Baroque

Baroque (Part 10)


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Beginning Notes:

My apologies for the wait. I\'ve been scrambling to find translations of the manga in order to continue this fic, but my efforts have been unsuccessful.

As I\'ve no access to manga translations from this point on, I\'m afraid that I\'ll have to skip over several volumes of the series, thereby shortening the fic rather severely. It\'s unfortunate, but that\'s the way things are right now, and I suppose we\'ll have to make good use of what we do have.

And since I can\'t read Japanese, it\'s very likely that the manga summaries at my site won\'t be updated. All the chapters of this fic from now till the end will be based on superficial interpretations of the manga, so it\'s most likely that almost all details in the chapters will be way off in accuracy. My sincerest apologies to everyone, and thank you for your patience.

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Through Serge’s entire visit, Pascal had been observing his friend very closely. He saw, with growing pleasure, the brightness that made the boy’s aspect glow, a luminosity that he’d never before seen in anyone.

“Perhaps because I choose not to see it,” he mused one day, staring out the window and watching Serge play in the snow with his youngest siblings. “Once a cynic, always a cynic, I suppose.”

Dorothy, however, had let slip her own interpretation, which stirred something in Pascal’s mind though he might be loath to admit it.

“Your friend’s in love,” she noted with a small burst of amused laughter. “How cute.”

Pascal stared at her. “In love? Him? What makes you think that? For all we know, he’s cheerful because he’s with us! Don’t you remember what happened to his parents?”

“Of course I remember, silly! But, see, the way he glows is different.”

“Huh?”

“People glow, and people glow. Get it? When someone’s in love, he glows a certain way—not the same as someone who glows because of—I don’t know—a high score in a test or something.”

Pascal scowled at his sister. “Your shuttle’s off in space again, isn’t it?”

Dorothy rolled her eyes. “God, Pascal! For youryour book learning, you really have no clue, do you?”

The boy merely waved his hand dismissively. “Whatever lifts your skirts up,” he snorted. “I suppose this’ll have to be chalked up to a girl’s biases and nothing more.”

“Tsk! You ass.”

“You sap.”

The young woman gave him a firm whack upside the head—literally—and walked off, ignoring her brother’s yelp of pain. Pascal stared out the window, blinking away the flashes of light that blinded him for a brief moment while he rubbed his skull gingerly. His eyes continued to follow Serge around, and his mind toyed around with several different notions, all of which he felt were rather ludicrous.

Serge? In love? What a thought!

Pascal, after all, had seen the way Patricia worked herself to the point of collapse just to ensure Serge’s attention. The girl had been doing so for some time now, and while she dared not speak a word about her newfound infatuation, her brother was certainly not blind to her feelings. If anything, he felt sorry for her and her thwarted efforts though he couldn’t bring himself to pull her aside and talk to her about it.

How could he, anyway? He was her brother, for heaven’s sake, and everyone knew that big brothers simply did not pry into their younger sisters’ personal lives, especially when romance happened to be involved. And the fact that said romance also happened to concern his best friend only served to complicate matters further.

He’d therefore decided, in spite of a surge of protectiveness toward his sister, to allow Patricia a taste of puppy love and the inevitable heartbreak it was bound to bring down on her. She needed to experience life for what it was, having hidden herself for far too long behind her sketchbooks and her canvases, after all.

“Ah, Christ,” he sighed. He did not relish the idea of a heartbroken sibling, particularly one who was a favorite of his. Sometimes, though, certain risks had to be taken for the sake of loved ones.

Below his window Patricia presently joined the little group, challenging Serge to a snowball fight, which the boy laughingly accepted. Before long, snow exploded everywhere, the players not even forming alliances. Loud, raucous laughter filled the winter landscape outside as the youngsters engaged in a free-for-all, pelting each other ruthlessly with snowballs that seemed to grow larger and larger with every attack made.

Pascal noted the frequent glances Patricia stole in Serge’s direction whenever the boy wasn’t looking. He saw the ruefulness that defined them. He also noted Serge’s complete ignorance of his effect on the girl, the way he treated her no differently from a good childhood friend or even a sister.

Serge even pounced on her after being smashed in the face with a particularly large snowball, dragging Patricia down onto the snow and tickling her mercilessly while the girl shrieked, flailing and punching and turning beet-red from the strain. And after a few seconds of this, Serge stumbled to his feet and helped her up, and Pascal easily discerned Patricia’s sudden attack of self-consciousness. The girl shied away from Serge’s grasp with a deepening blush, and she stood warily away, eyeing the boy in some confusion. Serge, panting, continued to talk to her, his eyes bright, his cheeks reddened, his face crinkled by a broad, playful grin.

