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WITH A BANG AND A WHIMPER
PHILIP
WHEN Philip first sees Lukas Waldenbeck, he does a double take, and pulls out his camera. It’s beat up, and sometimes he has to poke it with his wand before it will even turn on, but it’s the best thing he’s got, and he knows that it can capture anything beautifully, so long as he is the one working it.
Lukas Waldenbeck is easy to photograph. Vibrant and alive in cranberry Quodpot robes, Philip has never enjoyed photographing another human being quite so much. No other human being has ever seemed so effortlessly beautiful before. Philip and Lukas have never spoken, but Philip knows enough about aesthetics from his arty no-maj friends back in New York to understand how rare Lukas Waldenbeck is.
Lukas hasn’t seen him, it’s too dark, and the fog that seems to perpetually surround Mt. Greylock and Ilvermorny castle hides him from notice. They are the only two outside. Lukas, determinedly repeating drills on his broom, and Philip, watching him from afar. It’s dark by the time Lukas is satisfied, Philip tries not to stare as he lowers his broom to the ground and pulls off his helmet. The moon is bright enough for Philip to just make out his hair, pale, and his silhouette, dark and mysterious. Lukas leaves, returning to the castle, but Philip stays behind. He’ll be missing dinner certainly, but for now, he’d rather be alone. He pulls out a no-maj cigarette before lying back on the bleachers and looking up at the sky.
It’s sad really, how some blonde boy who doesn’t know his name is the only good thing in Ilvermorny. Philip is the only new student his cohort have accepted since the middle school sorting in sixth grade. So many of the students have been attending Ilvermorny as day students since kindergarten that he wonders how any of them would survive if they had to liaise with a no-maj. It’s not so bad, Philip has always been somewhat of a solo wolf, and his housemates in Pukwudgie don’t seem to expect anything from him—they are known for, of course, for their emotional intelligence, listening to the heart and such. Philip is just glad that their hearts have told them that they should leave him alone. It’s a nice enough house, in any case, the dormitories, which are located in the keep, and overlook the gardens and a forest that spreads for miles and miles, are more lavish and clean than anywhere he has lived before.
Additionally, his room mate doesn’t snore. It is a big help, he thinks, that Pukwudgie seems to be a refuge for introverts, outcasts, and social lepers. Philip snorts, and nearly coughs. Maybe loners too, since he’s been put there. He breathes in deeply, and then exhales the smoke out his nostrils.
He doesn’t see Lukas very much in class, Pukwudgie rarely share lessons with Wampus. And so, the best time to perv on him is during training and Quodpot matches. The cafeteria is another great spot, very communal and all, but Philip would be caught dead before he entered that snake pit. Philip sits up, stubs his cigarette out, and buttons his jacket closed before placing his camera back inside his satchel. He looks out at the track and field one last time, before making his way down the steps.
WHEN Philip is eleven years old, and the letter comes again, he and his mom burn it. She’s quite lucid, lucid enough for them to talk about why he won’t be going to Ilvermorny.
“I don’t want to leave you alone, Mom.” he says.
“And I don’t want you to leave me alone,” she replies, wrapping bone-thin arms around his shoulders. He can feel her hands trembling. “When I went, it was full of pretentious ass-holes. You don’t want to go there, honey. They think they’re better than us. Stay here, with me, keep learning off of Terry.”
Terry is one of his moms potions dealers. He went to Ilvermorny too, before getting himself kicked out in senior for supplying to minors. Now, he has a rudimentary knowledge of magic, and spends time with Philip occasionally, teaching him important skills like undoing locks and transfiguring drugs to look like panadol.
“I will mom, I’ll stay,” he vows. “And we’ll be together.”
“Together…” his mom repeats, staring up at the ceiling with big dark eyes.
