Book 5, Chapter 10: Walk It Back
Title: Walk It Back
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic and Orlando
Word Count: 3354
Summary: News travels fast.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Orlando takes the steps two at a time in Langton Hall, bounding past lazier, less interested students on his way to the third floor rooms, specifically Dominic's. It had been a few weeks since they'd seen each other outside of the lectures, but earlier today Orlando had cheerfully cornered Dominic, just a moment before Dominic laughed and said he'd planned to do the same to him. They'd never had that coffee they've been promising since they met, but after that night at the pub during David's gig, Orlando had meant to try harder, he remembers now as he rounds the last rise of steps and finds himself face to face with the short wall of mailboxes. They'd both been busy--in good ways, Orlando tells himself firmly--and then there had been tests upon tests, papers and shoots and general madness. Enough was enough, though, and they both seemed to have felt it, judging by the way Dominic had reached for him just as hard as Orlando had in return. At least today there was a bit of reason to skive off and celebrate.
From a quick glance at the boxes, Orlando can tell Dominic hasn't checked his mail today, and Orlando's not surprised--the guy's probably not even made it to the actual residence halls in a week or more, and Orlando doesn't blame him--but he thinks there might be good reason for Dominic to do so now, whenever he makes it here. Yesterday, Orlando had received a letter from Baskerville's fine arts administration, offering him the opportunity to present his sketches and accept a small financial award for them at this year's arts appreciation festival. Once he'd recovered from the surprise and accepted the congratulations from Professor Otto, he'd heard her quietly amused hint that he might want to let Dominic know that he should expect something in his own mail soon. Now moving toward the door to Dominic's room, Orlando can't help pulling the letter from the inside pocket of his jacket, leaning against the door and starting to reread it, even as he absently knocks, more than a little certain Dominic's not inside.
"'Lo." Dominic barks out a laugh when Orlando nearly falls into the room, all long arms and legs scrambling to keep himself upright. "You made it. 's fantastic."
"Yeah." Orlando laughs, too, shoving the letter back into its envelope and then it and his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Were you ready? I was thinking you wouldn't want to stick around here for long."
Dominic nods. "Just picking up a few things, then I've got to get the mail."
"You do, yeah." The amusement in Orlando's voice makes Dominic look up from reaching for a shirt on the floor, and Orlando can feel his face flushing with happy nerves. "Well, I mean. I saw your flag's up. And I think you might--you might like what you find in there."
Dominic tilts his head and narrows his eyes, but he's still smiling, both wanting in on the joke and guarding against it. "Did you drop off that CD of David's stuff?"
"No." Orlando grimaces. "Shite. No. But I will, I promise. I did burn you a copy, but I left it in my bag, and I've already been round to my room."
"Then let me guess, you stuffed the box with bog roll."
"Now I wish I'd thought of that." Orlando steps around Dominic and sits down on the bed, surprising himself with the gesture, but Dominic just grins wider and keeps searching for more things to push down into his rucksack, his concentration everywhere at once.
"Did you ever get down the coast?"
Orlando blinks. "When David was playing? No, I ended up having to go home to see my mother."
"You're still doing that internship in London this summer, yeah?" Dominic's on his hands and knees now, searching beneath the bed for something just out of reach, it looked like. He taps at Orlando's leg and Orlando pulls them both up out of the way, moving to sit cross-legged on the mattress.
"Yeah. I start the week after we walk. David wanted me to go home with him, but we settled on a trip to Paris instead, since I don’t have much time."
"Paris." Dominic lets out a low whistle, surfacing with one trainer that looks as though it's seen a lot of miles in his hand before he peers at it and then tosses it over his shoulder. "I'd love to go. Want to go everywhere, though," he says with a crooked grin thrown Orlando's way before he returns to his task.
"I saw that piece you had published. In Abeyonne," Orlando says after a moment, and watches, curious, as Dominic goes still.
