Chapter Text
The air brims with a buzz of excitement as a hundred or so students take their seats in the neo-Gothic chapel. Amongst the crowds are a pair of particularly tired English Literature students; Phil, unable to stop himself from yawning, trips over the third handbag in a row as he makes his way down the pew to Mary, who shrieks with laughter at her companion’s clumsiness, before she herself joins in with his yawning.
Tonight is the night they have all been waiting for - tonight is the night of the Drama Society’s production of Romeo and Juliet. The show marks the last day of term at the University of Oxford, and as lecture halls shut and the libraries close, thousands of students traipse across the town to parties and dinners in celebration of their first, second or third term here at Oxford. The past eight weeks have been academically demanding, mentally challenging and socially exhausting; Phil had taken an entire month not to feel overwhelmed at the imposing professors, the foreign city and the sea of unfamiliar faces. To make matters worse he had struggled to make friends, too nervous to join in with conversations in the lecture halls and dinner halls alike. Thankfully socialite Mary had then come to the rescue; dragging him along to clubs and speeches, competitions and parties, she had set to work sowing the seeds of a social life until Phil was sure there was no student in the city he hadn’t yet been introduced to. Before long several friendships had begun to bud, and then finally after a month of worrying, all was finally calm and relaxed in Phil’s world.
That is, until one of the seeds that Mary had secretly planted unexpectedly grew vines around his entire being, taking root inside of him with a strength he had never experienced the likes of before. Each day the petals grew bigger, the colours brighter and its scent ever sweeter, until eventually it had become so overwhelmingly pretty that it took every atom in Phil’s body not to pluck it lest his caress caused the flower to die. So there he had stood, secateurs in hand, unable to touch what he so badly wanted to cut from the stem and claim as his own.
The room is plunged into darkness. Phil snaps back to reality. A hushed stillness sweeps over the crowd and all eyes are trained on the chancel as the chamber becomes hushed. The clack of high heels ricochets off ancient walls as hree women clad in dark hooded cloaks come into view, gliding across the space and stopping before a threshold of candles as they remove their hoods, look up, and begin to speak in unison.
“Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
And the continuance of their parents' rage,
Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
The which if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.”
The three women replace their hoods and glide back to the enclosed space.
Phil fidgets in his seat. The play is about to begin.
Enter Sampson and Gregory of the house of Capulet.
The servants barge onto the stage and chatter amongst themselves before being interrupted by the presence of their rival Montague servingmen. The scene quickly descends into chaos as Abram and Sampson quarrel, sir, and despite having watched, read and studied the scene countless times before Phil finds himself on the edge of his seat, wholly absorbed by the spectacular acting in front of him. In the midst of the madness Benvolio launches onstage, parting the bickering servants and beating down their swords as he begs them to stop. A trio of girls in the front row start to giggle. Phil furrows his brows, glaring daggers at the gaggle from the far side of the room. What about Dan’s acting is there to laugh at? Disgruntled, he turns his eyes back towards the set, before realising what’s causing their tittering.
Ah. The codpiece. Of course. With his cheeks feeling slightly hotter before, Phil switches his attention away from the girls and back towards the performance.
Sixty minutes pass, and as the two hours’ traffic reaches its halfway point the mood inside the chapel is that of intense concentration. There are no breaks in between scenes, no respite in the intensity of the emotion, and as such the air grows heavy and humid. Romeo and Juliet’s relationship explodes into existence, turbulently naive as it teeters like a spinning top, threatening to crash at the slightest wobble. The first tremors arise on a swelteringly hot day as Mercutio and Benvolio run into Tybalt and Romeo. Tensions spark immediately; swords crash, insults are spat, and in a flash Mercutio is left with a wound which damns him to a sudden and early grave. Staggering under Benvolio’s grasp with tears in his eyes he howls a plague o’ both the Capulet and Montague houses, and in a weeping mess, is dragged off stage.
A few seconds later Benvolio re-enters. With a bowed head and anguished countenance, he sinks down to his knees and announces that the brave Mercutio is dead.
