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Welton’s hallways were desolate come winter break, absent of boys buzzing with energy and anticipation, carrying the heavy silence of hallways long since abandoned. The only sound echoing throughout the building is the occasional crack of dress shoes on old wood, or the scrape of wind scratching against cool glass. Silence in the building so often filled with ruckus was scarce, and Cameron planned on making the most of it, clicking away on a typewriter for an essay not due for several weeks.
Most of the poets were away for winter break, save for Todd, who he didn’t interact with much beyond glances at society meetings, but he had no qualms about talking to him– he was just a bit quiet for his taste. His roommate, Charlie, usually had an expensive rendezvous set up by his parents for the duration of his absence, which he was sure to hear plenty about come his return to school. For now, his only companion was the hum of the busted old radiator and the clack of the keys, until the door to his room slammed open, making contact with the wall, and a boisterous laugh followed upon seeing Cameron flinch dramatically.
“Do you do anything except homework?” He grins, wide enough to squint his eyes shut, “You’re lucky you have me around to entertain you.”
“What would I do without you?” Cameron sighs, turning back to his work, “Shouldn’t you be in, I don’t know– Paris, or something?”
He pointedly ignores the way Charlie sidles up behind him, draping himself over Cameron’s shoulder. “I wish, my parents left me behind this time, to work on my grades, probably.”
Cameron knew, realistically, that he was now saddled with the responsibility of aiding Charlie in all his missing assignments– or he would end up doing the work for him, but that’s besides the point. Usually, their studying sessions ended the same way every time; Charlie would get bored with a quickness, and Cameron would give in to his pleas to do literally anything else, and Charlie’s work would end up done, somehow. He had a sneaking suspicion the teachers would call him out on their ‘similar’ handwriting, if not for his unwavering dedication to following the rules. Take that, Charlie; sometimes being a teacher’s pet had its perks.
Pausing his typing, and vague spiral, he leans back and makes eye contact with the other, “You aren’t really going to do work, are you?”
“No way in hell.”
“If you do your work and let me finish this assignment up, I’ll show you where the kitchen hides their holiday brownies.”
Charlie bounces on his feet, shaking the chair back and forth. “Breaking the rules and getting me a nice little treat for my troubles? You sure know the way to my heart, Rich.”
“Less talking, more chem, slacker.”
As it turns out, within a few minutes, he quickly discovered that Charlie has the attention span of a wilted grape when he’s excited about something, leaving Cameron with obnoxious noises filling the room constantly. He was everywhere. Cameron couldn't focus for more than a minute at a time; even Charlie's breathing was too loud. The tapping of his pencil against the bed frame, the crinkling of paper as he erased, the constant barrage of nonsensical questions every thirty seconds, it was insufferable.
“How many deer would you have to see in the forest before you got suspicious?”
“If you were an animal, would you be a praying mantis or a beetle?”
"How long do you think it would take Neil to notice if I stole one page from his script every time he snuck off with Todd to God knows where?
Every time, he would weakly nod or offer up a half-hearted hum in the hopes that it might deter Charlie's attempts at dragging him out of his work, to no avail. Eventually, Charlie smacked his book against the wall and jumped up from his bed, padding over to the spot near Cameron's chair that he liked to linger in, sitting on the floor and looking up at him expectantly.
Charlie did that a lot recently, staring at Cameron like he held some sort of secret the other boy needed to uncover. Their animosity towards each other had long since faded out to childish bickering at most, by request of one Neil Perry, who was impossible to say no to, but it seemed lately that Charlie was choosing to be around him, which wasn't normal for him to do in the slightest.
What friendship they had came in quiet understanding, in knowing someone else, despite your irritation; Cameron knew that Charlie hated coffee, and Charlie knew that he took his with just sugar, no milk. Neither of them bothered to figure out why they knew it, but they did anyway. Cameron wouldn't finish his coffee before he got hand tremors, and Charlie would stare at him expectantly, like he was now, and down the rest of it despite the bitter flavor. He made that face when he wanted something, and unfortunately for him, Cameron hadn't typed a word on the page in the last twenty minutes— he was beginning to wonder if maybe he should've smuggled coffee back to his room, to kick it in gear a bit.
"You should take a break," Charlie smiles, continuing after Cameron offered a quiet and questioning hum, "You've been at it for like, three hours, your brain is gonna explode."