"It's just a student's--"
"Don't." Orlando surprises himself again, this time with the force behind the word. "It was good, Dom. I asked--I had someone translate. It was good enough to win a prize or something."
"Y'look like you've eaten a flock of canaries, mate," Dominic sighs as he surfaces again, this time with the mate of the other shoe. He reaches to shove both of them into his bag, then smiles over his shoulder again at Orlando. "Spill it."
Orlando blushes and shrugs, digging out the letter from his envelope again and offering it to Dominic, watching Dominic's face carefully as he reads once, then once more.
"This is fantastic, Orli, really great." Dominic grin is even wider now, excited, and the sight of it does something strange to the pit of Orlando's stomach, something he doesn't want to focus on now nearly as much as he does the relief that floods him when Dominic looks back down at the letter again, looking between the lines for god knows what, Orlando thinks. "Did you include that sketch of me? The one you started in class. I said you could use it, even if I'm starkers."
This time it's Orlando who ducks his head, his ears heating up as they both think of the portrait Dominic means. Orlando still has it, still looks at it on occasion, though he's come to think of his desire to do so as maybe a bit pathetic. He hasn't even shown it to David, he realizes with a start. He's hidden it without realizing that's what he's done, wanting to keep it for himself, wanting that bit of Dominic for his own, since he could never have the man himself.
"I did, and I will, thanks, but you're thick as a plank today, Dom,” he smirks, more to cover his embarrassment than anything else, and Dominic narrows his eyes, a flash of warm confusion in them that makes Orlando laugh out loud. “Go get your mail. I bet you have a letter, too."
Dominic says nothing, but his smile thins and his eyes speak volumes, rejections on too many levels warning him against believing he has a shot at something now. Orlando laughs again, but kindly now at the little crease in Dominic's forehead and his confused expression. The laughter dies on his lips when he realizes suddenly that Dominic really can't imagine having won anything--having been thought of so well. Orlando plants his feet on the floor again, leaning forward, urgency rising up in his voice. "Go on and look, Dom. Miranda--Professor Otto--she had something to do with the committee, and she--sort of let it slip that you'd get one, too."
"She did?" Dominic skims Orlando's letter again, laughing now, too, before he thrusts the paper back into Orlando's hands. For a moment he stands still, hands flexing at his sides, and then he runs from the room, curiosity too hard to bear.
Orlando follows more slowly, another wave of relief moving over him as Dominic pulls the tell-tale envelope from the box, ignoring the flyers and other ephemera stuffed inside. Dominic rips into his letter, and leans his shoulder against the wall as he reads it, breathing hard and shocked, his eyes moving quickly up and down the page.
"We should go out, yeah?" Orlando claps Dominic on the shoulder, startling him. "C’mon. To celebrate?"
"Yeah. I mean, I’d like that but--" Dominic looks again at the letter in his hands, scanning it once more before he looks back up, and Orlando knows before Dominic speaks that he's about to be turned down. Again. "Maybe later?"
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely." Orlando shoves his hands in his pockets again, swallowing.
"It's just that I want to show it to--"
"No, I know. I understand." And Orlando does, or thinks he does, though that doesn't change the strange twist of regret he feels. You're happy, Orlando reminds himself, and he is, with his life and how things are going with David--especially with how things are going with David, though he wonders why that sounds in his head a little like he's trying to convince himself of it. He needs no proof or evidence to see that Dominic is happy--happier, in fact, since the last time Orlando saw him. He watches as Dominic grins down at his letter, his hands shaking only just slightly as he turns to go back to his room. Orlando thinks of conversations they've had in the past, of everything he knows about Dominic, or thinks he does, and without thinking he puts his hand on Dominic's arm, halting his progress. "Dom."
"Yeah?"
