Author's Note: My only excuses for this being over two years late are that college swamped me for a while, and also I don't know enough about how an educational curriculum in nineteenth-century France functioned, so please don't come for my throat if some of the interactions are inaccurate as heck. On the bright side, I think I'm finally reaching a point where I know the direction I want to push this story towards, so hopefully this chapter will make up for the unintentional hiatus.

Ceramic pieces clattered to the marble floor, breaking apart even more after their initial collision with the wall beside them. The once beautiful vase had been reduced into this fragile state from a single throw. The thrower wondered if he had just done exactly as the man before him had done to him. The mere thought of being the same as him made his chest tighten and his stomach flip. If he forced himself to stay in the presence of this man any longer, he was bound to vomit.

He never aimed for the head, so that man should be grateful none of the shards sought out to scar his face. He could have, though, if he wanted to. His eyes have been trained to see all, analyze all, that if he did attempt to throw the vase with the intention to kill, it would be accomplished with impeccable accuracy. But he relented within the final second of acting out on his anger when the tiniest bit of reason came through to him to warn that he should not cause too much trouble while they were still at school.

"Get out." His voice was clear, his tone stern and controlled. Recognizing this gave him a swell of pride - this is how things ought to be, he deserved to feel in control after years of submitting without a second thought. Seeing that he was not being listened to, he raised his voice. "I said, get out. Never show your face around me without my permission ever again."

"You are making a mistake, Gilbert."

"On the contrary, it was you who made a mistake, bringing me up the way you did. I was forced to grow up quickly because of you." Daring, a confident smirk surfaced. "Let's be honest with ourselves, shall we: it was you who taught me to treat everyone and everything as something that must be studied. That's how I was able to recognize the truth. You claim you love me, yet you cover yourself in lies and secrets. What you've felt was never 'love' - it was obsession."

Nothing in response.

"By your silence, I take it that I've hit a mark." He turned around, heading for the door, smirk gone once more. "This school... Another mistake you made was sending me here. It must have sent you over the edge learning I was on the path towards becoming independent from you, to now realize I will not accept being lied to anymore by someone I once cared for so dearly. After all, why else would you have decided to rear your ugly head around here after months- years of nothing?"

He need not look back to know of the man staring at him. He wasn't strong enough to face him for as long as he did at this time, not yet at least. There was so much more he wanted to say while he was still here, but he did get this feeling of satisfaction from the idea of making him wait. Let him suffer from a taste of his own medicine. Let it suffocate him.

As he opened the door, he heard him call his name one more time. He flinched. This was the final check. He took a deep breath and one foot passed through the exit.

"Au revoir, Auguste."

This was the last time Gilbert saw Auguste Beau, his father, that one spring almost a year ago. He would from then on look upon the memory as his first taste of true freedom.

On the other side of the confessional, the priest uttered a beginning prayer, and then turned his direct attention to Gilbert. "What seems to be troubling you, child?"

"Father... Do you remember the last time I was here on my own?"

"Last year, yes."

"It's about that." That was a lie. He's come to terms with those sins, he's gone through repentance. Not even the priest would believe him if he told him the truth, though. "When April comes... it will mark a full year since I last saw him."

Him - Auguste Beau. The man who brought him up with the purpose of breaking him down and turning him into a doll that would take only a powerful mind like his own to control him. He taught him to approach the world as if anyone could betray him at any time, but also to revel in the misery from it. That's why no matter how many times Auguste himself betrayed him, Gilbert believed what they had was different.

He grimaced at the resurfacing memories. Disgusting.

It was Auguste's idea to send him to Lacombrade Academy in the first place. "A chance to learn to be a decent member of society," was the supposed reason, but Gilbert knew better than to believe that. He wanted him to rot here. He wanted him to be more than willing to do whatever it took to remain at his side. Why else did his box in the mailing room take up dust and his room always occupied by his lone presence by the time he entered Class B?