"How would you know it's been that long? I could've started just before you walked in."
Charlie shakes his head, and Cameron decidedly ignores the way a few stray hairs fall across his face, "Key word there, could've." He punctuates his sentence with finger-quotes, "Every morning you roll outta bed at six o'clock on the dot, you aren't fooling me, stick-in-the-mud."
He frowns, forehead wrinkling slightly, "I can get this done."
"I don't doubt that," Charlie picks at a piece of lint on his sweater, "But you haven't clicked a single key in like, half an hour, and I'm bored, Rich, bored I tell you!"
Cameron rolls his eyes, "You're dramatic, too."
"You don't have to sweet-talk me, I'm already there."
"What does that even mean?"
—
Bundled beneath four layers and shivering against the brisk chill, Cameron regretted every promise he'd made to the other boy who was currently bouncing in place and generally unaffected by the weather conditions. Originally, he planned to sneak them through the kitchen side door for their treat, but the door was locked, and Charlie was currently trying to pick the lock on the window nearby, failing miserably in the process. It was terribly charming.
He learned a long while ago that it was better to let Charlie do something irritating, but overall not harmful, rather than scold him for it and watch him redirect to a worse solution. The beaming smile he received when he let something slide certainly helped that revelation, but it wasn't the only reason. Cameron exhaled heated air over his palms, watching the foggy condensation from the action blow over him— the small amount of warmth didn't help much, but the concept was comforting, and that was enough for him. Charlie's shaky, but covered hands fiddled with the lock on the window, and when it finally clicked open, he lit up, whipping around to wave the lock in the air like a trophy.
His elation faltered slightly as he shoved the lock into his coat pocket, tugging one of his mittens off with his teeth and holding it out to the other boy like a peace offering. Cameron squinted at him in confusion, tilting his head slightly— which was vaguely reminiscent of an animal, though Charlie couldn't tell which one at that moment. Dog, probably, but like, a mutt, maybe. Rich seemed too rough around the edges to be a poodle. He wordlessly took the glove into his own hand, staring down at it like it was some kind of trick, before sliding it over his left hand smoothly, shaking his other hand to try and generate heat.
When Charlie clasped his own hand around Cameron's bare one and stuffed the joined hands into his pocket, suddenly the cold weather felt a touch too hot for his taste. Cameron hid his face in the scarf he was wearing, a gift from his aunt before the school year started that was handmade, and kept his eyes on the ground as Charlie tried to tug him through the window behind him without letting go of his wrist. Eventually, he gave up, unlatching his hand before patting Cameron on the shoulder and muttering, "I'll be right back." He never told Charlie where the stash was, so he was thoroughly stoked to see how this panned out.
He emerged a couple of minutes later, face smudged with an inky black substance, and a smirk on his face like he'd struck gold on the way back. In his arm were two brownies, hastily wrapped in cling wrap, and a few instant coffee pods he clearly grabbed as an afterthought. Striding right past Cameron, who looked befuddled, he paved the way back through the snow towards the dorm rooms, pausing only to let the other boy catch up.
"What is all over your face?"
Charlie rubbed his free palm, the one with the mitten still on, over his face, smudging it farther up his cheekbone. When his hand fell away, the cloth was covered in a charcoal-like material, and he snorted inelegantly.
"Oh." He rubbed the chalky stuff around between two fingers, "Fell out the window and onto the counter. Turns out, the 'cooks' here— and I don't even think they deserve that title for the slop they make, I mean, seriously, I could make something better with my eyes closed, oatmeal with more liquid than oats? That's just soup!—"
"Get to the point."
"Right, right. The cooks here burn shit all the time and just leave what's left smeared on the counter. Actually nasty, who raised them?"
Cameron snickers, muffling his words in the front of his scarf, "You have a four-week-old box of raisins under your bed."
"I'm gonna get to 'em eventually, you have to let them age. It's like wine, probably."
"It's absolutely not like wine, Charlie." He looks thoroughly appalled at the prospect, "I need to know that you know that. Oh my Gosh."
"I'm messing with you, I know that's not how that works. What do you take me for?"
Before Cameron could think up a response, they were stepping in through the building doors, ignoring the strange glances they got from the few people who decided to stay back for winter break, or were required to for some reason. He jumped at the opportunity to stay at Welton when he learned it was an option at all, deciding two weeks of silence was marginally better than going home for the holidays.