This time when Dominic turns toward him, his eyes are bright and Orlando can feel the energy coming off him in waves beneath his hand. He wonders, just for a moment, what it would feel like to kiss him again--now when Dominic's ecstatic, thrilled by his own achievement, right when he's at some sort of zenith, and Orlando forces himself to ask the question he doesn't actually feel like he has a right to ask--doesn't really want the answer to anyway. "Are things going good with--"
"Yeah," Dominic says before Orlando can say the professor's name. "I told you they were."
A flicker of doubt shadows Dominic's face, his eyes, and Orlando jams his hand back into his pocket to keep from reaching out to touch him again. "Oh. That's great, then. That's good."
"Yeah. He encouraged me to submit some work to this." Dominic waves the letter a bit before he carefully folds it along its creases and then in half again and slides it into the back pocket of his jeans. "The winning poem, it's not the one that was published, actually. It's another, it's--" Dominic lowers his voice and turns somewhat around again, half-facing his room. "About him. About, you know, love. Fucking stupid, isn't it?"
"No." Orlando has to work harder now not to reach for Dominic. "Why would you ask that?"
"Don't know. It's a bit cliché, right? Writing love poems."
"Good ones, I'm guessing." Dominic laughs, ducking his head, and Orlando bends a little, too, tilting his own to keep Dominic's attention. "I'd like to hear them sometime. Read them. I mean, I'd like you to translate one for me."
"Yeah, sure." Dominic nods, then laughs. "I guess it's only fair. I mean, I got to see your art."
"Yeah, but I'm not winning any awards for that, right? It's just doodling."
"Now who's being thick? What do you think they're doing with that letter in your pocket?"
"It's a little bit of money, and a chance to show off." Orlando shrugs. "I mean, yeah, it's great, I'm--it's amazing, and I've already got--plans, like, for the money and the work, but it's not the same, is it? Most of what I've drawn is someone else, yeah?"
"Someone else's art." Dominic shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. "It's not the same, okay, but it's not that much different, Orli. It's all art, yeah? If we're gonna call it that. I forget about that unless I'm supposed to make som--statement in some essay or something. It's just what happens when the words come or you--" Dominic nods at Orlando's right hand and then smiles. "Pick up your pens. David picks up a plectrum. Billy--"
"Dom." Orlando says it in the quietest warning, and it's almost painful to do so. Dominic looks around Orlando and nods slowly waiting for the hall to clear of two recently arrived students before he continues.
"Whatever it is, it's art then. We made something, Orli," he says, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "Nobody takes it away from us, because it can't be taken; it's--something you give whoever's watching or reading or looking or listening, whatever. It's what you give, not what's taken from you. And it's not--" Another deep breath, and Dominic nods again, this time to himself more than Orlando, it's clear. "Anyone else's art but our own."
It takes Orlando a long time to let his shoulders relax, tensed from the moment Dominic had begun his little speech, and Dominic lets out another long exhale and laughs, conscious now too of his own energy coiling up and ready for release. "I get a bit--you know."
"Yeah." Orlando leans back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest now. "I was right, though."
Dominic looks up from under his lashes, the tease back in his eyes. "About?"
"You've got it figured out. Not everything," Orlando says quickly, watching Dominic's mind work in those eyes, ready to argue that point. "But a lot more than I do in a lot of ways."
"Then tell me something."
Orlando swallows harder. "Anything."
"If I've got it figured out, why do you keep asking me if I'm alright? If it's good with me and--fuck it, Orli, I've earned this, okay, and there's nobody here but me and you right now. If it's good with me and Billy." Orlando can't hide his slight flinch, but Dominic just shrugs, laughs again and pushes forward with it. "You don't have to like it, but it'd be nice if you could just--believe it, yeah? Or don't. Don't believe in it, but believe me, okay? Can you do that?"
Orlando nods. "Yeah. Yeah, alright." Dominic doesn't look convinced, and Orlando pushes off the wall with one foot, moving closer to Dominic's door. Dominic follows him back inside the room, but stands well clear, just about as far from Orlando as he can get when Orlando sits back down on the mattress with a hard, resigned breath. "This is hard, Dom."
