Work Text:
Since the layout I drew does not show different floors, I may as well inform you that the showers were actually on the second floor, connected with the dorm rooms, while the dining hall connected to the common rooms of each dorm building, on the first floor. I suppose this is so one does not wander the common rooms or dining hall in towels. I never did ask Henry. In any case, I certainly agreed with my compatriot that I was going to catch cold if I remained in my sopping wet uniform, and a nice hot shower sounded divine. However, more than that I was curious about the showers themselves. I had only ever bathed in a single-person shower, and had never seen a community shower before. Perhaps I would see what Parker hated about it so much.
"We should be all right," Henry was telling me as we climbed the steps for the second floor. "Most students use the showers after dinner, and that's hours from now. There should hardly be anyone there."
"Why's it important that there's not many people there?" I asked.
Henry grimaced as we turned the corner from the stairs for the door down the hall. "With more people there, there's less space between showers… less space means more chance of an unpleasant shower, you catch me?"
I did not, really, but once again I didn't press the matter.
The showers, as I remember, were only roomy enough for about seventy-five
boys to go at once, unless a few were to share lockers and stalls, which they did. They sat between the two dorms with locker rooms on either side, one for dorm one and one for dorm two. The locker rooms were where you exchanged your clothes for fresh white towels, sitting in each locker. Funnily enough, none of them actually had locks, and often valuables and uniforms went missing among students, to gales of laughter as boys roamed the hallways searching for their trousers. My sopping wet uniform, however, was pitched in the laundry chute as Henry helped to undress me; the fabric clinging to my skin and weighing me down made this a difficult task for me alone. While this was being done, I grew increasingly aware of Henry's slender fingers brushing my skin, fearlessly accepting the task of stripping me bare. His eyes were not averted from my body even as my arms subconsciously moved to cover myself… I wondered if this was simply the standard behavior that came from a boys' school. I, on the other hand, promptly turned scarlet as Henry pulled his uniform off and stuck it into a locker near the floor. From inside, and from its neighbor beside it, he pulled two towels (which seemed as if they were once fluffy and white but were now quite dingy), and tossed one to me.
"You don't need to be so modest here," he smirked, stifling a laugh as he watched me wrapping the towel tightly around my waist, while his was slung over one shoulder, completely shameless otherwise. "If the boys see you trying so hard to hide yourself they'll single you out as a princess. It's those types that get raped first."
My stomach dropped as he turned away, his lingering words spearing me as if icicles had just fallen from the ceiling. "Raped?" I said incredulously. "They wouldn't… really do that, would they?"
He stopped halfway through the door to the showers and raised an eyebrow at me. "I've tried to tell you before, weren't you listening?" he said.
"But…" I struggled to convey the twisting thoughts in my head. "But, it's only boys here… that's… you mean they do it to each other?"
Henry stopped for a minute as if finishing my sentences for himself, then laughed. "Who else? I told you, get a bunch of boys in one place… there's no girls around, and we're all at our prime. Of course shit's going to happen, it's to be expected with a bunch of horny teenagers."
"But why?" I said, following Henry as he left the locker room, undoing the towel from my waist in heed of his warning. "Why do such an awful thing? It's horrible…" I personally didn't have experience with rape, but I had seen television programs on the subject and constantly feared for my sisters. Until Henry's shattering remark, I was under the impression it was something that could only happen to a woman. Was no mind or body sacred, that such things could happen to men as well - between men, no less…?
I barely had time to think all of this before my back suddenly struck tile, a firm hand pinning me to the wall of the third stall we passed. My towel had fallen to the wet floor, my face drawn with fear as I looked up at Henry. His expression had suddenly changed… he looked at me with a turbulent smirk, eyes hungry, the face of a wolf before a rabbit. I trembled, my body cold… his hand showed no sign of easing its pressure.
"It's that sort of innocence," he said in a low voice, mouth barely moving, "that will make others pounce on you… just like this…" His other hand moved to my chest, fingers outstretched and nails scraping the skin along my sternum and breastbone. I uttered a soft squeak, fighting back the blush in my skin.