Winter break in the Cameron household was always an awkward endeavor, filled to the brim with unnecessary 'mentorship experiences' and long rants about the singular B grade he got in Trigonometry a few weeks ago, and he just wasn't interested in the idea in the slightest. All it took was a weak excuse about catching up on a few assignments for his parents to agree, and he was home free for Christmas, at least until Charlie showed up.
Charlie was a wildcard, consistently taking expectations and flipping them on their head; it was impressive, really. Frequently, he tried to convince Cameron that he should choose his own path, but the concept of it was too daunting to consider, and the conversations usually ran in circles. The first time Charlie ever pitched the idea of deviating from his parents' plans, Cameron got to learn all about his passion for smooth jazz, surprisingly. It made sense, in theory, based on his affinity for the saxophone, but it wasn't something he ever considered before then.
It was also the first conversation in which Cameron was referred to by his actual name, in a way that wasn't a thinly veiled excuse to call him a dick.
They were lying side by side on Charlie's bed, lost in gentle conversations, which were rare at the time, when the boy turned his head toward Cameron's and whispered, "Come on, Rich, you don't really wanna be a lawyer, do you?"
Cameron's heart caught in his throat, and all he could muster was a crackly, "I don't know." He picked at his nails, trying to curb the habit he had of biting them, to no avail.
Charlie frowned, "You say that a lot, don't you?"
"Well, I don't know a lot." Silence blanketed the room, leaving them in a comfortable quiet, the only sound being the leaves blowing in the breeze outside.
He kept his eyes locked on Cameron's jaw, raising his voice slightly above a whisper, "I think you know more than you let on, you're just scared for other people to know that."
They kept quiet for the rest of the evening after that, but the current that ran through the air was charged, and Cameron honestly thought he might lose his mind that night. The room felt like the embodiment of a person before lightning struck, all raised hairs and anticipation, and Charlie was never any good at keeping his mouth shut, so it was a first to hear nothing until dawn. Neither of them said anything about it in the morning, but he scarcely heard the name Cameron out of the other's mouth when it was just the two of them. Distantly, he wonders if that's because he was trying to make him seem like his own person, rather than his family.
It was a nice thought, he supposes; likely too nice, for Charlie.
He was yanked out of his train of thought by a hand snagging the back of his coat and dragging him in through a doorway, "Where do you think our room is? Geez."
Cameron mumbled a small apology, and Charlie's face softened again, which made his stomach do all sorts of silly things. He thinks that maybe he went insane a long time ago, and he just never noticed because losing his mind felt more comfortable than analyzing why he did things a certain way. Too philosophical for ten in the morning, Charlie would probably tell him, so he keeps this to himself, like he does most things.
"For thee?" Charlie offers one of his nearly crushed brownies in the palm of his hand, and he accepts it with surprising ease. He would probably accept most things from Charlie with ease, but if the other boy knew that, it would probably be catastrophic; Cameron would end up with at least two demerits or suspension, in the best-case scenario.
He smiles, lowering his head, "Are you gonna let me get back to my essay now?"
"No chance in hell."
"It was worth a shot, I guess."
—
At some point between finishing off their brownies and attempting to finish his own essay, several hours later and a bit into the night, Charlie ended up dragging all of his blankets onto the floor, constructing a poorly secured blanket fort with his pillows. Cameron pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed when the boy asked if he could use his blankets too, but he knew the only answer he could give was a resounding, 'Fine.'
He was just glad Charlie was occupying himself rather than bothering him during his work time, even if the sound of blankets dragging against the floor made his skin crawl a little. When he turned away from his essay, fiddling with the typewriter in front of him, his face scrunched in confusion at the sight of Charlie sitting in the blanket fort, with a worn copy of The Fellowship Of The Ring, likely from Keating.
"Didn't know you read."
Charlie, wide-eyed at being addressed for the first time in the last few hours, scoffed, "Didn't know you remembered I existed."
Cameron snorted, sitting up from his poorly shaped chair and cracking his back, sitting on the edge of his bed by the fort, before Charlie frowned up at him, and he begrudgingly sank to the floor beside him. "What's with the sudden interest in fine literature, turning a new leaf before the new year?"
He grumbled, smacking him with the back of the book, "It's a good book—" he paused, as Cameron interjects with, "I didn't say it wasn't."