Upon his arrival, however, he was overcome by this deep feeling of competitiveness, a need to prove that he should be viewed as his own guardian's worst enemy. Other than rejecting the upperclassmen who sought after him with declarations of love at first sight, he caused no trouble. He forced himself to break from the old habits implanted in his mind and body that he used on his private tutors when he was growing up, finding that he was more intelligent than he gave himself credit for. It was difficult, especially when he used to long for Auguste, but he coped by delving into his studies and his books, even taking up volunteering for choir - anything to forget about the things he's done and what he's been through.

"Does he invade your thoughts?" the priest asked, over the light shifting of rosary beads. "Have you faced the temptation to return to him?"

Gilbert's fingers twitched on top of the Bible. In respect for his privacy, he never gave away Auguste's identity at his last confession. He didn't get the chance to, too busy crying and begging to find hope in breaking away from the mental leash that chained him to Auguste's hand. Though he had a cool head during their confrontation, he came straight here out of fear that he would be hunted down. All he wanted was a life where he could hide his past somewhere no one at this school could ever find it so he could live for himself for a change.

But this wasn't actually about Auguste, thank the heavens. Had it been - had he been faced with temptation to return to him, as the priest assumed - he would've already turned into a madman before this day. No, this was about a whole new threat to the normalcy he's found from taking refuge in the shadows and staying within the dead center of the school's social hierarchy.

The single bright side to what he went through was that he took the teachings he was given and twisted them to his own advantage. This allowed him to lie with ease. "I know for certain I don't want to be anywhere near him anymore. He doesn't tempt me that way."

"That is good to hear, child."

"I believe so, too... He is always on my mind, though. After he and I last spoke, I realized too late that there are still things I left unsaid and that irks me. I don't know what must be going through his mind about me as we speak, but because we haven't been in contact, he might not understand that I want nothing to do with him."

His straight face was broken by the intrusion of a scowl in disgust. He continued with a raised voice, "I want him to know exactly what I think, but what if he takes it as an invitation or even an indication that I don't truly want to sever ties with him? Whenever we used to talk before, he somehow always took control of the conversation, always made it about himself, always tried to act as if he wasn't the one in the wrong! It's sickening! How can I possibly stand a decent interaction with that manipulative bas-"

"Language, Monsieur Cocteau." Realizing he was overstepping the boundary, Gilbert muttered an apology and slunk back into his seat. The priest cleared his throat. "So, to put it simply, you believe that if you tried to communicate with him again, things will only take a turn for the worst."

"I... I suppose so..."

"Then do not fret, dear child, for your troubles are justified. You must remember to have faith in not only God protecting you from such heinous sins, but in the strength you carry. Once you rest more faith in yourself, perhaps then you can face him and be self-assured in asserting your place."

There was a minute spared at the end for reciting the Act of Contrition. Gilbert had offered to help out with whatever preparations the priest was taking care of inside the church, but was turned down, insisted upon to contemplate their time together. He promised he would, and maybe even send out a letter soon, whatever it may take to bring his unease to an end. After his forehead was blessed with holy water, he bowed before the altar and took his leave, coat and scarf back on.

His jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed the moment he closed the door behind him and he was left out in the cold. That's it? All that could be said was to "have faith" in himself? Last time he sought out answers here, he actually received an answer to his pleas. He trusted in what he was told and benefited from it. He wasn't told to simply "have faith". All he got out of this confession was a place to finally vent, but even then he couldn't tell the whole truth.

Why... Why is it that after I met him, he had to undo everything I've worked towards?

Kicking up a pile of fresh snow, originally untouched, into the air, he started his trek back to the school. Without any answers, he had no choice but to see this through on his own. All that was left for him to do was to hope for now that he would be able to survive until the start of the spring term the following week.

For Gilbert, the one positive side to enduring the new semester was that it meant new literature assignments. His favorite pastime has always been reading outside when the weather was nice, under the shade of someplace where he wouldn't be found. Whenever it seemed the snow would not be clearing up any time soon, he'd compromise and settle for a table to himself in a corner of the library. This was how he ended up in the latter setting on this afternoon, two weeks after school had gone back into session, after all of his classes for the day have been put up with.