“Tybalt, here slain, whom Romeo's hand did stay.
Romeo, that spoke him fair, bid him bethink
How nice the quarrel was, and urg'd withal
Your high displeasure. All this- uttered
With gentle breath, calm look, knees humbly bow'd-
Could not take truce with the unruly spleen
Of Tybalt deaf to peace, but that he tilts
With piercing steel at bold Mercutio's breast;
Who, all as hot, turns deadly point to point,
And, with a martial scorn, with one hand beats
Cold death aside and with the other sends
It back to Tybalt, whose dexterity
Retorts it. Romeo he cries aloud,
'Hold, friends! friends, part!' and swifter than his tongue,
His agile arm beats down their fatal points,
And 'twixt them rushes; underneath whose arm
An envious thrust from Tybalt hit the life
Of stout Mercutio, and then Tybalt fled;
But by-and-by comes back to Romeo,
Who had but newly entertain'd revenge,
And to't they go like lightning; for, ere I
Could draw to part them, was stout Tybalt slain;
And, as he fell, did Romeo turn and fly.
This is the truth, or let Benvolio die.”
The hairs on Phil’s arm start to prickle, and an intense rush of passion floods into his breast. It feels as though he has just witnessed the greatest tragedy on earth. Lady Montague speaks and the plot moves on but all he can see is Dan, his Dan, the Dan who he had known was a keen actor but had never expected to be so talented as this .
As the room gets hotter, Phil begins to feel slightly faint. His mind wanders away from the performance and drifts through the air, scattering across the mosaics, twinkling into the lights - only an hour until Dan’s party...
The play draws near to its tragic end. As the bodies of the young couple are uncovered, the quarreling families finally begin to make amends.
“O brother Montague, give me thy hand.
This is my daughter's jointure, for no more
Can I demand.”
“But I can give thee more;
For I will raise her Statue in pure gold,
That whiles Verona by that name is known,
There shall no figure at such rate be set
As that of true and faithful Juliet.”
“As rich shall Romeo's by his lady's lie-
Poor sacrifices of our enmity!”
The two men stride towards each other and clasp hands, thus ending the feud which took the lives of their innocent children. As they part, Prince Escalus begins his closing speech.
“A glooming peace this morning with it brings.
The sun for sorrow will not show his head.
Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;
Some shall be pardon'd, and some punished;
For never was a story of more woe
Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”
The actors bow their heads, and the chapel is silent.
One person claps, two people clap, and then before long the whole audience explodes into rhapsodic applause accompanied by shouting and cheering and whistling, filling the air with an ecstatic buzz as the heaviness is lifted and transformed into a feeling of triumph. Onstage the actors and actresses break out into wide grins, linking arms and forming a line as they bow towards the audience, smiling and laughing at the roses, hats and handkerchiefs people throw at them.
There’s a tapping on Phil’s arm. As he angles around he sees Mary gesturing towards the door and saying something including the words ‘going to get Beth’ and ‘see you later’. He turns his attention back to the stage. Scanning through the actors and actresses he scours each circle until he locates Dan in a corner exchanging warm embraces with his friends. It’s a joyous sight; for the first time since the pair of them met, Dan looks well and truly relaxed. The boy pats one of his friends on the shoulder before waving goodbye and turning around to examine the audience. Phil perks up. What is he doing? Is he looking for someone? Could he be looking for him? Perhaps he’s looking for someone else. Perhaps there’s another friend Dan’s looking for, perhaps there’s someone else who he-
Their eyes connect, and Dan’s entire face lights up. Phil smiles, unable to stop the warmth bubbling in his chest as he waves.
Then, in a swift and synchronous movement, the pair are on the move.