"Not half as it is for me, mate."
"I know. And I know I'm always asking you the same questions and you're always giving me the same answers. I really do want you to be happy, Dom. Even if I don't understand it, like. Even if I--" Orlando stops, looks up at Dominic, who looks braced now for anything Orlando could throw at him but what Orlando knows is the truth. "I wish we could have made a go at it."
Dominic tips his head back against the wall, his cheeks flushing warm. "I thought you were happy, Orli," he says quiet. "With David."
"I am."
"Then what's this about?" Dominic moves his hand between them, focused again on Orlando. "You don't want to fuck things up with him, I know it, and I can't--there's just no way around it for me. I've never worked this hard for anything in my life, Orli, and I'm so fucking close to getting out of this school and just--on with it, on with my fucking life with who I want, so I can't fuck it up either. You don't really want what--we would have been able to do, okay. I'm not the same person you met in the grass. You wouldn't have wanted that person either, not really."
"I know." Whether it's a lie or not doesn't matter, Orlando thinks, and when he hears Dominic step away from the wall and move closer, he looks down at the floor, at the wood that needs polishing under his shoes that maybe need it even more. "Look, it's not just--the professor, Dom. I saw things happening, and I could have stopped them, maybe, and I didn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know." Orlando pushes his hands through his hair and then looks up again, meeting Dominic's eyes. "I felt responsible."
"For what? Me?"
"No. Yes." Orlando throws a hand irritably, then grits his teeth. "What happened with Elijah."
Dominic groans, moving quickly to fall down to the mattress beside Orlando, curving one hand around his neck to pull Orlando close into a rough embrace. "It's over and done, yeah? And that was always more about me. About me being fucked up. Elijah was just like the--I don't know. The minicab on my personal road to hell."
Orlando laughs, the taste of it bitter in his mouth. "Emphasis on mini."
"There's no blame here, or there, or anywhere, Orli. It's done. I just--I served my time, okay, and it's done, and you had nothing to do with it."
"I could have, though."
"Trust me, you didn't want any more of it on you than you already had." Orlando looks up, but Dominic doesn't move, doesn't slide backward out of the nearness between them. He looks fearless, eyes locked on Orlando's as they had been that night in Orlando's room, but those eyes are clear now when they were glassy then; Dominic sees the memory of that night pass in Orlando's own eyes, it seems, and he nods, his smile going tight again. "Look, I don't regret anything we did, and that was probably the safest I was the whole time things were fucked up. Doesn't make it what you wanted or the right thing to have done, though, yeah? I owe you for that one, but I can't--I'm not gonna be able to pay you back anything like it."
Orlando nods, feeling now like his head is splitting a bit, heavy with the weight of what this conversation wasn't supposed to be like. "You don't have to. I don't want that, you're right, we can't do anything. Ever." A moment, and then Orlando breaks into laughter again. "Doesn't mean I have to like that, either."
Dominic eases off, laughing too, and then leans forward again, clasping Orlando harder before he pulls back finally, pressing his lips to the side of Orlando's forehead. "Let's get that coffee," he says quietly but firmly, and Orlando turns his head almost too quickly, bumping it against Dominic's to both their surprise.
"I thought you were going to--"
"I was. He can wait." Orlando tilts his head, and Dominic laughs again. "Probably already knows, the nosy bastard. Come on, my treat."
"You don't have to--"
"I do." Dominic stands now, gathering his rucksack and looking around the room as if he can't wait to leave for several reasons before he turns that fierce grin on Orlando again. "Gotta keep in good graces with you, man. I might need a place to crash in London sometime."
"Anytime," Orlando says, and means it as much as he's meant anything he's said today.
Authors: kiltsandlollies and escribo
Characters: Dominic and Orlando
Word Count: 3354
Summary: News travels fast.
