CHAPTER TWO , see you next year

Sun was peaking through the blinds in Farleigh's dorm, fragments of warm light washing over the pair as they rested. Desdemona groggily groaned, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Farleigh's chest was pressed to her back, arm hanging heavy across her waist. She turned in his hold to face him, smiling at the small crust of drool on the corner of his lips.

   She pressed a soft, feather-like kiss to the tip of his nose and lifted his arm, letting it fall on empty space when she stood up. Farleigh let out a muffled noise, mixed between a snore and grunt, he buried his face in her pillow, breathing in the pear and bergamot lingering on the cotton.

   The bottom drawer of his dresser and the left half of his wardrobe was reserved for her. She grabbed a black a-line skirt that reached just over halfway down her thigh, and a dark blue Ralph Lauren v-neck from Farleigh's side of the wardrobe, folding up the hem so that it wouldn't hang too baggy. She smiled to herself, posing animatedly in front of the mirror.

She pulled out the seat by his desk to tie the buckle on her shoes, sleek and shiny heeled pumps. Half of her hair was pulled back, tied together by a blue ribbon. She fluffed the rest until she was happy with its volume as it draped over her shoulders and down her back. She pulled a few hairs forward to frame her face and blew herself a kiss.

"What're you doing?" Farleigh asked, voice deep and sleep-ridden. With a hint of embarrassment on her cheeks, Desdemona stopped parading around.

"Just getting ready." She smiled, walking over to the bed and sitting at the edge.

"Come back, 's too early." He complained, latching onto her and pulling her down to lie on top of him.

Desdemona squealed in laughter. She swatted his arms and they tightened around her. "Felix wants us to go to breakfast together, Farleigh! Let me go!" Ever a stubborn creature, Farleigh refused to let go, until a banging on the other side of the wall echoed.

   "If I'm late because you two are fucking, I think I'll kill myself!" Felix warned. Desdemona threw her head back, laughing. "You've got five minutes!"

   "You heard him, solider." She squeezed Farleigh's hand. "Up and at 'em."

   He tightened his grip on her quickly, nose buried in the crook of her neck. "Is this my sweater?" His voice was muffled by her hair. Desdemona nodded and all but jumped up when he let her go.

   With his weight resting on his elbow, Farleigh looked her up and down wolfishly. "Keep it. It suits you."

"I was planning on it." She leaned up to kiss his cheek while he grabbed the first things he saw—a pair of dark red dress pants and a beige cable knit jumper.

   While he went to the bathroom to wash his face, Desdemona grabbed her makeup case from her bag, painting her lips a deep rouge and dotting a small amount of that lipstick on the high points of her cheeks, blending it out with the pads of her fingers. She smudged a small amount of rosy, glittery pigment on her eyelids, lips pursed happily as she spun around once more to admire her outfit.

   A loud knock on the door made her jump. "If I come in, will I be traumatised?"

   "You fingered your cousin, Felix. I don't think anything in here could traumatise you." Farleigh's laugh echoed from the bathroom and Felix charged into the room, pointing indignantly at Desdemona.

   "That was an—"

   "Accident, I know, my love. Relax." She jested with a good natured grin. Felix flopped onto the bed. "Farleigh's just getting ready, he'll be out in a minute."

   No sooner had the words left her mouth, when Farleigh left the bathroom, practically sweating confidence. "Speaking about me? All bad things, I hope." He winked at the pair.

   "As if there was anything else we could say about you." Felix clapped his hand down on Farleigh's shoulder, shaking him slightly.

With Farleigh finally ready, the three of them started to wander down to the food hall. Felix was complaining to Farleigh about how his lecturer was seemingly always mad about something when it came to him. Farleigh asked if he was another one of Elspeth's boyfriends back in the day, taking his broken heart out on her son. But Desdemona paid them no mind, nose buried in her phone and texting Venetia.

Farleigh had to hurriedly lean over her head so that she wouldn't walk into the door, stretching out his arm to open it for her. She looked up, conversation long forgotten. "Thank you." She beamed. Farleigh messed with her hair.

"Watch where you're going. I nearly dislocated my shoulder." Suddenly, he clutched his arm dramatically.

