttered, his eyes briefly flicking back to the door, as if he could catch one last glimpse of them. He quickly looked away when he realized how much he was staring. Pascal, seemingly oblivious to Carl’s internal turmoil, just chuckled, clearly content with the moment.

**************************************************

Dinner time in the academy’s dining hall was always a bit chaotic, but tonight there was an almost serene calm as the boys settled into their respective seats after the prayer. The clinking of silverware and quiet murmurs filled the air, but Carl sat in his usual spot, a little apart from Serge and Gilbert’s table. He untucked a napkin and laid it carefully on his lap, his mind elsewhere.

As he adjusted the napkin, his eyes wandered toward Gilbert, who was sitting a few tables away. The blond was engrossed in tearing apart a piece of bread, his expression unreadable, a poker face that hid any emotion. The soft light from the overhead lamps caught the edges of his blonde hair, causing it to stand up in small, messy tufts.

Carl couldn’t help but watch, almost mesmerized. Gilbert’s hair, tousled and wild, had a way of making him stand out, even in the crowded dining hall. It wasn’t just the color or the disarray; it was how it added to the whole picture, making Gilbert seem so effortlessly noticeable.

There was something about him that Carl couldn’t ignore. To Carl, it was like spotting a jewel in a pile of gravel—striking, rare, and almost out of place among the others.

Even in a room full of people, Gilbert had this way of drawing attention without trying. It wasn’t just the way his hair stood up, but the way he carried himself, like he knew he was different from everyone else, even if he didn’t show it.

Carl blinked, shaking himself out of the reverie. He hadn’t even realized how intently he’d been staring until Gilbert’s eyes flicked toward him, just for a brief moment. Carl quickly averted his gaze, suddenly feeling exposed. It was strange—Gilbert was always there, a constant presence, but somehow tonight he felt more distant than ever.

As Carl continued to sit there, lost in thought, he suddenly heard Serge’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the room.

“You need salt?” Serge asked, his voice light and casual, directed at Gilbert.

Carl’s eyes flicked down to the table in front of him, noticing for the first time that a salt container was sitting untouched right in front of him. He hesitated for a moment, then decided he’d hand it to Gilbert himself, even if the act seemed a little unnecessary. It’s just salt, he thought, but the idea of offering it to Gilbert felt like something more.

He stood up quickly, intending to offer the salt, but as he did, he noticed Gilbert was already on his way over, walking toward his table with that effortless, quiet confidence.

Carl watched, almost frozen, as the blond passed through the other boys’ tables, and they all slightly flinched in response to the sudden presence behind them. Gilbert had this way of unsettling the space around him, commanding attention without saying a word.

When Gilbert reached Carl’s side, the boys at the table quickly shuffled to give him room. Carl, still slightly off guard, held out the salt shaker, his fingers brushing against Gilbert’s hand as he placed it in his palm.

The touch sent a small shiver up Carl’s spine, and he couldn’t help the blush that crept up on his cheeks. Gilbert didn’t seem to notice or care; he simply nodded in appreciation, his eyes meeting Carl’s with that familiar, teasing glint.

"Merci," Gilbert said softly, the word rolling off his tongue perfectly, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Carl just nodded, his heart beating a little faster than usual, his hand still tingling from the brief contact. Gilbert didn’t linger, returning to his seat with the same quiet confidence he always carried. But Carl couldn’t help but feel the warmth of that brief interaction, something small but meaningful in the way Gilbert had thanked him.

As Gilbert settled back into his seat, Carl took a moment to collect himself, his thoughts still lingering on the brief touch and the way his chest fluttered.

Carl tried to focus on his meal, the soft clink of his fork against the plate grounding him back in the present. He chewed slowly, trying to push away the lingering feeling of Gilbert’s hand brushing against his. But it wasn’t easy. The atmosphere around him felt different, almost charged, and it didn’t help that the boys at his table had started to gossip.

