He can't move.

He can't move.

There's—there's someone there—in the room—

He can't move.

Move, move, move, open your eyes, his eyes are open, he's staring at the ceiling and his body is sluggish, heavy, his limbs are leaden and won't respond. He hates waking up, hates how slow he is, and there's danger, there's someone there, it's the man, the man Edmund told him about, the dancer.

Pete doesn't want to fall in love.

Why is it so bright—

Move move move get up tell someone run away get up—

He takes in a deep, sudden breath, and opens his eyes.

It's dark. There's no one there.

Well, there's Hywel. He doesn't quite snore, but his breathing is audible from across the room. That counts for something.

(Also, he seems to have tossed away his blanket in his sleep. It's half draped over the side of the lofted frame.)

Deep breath.

He left his phone under his pillow so he can unlock it to see by its very dim light that there is, in fact, no one else here. Just him and Hywel. The door's shut. Everything's the same as when he went to sleep, mostly.

A dream. A nightmare. A night terror with night paralysis. He thinks. One of those he always fucking has, there's always someone in the room and they usually loom by his bed and he can't move, except they couldn't loom this time, could they, what with how you'd need to climb the ladder, so his brain improvised. The shadows on the ceiling and the light and the dancing man—cute. Very cute of his brain, really, to riff off the horror story from earlier today—he looks at the time on his phone—from yesterday. And very cute of the narrative, too. He hadn't actually given his dreams much thought, with respect to his Mary Sueness, except to think that he could just fall asleep and then wake up and have that be it. He was wrong, he guesses.

Well, Mary Sues do have to have some troubles, don't they. Troubled sleep, not in a way that actually impacts their day life by making them tired or distracted, only in a way that makes their face slightly haunted in a distant but alluring way. Give them a mysterious air, you know how it is.

He supposes he would in fact be okay with a narrative that includes him continuing to have dreams, and nightmares, and, yes, even the fucking night terrors. So he's not losing those.

Joy.

It takes him a few more minutes to calm his heart, to convince himself that there really isn't any danger, that he is okay, but eventually he manages it. And a few minutes after that he falls back asleep.

The next time he thinks it's very bright, it actually is. The sunlight's streaming through the window and getting all over his face.

Well, at least one of his predictions came true: he is feeling wonderfully rested and ready for a new day etc etc etc. Even if he's still feeling kind of shaken up by the nightmare. He's used to it.

Also, there is literally no reason for him to have morning wood given that he doesn't actually need to use the bathroom at all anymore so this is clearly just for fun. He supposes he appreciates waking up with an erection from a sort of impersonal perspective and he has to admit this body is really impressive.

He sits up and stretches and yawns and he doesn't have morning breath and in this body his joints don't crack at all.

(Wait, what the hell did he do with his blanket? He thought he didn't move while in night paralysis. Isn't that the whole thing? Meh, whatever.)

Hywel's still asleep, though outside the door there's at least one person walking around. Pete has the run of the room.

Well what time is it? When does he have class? Should he be trying to wake Hywel up, should be be finding the blinds and securing them more properly?

(Should he be trying to get back to sleep?, he would have asked at one point in his life, but he is so blessedly awake right now it's kind of insane.)

It's almost 7:00. Morning Assembly is 8:45, classes at 9:00. Breakfast served from 7:15 to 8:30. Neither the student handbook nor the omniscient narration can comment on whether he should wake his roommate.

...he has almost two hours before class, and fifteen minutes before breakfast. What's he even going to do.

Hmm. What are the odds that one of his plot people will also wake up at ungodly hours in the morning? When he puts it this way, quite high. But just in case they don't he's going to also put—he doesn't need to put his swimming gear in his backpack. He doesn't even need to carry a backpack. He's going to, because of his personal masquerade, but, but it's very freeing to know that he can just. Have stuff. Anyway point is if he can't find any plot he'll swim for like forty minutes to pass the time.

But today Pete's feeling Astolfo. His uniform will be the skirt, sheer black stockings, the vest, and an open shirt, and then he's good to go. By the time he hops off the bed he's dressed and has his extremely pink backpack slung over one shoulder.

Time to go find some plot. He'll meander towards communal areas of this school to see what awaits.

What awaits: Peter!

"My namesake!" he greets as Pete enters the common room. "You've risen with the sun, I see. And... frankly, taken more of the dress code to heart than I'd imagined."

"The dress code was indeed pretty specific. I suppose none of us can escape it," he says, grinning. "I had to make do. So how're you today?"

"Quite well. I'm just waiting for the cafeteria to open for breakfast, mostly - usually when I'm up this early there's some essay or what have you that I could be working on, but, well, first day. Could exercise a bit but I'm in uniform already, could read but I don't have anything in the queue..."

He walks over to the couch and sits next to Peter, making sure to arrange his skirt and cross his legs so he's not flashing anyone his underwear. "I've got my swimming gear in my backpack and I'd been thinking of doing that to kill the time if I couldn't find anything better to do. But then I ran into you." He's not going to say that Peter is something better to do, but he's thinking it.

"Swimming's great. Strengthens the core, the arms, the legs, just about everything really. Real all-rounder of a sport."

"A very textbook description of it if I've ever heard one. Ed told me you like fencing, though."

"Yeah. I favor sabre, Ed favors épée - when we fight each other we use foil and we both hate it, though he's still got a bit of an advantage."

"I know absolutely none of those words. That is a lie, I speak French, but still, épée just means 'sword' so I feel very unenlightened. Illuminate me?"

"So - fencing, right, it's like a swordfight except they took out the parts that kill people? The usual style is foil, which is garbage. When you fence foil - hang on -"

Peter stands from the couch and stands with his feet spread a few feet, roughly perpendicular to Pete. He's got his right arm extended, as if to point an invisible blade at Pete's heart; his left is loose at his side.

"Imagine you've got a sword. Now imagine you'd really like me dead. Where d'you hit me?"

"...from where I am? Uh, I'd... well with the understanding that i have no idea what I'm talking about, I'd probably try to aim for the parts of you that do not have a sword? Your," gesture, "body?"

"Well and good. My blade's got my torso pretty well defended, if you try for my heart I'll be able to lock swords with you, so I imagine that the body might be, say, the legs, the head?"

"I can't imagine you would have much trouble defending your head, your hand is right there, so legs, probably. If I imagine stuff I've seen in like fiction I would ideally want you to overextend to be able to hit your torso, though."

"Yeah, overextending is a thing! If you get me off balance you can hit me where you like! Except, no, you can't. This is foil. You can hit me exactly and only from here -" he touches the hollow of his throat "- to here -" he taps his armpits "- to, well, here -" he pulls up his crotch, snickering a bit. "No more, no less. You're wearing a mask, because no one wants an accident! But to actually touch the mask would be terribly dishonorable, wouldn't it. This is fencing, not a brawl. We're gentlemen."

"Oh. Huh. And that's—specifically foil? Other kinds of swords you can touch other parts?"

"Yeah! That's the great part - sabre it's anything above the belt, épée it's just anywhere - I like sabre better, because you can slash and not just poke. Ed likes épée because instead of 'one person wins per round, if you both hit each other it gets legislated by the referee' you can both take the point, and he's aces at jabbing people just in time to waste their shot. Skulduggerous little bastard."

They are so cute. Peter and Ed. Their, their implied relationship, here.

.......it's making him miss his siblings. His sister, especially.

Well, he'll. Deal.

"What isn't cheating is technique," he recites, grinning. "Why are there different rules like that, about where to hit, per type of sword?"

"Backwards. They're three schools of fencing the blades of which have evolved to suit the needs of the fighters, all ultimately descended from the rapier. I occasionally wonder if there'd be some way to make a proper longsword duel work, with solid enough armor that you can put your weight behind it, but of course there's a problem where if an athlete swings a kilogram-and-a-half length of steel at you with his whole body behind it, there more or less isn't armor that keeps you from rolling the dice on a broken rib at best."