If he’s being completely honest, Philip doesn’t much care about magic. His own wand, a second-hand thing from a pawn-broker down in the wizarding district by Manhattan, is a beat-up, tacky thing. Pine, phoenix feather core, ten inches. He doesn’t intend to have a ‘magical’ job anyhow. He knows enough about the wizarding world to want to steer clear from it, enough about how half-bloods, like him, are hated and marginalized. He already faces enough of that shit simply for having a potions-addled mom, he doesn’t need any more people to tell him how crap he and his family are.
Of course, in the end, he isn’t given a choice.
WHEN his mom makes her usual sort of scene; an angry drug-addled one, because they have no money, and she’s getting withdrawals, Philip does his best to get her home. There is no use haranguing the well-fare people when they’ve got such a notorious history. They stop in an alley somewhere, and his mom throws up. Philip shuts his eyes tightly for a moment, before taking a deep breath, and holding her hair back, the way he always does. The way he always will.
He doesn’t want to leave a mess, so for the first time in a long while, he fishes through his satchel for his wand. He cleans the vomit up with a spell Terry had taught him a few months ago. It disappears. The smell lingers. And an auror approaches them slowly, entering the mouth of the alley with a slow stride and a pinched expression.
“Mom,” Philip says quietly, under his breath. “It’s a wizard cop.”
Only a wizard cop would carry a wand holster, and only a wizard cop would have been attuned enough to sense the magic and come to check it out. Terry had taught him that, too.
She doesn’t reply. Her body trembles dangerously.
The cop stops in front of Philip. “I’d be more careful if I were you, kid. Any no-maj coulda seen that.”
“I checked.” Philip says.
“Didn’t look like that to me,” says the cop.
“Well, I did. We’d better be getting home.” Philip replies, putting an arm around his moms waist and hauling her up. “We’re real busy, thanks officer.”
The officer, who is an over-weight sort of man, with a fat neck and cheeks, looks at him pityingly for a moment. “Sorry, kid,” he says. “I got orders. Are you Philip Shea, and Anne Shea?”
There’s no point lying. “Yeah,” he replies, running a hand through the back of his hair. “What’s it to you?”
“We got a warrant. On account of magical disturbances, and potions abuse, we need to take your mom in.”
Philip tightens his grip around his mom. “No, she didn’t do anything, or hurt anyone. No.”
The cop wavers, but then pulls out his wand. “Sorry, kid. Anne Shea, I’m taking you in.”
The cop puts a meaty hand around her wrist.
“You coming, kid?” he asks Philip, extending a hand.
Philip feels sick, but he grabs a hold of the cop’s hand and they apparate away.
WHEN Lukas speaks to him for the first time, it’s really cool. Philip doesn’t like to fall at peoples feet, doesn’t even like to let them know they’ve got him, most of the time, so he acts aloof, maybe Lukas even thinks he’s cool.
He’s outside, when it happens, sketching up a gnarly looking whomping willow. The grounds are full of them, it’s like Ilvermorny never learned about health and safety. It’s fall now, so the leaves are falling, and everything is red, red, red. He hears footsteps crunching behind him, the sound of heavy feet sinking into dewy grass. Closer, and closer. Philip doesn’t turn around. Thinks it would look awkward. Then someone sits beside him.
“Cool picture, dude.” comes a voice.
Philip looks up. It’s Lukas, smart and athletic and breath-taking in those idiotic cranberry quodpot robes.
“Thanks, man.” he replies, cool and unaffected as a cucumber.
“I don’t know you.” Lukas goes on to add, as though he should be notified every time Ilvermorny gets a new student.
Philip pauses, and looks at him. Close up, Lukas is still nice to look at—all dark brows, wide kissable lips, and floppy hair. Philips hands itch to get his camera out and take a picture. He resists. Barely.
“Oh, don’t you?” Philip says.
“No.” Lukas replies.
There is a pause. Philip keeps sketching, adding shadow and darkness to the complicated root systems beneath the tree.
“So,” Lukas says. “Who are you, new kid?”
Philip stops drawing again, and meets Lukas’s eyes. “I’m Philip.” he says simply.
