Work Text:
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
The darts smacked one by one into the corkboard on the wall. Disappointingly, only one hit the picture of his father’s face which Warlock was using for target practice, and even then, it only hit the ear.
He’d finally made it to college and out of his parents’ house, but it seemed his dad’s reputation preceded him even here. People mocked him for his dad’s politics, for being rich, and supposedly spoiled. Even worse were the people who cozied up to him thinking the fame would rub off on them, somehow.
Warlock wished it would. He wondered if he’d ever escape his father’s shadow.
It wasn’t as if Thaddeus Dowling had ever had much to do with the raising of his son. He and his wife had left that up to the nanny and household staff, tutors, and after that, boarding school. And yet his job managed to infiltrate every aspect of Warlock’s life, his expectations of his son stifling his freedom at every turn. Warlock was sick of it. The man never cared about him beyond how his existence reflected on his father’s career, so why should he do or be anything his father said? What gave him the right?
A head popped around the doorframe as Warlock was retrieving the darts. “Hullo. D’you happen to have any apple juice? I’m trying out a new recipe for pork loin, and it calls for 2 cups of apple juice.”
The boy’s face was vaguely familiar – maybe they shared a class? The voice had an English accent. Warlock hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that little island until just then. Hearing that voice, it sounded like home.
“Sorry,” he said, and was surprised to find it true, “no, I don’t.”
“Ah, well. Thanks, anyway,” the boy said. “I’m Wensleydale, by the way, I think we have Calculus together.”
The name of the class helped his memory snap into place. “I knew your face looked familiar! But, I thought your name was something else… something that started with a J, maybe.”
Wensleydale laughed. “Well, technically my given name is Jeremy. But no one ever calls me that. My friends all call me Wensleydale, or Wensley.”
“Alright.”
“And you’re… no, don’t tell me – it’s Wizard, isn’t it?”
Warlock blinked. He supposed he should be offended. There was a twinkle in Wensleydale’s eye, like he was telling a good joke.
“Warlock, actually,” Warlock said.
“Well, I was close,” Wensleydale shrugged.
Warlock made a decision.
“You know, now that you’ve mentioned it, I suddenly have a craving for apple juice,” he said. “I think I’ll head down to the store and buy some, and then you can have a bit of it for your recipe.”
“Wizard!” exclaimed Wensleydale, with a shit-eating grin. “You’re all right, Warlock. For an American.”
As they walked to the store and back, they talked. Warlock spoke of how he grew up in England until he was 11, and Wensleydale spoke of life in a small town.
“Tadfield!” cried Warlock. “I was born near there, in a nunnery.”
“What was your birthday, again?” asked Wensleydale.
Warlock told him.
“Much becomes clear,” Wensleydale muttered.
“What?”
“Sorry, nothing.”
But after a little coaxing, Warlock got Wensleydale to admit, “Something my friend Adam said. He knew I’d be meeting you, see, and asked me to let him know how you’ve been. Said he hadn’t seen you since he was a baby. I thought it was an exaggeration, but he was born in that same convent, same night.”
Warlock was nonplussed.
“Adam’s always been like that, though. It’s best to just not question it.”
Warlock nodded. This made perfect sense to him. He couldn’t remember, but Warlock had in fact seen several inexplicable phenomena during his early childhood, which he had learned not to question.
They got back to the dorm, and Warlock followed Wensleydale to the communal kitchen, where he watched his new friend cook. The pork loin went in the oven, and then they were both leaning against the counter, sides touching. Warlock felt more alive than he could remember being. He didn’t think he’d connected like this to anyone his own age, before. It was about then he realized Wensleydale had been flirting with him, and was about to kiss him. He pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” Wensleydale stammered, “was I being too forward?”
“No, I just – I didn’t realize you were – I mean, I really like you, but I’m not…”
“Not gay?” Wensleydale said with a rueful smile.
Warlock huffed in frustration at his inability to communicate, then set his jaw in determination. This once, he was going to get the words out. He was not going to ruin this.
“That’s not what I meant. I like boys and girls, in a romantic sense, I just don’t like kissing. Or anything of that nature, really.”
Wensleydale’s face lit with comprehension. “Oh, you’re Ace!”
Warlock smiled and nodded, relieved to have found someone who had heard of being asexual.
“So, can I hold your hand?” Wensleydale bit his lip hopefully. Warlock couldn’t help but think it was adorable.
“Yeah, okay,” he said, and they went back to talking, a little bit closer together than before, their joined hands resting on Warlock’s thigh. His chest felt warm. He thought the feeling might be hope.