Leaping up from his seat Phil shuffles down to the end of his pew, apologising for treading on bags and shoes as he darts towards his companion as quickly as possible. He bypasses a flirting couple, crosses two confused parents, avoids a gaggle of staggering drunks and then slowly, excruciatingly forces his way through the backs of some excitable swots who are totally unaware that he’s trying to get past. Through a gap in their necks he manages to catch a glimpse of Dan. Trapped amongst a horde of plump and well-dressed gentlemen the boy stands a few meters away, unable to elude the meaty paws he has become ensnared in. The men eye him hungrily, bombarding him with bawdy and flirtatious comments which Dan graciously rebuffs as he locks eyes with the ginger haired boy, shooting him a wink and a knowing smile. Phil goes limp with infatuation. With a grunt of effort he pushes through the crack in the swots’ backs, inching through their shoulder blades, crawling between their knees, inhaling the stench of the sweat from their skin before finally, finally he is free! He lurches forward, rushing through the open space, skidding as he treads on a wonky stone slab, reaches his arms out and-
The force of their embrace sends them flying backwards, foreheads knocking together as they collide against the back of a pew with a sharp jolt. Dan’s neck feels clammy under Phil’s fingers, hair still moist from the sweat of the performance. There’s a certain roughness in the smell of musk and perspiration exuding from the boy’s damp skin as he’s pushed up against the pew...and then he feels the codpiece digging into his groin.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for tonight.”
They pull themselves apart, legs and arms still intertwined. Dan’s face glows, golden and flushed, glistening as he grins with joy.
“Hey - you should come backstage and meet the cast.”
Phil scrunches his face up.
“No, I’m serious. I want you to meet them, they’re a wonderful bunch.”
Sighing, he bows his head in surrender. Dan beams, turning to walk down the aisle as Phil follows on close behind him, watching the golden lights twinkle as they pass through the excited crowds who-
Knuckles brush against his. Phil flinches. Fingers dance around the back of his hand before scuttling over towards his palm. He smiles. Heart racing, he rotates his hand as his and Dan’s fingers interlace, a secret gesture of affection seen and understood by nobody else but the two of them. He gives the hand a squeeze, and it squeezes back.
Right now, Phil could die happy.
The sea of faces washes on. A circle of students stand near the stage, singing For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow to a boy who waves his hands arounds in embarrassment. The entourage cheers, causing the boy to hide his head in his hands. Phil smiles at the scene, remembering how he once suffered a similar fate back in secondary school. They approach the stage, hands disentangling as they walk through the cloister which Dan had dressed inside during their visit to the chapel a few weeks prior. Squeezing through the narrow stone entrance Phil is immediately confronted by the stuffiness of the room. Twenty-odd actors and actresses all in various states of undress gossip and laugh as they run around, sharing bags of sweets and throwing roses at each other in giddy revelry.
“Ah, Daniel! Where have you been?”
Phil looks over to see the actor who had played Mercutio, a short Sikh man that Dan has to bend over to hug. After exchanging some brief jokes, the stranger looks over towards Phil.
“Hello my friend! You must be Philip,” he begins, voice imbued with a Punjabi accent. “I am Daljeet Kahlsa, but please, call me Dalji.”
Daljeet’s handshake is firm, and when he smiles Phil notices that his moustache is curled at the ends. When complimented on it, the man only smiles wider.
“Ah, I can tell I am going to be friends with you! Daniel speaks of you often - he says you are a very clever man. What are you studying?”
“Oh,” he laughs nervously, “I’m probably not as clever as Dan says I am. I’m studying Eng-”
“Dalji please, you can interrogate him later! I’ve got to introduce him to everyone else first!” Dan cries.
“Okay, okay, as you wish!”
As Dan pulls him away Phil mouths an apology to Dalji, who replies with a reassuring wink.
Passing through the congested room they walk over to a small crowd standing in front of a box which, every now and then, people unceremoniously fling their costumes into. Dan introduces him to a well-groomed and well-spoken man called Kenneth, who shakes his hand and asks “how do you do” followed by Christopher, a lanky, blond, bespectacled lad who greets Phil with a subtle nod of the head.
“Here, sit down old chap,” Kenneth booms. “We don’t want to have you awkwardly standing up while the rest of us get changed.”
