twenty-six
"Sapere aude" - the Age of the Enlightenment

MAGNETS

———

Trouble had a way of finding Henry Clover.

It followed him around for much of his life, and it seemed it wasn't intent to stop any time soon. He was a magnet, and trouble was the metal, the iron. A connection that would never be severed.

Unfortunately, he thought, as he stared at the ever so late Roy. The top button of his shirt was undone, and his dark hair glinted in the library's lamplight. He strode forward, pace quick yet not rushed, and his face held the tiniest smirk Henry might have ever seen.

Trouble.

Henry Clover knew it well enough.

When Roy slid into the seat across from him, pressed his elbows on the table, and leaned forward with a growing smile, he knew there would be no escaping this.

"Lover boy," Roy said as greeting.

Henry eyed him warily. This was a version of Roy he hadn't seen in awhile, if ever. A version of him so... undone? No, so alive.

He ran a hand through his dark hair, messing it up even further. "Henry Clover, what are your thoughts on love?"

Henry balked. "Love?"

"Yes, Henry," he said. "Love."

He narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Roy really smiled this time—an evil grin, if anything—and glanced at the book resting before him. "Our project," he said. "There's an essay portion, need I remind you?"

"Ah," Henry said dryly. "Yes, I completely understand."

"I thought we'd explore the topic of love in eighteenth century literature and its reflection of society."

"Right," say Henry, almost in a daze. Idiot, he thought to himself. You're an absolute idiot. God, he was so easily distracted these days.

Curse Roy and his stupid unbuttoned collar.

"You alright, lover boy?"

Henry met his gaze, and with a gulp of courage asked, "Do you want to go to the art room?"

Roy only smiled, and he rose from his seat, grabbing Henry's backpack for him. "I've got a better idea."

There was no choice but to follow.

———

Roy didn't know he was falling in love until he was. The idea, in itself, sounded strange, but was so inexplicably true, he didn't know how else to put it into words, how to explain it to himself before it had just happened. Slipped into a slot in his heart without a care in the world.

Henry Clover had a way of causing trouble for Roy.

It had happened so suddenly he didn't know what to do about it. An image flashed through his head: a shy Henry walking up to an even shyer Louis. He'd turned around at the time, faced the other way, but still eavesdropped nonetheless.

Roy hadn't meant to fall, not really. He'd known there was a mess of lunch food on the floor by Henry's profuse apologies, but at the time he hadn't really been focused on keeping his balance. It was a bit embarrassing, really.

Roy had fallen for Henry, quite literally.

So long ago, and yet the time had flown by so quickly. Christmas Break was already approaching, and soon enough the halls of the Oakwood Academy for Boys would dwindle to a low enough number it would feel abandoned. Empty.

Roy shook the thought and instead glanced over his shoulder at the wary-looking Henry. "Don't look so scared, lover boy."

His favorite nickname for him.

"Who says I'm scared?"

"Your face gives it all away," he mused.

Henry rolled his eyes. "You're reading too much into things," he said. "Maybe I'm just stressed."

"With what exactly?"

"School," he said.

"Well, I have the perfect solution," said Roy. He glanced at Henry. "I think you'll love this."

"Oh?"

Roy took the steps two at time, waiting for Henry at the top of the staircase. Lucky for him, the door to his room stood about a foot from where they stood.

"Your room?" Henry questioned.

Roy only smiled. "There's that scared look again. It's not a date, lover boy. Not unless you want it to be."

"And why would I want it to be a date?" Henry asked.

Ouch.

"Because we're attracted to each other, Henry. It's what you do."

A flush rose on his cheeks. "Is this your way of asking me out?"

Their eyes met. "If that's what you want."

Henry simply rolled his eyes. This was the problem with joking: people grew to never know if he being serious with them or not. And if he was, he was dismissed.

Ouch, again.

Inside, Roy and Henry were met with a tiny bed, a single desk in the corner, and an array of art supplies. An easel took up most of the room, the canvas blank and untouched. Ready to be painted. A bottle of murky water sat on the surface of his desk, paint brushes and paint tubes scattered across haphazardly.

"The art room would have worked," said Henry.

"The art room doesn't have the privacy needed to create art," said Roy.

The air around them was taut with tension. Henry looked out of place in his room, he had to admit. His hands were tucked away in his pockets, and he warily took in the room in silence.

"Where do you keep your paintings?" Henry asked.

"The art teacher sends them to institutes," said Roy, shrugging, suddenly self conscious. Shy. How strange. "Some of them end up there. Most of them are just displayed in the art room. Hung up on the walls."

Henry's eyes met his. "I've only ever seen the one."

Roy knew exactly which one he was talking about. It was the one he'd told Henry to find in the art room.

So long ago, he thought.

"Well, lover boy," said Roy, changing the topic, "let's see how artistic that little brain of yours is."

———

It turned out that Henry sucked at art.

He thought he might have been able to pull something together, maybe even call it abstract. But no, Henry was simply terrible.

He saw it in the painting. He saw it on Roy's face.

"Lover boy," he said, the hint of a smile creeping up on his face. "You've painted a dick."

"What?" He had to be joking.

"Look," said Roy, taking a step closer. He pointed at the tree in the background. "You can't tell me that doesn't look like a dick."

"Well, shit."

Roy laughed, clutching his stomach. When his laugh died down and his lips fell into a soft smile, Henry's stomach had the nerve to allow all the butterflies in the world entrance. Especially when Roy took a step forward. Another. And another, until they were inches apart.

"Here," Roy said, softly. "Let me show you."

Roy's hands found Henry's hips, twisting them toward the canvas, so gentle and so fleeting it was as if they were never even there. Only the heat of his touch. His hand found Henry's, wrapping around his fingers and the paintbrush.

"You don't have to press so hard," he said, but the words flew over Henry's head.

All he could focus on was the proximity between their bodies, the heat radiating within the empty space.

"Let your hand guide the paintbrush," he said, leaning forward, the low rumble of his voice in Henry's ear.

Henry shifted his focus to the painting, watched as Roy's hand guided Henry's across the canvas. It was beautiful, to see Roy shift into something so quickly, so effortlessly. To create.

Roy leaned forward again, and his chest bumped into his back, but he didn't move. Neither did Henry.

"You make it look so effortless," he said, if only to break the silence.

His voice broke the spell, it seemed, because Roy pulled away, meeting his gaze instead. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you, Henry?"

Henry. His name, he realized. Not lover boy. Not red.

Though Henry knew exactly what he was talking about because Roy was doing the exact same. Magnets, he thought.

They were magnets, and there was no resisting this pull.

———

happy 2022!! thought i'd update! hope you all enjoy this chapter of Henry and Roy.