“Cool,” Lukas says, he seems uncomfortable suddenly, as though he never intended to start a conversation with Philip in the first place and is now at a loss as to what he should say.
Philip takes pity. “And you are?”
For a moment, Lukas looks confused, as though everybody should know who he is. Philip is glad that he pretend not to.
“I’m Lukas. Lukas Waldenbeck.”
“Oh,” says Philip, still playing along. “You’re the Quodpot guy.”
“Yeah.” Lukas agrees more confidently.
“Nice to meet you.”
Lukas smiles at him, and it’s fall, and it’s red, red, red.
WHEN one day, Lukas arrives late to charms, the only lesson that he shares with Philip and the other Pukwudgie, they end up sitting next to each other. Rose, who Philip likes to remind himself is Lukas’s proper girlfriend, has already partnered off with some Wampus girl that Philip doesn’t know the name of. He sees them all sitting together sometimes, and envies them. Lukas, and his friends, Wampus elite. The boys are all good at quodpot, and the girls are excellent cheerleaders, their normality, and the ease with which they navigate their lives makes Philip’s gut ache. He’s never sure if he hates them, or wants to be them.
He’s not ashamed of being gay. Never has been, enjoys the feeling of it too much to think it’s bad. His own guilty pleasure, but without the regret, the insecurity and the anger that plagues so many other young queers. That’s not to say that he has never felt a moments doubt, never considered just falling in love with some boring, boring, girl and playing family. It would be easier, he knows, but easy has never interested him.
Philip likes boys. That is the way he was made.
And it’s nice, it really is, when Lukas Waldenbeck, who is arguably the cutest boy in the school, sits down next to him, and shoots him a small smile. Nice indeed.
WHEN later, Philip finds out that Lukas is not so nice after all, he doesn’t even care. Love sometimes tastes like blood. His mom taught him that. It’s like that song, that song, he sings to himself quietly… a kiss with a fist is better than none…
WHEN Philip comes to his senses, he goes outside and plays chicken with a whomping willow. It’s raining, and if he weren’t so hung up on some stupid, self-hating prick right now, he’d be making some ironic comment about pathetic fallacy and how tacky it is to be emotional during a storm. Instead, one low grown branch finally lashes out where he leasts expects it, tripping him at the knees and knocking him over. Philip stares up at the grey sky and the swirling branches and tries furiously not to cry. He won’t cry over an insecure ass-hole like Lukas Waldenbeck, not even if his throat is burning and lumpy with the strain of it.
WHEN Lukas Waldenbeck sat next to Philip in charms, they hardly spoke until the end of the lesson. Professor Kane had instructed the class to assess the Deux-Pas Charm in pairs. Lukas turned to raise an eyebrow at Philip in askance. Philip shrugged his assent. “Why not.”
They don’t necessarily work together well, the charm, at it’s most effective, will provide both casters with a trivia fact about the other. It takes three attempts for Lukas to learn that Philips favourite colour is blue.
Meanwhile, it has taken Philip those same three attempts to learn that Lukas loves his dad dearly, is allergic to peanuts, and hates his cranberry quodpot robes.
Philip, who is rather fond of the robes, and their colour, tries not to smile. Not everybody could pull of such a deep red.
“This is so pointless,” Lukas complains. “No one would ever need to know this.”
“Mm,” Philip agrees, they’ve done the charm at least seven times since Lukas learned that Philip’s favourite colour was blue.
Lukas tries again, this time, Philip watches him carefully.
“Stop,” Philip says. “Your wand movements are too forceful, it’s like your trying to just push the spell into doing what you want.”
Lukas scowls at him. “Shouldn’t it?”
“No,” Philip sighs. “You can’t just make something suit you, guide it, compromise, like this.”
Philip does the spell, and is careful to make his wand movement slow.
“Ha,” he says. “You’re a morning person?”
Lukas grumbles, but tries again, the movement is still a little forceful, and he mispronounces the end of the incantation slightly, but it looks better.