Pascal found nothing in his friend’s behavior that could give him a hint of reassurance regarding Serge’s own feelings toward Patricia.

“Nope, definitely not in love,” he muttered.

It simply didn’t make any logical sense.

And as he turned away from the window, Pascal pointedly ignored a thought that bubbled under his mind’s surface—one that had been doing so since he began noticing Serge’s inspired brightness…

It was the thought that he himself felt actual relief at being convinced that his best friend wasn’t harboring feelings for anyone. He didn’t know why he’d feel that way, and he opted not to figure things out this time around.

**********

Serge’s time with the Biquet family was fast coming to an end, and he regretted it. He’d grown excessively fond of the large, lively bunch, after all, and he realized, with a sinking heart, that he was going to miss every single one of them when he and Pascal returned to Arles.

And having the younger children ply him with promises to keep in touch didn’t at all serve to alleviate his heartbreak.

The twins and especially Michel had grown particularly attached to the boy, climbing onto his lap at every chance they got and bombarding him with ceaseless questions about this, that, and the other, which Serge struggled to satisfy as best he could every time. He loved the attention, of course, but he loved being in the company of siblings even more. He found himself musing every so often about his own terrible loss and possibilities that might have come his way had his parents lived.

And now that he’d seen Pascal on a more domestic footing, he also felt a deepening appreciation for his friend. Since his transfer to Laconblade, after all, he’d considered the taller boy to be nothing more than a class brain and the class wit, Pascal’s enigma being compounded by what he perceived to be a social chasm between them. Serge came from a disgraced background though his true line lay in immense wealth, much greater than the Biquets’ sizable fortune. And, yes, though Pascal might be a good friend, there was still that tacit dnce nce that the two boys maintained between them; they hadn’t known each other for too long, and it was perhaps only expected that stronger links wouldn’t be forged so quickly.

But now Serge had seen Pascal close-up, so to speak, and layers fell from his mind’s eye till he could see what he believed to be his friend’s true colors, and he was awed by what was there. Pascal’s caustic wit, while stinging, did reflect a mind and heart that earnestly wished for greater truths and a better world. During quiet moments, then, Serge took care to peruse Pascal’s bookshelves and to lose himself in as much reading as he could. He wished to fill his mind with the same wisdom that his friend constantly spouted and so devoured as much as his stimulated mind could absorb.

When the day for their return to the academy drew near, moreover, Serge swore to himself that he’d apply himself in his studies with greater energy than before—that nothing short of perfect would be enough for him. His earlier goals had been moderately ambitious enough, and he now believed that he needed to push himself harder—even more so given his upcoming music lessons.

As time flew, his determination deepened, and the final evening of his sojourn found him cramming in the family library, staying up well beyond everyone’s curfew. He knew that he would have been scolded severely by his gracious hostess, but Pascal argued on his behalf, and Mrs. Biquet relented, strongly impressing the need to retire by one a.m., and Serge agreed.

And so the boy relished his solitude, curling himself up in a warm and cushy armchair by the dying fire, with only a small lamp to brighten the pages of his book.

“Once an honor student, always an honor student,” a voice noted wryly, and the boy glanced up from a heavy book he’d been reading to find Patricia standing in the doorway, bundled up in a thick blanket.

“Oh, hi,” he said. His glance dropped, and he blinked. “It’s cold, Pat. Why’re you walking around without shoes or socks?”

Patricia’s bare feet, poking out of the blanket, looked unnaturally pale in the shadows, and almost in answer, the girl wiggled her toes and chuckled quietly.

“I’m used to this, Serge,” she said simply and with a careless shrug. A pause followed as she looked around the darkened room. “Mind if I join you?”

“I don’t mind. Having problems sleeping? I thought everyone would be in bed by now.”

The girl regarded him for a second or two in silence, momentarily hesitating before she strengthened her resolve and stepped in, taking care to shut the door behind her. Serge wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard the soft, stealthy clicking of the lock before Patricia turned around and crossed the room to sit on the floor by his chair.

The boy watched her, suddenly feeling a surge of mild discomfort at her presence.