"You… you wouldn't do this, Henry," I said faintly, watching the scratch lines on my chest turn from white to pink.
"You think so?" he mused, his hand now caressing my cheek, which made me gasp in slight surprise. "And why do you think that, Anri?"
I was struggling to keep my composure in the sudden atmosphere that seemed to come from nowhere. My breath came short, my head spinning. I was vaguely aware that both dingy towels were lying at my feet now, abandoned by the mangled bodies against the wall. "Because… you won't if I don't want you to…"
Henry seemed to consider this with the same lupine look on his face, but then he broke into a familiar grin and laughed, drawing away from me and releasing me from the wall. "Couldn't resist," he admitted, gathering our towels from the floor and shaking the excess water from them. "You seemed like you'd be fun to mess with… bloody hell!" he cried, laughing hysterically as he looked up at me again. His eyes were not on mine, however, but around my waist. I followed his eyes and yelped, hiding myself quickly. My body seemed to have betrayed me in the heat of the moment.
"It's your fault, Henry!" I wailed, crouching on the floor with my arms around my knees. "Looking at me like you're going to…"
The next moment I cried out again. Henry had turned the water on in our stall, and I was sitting directly under the showerhead, doused in water that began as ice-cold. The towels had been hung on a small metal hook on the side of the stall; Henry was testing the water with his fingertips, grinning at my retreating back as I scurried out of the way of the icy jet.
"Silly thing," he smiled, clicking his tongue. "Come on, then, come get warmed up."
Steam was now rising from the cold tile floor as hot water struck it. Henry stepped into the stream and looked at me expectantly, but it took a moment to compose myself before I could join him. When I did, I no longer cared that I was standing quite bare in the presence of another boy, or that somewhere in these showers, perhaps this very stall, some student had most likely been violated… The water was incredibly warm and wonderful to the touch, and my frigid skin lost its bite quickly. I was thawed to my very core, eyes closed lazily, enjoying the heat without restraint. It had been a while since I'd had a bath, and though I much preferred soaking in the bathtub back in Surrey, the shower was still quite welcome in the wake of summer rain.
And just as quickly, it was over. Henry threw a towel about my shoulders, wrapping it around me tightly, his own secured around his waist.
"We don't want to stay too long," he said, walking back to the locker room. "And anyway, dinner will be soon."
Dinner… After starving myself all day, my mouth watered immediately at the idea of a hot meal. Henry seemed to notice this on my face as he glanced at me while fetching his uniform. He laughed and shook his head.
"Come on, then," he said, ruffling my damp hair. "I'm sure no-one will care if you eat in your pajamas."
-----
My uniform would not be clean until the next morning, so just as Henry said, I would be eating dinner in our (still shared) pajamas. I had to roll up the cuffs of the bottoms so that I could walk, but otherwise I didn't mind going down to the cafeteria in blue flannel. Regardless of how I felt, however, I got my share of odd looks and snickering from the other students in the dining hall.
"Forget them," Henry said, grinning as we took our trays and chose meals for ourselves from the line. "You look great."
"Do I?" I said incredulously.
Henry nodded sagely, then burst into snorts of laughter.
I was taken aback, thinking that Henry would be the last person to laugh at me. But then he ruffled my hair, and I knew it was all in good fun. That was how boys were.
Well, most boys.
"Nice jim-jams, Mason!"
I blushed in embarrassment as mocking laughter washed over me. Henry nudged me with his elbow, holding onto his tray.
"Ignore them," he said, tossing his head so that his damp blond locks fell into place over his forehead. "It's hardly worth it."
"Ooh, look, it's Pretty Boy and the kitten."
A horribly familiar voice floated to us. I looked up to see Tom Westley grinning ear to ear as he approached, but his eyes were on Henry, not me.
"Just got out o' the showers, Beale?" he said, reaching forward and flicking a sopping strand of hair from Henry's face. Henry snorted, smiling back with one hand on his hip, his tray tucked in the crook of his elbow.
"Jealous, Tom?" he retorted lightly, cocking his head to the side. "We all know how much you love showering with me… always trying to steal a glance when my back's turned."