Peter checks his watch. "We should be good for breakfast if we head out now. First ones there, probably, or near enough."

"Oh, I suppose that makes sense," he says, hopping to his feet. "And the rapier would be...?"

"Very much like the foil, or the épée, or the sabre, but instead of a flexible fourteen-ounce metal pointer-stick with a rubber tip, it's a kilo of sharpened steel you use to stab people to death. So, not very much like them at all, really."

He grins. "Fair enough. And why fencing?"

"Why... what?"

"Why do you like fencing? What sparks this fire behind your eyes I see when you talk about it?"

"It's... almost..."

He tries to finish his sentence, and fails, because... there wasn't a rest of that sentence. It's almost.

"I, I picked it up in primary school? I've - put a lot into it? It's important to me. It's something I'm good at."

"And you're not good at, say, swimming? What made you jump out of the couch to mime at me, what made you need to share that with me? What was it that you were sharing?

"...sorry if I'm being too intrusive, we can change the subject."

"I'm good at swimming, but. I -"

He hesitates.

"I'm bad at this part," he admits. "Ed always says so. I never really know what I feel or why I feel it. He says people do, usually."

"...I know you don't mean the object level of literally this here interaction, exactly, but on the object level: you were feeling excited, and engaged, and interested. Embodied, might be another word for it. You were more present right then than you normally are, there was more of you. Now you're—confused, a little bit embarrassed, wondering if..." If there's something wrong with you, he won't say. He shrugs instead. "The why, I could try to help with, probably."

More of you. Yeah. That... sounds right.

He's not really wondering.

"...I wouldn't say no."

"Right, then! Since we've only just met I can't promise to unravel all of the secrets of your psyche but we can just in fact start with the object level. Picture yourself fencing, like you were doing just now when you wanted to demonstrate it to me. Where is your attention? Where does your brain go, what are you thinking, what are your eyes looking at?"

And separately, is the narration going to let Pete get away with not deciding what to eat? ...wait, no, he's meant to act normal around Peter, ughhhhhhh. Fine, fine.

Peter closes his eyes.

"Mm. Attention's on my opponent, obviously. I want to know what they've got. Where's their attention? If I can see any weaknesses just from their stance, I've probably got them outmatched - but it's not likely, not unless I'm fighting one of the underclassmen, and then I'm teaching, not properly fighting, it's a completely different skillset. But allez, I move. Usually I lunge out the gate, I've got the reach for it, and if I get them then, it's downhill from there. Press the attack - don't lock into one pattern, but stay aggressive. I'm bigger than most who go into fencing, and a big man closing in on you with a sword shakes people just enough to give an edge. The tempo's everything. If you press someone hard enough they might go down in three minutes."

Then he opens them. "But I'm not really thinking any of that. I just move."

"No, not thinking. Embodied was a good word. Please interrupt me if I'm talking out of my ass, but...

"Your mind is not in your brain, it's in your legs, in your hands, at the edge and tip of your sword. There isn't space for, hmm. Having a self? Or, no, there is a self there, there isn't space for everything else, it's just the self and the moment, the awareness of what's happening and what's going to happen and what to do about it. No overthinking."

"Sure. I'm kinesthetic."

"But all of that could be said of you when you're swimming, right? Probably. So what feels different?" Pete has a strong guess here but he'll let Peter speak first to see if he confirms it.

"Swimming doesn't have... an enemy. It's nice, my body's moving, but - when there's someone to beat it's all so clear."

He prods a fried egg with his fork. "Like I said. It's... almost."

Ha he was right. "Almost what?"

"Almost real. Almost battle, for glory and God. Almost killing someone so he can't kill me, knowing that if I slip for a second I'll never see my family again, is that what you need to hear? I know you're very clever, but I'm not an idiot either, I know that I'm -"

Peter looks, for a moment, like he might vomit.

"Sorry," he says lamely.

"...Peter, do you want a hug?"

"I wouldn't say no."

So Pete can hug. And then he can... focus inwards, look into his heart, try to really understand Peter, and to know how to convey what he wants to convey to him in a way he'll understand.

"I don't think you are," he murmurs, in a more subdued fashion. "It's never wrong to want things, there are no thought crimes. And... you have people who love you despite knowing this. You have people who will love you, even knowing this. Who will love you because they know this, because of who you are, and this is a part of who you are. Me, for example. That has to count for something. You're a good person." He squeezes Peter into the hug a bit, to underline this.

"And I don't want to say you'll never get what you want, that it doesn't exist. There's more between heaven and earth... and the world is bigger than this. There's more to it than you can see, there's more beyond heaven than under it."

Peter tries for a wan smile. It comes out more of a bitter tightening of the mouth.

"Maybe I'll be the first outbound Traveler. See beyond Heaven that way."

"First? For all you know there's been plenty and you've never met them because they never came back." Another hugsqueeze and then he lets go. "And I'll look into fencing, too. Give you a new enemy for some variety, and the sexual tension will just be a bonus!"

The first and third sentences didn't happen because the second was about swords.

"Oh, that'd be great! The way you move, I bet you've got the coordination, how strong are you? Arm wrestle me, here-" He stands up and shifts his chair so he can get his elbow onto the table.

He is as strong as American football soccer and swimming boy was, no matter how twinky he looks.

"Jesus!" Peter says, his hand thudding into the table. "Okay, again without my going easy -"

His hand thuds into the table again, but it takes slightly longer. "Christ!" Peter exclaims. "I almost want you for wrestling, and I don't even wrestle anymore. Alright, show up to the fencing club tomorrow afternoon or I swear I will make such a face. It'll be tragic. You won't even be there to see it."

"Just give me the time and place and I'll be there."

Okay Peter smiling is kind of making Pete fall a little bit in love with him. It's not really that he's attractive, though he is; it's just a kind of contagious radiance that makes his little femboy heart go dokidoki to look at.

"It's at four, in the Driscoll building, squash court 2. You won't get a sword your first day but you'll get to see the exhibition match where I thrash Fulham but make it look like he had a chance of victory."

"I'm not sure my heart will be ready for the sight of you being physically impressive but I suppose I'll have to deal with it."

"Your heart will go on, I'm sure."

"Did I hear you're going to be waving your sword around?" Tom asks, sliding into the seat next to Pete. "I can't say I'm surprised, necessarily."

Oh no.

"You're not? What gave me away, was it the pink backpack?"

"Well, the backpack speaks to the same underlying hunger for attention. But no, what gave you away was the way you were looking at Pevensie when I walked in. Very sort of puppyish."

"I actually don't mind people liking me. You mind people liking me."

"Ah, of course. My jealousy knows no bounds."

"Peter's smile is as radiant as the sun and was making my heart go all aflutter," he says, echoing his earlier thoughts, "so I'm not surprised I was looking puppyishly at him. And I do hope you're not the jealous type, because I'm very strongly nonmonogamous."

"I knew that much from you slutting it up with Pevensie the younger."

"-what??"

"Oh, dear." Tom takes a sip of coffee.

"I went on a date with Edmund yesterday. We had cake, kissed, and watched anime. I... hope that's okay?"

"-um. Yeah? I, it's good he'll have someone -"

"I can't help but feel if you're going to watch television you might do it elsewhere than a single-occupancy toilet. People might get the wrong idea."

"That was because I was helping Ed through an anxiety attack, and he wanted some privacy."

They did slut it up both earlier and later of course but Pete is not having Tom force his framing onto this. Also Pete perversely enjoys this kind of verbal sparring with people and Tom is fair game for anything.

"How kind."

"Riddle," Peter says coolly, "get out of my fucking sight before I bash your head in."

"It's not just kindness, Tom, it's friendship. You might want to read up on it, I hear Wikipedia is a good place to find information on broad common topics everyone knows about."

