The Tempest, Giorgione, 1507
_________________________
"Sick game out there man!"
"I know! And that move at the end—how'd you learn to do that?"
"You should've seen the other teams' faces!"
Isaac grimaced as he watched several guys swarm Josiah with praise. Casually, he leaned against a wall while the horde surrounded him as if it were normal, something the prefect was used to. Based off of his very minimal background of knowledge of sports, combined with their boyish attitudes, Isaac sensed they won some sort of rugby or football or cricket championship. He hadn't a clue which.
"We should all go out to celebrate!"
"Sounds good," said Josiah, bright smile plastered on. "I'll pay."
"Really? Dude, you're amazing!"
"Where would we be without him?"
"Starving, duh."
God, it made Isaac sick to watch this go down, to think that he lived on the streets and scrambled for crumbs while these leeches got everything from Josiah, even when they had plenty of their own money. He noticed it, how they always came to him with their problems and their needs like children. Every time he thought Josiah would finally snap and call them out, or deny their outrageous requests, he never did. He just stood there, still but smiling, and agreed. Unreal.
"Everyone loves him," said Ash at his side.
"Hmm?"
"You were eyeing Josiah just now."
"Not eyeing. Observing," he argued. "Observing how he does everything they ask like some puppet."
Ash chuckled. "He's always been like that, at least, he's been like that since he was twelve. That's how long I've known him. Must be because of his family, you know, having to maintain his image or whatever. No one cares about his purpose though, as long as they get what they want. If you think about it, they're the brainless puppets," he pointed out. "He tells them to dance, and they dance."
"His family is that famous?"
"Yeah, the Beckett family—practically runs the luxury hotel business and London's trading industry. How'd you not know?"
Isaac wasn't sure how to answer. It was kind of difficult to explain to someone that he grew up dirt poor and never spent the night at a fancy hotel.
"I guess I'm just ignorant."
"You know what's funny? How everyone adores Josiah but they're all terrified of his father." He lowered his voice and came close. "You didn't hear this from me but...I heard he's like...secretly a loan shark or something like that."
"A loa-"
"Shhh!" Ash slapped a hand on his mouth. "You never know who could be listening."
Isaac glanced up one more time to see if they were still crowding the prefect. Sure enough, they were worshipping him like a Greek god. They might as well get on their hands and knees—sexual or not sexual. He continued to observe, eyes skipping from one loser to another and landing back on the star, whose attention he quickly learned was not on them.
Because it was on him.
Josiah was looking at him.
In a frenzy, he averted his gaze. Fuck. He was not supposed to see him. Did he know that they were talking about him?
"Isaac?" asked Ash, concern in his voice. "You good?"
He waited long before he spoke again, staring at the floor. When he looked back up, he saw an empty wall that Josiah had abandoned, leaving leeches by themselves. "Let's get out of here."
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
"You still haven't told me about your trip, even after I let you crash at my place all summer!" whined Ash to Isaac. "This relationship is not mutually beneficial."
"Did you just call me a parasite?" he joked, though he couldn't deny it. He owed Ash his life. The boy did everything for him: retrieved his corpse from bars and provided alibis for when he snuck out. If he were a villain, Ash was the poor sidekick that got dragged into messes he created, the one the audience couldn't help but pity. This time, when Isaac told him about his home situation with William, the first thing he did was open his doors for him. He didn't deserve him.
Ash just laughed as they continued walking down an Etonian corridor. It would seem that it was officially the last year they'd walk these halls. For many, such as Ash, they grew up in these dreary corridors. They spent their youth running down them to get to class on time when they woke up late, or gossiped with their friends about the latest rumor, walking at a snail's speed and ticking off students behind them. Isaac was a minority, someone who showed up spontaneously and had only spent one year of his life here, beginning a second. Leaving these halls—he didn't know if he was more or less excited about the idea than the people who grew up here.
"Parasite is synonymous with best friend. And your best friend at least deserves to know where you got that beautiful scarf from so he can get one."
"This?" Isaac pointed to the ivory silk material around his neck. "Does it look strange on me?"
"Is it Italian?"
"Oh...um...uhh..."