Then Lukas looks up at Philip with a startled expression, “You’re…”
“I’m what?”
“You’re a gemini.”
Philip raises an eyebrow. “Try again.”
“I didn’t know you were into photography,” Lukas says, sometime later.
“Well, that's because you don’t know me.” Philip replies simply.
LUKAS
WHEN Lukas first started dating Rose, he’d been on a dare. The Wampus boys had been sat around the fire pit in their common room, and they’d been talking, for a long time, about girls. Girls and sex. For the first time, in a long time, Lukas felt left out. He’d never had a crush before, on anyone, never felt the passion or the drive to bed a female that his friends were so consumed by. He wondered if there was something wrong with him. And then they’d dared him. Rose, who was popular, and pretty, and absolutely drooled over, had a crush on him, supposedly. And now everyone wanted to know what he was going to do about it.
He’d asked her out the next day, and they’d been dating ever since. It was nice, in some ways, to have a girl friend. Rose cared about him, and was warm. She smelled good too, and ran her hands through his hair in a way no one had since before his mom had died. They never talked about sex, only kissed sometimes. It was good.
And then the new kid arrived. Halfway through the term, mysterious as hell, and everywhere.
“I’m Philip,” he had said, “and I’m here to ruin your life,” he had forgotten to mention.
Lukas wasn’t poetic, or romantic. He didn’t look at life in overly-complex ways, or try to understand why some of the boys were so obsessed with their girlfriends. That’s why Philip is such a surprise. Lukas can’t stop thinking of him. Philip is the most beautiful thing Lukas has ever seen. Lying outside by the willows, skulking about the grounds with that beat up no-maj machine, in class sucking on the end of his ball-point pen.
They’ve spoke twice.
But there is something in Lukas itching to speak with Philip again.
So, when he leaves the cafeteria early, saying a casual bye to Rose and co, it’s not to practice his quodpot drills, the way he’s told everyone, it’s to see if he can’t find Philip.
He walks through the gardens, once, twice, and doesn’t see anyone. There’s no one hanging about the whomping grove, and the field is empty. Then, he sees movement over by the graves. They’re not actually graves, just a collection of statues depicting the founders and their houses, crumbling, covered in weeds. He can see Philip now, lying with his elbows in the dirt, no-maj machine angled at a cluster of wildflowers and mushrooms climbing around the body of the horned serpent.
Lukas leans casually against the statue of Isolt Sayre. “Hey,” he says suddenly.
Philip looks up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Were you trying to make me jump?” he asks shrewdly, “Because I heard you coming a mile off.”
Lukas, who had in fact, been trying to make him jump, quickly denies this. “No, just seeing what you were up to, new kid.”
“Cool.” Philip replies, before turning back around to take a picture.
Look at me again, Lukas thinks, before he can stop himself. “Cool.” he repeats.
Always so cool, this Philip. And always aloof. Lukas has never felt so unsure around someone before. Never not known where he stands. He wonders if it’s because Philip is gay. Or might be gay. Lukas doesn’t exactly trust his own charm work, but it’s an interesting thing to think about. Or, not interesting, but something… something.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Taking a photo.” Philip replies.
“With that machine?” Lukas says.
Philip looks down at the no-maj machine he is holding, he smiles to himself, and Lukas wonders what is so funny. “Yeah, man. It’s called a camera.”
“I know what a camera is,” Lukas says. “I’ve just never seen a no-maj one before.”
Philip sits up, and turns to face him, he looks shocked. “What? Are you like, sheltered or something?”
Lukas, against his own instincts, can feel his cheeks heating. He stands up taller. “No,” he says defensively.
Philip laughs. And for a moment, Lukas is a amazed. Then he remembers that’s he’s the butt of the joke. “What?” he snaps.
“Nothing,” Philip says, still smirking. “Just sounds like something someone who’s been sheltered would say. Are you one of those wizards, who hasn’t even been outside a wizarding district or school? You look the type.”