"May we all have such friends," Tom says, unhurriedly reclaiming his tray. "To calm us; to threaten our enemies; and to tell us where to find common knowledge that wasn't so common, back home."

He slides out of his seat and walks away.

"Oh, he wants me to feel pity for his awful upbringing, that's cute," Pete says, once Tom's gone. He's feeling unaccountably cheerful after that. He's really not sure how he's going to redeem Tom but he can't imagine that Literally Voldemort can't handle people being a little bit acidic towards him.

Then he pauses and looks at Peter. "Also, um. Sorry for not mentioning it before, I—wasn't trying to hide it, it just kind of didn't occur to me that you'd want to know, even though obviously you would. I mean, I want to know when my siblings have people interested in them, so..."

"You didn't expect the worst teenager in the world to tell me your business ten hours after it happened. I'd be miffed if you'd left it a week, but 'I kissed your brother' doesn't actually have to be the first thing out of your mouth."

"Yeah, I know, but... I also don't want to come off as playing with his heart, flirting with you, you know? I'm not sure if you'd have thought it but. I'm not. Playing with anyone's heart." Pause. "Maybe Tom's but he's fair game."

"I wasn't actually joking when I said flirting seemed like your main mode of communication. It sounds like you talked to Ed about all of this, and I told you already I'm not going to return the favor, so it's none of my business at all."

"'Return the favor'?"

"Flirt back. Kiss you. Whatever. I'm the hall prefect, this isn't Eton."

"Hmm, I'm afraid I'm too American to catch the reference," he says, temporizing a bit to think about how to say... "But as for the favor, I'll play it by ear. I may be flirty by nature but I mean everything I say."

"Eton's another public school. More... traditional. One of their traditions is fagging, where an older boy takes a younger one under his wing, protects him, tutors him, et cetera, in exchange for services ranging from cleaning his room to. Other services. It's rancid. They say they don't do it anymore, but my father's not convinced and I trust him more than Eton's public relations staff."

"...okay like that sounds hot as a porn concept but it sounds substantially less appealing as something that actually happens in real life in the year of our Lord 2023. I want to be your friend," and maybe boyfriend, "not to do any of that." ...though if Peter himself wanted to play that role, Pete has plot armor, and he'd be super willing to play along.

(Also he's, uh, noticing that he's starting to feel a little bit defensive and it takes only two seconds of introspection to identify it as the familiar panic of having another unrequited crush. And he specifically edited his superpowers in ways that would permit those to keep existing. So. He should. Probably be open to the possibility.)

(It's been less than a day.)

(That's never stopped him from crushing on someone before, has it.)

"I want to be your friend too. Which is why you can flirt with me relentlessly, and I won't do anything about it, except maybe blush and sputter."

"...friends can become boyfriends, too, and in fact I'm pretty sure it's better to date a friend than a stranger, so none of that 'I won't do anything about it'. Play it by ear, like I said, if you find yourself having feelings for me I will not have you going 'oh but we're friends I don't want to ruin our friendship', I refuse to be in a bad romcom plot. And I'll do exactly the same."

"But I am, actually, still in a position of power over you, which is more important than whether I think you're pretty and nice."

"...Peter this is high school. Like I very much hear what you're saying and agree with the general principle but this is high school and you're a hall monitor and unless the student's handbook was grossly misleading me I don't actually think you have the kind of power over me that would make me want to romantically or sexually please you to appease. ...not that I generally would, anyway, I'm very bad at doing what I'm told and my gut reaction to anyone trying to tell me what to do is to want to immediately do the opposite and that's landed me in detention a couple of times, but."

"...that's. I mean."

Peter stands up and walks over to another table, more full of girls.

"Su, am I having delusions of grandeur if I think the power gap between me and one of my underclassmen is -"

"Yes," says a different girl, without waiting for him to finish his sentence. "What are you talking about? Power gap - you're a boy scout leading other, slightly smaller boy scouts!"

"I'm being mischaracterized," says Hywel, whom the girl is determinedly ignoring despite proximity. "I'd like to see the Scouts that'd take me."

Oh so that's Sophie. Good to know. He'll chase after her later and figure out what her half of this arrangement's like.

For the moment, though, he will just chinhands and watch this interaction from a safe distance because he is loving where it seems to be leading.

"Hi Peter and Pete. Sophie's right but I might have said it more gently."

"Perhaps I'm resentful of how little power he does have over his underclassmen."

"That's me," Hywel adds unnenessarily. "Heya."

"If the Scouts wouldn't take you, why don't you try further afield, like the French Foreign Legion?"

"And forget? Never."

"I think your presence is agitating them," Susan says tightly.

Oh fine he'll get up and walk over, too. "Apologies for whatever part I played in that agitation." He looks at Sophie and extends a hand to shake. "And it's a pleasure to meet you, Sophie, I've heard much and more about you! I'm Peter Tarleton, Pete for short."

Sophie looks at his hand, then his face, then his skirt.

"What are your pronouns, and do I need to kill anyone for rooming you with Hywel," she asks, jerking her head in his direction as she gingerly shakes Pete's hand.

"My pronouns are whatever you're in the mood for, and I think you probably should not try to kill whoever it was, I'm sure they meant well or at least didn't mean badly."

"Alright. You're enough a girl that I'd be tempted, is all."

"I'm not discriminatory! I treat other lads exactly the same way!"

"You have three stone and fifteen centimeters on her, don't try to tell me how you come off to other lads."

"Yeah but she's got at least ten centimeters on me where it -"

Peter slaps him across the back of the head.

"Ow!"

He has to cover his mouth and hold his breath so as not to make a thoroughly embarrassing snorting noise; the cough that replaces it isn't so much trying to mask laughter as it is what happens when you inhale too much saliva from trying to prevent some other sound from coming out.

(...also add a little bit of gender euphoria to being called "her", he was mostly on autopilot when he said any pronouns but actually it feels. Nice. It feels nice.)

"Don't be too harsh on him, at least not on my account, I have a lot of tolerance for his antics and I don't, actually, mind."

"I don't mind either!" Hywel says chipperly. "I'm like one of those weighted dolls, you can knock me over and I pop back up just as easy."

"Jenkins, are you aware of a set of rules called the social contract?"

"Oh, I didn't sign mine. Religious exemption."

"Truly do not know why I bother."

"Honestly I think the way to deal with Hywel is going to be a peer, not an upperclassman. Someone society isn't telling him he should respect, so that he won't refuse it on principle. Perhaps, even, someone who sleeps in the same room as him and who has rather a lot of leeway to be a pain in his ass."

"That a threat, love?"

"No, no, it's just idle musings not necessarily related to any specific person or persons. ...I'm not actually planning to do anything that would make me a bad roommate, that'd be really rude when you've been nothing but welcoming so far. Anyway! Peter, has the question you meant to explore been answered to your satisfaction?"

"I was hoping you'd forgotten about that," Peter admits. "Yes, alright, it's resolved. Bye, Su. Sophie, lovely to see you and sorry about all this. Jenkins, your fly's down."

Hywel looks downward.

And Peter knocks him on the head again. "Right, I'm off."

Pete waves with his fingers at everyone and follows him.

Back to their own table.

"So," Peter starts.

It doesn't really go anywhere from there.

"So I'm not seeing things, right, the hiccup is in fact that my crush is not entirely unreciprocated?" Whoops that was too much again wasn't it. "I, I mean, it's fine if not of course, just, apparently the uh power thing seemed to be a big sticking point somewhere and I'm gonna stop talking now."

"I... no, that is what's going on. I just. Don't really know what to do about it."

You kiss me it seems that the Pevensie boys are not the kind to kiss first and date later.

"The standard thing to do when two people have acknowledged they are into each other is a date." Aaaaand now there's a part of him that wants to wait for Peter to be the one to ask him out and he's not sure if this is some kind of gender role thing of how he's playing a girl here or what uh. He's. Well, if Peter doesn't ask him out after that he will, how about that?