“I swear, something’s different about Gilbert,” one of them said, leaning in slightly, his voice low as he glanced over at the far table.

Another boy nodded, his eyes shifting toward Gilbert, who was sitting quietly now, having returned to his meal. "I mean, the guy's always been a mystery, right? He’s practically a ghost most days, just skips dinners, doesn’t even care about hanging out with the rest of us. Then, out of nowhere, he’s... human. It’s kinda weird."

Carl’s eyes flickered briefly toward the table where Gilbert sat, his mind still clouded with the memory of their brief interaction. He didn’t particularly enjoy hearing the others talk about him, but they weren’t wrong. Gilbert had always been something of an enigma.

"Yeah, it’s like he’s acting... normal now," another boy chimed in, his tone skeptical. "I mean, he used to walk in here, look at us all like we were insects, then just vanish again. And now? He’s sitting with that Battour kid, talking to him like they’ve known each other for years. The whole thing’s so strange."

One of them laughed, but there was a touch of confusion behind it.

"And don’t even get me started on how he used to seduce all the boys here. He’d pick the ones he liked, and then—poof—he was gone, leaving them hanging. It was like his own game. So this... 'human' thing? Yeah, it’s shocking."

Carl shifted in his seat, feeling a knot form in his stomach. He had heard the rumors before, about how Gilbert would sometimes charm his way into the hearts of the more attractive boys, only to discard them just as quickly. It was all part of Gilbert’s mysterious persona, something that made him both admired and feared by his peers. But now, hearing these boys gossip about it so openly, Carl couldn’t help but feel a little defensive.

“Yeah,” another voice spoke up, “we’re not used to seeing Gilbert like this. All chummy with Serge, acting like an actual person. It’s strange. Maybe Serge's the reason. He’s the only one who’s been able to crack him, huh?"

Carl stiffened slightly. He didn’t want to think about how Serge had changed Gilbert, how their bond seemed to draw Gilbert out of his shell. It made something in Carl ache, but he didn’t let it show.

The conversation continued around him, but Carl tried to block it out, focusing back on his meal. The gossip about Gilbert felt intrusive, but it also stirred something inside him—a mixture of curiosity, envy, and the faintest sense of longing.

As Carl tried to tune out the gossiping, Pascal, who had been silently adding a mixture of something from a small vial to his food, suddenly piped up with his usual irreverent tone. He grinned, glancing around the table at the others, clearly enjoying the attention.

"You know," Pascal began, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear, "Gilbert changing? This is a sign, guys. The world is definitely about to end."

The table fell quiet for a moment, everyone turning to look at him. Pascal’s grin widened as he sprinkled some more of his "special mixture" onto his plate—a concoction he claimed would "add more flavor" to his food. It was an ongoing joke at the table that he often played mad scientist with his meals, always coming up with some new experiment.

"Because seriously," Pascal continued, "we're talking about Gilbert, the boy who could barely be bothered to eat with us, let alone act like a regular human being. And now he’s...well, here he is, being all...normal."

He exaggerated the word ‘normal,’ making air quotes with his fingers as he tossed a pinch of something from another vial onto his food. "I mean, if he’s turning into a nice guy, the universe might as well collapse in on itself."

The others chuckled nervously, though some of them exchanged glances that seemed to question whether Pascal was actually onto something. Carl couldn’t help but roll his eyes, even though he couldn’t quite stifle a small laugh himself. Pascal had always been the eccentric one, the unpredictable one.

"You seriously think so, huh?" one of the boys asked, half-smiling, though his voice was tinged with uncertainty.

Pascal just shrugged dramatically, sloshing his mixture around with the back of his fork. "I mean, look at him!" he said, pointing over to Gilbert, who was still sitting with Serge, completely unaware of the conversation. "Monsieur Cocteau the Mystery suddenly playing nice? It’s a sign. Next thing you know, pigs will be flying, and we’ll all be having dinner with the apocalypse."