Their isolation from the rest of the household—the late hour—the darkness that continued to grow around them—the two youngsters were very much in an intimate situation, one that Serge had never before considered. The incident in Pascal’s room didn’t bother him as much as this one did—the previous one having occurred in the day and being not much else but an accident. It was embarrassing beyond words, yes, but it was still nothing to be worried about.

This, however, was something completely different—unexpected and alarming. And it certainly didn’t help that Patricia’s shoulders were bare even with the blanket wrapped snugly around her, covering the rest of her figure in thick warmth.

Serge cleared his throat. Patricia was watching him steadily now, her eyes wide and expectant—obviously waiting for something from him.

“What brings you here, Pat?” he asked with a forced smile.

The girl blinked. “Well—I thought you knew.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on a part of the cushion not occupied by the boy. When Serge instinctively pushed away, she grinned. “You’re pretty skittish, aren’t you?”

“I thought you needed a little more room…”

She raised a brow before laughing quietly. “You’re definitely not like the other guys I know.”

“I—uh—thanks.” Serge felt his face warm up as he flashed her a tight smile.

Patricia’s gaze dropped to his hand, which lay on his lap, limply holding the book open. She gently ran a finger along its side, pausing for a second when the boy flinched at the touch and then continuing her light exploration.

“Very skittish,” she murmured and then glanced up.

“Pat,” Serge stammered, flushing even more deeply. “Stop it. We can’t do this.”

“Why not? Didn’t you say I’m beautiful?”

Serge was aghast. He couldn’t remember saying any such thing to Patricia recently. He’d been extremely careful with the way he behaved around the girl, after all, having been caught in a pretty embarrassing situation with his friend’s younger sister. He gulped when Patricia shifted till she was on her knees before him, carefully yet firmly edging her way closer till she’d pressed herself between his legs and had drawn herself up so that she rested on her elbows and was leaning forward, staring Serge squarely in the face. Without her glasses her eyes looked much brighter, and whatever undercurrent of excitement she was also now feeling imbued them with a deeper, richer hue.

He tried to spare her further embarrassment and decided to keep his confusion suppressed. He leaned back and molded himself against the chair’s back, coughing quietly.

“I must have,” he replied. “But—that doesn’t mean…”

“It doesn’t mean anything? How typical for a guy to say that.”

“No! I meant—it doesn’t mean that we have to—you know…”

Patricia clucked her tongue and playfully stole a glance past Serge’s midsection. “I don’t think your body agrees with what you’re saying right now, Mr. Honor Student.”

Serge yelped as he jumped in his chair, reflexively curling into himself when he felt Patricia lightly fumble for his zipper. “Will you stop that?” he cried. “Patricia, we can’t do this! You’re my friend’s sister!”

The girl scowled. “So?” she retorted. “What’s it to me? Pascal doesn’t give a shit about what I do!”

“Well, it means a lot to me, all right? I’m not about to blow my friendship with him over a quick fumble in the library!”

Patricia’s face hardened. “I didn’t think that you wanted a quick fumble,” she replied evenly. “Other guys might, but not you.”

“And how would you know what I want?” he demanded incredulously, ignoring the bright red hue that had begun to creep up Patricia’s cheeks.

“I don’t get it,” she breathed. “Dorothy said…”

Serge swallowed, his confusion intensifying. “Dorothy? What does Dorothy have anything to do with this? What did she say?”

“But—I thought…”

“Pat…”

The girl fell silent, looking off to the side, the expression of paralyzing bewilderment seemingly fixing itself on her reddened features. Serge could only hold his tongue as he watched her in a helpless daze till she finally looked back at him, the puzzlement now taking on a more definite air of alarm.

“Are you fucking gay?” she hissed, and Serge flinched as though struck across the face.

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “What are you talking about? Just because I don’t come on to you, I’m automatically gay?”

Patricia continued to hold his gaze as she staggered to her feet, her grip on the blanket that cocooned her loosening so that part of the protective sheet slipped off a naked shoulder. The girl looked stricken now as her eyes searched his face, questioning him relentlessly though he knew that he’d already given her the answer that mattered. Suddenly she looked impossibly young, and Serge’s heart caved in at the thought that he’d somehow encouraged the poor girl to subject herself to this new brand of humiliation.

“I thought you liked me,” she sputtered.

“I do! I do! But not like that!”