Of course, there were other students in the library, but they were all scattered about as well as closer to the front, whereas Gilbert took up a table in the back. Perfect for keeping a distance from everyone else. It's not like anyone had a valid reason to approach him, anyway - his reputation was in neither a bad nor particularly good standing (to say if he had a reputation at all here), and there were plenty of other students he can name off to ask about academics without resorting to his advice.

"Ah, Gilbert, there you are!" Speaking of which, here comes one of them.

"Serge, please be quiet. You'll be tempting the head librarian to make an example out of us if you don't." Lo and behold, here comes a second.

"Have to agree with Karl on this one. The head librarian is one of the only people at this school I wouldn't want to mess with." A third (should he be in the right mood for it).

The first laughed nervously, yet softly, so as to not disturb the dreaded old librarian grumbling over paperwork at his desk. "My bad, Karl, Pascal. I don't come here often enough to know that."

The trio of Serge, Karl, and Pascal made their way over to Gilbert's table, which by coincidence had three extra seats. Gilbert took his sweet time in looking up from his book, trying to keep as straight a face as possible. He could afford to make some snarky comment towards Serge with Pascal around, but not Karl. Never Karl, who valued Serge so much as his newest best friend, even if he's still unaware of his lies and deception. It's common sense at this school to not bother him with extra burdens while he had so many on his plate to begin with as their class's dormitory dean. He'd have to wait for the day to come where he would finally know before he could say anything out loud.

"Good afternoon, Gilbert," Karl greeted him as the representative of the group.

"Likewise to you, Karl," he replied.

"None of these seats would happen to be taken, would they? Serge noticed you were working on the literature project by yourself and believed it would be best we exchange our thoughts on the reading assignment. He did point out that you seem to have a keen eye for literary analysis. Your past essays have even proven it."

"Do I now..." Quickly glancing at Serge standing behind his taller friends, he caught the hidden malice in his "friendly" gaze back. He held his tongue, only releasing it in exchange for answering the provided offer. "Well, I don't see a reason for us to not work together, so feel free to make yourselves comfortable. I'm going to be here for another hour or so until suppertime."

Karl nodded his thanks, prompting the other two to set their things down on each of the chairs - Serge claimed one right beside Gilbert, of course. Pascal took the one on his other side, leaving Karl with the one across from him. They already had their own copies of their latest reading assignment on the table, along with their stationery.

"Were the rest of you as surprised as I was that the professor assigned us Othello of all plays?" Pascal said, biting back a yawn. "You'd think he and the history professor would have teamed up on us with a historical play instead."

"I think that would have been too controversial, Pascal," Karl replied. "Shakespeare's works are highly revered, but if we were tasked with analyzing his historical plays, that would mean analyzing the English perspective of French history. There's more potential for heated discussions between the history and literary department than there would be for them working together."

"Either that, or the curriculum here is horribly outdated. Patricia was telling me over the holidays how she got her hands on a French translation of an English novel for her own class. Not some Shakespearean play, but a novel that was published nearly fifty years ago - much more recent than anything we've gotten to read. Those girls get to read Frankenstein and might even go on a school trip to watch a theatrical performance. Meanwhile, we're stuck with a play we're going to be forced to reenact scenes from in some dowdy classroom, then write a report on how everyone's interpretations are different. I'm no fan of the arts, but at least Patricia's school seems to be better at keeping up with the times."

Staying out of the conversation, Gilbert hid his face with his book so no one would catch him rolling his eyes. While he sees Pascal's point in his dissatisfaction, he's not too concerned about Lacombrade Academy's curriculum. He has more faith that it will be updated on its own than one would believe him to have. After all, books such as that one on Greek poetry cannot go unnoticed by the head librarian or his assistants forever; if the content of those books were to ever be thoroughly checked one of these days, that would surely have to call for more change.