Index
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction; the recognizable people in the story belong to themselves and have never performed the actions portrayed here. I do not know the actors nor am I associated with them in any way. If you are underage, please do not read this story. I am not making any profit from these stories, nor do I mean any harm.
Orlando takes the steps two at a time in Langton Hall, bounding past lazier, less interested students on his way to the third floor rooms, specifically Dominic's. It had been a few weeks since they'd seen each other outside of the lectures, but earlier today Orlando had cheerfully cornered Dominic, just a moment before Dominic laughed and said he'd planned to do the same to him. They'd never had that coffee they've been promising since they met, but after that night at the pub during David's gig, Orlando had meant to try harder, he remembers now as he rounds the last rise of steps and finds himself face to face with the short wall of mailboxes. They'd both been busy--in good ways, Orlando tells himself firmly--and then there had been tests upon tests, papers and shoots and general madness. Enough was enough, though, and they both seemed to have felt it, judging by the way Dominic had reached for him just as hard as Orlando had in return. At least today there was a bit of reason to skive off and celebrate.
From a quick glance at the boxes, Orlando can tell Dominic hasn't checked his mail today, and Orlando's not surprised--the guy's probably not even made it to the actual residence halls in a week or more, and Orlando doesn't blame him--but he thinks there might be good reason for Dominic to do so now, whenever he makes it here. Yesterday, Orlando had received a letter from Baskerville's fine arts administration, offering him the opportunity to present his sketches and accept a small financial award for them at this year's arts appreciation festival. Once he'd recovered from the surprise and accepted the congratulations from Professor Otto, he'd heard her quietly amused hint that he might want to let Dominic know that he should expect something in his own mail soon. Now moving toward the door to Dominic's room, Orlando can't help pulling the letter from the inside pocket of his jacket, leaning against the door and starting to reread it, even as he absently knocks, more than a little certain Dominic's not inside.
"'Lo." Dominic barks out a laugh when Orlando nearly falls into the room, all long arms and legs scrambling to keep himself upright. "You made it. 's fantastic."
"Yeah." Orlando laughs, too, shoving the letter back into its envelope and then it and his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "Were you ready? I was thinking you wouldn't want to stick around here for long."
Dominic nods. "Just picking up a few things, then I've got to get the mail."
"You do, yeah." The amusement in Orlando's voice makes Dominic look up from reaching for a shirt on the floor, and Orlando can feel his face flushing with happy nerves. "Well, I mean. I saw your flag's up. And I think you might--you might like what you find in there."
Dominic tilts his head and narrows his eyes, but he's still smiling, both wanting in on the joke and guarding against it. "Did you drop off that CD of David's stuff?"
"No." Orlando grimaces. "Shite. No. But I will, I promise. I did burn you a copy, but I left it in my bag, and I've already been round to my room."
"Then let me guess, you stuffed the box with bog roll."
"Now I wish I'd thought of that." Orlando steps around Dominic and sits down on the bed, surprising himself with the gesture, but Dominic just grins wider and keeps searching for more things to push down into his rucksack, his concentration everywhere at once.
"Did you ever get down the coast?"
Orlando blinks. "When David was playing? No, I ended up having to go home to see my mother."
"You're still doing that internship in London this summer, yeah?" Dominic's on his hands and knees now, searching beneath the bed for something just out of reach, it looked like. He taps at Orlando's leg and Orlando pulls them both up out of the way, moving to sit cross-legged on the mattress.
"Yeah. I start the week after we walk. David wanted me to go home with him, but we settled on a trip to Paris instead, since I don’t have much time."
"Paris." Dominic lets out a low whistle, surfacing with one trainer that looks as though it's seen a lot of miles in his hand before he peers at it and then tosses it over his shoulder. "I'd love to go. Want to go everywhere, though," he says with a crooked grin thrown Orlando's way before he returns to his task.