Since he was a child, Warlock’s innermost thoughts had often expressed themselves to him in the unique format of a pair of apparitions on his shoulders. As per the popular trope, one was an angel, the other a demon. They weren’t always there. Sometimes they’d pop in just to whisper a nonsensical comment or two and then disappear for years, and sometimes they’d have a whole argument over his head. He hadn’t heard them in a while, but over the next several weeks, these gremlins were his almost constant companions.
Being with Wensleydale was amazing. But as soon as his boyfriend left the room, Warlock could hear the voice of his old tutor, Mr. Harrison, say, “He’s going to leave you. Humans are cruel and selfish. He will tire of ignoring his sexual appetites for you.”
Then from his right, Mr. Cortese said, “For every system of oppression, there will be people who oppose it. Where prejudice exists, someone will look past it. Give him the benefit of the doubt, I think he might be of that sort.”
On his left, the demon had turned into Nanny Ashtoreth, “Don’t listen to him dearie, you listen to me.”
Brother Francis, on the right, “No, my boy, don’t listen to her. Listen to me.”
And Warlock would shake his head, and try to go about his day. They’d pop in at other times, too. If he saw a beggar, Brother Francis would encourage him to spare a five or twenty for them. Mr. Harrison would say, as if bored, “They’ll only spend it on booze.”
One of his classmates was giving him a hard time; with his acquisition of a boyfriend, he had disproven the supposition that he shared his father’s views on homosexuality. Some People (i.e. Jonas Harper, his lab partner) saw this as a prime opportunity for heckling. About halfway through the class period, Nanny Ashtoreth started crooning about skewering Jonas and making a grimoire out of his skin. By the end of class, she was listing all the weapons Warlock could make out of the boy’s bones. The figure on his right was conspicuously silent.
His anxiety peaked on a Saturday, almost a month after he and Wensleydale had started dating. Warlock woke to the sound of his alarm. He grabbed his phone to turn the annoying sound off; it stayed in his hand as he started to drift back to sleep. As he slipped back onto dreamland, his hand relaxed and his phone dropped between the bed and the wall. “Noooo,” he groaned, suddenly wide awake. Grumbling about it, Warlock climbed out of bed and then under the bed, crawling past boxes and stuff he hadn’t touched since he’d moved in at the start of the semester. He finally reached the phone just in time to turn off the second alarm. Seeing the time, he thought, why the heaven am I getting up at 9 on a Saturday?
He looked at his schedule. Ah, that was why. Wensleydale was going to make his monthly phone call home, and he’d invited Warlock to join him and meet his friends. His stomach curdled at the thought.
Still, he went through the motions of getting dressed, getting ready for the day, and getting out the door. He met Wensleydale at the cafeteria for breakfast, and though he knew they talked, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what about. His mind was filled with the nervous chatter of his personal gargoyles, each giving him advice for impressing Wensley’s friends. Frankly, Warlock didn’t think any of it was likely to endear him to anyone.
Wensley’s voice suddenly pierced through the din. “Would you mind if I told them?”
“Huh?” said Warlock eloquently.
“That you’re ace. Do you mind if I tell my friends?”
Warlock, who had never come out to anyone about his sexuality besides Wensleydale, heard himself say, “’Course not.” It was very high pitched.
“It’s just, they like to tease, and I don’t want them to make you uncomfortable with jokes about our sex life.”
“Oh,” said Warlock.
“It’s absolutely your decision, of course. But they won’t be weird about it, I promise.”
“I…” Wensleydale’s face was just so open, so sincere, that Warlock found his fears receding. “I, yeah, ok. Sure.” He bit his lip on a smile. That hopeful feeling was bubbling up inside him again. Somehow, when Wensleydale looked at him like that, Warlock couldn’t help but feel everything would be okay.
It was just before 11:30 am, 3:30 in England, when they opened Wensleydale’s laptop and started the video call. Warlock rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans and reminded himself to take slow, even breaths. A few moments later, the screen lit up with a face, labeled ‘Brian.' Then another, ‘Pepper,’ and finally: ‘Adam.’
Pepper spoke first. “Wensley! It’s so good to see you.”
Wensley grinned. “You too. I have missed you all.”
“We haven’t missed you a bit, though,” grinned Brian, his freshly-scrubbed face betraying the lie.
“Of course not,” said Wensleydale imperiously. Then he cracked, grinning again. “So what have you all been up to?”
