A day arrived without warning, when a peculiar inquiry took root in Julian Finch’s mind. How did Elias Caldwell and Lord Alaric Thorne journey homeward from the Academy? It began as a mere flicker of envy, a simple, disquieting thought. He had often observed Elias, the charismatic but volatile fellow student, departing first, Alaric trailing a respectful distance behind. There was no casual side-by-side companionship, no easy camaraderie. Still, the image persisted: Alaric, a young man of noble bearing, following Elias as if bound by an unseen thread. A prickle of unease threaded through Julian as he indulged this nascent curiosity. It felt like prising open a forbidden box, a Pandora’s casket holding not merely despair, but a cruel, insidious hope. Yet, the compulsion to peer within was undeniable.
“...I must be quite mad,” Julian whispered to the empty studio wall. His judgment, he knew, was clouded. Nevertheless, when the final bell tolled, he found himself shadowing Elias.
He did not venture far.
Moving with the stealth of a shadow, Julian watched Elias navigate the cobblestone alleyways. He saw Alaric’s back, a solitary figure moving through the fading gaslight. Around them, the city’s neglect pressed in: grimy brickwork peeling away from ancient buildings, rusted iron gates groaning on their hinges, the ceaseless thrum of carriages on worn thoroughfares. A tableau of decay, framed by the two boys. Elias in the lead, Alaric following. And Julian, a silent observer, distanced by choice and circumstance.
It struck him then as utterly pathetic, an idiotic pursuit. He turned away.
Later, in the solace of his darkened bed-chamber, a flickering gasolier casting long shadows, Julian reflected on his decision. A strange satisfaction settled within him. The curiosity had been potent, yes, but what horrors might he have unearthed had he continued? Better this way. Better not to know. He was no fool, to surrender to petty curiosity and unleash the contents of that wretched box.
Elias Caldwell’s fixation on Lord Alaric intensified with each passing week. Alaric, in turn, seemed to shrink from him, a palpable fear clinging to his slender frame. Or was it outright disdain? Julian suspected the latter. How could one feel anything but contempt for a fellow student who had, since his arrival, made Alaric’s life a living torment? A quiet, shameful satisfaction bloomed in Julian’s chest. Perhaps his initial inaction, his failure to intervene in Elias’s early aggressions, had been for the best after all.
Lacing his fingers behind his head, Julian stared at the ornate plasterwork on the ceiling. The opulent gasolier, a cluster of frosted glass flowers, served as a stark reminder of his good fortune. Born to a family of modest means, yet granted the rare privilege of Academy admission, his life had offered opportunities his humble background rarely afforded. He was a promising painter, a talent acknowledged by many.
“...Dash it all,” he muttered.
Until recently, Julian believed anything was within his grasp. Then, he had fallen for Elias Caldwell. That cad had shown him the cruel truth: life did not always bend to one’s will. Julian was certain Elias was now learning the same bitter lesson.
Merciless, indeed, was this world.
Julian, at least, had mastered the art of self-control, of concealing his turbulent emotions behind a quiet façade. Elias, however, was a tempest, so consumed by his feelings he seemed oblivious to the intensity of his own gaze when fixed upon Alaric. That sudden, abnormal intensity must have unsettled Alaric profoundly.
Julian understood Elias’s struggle intimately. He had endured similar torments. But while Julian had found a way to temper his passions, Elias could not. Instead of attempting to win Alaric over, he acted in ways that only bred resentment. For Julian, this suited his purposes perfectly.
“Please, remain utterly clueless,” Julian murmured to the shadows.
Better still, let Alaric grow weary and depart. Julian harbored no hopes of Elias turning his affections to him. If anything, such a love terrified him. His sole desire was for a day to arrive when he no longer loved Elias, and for Elias to find solace elsewhere. A simple, impossible wish. The world, alas, rarely accommodated such pleas.
To exacerbate matters, Elias Caldwell audacious shifted his seat. He moved to the desk directly in front of Alaric’s, an egregious choice given his towering height. He completely obscured Professor Ashworth’s blackboard from Alaric’s view. Alaric’s former seatmate, a young man named Mr. Abernathy, offered Julian and Rhys Davies an awkward, embarrassed greeting.
“Gentlemen.”
Rhys and Julian exchanged a fleeting glance, offering curt nods in return.