Phil sits down, giving his thanks to the courteous man. Fortunately, before he can be bombarded with questions about who he is and what he’s studying, the group are interrupted by a loud Irish voice shouting the names of Dan and his friends.
“Chris, Ken, Daniel! Where have you bastards been?”
“Owen! Come here you rascal,” Kenneth cries, shouting at a ginger haired boy who skitters towards him. The two begin to play fight, pretending to box as Dan rolls his eyes and Christopher watches on reprovingly. In the middle of the fighting Owen catches Phil’s eye and stops, tapping Kenneth to let him go.
“Hey, who's this?” He asks, lightly punching Phil on the shoulder.
“I’m a friend of Dan.” He reaches out a hand. “Phil, nice to meet you”.
“Ah, great to see you buddy. You enjoy the show?”
“Oh, it was superb!” He beams, looking around at the actors. “You’re all so wonderfully talented.”
Kenneth guffaws. “Well, Philip, I’m terribly glad you think so, but I shall have to correct you there. We’re the talented ones,” he jests, pointing at himself, Christopher and Dan, “but this buffon managed to fuck up one of only five lines. Five lines! How on earth you managed to do it really is beyond me!”
“Too many whiskies,” Christopher mutters drily.
“Oi!” Owen scoffs. “Enough with the Irish stereotypes! I don’t even like whiskey. Now, Guiness however…”
The congregation continue to laugh and joke as they unlace their doublets, shuck their boots and peel off their tights. Out of modesty and embarrassment Phil averts his eyes, occasionally stealing a glimpse at the men in their vests, briefs and boxer shorts; regrettably, when Dan starts to rope him into the conversation, he has no choice but to look their way.
“Say, Christopher, you’re a bit of a photography whizz, aren’t you?”
A smirk flashes across the blond boy’s face as he adjusts his wire glasses. “Well, I wouldn’t quite say that I’m a whizz as such, but um, yes, I suppose I do enjoy taking the camera out for a bit of a spin every now and then.”
Phil’s interest is piqued. “What camera do you have?”
Christopher turns to face Phil with a surprised look on his face, as if not used to being talked to. “Oh, I’m not a serious photographer or anything,” he confesses, “my parents just bought me a Kodak Retina as a gift for my 18th birthday. I haven’t been using it much so far - mostly just taking pictures of wildlife really - but if this beautiful snow keeps up I just might have to start using it again.”
Dan re-enters the conversation, seemingly having engineered for it to go towards this point.
“Phil is part of a photography club, you know. Chris, you should join.”
“Really? Oh how wonderful. Yes, I’d be very interested in joining actually. When do you meet?”
“Thursdays at eight, right here at Keble,” Phil explains. “We’re only a small bunch and none of us are experts, so there’s no pressure to be a photographic prodigy or anything.”
“He says,” Dan jeers, “despite being one himself.”
Phil scoffs. “I am not!”
“You should see his photographs,” Dan continues, putting a leg on Phil's chair and a hand on his shoulder. “Harsh shadows, mesmerising patterns, vivid colours - this chap could make the most mundane of objects look worthy of being in the Ashmolean Museum.”
“Now this is just nonsense - pure flattery,” he assures Christoper. Nonchalantly leaning back in his chair he angles his head towards his flatterer, halting when he sees the look on the boy’s face. The solemnity of Dan’s expression burns through him like hot coals, brows slightly furrowed as he stares into Phil’s grey eyes with a look of unwavering adoration. If the pair of them were alone he might cry at such a gaze, and with an uneasy swallow he turns back to Christopher. “Still, come to the club when it resumes in the New Year, we’d be glad to have you.”
“Fantastic,” he beams. “I shall make a note in my diary!”
The group don their normal clothing and make their way out of the chapel, stopping frequently to say their goodbyes to fellow actors and actresses while picking up various party-goers along the way. As they leave the chapel Phil strikes up a conversation with Christopher, who turns out to be a second year History student with many similar interests to him. Ambling across the Liddon Quad with the rest of the crowd - which has now amassed to a party of twenty-five plus a few stragglers - they talk of studying Latin, trips to the Isle of Man, and how to cultivate rare South American plants in an English greenhouse. Before long they arrive at the corridor leading to Dan’s room, which has now become rammed with people as the boy struggles to unlock his door.
