Chapter Text
“I’m telling you, Su, it’s torture.”
While he generally considers living in the same city as Susan a blessing, today, it’s a curse.
Today, he’d have preferred Lucy.
But Lucy is at home in New York, several states away, and Susan doesn’t appear at all sympathetic as she raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.”
“It is,” Edmund says miserably (and, all right, maybe a little dramatically).
“You’re acting as if there’s absolutely no going forward. Your life is hardly over, Ed.”
“Why did I decide to go to Georgetown?”
“I think it had something to do with their political science program being among the best in the country.”
“Funny, I thought it was to avoid following in Peter’s footsteps.”
Susan smiles wryly. “That, too.”
Edmund buries his face in his hands. “What am I supposed to do?”
“You’ve already asked if you can change?”
He nods. “There’s no changing.”
“Then you’ve just got to push through. It’s a year. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Why do I doubt that?”
“Ed. When have I ever been wrong?”
“I have a list.”
She shoots him a glare. “Well, I’m right this time.”
It’s hardly as if he has another choice.
Edmund knows this is a unique problem.
Not that he doesn’t get along with his roommate – a lot of people don’t get along with their roommates – but the reason why.
Most people do not get matched to live with their old Model U.N. nemesis.
They go all the way back to Edmund’s freshman year of high school. Not that they went to high school together – Edmund wouldn’t have been able to stand that – but they’d been at almost all of the same conferences. It had been his second conference, Edmund had been representing Belarus, and he’d gotten into it with Mexico. Namely the ridiculously hot blond guy. And okay, maybe part of it had been how hot the guy was, and that he’d ignored him until Edmund had all but cornered him, but the point was… the argument was explosive.
And it was the same every time after that where they found themselves on the same committee.
It had even happened on the fucking Jedi Council, which was just laughable. (Why had he even participated in the Jedi Council? He didn’t even really like Star Wars!).
He’d thought he was free at Georgetown. He’d gone to his first college model U.N. meeting and hadn’t seen the guy anywhere. Not that he’d really expected him; they weren’t Facebook friends, or anything. Why would Edmund assume he’d be at the same college?
It hadn’t occurred to Edmund that he might be here, but studying abroad.
Hell, if Edmund had known this was a risk, he would have never applied for a random roommate – but his roommate the previous year had transferred, and he didn’t want to live with a friend and ruin the friendship, and he wasn’t eligible for a single, so… what choice did he have?
And then he walked in on move-in day and saw him.
He had half a mind to run to the RA and demand a change, but he wasn’t about to cultivate a reputation as a spoiled brat.
No, he was going to handle this like an adult.
So he’d cheerfully greeted his nemesis and asked him if he’d given up on Model U.N. after all.
“No,” his roommate said as if it were a particularly stupid question. “I was studying abroad in Spain last year.”
Of course he’d studied abroad. He’d probably spoken Spanish with an Iberian accent, too, and refused to speak English. He was that type.
“I see,” Edmund said.
“I’m going to go to the RA. This isn’t – this won’t work out. We can’t seriously be roommates.”
Edmund gestured for him to go right ahead. “Be my guest.”
It didn’t work, of course. The dorms were fully booked, no swaps or changes possible unless there was a grave necessity.
And your roommate being your Model U.N. nemesis did not qualify as a grave necessity.
They’re currently on week two of living together, and with each passing day, Edmund finds the situation all the more untenable.
It doesn’t help that his roommate is still obscenely hot.
But that’s just a side note. A minor complication.
By the time Edmund trudges back to his dorm, he hopes his roommate will be out. He has an active social life, so it’s possible.
Edmund says a silent prayer as he unlocks the door… and finds his roommate on the other side. Shit.
He’s sitting at his desk half-dressed with a textbook open next to his laptop, so maybe he’ll leave Edmund alone.
“Caspian,” he says evenly; why is the man not wearing a shirt?
“Edmund,” his roommate returns.
Edmund takes that as good enough and flops down on his bed. He has to study tonight, but he wants to take a few minutes to decompress before he digs right in. Dinner with Susan hadn’t fixed anything, and he shouldn’t have expected it to.
“Not a great date, then?”
“I had dinner with my sister,” Edmund says, feeling queasy at the thought.
“So that’s a no.”
“Definitely not.”
Caspian only shrugs. “What’s your type, anyway?”
Is the man trying to antagonize him? He feels himself flush. “I really don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Humor me,” Caspian says.