"If you want somebody to kiss it better, I can go get Michael Gavey for you." Desdemona grinned, grabbing his hand and dragging him alongside her to catch up with Felix, who continued walking ahead.

Farleigh gagged at the thought. "Now, that's evil, even for you."

౨ৎ

Oliver had his head resting in the palm of his head, cheek pushed and lips pursed. His textbook sat open and forgotten in front of him. Instead, his focus was on the trio sitting a few shelves away from him.

He could only see the side of Desdemona's face, but, Felix, he could see clearly. The contours of his face and the glinting of his eyebrow stud in the light. The slight gap in his teeth as he laughed at something Farleigh he said. He didn't think he'd ever seen a man as beautiful as Felix Catton.

   Desdemona pushed herself off Farleigh's lap, and walked past Oliver, running her fingers gently across the spines of aged novels until she stopped at one, gasping happily and grabbing it eagerly.

She caught Oliver's eye on her way back to the boys, giving him a small smile just as Michael Gavey came over with the gift of a Crunchie. He nodded his way through Michael's complaints of exclusion from the college Christmas party until he was able to ask what he really wanted.

"You're a genius, yeah?"

   "Well, yeah. Obviously."

Oliver tilted his pen to the triad giggling amongst themselves. "Tell me what you know about them."

   Michael laughed, tongue poking his cheek. "Those cunts are the worst of the worst. You know Farleigh. He's a spoiled prick who thinks he's the best thing to grace this world. He's not. He's subpar at almost everything he does, but wears fancy clothes and acts all high and mighty to distract from it."

   "Then there's Felix. Some people see him as a god among men, but he's just rich and hot. He's doing a niche degree, like philosophy, or historical literature, but he doesn't go to most of his classes. Spends his time fucking and drinking and wasting his days away, living off of his dad's money and the girls who worship him."

   Desdemona cut through the cynical silence by laughing louder than she should've in a library. Her eyes widened and her hands clamped over her mouth, giddy laughter more muffled now. She was sitting on Farleigh's lap, his arm around her waist, supporting her as she idly leaned back.

   "And her?"

   "Desdemona Troy. Mum's the daughter of some Monegasque millionaire, some tie to the royals over there. Dad's a high-up banker with half of the country in his back pocket. Everyone thinks she's so sweet, but she's the worst of them. She's so used to people treating her well because she treats people well, so when someone doesn't like her, she throws a tantrum."

Oliver looked at him, curious to the deepened resentment in his voice. "How d'you mean?"

"I mean, I never pretended to be her friend. She tried to play the sweetheart act, and I told her I didn't believe it, and now I'm the devil to them." It seemed that even Michael Gavey, who sat comfortable on his high horse, wasn't immune to the harsh feelings of exclusion. "She's also fucking thick." He mocked. "Sure, she's pretty, but there's nothing going on in there. She doing an art history and classics degree." Michael paused, looking at the unopened chocolate. "Are you gonna eat that?"

   "No, you can have it." Oliver absentmindedly waved him off, eyes transfixed on Felix and Desdemona still.

   "Don't bother with them, mate, I mean it." Michael said, voice muffled with a mouthful of chocolate. "Those lot only think about themselves. We might be the only ones who are smart enough to realise it, but we're miles better than any of them."

Oliver nodded but he wasn't listening. Suddenly, Felix looked up, catching his eye for a split second before he looked away, finally giving Michael his attention and playing off his reddened cheeks.

"I've been thinking of getting a new tattoo." Desdemona said, running her hand over her arm, the sleeve of her—Farleigh's—jumper rolled up to her elbows.

"What would you get?" Felix asked.

Ever since she turned fifteen and Venetia gave her a messy, and now faded, stick-and-poke crescent moon, Desdemona fell in love with tattoos. Every year, for her birthday, she booked an appointment at the parlour. She had a line of stars running down her spine, two sets of roman numerals on the back of her shoulder, a rose on her sternum, and a latin phrase just below her collarbone — Veni, Vidi, Vici.

She shrugged. "Maybe angel numbers, or something like that. One of the girls in my Renaissance lecture has a tarot card outline on her thigh, I might get the same here." Farleigh's hand replaced hers, tracing the skin of her wrist.