The next 20 minutes were filled with catching each other up on the events of the month. Warlock gathered that Pepper was going to university as well, majoring in either journalism or political science, he couldn’t quite tell. She was very driven, that was for sure, and Warlock thought she’d probably change the world – more than his father had, anyway.
Brian worked in sanitation. Warlock wasn’t quite sure what the exact job was, except it involved wading into and out of quite a lot of muck. Brian loved it. Adam, it seemed, still lived in Tadfield, and somehow managed to make a living writing fiction.
Eventually conversation turned to Wensleydale, and Pepper said, “So, are you going to introduce us to your new boyfriend?”
Warlock, who had been enjoying the chance to fade into the background, startled. Wensley clapped his hands to his mouth.
“Oh dear!” he said. “I am completely remiss; I had meant to do that at the beginning. Everyone, this is Warlock Dowling. He is, indeed, my boyfriend. He’s bi-ro and ace, and Majoring in Maths. Warlock was actually born in England, in the same convent as Adam was, and on the same night.”
“I was raised in England until I turned 11,” said Warlock, sensing this was where he was meant to speak. “Then my Dad got recalled to the states, and we just never came back.”
“Do you like America?” Adam asked. Adam hadn’t said much so far, mostly short comments here and there, except when he was talking about his book. But Warlock got the feeling this was an important question; there was a fervent intensity to his gaze that hadn’t been there before.
Warlock thought about it a bit. “I like it well enough, I guess. America has a better variety of food, and you can have a lot of fun here. But…” he hesitated. “England still feels like home.”
“So you plan on moving back here, then?”
“Yeah. Probably after graduation,” said Warlock, who hadn’t actually thought that far ahead.
“Alright.” Adam nodded like that settled something.
“You’ll have to come for a visit before then,” said Brian. “Maybe for Christmas! And we’ll all go and hang out at Fell’s.”
Wensley caught Warlock’s puzzled look and explained, “A.Z. Fell and Co. Antiquarian and Unusual Books. It’s run by one of Adam’s godfathers, and the other shows up fairly often.”
Warlock nodded.
“Speaking of!” said Pepper. “What’re we going to get them for Christmas?”
Adam said, “Oh dear. I hadn’t thought of that, yet.”
“It’s always hard to think of things to give them,” explained Wensleydale. “They already have pretty much everything they could ever want, and enough money to buy themselves anything they don’t have.”
“And they’re so old!” said Brian. “What do you get somebody that old? They’ve seen it all!”
Pepper nodded. “They are pretty ancient. Practically primordial forces, them.” All the others snickered, a bit. Warlock didn’t get it.
Warlock said, “It’s the thought that counts. Even if it’s something they could have gotten for themselves, they’ll appreciate it if it’s something you put thought into.” He’d learned that from Brother Francis and Nanny Ashtoreth. (His parents hadn’t ever appreciated his Christmas gifts.)
“You’re right,” said Adam. “Hmmm. Crowley always likes seeing the new things people invent. Maybe we could find some weird doodad just off the market.”
“Or a book of pranks!” said Brian.
“Mr. Fell always appreciates good food. Maybe some chocolates?” said Pepper.
Warlock suddenly thought of something he’d bought a while ago, for no apparent reason except that both his shoulder apparitions seemed in favor of it. He went to his backpack and dug it out. “If he likes books, what about these?” he said. It was a set of bookmarks, the ones that claim to be “3-D” because the picture shifts depending on the angle you look at them from. He held them up to the camera.
“Oooh, those look lovely!” cooed Pepper. “Startlingly appropriate, actually.”
The first one was of a snake, and it shifted so that the snake was looking at you no matter how you turned it. The second was a stone wall covered in ivy, with a door in the middle. The door was open, and you could see a multitude of flowers on the other side, like in The Secret Garden. The third was covered in dinosaurs.
Adam took one look at the third one and made a face, like he was trying not to laugh.
“What – oh.” Said Wensleydale, looking between Adam and the bookmark in question.
A puff of air escaped Adam’s mouth. Then a snort. Finally, he started giggling.
“Now you’ve done it,” said Brian.
Adam was holding his stomach now, his face a rictus of unbridled mirth.
“Adam’s always thought dinosaurs were terribly funny, She only knows why,” said Pepper.
The part of the screen that held Adam’s image was empty; he had fallen off his chair and was presumably rolling on the floor, howling with laughter.
Warlock said, “Well, I guess that settles it. I’ll have to bring these over as Christmas presents.”
Panting, Adam said, “They’ll love them. And you.”
And they did.