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“That is a horrible idea, Stephen.”
The boy in question swatted the air at his companion.
“You're overreacting. They won't even notice!”
“And what if they do? They'll turn you into a Wolf!”
“I'm too Good to do that. Future King of Camelot, too. We'd be left without an heir to the throne if they did.”
Gray let out a loud sigh. He couldn't argue with that. That didn't mean he liked it, of course, but he knew if Stephen was convinced of something, there was no reasoning with him.
Not when being lazy came into play.
So he didn't argue when Stephen began concocting a cloning potion in a mug he smuggled from home. He ignored the boy as he tried to show his final product off, throwing in an “if it turns you into a woman like it did to Teddy, then don't come to me to fix it.”
But, as things often, very often, did with Stephen—it worked.
And now, before Gray were standing two identical copies of his boyfriend—one of them naked. Apparently the potion doesn't include a copy of clothes.
Gray forced himself to look away.
“I told you it'd work!” The clothed Stephen shouted, fist bumping the naked one.
Gray wanted to scream.
Instead, he sighed loudly, burying his face in his hands.
“Get dressed and go to class. You have fencing today. Try not to win too much, or they'll make us fence more later. Finish around the middle.”
Silence filled the room, followed by the sound of footsteps and rustling of clothes. Gray finally raised his head when he heard the door open and close soon after.
He sighed once more, and stood up. He also had to attend classes. And try to make sure nobody catches clone-Stephen in action.
It was going about as well as one would expect.
Clone-Stephen kept tripping, falling and losing his foil. It was getting worrying. At this rate, he wouldn’t end up fifteenth. He would end up last and fail. That would definitely alert someone that something wasn’t right and cause them to investigate.
So Gray had to take matters into his own hands.
He picked the clone’s fallen foil and handed it to him.
“Did you get up on the wrong side of bed today? You’ve never done this bad.”
The clone looked at him with understanding in his eyes. It nodded.
“How about a duel, then? To help me relax.”
It felt like everyone was looking at them now. Nobody ever duelled with Gray. The last person to not be afraid of it was Donald, but he wasn’t around to do that any more.
“Alright. As you wish.”
Stephen put up an excellent fight. Between all of his goofy behaviour and his laziness, everyone seemed to forget that deep down, Stephen was actually a magnificent swordsman. All he needed was to want to win.
And thus, ten minutes later, Gray was kneeling on the floor of the fencing strip, his hands empty, his sabre rolling on the ground a couple meters away; and another sabre’s tip pressed to his chest.
The room was quiet. Nobody dared break the moment.
The moment that the White Mamba lost for the second time in all three years of their education.
But it looked different from the first. This time, the young man was smiling. Smirking, to be precise. A smug smirk, mirroring one of his opponent.
“I am never doing this again.”
Gray raised an eyebrow at Stephen, forcing his expression to remain flat. He moved more to the side of the bed he was sitting on, and flipped the page of his book.
“Why is that? I thought you liked skipping class?”
“Yeah, but now they’re making me duel all the time,” Stephen whined, falling over onto Gray’s lap dramatically.
Gray responded with a noncommital hum.
“Did you really have to ask the clone for a duel? It’s partly your fault this is happening, you know?”
“It’s entirely your fault. I just helped him not fail.”
“Yeah, by making him get first place.”
Gray shrugged. Stephen loosened his muscles, effectively becoming something akin to a solid fluid. Like a cat in a bowl.
“Don’t get too comfortable, we have Dance Workshop in twenty minutes.”
A fond smile grew on Gray’s face when he heard his boyfriend let out a loud, pained groan.