"You've been more eager than normal, Serge."

"A-Ah! Is that s-so bad?"

Serge's eyes slipped closed so he could focus on Max inside him. By sitting on top, he felt every little movement whenever he adjusted his hips. Max was a good size, large enough to make him feel full, not too big as to make him feel uncomfortable. They've been together for over a month now; they knew each other's bodies fairly well. The amount of times they've had sex since their first together has given the receiver the time and experience for understanding the giver's effect on him.

He continued his steady pace of bouncing on his lap and allowed the release of soft moans here and there. He enjoyed the tug he feels from going up, but he liked how it pushes into him each time he went down much more. The head wasn't that bad, either, the way it rubbed against his insides. Every shift of his hips was made until it was pressing against a spot inside him that caused blotches of white to appear behind his eyelids.

"I don't mind it too much now that I get to see your face when you're like this. You react to me quite nicely."

The noirette's eyes opened halfway. "We haven't had the chance with midterms in the way. Now that they're over, I thought I'd repay you for doing so well." His condescending smile curled more into a smirk. "Aren't you a good boy, listening to my instructions carefully from our studies~"

Max only had to thrust up once, hitting that spot the other wanted to aim for, to make him wipe that look off his face. "Don't make me push you off. You're just as aware as I am that you're enjoying this more than I should, regardless who the attention is focused on here. You could say you've been craving me, but I don't have to satisfy you." He did nothing, however, at the sight of Serge's pleading expression, with wide doe eyes and a bottom lip being chewed on. Rather, he grabbed his hips and canted his own up so their thrusts met, the pace picked up into a quicker setting that had them both unable to speak.

It was true what he was saying, about Serge wanting this. Sunday mass had ended barely two hours ago when the two found each other amongst the crowds heading for the cafeteria for breakfast. He only took an apple with him to the A-Class dormitories where his upperclassman resided in his own private room. That was the only thing he ate before he suggested the "reward" for their tutoring sessions paying off during the midterm exams. Being honest with himself, he's admitted to still being hungry, but for something other than what the cafeteria had to offer.

Anything to drive away the ceaseless reminders of the previous day's events with his awful roommate.

He closed his eyes tightly. Gilbert Cocteau's a horrible person. Abschaum des erde - scum of the earth. He hated the way he was taken advantage of, how he was brought down so easily. It made him feel like a real harlot, one who wasn't properly satisfied.

Yet the kiss he was forced into didn't disgust him like he thought it would. What threw him off was what he was told after being brought into a trance.

"I hate you, Serge Battour. I refuse to let you make me into Sappho."

It made his blood boil, how Gilbert's voice rang in his ears even now. What sort of person kisses another out of hate? Is he really that stupid? Not to mention how the other half to the declaration made no sense to him. He always despised things he did not understand right away. Does he actually think he and Sappho have something in common, or is he just an idiot?

His body focused on Max's thrusts and working towards reaching a climax, but his mind kept going straight back to the kiss. It conjured yesterday's image of him and Gilbert on his bed, himself trapped underneath when he could have easily pushed away. There was something about the taste of his lips that made him lose himself in such a short span of time.

He had to admit, his liking towards relinquishing control had certainly been appealed to. Max, in comparison, normally needed an extra push or vocalized directions if they wanted to get anywhere. The blond, though less threatening physically, had a way of manipulating him into doing things in his favor sometimes. He was quite intrigued by that.

Serge wondered then what it'd be like if they did things other than kiss. He liked to imagine being pinned down on his bed, willingly spreading his legs wide and taking what was given to him. He figured he wouldn't get what he wanted easily; he'd be likely to resort to begging. Gilbert seemed like the kind of arsch to do that to him. He'd put him so on edge he would have no other option than to seek him for relief. Not that he would mind.

Throwing his head back, he started to ride Max faster. The knot in his stomach only grew more and more. Why was it that imagining Gilbert in Max's place was bringing him closer than usual?

"Max... Max...!" he moaned, mouth agape. It was a name that now, for some reason, felt foreign on his tongue. "Max...! Scheiße...!"

He tapped back into his self-awareness to register his partner's shaking against him, his hands clamping down on his hips. Something slick was slipping out of him. Oh, he already came. Rude. But that didn't matter, he wouldn't be that far behind.