“And all this time I thought that you just didn’t know what to do…”

“Pat, listen to me.” Serge took in a deep breath to calm himself, but much good that did. His voice slightly shook as he spoke. “I’m not gay. I’ve never been with a girl before, and right now, I—don’t even know what I want. I mean—I like you a lot, and I know I should be with a girl sometime, but—now’s not it.” He winced, grimacing a little as he watched his companion comprehend his meaning.

Patricia’s confusion seemed to deepen. “You’ve never been with a girl before?”

“Well—I kissed Angeline once…”

“Who’s she?”

“Um—my cousin, twice removed.”

Patricia let out a derisive snort as she tugged the blanket tightly around her shoulders. “Cousin?” she echoed. “Are you being weird on me?”

“No, really,” Serge sputtered, flushing even more deeply. “We were just fooling around—it happened when we were kids. We were talking about her parents and how they kiss each other a lot in front of her, and we thought that it was worth a try. It was really stupid, Pat. It’s nothing worth discussing.”

The girl, unfortunately for him, proved to be just as astute as her brother, and her eyes narrowed as she watched him. “What happened to you guys?” she pursued. “Something bad, right? Did someone catch you in a lip lock?”

Serge dropped his gaze to his shoes as he gingerly rubbed the back of his neck. “We haven’t seen each other in years. Her parents won’t let me near her after that accident in the lake.” Serge cleared his throat, feeling his heart clench as long-suppressed memories were roughly jolted out of their on, on, and he was once again flooded with visions of that awful day.

“Serge?”

“We went out on a boat during her last visit. We weren’t supposed to, but I thought I could take care of her. I mean—I’ve taken the boat out before on my own, and my aunt didn’t care. Nothing happened to me, anyway, so I thought, why not? We’d gone quite a ways when Angeline’s hat got blown off, and she asked me to get it back for her. I didn’t think much of it since it was sitting on the water just a few feet away, so I stood up in the boat and leaned out to grab a hold…”

“And you tipped the boat,” Patricia finished softly.

“And I tipped the boat.”

The girl mulled over what she’d just heard, averting her eyes to her feet and absently wiggling her toes against the warm rug. Serge prayed fervently that she wouldn’t wrench another confession from him since they were on the brink of even more painful memories, all of which he simply didn’t want to share though his faith in his own ability to keep his past sacred was miserably low.

Like shredded and faded photographs that fluttered before his mind’s eye, he was suddenly inundated with some of the worst moments of his childhood. His aunt’s severe berating right after the accident. His terrified defense and its ultimate failure in protecting him. Her sudden violent response as she raised her hand and struck him across the face not once, but twice. Angeline’s sudden appearance as the outraged woman raised her hand to strike the boy yet again. The child’s foolish heroics as she pushed her cousin aside and so became the recipient of the blow, which sent her tumbling backward and falling into the blazing hearth.

Serge pinched his eyes shut and fought desperately to silence his mind when phantom echoes of Angeline’s agonized screams descended on him. The sight of his cousin’s partly disfigured face regarding him with the most bitterly reproachful looks had ingrained itself in his memory as well, a permanent reminder of his curse, that being his mere existence (as his aunt had time and again told him).

“There’s a lot more to this, isn’t there?” Patricia presently said though she didn’t look at all inclined to push further. And for that Serge was grateful.

He merely offered her a wan, apologetic smile, which she accepted with a nod. She stepped forward and flung her arms around his shoulders, allowing the blanket to slide off her shoulders and bare her completely. For a fleeting moment, Serge thought that her skin glowed in the darkness, but he was much too alarmed and confused to move. He swallowed hard at the feel of the girl’s exposed body against his—the warmth of her skin, the rapid beating of her heart that seemed to chase after his own, the strange softness of her still-developing breasts, and the awkward thinness of her figure against his clammy hands.

She was whispering something in his ear, but he couldn’t discern anything, all his senses having dissolved into tactile understanding. Logic had taken new abode in flesh.

His mind suddenly called to the fore snatches of conversation he’d had in the past with his other friends—conversations about girls and what boys ought to do when in their company. He remembered countless suggestions made—both humorous and serious. He told himself that he was, most likely in his friends’ eyes, the luckiest boy alive. He stood alone in a dark room, a pretty, naked girl in his arms—a pretty, naked girl who’d willingly placed herself in this situation.

All Serge needed to do was to take advantage of it all.

Carpe diem, wise men had advised. Carpe diem.