“Urry up then!” An impatient partygoer shouts.
“Alright, alright, be patient!” Dan retorts. The crowd laughs, and then, finally, the door swings open.
The torrent of people carries Phil into the room until it dissipates, dropping him in the middle of and submerging him in his new surroundings.
This is Dan’s room. This is the place where Dan lives.
In Oxford’s typically palatial style the walls are panelled with wood, there’s a fireplace at one end, and in the centre sits a red velvet sofa amongst a few ratty leather armchairs that circle around a dark wooden coffee table. Tucked away into the corner is a small black piano with a jumble of sheets laid on top of it, no doubt Dan’s doing. Feeling relaxed by the homely decor Phil helps himself to a healthy glass of champagne and saunters through the room, searching for someone familiar to talk to.
It doesn’t take long before he’s stopped by Daljeet, and half an hour later, Phil finds himself engrossed in a retelling of the man’s life. Seven years of service in the British Army during World War Two had only rewarded Daljeet and his country with partition, a bitter war that he had escaped by fleeing his country and returning to England. Within a year of his return he met his now-wife and had begun studying for a Medicine degree at Oxford, which he is now in the third year of. Aside from an interest in science Daljeet reveals that he also has a love for contemporary American literature, but just as Phil is about to ask his opinions on The Catcher in the Rye the pair of them are interrupted by the sound of tinkling glass and a loud cough. They look around in confusion, wondering what the noise was, until they see a man standing on the sofa with a glass of whiskey and a silver spoon in his hand, waiting for silence as the chattering grinds to a halt.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. We are gathered here today to witness-”
A woman shouts at him from the corner. “This isn’t a bloody wedding, George!”
Several people laugh. “Oh be quiet Olivia! Come on then, come up here. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Miss Juliet!”
As the crowd cheers a tall, elegant woman with long, mousy brown hair bounds up to the sofa and is hoisted up by George, who wraps his arms around her and kisses her cheek.
“Now then, I suppose you would like to do the honours?”
“I think I shall,” she beams. “Hello everyone. I would just like to quickly say an enormous thank you to all of you for coming tonight. You were marvellous. I’d also like to say a big thank you to my wonderful Romeo...”
This immediately sets off whooping and whistling as Olivia giggles.
“Where are you Harry, where are you, ah! Hands off my woman, do you hear?” George cries, raising his fist in mock jealousy.
“Anyway, tonight is a night for celebration. Congratulations to those of you who have just completed their first Michaelmas term here at Oxford - the workload only gets heavier from here on in,” she laughs. “Many thanks to the magnificent Daniel for letting us use his room for our revelry, but remember everyone! Do not go into Terence’s room, or we shall all receive a beating from that brute, do you hear? Now, go off and be merry you depraved bastards, and if you want champagne, form a queue here!”
The chattering resumes, and as Phil turns around to find somebody else to talk to he sees Mary approaching him with Beth on her arm.
“Hello you two! Are you having fun?”
“We certainly are! I’ve just rescued Beth from Bailiol’s drab Christmas party. It looked absolutely horrend-”
“Really, it wasn’t that bad! You just wanted me to leave so you wouldn’t be alone at Daniel’s,” Beth cries.
“Yes alright, alright,” Mary tuts. “Phil, come - you must meet our friends, I’ve told them I’ll introduce you, come.”
Gripping his arm, she drags him across the room until they arrive in front of two American brunettes with coquettish, blushing faces who are introduced to him as Joan and Jean. Their small talk is light and humorous, and as they share anecdotes and funny stories about their time at the university Phil begins to notice that his new acquaintances appear to be quite taken with him. They ask about what he’s studying, what college he’s at, where he comes from and what his hobbies are, and as the conversation progresses he could swear that Joan and Jean are edging closer to him each time they keel over at his jokes.