"Come on, Serge, you've been good~ Almost there~"

Was that Max speaking or was he hallucinating Gilbert's voice? He'd rather not open his eyes to find out.

One more push down was all it took for him to finally finish. His hips twitched and his thighs ached, yet he couldn't care at this moment. As he felt the hands on him pull him forward, one guiding his head towards a kiss, he found himself only capable of muttering one thing but thinking about another.

"Max..."

Gilbert...

Nightfall arrived by the time Serge woke up. Based on how he looked in the mirror when he got out of bed, Max had cleaned and dressed him while he was asleep before he left. He took to staring out the window for a bit, at how the sky had already become a deep purple that would soon turn to a dark blue. Snow fell in light sprinkles outside.

He looked at the clock. Half past five, just about time for supper. Given the location of the A-Class dormitories, he should make it to the dining hall within five minutes if he walked through the snow quick enough.

"I should have something light," he told himself as he put on his jacket that was folded over the chair by Max's desk. Then he laced the ribbon tie around his shirt collar. "A salad and water so I won't get dizzy, an egg for protein, a dinner roll to regain my energy..." Picking up his Bible off the desk, where he left it this late morning, he set to putting on his shoes. He made a quick glance at the trash bin where the core of his apple from earlier laid. "Fruits, as my sweet component, in place of dessert."

The walk to the cafeteria took as long as he expected, and by the time he was inside and bombarded by his classmates and underclassmen for his whereabouts before this time, he had already come up with the excuse to sate their worries. According to him, someone pulled him aside to review his midterm scores and give studying advice, and in doing so the noirette fell asleep in the midst of them taking a break. This gave his crowd the assurance they wanted, especially when coupled with his signature smile that fooled them, thus allowing him to return his focus back to getting himself something to eat.

Once he had his tray of food, he looked around for a place to sit. There were plenty of available spots at currently occupied tables, though none of them seemed appealing to him.

Kurt and Nekka tend to throw food at each other at their table, and Jonathan's group is always so loud. I could always sit by myself, but that could attract unwanted company. I'd rather find a table with people I can actually tolerate-

"Serge! Oi, Serge!"

Well, speak of the devil. Quickly putting on his usual bright smile, he turned his head in the direction of Pascal's voice. From where he stood he could make out him and Karl with a table to themselves. Even better.

He made the short trip from his point to theirs. "Apologies for being so late," he started. "I was called in for a last-minute tutoring-" He stopped right before the table, stared down at a head of golden hair and into the green eyes of the boy sitting across from his friends. "-session..."

For a moment, he lost his smile. Gilbert Cocteau only sent back a blank stare, then turned away to return to his food. Pascal fixed his glasses as he looked back and forth between them.

"Something wrong, Serge?" he asked, to which the one in question had to prevent himself from jumping in shock. "What, did you two get in a fight or something?"

You could say that...

Karl cleared his throat to grab his attention next. "The truth is, we've noticed that you two don't interact with each other as roommates normally do. Out of all this week, the one time anyone saw you two together was yesterday and that was it. As dorm dean, it's my duty to make sure everyone is getting along, so I invited Gilbert to meet with us."

Usually Serge would get frustrated - mad, even - when someone tried to meddle with his personal affairs. But never with Karl, it seemed; Karl was too sincere a person to be mad with, too pure of heart, his intentions always for others' sake. It was the same with Pascal, for despite how strange and complex his science-obsessed his mind was, Serge couldn't deny he was an intelligent young man who was highly observant. They were the only two fellow students he'd come to genuinely like here, which was why he considered them his closest friends.

Then again, this was his relationship with Gilbert they were butting into. Just as his roommate did not want anything to do with him, he's come to despise being anywhere within his proximity. Sleeping in the same room is becoming more and more unbearable, even when their fallout was yesterday.

Fall tot, Cocteau - drop dead, Cocteau.

He took a deep breath, however, and shined another smile, albeit less full than what he'd give. "I believe you are mistaken, Karl," he said, voice clear and devoid of his growing anger. He even made the effort to sit down beside Gilbert. "You know how busy I've been, studying for midterms and helping others study. When I realized how much it was making me neglect Gilbert, we decided to spend the afternoon together yesterday to make up for lost time." He waited for them to take the bait as they always did.

And Gilbert just had to start laughing. Light as it was, his shoulders barely shaking, it was still enough to provoke his friends' interest.

Stop ruining this, Miststück.

