Their rehearsal was a disaster.

Ivy wasn't there, and Diane was fumbling, not knowing the lines half as well as she'd thought she did. If Shakespeare wasn't already dead, he'd probably commit suicide after seeing barely a few minutes of their rendition of his work. Thinking about it, Peter's eyes jerk over to Jason, standing bored, waiting for his less than perfect counterpart. He looked alright, right now life was pretty alright, and Peter was finding it increasingly difficult to take the warning seriously, especially when Jason had kissed him in an empty hallway, a quick pressure of lips that nonetheless left him reeling and disorientated for the first five minutes of class. He'd never been less interested in atomic structures in his life.

"Good pilgrim," Diane repeats uncertainly. "Wait, I know it, I swear!" she protests, except that she doesn't, and Peter had really wanted to "act" like he loved Jason and this was likely to be his only chance.

"Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss." Sometimes in reviews, theatre critics claimed that a specific actor was practically born to play a role. This, at that moment, was Peter's, as he steps up and finishes the line for her. She stares at him in disbelief for a long moment before running off, sobbing.

Peter doesn't let himself feel guilty, because he's really doing this; he's really flirting with Jason, albeit in Shakespeare with scripted prose, in front of half their graduating class.

Somewhere behind him, a boy laughs, unforgivingly judgemental.

"Zach," Sister Chantelle admonishes, "in Shakespeare's time, boys played all the parts, so I'll thank you to keep your ignorance as hidden as possible. My suggestion would be to stop breathing."

They all laugh, even as Zach flushes bright red with humiliation, but Sister Chantelle simply motions for Jason to resume acting.

"Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?"

"Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer," Peter answers, and seeing Jason's half-smirk, can't stop himself from thinking of what else those lips did to him. He blushes, and hopes that the others will put it down to the simple embarrassment of acting out a girl's part, like that was any hardship when it was with Jason.

"Oh, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou." Peter smiles, slow and warm, and sees Jason bite his lower lip, eyes flickering to Peter's mouth, and falter in his lines. "Lest...lest..."

"Lest faith turn to despair," Peter finishes for him, and they stand there, grinning at each other, because really, it's just like their private practices; except that those had led to much nicer things, like Jason pressing him against one of the beds, one hand tangled in Peter's hair and the other one fumbling at his belt. He wishes he could just kiss Jason, openly and not have to worry.

Not have to worry about things that should never happen, things he shouldn't even know about.

"Well done, Peter." Sister Chantelle says, then harsher and uncharacteristically mordant, to the side of the room, "Ivy, nice of you to join us, but we're finished. This room will be left open, in case you want to get together one more time. As for me, I'm going to do a little Pontius Pilate, and wash my hands of it all."

"Guys, we really need to run this. Let's meet here tonight at seven-thirty," says Tanya, applying glossy pink lipstick using a small purple hand-mirror, off to fuck her boyfriend behind the bike-shed, like she did every Thursday. Really, if it wasn't for Ivy, they'd probably be jokingly calling her a whore because she's so indiscreet it's a wonder none of the nuns have done anything about it.

Nadia's voice is deliberately frosty, "All of us, and don't be late," she says to Ivy, still standing by the door Sister Chantelle had just strode through grandly. She looks hopelessly alone, and despite the fact that she nearly slept with Jason, Peter can't help feeling a bit sorry for her.

He thinks that perhaps he should go over and attempt to comfort her, but then Nadia taps him on the arm. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asks, and there's an edge to her voice, like she's forcing herself to do something she's not really comfortable with, except that they've talked plenty of times before, so it really doesn't make any sense; because they're kind of friends, nowhere as close as Peter and Jason, but they should at least be comfortable with each other.

Peter nods, and picks up his bag from over in the corner, next to Jason's. "See you back in the dorm," he mutters.

Jason opens his mouth to say something, ask, then sees his sister lurking behind Peter, and despite his promise, turns away. It's almost a reflex by now, painfully so, and anyway, asking would probably make him seem like some sort of over-possessive creep.

So he simply nods and smiles, with confidence he can't feel, because he's known her their whole lives and Nadia's smile is forced, faker than their parents' futile promises and meaningless apologies.

"Sure."

Nadia leads Peter back to her dorm, messier than his and Jason's usually is, one side more than the other; the one with scatterings of skimpy, colourful clothes on the floor and large posters of men he doesn't recognize. They're all vaguely attractive, but there's something of Jason in many of them; the shade of a surfer's hair, a playful glint in another's eyes that Peter recognizes from early mornings curled up in bed together.

In complete contrast, Nadia's side has stacks of CDs and sheet music, and a lonely cello case lying on a tidily made bed. She locks the door behind them as Peter steps awkwardly to the side, next to a barely closed wardrobe.

He smiles weakly, "I've got a lot of lines to rehearse," he says, "What's the matter?"

Nadia glances over at the locked door, and turns back towards him. Her eyes are dark, face plagued with emotionss he can't read, and when she replies her voice is low and quiet, as if she's about to divulge a shameful secret. "You're in love with my brother."