Work Text:
It all started, as so many things do, with a stroll around campus.
It was the perfect sort of autumn day, the warmth of summer still lingering but with a cool breeze that whispered promises of crisp relief. Bossuet's schedule was somewhat abysmal this semester: Tuesdays involved a one-hour workshop Tuesday morning at 8am and a three-hour lecture at 8pm with nothing in particular in between. On the plus side, an eleven hour lunch break gave a good time to actually get some work done on campus, whether that meant catching up on readings, club activities, or flirting with cute persons of various like-minded persuasions.
He was in hour three of this break, during which he'd located all but one of the buildings he'd be having classes in this semester, when a vision of beauty appeared in a pair of very tight jeans, showing off a very attractive ass.
Whatever Bossuet lacked in luck, he generally made up in charisma, so he kept his eyes on that wonderful ass to see if he could talk its owner into a trip around campus, or lunch, or maybe at least learn his name.
It was only after hearing a car screech and honk that he realized the quest to meet great-ass-guy had led him to attempt to cross a relatively busy street.
As it turned out, great-ass-guy was named Joly and truly lived up to his name. He was bright, witty, incredible cheerful, and nearly as quick-tongued as himself. He'd suffered some nerve damage as a child (a long story, Joly claimed, but one Bossuet hoped to hear one day) which had served the dual purpose of making him generally walk with a cane or a leg brace and giving him a purpose in life. He was a neuroscience major with plans to enter med school and hopefully help find breakthroughs to heal or prevent situations like his own. He was also minoring in English Literature and drama, and was excited to explain the concepts of clown care and doctors as collectors of folklore.
He had also, apparently, discovered a great place for ramen, which he was happy to show Bossuet and share a delicious-tasting lunch.
They talked, laughed, learned more about each other. All in all, a great meal.
By the time they departed, Bossuet had a new contact in his phone and plans to meet up and try another place the following week. He also had a new bruise from where he'd tripped over Joly's cane in attempt to be a gentleman and help his new friend up. The cane came out unscathed, and Bossuet only lightly hit the table, so in all he considered it a success.
It wasn't until a few days after that he learned that his jolly new companion had someone else in his life. He was in the middle of sprinting across campus for his back-to-back Thursday lecture/tutorial combo when his phone vibrated, causing him to lose his footing on the quad's slightly wet grass.
He checked it as he caught his breath, panting, in the closet-like classroom where his 10am tutorial was held:
Would you mind if my girlfriend came along too?
Musichetta, in all honesty, was every bit as wonderful as her boyfriend. Charming, intelligent, and somehow both no nonsense while possessing a great sense of humour.
She was also super hot.
He did a double-take upon seeing her, walked directly into a pole, and nearly fell back in reaction before she rushed out to catch him. (As it turned out, she was hot and strong. A double-win indeed.)
He joked about not knowing if he should consider himself entirely lucky as to know such an attractive couple, or unlucky for not nearly meeting their standards.
Musichetta suggested he was lucky indeed, and said that although he was, indeed, prematurely balding, it was giving him a mature, refined look that he was pulling off extremely well.
Joly added that while they were a couple, they were far from exclusive.
Well then.
Fall slowly turned to winter, and their weekly meals became routine. Sometimes Joly would come alone, sometimes Musichetta would be their third. And they developed a fast and deep friendship with a side of flirting that ran in all directions nearly as often as the puns did.
Joly told him once, blushing, about how one of the frosh week directors had talked him into the tight pants he'd been wearing when they met. They were surprisingly comfortable, he'd explained, but not always practical for labs.
Bossuet assured him that he should wear them on weekends instead, and offered to accompany him about town if the occasion ever transpired.
That, most likely, is how they ended up Christmas shopping together one day in late November.
It was a glorious day by all accounts. They tried on some very silly garments, looked at some of the weird fad items that department stores were trying to push for that man in your life who has everything, and tried to outdo each other's stories about just who, precisely, could even use such a thing. Neither bought each other anything, but Bossuet tried to keep an eye on what interested Joly: the kinds of things that he played with but put back on the shelves, the things that he bought for others after exclaiming excitedly about how wonderful they were.
