This wasn't romance. Gregory assured himself this while he hugged Christophe at the doorstep of his dorm room (well the one they normally shared) after The Mole being back in France for the past 6 months. A heartfelt reunion between close friends, one would say. They didn't look deep enough.

No, this wasn't romance, it was convenience. It was convenient for Christophe to fall in love with the blond, it made things much easier, he assured himself. There wasn't a thread of gentleness in their voices, no, that's not how they show affection verbally, it's the way words were exchanged, the simple gestures, the things that looked so careless from the surface.

"Taking care of yourself, Mole?" Gregory asked, leaning back against the wall and watching the Frenchman untie his shoes before taking them off. His socks were a dark brown and there was a hole in the toe area on one of them, so the blond left to his bedroom without asking, reached inside his dresser and grabbed a normal pair of socks that he later tossed at the other.

"To the best of my ability," Christophe answered, and Gregory found himself noticing how his face constantly wore the same scowl . Honestly, the boy looked a mess. This was no time for that, though.

"Now we both know that's a lie, but," he paused, caught a sideways glance of Christophe, who had gotten up, opening his fridge, and moved from his position of leaning against the wall, "Worry not, I'll fix that," he practically felt the French mercenary roll his eyes behind the fridge door. He grabbed a glass bottle of beer and closed the fridge before prying it open.

Yes, it was convenient, they worked together, they were kids, it was a good opportunity. They were sure of that. Gregory was no older than 15, actually, while Christophe was only a year older. Their birthdays were on the same day, and they consistently gave each other enormous presents, to prove something to each other, something long forgotten, but it was kept as a tradition. December 15th, right when the holidays were beginning, but school was still in session, not cold enough to catch anything worse than the flu, but cold enough to complain about. Yes, their birthdays were on possibly the worst day in the entire year. That day happened to be nearing, actually. It was December 9th.

"How has school been?" The brunet asked, taking a seat on one of the beds, the one he claimed as his own 2 years ago, when he and Gregory first set foot in the dorm room.

"As usual," Gregory sighed, sitting down on his, "Atrocious," he still maintained his excellent grades, but he was faced with quite the conundrum when one of the English teachers from last year didn't show up in September and was, instead, replaced with a young woman who constantly criticized his freewilled essays and reports, instead suggesting he write 'Like all the other kids'. Gregory thought if appropriate to mention this.

"Really?" The Mole was in shock, Gregory was an excellent writer, so this woman stepping in was clearly insane, "She must be crazy."

"Possibly," the blond answered, falling back on his bed and watching the ceiling, "I lost track of how many times she tried to lower my grade with that. In the end I just complained to some of the other teachers."

"Good," the Frenchman said, looking over at Gregory's half-laying body, "Your writing is impressive."

Thanks were mumbled and silence overtook for a few seconds.

"Anything else?" Christophe asked again curiously.

"Well I did almost get thrown out for punching a kid in the gut," The Mole snickered at this. Gregory truly was the best, "He insulted me and I simply returned the blow, physically."

"I wouldn't have had it any other way," he answered, "A picture is worth a thousand words, so I'm sure he got the message from the one you painted on his stomach," and he still couldn't stop laughing.

They were kids, after all. Truth be told, Gregory missed the brunet, although he wasn't crazy enough to say it, he let him know on his own terms, be they a compliment thrown out of nowhere or the offer of Christophe's favorite food. Or...

"It has been awfully dull without you," or simply suggesting it. Never outright saying it.

"Mm?" The Mole hummed in question from his bed, laying back, "How on Earth did you survive?" he half-joked. In reality, it wasn't any different on his side.

"Very funny. How have you been, though? How's the family?" the blond asked, sitting down beside him.

"Boring as usual."

"Ah, so not much different."

"Not even close. My family is kind, especially compared to the assholes that teach here," he spat, especially directed at the new teacher, "I did miss you, though," well Gregory never said it, that didn't mean the Frenchman had to play his game.

"I missed you too," unless struck with it being said to him. He had to say it back. Not like it wasn't the truth, and when Chris said it in such a genuine tone, he could swallow his pride for the time being. The brunet did that to him often, made him sink to his level, be it verbally or physically.

"Wanna throw rocks at the windows of the teachers' lounge?" he offered, standing up and offering Gregory a hand.

He took it gladly and they got their shoes on before jolting towards the doors.

No, this wasn't romance, but it wasn't convenience either, it was something much deeper than the two could ever admit. It was knowing someone on a cosmic level to the point where you know what they're thinking. Yes, it was convenient to the blond to fall in love with The Mole, but it was ill advised. He was called a 'bad influence' since apparently no one else noticed how corrupted Gregory was already. He was simply fanning the flames. Yes, they were kids, and as kids do, they had a whole life ahead of them, a life of causing trouble for whoever dared try to breach the wall they created around themselves. But Gregory's eyes were the color of the sky and they were brighter than stars, and Christophe enjoyed stargazing a lot more.

It was convenient.