There really wasn’t anything to be afraid of—unlike that terrifying moment in his bedroom, with Gilbert clinging fast to him, their mouths pressed together, his struggles weakenio abo absolute surrender. He felt vague panic shoot through him at the remembrance of pleasure coaxed out of him at the contact—at the experience of kissing another boy. Even more terrifying was his eventual eager reciprocation.

No, no—he wt lit like Gilbert. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be.

And when he felt Patricia kissing him soundly, he followed her lead in spite of his unschooled efforts. He was convinced, after all, that this was the right thing to do at least in Nature’s eyes. A boy and a girl together. Both young, both wondering, both willing to discover (though one might not be completely aware of the desire). He shouldn’t be so reluctant.

Previous resolutions were easily discarded. Previous rebuffs were quickly forgotten.

And when he found himself on the floor, with Patricia slowly kissing a path down his chest as she unbuttoned his shirt, firing up nerves that stirred parts of his body in ways that awed and terrified him, he recognized the validity of their connection.

His body responded willingly to Patricia’s ministrations, and a ragged sigh escaped him when he felt the girl shift and settle herself between his legs, the pressure of her body against his causing him to shiver.

There’s a first time for everything, a voice noted blandly. Gilbert was suddenly regarding him through the mist, his eyes dancing in amusement, his mouth curled in a smirk of cold derision.

**********

Pascal and Serge were strangely quiet in the car as it flew through the countryside in the direction of Arles. But it was only because Pascal was busy putting together a “to do” list for the upcoming term, and he warned against being bothered.

Serge, meanwhile, stared pensively out the window, his thoughts fixed on his holiday and especially on the previous night, which he’d spent on the floor of the Biquets’ library, his best friend’s sister doing her utmost in giving him pleasure the way she thought he needed.

He could still feel the confusion as excitement rippled through his system. He could still feel the sudden shot of panic dissolve the moment when Patricia began to undo his trousers.

Serge pinched his eyes tightly at the remembrance of the frantic struggle that ensued—of his protestations and her angry responses as he grappled with her and finally tore her hands from his clothes to hold them firmly by her wrists. He certainly couldn’t forget the look of scorn and hurt that shadowed the girl’s deeply flushed features—the realization that he was the most pathetic weakling alive, the burning guilt that assailed him when Patricia finally broke under the horrific burden of adolescent confusion. She’d burst into humiliated tears after their ill-fated attempt at intimacy, stumbling to her feet and throwing the blanket around her shoulders before running off, pelting Serge with a string of curses that found their target easily enough.

Serge winced at the remembrance of the horrible names she’d called him, but he reminded himself that he deserved the abuse.

He’d encouraged her. He’d fooled her into believing a reciprocal desire. Serge felt like scum.

And he certainly wasn’t at all surprised to find Patricia back to her distant, haughty self at breakfast. He barely received a civil word from her, and she took careful pains at ignoring the boy throughout the meal. She still fixed herself up, and she looked no less lovely than those previous weeks following their embarrassing exchange in Pascal’s room.

“At least she still thinks better of herself,” Serge noted, feeling a little relief in the midst of his dejection as he lifelessly toyed with his food.

The Biquet clan showered him with well wishes and parting gifts from the adults and tearful pleas for him to stay from the children. Patricia kept to her corner and simply watched indifferently.

“Why do I always make a mess of things?” he asked when the car pulled out of the driveway, and he and Pascal were waving at the family standing in the cold to see them off.

“Hmm? Did you just say something?” Pascal asked, turning around and regarding him questioningly, and Serge paled.

“What? Me?”

“Never mind,” the other boy replied with a careless wave of a hand. “I’m hearing things again—always happens when I think too much.”

Serge nodded, heaving a sigh of relief and feeling his face burn at the near catastrophe. There was certainly no way he was going to tell his friend what had transpired between him and Patricia.

He sighed as he settled back in his seat, moving his thoughts to more welcome things such as his classes and his new resolutions to do better. He thought of his friends and especially of Carl, wondering how the boy and his mother had enjoyed Italy. He thought of Gilbert and felt warm pleasure at such a familiar presence—if not physically then most certainly mentally and emotionally. For all their disagreements and tenser moments together, the roommates certainly offered each other a welcome haven—though what its nature truly was, Serge had yet to determine. And at the moment, he certainly didn’t care.

“I’d be glad to see him again,” he mused, a sheepish, self-conscious little smile breaking out at the idea.