"Maybe?? But - it feels like if I go out somewhere with you it could - turn into something - not that I'm completely opposed to turning into -"

He takes a drink of water.

"I'm not really good at this part, either?"

"Is this the kind of situation where you want to—talk it out, figure out what you do and don't want, see where we go from there, or—is it the kind of situation where you want to just do a thing and see what happens?"

"I don't know," he says. "I don't want to talk about it. I certainly don't want to do anything without thinking about it. Also, I don't want to think about it. I would like to hide in a blanket until my feelings make sense with no input on my end."

"If it helps any that makes me want to kiss you. I can't imagine it does but it felt like the kind of thing that you might wish to know.

"It seems like maybe playing it by ear might in fact be the way to go? Like, you know, maybe you'll find out you're really annoyed by the way I laugh or something. We don't need to figure anything out today, especially not right now, our acquaintance is one day old, we have time."

"...it doesn't help, but it doesn't hurt, exactly. And I've heard you laugh. But - yeah, let's be friends before we go anywhere too exciting. Thanks."

"Excellent. Oh, also, do let me know what Susan will tease you with later, even if it's just a knowing look."

"Oh, she's got nothing on me, I've behaved exactly like myself the whole time. Ed she'll likely tease viciously."

"Delightful, I look forward to it."

The drawback of this "taking their time" strategy, however, is that he feels even more tempted to kiss Peter when he's adorable than he was before because of how the tantalizing possibility is just out of reach.

Even when he is not being constantly interrupted by revelations or Tom Riddle, Peter turns out to eat extremely slowly. He apologizes for this not less than twice during the meal, which stretches on long enough that by its conclusion it's very nearly time to head out for morning assembly.

That's okay, Peter continues to be endlessly charming and Pete is not going to complain about getting to spend time with him.

"Now I need to figure out where class is, though. Or, uh, morning assembly I guess?"

"Assembly, yes! It's in the amphitheater, same one as the entrance speech - or, were you here for that, it seemed like you might have come in later?"

"Oh I came in just in time for that, cool, I know where it is. Does everyone go?"

"Yeah, gets us all in one place so we can all hear whatever there is to say at the same time." General movement towards amphitheater?

Sure, general movement towards amphitheater. What could there possibly be to say to everyone, though, that wasn't said yesterday. Is this a boarding school thing. Is this a UK thing. Is this a both thing. He guesses he'll find out!

Students are filing in. Some are shoving each other and joking; others shamble along, zombielike due to the early hour.

One of them looks like he could very easily be performing cartwheels and is refraining solely out of respect for his schoolmates.

He waves to Tintin to let him know he is not being ignored but look at Peter and says, "It seems my presence is requested. I'll see you later?"

"I'm hardly going to stop you!"

He grins but in lieu of saying anything to that, on an impulse, he climbs onto his tiptoes so that he can kiss Peter on the cheek then immediately whirl around and run over to Tintin.

bfxwhuh?!!?

"Congratulations, I think! But I thought they were meant to be seven mysteries, did they grow so much in the retelling?"

"Ultimately they are very similar things! We will workshop the name."

"And you said you'd love an assistant, did you not?"

"Just so, I would and still... would, I suppose. Tenses."

He grins. "Well, color me interested. How does it work, do you have meeting times like other clubs, do I have to meet your editor?"

"Monika is, ah, informal. You are encouraged to come by her room when convenient so she can get a good look at you, and to then send reports by email unless she specifically demands your presence."

"I see. Presumably 'when convenient' would be, like, after dinner and such? Her not being guaranteed to be there otherwise."

"Yes, that would work. I could also give her your cellphone number, if I had such a thing, so you could arrange a visit."

"That does seem a lot more expedient, yes."

"What, you want me to ask you directly? With my own mouth? I thought this was the subtle game of cat and mouse!"

"It is, and sometimes the cat has to put aside all subtle traps and subterfuge and just pounce at the mouse to get it, doesn't he?"

Tintin hands over his phone, looking utterly smug.

Then he steps back to a more socially appropriate distance and—the way his eyes glint for a fraction of a second there is almost certainly a trick of the light.

Tintin shivers, for a moment.

Then he rolls his eyes. "And here I said we did not need to flirt in French! It's hard for me to say things as neatly in English, I suppose. Not that you have any such excuse."

"Maybe I like challenging myself in a language I speak less well. It's like they say, constraints breed creativity. Or was it restraints? One of those."

"Restraints, breeding, always the same with you."

Then there's the squeal of a microphone, and the morning assembly is called to order.

There is not, in fact, very much to say that wasn't said the day before. The Headmaster mostly just says a few words. But they play some music!

And then there's a prayer!

...is this gonna happen every day. Can Pete get a religious exemption. He is still working through some stuff w.r.t. religion and he'd rather not this.

Who knows!

Tintin, unlike most of their schoolmates, is silent. So he is certainly permitted to not recite the prayer.

Alright sure let's go with that, he will share companionable silence with his fellow ?non-Christian?.

And then they're done praying! There's another song.

Tintin leans over. "Thank Christ you are here. I really do not enjoy being, ah, outnumbered."

"Can one not... opt out. Just leave morning assembly early. Is there morning assembly every day."

"No. And yes. But it is very progressive, you see, you do not have to say it."

"Oh I would like to watch them try to make me say it. Would it be disrespectful to just use my phone during, do you think."

"Yes. Feel free. I am very fond of God, and I do not think he minds, and if the English do, it is too bad for them."

"She and I have our differences." The main one being that She doesn't exist. ...well. Doesn't exist back home. Now that he thinks about it there might well be a God here. Well, if She wants to make Herself known to him She will do so and otherwise Pete will not concern himself with Her. "Though I'm pretty sure I would have objected to this even before that, I used to resolutely refuse to say the Pledge of Allegiance back home."

"Ah, yes... you know, in Europe we point to your Pledge and say at least we do not have children stand there worshiping our flag, we cannot be so bad! We mostly say this to console ourselves about our own fascists. But it does make us feel better."

"It's the dumbest thing and I refuse to say things, and especially pledge things, when I don't mean them."

Anyway, now they're done with this and Pete gets to find out how classes work in England. Or, he guesses, in This Here English School.

Tintin shares his first class, so he can help with navigation!

"Interesting - you object to the, the falsehood of it, rather than to the simple fact that it is a brainwashing tactic? That is not an aspect I'd thought about, but it makes a kind of sense."

"Not rather than, more like in addition to, but since I am literally immune to brainwashing tactics the part that ranks the most to me, personally, is having to say false things."

Tintin looks disapproving. "Everyone thinks they are immune to brainwashing tactics, until it turns out that they have been brainwashed. But, yes. Being made to lie is also very bad."

"—sorry, I was just being flippant. I don't think 'everyone Pledges their Allegiance to the flag at the same time' worked on me, and I don't think praying here is gonna work on me for that same reason, is all I meant."

But also, like, he is in fact literally immune to brainwashing tactics. That was a power he picked. What he had been referring to was the fact that he was too much of a contrarian to want to pledge his allegiance to any flags but he very much is in fact immune to brainwashing.

"Well, I can agree with that. ...I am sorry if I said it too strongly. I do, sometimes."

He grins. "Don't worry about it, you can't scare me."

"I see - perhaps you are literally immune to being scared as well?"

"Would you take it as a challenge if I said that it's just that I think most people can't scare me?"

"Not a challenge. Perhaps a reassurance. I have... not always made friends, by caring so much about the things I do."

"Oh I'm all for people caring about stuff very much and very loudly, you're in good company. I'm..." Pause.

"...I'm a pink femboy in a skirt," he says, softly, because it might be the best way to communicate what he means. Or, at least, it's the most accessible, because he's having trouble finding another one.