"I saw that piece you had published. In Abeyonne," Orlando says after a moment, and watches, curious, as Dominic goes still.
"It's just a student's--"
"Don't." Orlando surprises himself again, this time with the force behind the word. "It was good, Dom. I asked--I had someone translate. It was good enough to win a prize or something."
"Y'look like you've eaten a flock of canaries, mate," Dominic sighs as he surfaces again, this time with the mate of the other shoe. He reaches to shove both of them into his bag, then smiles over his shoulder again at Orlando. "Spill it."
Orlando blushes and shrugs, digging out the letter from his envelope again and offering it to Dominic, watching Dominic's face carefully as he reads once, then once more.
"This is fantastic, Orli, really great." Dominic grin is even wider now, excited, and the sight of it does something strange to the pit of Orlando's stomach, something he doesn't want to focus on now nearly as much as he does the relief that floods him when Dominic looks back down at the letter again, looking between the lines for god knows what, Orlando thinks. "Did you include that sketch of me? The one you started in class. I said you could use it, even if I'm starkers."
This time it's Orlando who ducks his head, his ears heating up as they both think of the portrait Dominic means. Orlando still has it, still looks at it on occasion, though he's come to think of his desire to do so as maybe a bit pathetic. He hasn't even shown it to David, he realizes with a start. He's hidden it without realizing that's what he's done, wanting to keep it for himself, wanting that bit of Dominic for his own, since he could never have the man himself.
"I did, and I will, thanks, but you're thick as a plank today, Dom,” he smirks, more to cover his embarrassment than anything else, and Dominic narrows his eyes, a flash of warm confusion in them that makes Orlando laugh out loud. “Go get your mail. I bet you have a letter, too."
Dominic says nothing, but his smile thins and his eyes speak volumes, rejections on too many levels warning him against believing he has a shot at something now. Orlando laughs again, but kindly now at the little crease in Dominic's forehead and his confused expression. The laughter dies on his lips when he realizes suddenly that Dominic really can't imagine having won anything--having been thought of so well. Orlando plants his feet on the floor again, leaning forward, urgency rising up in his voice. "Go on and look, Dom. Miranda--Professor Otto--she had something to do with the committee, and she--sort of let it slip that you'd get one, too."
"She did?" Dominic skims Orlando's letter again, laughing now, too, before he thrusts the paper back into Orlando's hands. For a moment he stands still, hands flexing at his sides, and then he runs from the room, curiosity too hard to bear.
Orlando follows more slowly, another wave of relief moving over him as Dominic pulls the tell-tale envelope from the box, ignoring the flyers and other ephemera stuffed inside. Dominic rips into his letter, and leans his shoulder against the wall as he reads it, breathing hard and shocked, his eyes moving quickly up and down the page.
"We should go out, yeah?" Orlando claps Dominic on the shoulder, startling him. "C’mon. To celebrate?"
"Yeah. I mean, I’d like that but--" Dominic looks again at the letter in his hands, scanning it once more before he looks back up, and Orlando knows before Dominic speaks that he's about to be turned down. Again. "Maybe later?"
"Oh, yeah. Absolutely." Orlando shoves his hands in his pockets again, swallowing.
"It's just that I want to show it to--"
"No, I know. I understand." And Orlando does, or thinks he does, though that doesn't change the strange twist of regret he feels. You're happy, Orlando reminds himself, and he is, with his life and how things are going with David--especially with how things are going with David, though he wonders why that sounds in his head a little like he's trying to convince himself of it. He needs no proof or evidence to see that Dominic is happy--happier, in fact, since the last time Orlando saw him. He watches as Dominic grins down at his letter, his hands shaking only just slightly as he turns to go back to his room. Orlando thinks of conversations they've had in the past, of everything he knows about Dominic, or thinks he does, and without thinking he puts his hand on Dominic's arm, halting his progress. "Dom."
"Yeah?"