Finding their flirtations slightly intimidating, he scans the room for a certain familiar face. Their eyes lock immediately. Dan takes a swig of champagne and sends him a reassuring wink, mouthing ‘you okay?’ through the distance. Phil simply indicates towards Joan and Jean, who have taken to clutching onto his arms. Dan explodes into laughter. ‘You’ll be fine,’ comes the response, followed by another bout of mirth. Phil stifles a snicker.
“Hey Phil,” Joan begins, batting the lashes of her big blue eyes. “You say you’re teaching yourself Latin? That’s so neat.”
“Oh I agree, you must be super clever,” Jean adds, pawing at his arm. “I’m taking French as well as English Lit. I can help you out with your lessons, if you’d like.”
The other one tuts. “I’m sure he doesn’t need our help, Jean.”
“But I’m sure he wouldn’t mind! Won-”
“I’m afraid,” Phil interrupts, “that I’ve had to go on a bit of a break with studying Latin, as I’ve had quite a lot of other things to focus on this term.”
“Oooh, like what?” One of them asks. Phil is starting to forget which is which.
“Well, like-”
“Like a girl, perhaps?”
Phil shoots a nervous glance at Mary and Beth, who look as though they’re restraining themselves from laughing.
“Oh Philip, do you have somebody that you’re seeing?”
“Well...not really, but I um...”
Phil now faces the difficulty of trying to explain his situation whilst skirting around the fact that he is openly-but-also-not-openly a homosexual who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with a boy who is probably-almost-definitely falling in love with him too despite neither of them explicitly talking about it but both of them communicating it through questions and answers and gestures that have been building up to something which Phil sincerely hopes will come to a conclusion tonight, so sorry June or Jane or Joa, or whatever it is, but there’s absolutely no chance whatsoever of anything happening ever in a million years.
Fortunately, before he has to face that problem, the man of his affections swoops across the room and steps towards the group.
“Good evening Mary, Beth, Phil - oh! Who are these lovely ladies I have not yet had the pleasure of meeting?”
“Hi, I’m Joan,” the first one giggles, reaching out her hand for him to kiss with Jean following on in the same fashion. The two women exchange a glance, the meaning of which Phil understands with a feeling of disgust.
Great - one each.
Filled with enough repulsion to last a lifetime, he flashes a panicked looks towards Dan.
“Well ladies, it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to dash off and take Phil with me.”
The girls’ faces fall. “Please say you’ll come back!”
“Ah, I’m afraid he’s mine. See you later ladies.”
“But-”
Phil walks off, returning Mary’s sly smirk with a nod as he breaks away from the circle and catches up to Dan. When they’re halfway across the room Phil releases a long breath, finally free of unwanted attention as they pull up to a side table laden with alcohol.
“Champagne for you, sir?”
“Go on then. I could do with a drink.”
Dan pours one out for both of them and hands a flute to Phil. “Cheers!”
“Cheers.”
The champagne is delightful, washing through his system like a cool, crisp wind on a hot summer’s day. They take their seats on two small chairs that lie parallel to the table, unintentionally mimicking each other’s body language as they rest an elbow against the top rail, prop their heads up against their hands, cross their outermost legs inwards and then lean in to face one another.
“So,” Dan begins, “now that I’ve finally got you alone, tell me - how are you?”
“I’m fine - tired - but nevertheless enjoying myself. Thank you for saving me from those girls earlier, I was having a completely rotten time with them.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it! It was my pleasure,” he assures, taking a sip of his drink and leaning in slightly closer. “Anyway, I couldn’t let them at you, could I? You’re mine.”
“Am I now?” Phil quips, taking another swig of champagne and passing over the flute to his other hand as Dan unconsciously does the same. “It got terribly awkward when one of them asked me whether I had a girlfriend.”