"I will trade blows with any jackass who takes issue with my sex, and that applies to yours just as well. But it is not about breaking someone's teeth when they say something horrid. It is about meeting someone and thinking they are lovely, and thinking I might get on with them well, and then - shouting about their national traditions being protofascist, maybe - and seeing that I might not get on with them so well. Where it is not even, really, their fault. Maybe it is not even really mine. But... I say things too strongly, because I feel them too strongly."

"No, I know, what I mean is... I am going to be myself. Loudly. And do whatever I want to do. And you're going to be yourself, loudly, and... that might end up pushing some people away, sure, but then those are not people who would have otherwise stayed. Someone who will object to your—way of expressing yourself—how you feel—well, probably you wouldn't have actually been able to get on with them well, you know?

"But you can call my country traditions protofascist and have very loud, disagreeable opinions around me and I'll probably just think you're awesome actually."

"Well. Thank you. I could - there is some silly English word for just this but - I could argue with the little parts of what you say. But I think you are saying the important part right."

Why is he being given so many cute boys he wants to kiss and cannot. This is homophobia against him specifically.

"Nitpick is probably the word you want," he suggests.

"Nitpick! I suppose like the monkeys do? I like that, I think. It frames philosophy as a sort of monkey-to-monkey comfort ritual, which is not nearly so wrong as it could be."

They arrive, at this point, at their class.

Class is basically the same as it was at Pete's old school, except that the teachers are better-paid and the students wear uniforms.

And some of the students are a little bit more liberal with their uniform than others, n'est-ce pas ?

Yes, most students don't have their entire torso exposed. The teacher doesn't actually comment, though, just raises her eyebrows and teaches the class.

Unfortunately for Pete's budding image as a delinquent he is in fact pretty smart, and though he mostly picked classes that looked interesting that still probably won't make him fall behind in any way.

Very intelligent delinquents do exist.

One of them is apparently taking classes in this building, because when Pete exits the classroom, Tom Riddle bumps into him, dropping an armful of textbooks.

"Shit!"

At some point in the middle of class while no one was looking Pete decided he wanted to be 3D again, so now he is.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" he says, body automatically moving to help pick up the dropped books before he's even consciously processed that it's Tom who bumped into him. He pauses for a fraction of a second but decides to not let that stop him; he's meant to seduce Tom into becoming a good person, and that won't happen if he is constantly marinating in contempt for Tom. He should make an effort towards finding the good in him and that means that even when Tom is obviously angling for something Pete should play along. After all, he only has Peter's and Edmund's word that Tom Riddle is a horrible person and the bubbly newcomer he is would almost certainly give Tom a chance. "Are you alright?" he looks up from book collection to ask.

"Yeah, the books are hardcover, and none of them landed wrong... and, you know, nothing landed on my toes, either." Gather gather gather. "Should've looked where I was going, but."

Tintin exits the classroom. "Pete, where - oh! Hello, Tom... do you two need help?"

"I don't think so."

"Then I should really be going, my next is halfway across the campus. I will see you later?"

"Later!" he says, grinning.

"...'but'?" he directs to Tom, straightening up but not immediately giving the books back. It's an opening for him to walk with Tom wherever he's going, if he can offer to carry them.

"...I might've stayed up too late last night," Tom confesses with a convincing approximation of an embarrassed smile. "Did some reading."

"What about?" he asks, genuinely curious. Also, can he make a face that suggests he feels unimpressed by how Tom is acting friendly right now after trying to be a dick this morning? He's gonna try it. It's a face that has a kind of lifted eyebrow and an amused curl to his lips.

"...well, since you ask, about Travelers." Tom's voice lowers as they pass by a knot of fellow students. "People try not to talk about it, but... There's a thousand worlds running along the same track, and we're the one that gets all the tourists, and we try not to talk about it. Doesn't that seem a bit stupid?"

Ah huh.

"I understand the reasoning for not doing it; what I find really surprising is that it works," he says, lowering his voice too to match Tom's. "People do, actually, not talk about it. Is there anything else in the world that's been so successfully suppressed?"

"Nothing very notable, I'm given to understand. Detroit, I suppose, but there's plenty of reasons not to talk about that."

"I don't know that I'd count Detroit as a separate topic from this one."

"Nor would I, really. A lot of people do, though - we've got our Visitors, our Honored Guests, and then there's that horrible thing that happened when there was an Intruder. No relation, really."

"Well, it's all on the same Wikipedia page. ...I guess the list of known Travelers is a separate page, but I'm pretty sure that one specifically is on the main page, isn't it? Notable incidents, or some such?"

"But my personal theory is that we're not the only place that gets them, and furthermore that probably some people from here also go somewhere later. Maybe a weirder place than the places we tend to get people from?"

Tom's eyes light up, though they sharpen too. "I didn't realize you had theories. I agree that there's no reason to think that we have anything close to the whole picture - and it's especially suspicious, isn't it, that so many of them were so very human, along this same Earth-standard timeline... except for Invictus. Except for the sorceress-consort of Ogedei Khan. Except for the White Horse of Jeanne D'arc. I want to know what else there is."

"Well, the immediate answer that comes to mind is everything. The only numbers that exist are zero, one, and infinity. But that's just kind of pushing the question up a level, or down a level, I don't know I lost track. If there isn't a specific finite discrete set of worlds that there are, what principle guides them to have people sent over to us? Are there alternate versions of our world, too, that get sent different subsets of possible people? Is there a neighborhood system, where worlds that are closer to each other in some sense are more likely to send each other people? Is there a person, or something sufficiently personlike, that's making a choice somewhere? I would guess yes to that question, actually."

Now that he thinks of it this is probably the closest he'll get to talking about the bullshit metaphysics he's a part of before the denouement of the other plots, actually.

"It seems like there has to be a person somewhere! To set up a system, if nothing else - to say, when someone is dropped into this place, they should get the tools and the resources to do what they've always wanted. Whether that's helping conquer Eurasia or, I don't know, hanging around lots of sexually available young men."

(This, unlike the rest of what he's been saying, has a tone of the bitterness he was exhibiting at breakfast.)

Oh he is not taking that bait.

"That last one can't be that common, though, I can't imagine. I mean, I'm sure it happens at all, we get some weird folks coming here, but they don't get articles written about them on the—it's the Times, right, that's the big one here? Anyway."

"We do have statistics, though. Travelers are all over the place - I'm not going to say the statistics don't lie, of course they lie, but you can correct for it. Assuming that the bureaucrats administering every participating country's Traveler stipends are at most twice as corrupt as the average bureaucrat, only one in ten Travelers does anything of such note that Google or Wikipedia or anyone else notices. They're just as low a common denominator as any other man on the street. Just from farther away."

Pete looks at Tom sideways. "You did some reading last night, huh. Just how late did you stay up?"

...wait, shit, is he being charmed by Tom Riddle? Abort abort abort—

...or... don't abort, actually?

"It's not the first time I've looked it up! ...but, yes, I went to sleep at two in the morning. I barely sleep anyway, though, I'm one of those insufferable bastards who doesn't need more than six hours. So I got four, instead, and I get to regret that."

"And do you regret it?" he asks, but Tom might find him sounding a bit distant, a bit...

Pete's being kind of a dick. Actually, he's being a sarcastic, acidic ass to this guy. This guy who........ would be Lord Voldemort if he were in Hogwarts but...

...he is not in Hogwarts, actually. And he's not Lord Voldemort. He's a teenager. And more to the point, he isn't a teenager who deserves the kind of scorn Pete's been directing his way, with the information someone else in Pete's shoes would have. Sure, the Pevensie boys think he's the devil, and he has been a rude fuck to all of them including basically calling Pete a dumb slut to his face, but if Pete hadn't gone down the fast track towards trusting them because they're the Kings of Narnia and the opposite track because Riddle is Voldemort, then...

"I don't regret things," Tom's saying. "But it's there to regret, if I take up the habit."

Tom Riddle is very charming.