"Speaking of," Farleigh trailed off, looking at the clock hanging on the other side of the library, "isn't that starting in a few minutes?"

   Desdemona followed his view, eyes widening when she saw the time. "Shit!" Someone walking by glared at her. "Sorry." She whispered, turning back to Felix and Farleigh with a panicked expression. "It's my time to love you and leave you, boys." She grabbed her bag, kissing Farleigh on the forehead as she did and ruffling Felix's hair on her way out.

౨ৎ

   Flashing lights contoured the shadows of their faces as Farleigh and Desdemona stood on the outskirts of the party's crowd, by the stairs. Farleigh was pouting childishly because Desdemona said she wanted to leave the party and reinforced that it was not for the reason he hoped.

   "You want to leave this," he gestured wildly behind him to the flashing lights and drunkenly swaying bodies, "to read?!" His words were slurred and he was leaning so close that his forehead was practically leaning against hers.

   Desdemona laughed, hands resting on his shoulders to support him. "I'm a victim of Oscar Wilde, my love! The Picture of Dorian Gray is calling my name, and I can't ignore it." She leaned up to kiss him gently, staying close to him when she continued. "I'll be in your dorm to help clean you up when you're done."

   Messily, Farleigh threw his arms around her, holding her to his chest. "Y'should've dressed up as an angel." He looked down at her scandalous Mrs. Claus costume. "Would've put you at the top of the tree." His hands moved to her waist, squeezing softly.

Out of the corner of her eye, Desdemona saw Felix, missing his shirt and wearing a Santa hat he didn't have when they arrived and a face of smudged lipstick kisses, approaching them, and a sense of relief ran through her.

"You heading out?" Felix asked—yelled—as he put his arm around Farleigh's waist, the pair of them sharing their weight.

She nodded looking up at them with an affectionate smile. "Be careful, yeah? I don't want to be hearing about any disasters tomorrow." She pointed a finger at them warningly.

In perfect sync, the boys saluted her. "Yes, ma'am!"

   Desdemona rolled her eyes at them. "At ease, losers. See you," she pointed at Farleigh, "later. And I'll see you," she pointed at Felix, "tomorrow."

   She passed Annabelle as she was leaving, who all but jumped into her arms. "Mona!" She drunkenly cheered. "Are you leaving?" She pouted her red lips when Desdemona nodded. "Have a good sleep, I love you!"

"Love you too, darling." Desdemona grinned. "Make good choices!" She yelled when Annabelle walked away.

"You know I never do!"

   There was a sobering shift in atmosphere the second Desdemona opened the door separating the party from the common area. It was only once the music became muffled that she realised her ears were ringing a bit.

   To her left, she heard a frustrated grunt, and looked around in concern. The man looked familiar, but she couldn't put her finger on just where she'd seen him. The feeling sat like an itch at the back of her throat.

   With his shoulders hunched and head hanging low, he was the same height as her. The fluorescence of the vending machine shone on his face and reflected off of his glasses, which she noticed were sliding halfway down his nose.

   "Are you okay?" She asked, caution making her quieter than she intended. She hoped he heard her.

   He looked up quickly, eyes wide and alarmed. Desdemona tilted her head to the side, finding him cute in the sense of a rabbit, with keen ears and a twitching nose for danger.

   "Stupid vending machine isn't working." His accent was thick and made his words mesh together.

   He looked confused when Desdemona lit up, hands rolling into excited fists and lips curling into a bright smile. "I can help!" She hadn't meant to yell, she laughed after realising she did, and the man followed suit.

   "This machine's been acting up for ages." She explained. "If you give it a good kick," she grunted, slamming the heel of her boots into the side of the machine, jumping in pride when it whirred back to life, knocking free whatever he was waiting for, "it should work just fine."

   With an entertained and slightly breathy laugh, the man thanked her, taking his KitKat from the dispenser. "D'you want some? My payment to you." He offered kindly.

Desdemona walked closer to him, gratefully taking the half he broke off. "I'm Desdemona, by the way." She held out her hand to shake his.