The boys who were watching snickered and Tom flushed.
"As if I'd fawn over a dirty faggot like you," he spat, fists clenched at his sides. Clearly Henry's remark stung him.
Henry, however, was not finished. "Nobody's blaming you, Tom," he said, his voice strangely (perhaps mockingly) seductive. "But seeing as there's so many pretty faggots like me in this school, maybe I should consider myself lucky that you'd choose my arse to gawk at." He ran a hand through his hair and pursed his lips, striking a false model's pose. Those watching laughed harder, some stifling snorts.
Tom turned livid at this display. "I was only pointing out, Beale," he said, voice trembling with fury, "that my friends caught you in there with your little pet." His gaze tore away from Henry and with horror I realized he was talking about me.
Henry only smiled wider at this. "Oh, I see," he purred, handing his tray to me, which I held onto questioningly. "You're not jealous because you couldn't catch me in the shower today; you're upset because you want Anri's arse."
The crowd that had gathered howled with laughter now. It was clear that in this school, Henry commanded attention wherever he went.
"I want nothing to do," Tom glowered, gritting his teeth, "with your little kitten. I could care less about that underdeveloped fag."
"Honestly, Tom, I thought you liked them young. You'll hurt his feelings."
"Shut your mouth, Beale!"
"Make me."
What happened next made my head spin. In a split second Tom had thrown himself at Henry, snarling, fists raised. Just as quickly Henry leapt out of the way, his own fists held before his face. He threw the first punch, striking Tom square in the jaw, then dodging the retaliating shot. It was like a mongoose fighting a bear. In no time at all, the crowd had circled the fight, egging them both on enthusiastically. It was hard to tell who they were cheering on… More than likely they were just excited about the fight itself. I was squeezed into the circle, a slight panic filling me. I had never seen a fight like this before…
"ENOUGH!"
The resounding yell silenced the entire cafeteria in seconds. Just as the cheering stopped, Henry landed another punch and Tom fell to the floor, blood pouring from his nose.
"I said enough! Hit him again and you will be expelled!"
My body trembled. The voice that brought order to the din was one I was not ready to hear again… But there was no mistaking it, and the heavy footfalls that accompanied it.
The circle of onlookers dispersed, their focus immediately turning to the voice behind them. Three teachers were making their way through the quiet chaos: Professor Yorke, with her hair twisted into a neat bun; Headmaster Dawson, looking like a vulture about to seek out the carcasses on the cafeteria battlefield; and, leading the group, to my horror… Professor Gallagher.
"Beale, Westley," he said firmly, the eye not hidden by pitch bangs flashing dangerously. "Explain yourselves, now."
Henry smiled apologetically, kicking at the floor with his arms folded behind his back. "Honest, Professor, I wouldn'ta done it," he said sheepishly, shaking his head, "but it's Westley's fault, see? Only I don't think he can help being a right twit."
What was left of their audience stifled sniggers, but otherwise everyone restrained themselves. Clearly they didn't want to get in trouble in the presence of the art teacher. Professor Gallagher was not amused.
"I don't have time or patience enough for your pathetic attempts at lightening the situation you're in, Beale," he said coolly. "The consequences for fighting on school grounds won't get any better if you throw your attitude at me like that."
"He attacked me, Professor," Henry said stiffly, all pretenses of humor gone.
The teacher looked at him expressionlessly for a moment before glancing at Tom Westley sprawled on the floor with one hand stemming up his bloody nose, a heavy bruise rising around his eye. "He attacked you," he repeated monotonously. "Tell me, Beale, if he attacked you, why is he the one nursing injuries?"
Henry's cheeks drained of colour for a moment, but he quickly saved face. "Because, Professor," he said, grinning, "the git doesn't know how to throw a punch."
I saw a twitch in the corner of the professor's mouth and immediately knew that Henry had said the wrong thing.
"How should he be punished, Professor Gallagher? Detention?" simpered Professor Yorke, who, I noticed, was looking at the art teacher with a look of clear admiration and fluttering her eyelashes at him. When he finally responded, he didn't seem to see her at all.