This time when Dominic turns toward him, his eyes are bright and Orlando can feel the energy coming off him in waves beneath his hand. He wonders, just for a moment, what it would feel like to kiss him again--now when Dominic's ecstatic, thrilled by his own achievement, right when he's at some sort of zenith, and Orlando forces himself to ask the question he doesn't actually feel like he has a right to ask--doesn't really want the answer to anyway. "Are things going good with--"
"Yeah," Dominic says before Orlando can say the professor's name. "I told you they were."
A flicker of doubt shadows Dominic's face, his eyes, and Orlando jams his hand back into his pocket to keep from reaching out to touch him again. "Oh. That's great, then. That's good."
"Yeah. He encouraged me to submit some work to this." Dominic waves the letter a bit before he carefully folds it along its creases and then in half again and slides it into the back pocket of his jeans. "The winning poem, it's not the one that was published, actually. It's another, it's--" Dominic lowers his voice and turns somewhat around again, half-facing his room. "About him. About, you know, love. Fucking stupid, isn't it?"
"No." Orlando has to work harder now not to reach for Dominic. "Why would you ask that?"
"Don't know. It's a bit cliché, right? Writing love poems."
"Good ones, I'm guessing." Dominic laughs, ducking his head, and Orlando bends a little, too, tilting his own to keep Dominic's attention. "I'd like to hear them sometime. Read them. I mean, I'd like you to translate one for me."
"Yeah, sure." Dominic nods, then laughs. "I guess it's only fair. I mean, I got to see your art."
"Yeah, but I'm not winning any awards for that, right? It's just doodling."
"Now who's being thick? What do you think they're doing with that letter in your pocket?"
"It's a little bit of money, and a chance to show off." Orlando shrugs. "I mean, yeah, it's great, I'm--it's amazing, and I've already got--plans, like, for the money and the work, but it's not the same, is it? Most of what I've drawn is someone else, yeah?"
"Someone else's art." Dominic shakes his head, then takes a deep breath. "It's not the same, okay, but it's not that much different, Orli. It's all art, yeah? If we're gonna call it that. I forget about that unless I'm supposed to make som--statement in some essay or something. It's just what happens when the words come or you--" Dominic nods at Orlando's right hand and then smiles. "Pick up your pens. David picks up a plectrum. Billy--"
"Dom." Orlando says it in the quietest warning, and it's almost painful to do so. Dominic looks around Orlando and nods slowly waiting for the hall to clear of two recently arrived students before he continues.
"Whatever it is, it's art then. We made something, Orli," he says, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. "Nobody takes it away from us, because it can't be taken; it's--something you give whoever's watching or reading or looking or listening, whatever. It's what you give, not what's taken from you. And it's not--" Another deep breath, and Dominic nods again, this time to himself more than Orlando, it's clear. "Anyone else's art but our own."
It takes Orlando a long time to let his shoulders relax, tensed from the moment Dominic had begun his little speech, and Dominic lets out another long exhale and laughs, conscious now too of his own energy coiling up and ready for release. "I get a bit--you know."
"Yeah." Orlando leans back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest now. "I was right, though."
Dominic looks up from under his lashes, the tease back in his eyes. "About?"
"You've got it figured out. Not everything," Orlando says quickly, watching Dominic's mind work in those eyes, ready to argue that point. "But a lot more than I do in a lot of ways."
"Then tell me something."
Orlando swallows harder. "Anything."
"If I've got it figured out, why do you keep asking me if I'm alright? If it's good with me and--fuck it, Orli, I've earned this, okay, and there's nobody here but me and you right now. If it's good with me and Billy." Orlando can't hide his slight flinch, but Dominic just shrugs, laughs again and pushes forward with it. "You don't have to like it, but it'd be nice if you could just--believe it, yeah? Or don't. Don't believe in it, but believe me, okay? Can you do that?"
