Chapter Text
In between the brightly coloured posters and notices on the board in the university accomodation hallway was a single white paper, seemingly ripped out of a memo pad and handwritten. The writing was crisp black and neat like an old timey letter, not like lost notes from one of the classes. And of course that caught his eye immediately, Malcolm loved discovering things that looked out of place in whatever way. It read:
“Looking for someone to have a will-they-won’t-they kind of homoromantic love/hate relationship with?”
Malcolm laughed, intrigued but unsure if it was just a joke or a serious offer. The words made sense on their own but what the position entailed? He didn’t know. Was this a casting call for the role of an enemy or a significant other? Apparently both.
“Are you, m, a student at Ravenswood, looking for something fun to spice up your university experience? Do you find yourself craving the attention of a special someone, but you are too busy studying the supernatural to actually have a love life? Are you unafraid of intimacy, close companionship and the prospects of having a year long slow burn that might not actually ever be resolved? Write me back ;-)”
There was no address added to the message, so he shrugged off the excitement he’d felt upon finding this mysterious paper and went about his day. Mostly at least. He’d only just arrived on campus and it wasn’t unreasonable to think that this was some benevolent joke on newbies like him. Or something for a play, maybe? He had seen flyers for the drama club before, though all of them had seemed polished and shiny. Printed on professional paper and decidedly not handmade. But then, who really cared as long as it wasn’t real.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of it being serious. Not in a way that didn’t acknowledge that is was obviously not real… even in his own head he was too self conscious to let himself be wrong about things. (He would get more confident with time, of course. Everyone does. But it would be a few more months until he could walk comfortably in clothes he’d picked out for himself or speak his mind without thinking of possible consequences for his social standing.) But the unlikely chance of it not being a joke wouldn’t leave him for days, always burning in the back of his mind like an itch that hadn’t been scratched.
He distracted himself by unpacking his things. He was lucky to have a rich grandfather, otherwise he’d have had to share a room with another student. Not that he’d have minded if that student was nice. He might have actually enjoyed having a roommate, actually. But it hadn’t really been his decision anyway, so dwelling on it wasn’t all that useful. His grandfather had insisted on paying and had already made the arrangements by the time he’d even handed in his application. And anyway … he’d be able to focus on his studies better without a roommate.
Besides, his neighbours were cool too. He only knew some of their names and faces but they seemed nice enough. Of course they didn’t look very interesting or interested either. More like they expected him to be just like them. Someone they could talk to when they needed to look busy, but also someone they would never have a deeper connection with. No one who would be sad or mad if they didn’t talk to them in a few weeks.Someone they could name-drop one day in case he got famous … or infamous in any way.
All of this definitely wasn’t a bad thing, it wasn’t their fault he’d hoped for a deep friendship and excitement like in the stories. (Of course he still had Amelia and she didn’t live far away. Just a few streets down actually, so he’d never be alone. But that wasn’t what he was yearning for, not at all.) In fact, he didn’t blame them for being a bit cold. But deep in his soul he kept hoping for a love so beautiful and terrible it would make him shake, would make him weak in the knees. He hoped for goosebumps and fireworks, not quite a fairy tale but close enough. What kind of love that might be was not actually something he really thought about, he valued all kinds equally.
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A few days later, the paper was still there. It was now partially covered by a new, colourful poster, advertising a party of some kind. But so far, no one had really shown interest in the handmade offer and there hadn’t been any jokes about it so it couldn’t really be a prank, could it? Maybe it was a supernatural paper that showed his deepest wishes and desires? But then, he’d have heard about that at orientation. And all they’d talked about were the library and the tower and some famous monsters. No mysterious letters in the hallways. Besides, it would definitely show other things in that case.
It wasn’t a real decision to rip the paper from the board and take it to his room. It all happened rather instinctively as if he’d been meant to do it. But as soon as he held it in his hand, the slightly wrinkled paper cool in his open palms it just felt right. More than right actually, it felt as if his soul called to the paper. He’d expected to find an address or a number of a sort somewhere on the paper but there was only a coded message on the back. He was not good with that sort of stuff but it was just a shifted code as far as he could tell, nothing too complicated. It still took him at least one hour to decipher it all.
The secret message read:
It’s a curious kind of love that loves from afar
unbeknownst by those who love and are loved
unseen looking for that which cannot be found
unheard by touch, unsmelled by taste
Unknowing nothing and no-one, nowhere, never
ever unheard, unplaced but never not loved
He didn’t know what to do with that. He’d expected a lot but definitely not poetry … and confronted with it he realized he’d forgotten most, if not all they’d learned about poems in school.
Of course he could have gone to the library to find books on poetry, how to read and interpret it correctly but somehow the word “poem” still felt… hollow to him, like it was not the right word to describe what sat before him. It felt like describing a snake as a “big worm”. The form fit but the feeling was different. And so he found himself wanting to read the thing out loud instead of analyzing it. Actually, he found himself starting to read it out loud, not quite forced to do it ...but there was definitely a kind of compulsion in the way the words twisted inside his chest.
Oh so it is a spell after all, he thought and went along with it. After all, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And magic didn’t automatically mean that he’d come to harm. But even if he did, it had the possibility of being fun anyway.
Now you might come to the conclusion that Malcolm was self destructive in his uni years, dear reader... and maybe he was and you’d be right. Just a little bit at least. But mostly he was just an impulsive boy who had been mostly protected in his childhood and who still had to learn that some actions had really bad consequences. And of course he’d learn that with time. But for now he was taken by the new feeling of magic that filled him completely, head to toe, tingling in his stomach and pulling him in the direction of his desk.
It wasn’t a lot of magic, just the tiniest spell trying to get him to write back to the sender of the letter. Luckily for the sender, he’d intended to do that anyway, so the spells hold on him was complete.
Dear friend,
I am writing you to apply for the advertised position. I have never been in a love/hate relationship before but it sounds fun and I’d love to meet you to discuss it further.
I’m sorry if this is too official sounding, I have also never applied for any position under the compulsion of a spell. But it definitely tingles a lot.
Thank you for that, it is an interesting experience.
He did not sign his name, but he was pretty sure they would find him and it filled him with wild excitement.