Lukas is the type. But he sure as shit isn’t going to admit that. “No, course not,” he says. “I hang with the no-maj all the time.”
Philip smirks. “Sure you do.”
“Hell yeah.” Lukas replies, like an absolute dickhead. He feels like one of his friends, strutting about wearing an awkward over-done machismo that is ultimately embarrassing and doesn’t impress anyone. Not that he’s trying to impress Philip. But, it would be nice to think he's made decent impression.
Philip stuffs his camera in a bag and stand up. Lukas is taller than him still. “Are you going?” he asks casually.
“Yeah, not much more to shoot out here.” Philip replies, his adams apple bobs when he speaks. Lukas’s mind is bombarded by the image of licking it.
He must have been staring, because when his eyes rise again to meet Philip’s, Philip’s eyes are regarding him knowingly.
“What?” Lukas says.
“Nothing,” Philip replies. “Just thinking what you’d think of the no-maj world.”
“I said I’d already been there.” Lukas deflects, but he knows he’s been caught out, and so his tone is playful.
“Yeah right.” Philip replies, and he’s all smug grin, wide smile, dimples.
Lukas punches him in the shoulder lightly. “Yeah,” he says. “Right.”
WHEN the idea finally comes, it’s much later. Lukas is in bed in Wampus Tower, he’s shut the blue curtains tight around his four poster and is thinking to himself. His dad had mentioned a few weeks ago that a small scale magazine would be interested in covering him in their sports section. Lukas hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but now it’s occurred to him that an article always looks better with a picture.
He thinks he ought to ask Philip if he can help.
He also thinks he ought to stop thinking about Philip.
It’s several days before Lukas has the chance to ask Philip if he would mind taking some photos of him flying. He doesn’t know why he was worried, because Philip agrees straight away, nodding, and grinning, with just the corner of his mouth. Lukas is happy, but can’t quite disregard the flicker of doubt and suspicion that rears it’s head. Philip has been at Ilvermorny long enough now for the rumours to have gotten about—it’s an insular space within an even more insular community, it never takes long for someone to open their mouth, for the niece of some ministry worker who knows a MACUSA member who knows an auror to spill the beans about a low-life potion-abuser with a son who has never been to magic school before. Dots connected, most people have been parting in the hallways when Philip approaches.
Lukas is well-aware the impact of a connection like that, and isn’t sure if he wants to let it mar his reputation, even if Philip is the most interesting thing he has ever seen.
All of his good intentions fly out the window the very next time he sees Philip, waiting for him by the field, hair floppy in the window, intense look of concentration as he fiddles about with the camera hanging at his neck. As always, Philip is wearing a grungy leather jacket, cuffed sneakers, and dark coloured jeans. Only the shirt is different, and Lukas finds himself wondering if Philip has any other clothes.
“Hey, dude.” Lukas says as he gets closer.
Philip turns slightly, but doesn’t look away from the camera. “Hey.” he says.
“You ready.”
“Sure thing.”
This morning, Lukas spent more time than ever ironing out his quodpot robes. He’s always hated the colour, even though they represent Ilvermorny and he usually is the first one to espouse their school pride. In any case, his robes are hanging straight, and he can move around easily. His broom, which is top of the line, hums with energy against his palm. He can already tell that the balls, frantic within their casing, are ready for a fight.
“Do you like quodpot?” Lukas asks.
“I don’t even know what it is.” Philip replies, looking at Lukas steadily.
Lukas scratches his neck. “It’s only the best game ever.”
Philip looks at him blankly.
Lukas is slightly outraged. “And you think I’m sheltered. Merlin. Quodpot. Where to begin? There’s these leather balls right? And all of them can explode at any time, the aim of the game is to get the ball into a pot before it explodes—you get a point then, but if the ball is in your possession when it explodes, then you lose a point. It’s beautiful.”
Philip is smirking at him again.
“Oh, shut up.” Lukas says, punching him in the shoulder, Philip only laughs.