A few board games seemed promising options, as did about half of the bookstore's speculative fiction collection.
He was following Joly, who had excitedly ran towards a display of plush disease molecules when he tripped over a cord taped down to the floor leading to a center aisle display. The resulting fall ended up shattering both of the snowglobes he'd bought for his sisters, and spread their glittery water over most of the rest of his day's purchases.
Well, at least he had an even better idea of what to get for Joly now.
As luck would have it, Bossuet was able to sneak into Joly's English Literature class. It wasn't the brightest of content, as first-year courses tended not to be, but it was worth it for the chance to spend time together in a place that wasn't as life-or-death as neuroscience, and not as needing an audition to be in the class at all as drama. (He thought about joining the drama club in the following year, if Joly would be interested as well, but kept the thought to himself for the time being.)
There were probably enough English students to fill up two of the largest lecture theatres, but the higher-ups in their infinite wisdom had decided to instead divide them among ten smaller ones. Their particular section was held in a building made of poured concrete that looked straight out of a postapocalyptic film. (Research during a study-and-gaming session had proven that several such movies had indeed made use of that very location.)
Somehow, it seemed, Joly was better at approaching the doors to the place than he was. Maybe it was the cane's added traction giving him a third potential point of balance, or maybe it was just Bossuet's bad luck. However, Bossuet had managed to slip on one patch of an ice or other on the way to the lecture every week leading to spring break, leading to one ruined pair of pants, a rather splendid black eye, and several bruises on both body and ego.
Really, it was enough to make him consider switching to the online lectures for the second half of the semester.
Joly, as it turned out, had horrible allergies. On the plus side, he joked about them as much as anything, and a game of "is this Joly-poison" became a staple of bus rides as they pointed to various forms of wildlife, food items, and anything else they could get their hands on and guesse whether or not it would make their friend either sneeze or break out into a rash.
(Bossuet had pointed at himself once. Joly had sneezed immediately, then apologised and promised that even if he did have a Bossuet allergy, he'd be more than happy to learn how to live with it.)
However, it also meant that Joly was often loathe to leave wherever he was holed up on spring days, knowing that just stepping outside could lead to a serious and horrible case of hayfever.
Bossuet, therefore, got used to playing errand boy and going from place to place in Joly's name to fetch food, extra tissues, and various antihistamines. Musichetta also helped when she could, popping in with disinfectant, homemade chicken soup, and reminders for him to keep up with his homework. She, unlike them, tried not to skip class in the name of physical health. Her loss.
It had been rainy lately, and so Joly had been staying in his cupboard of a bachelor dorm room rather than braving the trip to Musichetta's suite or Bossuet's very slightly larger abode. Bossuet didn't mind, though; the bed still provided ample space for two, three with lots of cuddling, and they could pull something up on a laptop fulscreened on the desk and have an amazingly good time.
He'd been going through puddles left and right as he'd made his way to the building's entrance. It was faster than trying to avoid them, and usually caused minimal difference in his overall wetness. Of course, when walking with such abandon, it is fairly hard to discern mere pools of water from small ponds formed in potholes. The resulting fall after coming across the latter sent the food he was carrying flying, landed him face-first in the mud, and, after a few minutes of testing proved, rendered him quite unable to get inside on his own power.
Most people would think that a broken ankle, several skinned patches across his arms, knees, and chin, and a nasty cold together made for a rather undesirable prognosis. When one has a very attractive doctor-to-be attempting to nurse one back to health, however, nothing really seems that bad.
"It seems you're especially prone to slips and falls when I'm involved," Joly sighed as he added another pillow under his leg. "As flattered as I am, you really need to stop falling for me."
Bossuet smiled but said nothing. It was far too late after all: he'd fallen head over heels for the man long before.