"At least that petition you submitted to the faculty last semester for more science courses isn't your biggest focus here... We're going off on a tangent." Karl cleared his throat. "Let's concentrate on this project for now, and then maybe we can look and see if our own library carries Frankenstein. Would that suffice?"

"Fine, fine, whatever you say, Meiser."

Back on track, the boys looked over the requirements Karl took notes on in their class for the assignment. It's up to themselves to either work in groups for a scene or recite a monologue on one's own, so long as everyone put in enough effort for other students to take notes on how each presentation consisted of their own interpretations. Their class had three days' worth of rehearsal time but were also encouraged to work outside of the classroom. Props and costumes were optional, performing in front of the class was not.

It took a bit of discussion before they could settle on a scene together since it would require cutting smaller roles and shortening lines. Pascal insisted that Karl should play Iago for "shock factor", but ended up nominated for the role himself, whereas the latter was cast as Cassio. Gilbert was content with being tasked with playing Bianca, the only female role in the excerpt of the scene they've chosen, since he would not have to recite as many lines as the others. This left Serge as the titular character himself.

Of course, Serge was questioned on whether or not he was comfortable with that, all four of them aware of the "jokes" that could come from it, but he assured them he was fine with their cast. (On the other hand, Gilbert had to hold himself back from making a snide comment about him being more suited for Iago... or even Bianca.)

"All that's left now is to come up with ways we can interpret this," Karl said after writing down the cast list and their chosen scene.

Serge started them off. "What if I portray Othello as having a broader range of emotions - as in, he's more saddened by what he thinks is Cassio's affair with Desdemona than he is angry? Then he'll seem more frustrated when he talks about killing Cassio in the end."

"That's a good start... Perhaps I should make Cassio out to be modest when he talks about Bianca, since I don't think I'd be up for laughing so loudly about something so... well, vulgar."

"Spoken like a true gentleman."

"Do be quiet, Pascal."

The oldest of their group leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head. "Not until after I suggest that Iago doesn't stop smiling throughout the entire scene. I'm no actor, but I can change it up a bit to fit the moods, even if it hurts my face."

"It will be ironic to anyone who can understand what's going on," Gilbert pointed out. "Iago's always praised for being honest, which in itself is ironic, but having him always smiling will reinforce the idea that he's, how you say, a 'wolf in sheep's clothing'."

Karl smiled while he wrote down everyone's suggestions. "We could use that in the report, give or take some editing... Do you have anything to say about Bianca, Gilbert? I know you didn't have any objections, but just so we're clear-"

Gilbert shook his head. "None at all, Karl, I'm sure." He's already gone through his trial of dealing with the comments about his "girlish" looks when he first arrived at this school. Whatever else anyone has to say on the matter won't affect him at all. "My only request for portraying her requires your absolute consent, however."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

He gave a thin grin, just short of a smirk. "Bianca should get to slap Cassio. It'll be easy to stage once we practice." On either side, Pascal and Serge seemed to agree with the suggestion, judging by the way they both brought a hand to their mouths so as to muffle any laughter. Karl, on the contrary, was predictably doubtful. "Consider it this way: Bianca is beyond angry that she received a secondhand gift, that being Othello's handkerchief. It will also give Othello more 'proof' that Cassio is having an affair with Desdemona. Staging foreshadowing is important in theatre, after all."

"It would also make our performance more entertaining," Serge added. "This is only a class project, but whatever details we put into it should make it more memorable. I say Gilbert's idea is worth incorporating."

"... Well, if you two say so..." Karl finally conceded, a hand on his cheek, perhaps imagining that's where the "slap" will land. "I'm putting my trust in you, Gilbert."

The rest of the hour was spent studying the scene itself, taking notes, and cutting lines. The library was no place for rehearsing them, and supper was around the corner anyway, meaning they needed to memorize them on their own time; if they chose to do so, they could just carry on with their discussion in the cafeteria later. By the time they agreed to put a stop to their work, all the other students around them were collecting their things to leave as well.