“Haha…” Abernathy’s strained laugh lingered, but neither Julian nor Rhys offered a response. Their interest lay elsewhere.
Elias settled beside Alaric, a silent, brooding presence. Julian found himself wishing—no, desperately hoping—that this tense tableau would remain frozen, undisturbed, for another eighteen months. That someday, this moment would fade into a vague, forgotten dream.
Another subtle shift occurred. Elias, notorious for his weekend escapades and sordid boasts, seemed to curtail his libertine hobby. Or so it appeared. Whispers from Rhys’s coterie suggested he hadn’t ceased entirely, but the brazen tales no longer echoed through the Academy halls. The cloying scent of cheap perfume and illicit pleasures no longer clung to his tailored jackets.
For Julian, this was a small mercy. He no longer had to endure the stench of Elias’s debauchery at such close quarters.
“Pray tell, Elias, are you no longer indulging in… such diversions?” Percival, a gangly hanger-on, swayed his hips suggestively, his hands gesturing obscenely. Elias’s handsome face twisted in disgust. He shot a quick, furtive glance towards Alaric, then erupted in an angry hiss.
“Confound it, Percival! I’ve told you not to speak of such things here!”
“Why, a sudden bout of modesty, Caldwell?” Percival sneered.
“If you breathe another word of it, Percival, you’ll regret it.”
“But Elias—”
“I said, hold your tongue!”
“...Very well, then.”
Disappointment rippled through their small group. Elias, with his imposing stature and air of worldly experience, had once been the perfect conduit for the burgeoning curiosities of young men brimming with unspent energy. Unlike the Academy’s more sheltered virgins, these were young men who had already stumbled through clumsy first experiences. With Elias’s exploits now off-limits, their attention drifted to Rhys. But Rhys merely bared his teeth, an expression of pure disdain.
“You filthy degenerates.”
“Ah, Rhys at it again! Always with the sanctimonious pronouncements.”
“A peculiar sort, our Rhys. A wasted youth, perhaps.”
Ripples of laughter, loud and fleeting, echoed through the room.
Most of the young men in their circle had, at some point, ventured into forbidden territory. Yet Rhys Davies, for reasons unknown, remained an enigma. They teased him good-naturedly, dubbing him the 'Abstinent Davies,' but a current of respect underpinned their jests. He was Rhys Davies, after all, heir to a formidable fortune. At the same time, Rhys possessed a devil-may-care attitude that softened his formidable presence. People found him either charming or approachable, often remarking on the surprising lightness beneath his intimidating gaze.
“You scoundrels, cease your leering. You’ll have me quite unnerved,” Rhys growled, though a hint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
“Indeed, a most fearsome countenance.”
“Do you rascals have a death wish?” Rhys scowled again, prompting another wave of laughter, even when the jest fell flat. Some younger students loitering at the back of the classroom, perhaps friends or mere acquaintances, joined in with their own forced chuckles, adding to the general din. Julian, amidst the clamor, found his gaze drifting downwards, lost in thought.
“...”
If his memory served, he had never felt a true stirring for a woman. By all accounts, that made him a man of peculiar tastes, a sensibility present from birth. He had, perhaps, experienced a flicker of arousal viewing certain illicit etchings depicting both men and women, but never had he harbored carnal fantasies of a woman's form during his private moments. The former, he suspected, was more about the scene's intensity, while the latter spoke to an utter lack of desire.
Once, he had been dragged to a disreputable music hall by Elias Caldwell, but he hadn't even made it past the entrance. He lacked the appropriate identification. Instead, he had waited outside, shivering, until Elias reappeared. Brothels? The very thought curdled his stomach. He could not fathom why any man would frequent such a place. Because of this, his companions jokingly referred to him as 'Chaste Finch,' but his abstinence, he knew, was more or less enforced.
A small sigh escaped Julian’s lips.
The others, engrossed in Rhys’s latest anecdote, paid him no mind. Seizing the opportunity, Julian glanced at Elias, who sat in silence, his gaze fixed, as always, on the back of Lord Alaric Thorne’s head as Alaric diligently copied Professor Ashworth's notes. And, as ever, Julian regretted his curiosity. Why had he looked? To distract himself, he posed a rather pointless question to Rhys.
“Pray tell, are you truly intent on remaining chaste until you marry?”