Orlando nods. "Yeah. Yeah, alright." Dominic doesn't look convinced, and Orlando pushes off the wall with one foot, moving closer to Dominic's door. Dominic follows him back inside the room, but stands well clear, just about as far from Orlando as he can get when Orlando sits back down on the mattress with a hard, resigned breath. "This is hard, Dom."
"Not half as it is for me, mate."
"I know. And I know I'm always asking you the same questions and you're always giving me the same answers. I really do want you to be happy, Dom. Even if I don't understand it, like. Even if I--" Orlando stops, looks up at Dominic, who looks braced now for anything Orlando could throw at him but what Orlando knows is the truth. "I wish we could have made a go at it."
Dominic tips his head back against the wall, his cheeks flushing warm. "I thought you were happy, Orli," he says quiet. "With David."
"I am."
"Then what's this about?" Dominic moves his hand between them, focused again on Orlando. "You don't want to fuck things up with him, I know it, and I can't--there's just no way around it for me. I've never worked this hard for anything in my life, Orli, and I'm so fucking close to getting out of this school and just--on with it, on with my fucking life with who I want, so I can't fuck it up either. You don't really want what--we would have been able to do, okay. I'm not the same person you met in the grass. You wouldn't have wanted that person either, not really."
"I know." Whether it's a lie or not doesn't matter, Orlando thinks, and when he hears Dominic step away from the wall and move closer, he looks down at the floor, at the wood that needs polishing under his shoes that maybe need it even more. "Look, it's not just--the professor, Dom. I saw things happening, and I could have stopped them, maybe, and I didn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"I don't know." Orlando pushes his hands through his hair and then looks up again, meeting Dominic's eyes. "I felt responsible."
"For what? Me?"
"No. Yes." Orlando throws a hand irritably, then grits his teeth. "What happened with Elijah."
Dominic groans, moving quickly to fall down to the mattress beside Orlando, curving one hand around his neck to pull Orlando close into a rough embrace. "It's over and done, yeah? And that was always more about me. About me being fucked up. Elijah was just like the--I don't know. The minicab on my personal road to hell."
Orlando laughs, the taste of it bitter in his mouth. "Emphasis on mini."
"There's no blame here, or there, or anywhere, Orli. It's done. I just--I served my time, okay, and it's done, and you had nothing to do with it."
"I could have, though."
"Trust me, you didn't want any more of it on you than you already had." Orlando looks up, but Dominic doesn't move, doesn't slide backward out of the nearness between them. He looks fearless, eyes locked on Orlando's as they had been that night in Orlando's room, but those eyes are clear now when they were glassy then; Dominic sees the memory of that night pass in Orlando's own eyes, it seems, and he nods, his smile going tight again. "Look, I don't regret anything we did, and that was probably the safest I was the whole time things were fucked up. Doesn't make it what you wanted or the right thing to have done, though, yeah? I owe you for that one, but I can't--I'm not gonna be able to pay you back anything like it."
Orlando nods, feeling now like his head is splitting a bit, heavy with the weight of what this conversation wasn't supposed to be like. "You don't have to. I don't want that, you're right, we can't do anything. Ever." A moment, and then Orlando breaks into laughter again. "Doesn't mean I have to like that, either."
Dominic eases off, laughing too, and then leans forward again, clasping Orlando harder before he pulls back finally, pressing his lips to the side of Orlando's forehead. "Let's get that coffee," he says quietly but firmly, and Orlando turns his head almost too quickly, bumping it against Dominic's to both their surprise.
"I thought you were going to--"
"I was. He can wait." Orlando tilts his head, and Dominic laughs again. "Probably already knows, the nosy bastard. Come on, my treat."
"You don't have to--"
"I do." Dominic stands now, gathering his rucksack and looking around the room as if he can't wait to leave for several reasons before he turns that fierce grin on Orlando again. "Gotta keep in good graces with you, man. I might need a place to crash in London sometime."
"Anytime," Orlando says, and means it as much as he's meant anything he's said today.