"Detention, I'm afraid," he said silkily, "will not be enough. I should think a night of washing dishes in the cafeteria will atone for your belligerent disrespect for rules, Beale."
Henry grinned and took a deep bow as if mocking the teacher, but the punishment stung my ears. Washing dishes, when he was clearly just fighting back…?
"Hold on a moment!" I cried angrily.
The teacher's attention turned to me, eyebrows raised.
Caught in his hazel gaze, for a moment all I could do was stammer, but my bravery returned. "Henry… Henry didn't do anything wrong! He's right, it's only because Tom started it! He shouldn't be punished just for that!"
At this, a smirk flitted across the older man's face, eyes glimmering. He'd waited for this… and I'd realized it as soon as the words fell from my mouth.
"I see," he said quietly. "You want the same fate as your friend? Well, Mason, I'll grant your wish… only instead of washing dishes…" His grin widened maliciously. "You will be in detention with me for the next week."
Ice flooded my body at his words... A week's worth of detention… it couldn't be…
There were murmurings in the circle around me, but it was Henry's voice that rang out next.
"Hold it, that's not fair!" he yelled. "Anri didn't do anything!"
"That's what happens when you speak out in my school, Beale," the professor said coldly. I noticed the headmaster nodded slightly in agreement with this. "Think about that the next time you decide to attack someone while at Willows."
Seemingly satisfied with the distribution of punishments, he, along with Professor Yorke and the headmaster, turned and left the cafeteria… but was I imagining it, or was there a spring in his step that was not there before…?
---
"He really has it out for you, doesn't he?"
After finishing our dinner in silence, Henry and I had returned to our dorm room without speaking to Jerome or Parker, and were lounging on our beds. Henry seemed very concerned about my detentions.
"You didn't have to do that," he said, thumping his elbow on the wall. "I told you to watch it around Gallagher. He really has something for you. Don't know what, but…"
"Don't say it like that," I said, throwing my pillow down at him from the side of my bunk. "It's bad enough what he's got me doing in detentions now…"
"Why? What's he done to you now?" Henry tossed my pillow back up to me and peered up from his bunk.
I looked at him for a moment, then hauled myself back against the wall, folding my arms. "It's nothing," I said stubbornly.
This time it was Henry's pillow that flew to my bunk, landing in my lap. I flung it to the floor adamantly.
"I know you're lying to me," he said. "Tell me what happened, Anri. I'm not going to tell anyone."
I frowned and rolled onto my pillow, shutting my eyes tight. Images of slick black leather and polished metal adornments flashed in my mind. It was hard to relive… but Henry was the only person I truly felt comfortable with… Even Parker and Jerome's company did not offer the same feeling of safety and warmth Henry's presence gave off. I trusted Henry… but was it enough to tell him this?
"He… had me scrub the floor."
"Is that all? Blimey, you overreact to everything."
I couldn't tell Henry after all… For some reason I felt this was something that belonged to me only… something that should never leave the sanctity of the art room. Whether it was pride or shame that kept me from telling, I would endure this alone.
"Anri?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm turning the light off now. Get some sleep."
"All right."
I buried myself in my threadbare comforter and was plunged into darkness. But once I'd started to drift, the images resurfaced… The flavor of chalk and leather stained the back of my throat. I shuddered violently and sat up.
"Henry?"
"What."
I hesitated, biting my lip.
"Can… Can I share your bunk tonight?"
Silence impregnated the moonlight-sifted air.
"All right. Come on, then."
No further questions were asked as I clambered down the ladder to Henry's bunk. Henry sat up and pulled his comforter back so I could climb in next to him, and as soon as my cheek touched the pillow the thick blanket was pulled tight around me, with Henry's arm pressing on top of it.
"Now get to sleep," he ordered.
Sleep… bliss overtook me in that bunk we shared, barely big enough for tall Henry himself. For the first time of many times I laid in Henry's arms and beneath his sheets, and though it was not cold outside, his warmth eased the icy pain in my chest as I anticipated the coming week.