**********

A number of students were already back from their respective holidays when the car arrived at the academy, one of theing ing Carl. The dark-haired boy welcomed his friends eagerly, grinning broadly as he threw his arms wide open to receive them in a crushing embrace.

“You look great!” Serge laughed, hugging his friend for several seconds altogether before pulling away and kissing his cheeks. “Look at you! How was Italy?”

“It was wonderful! Mom and I had a great time!”

“Of course you did!” Pascal broke in. “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you almost took residence at the Vatican. Did you bring back any relics?”

Carl merely laughed and embraced him in turn. “Say what you will, Pascal, but I’m coming back to school a better man.”

Pascal paused, blinking, as he held Carl by his shoulders. He stared down at his friend. “You mean—I’m back to square one with the whole filthy vocabulary thing?”

bea beamed and said nothing. Pascal withered.

“He’s a tough one, Pascal,” Serge noted, desperately stifling a manic fit by coughing violently.

“Fuck me!” the bespectacled boy sputtered. “Two goddamn years down the drain!”

Carl laughed and turned around to walk his friends into the dormitory, wrapping an arm around Serge’s shoulders as he did. “The wonders an Italian Christmas does to one’s psyche,” he said complacently. Behind them, Pascal snorted and spouted a couple more choice expletives.

The three friends spent the rest of the morning in Carl’s office, choosing to bring their luggage to their rooms after they’d rested and exchanged accounts. Light treats awaited them, and Serge welcomed the repast, feeling his spirits soar at finding himself on familiar grounds once more. Memories of Patricia and their clumsy romance (if one were to call it that, Serge noted wryly) were easily wiped from his mind as he immersed himself eagerly in the conversation.

Time flew, and it was with much reluctance that the little group had to disband; otherwise, they’d be late for lunch, and they knew all too well the nasty implications of being stuck with leftovers.

Serge huffed and puffed as he dragged his bag upstairs, and by the time he reached the landing of his floor, he plaintively wished that the academy invested in some of the more modern conveniences like elevators. After a brief rest, he moved forward and reached his room.

He found the door partly open when he reached it.

“Oh!” he said, mildly startled. “I guess Gilbert’s back!”

He pushed the door open and quickly stepped in, stopping dead in his tracks at the sudden burst of cold air that descended heavily on him. He winced from the bite, immediately dropping his bag and hugging his arms tightly across his chest.

“What the..?”

Directly across from where he stood, the bedroom window was thrown wide open, the curtains billowing lightly in the icy winds that blew in. Faint traces of snow littered the floor in front of the window.

“My God!”

He turned and found Gilbert sitting in the farthest corner of the room, the one nearest the open window. The boy was completely naked, and he sagged weakly against the wall, his legs curled under him, his arms hanging limply at his sides. He looked abnormally pale, his face barely seen through the disheveled curtain of hair that framed it. Serge wasn’t sure, but he thought that Gilbert was staring sightlessly ahead—as though the boy had lost all his faculties and had been reduced to a vegetative state. The shadows that fell on his features, though, prevented a more accurate reading.

“Gilbert!” he cried, rushing forward in alarm. “What are you doiAre Are you insane?”

He tore through their room and immediately shut the window and secured it. Panting, he turned to face his silent roommate, who didn’t move a muscle.

“Hey! What’s going on? What happened to you?”

He hurried to the other boy’s side and sank to his knees, unable to suppress a gasp of horror at the touch of cold flesh against his fingers. And now that he was beside Gilbert, he could see his roommate’s current condition with horrifying clarity.

Gilbert looked as though he was turning blue from the freezing temperatures. His limbs felt stiff. A closer look at his insensible face revealed a boy who’d just suffered neglect in the worst way—his eyes were deeply sunken, his lips were white and cracked, and he looked thinner.

He didn’t respond to Serge’s desperate calls, his body remaining limp as the other boy tried to shake him back to his senses. If anything, the only indication of life in Gilbert was the quiet, shallow gusts of air that blew out of his lightly parted mouth.

“What’s wrong? Say something, please!”

Serge paused, genuine fear now taking a firm hold of him when realization slowly dawned. He glanced back at the window, and the puzzle began to piece itself, forming a picture that Serge hadn’t even once thought possible.

Gilbert had just tried to kill himself.

Serge found himself in a terribly familiar scene. He was racing out of his room the next moment and desperately crying out for Carl, his mind practically shutting itself down as panic claimed him.

(tbc)