...Pete thinks that that person would still be very suspicious of Riddle, sure, but that person would—well, he supposes it depends on who that person is. A version of Pete who is still a Mary Sue and has the powers he does but who hasn't read the original canon these characters are from would conclude that Riddle probably is someone he is meant to Fix, but he'd do so by trying to figure out what it is that he's meant to fix. By trying to understand who Tom Riddle is, why the Pevensies hate him, why he seems to hate them back, or at least to enjoy needling them. Why he's kind of an insufferable, charming dick.

Pete should LARP that person.

And not just LARP that person, actually. He needs to feel less, less...

...contempt. Hatred, even. Hatesex would be fun, probably, and a game of cat and mouse in which they're trying to fuck each other over and catch each other out without showing their hands too much would too, but where does that story lead? Does it actually end well, does it end happily for them? Maybe it does, maybe if he keeps doing this something will happen to make it work out anyway, but is that really the story he wants to tell? Him and Tom trying to destroy each other and failing due to narrative happenstance?

The thing here, Pete is realizing, is that the story he wants to tell isn't that.

Because I Can Fix Them is about pulling people out from the darkness with the power of love.

"What did you do to piss off the Pevensies so much?" he blurts out, noticing that he may have spaced out for kind of a long time, there. He's not sure Time Enough For Love would cover it, but maybe it doesn't need to. "...sorry, that was kind of abrupt and plausibly personal, you don't need to answer if you don't want to."

"If I don't tell you, are you going to ask them instead?" he asks quietly.

"If you ask me not to, I won't."

"Then why ask?" he wonders. "If you care so little about the answer."

"...it's not that I don't care about the answer, it's that it's not really my business and I'm not going to poke someone else's sore spots just to satisfy my curiosity when they don't want me to. Sorry, forget I asked, it was thoughtless."

"Ulyana Danylenko. In third form. She was... very intelligent, and did well with limited resources. I liked her."

"It didn't go well. Pevensie and his think it was my fault."

"And nobody could ask her."

Did you kill her probably not and also that is not at all something the character he's playing would be thinking so he decides he did not think it. What is he thinking instead.

...well, it's obvious.

"...oh. I'm. I'm so sorry." Aaaand now he's feeling like an asshole for asking or his character is he shouldn't break kayfabe and also he's not even sure to what extent Tom is even lying here. Even his canonical backstory had... rather a lot of suckishness and people being horrible to him? He's... he's still a person and still worthy of love and compassion and understanding and...

...stop breaking kayfabe. From the top.

It did not occur to him that it would be something like this and now he feels like an asshole for asking.

Tom smiles politely. "Don't say that to me ever again."

...shut up libido nobody's talking to you.

"Right. I won't." Wow he didn't actually predict the amount of awkward this would turn out to be.

Tom nods. "You may, at this point, ask Pevensie for details. I really don't care. But I'd like my books back."

"R-right. Here." He's feeling horribly guilty and like he should apologize or do something to unruffle feathers but probably what he should do right now is flee?

Well, Tom's turning to go into the building just ahead. So he is spared, at least, that indignity.

Yeah. Uh. Onwards to his next class.

(Should he only play that character around Riddle? ...probably not, actually? He should just do it all the time, for consistency and habit formation.)

A couple of classes go by without much narrative attention.

As lunch approaches, his phone buzzes.

monika declines to text you directly at this time but told me to say she will receive you now

i do not really know why she is like this

people explore their personalities and figure out who they are as teenagers and that is why we're all weird whackos

so I should go to her room? which one is hers?

fleischer hall, 217

To Fleischer Hall, 217!

The door opens, and the girl behind it... stares at him.

Then she laughs. "You're Tintin's assistant, huh? Come in, don't mind the mess -" (the room is spotless) "- I didn't know I was gonna be entertaining or I'd've gotten my face together, man, this is embarrassing."

"You didn't know? Tintin told me you were the one who called this meeting, is he setting you up for something?"

"I knew I was gonna be meeting an assistant, I didn't know you'd be, you know -" vague gesture. "I'm gonna look so flat... I blame him completely, though. Anyway! What makes you want to work with that little maniac?"

"Oh, stop that, you're gorgeous. But, well, I have a weak spot for maniacs and he looked so excited. And, fine, I was curious about the, what were they, last time he talked about them he called them the Seven Wonders."

"Seven Mysteries! I should never have hired a non-weeb, my references all fall flat. But he is very excitable. And I'm sure at least one of the Mysteries will turn out to have perilous depths, with you on the team... okay, the last one would've anyway, but maybe one of the throwaways will too? IDK. Glad to have you onboard. Do you want a cupcake, I keep baking enough of them that the other girls can't steal them all and then remembering that I don't want surplus cupcakes."

"...sure, I'll have a cupcake. 'With me on the team'?"

Cupcake! It's tricolor-frosted, pink and purple and slightly different pink. If he deigns to have a bite, it tastes quite good, too.

"Everybody knows that when you're investigating mysteries, you need charisma more than anything. How do you think those kids and their pesky dog did it? But I'm too Velma, and Tintin's, like, a completely different genre, he's doing spacefaring YA climbing through plasma vents to restart the warp core. We need somebody who can say well, THAT happened and make the Dreamworks face. You're perfect! And you can make Tintin's copy have punctuation in it, that's important."

He has to hold his giggles back lest they cause this spotless room to become less spotless with cupcake, at least until he's swallowed this first bite, and then he's free to laugh. "The Dreamworks face. Yeah, I can do that, I think."

"Sweet. Faces all 'round."

She works her mouth a little bit, like she's trying to get a seed out of her teeth, or maybe just trying to figure out how to phrase something.

"So - I do, actually, have a vested interest in figuring out whether my subordinates are going to start kissing each other," she eventually decides to say. "It's, uh, led to problems. I totally don't mind, but I want to keep on top of it. So when you say you have a weak spot for maniacs..."

"Oh I am absolutely romantically and/or sexually interested in him, though we've, you know, only just met. But if it's up to me..." Shrug.

"Great. That is literally all I wanted or want to know."

She sighs, looking oddly tired.

"I probably don't actually need to say this, but if you ask me for relationship advice I'll bite you," she adds. "I don't know why you would, we literally met under an hour ago. But it's happened before."

"Aww, no secret cheatcodes to Tintin's heart? Little things he loves?" Pete says, grinning, but he salutes with his free hand. "Loud and clear, ma'am."

"If you need cheatcodes I'm... well, realistically I'm the best source, but you should consider having different problems," she confirms. "Because I don't do that."

Pete has the feeling that Monika got a lot more out of this meeting than he did but he's really not sure what it could possibly have been or why she wanted it in the first place, if she just wanted to say hi and give him a cupcake.

It's probably a subplot. He'll figure it out.

But for now: lunch, which he's probably somewhat late for.

It's buffet-style; late is relative.

He does have to choose who he wants to sit with, though.

He wants to sit with Ed because he hasn't seen him yet and has had a sort of upsetting morning and wants something nice and sweet.

Ed's face lights up when he approaches. He gets up and gives Pete a hug. "Pete! How's it been? Peter poached you for breakfast and it's been like you were at war, I was ready to send you letters with pressed flowers - oh I'm being very clingy, aren't I, why don't you sit and have some food."

"Very well! Somewhat distractible. I have been told that infatuation makes people stupid, and I wouldn't necessarily go that far, but my academic performance has seen better days. What about you?"

"I had a conversation with your brother that I probably need to talk to you about and then I flirted relentlessly with Tintin and then I had class and for a reason you know it was less engrossing than it could be then I ran into Tom Riddle and then I had more class and then Monika from the school paper wanted to meet me and we had some character-revealing interactions except they were character-revealing only to her which was kind of disconcerting to be on this end of and now lunch and I missed you." Did he even breathe in the middle of that sentence. He's not sure he did.