His hand was soft and slightly clammy when he put it in hers. His grip was unsure, not the business handshakes she saw her father give his clients. "I know." He blurted out. Desdemona let out a short, confused laugh and his eyes widened. "Not in a weird way, I swear! It's just, most people know who you are, you know? I'm Oliver."

Oliver, she realised, hadn't let go of her hand, holding it limply in his as he stammered through his words. A tight cord of pity was strung in her heart. "Well, I've got to go, but have a great Christmas, Oliver. See you next year." She winked, and hated herself a little for the corny joke, but Oliver didn't think it was too bad—he let out a quick huff of a laugh.

"See you next year, Desdemona."

   As she walked away, she left a lingering scent of cedar and rose, and Oliver thought back on the times he'd seen her around campus, wondering if she wasn't smiling in any of them.

   Her heels echoed down the hall and he laughed to himself, relishing in the fact that Michael Gavey was wrong about something for once in his life—Desdemona may be just like the other elites, vain at her core, hungry for whatever pretty things she saw, but Oliver wasn't any better. In fact, as they'd come to learn in time, he was worse.

   Desdemona dove into a battle with her latex boots the second she got into the dorm, falling onto the bed, ignoring its creaking, and pouring all of her strength into tearing them off.

   After many exhausted grunts and a near death experience for her nails, she came out victorious. She would argue that there was no better feeling than that of you feet touching a soft carpet after hours crammed into heels.

The winter's harsh chill had long since crept into the old Oxford walls, leaving a ghostlike cold to haunt the room. There were goosebumps on every inch of her body and the hairs on her arm stood on edge as Desdemona wriggled out of her costume. She thought back on her conversation with Felix and Farleigh earlier, about her tattoos, and stood in front of the mirror to study them.

The tips of her fingers were icy and gentle as they dragged along the soft skin of her collarbone, running down over the rose on her chest. A reminiscent look glossed over her eyes as she traced the petals' outline, remembering how eagerly Venetia waited by her side as it was being done, and how her boyfriend reacted when she showed him.

She turned around, pulling her hair over one side of her shoulder for a clear view of her back. The stars down her spine were thin, it was her second time in the chair, and she was far too scared to get them filled in. She liked them more this way, they reminded her of the stars she drew on the top corners of her copies in school, simple and delicate.

Her face dropped slightly when she touched her first one, two dates printed in roman numerals on her left shoulder blade. She cleared her throat and flicked her hair back over her shoulder, reaching into the wardrobe to grab another jumper of Farleigh's. It fell down her thighs and the sight made her laugh as she pulled on a pair of red and black plaid pyjama pants.

With a happy sigh, she flicked off the big light and turned on the lamp by their bedside, grabbing her book before she brought her knees to her chest and pulled the blanket tightly over her.

Just as James Vane lay threat of Dorian Gray's life, the door swung open, and a very drunk Farleigh stumbled in, crashing into the dresser as he did so and knocking down various pens and makeup tubes. Desdemona quickly folded the ear of her page and closed the book, hurriedly closing the door and taking Farleigh's hands in hers and guiding him to the bathroom.

"Fuck off!" He exclaimed. In shock, Desdemona turned to him with an arched brow and a daring expression. "You can't take me anywhere, I have a lady waiting for me."

Annoyance melted into entertainment as quickly as it came, and Desdemona quirked her head to the side. "Oh yeah?" He nodded. "What's her name?"

"Desdemona Start."

She allowed herself to laugh. "Nice try, pretty thing. Let's get you cleaned up and in bed." Farleigh groaned in protest, leaning away from her.

"But 'm so tired." Despite this, he didn't put up a fight when she gently led him to the bathroom, sitting him down on the toilet and running a facecloth under the sink quickly.

"I know you are, I'll only be a minute. Just need to try take this," she ran the damp cloth over the glitter on his face, "off as best as I can."

"I know what else you can take off." He smirked up at her. She hit the back of his head. "Sorry."

   There were still scattered traces of red and purple glitter on his cheeks, but Desdemona figured they'd still be there a month from then, and decided to cut her losses. She put his arm around her shoulder and half-carried/half-dragged him to