Dan guffaws. “You should have told them that you do,” he jests, grabbing Phil’s hand and holding it. “ ‘Hi, I’m Daniella Howell, pleased to meet you! I’m Phil Lester’s girlfriend, tee hee!’ ”
Phil laughs at Dan’s ridiculous impression, doubled over with tears in his eyes as his chest heaves. When the act finishes, Dan’s hand stays stationary. Phil’s eyes flit down, admiring the sight of their hands together before he looks up at Dan, who smiles at him fondly. Suddenly Dan’s eyes flit across Phil’s face and over to something in front of him, a small smirk creeping across his face.
“Look, look over there.”
“What?”
“Turn your head around, slowly.”
Careful not to look suspicious, he cranes his neck backwards to see Joan and Jean peering over at their shoulders and gawking them. They spin away, realising that they’ve been noticed. Phil turns back to face his companion, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh dear.”
“Oh dear indeed. Poor girls, they don’t have a chance in Hell with us.”
“Mmm, quite.” Dan removes his hand, places his glass on the floor, and slaps his knees. “It’s a bit stuffy in here, don’t you think?”
Phil nods, finishing his champagne and putting the glass on the table next to him.
“Come on, let's go and open some windows.”
Dan pulls him out of his seat, bubbles dancing around his head as they cut across the room. Phil thinks he can hear the sound of Joan and Jean trying to get their attention, but he’s too tipsy to tell. They stop in front of a door as Dan fumbles around in his pockets for a key, thrusts it into the lock and turns, opening up the shadowy alcove within.
Stepping forward, Phil crosses the threshold, door closing behind him with a soft click as he’s sealed off from the outside world with a soft click. The hairs on his arm start to prickle. He can hear the sound of Dan’s footsteps treading through the inky blackness, followed by the glide of opening curtains. Blue light pours into the room, dim and obscure. He steps up onto the window seat-cum-window sill that Dan stands upon, catching a glimpse of the city before the panes swing open and cold air sails into the room. The moon shines brightly, illuminating the ivory frosted lawns and red brick fortress that separates them from the rest of Oxford, a sea of gleaming church spires that stretch on for ever and ever like a vast expanse of endless and undiscovered land.
“It’s a breathtaking view.”
“Not as breathtaking as you are.”
Phil’s heart thumps in his breast. He whips his head around. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
His heart beats even faster. He thinks he knows what’s coming next. Dan hooks his fingers around Phil’s belt loops, pulling their hips together while looking him dead in the eye. Phil’s gaze darts to the floor.
“I-I mean, if you think so then I can’t refute you, but in my eyes you are, and always have been, far, far more handsome, a-and-”
“Phil.”
He looks up.
“Just kiss me.”
Time stands still.
Their faces inch closer, breath mingling and eyelashes brushing across each other’s skin before finally, finally, their lips connect with a kiss.
It starts off soft, and slow, and delicate, before growing stronger and rougher until Phil is pressed up against the wall with his hands on Dan’s rear and his tongue slipped into his mouth, touching, feeling and devouring every inch of this gorgeous boy in a starved rapture, their kisses growing deeper and more adventurous until something starts to stir and Phil moves his hand to grab-
*knock knock knock*
They break apart, freezing to the spot.
The door swings open.
“See, Joan, I told you they weren’t in here.”
“But they must be, where else would they-”
The light switches on.
The girls turn their heads.
Their jaws drop.
“Oh my god. Oh my god. I’m so sorry. How do I...oh my- carry on…”
Moving as quickly as they can the intruders shuffle out of the room, turning off the light as the door closes behind them. A few seconds later the sound of Mary’s cackling can be heard. Phil looks over at Dan, who stares back at him. Dan starts to snigger until then they both erupt into laughter, cachinnation soaring out of the window and into the breeze. As they quieten down Phil looks out towards the view below, resting his forearm on the sill as a peaceful stillness settles. Keble’s vast, niveous quadrangle extends before him, glowing with a magical sparkle under the ultramarine wash of moonlight. Beyond the red brick turrets lie a mass of church spires and plane trees and twinkling car headlamps.