Carl shook his head, trying to hold back a smile. Despite the oddity of Pascal’s comment, there was something amusing about his confidence in the most ridiculous theories. It also took Carl’s mind off the more personal thoughts swirling in his head, at least for a moment.

"Well, if the world's ending, I guess we might as well enjoy it while it lasts," Carl muttered under his breath, lifting his fork.

Pascal looked over with a raised eyebrow, hearing the comment, and gave a dramatic nod. "Exactly! See? Carl gets it! Enjoy the chaos while we can. Because when the world ends, I’ll still be adding my little mixtures to everything. Maybe even your food, Carl."

Carl chuckled and went back to his meal, though his mind couldn’t help but wander back to Gilbert.

**************************************************

The academy’s halls were quiet, the lights dimmed, and the silence of the night pressed in like a heavy blanket. Carl lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, but sleep wouldn’t come. The soft hum of the academy at night was soothing, yet something outside had caught his attention—a faint sound, a rustling, barely audible but persistent enough to keep him wide awake.

After a few moments of tossing and turning, Carl sat up, his curiosity gnawing at him. He quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb his friends including Pascal, who was already asleep. With cautious steps, Carl made his way to the window, his feet barely making a sound on the cold wooden floor.

He peered through the curtains, his eyes searching the dark grounds below. The moonlight cast long shadows over the academy, but just beyond the fence, something caught his eye—a movement. At first, he thought it was just a trick of the light or perhaps an animal, but then he saw them more clearly: Serge and Gilbert.

They were sneaking out of the academy, their figures just visible against the dark outline of the trees. Hand in hand, their footsteps light and carefree, they walked together with an almost conspiratorial air about them. Carl could hear their muffled laughter, soft but unmistakable, carried by the night breeze. It was the kind of laughter that only came when two people shared something intimate, something private.

Carl’s heart skipped a beat, his breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t expected to see them like this, not in the quiet of the night. They moved with a confidence and ease, like they had done this before, like the world around them didn’t matter as long as they had each other.

As Carl watched them disappear into the deep forest, swallowed by the darkness, a strange feeling washed over him. It was a mix of jealousy, confusion, and something else he couldn’t quite place. He pressed his palm against the cool window, feeling the glass cold beneath his fingers as he tried to make sense of what he had just witnessed.

For a moment, all he could hear was the distant rustling of the trees, the faint echoes of Serge and Gilbert’s laughter fading away into the night.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, illuminating the room in a pale glow. The usual hum of activity filled the air as students hurried to get ready for the day. But Carl, quieter than usual, stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his tie with meticulous care.

The buzz of the other boys preparing for morning mass seemed distant, as if it were all happening in a world apart from his own. His thoughts lingered on the events of last night, the image of Serge and Gilbert sneaking off together, hand in hand, still fresh in his mind.

He tugged at his tie, tightening it just a little more than necessary. He couldn’t shake the memory of their laughter echoing into the night, the way they had slipped away into the forest as if the world around them didn’t matter. Had they returned by now? Was Serge back already? Or was Gilbert still... with him?

Carl exhaled slowly, watching his reflection in the mirror, his hands lingering on his tie. He couldn’t understand why it was bothering him so much. It was none of his business. He had no claim to Serge or Gilbert—both of them were free to do whatever they wanted, just like he was. And yet, the image of them together, in their own private world, was hard to forget.

It was strange, though—he could’ve sworn he heard a faint sound, as if they had returned sometime during the night, but there was no confirmation. Had they even come back?

Carl shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. He needed to focus. The students were already preparing for morning mass, and it was time for him to join them. With one last glance at the mirror, he adjusted the collar of his shirt and grabbed his jacket.

The echoes of footsteps outside the door reminded him that it was time to go. As he made his way to the chapel, the feeling of unease still tugged at him, but he couldn’t quite place it. All he could do was hope that whatever had changed between Serge and Gilbert was something that wouldn’t disturb the delicate balance of things, or at least, not in a way he couldn’t ignore.