When it ceased, the blond looked at the boys, but more specifically at Serge. Amusement lit up in his eyes. He must be having fun, screwing around with him like this.

"Oh, sorry, I was simply remembering yesterday's fun," he explained. "Serge playing the piano for me, reading in the library... We got to know each other quite well." Propping his arms on the table by his elbows, pale fingers laced together to provide a resting place for his chin. "Closer than ever, I hope."

"But of course, Gilbert." I see what you're doing. So be it, let's make this worthwhile.

The two put on a show for Karl and Pascal. Every now and then they'd glance at each other, sparks of abhorrence in their eyes passed off as that of friendliness with ease. Serge's practiced smile highlighted the slight raise in the corners of Gilbert's lips. The lights directly above their table felt like spotlights for this pair of actors. As long as they kept their act up over the course of their supper, their audience appeared to be satisfied.

We're both good liars, Gilbert. See how they believe us? The noirette communicated this to his roommate with his gestures alone - a seemingly unimportant nudge of his fork against a lettuce shred in his salad, pointed in his friends' direction, along with tiny hum. An acknowledging nod in return was passed off as a dip Gilbert's head to look down at his food.

His next thoughts he kept to himself. I'd ask what you've been through get so good at lying that you can only be recognized by another liar such as myself, though I know you wouldn't tell me. Regardless, I can see that we make an interesting duo. Such a shame that you disgust me.

Even after this morning? a small voice in his head asked.

Insignificant as it was, it was pushed down with the memories it tried to stir in his head. It was bound to come back later, more prominent than now, however he could care less. To him, what mattered was the minutes he had left until then. He was going to allow neither Gilbert nor his own minuscule conscience put a damper in his night.

Serge sat in the audience with a front row seat for tonight, an indifferent expression on his face as he watched the events unfold.

He was in his bedroom at the Battour estate. The skies outside his windows depicted a starless nighttime, moonlit beams washing the walls in a milky white, yet his seat was placed in the shadows by his dresser where he would be unseen. Everything else was under the moon's spotlight.

Long ago, he used to love the nighttime. He used to beg his mother and father to let him go stargazing when they were alive. After they both died and he had moved here, he would stay up late on his balcony to soak in the breathtaking skies such as the one tonight. Whether there were seas of stars or a blank black canvas did not matter to him. He remembered how the beauty of a dark empty sky was stripped away from his ideals, replaced by detest and a hidden fear, which was why he began to prefer sunsets instead.

Two figures, one large and one small, were settled on the bench in front of the grand piano within this room. It was right by the windows of the doors to the balcony, giving a perfect view of them both when the moonlight shone on them. The larger one belonged a young man, no older than his twenties it seemed, well dressed even with his jacket lying on the bed nearby.

As for the other, it was a ten-year-old boy, one whose dark skin appeared pale in the moonlight. His eyelids were shut as his nimble fingers danced on the piano's keys. Soft melodies poured out smoothly and produced a song delighting them both.

With the song accentuating this beautiful night, Serge recalled how much he loved playing the piano at this time. Neither of his aunts minded him practicing in his room on the condition that his playing should not take away from his bedtime. Because he's broken that rule a few times on accident in the past, they employed his private tutor, who normally stayed in the house until the late afternoon, to begin watching over him for extra pay.

This man, sitting beside the his child self, had declined the offer for the raise, insisting that Serge was always such a promising student that he felt this was no problem.

"You improve with every night," he pointed out to him after the song ended. "Taking after your father in every way."

The current-aged Serge's fingers twitched while his hands remained folded on his lap. From what he recalled, this man was an underclassman of his father's back in their school days. They weren't particularly close back then, but the admiration towards his father was still there. When word got out that his aunts were seeking a private tutor for him, this man was the first to come. He was accepted for the job right away and it had been that way for a couple years after.

"Dankeschön, Professor," his younger self said in response. He raised his hands from the keys to close them for the night. "It's simply because I'm able to practice so much that I improve. It may perhaps take years before I can live up to Father's skills."

"Oh, don't say that! If anything, I believe you're right up to par with him, maybe even above!"

"Professor, you flatter me... Really, I'm not worth the praise..."

His tutor sighed. "Must you doubt yourself all the time? Everything about you is perfect."

The small noirette looked up at him with his doe-like eyes. They were wide and uncertain. "Including my skin...?"