Standing up, bag secured in one hand, Gilbert was pushing his seat back into place when he realized Serge was still here, the other two already walking through the exit. "What do you want?"

"Am I not allowed to wait for my roommate so we may walk together?"

"You really do take pleasure in torturing both of us, don't you?"

"You're the same way, are you not?"

"Masochist."

"Killjoy."

And that put an end to that conversation.

There was no need to question Serge about his motive for involving Gilbert in the trio's affairs because he already knew the answer. After all, Serge had a reputation to maintain as the school's newest golden boy, liked by most and respected by all.

Not only that, but Gilbert still remembered Karl approaching him sometime before the holidays about what sort of dynamic he and Serge had as roommates, and if they were getting along at all. In spite of that previous night's "incident" (to put it lightly), their time together sitting at the same cafeteria table forced them into a silent agreement, albeit with dubious consent.

Should word get out that they didn't get along, nosy gossipers were sure to follow, and that was the last thing either of them wanted. It would mean Serge being outed and Gilbert becoming the center of attention. Pascal knowing can only ease the situation so much, but Karl was a different story, for none of them could deny that the desire to keep his troubles outside his school-related responsibilities to the minimum was mutual. That's why regardless of how those two felt, it was best to keep the rest of the school out of their little feud; the least they can do is lie to everyone except each other about their tolerance towards the other, or lack thereof.

Easier said than done, yes, but not impossible, Gilbert came to realize. Following Serge's return to school prior to the end of winter break, they rarely so much as looked each other in the eye unless they happened upon each other in the midst of tending to their own devices. When classes began once more, their act outside their dorm as roommates who liked each other was well-received, and behind closed doors they'd return to pretending the other didn't exist. A comfortable two weeks of this routine passed by before they both settled with light jabs between themselves, a compromise for their inability to thoroughly make each other miserable, even in the moments where the chance presented itself.

Which was why they wound up in the library at the same table, why Serge recommended adding Gilbert into his and his friends' group project, and why Gilbert went along willingly - all in one seamless act. The execution was perfect. They could even call themselves considerable actors.

Over the next two days of enduring their project, they continued the charade smoothly. Their chosen scene had been shortened enough that each boy was capable of committing their assigned lines to memory, which allowed them to move on to basic blocking in no time. Since Gilbert had less lines, he took it upon himself to compile their notes into a single list that they can all use for writing their individual reports after all of the performances are finished.

It was during this note-taking session, in the midst of Karl and Pascal commenting on Serge's facial expressions as Othello after Cassio exits, that a student from Class C discovers them in the Class B common room. Judging by how his uniform is different from everyone else's, this was none other than Rosemarine's personal attendant. All four ceased what they were doing to give him their full attention. Around them, other boys took notice and snuck glances at them.

"Serge Battour," he called out. "You have some letters waiting for you in the mailing room. There were instructions on the envelopes to inform you as soon as they arrived."

Why not bring them to him yourself, then? Gilbert questioned. He did not see the logic in this setup, and for Rosemarine to send this boy here... Don't tell me you know something, Arion.

"Ah, must be from my family," Serge said aloud, unassuming. He passed his book to Karl and turned to the three of them. "This shouldn't take long. I promise I'll return once I have them."

Pascal brushed him off with a wave of a hand. "Don't worry about us. Take your time!"

Karl nodded in agreement. "I was about to suggest a short break, anyway. We'll pick back up once you're back."

"Understood!" Serge flashed them his usual smile, one that eased the rest of the room into going back to their own conversations and games. He made his way toward the underclassman. "I will follow you, if you'll have me."

"Right, off we go now."

In spite of Serge's promise, no one saw him for the rest of their free time period, and he didn't even show up to the cafeteria for supper. What became of Serge in those short few hours remained a mystery to everyone afterward.

Everyone except Gilbert.