Charlie squints at him, "You…ever read the trilogy?"
He smiles, a bit crooked, and quietly says, "Don't think so, what's it about?"
"Bit hard to explain, want me to read it to you?" He grins, tapping his finger against the first few pages in excitement. In all honesty, Cameron thinks, there isn't a single universe in which he would ever say no to the proposition of Charlie reading something, but saying that out loud would come off meaner than intended, and he was working on that.
He lies down next to Charlie, who was curled up like a ball, book in hand, and silently listens to him begin reading it out loud, like he was truly engrossed in the content. Offering a small hum every once in a while when Charlie has a small aside from the book being read, Cameron isn't positive he's actually getting much in the way of knowledge of the book from this, given the fact that the only thing he's been able to focus on this entire time is the cadence Charlie spoke with, and the way it sounded like he had the slightest lisp on certain words.
Picking at the hem of his t-shirt and eventually at the skin on his thumb, Cameron tried his hardest to actually process the words being spoken aloud, before realizing Charlie had halted his speeches, and was currently covering his hand with his own to stop him from picking his thumb raw. He continued his charade of speaking, all the while keeping his hand firmly grasped around his, and Cameron thinks he died of hypothermia in the snow earlier, and this was a heaven-adjacent experience.
When he pauses once again to take a small break, Cameron puts his foot in his mouth and blurts out, "It's a very… You book."
Charlie hums, prompting him to continue, and Cameron doesn't know where it comes from, whether from how late it was, or the proximity, but he can't make himself shut up.
"I just mean, it makes sense that someone like you would be more into fantasy books than anything else. It's probably the drama aspect of it all, or like, the whole 'breaking free of society's expectations' part, if that makes sense. I'm sure if you could, you'd go on some fantastical adventure with like, Neil, or something, and come back with dirt in your hair and some kind of weird trophy, because that's just how you are."
During his bumbling rant, Charlie's face broke out in a toothy smile, and he leaned forward, practically hovering over Cameron as the first words out of his mouth were, "I don't know, I think I'd need you to balance us out on some kind of adventure. Neil and I are a bad combo."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. We make a good pair, huh?" Charlie shifted over more, his head fully leaning over Cameron, who was still lying down. Cameron, who didn't know when to quit, weakly attempted to crack a joke, which came off flatter than intended.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were hitting on me."
Charlie's eyebrows shot up, and his mouth formed a noticeable 'O' shape, as Cameron contemplated digging his own grave by the lake and dying at a tragically young age.
"And if I was?" It was Cameron's turn to make a shocked face, like he was electrocuted, and the only thing that made it past his bitten tongue was a quiet, "Oh."
"Yeah, Oh." He shakes his head, exasperated, and a few strands of hair fall into his eyes, "I've been trying to all day, holy shit, you're so hard to please, man." He shoots up from his lying position, narrowly avoiding colliding with Charlie's head, and exclaims, "Are you serious?"
"As a judge, swear on it," he hits Cameron's shoulder with the back of his hand, "We held hands, we've been together all day. How did you not notice? I thought I was being obvious."
"You're just… I don't know!" He groans, running his hand through his hair, "You're like that with people all the time. How was I supposed to know?"
"Not with you!"
Rather inelegantly, Cameron hauled Charlie forward by the collar of his stupid white t-shirt and shut him up with the quickest solution he could think of. Charlie, stunned, finally realized what was happening and ran his hands up the other's back, pulling him marginally closer as he clumsily pressed chaste kisses to his lips, trailing over his face and down his neck; Cameron let out an unrefined giggle, and Charlie melted. He tugged him back in, slotting his hand against his jaw, and tilted his head for a better angle, pressing the two back together for an actual kiss.
While cliché, inherently, Cameron believes that feeling a spark like fireworks was a good analogy for the heat blossoming against his face and down his neck. He could feel every point of contact between the two, causing little jolts of energy to bloom wherever skin touched skin; he felt like he was on fire. When they finally parted, panting and smiling wider than their faces could handle, Charlie whispered in the space they shared.
"I don't know, I think I like romance more than fantasy."
Cameron snorted, yelping out a quick, "You're an idiot, honestly," as Charlie peppered his face with uncoordinated kisses. Keating's copy of the book lay abandoned on the blanket, and Cameron would have to send him a thank-you package for the holidays, given the way his winter break was going.