Rhys, lounging in his chair with proprietary ease, suddenly shifted his gaze directly to Julian’s lap. The intensity was so startling that Julian instinctively crossed his legs. What in blazes?
“You are not my wife, Finch, so why the impertinent inquiry? What, are you offering yourself?” Rhys quipped, a malicious glint in his eyes. The others roared with laughter. Julian, mortified, delivered a swift kick to Rhys’s shin.
Such were Julian’s days—an endless repetition, each indistinguishable from the last.
---
Alone in his bed-chamber, Julian often found himself adrift in thought, conjuring countless scenarios. Inevitably, his mind would wander into strange, forbidden fantasies.
Today, he mused on what might have transpired had he fallen for Rhys Davies instead of Elias Caldwell. It seemed, at least, a more palatable predicament. If his heart yearned for Rhys, he would not have to endure the agony wrought by Elias’s scandalous liaisons.
Even then, his heart would ache.
Neither Elias Caldwell nor Rhys Davies would ever truly love him, of that he was certain. But at least his pain would not be amplified by the constant, agonizing presence of Lord Alaric Thorne.
This train of thought, however, swiftly descended into feelings of inferiority and bitter resentment. In the end, Julian simply wished for graduation to come quickly, for Elias Caldwell to become nothing more than a distant stranger.
---
At some point, Julian had unconsciously developed a habit of placing his hands beneath his desk whenever he sat. This began in his second year at the preparatory school, and the cause remained constant—men. As his fingers idly fiddled with the ornate buckle on his trousers, he lost himself in contemplation. Should he? Or should he not? The faint click of metal against his nails filled the quiet room. Just as he applied pressure with his thumb, preparing to undo the clasp, a gentle rap sounded at his door.
“Julian, dear? Are you engaged in your studies?”
“...Ah, no! I mean, yes! I am!” He nearly leapt from his seat. Today, clearly, was not the day. Mortified, he buried his face in his arms. Damn it.
---
Lately, Elias Caldwell had become an infuriating presence.
Sometimes, when Alaric glanced in Julian’s direction, Elias would deliberately strike up a conversation with him. Alaric, caught in the middle, would flick his eyes towards Julian, his lips parting as if to speak, only to close them again. Then, as if wary of Elias’s scrutiny, he would lower his head and offer the faintest reply.
“Y-yes…”
Just like that.
Alaric, however, subtly sought Julian’s attention more often, and even began addressing him by his Christian name. Save for the Academy’s masters, almost no one called him ‘Julian,’ so the shift was particularly noticeable. Alaric seemed to believe he was being discreet, but he was not. The most aggravating part was Elias’s inability to conceal his discomfort whenever Alaric dared such a small familiarity.
“Lord Alaric, cease your interruptions while Mr. Finch is studying.”
“What?” Alaric blinked.
“I said, do not trouble him. Is my meaning unclear?”
“Oh… uh, y-yes…” When Alaric stammered and averted his gaze, Elias immaturely slammed his fist against the desk leg beside him. Julian feigned obliviousness. Annoyingly, Alaric, oblivious himself, seemed to believe no one cared about him using Julian’s Christian name any longer. He grew bolder, using it casually, as if it were the most natural thing.
“Uh, Julian… pardon my interruption while you are studying.”
Julian stiffened, staring at Alaric in disbelief. Was the boy quite mad? Elias was sitting directly beside him.
Sure enough, Elias pounded his fist on the desk once more. Confound it all.
“Caldwell, I say!”
“...Hm?” Alaric looked up, startled.
The atmosphere soured instantly.
“I told you.” Elias’s anger was palpable. “I told you not to address him as ‘Julian,’ did I not?”
“...W-well…”
“Call him Mr. Finch. That is his proper address—Mr. Finch.” Elias’s gaze sharpened, almost predatory, as he looked at Julian. Julian abhorred that look and instinctively lowered his head. At that precise moment, Rhys Davies, seated beside Julian, casually draped an arm over his shoulders. His low, distinctive voice murmured close to Julian’s ear.
“Elias Caldwell, if you persist in this manner, you’ll truly make a regrettable error.”
“What in blazes are you prattling about, Davies?”
“I mean to say, you will live to regret it.” Rhys smirked, and Julian felt a flicker of irritation. For one reason alone.
“Elias Caldwell, you are a complete dolt if you cannot see what is before you.”