Serge's façade faltered and was to be replaced by a genuine, sympathizing gaze. He wished he could break away from his seat and hug the child. He wanted to show him who he would grow up to be some day, show how his skin color did nothing to prevent him from achieving excellence in his academics and pursuing a career with the piano. The child deserved to know that he was capable of proving those who looked down on him wrong, gypsy blood he damned.

But he was not permitted to, for this was meant to be the memory that would set up how he would turn out to be in the future. Changing the past was impossible.

Fortunately, his tutor shared the look on his face, the uneasiness that came with the question. Now older, he'd come to understand why he was looked at this way as a child.

He, too, would have told his younger self that he should embrace the skin inherited from his mother, just as his tutor did in this memory.

"... She must've been a gentle woman, your mother."

"Very much so, but she also showed her pride in being who she was... I should be proud, too."

"Absolutely right, Serge! The things you've told me about her, how she was kind and loving - that's how you take after her, so there's nothing wrong with having her pride as well."

"You're right. Dankeschön, Professor."

His child self had only meant to grab his tutor's hand to shake it. The latter, on the other hand, held it with a grip firmer than what he'd expected. Maybe it was because Serge's spot on that bench was by the windows, allowing the moonbeams to bring out the way his dark eyes glittered with newfound hope and how it captured the glossiness of his raven curls. Maybe it was the way he sat on that bench with his legs shifted towards the older man, a knee bumping against his, them sitting too close to each other yet not minding it. Maybe it had something to do with the fact he was dressed in only his nightshirt because he was expected to go to bed right after his practice.

It had to have been for all of those reasons, the older Serge decided, that when his hand was captured by his tutor's, the same went for his lips not even a second later for the first time.

Unfolding his hands and removing them from his lap, he clenched them into fists against his chest as he looked away from the scene before him. "Nicht mehr," he whispered under his breath, barely voiced, feeling his chest tighten. No more. "Das ist genug." That's enough.

Following the night of his first kiss would then come others similar, where at a steady pace he was taught more than just how to kiss. Once precious to him, the nighttime was, until after this night, this memory tainting his once innocent past.

Serge woke up with a jolt coursing through his spine a half hour before his alarm clock would go off. He sat up in his bed and let his eyes adjust to his surroundings. The most prominent of what he recognized was the morning sunlight peeking from the gray clouds outside, pouring through the window, lighting up the room. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, his tense body relaxed. He liked the sunlight, so he was grateful for being bathed in it this morning.

Then, he turned his head towards where his roommate laid still asleep. Unlike himself, Gilbert's side of the room remained covered by shadows. It bemused him - to think he once preferred the darkness as well.

He shook his head. Dwelling on my dreams won't get me anywhere, he thought. I mustn't allow that, lest I let it ruin my mood today. As he proceeded to get out of bed and dress himself for another ordinary school day, he meanwhile took his time staring out the window.

Before anyone knew it, the final week of school passed, and winter break had begun. Almost every student was gone by nightfall after church ended, having already had their suitcases packed and themselves prepared to file into carriages that would take them to the train station or their homes themselves. Whoever stayed behind were either planning to leave the next morning or later afterwards, or simply had nowhere else to go except on school grounds.

That being said, Serge was one of those still at school for the former reason. The moment Pascal heard he wasn't going to leave for the sole purpose of continuing his studies, the young man refused to let that happen. Rather, he insisted on having him be a guest in the Biquet household for at least until the holidays passed, and there was no way he could say no to his close friend. He then made sure to have his suitcase packed for their departure in the morning.

After that was done with, he chose to visit Max in his room one more time, for the latter would be leaving tonight along with some friends of his.

"You sure you'll be fine without me?" he said, straddling the taller one's lap on his bed, grateful for the latter's roommate already being gone. They had considered doing something quick, though then they decided against it, as it would be a hassle to change clothes with what little time they had left.

Max had his arms wrapped around his thin waist, their bodies pressed closely together. His larger body encompassed his own with ease. "A dry spell will be maddening without you to relieve it, but I'll manage. I'll return after the break ends and I won't be able to keep my hands off you for a week or more. Doesn't that sound nice?"

"Wunderbar~" Serge took to playing with the other's hair, looping his fingers about each individual brunet wave. "What about me, Max?"

"What about you?"