"I missed you too. Think I mentioned. So, we need to talk about your conversation with Peter? I'm interested to hear more about this Monika character afterwards, all I know about her is that she baffles the living hell out of my roommate."

"I guess maybe talk is implying too much, but it hadn't occurred to me until this morning that you might have an opinion on the fact that I am actually reasonably not unlikely to have some kind of non-platonic relationship with your older brother, plus the fact that he might have opinions on everything we did yesterday that you might want to think about."

A number of very complicated emotions scroll across Edmund's face.

"If I say I don't really think that's my business," he observes, "you will look at me like I'm insane."

"Kind of. I mean off the top of my head there's: you care deeply for him and want him to be happy and therefore whom he dates is in fact as much your business as it would be if he were a regular friend; even if you and I are compatible that doesn't mean he and I will be; you could be concerned that I'm going to be running around and playing with both of your hearts; and there's straightforward good ol' ick feelings about thinking about your family's sexualities and sex lives which will inevitably intrusively occur especially if I don't censor myself about time spent with him outside the obvious."

"I don't feel ick about Peter's hypothetical sex life," Edmund clarifies first. "My feelings are more complicated than that. I don't think you're playing with people's hearts, we've already established that you're poly. If you're not compatible you can figure that out, you're both big boys. I do want him to be happy, and that obviously means I don't want to dictate who he dates, because that would be insane."

"Alright, if you say so. I'd personally feel—well, not ick about dating the same person as one or both of my siblings, but I would have some squinty feelings. More complicated in what way?"

"Squinty isn't a bad way to put it, necessarily... hm."

Edmund closes his eyes. "If it somehow comes down to you or Peter, I'll always pick him. That's... part of it. I wanted to bring it up sooner or later; there it is. He comes first. Always.

"I don't think that's going to actually come up. And I don't think that what you're proposing will make it come up. But however likely it is in the first place, this adds to it. Is how I feel."

He's suddenly as sure as he's every been of anything in his life that there are Peter/Edmund Narnia fics on AO3 back home. He's never had reason to contemplate the existence of that tag but "if I have to choose between you and him I'll choose him"? The fanfic writes itself.

...he kind of is in a fanfic right now, isn't he. He hadn't thought of it that way, either, but Pevensies + Tom Riddle + Tintin + whoever Sophie and Hywel are British boarding school AU could totally be used to describe what's happening to him right now.

Anyway this is of course entirely irrelevant to (what nowadays passes for) real life, the idea of being slashed with either of his siblings does in fact fill him with ick. "Not Susan or Lucy? —Lucy is well below half my age plus seven, I'm not trying to imply anything there, just curious about the emphasis."

"Oh, are you after Susan too? God preserve you. But - I love Susan. Lucy too, obviously, even if she's not immediately relevant. Peter's not more part of me than they are, the same applies to them. When you're with someone, there's more of them you can hurt. And if you hurt them - I don't mean stepping on toes, forgetting birthdays - if you hurt them, if they suffer because of you, it won't matter how I feel about you."

"That," he says, after a beat, "was incredibly hot."

Edmund chokes on a bite of pie. "Ridiculous," he coughs. "You! Are ridiculous."

"What can I say, I like it when men care so much about someone that they'll destroy me if I hurt them. And to answer your question, I am not exactly after anyone and I have certainly not spent enough time around Susan to develop a fully-fledged crush on her but between the two of you and some other stuff I think it's more likely to happen than not."

Edmund coughs some more and drinks some cordial to soothe his throat. "We do share some philosophical principles. It comes of having the same dad, and his being a doctor of philosophy."

"I suppose that's one part of it."

"Oh, come on. What are the other parts of it, Tarleton, is that what you want to hear."

Pete leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on his hands, gazing up at Edmund with big doe eyes. "Only if you want to hear me wax poetic about your and your brother's virtues and what I like in both of you."

"...yeah," he says, more quietly. "I do."

He grins a little...

...and then switches to looking a little bit more thoughtful. "The way you're so incredibly, fiercely protective of and loyal to your family makes me swoon." He sighs deeply, a little bit for effect, a little bit thinking about it more deeply to elicit the appropriate feelings. "Fierce is a good word, a lot of the time you're trying to be—nice, calm, friendly, pleasant—but you have this strong layer of steel underneath. Unbending. You feel like... like you could be home. Like you could be someone I can rely on, a safe port in rocky seas, God this is corny." His face gets softer as he speaks, the curve of his lips less purposeful, betraying his feelings a bit more naturally. "I like your sense of humor, I like the way you blush, I like how straightforward and honest you are, how you're rolling with this—this—making the best of it, finding something you want and going after it. You're fundamentally a kind person, I think—look at me making such pronouncements after knowing you for a day—and you're incredibly perceptive. You're really smart. You," he lowers his voice, "make gorgeous faces when you've got your cock hilt deep in my mouth." Even that part is said with genuine, honest fondness, though, the same small smile playing on his lips like an uninvited but not unwelcome visitor.

"As for your brother, he's... you could say he's kind, too, but the thing he is deep down is a white knight in shining armor. And that could be said in an ironic way, or a superficial one, but it's not, he truly and fundamentally is a paladin, he is someone who will fight for all he holds dear with everything he has, to his last breath. The steel in him is sword and shield." And the way he sounds about Peter is different from how he sounded about Edmund; more infatuation than tenderness, more awe than warmth. "I could see myself bestowing him a favor when he goes jousting, or to war. And he hates that part of himself because of how he can never truly have it, not in this world, but," lower voice again, "I can give it to him, you of all people would know it now, and I want to. He seems so... unhappy most of the time. Because when he smiles, when he truly, really smiles, he's as radiant at the sun, he makes my heart beat faster and my breath come in quicker and makes me want to find out how to make it happen again."

"And let's not forget that both of you are incredibly hot, I like to think that I would like both of you regardless but it doesn't hurt that I feel a visceral desire to fuck both of you. I'm a little bit shallow, I guess, sue me."

"I have no idea how people do this," Edmund says, his voice not quite shaking. "The - the dating. Being sensible. Going slowly. I know something's supposed to be different before I say I love you, but what the Hell am I supposed to say when I love you now?"

He blinks.

Uhhhh.

Pete was not expecting this.

"I don't—actually know," he says, carefully. "I've—well, I fall for people really fast, myself, so I'm usually the first one to say it. ...well, I was, the two times it happened. Um. I don't... think I can say it back, yet."

"I mean - that's why, isn't it, so I don't pressure you, and you shouldn't feel pressured, I'm the crazy one here - just. I genuinely don't know how to express how that made me feel, without sounding crazy."

"There's the kind, friendly boy. I am approximately constitutionally incapable of feeling pressured, actually, so you don't need to worry about that. And you can say it to me, so long as you won't feel hurt if I haven't said it back yet. I—if there ever comes a time when I realize that I won't fall in love with you I'll let you know, but I really don't expect it. If nothing else I have some metanarrative guarantees."

"Well. I can't go distrusting the metanarrative, now can I. ...I will probably not be saying it left and right, just. I was very inspired."

"Well whenever I get around to it I am going to be saying it left and right, fair warning."

"Well, I don't know what time may bring. But right now my threshold's very high."

"Then I suppose if I want to hear you say it often I'll need to act lovable often, too, won't I?"

On the way to his first afternoon class, Pete texts Tintin.

hey so what's up with Monika

i believe i mentioned having no idea why she is like this

okay but like

what's

I don't even know what to ask

I have the strong feeling that she got a lot more out of interacting with me than made any sense and I'm usually the one on the other end of that particular feeling, it was kind of uncomfortable

yes i remember the feeling

it felt somewhat like she had put me in a mental category which she found very informative

it was not entirely unlike our first interaction but her categories may be more esoteric than yours

and less sexual

Yeah, see, that's what he means. It is a lot more fun to be on the other side of the "I know a lot more about you than you think I by rights ought to." interaction. How likely is it, objectively speaking, that Monika is also a Transfer? On the one hand, they're meant to not be all that common; on the other, if you're writing a story about Pete then him meeting another Transfer would be almost predictable. And this school does have that scholarship for Transfers, too, so it will probably have more of them than most places.