Dan sighs. “I can’t believe that that just happened.”
Phil rotates his head around and watches the other boy. “Ridiculous, right? Did they really not get the hint that we weren’t interested in them?”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
“Hmm?” He blinks. “What were you talking about?”
“About us. I can’t believe it happened.”
“Oh.”
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”
A sheepish smile flickers over Phil’s face as he looks back towards the quad. Out of the corner of his eye, a light turns on. A student opens her curtains, peering out of the glass and staring at the snow-covered grass before pulling up a chair to the window and beginning to read a book. After a few seconds she gives up on reading and stares back out of the window, brushing a strand of hair out of her face as she rests her head in her hands.
Dan clears his throat. “Ever since I first saw you,” he begins, “I have been completely and utterly enamoured by you.”
Phil turns around, resting his head on the window as he watches the boy speak.
“I have always thought of you rather like a secret garden. I imagine myself walking down a tree-laden path, exploring some uncharted territory near a house I have recently moved into when I come across a gate clad with ivy. As I go up to the gate, I see that it is closed. I peer inside. From this side of the gate I can’t see much, but what I can see is stunning - arches and roses and statues and fountains, neatly kept and beautifully decorated, the creation of a person with real elegance and grace. Unable to enter I continue on with my walk, but as I arrive home I find that my thoughts all centre around that mysterious gated oasis. Each day I visit it, and each day there is something new to discover: a babbling brook; a tree bearing fruit; a peacock wandering the grounds; a bridge tucked away in the distance. The more I visit the more my obsession grows, but I am too scared to try the lock or climb the walls lest the owner of the garden doesn’t want me there.” He pauses, shifting in his spot. “One day I arrive at those walls and decide to give the railings a shake; to my surprise, I find that it is open. Tentatively I push the gate, and as I walk in I am greeted by the most heavenly sight that I have ever seen. The sky is blue and warm, the flowers sweet and bright, the brook is clear, the fountain is great, and the fruit is full and ripe. I chide myself for not realising that the gate was unlocked all this time, thus idiotically depriving myself of something that I could have enjoyed for months before. After a short while I think to myself that perhaps it was destined to be this way, for now, after admiring for so long, I can truly appreciate what it is I have to behold.”
Phil takes a slow breath and tries to will his brimming tears back into his eyes. Biting the inside of his mouth he squints and knits his brows together, trying to compose himself.
It’s no use.
He turns to Dan, steps forward, cups his jaw and kisses him, firmly and wholeheartedly. The other boy’s hands clutch him by the waist, pulling him in as their kiss continues. After a few seconds they break apart, still in each other’s embrace and gazing into each other’s eyes as they catch their breath.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”
Dan beams. “Well, the inspiration behind it was quite something.
Phil is about to ask what it was, before remembering with a leap of joy that it was himself.
“Oh Dan, how are we going to live apart for the next month? I don’t want to go home, away from you!”
The other man pauses to think. “I know - we shall send each other letters! I’ll write to you about Reading and my music work and you can write back to me about your photography and all the books you’re reading.”
Phil grins. “That sounds great. I’d love that.”
There’s a brief moment of silence spent looking into each other’s eyes. Dan is the first to move, slapping Phil’s back and moving away.
“We had better get back to this party! People must be starting to wonder where we are.”
“Mmmm. We don’t want a repeat incident of Joan and Jean barging in.”
Dan laughs as he steps down from the window ledge, holding Phil by his wrists despite the drop being perfectly safe. They walk through the dark room together, still connected.
“If I catch them looking at you again I shall have to kiss you in front of their prying eyes.”
“No, no, you mustn’t!” Phil giggles, wriggling as Dan nuzzles his face.
“Here, let me get one out the way before we go out there and I can’t kiss you again.”
Pulling Phil in by the wrists he draws him in for one last kiss, slow and sweet. Letting go of his hands he twists the door handle open, and a streak of warm light floods into the room. He turns around, giving Phil one last smile, before the pair of them walk through the doorway and back into the bustling party.