“I don’t really think I have a type,” he says, thinking back to all the guys he’s had crushes on. He never gave himself time for actual dating; he was too ambitious for more than an awkward makeout at a conference.
But he tries his best not to think about that right now.
It’s like Caspian can sense his weakness. “Everyone has a type.”
“Fine,” Edmund says. “My type is men.”
Caspian raises both eyebrows. “All men?”
“Men in general.”
“Nothing more specific than that?”
Of course Caspian doesn’t press him about being gay; he knows that much. “Not really.”
“So you’d go for an older guy?”
“Define older.”
“Like, forty.”
Edmund pulls a face. “No. Like, a few years older, sure. Maybe to mid-twenties, depending on what the, uh, nature of the relationship is. But not that old.”
Caspian laughs. “Me, either.”
Some perverse part of him makes him ask, “What about you?”
“Me?”
“What’s your type?”
Surely he’s imagining the way Caspian drags his gaze over him. “Men,” he says simply.
Edmund’s tempted to throw his pillow at him. “Men?”
“It’s more about personality for me than looks, but I guess for initial attraction… I like guys who work out – but don’t only work out.”
“No meatheads for you?”
“You must know by now that I’d need someone who can keep up with me.”
“How could I have doubted that?” The words come out a bit more acidic than Edmund means them, but something about Caspian just gets under his skin.
Caspian doesn’t comment on Edmund’s tone; he just shrugs and turns back to his work. “You asked.”
Edmund really likes jogging through Georgetown; it helps clear his head. It’s nowhere near as chaotic as trying to jog on the Manhattan sidewalks. There are far fewer tourists, for one.
At home, jogging with Peter through Central Park had more been his thing. Every morning, early.
Here, he jogs alone, or sometimes with a friend.
Today he’s alone. He needs to clear his head more than he needs someone to help him push himself.
What on earth was that conversation about?
Why did Caspian ask him about his type? Edmund certainly wasn’t about to give him any ammunition by actually talking about his type, but even so. What was he getting at?
Why does he care?
Does he care? Or was it just a means to torture him?
And what was Caspian on about? Was he checking Edmund out? Edmund knows he isn’t an unattractive guy by any means, but he and Caspian have been rivals ever since that second Model U.N. conference, and until last night, Caspian never tried anything else.
Edmund tries to shake the thought from his head.
It’s pointless to dwell on that.
Maybe Susan was right. Maybe he just needs to push through. Spend as much time away from his dorm as possible.
But he can’t avoid Model U.N., and Caspian is still a member, even if he’s lost a bit of his standing with his year abroad. He’s seemed to have taken it in good stride. It doesn’t surprise Edmund, really. He knows Caspian is a generally agreeable person – for whatever reason, Edmund is the exception.
(If some part of him doesn’t want to be the exception, then he pushes that deep down. Caspian is his Model U.N. nemesis. They’ve been like this for years.)
He keeps running, but today, running isn’t working.
After he’s run around half of Georgetown, he gives up. Maybe he’ll need to see if Peridan wants to spar, or something. Maybe something that requires thought and concentration will be better.
He doesn’t know.
He’s never been in this situation before.
He stops on the corner and pulls out his phone.
At least there’s that.
Peridan wholly kicks Edmund’s ass, but that’s not the worst part.
The worst part is that Caspian wanders in and starts sparring with a senior Edmund recognizes from fencing club.
Peridan gets a hit in while Edmund is distracted. Edmund curses under his breath; it was an easy attack, something he should have parried without breaking a sweat.
It’s actually so out of character for Edmund that Peridan removes his mask. “You okay?”
“Fine,” Edmund says.
He’s aware that Caspian is watching him. Why is Caspian watching him?
“You sure? That was a basic attack.”
“Just tired, I think. I jogged through most of Georgetown this morning.”
It’s clear from the look on his face that Peridan doesn’t buy one word of it, but he’s a good friend, so he doesn’t say anything. “Okay. Do you really want to keep going, then? If you’re tired?”
Edmund tries his best not to glance over at Caspian, who has even taken his mask off.
“Let’s keep going,” Edmund says. “Another half hour? Then I need to work on my homework, anyway.”
“And that is why I’m not a poli sci major,” Peridan says, replacing his mask. “History all the way.”
“You could always double major. Like me.”
“Yeah, no thanks. Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“En-garde… prêt… allez!”