Well. Food for thought.

yeah she really gave off very strong "I will not even entertain the possibility of non-platonic contact with you" vibes

i do not think she is entirely asexual, surprisingly enough

but she is certainly not interested in me and i am not surprised if she is not interested in you either

she has mentioned very particular tastes which she refuses to elaborate on but do exclude most people

well, I hope someday she finds the person of her dreams somewhere

Is he gonna have a plot to matchmake Monika with someone? That sounds like it could be somewhere this could go, though in her case it is as Tintin mentions a lot less obvious than with Hywel and Sophie.

Eh.

Onwards to class.

Afternoon classes happen and, despite Pete's jokes about what narration focuses on and timeskips and what-have-you, it's not like he experiences said timeskips. Nothing obviously plot-related occurs, as far as he can tell, so they probably were elided over with a paragraph, but he experienced them fully.

But the day isn't over until it's over, and after class there's rugby tryouts apparently you just show up to first practice and if you suck they kick you out? Wild.

Hywel, in a striped shirt and remarkably short shorts, immediately assaults him once he comes within assault range, grappling him into a tight manly hug. "Alright, Pete! Lads, this is Pete. He wants to play rugby."

A nearby lad squints. "He's a meter and a half tall, and if he weighs more than ten stone I'm the fucking Pope."

"Your Holiness! Let him play before you judge!" He releases Pete exactly enough to look him in the eyes. "Pete, do you know literally anything about rugby."

"I played some football—American—back home so to the extent they're similar yes but I was more of a soccer and swimming person so probably a review would not be amiss."

"Excellent! It's quite like American football except we don't wrap ourselves in cushions, if I break your arm I'm very sorry about it and you'll do it to me next time. Also some rules are different. You'll pick it up."

Another lad rolls his eyes affectionately and starts explaining the rules differences. There are some.

He might need to foul a couple of times to properly memorize them but no time like the present. He follows along well enough.

Once the rules are explained, and there's been a while for any other prospective players to show up: rugby!

Hywel is a beast on the field. He's not the tallest or the bulkiest player - in fact, by team standards, he's a bit of a twink - but he's built for speed and he fears nothing up to and including God.

Pete is an actual twink, but he absolutely does not play like one. If nothing else, physics itself is still kind of treating him as if he were in his other body so he is both stronger and more able to hold his ground than should be at all possible, though hopefully in a not that suspicious way. He is also kind of aggro and kind of reckless, and occasionally fails to account for the fact that he is not, actually, in his old body, to the extent that that matters, which is nonzero.

The first time he tackles Hywel, Hywel laughs uproariously and bear-hugs him after standing back up.

The first time Hywel tackles him, he stands over him, looking concerned until Pete stirs, at which point he grins, yanks him to his feet, and gives him a bear hug.

There is at least one occasion where Hywel tackles him with a bear hug.

"Howell, will you stop fondling that boy?" snaps one of his teammates, the one who commented on Pete's height. "Some of us are trying to play."

"No!" Hywel says cheerfully. "Die!"

Pete rolls his eyes fondly but doesn't say anything; his initial instinct is to flirt but he's decided he is going to Not until he's advanced the Hywel/Sophie plot somewhat, so he doesn't want to encourage Hywel.

"Don't feel special," says the teammate who explained the rules. "Jenkins is just like this."

"Oi! That's no reason not to feel special!"

"I am afraid I'm chronically incapable of not feeling special. Comes with the pink hair, you see."

"Good," Hywel says firmly. "I don't fondle people at random, you know."

"You do though," Rules Boy [who was introduced earlier as Sean] points out.

"No! I do it when someone's interesting, and they haven't told me not to, and I don't think they want me to stop and just haven't said so."

"What about Artie?"

"Artie has never said anything about stopping, he just hits me," Hywel points out.

A ball slams into his chest at ballistic speeds. "Play or get off the fucking field!" Artie [the angry boy] shouts.

"Like that!" Hywel wheezes merrily.

"Does that mean you find Artie interesting? Should I also take an interest?"

"See - okay, that's the trick, right?" Hywel obligingly moves off the field, dragging Pete with him, to drink some ice water. "Because, like, I say somebody has to be interesting. And Artie is interesting. He likes rugby but he's the one who recommended me the Meditations, too, and he's read Kant and he's read Nietzsche - he's got brains in that skull no matter how hard he tries to get them beaten out of it. He likes this girl Lola, and she's interesting - her family's Nigerian, her dad's the son of an old colonial governor and her mum's a local girl, and they used to go back every year for Christmas but they haven't been since she was tiny because it's too dangerous, and she'll talk your ear off about how she misses this sandwich place in Lagos. Sean's interesting too, even though I don't get touchy with him because he told me not to - he wants to be a priest. He's got a girlfriend Tiff, she wants to be a priest too, with him, and co-minister a parish. And - I could go on. I do go on, I will go on. I like people. Me liking someone doesn't mean you'll get on, or anything. It means I like them. There's nobody who isn't interesting, if you take an interest."

He drinks some more water.

He also drinks some water. "I'm not gonna flirt with you because I said I wouldn't but that right there is making me want to. I'm kind of an acquired taste, myself, but I—agree. With all of that. It's something I've told my more introverted friends, sometimes, and they always look at me like I'm insane, but it's. Nice to see someone else who sees it too, I guess."

"Oh. Well, good. It is nice having someone agree with me, instead of rolling their eyes and filing it under Jenkins will fuck anything that moves."

"Jenkins might fuck anything that moves but that, I mean. Clearly Jenkins likes everything that moves and that's more important, you know.

"...do Sophie. Last night you were being unserious. I wanna hear what you've got to say about her."

"I -"

Hywel closes his mouth and thinks a bit harder.

"...we met when I was with Artie and Dafydd, getting drunk at this stupid party. And Artie and I went over to introduce ourselves to her girls, and we did a bit of a routine, this is Artie, ask him about philosophy, this is Howell, ask him about - and I don't even remember what he said to ask me about, because I was watching her go from annoyed to pissed off. And she said -"

"Hywel, wasn't it?"

"Sure," I said. I guessed she'd heard Dafydd and me chatting earlier.

"Yeah, call him what you like," said Artie, who is to be perfectly honest a bit of a dickhead when he's got a drink in him. "Hoo'l. What I mean to say is -"

"Are you so drunk you can't pronounce his name, or are you just too much of a cock? Because either way, you should go home."

Now, Artie was getting defensive, which isn't his strength, really. "Who gives a shit? I know he doesn't, is it just about how bloody beautiful you think Welsh is?"

And... there's something that happens around Sophie. Where it all goes quiet. Like nobody's talking, but more than that, nobody's moving, nothing can make a sound or she'll just blow it apart. There's a prey instinct, there. You freeze.

And then she starts yelling, screaming really, top of her lungs, face going red, ear-splitting volume, like she's going to bring down the walls of Jericho. I swear a wineglass broke. And of course it's all in Welsh. She's calling him a fucker, an idiot, a pustule, and - a lot of the oaths are the same, actually, so I think he got the picture, if he wasn't going deaf.

"Anyway. She realized afterward she'd made a terrible mistake, because I was in love with her, and even rupturing Artie's eardrums wasn't worth that. But, you know. No backsies."

"Oh, you poor sod. Yes I can see why, she sounds lovely. Now, how in love are we speaking, here?"

"Entirely. Fundamentally. Madly. I'd do anything for her. I'd climb the highest mountains, swim the deepest seas - she once told me, you know, that it doesn't mean anything when I say that, because how would it matter, what would it do for her if I climbed those mountains, and so I offered to kill for her, and she just rolled her eyes and told me to stick to mountains."