The session goes well. For whatever reason, Lukas is flying through his drills easily. The wind is in his hair, he has a steady grip on the broom, and he’d going faster than ever. All the while, Philip watches on from the side, his camera held close to his face as he captures Lukas’s image from every possible angle. Something like forty minutes go by before Lukas descends. By then the fog has thickened, and Lukas has taken shelter on the bleachers.
Lukas quickly hops back on his broom and flies over.
“Dude,” he says. “Did you catch me throw that sick hairpin?”
“It’s going to rain,” says Philip.
“Oh, shit. Sorry, man.” Lukas says.
Philip nods. “Yeah, I just don’t want my camera to get wet if it gets any harder.”
“Well,” says Lukas. “It’s not raining yet.”
Philip looks up at the sky critically, a drop of water hit him squarely on the nose. “So much for not yet.” Philip says slowly, before shoving his camera deep into the confines of his jacket and pulling it closed.
“Shit,” says Lukas. “Shit. Jump on.”
“What!?”
“Seriously, jump on.” he moves down the broom, leaving room for Philip behind.
“I’ve never flown before!” Philip exclaims.
“Well, don’t be chicken about it, come on, Philip.” the use of his name must convince him, because Philip immediately stop dithering and swings a leg gingerly over the broom. Lukas turns his head and grins. “You might want to hold on.”
They take off, and Philips arms go around Lukas’s waist quicker than anything. His hands are warm on Lukas’s stomach, and his thighs are tight around Lukas’s.
Lukas tries desperately to think about something else, something other than the way this proximity, this closeness as they fly quickly through the rain is so utterly brilliant Lukas doesn’t want it to end.
He spots his open window, and aims the broom for Wampus Tower, the rain is falling thick now, and Lukas is hesitant to take Philip down to the front entrance knowing that he’ll then have to walk with his camera through the court-yard. A few years ago, some seniors had taken a game of quidditch too far and had crash landed into the castle, now, there was a protective barrier that prevented students from landing too closely to the lawn.
They swoop upwards, and Philip whoops loudly behind him.
“This is amazing!” Philip shouts, and something in Lukas’s gut comes loose.
Lukas pulls up by the window, and lets Philip climb off. “That shit was insane,” Philip says, extending a hand to help Lukas climb in. “I can’t believe we did that.”
Lukas is about to say something like ‘I can’t believe we did that too’, when his shoelace catches on something and he tumbles forward into Philip’s arms.
“Hi,” Philip says, he’s not smiling anymore.
All Lukas can look at are the tiny particles of water stuck in Philips eyelashes, and the pink in his cheeks, and the way his lips are so, so soft, and—Philip leans forward.
Immediately, Lukas snaps out of it. “What the hell, dude?”
Philip steps back, dropping his arms. “Sorry, nothing.” he says hastily, before turning away. “That was nothing. I’ve got to go.”
“Wait!” Lukas says thoughtlessly as he reacts to some instinct that tells him he doesn’t want Philip to go away. Philip pauses by the door.
Lukas dithers, trying to remain cool and coherent. “Err. Do you want a drink?” he offers nonchalantly.
Philip quirks his lips almost bitterly, as though he’s either not quite sure, or laughing at some sad joke that no one else understands, his eyes are shadowed, less open somehow than before, but eventually, he shrugs. “Yeah, why not?”
“Good.” Lukas pulls some fire whiskey out from a crate he hides underneath his bed, and takes a swig before passing the bottle over to Philip. “Hey, how many quods did I sink?”
“I don’t know, like… twenty two or something. That’s not bad actually.” Philip says as he tips the bottle up and swallows. His jaw works, and the muscles in his neck contract. Lukas stares at the wallpaper determinedly.
“No, damn, that’s good.” Lukas says quickly.
“Here,” says Philip, sitting down next to him and pulling out the camera, “Look at this.”
Lukas lean closer to see the pictures. They’re clear, and beautiful. He wonders if he’s always looked like that, or if Philip is just very good at capturing a moment. “They’re great,” Lukas says excitedly, he’s thinking about what other people might think when they see these pictures, see how good he looks, and his voice gains enthusiasm. “My dad and everyone are gonna flip out over this.”
