Two undistinguished days later, the announcement came in English class.
"I've got quite a treat for you boys," began Mistress Helena, bustling into the room. She was a plump, matronly figure, endowed with a striking Greek nose and crinkled black-brown hair.
"This November, our school is holding try-outs for a play!" She clapped her hands excitedly. There was an expectant silence.
"Ve~! A play! That's really, really cool – we're gonna try out, aren't we, Ludwig?"
Toris swung his gaze to the back of the classroom where Feliciano Vargas was giggling happily. The flighty brunette seemed to be the only one who was amused. Ludwig, the boy that he was addressing, looked like he wanted to melt into his desk.
Feliks raised a lazy hand. "So, like, what play is it?" he drawled.
Helena turned toward him, hopeful at the sign of potential enthusiasm.
"Cinderella."
"What?"
The yell was concerted and instantaneous, twenty-eight voices raised in horrified confusion.
"B-but this is an all boys school," protested Ludwig from the back. "Who would play the Godmother? Or the stepsisters? Or…or… Cinderella?" Murmurs of assent rippled from the edges of the room.
Mistress Helena huffed. "In Shakespeare's time, men played all the parts. I am certain that I can expect modern, superior men like you to step up to the plate, as the saying goes?"
"Hell yeah, Miz Helena, you can count on me! I'll be your Cinderella!"
It was Alfred, standing triumphantly with a foot planted on his chair, grinning widely. Most of the class snickered, and Alfred smirked. Feliks looked at him with a gaze of scornful reproach. Mistress Helena just let out a little "hmph!"
Toris knew that Feliks was planning something. And, considering the time that he spent locked in their dorm room, (and consequentially locking Toris out) stabbing himself with a needle, Toris thought he might know what was going on in the blonde's mind.
Oh god, costuming.
Quite a few unpleasant images flashed through Toris' head, most involving him being transformed into a human dress-dummy.
And, lo and behold, Feliks had a glint in his eye, a signal that he was plotting something. Toris barely heard the rest of Mistress Helena's speech on classical Greek drama and the works of Henrik Ibsen, plagued as he was by images of increasingly complicated skirts with rows of sequins.
By the end of the period, Feliks looked very pleased with himself.
"What're you up to?" Toris demanded the moment that the end-of-class bell had rung. "What crazy ideas do you have for the school play?"
Feliks smirked back at him. "You'll see."
If one thing could be said for Feliks, he certainly had a great sense of dramatic tension. Emphasis on the drama.