As Carl made his way through the corridors with the other students, heading toward the chapel for morning mass, his thoughts still clung to the events of the previous night. The noise of students talking and shuffling around felt distant, muffled by the tension in his chest. It wasn’t until he reached the main hallway that his eyes caught something—a pair of familiar figures standing near the entrance.

There, just ahead of him, were Serge and Gilbert among the group.

Gilbert was standing slightly apart from the others, his blonde hair tousled just enough to give him a disheveled look, his usual cool demeanor still intact. One hand was adjusting the collar of his shirt with practiced ease, while the other held his Bible in a firm grip. Carl’s gaze lingered on the way Gilbert’s fingers gently pulled at the fabric, the motion smooth and natural, as if he were in his own world.

Serge, on the other hand, was walking beside him, his bright expression impossible to miss. He had that usual cheery smile on his face, the one that seemed to soften everything around him. There was a lightness in his step, and he spoke to Gilbert in a low voice, though Carl couldn’t hear the words.

Whatever Serge said, Gilbert’s expression didn’t change much—his focus remained on the task at hand, adjusting his collar as if it were second nature—but there was a subtle shift in his demeanor. A small relaxation around Serge that Carl couldn’t quite ignore.

For a moment, Carl froze, watching the two of them. Serge’s easy warmth contrasted sharply with Gilbert’s cool, calculated air. And yet, there was something real between them now, something Carl couldn’t quite explain. The way Gilbert seemed to respond to Serge’s presence—it was different from how he interacted with anyone else.

The sharp edge to Gilbert that had always made him seem untouchable, unreachable, was somehow dulled when Serge was around.

Carl shook his head, focusing back on his own steps, but the feeling in his chest hadn’t quite gone away. He couldn’t help but feel that strange, gnawing pull again, a mixture of confusion, envy, and something else, something deeper.

As they all walked toward the chapel, Carl couldn’t help but glance back at the pair, feeling the weight of the unspoken change between them hanging in the air.

**************************************************

The stillness of morning mass had given way to the quiet hum of the classroom as the first session began. Carl sat at his desk, his posture straight, his hands folded neatly over his open notebook. The teacher’s voice was steady, explaining the intricacies of the lesson with precision, but Carl’s mind, though focused for the most part, couldn’t help but wander now and then.

His eyes drifted across the room, drawn almost involuntarily to where Serge and Gilbert were seated. Serge was leaning slightly forward, his dark curls catching the sunlight that streamed through the windows. He appeared deeply engrossed in the text before him, his pen occasionally tapping lightly against the edge of his desk. Beside him, Gilbert sat with an air of effortless composure, one arm propped on the desk as he supported his chin in his palm.

The light from the window highlighted Gilbert’s features—the soft curve of his cheek, the golden strands of his hair, the calm, almost ethereal expression on his face. He looked otherworldly, like an angel lost in thought, his green eyes skimming over the pages of the book in front of him with quiet intensity.

Carl swallowed, quickly tearing his gaze away and refocusing on the teacher at the front of the room. He scribbled a few notes into his notebook, trying to suppress the flutter of distraction that stirred in his chest. But as the minutes passed, his resolve wavered. His gaze flicked back toward the pair, almost as if pulled by an invisible string.

Gilbert hadn’t moved, still resting his chin on his palm, his elegant features unmarred by any trace of concern or frustration. Serge, meanwhile, turned a page in his book with a soft rustle, his brows furrowing slightly in concentration.

The sight of them together, so focused, so natural, was enough to send another wave of unease through Carl. It wasn’t jealousy—not entirely. It was something quieter, more complicated.

He exhaled softly, forcing himself to look back at the teacher again. The lesson continued, but Carl’s thoughts lingered on the two figures sitting just a few seats away, their presence impossible to ignore.

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