“Yeah?” Philip asks, looking hesitantly pleased. “They’re really that good?”
“Totally, they’re amazing. I mean they’re so… here. I mean, you’re amazing,” Lukas says, looking at Philip.
Suddenly he feels very raw, and tries to cover it up by speaking again. “I mean, you’re awesome, I mean…”
There’s a beat of silence, and they’re both staring at each other. Lukas slowly reaches out a hand and touches the hem of Philip’s jacket. Philip just looks at him, eyes dark and cautious.
Lukas’s other hand cups his jaw slowly, delicately. Time slows down, the world is both distant, and more vivid than it has ever been. Lukas cannot tell who moves forward first, but soon they are kissing, kissing the way lovers do, and it’s nothing like the tentative brushes of the lip he has shared with Rose. Instead, it’s heart breaking, he feels shaky, like he’s sitting on a live-wire. Everything is warm, and everything goes on, and on, and on. Philip’s lips are soft, and taste like mint. Lukas can’t believe what he’s doing, who he is touching. Philip is so, so warm. And—and, Lukas pauses. “Wait,” he says. “Wait, wait, wait.”
“What?” Philip says, his eyes are dazed and his lips are pink and kiss-bitten, even as fear and doubt wage war in Lukas’s mind, he can’t help but be humbled by this boy, and sort of arrogantly pleased that Philip looks this way because of Lukas.
“No one can find out.” he says, runnings his hands up Philip’s forearms. The both of them are panting a little, Lukas can hardly assemble his thoughts. “No one will ever find out, because you’re not going to tell anyone.”
Philip only nods. And then, everything is warm. Lukas kisses Philip like he’s starving, and Philip, for his part, kisses as though he might die if he doesn’t. Soon enough, they’re a tangle of limbs, and Lukas is pulling off his shirt hurriedly before helping Philip get rid of his. It’s better like that, seeing so much of Philip’s skin is amazing. Lukas wants to just touch, and touch. So he does.
Then he hears foot-steps coming up the stairs. Lukas realises before Philip that his room-mate may be returning. He pushes Philip away quickly, and pulls his shirt back on.
“Quick, quick.” he orders harshly in a strangled whisper. “Get dressed. Shit.”
Lukas pulls out his charms textbook and sits over at the desk. Philip is only just clothed when Elijah enters the room.
“Who’s this?” Elijah says, looking between the two of them, Lukas at his desk, and Philip, Merlin Philip, still flushed and a little pink as he stand to the side of the room clutching his camera.
“Oh, no one,” Lukas says, ignoring the way Philips face goes blank. “Just getting some tutoring in charms.”
“Oh, sick.” Elijah says brightly. “You know, my charms are a bit iffy, if you hand any more time and—”
“Actually, we were just finishing up,” Lukas cuts in. “Bye, Philip.”
Philip leaves without looking at him.
WHEN it escalates the next day, Lukas wishes there was some way he could punish himself. If only Philip had just waited, if only Philip hadn’t approached him. There had been curious mutters from his friends when they’d seen Philip leave the dormitory the night before, and that had set him on edge. So it’s not his fault that he lashes out. Punching Philip across the face feels good for about two seconds. And then, seeing hurt and betrayal flash quickly over Philips face before he masks his emotions, reminds Lukas very quickly what an ass-hole he is. It’s like there is oil or some other toxic chemical wasting away in his gut, a poison that quickens him to anger, a poison that reminds him what he is.
He doesn’t help Philip up. People would think it was strange. Instead, he walks away, leaving Philip low on the ground with a hand clutched to his nose. He’s sure that Philip’s accusing eyes bore into his back and follow him down the hall. But Lukas doesn’t look back.