Honestly, he had no idea what it was. When he first saw it, he fell in love with the soft fabric, the ticklish fringe, the subtle embroidery and the way it reflected starlight. He didn't buy it in a store with a tag on. Instead, he found it lying on a plush sofa the morning after his last night in Venice.
"Take it," Josiah said as he pulled on corduroy pants, "the scarf."
"W-what? No, it's yours." It was the scarf he wore to the wedding. Isaac didn't know it was so pretty up close; it caught his attention.
"You've been staring at it all morning with hearts in your eyes."
He took one last, longing look at it. Yeah, he wasn't very subtle. "It's probably expensive."
"It's fine, I have others." the prefect laughed as he wrapped a leather belt around his waist to complete his look. "Besides, I want you to have it."
He tugged on the fringe, tightening the smooth wrap around his neck. If he pulled any harder, it'd probably suffocate him. Curious, he tugged once more. Still breathing.
He hadn't spoken with Josiah since the day he stole the scarf. It was Josiah who suggested they didn't talk for the time being. Said he needed some time. Isaac agreed, said it was the same for him. Deep down though, it sucked to hear. A lot. He wished it didn't suck so much.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✦ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
The school day felt longer than usual. It was odd, he expected Josiah to at least be in one of his classes and was prepared to avoid him like the plague, as per his request. It's not like at Eton there were hundreds of people in his year. Maybe he skipped. Isaac wondered if he skipped because of him.
At the moment, the professor was giving a "brief" overview about their final year. He caught a total of three words: exams, university, future. That pretty much summed up his so far forty-two minute lecture.
He rested a tired head on a cool desk surface, waiting impatiently for something exciting to happen, like for a bird to fly in and release waste onto his teacher's shiny bald head. Birds can be funny at times. He waited a long while for anything to happen. Perhaps too long.
"Harley," spoke a voice. It was low but smooth, dark yet soft—almost like Josiah's. "Harley." As if it were nearing, the voice got louder. Hearing it a second time, he thought maybe it really was Josiah. His heart fluttered. His name always sounded so good on his lips. Say it again, oh God, say it again. "Harley!"
He felt someone shaking his body and he shot up at the touch. Apparently he fell asleep.
"Mr. Harley!" shouted the professor. "Only the first day and you're already misbehaving. Can't say I'm surprised. Guess you really can't teach an old dog new tricks."
Son of a bitch. Josiah consumed his every thought.
"The headmaster called for you, mister."
He looked around. Everyone was staring at him. Why did everyone love staring at him? Mind your own damn business, that's what he wanted to yell. Carefully, he rose from his seat, determined to exit with any grace and dignity he could muster. "Very well."
Back into the dark halls he went, pondering what he could've done that required the headmaster's attention. Of course, because his mind couldn't seem to focus on anything else right now, his first thought was: did Josiah rat him out? Thinking about it, he hardly knew anything about the boy except that he was terribly rich, smoked weed, and incapable of getting hard for women.
Forget it. It doesn't matter anymore.
Sure, two were big secrets, but he didn't know the smaller things, like his greatest fear or most embarrassing memory, or if he did anything embarrassing ever.
Who cares?
That night in Venice, he let his walls down because he thought Josiah had done the same. Looking back, he'd barely broken through the outermost layer. Josiah could ruin him with what he had. Maybe he made a mistake.
Get out of my fucking head.
No. It wasn't a mistake. Josiah was really smart. Incredibly smart. At the very least, he knew what would happen if he exposed him to the headmaster. Sharing his secrets with the world would imply something intimate, something forbidden happened between them. He wouldn't snitch. Because he's so goddamn smart.
I hate myself.
By the time he arrived at the headmaster's grand office, he'd driven himself mad. His head ached. Anything the old man told him would probably kill him on the spot.
"Whatever it is you think I did, I swear it wasn't me."
"Isaac."
"Look, I-I promise I didn't do anything over the summer. Just ask Asher Alexander! Or his parents." Shouting hurt his head too.
"Isaac!" When he finally shut up, he noticed the man's grave, sunken face. "It's William."
His heart stopped at the name. "What?"
"William...he's dead."
Then everything went black.
___________________________
Whose POV is more interesting: Isaac or Josiah?
I'm going to focus on Isaac for awhile, but I'm really curious. Josiah's gone a bit AWOL at the moment.
it'd mean the world to me if you left a
vote or comment!