"It'll be the same for me, you know, and you know how needy I get." They locked eyes, and Serge gave a sorrowful look. "I'm not that good at containing myself for very long."

"You wish to cheat on me?"

"Oh, don't put it like that. No one can compare to how good you make me feel. I just need to find someone to act as a poor substitute for you while we're apart. Surely you might have a friend I can meet with over the break that you can trust to treat me right."

"Don't you have a roommate? That boy- Cocteau, was it? He's seems dispensable enough."

The noirette let out a sigh to express his discontent - or the surface of his annoyance with that proposal, at the least. He came here to forget everything else before his leave tomorrow, especiallythat abschaum of a roommate. Gilbert should not be brought up right now; the mention of him alone was putting a dent in his once calm mood.

He was made happy again when Max seemed to catch this change and made it up to him with a kiss on the forehead. "It's not like I haven't considered my roommate," he assured, "it's just that that was a long time ago, before you and I got together. Since then, he and I haven't been able to see many things eye to eye. We'd rather not interact while we have so much freedom away from each other now."

For a moment he looked away from Max with a downward tilt of his head. He thought to the time a week ago when Gilbert plagued his mind at the worst of times. The heat of the moment had gotten to him that time, and he ended up climaxing while thinking about the wrong person. He was frustrated with himself for imagining such things when he had Max taking care of him. What was worse was that as disgusted as he was, he couldn't find himself regretting it.

Gilbert Cocteau should die for interfering with his thoughts, for undoing his past near two months of undisturbed sexual pleasure with his lips. He hated the way they tasted sweet like nutmeg and cinnamon with a fruity hint, like the fresh apple strudels his mother used to bake for him as a child. He hated how the cologne he seemed to wear smelled of blooming spring flowers and how the scent was part of distracting him enough to succumb to the kiss. He hated himself for liking all of that.

And those words - "I refuse to let you make me into Sappho" - god how he wanted to figure out just what he meant by that. His busy schedule hasn't given him the time to contemplate it, though he supposed he had it now. He could look back through the Ancient Greek poetry book he had recently renewed for borrowing from the library since he hasn't touched it at all after he checked it out.

Serge left Max so they could both make their final preparations for their own departures, and he headed back to Room 17 by himself. Once he arrived, however, he found the door having a slight opening, revealing the light from the room. As he got closer, a voice other than Gilbert's reached his ears. Curiosity took over and he stood right outside the door to listen in.

"Monsieur Beau has not heard from you for months, Cocteau."

"That is no longer my problem. If Auguste wants to hear from me, he should come here and face me himself like a man."

Serge blinked. The former's voice belonged to the school's superintendent Arión Rosemarine. He's met him only a couple times, the older student having come by to congratulate him for topping him in exam scores. His colleagues have informed him of his status as the "White Prince" who enforces the rules of Lacombrade Academy with an iron will, which proved to be true with each of their brief meetings. Just his presence has been enough to intimidate even Serge.

Him finding out about me would disturb my reputation... But enough about me. Why's he here to speak to Gilbert? Who's Auguste Beau?

"'Like a man', you say? It's you who has not been returning your guardian's letters. You're causing him unnecessary stress."

"He should have thought of that before he actually learned to care about me. If he sent you to scold me, surely you can relay a message to him for me if he wants a response so badly." There was a soft, exasperated sigh. "This is my answer: I will not return to Marseilles and that's final. Please let him know that."

"You are in no position to have me do-"

"On the contrary, I am, as his relative whom he worries about so much. Rosemarine, you owe me this much after... after that."

Serge heard Rosemarine let out a choked grunt, but then he seemed to concede. "... Very well, I shall give him your message. This evens us out... Enjoy your winter here, Gilbert. I will alert the chefs staying here that there is one more mouth to feed."

"Thank you..."

Quickly retreating back whence he came and around the corner, Serge waited for the superintendent to leave Room 17 before he made his appearance. He gave him a respectful bow that was dismissed with an acknowledging hum. After he was gone, his whole body released his pent-up tension.

He went back down the hall, but did not enter the room immediately. Gilbert was on the other side. He was hiding secrets just like him, neither was better than the other. Auguste Beau was a name that sounded familiar, and to hear that that man was Gilbert's guardian made this more interesting.

They should both prepare themselves, he decided. Serge wanted payback for his humiliation. Gilbert may appear to have a liking towards shadows, but Serge was ready to yank him out into the light.