Chapter Text
Conrad was just blinking awake from a nap when he heard footsteps approaching him on the cobbled path. He had come out to a shady part of the grounds to rest on the soft grass and watch the birds in the orchard. It was never this warm in Series Seven, especially not high up in the mountains, and he relished the warmth of Series Twelve summers. And since it seemed this summer would be his last, he’d been trying to memorize every little sensation, trying to store up all the sounds and smells and tastes of the Castle.
Turning to watch the approaching figure, Conrad recognised Christopher’s tall frame. The older boy looked angry, as he often was these days. Sighing, Conrad pushed himself up onto his right elbow, turning to face Christopher just at he stopped in front of him.
“No luck then?” Conrad asked, bracing himself for the reply.
“No”, huffed Christopher, and dropped down onto the grass. “Damn that old man! I’m sure he’s just making up all this stuff about you fading if you stay here too long. Millie’s fine, isn’t she? And the old hypocrite certainly spends enough times offworld himself.”
They’d been through all of it before. “Millie was a goddess, darling”, Conrad said tiredly. “who used one of your lives to come here. And you know the short trips Gabriel takes are not the same”.
Christopher glanced at him, still angry. “That is besides the point, Grant. Gabriel has no substantial evidence that you have to leave, and simply refuses to try all the perfectly good solutions I offer him.”
Conrad tried to stop himself sighing again. At this point poor Gabriel was being offered about five solutions a day, each more fanciful than the last. He felt his muscles tensing with annoyance at having to have this conversation again, but told himself to calm down. He should try to enjoy his last few days with Christopher, not start a fight. Nothing for it then. He managed a sleepy “com’here” as he leaned forward and grasped Christopher's lapels, pulling him into a kiss. Conrad tried to move softly, but Christopher’s mouth was needy on his, and the taller boy deepened the kiss immediately, pushing Conrad down until he lay back on the grass with Christopher kneeling over him. This roughness annoyed Conrad, and he got even more annoyed when Christopher knocked his knee into Conrad’s when he shifted around impatiently. Christopher cursed, but to Conrad’s exasperation tried to keep kissing him. He pushed Christopher off and sat up to rub his knee, feeling tense and angry, and deeply unhappy.
The truth was, he’d been unhappy all summer, utterly miserable, from the moment he’d been told he’d have to leave the Castle. He’d tried to talk about it with Christopher, but the other boy had refused to accept the fact that Conrad was leaving, and instead had gotten into more and more fights with Gabriel. So for the past two months Conrad had pushed the misery down, and told himself it was better this way, that like this he could enjoy one last happy summer with Christopher.
But he wasn’t happy. And if Conrad was honest with himself, he’d probably relied too much on their easy physicality to make it seem like everything was ok. That usually did work, if only for a moment, their bodies fitting perfectly against each other, troubles forgotten in the heady mix of touch and pleasure. But an hour later they’d find themselves lying panting on Christopher’s bed, all those unsaid things still hanging over them in the silence.
And now, it seems even physical intimacy hadn’t worked. Something needed to be done.
Standing up and brushing the grass from his trousers, he peered down at Christopher, who looked as tense and angry as Conrad felt. “Let’s go back.” he said, offering his hand.
“Ah, but back where, Grant?”, Christopher asked, his mouth twisted in a sneer. “Back to last place we’ve been? I myself have just left the honourable Chrestomanci’s study, and that crochety old fool won’t welcome me back any time soon. Or back to where we came from? Because although I have no intention to returning to the ghastly London house in which I was born, I have spent all summer being told by everyone in this delightful castle that you, in fact, will be returning to Series Seven next week!” Conrad just stared at him, heat rising in his chest, while Christopher continued. “On second thought, you could not have meant we should go to Series Seven, because you have also told me repeatedly that I am in no way to come with you when you do go there. So I am afraid, dear Conrad, that I am quite at a loss as to where exactly you’d like me to go back.”
What an absolute brat! Conrad was fuming, all the misery and anger he’d piled up inside threatening to explode outwards. Christopher was still sprawled on the grass in front of him, his face locked into that empty mask that Conrad hated. And he’d said that all on purpose – he only called him Conrad when he was being deliberately callous. Conrad knew that if he had to spend one more second staring at that haughty expression he would shout and scream and maybe even hit Christopher. So he gave the other boy one last glare, decided he might as well break the Castle rules, and teleported himself back to his room.