PHILIP
WHEN he’s calmed down enough to think clearly, Philip sits up. The whomping willow has forgotten that he’s lying beneath it, fooled by his stillness. Or, it’s just gotten used to him, because by the time he moves again, it doesn’t raise a branch to harm him.
Philip must be mad, or stupid, because he decides to visit Lukas. His face still aches like hell, but he strides down to the field anyway. It’s his lucky day, because Lukas is alone, apparently his entourage are otherwise engaged.
“Hey, you!” he shouts.
Lukas, who is little more than a red blue, doesn’t pause. Philip pulls out his wand and casts a stinging hex.
“What the fuck!” he hears Lukas yell.
Lukas tears his helmet off and looks around wildly. When he spots Philip he comes in to land but doesn’t get off his broom. “Did you want something, dude?”
“Yes, I want to make something clear.” Philip says. “I won’t be your little bitch. You can’t be kissing me one minute, and then hitting me in the face the next. It’s not going to happen. If you’re not into me, that’s fine, but tell me now, so that I can move the fuck on to greener pastures.” Philip is mostly bluffing, he doubts he’ll move on for several weeks, and even after that he’ll probably spend too damn much of his time covertly watching Lukas.
But Lukas doesn’t know that, and Philip would prefer to get out of this with his dignity intact. If he has to get out of it.
Lukas frowns. “What?” he says. “What’s even happening?”
Philip smirks. “You’re into me, I’d just like to know if you’re going to do anything about it.”
Lukas doesn’t say anything, instead, he lunges forward, somehow getting off the broom, and kisses Philip square on the lips. There is a possessive hand over his ass, and another one cupping his jaw. It’s all good in Philip’s book, but not everything is settles, he pulls away. “I won’t be your little bitch,” he repeats. “If we’re doing this, then I won’t make you come out, but I will require you not to treat me like literal human garbage.”
Lukas nods hurriedly.
“Okay,” Philip says, he lets a small smile lift the corner of his mouth. “You know, you just kissed me in public.”
“There’s no one here.” Lukas reasons.
“Hmm,” agrees Philip. “Feels good though, out in the open.”
Lukas steps back, and frowns. “I’m not coming out. I don’t want to be that guy.”
Philip has made up his mind. It doesn’t matter. “It’s alright,” he says, stroking a hand through Lukas’s pale hair. “It’s okay. We’ve got time, anyhow.”
Lukas nods seriously. “I guess.”
“I just don’t want you pulling any aggressive shit with me in the halls, any more of that, and we’re off. If I wanted people to treat me like shit I’d call up some of the guys I know from home.”
“Oh. Okay,” Lukas says, looking awkward.
“I know it’s hard right now, but I’ll be able to convince you one day, I think, that being gay isn’t completely terrible. After all, there are several perks.” Philip says cheekily, before pinching Lukas’s butt.
“Hey!” Lukas shouts, tackling him to the muddy ground. They wrestle around for a bit, protected from view by the fog, eventually, Lukas, who is bigger, manages to hold Philip down.
“Hey,” Philip says, looking up at Lukas.
“Hey,” Lukas replies, looking down at him. Golden strands hang across his face, Philip tangles his fingers through some of them.
“I think it’s going to be fine.” Philip says.
“Yeah,” Lukas agrees, because he’s young and stupid, “Yeah, it will be.”
They grin at each other, and Philip can’t help but eye Lukas’s face and body fondly. So fondly, in fact, that he puts two hands around Lukas’s narrow, athletic hips and pulls them down towards his. It’s not raining, not like yesterday, but all of the feelings and all of the warmth rush back immediately, and like yesterday, they kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss some more, until Philip hears a group of students approaching, and they have to hide behind a tree so that no one spots them when they just keep on kissing.
In the end, they’re just two more boys fooling about and maybe in love, Philips dead sure it’s not the first time this has happened amidst the fog and the statues of Mt. Greylock’s Ilvermorny, and Lukas is dead sure he doesn’t quite know what they’re doing here just yet.
It doesn't really matter, he supposes, eventually, they will both figure it out.