to each other, tightly, desperately, unsure where they were going, but unable to stop.
Hips and thighs rose and fell; heads changed position; Michael’s hand explored the small of Ronan’s back, pressing into it, and found the courage to move his fingers just a little bit lower. What wonderful freedom this was, to express himself, express the passion that burned deep within him and not keep it locked away, ignored, admonished. What a wonderful gift his mother’s death brought him.
Michael froze. Why was he thinking of his mother at a time like this? Luckily, Ronan didn’t question Michael’s thoughts when his movements stopped; he understood passion had its boundaries, especially behind a library in the middle of the day during a rainstorm. “Sorry,” Ronan gasped, “but this is all your fault, you know.”
“My fault?” Michael questioned.
“You’re even more handsome wet than you are dry.”
Blushing, Michael tried to concentrate on the boy in front of him and not the woman in his mind, but for some reason it was proving difficult. His mother was gone, which was her decision, the way she wanted it. Why was Michael wasting time thinking about her now? He couldn’t speak any further, so he embraced Ronan and rested his cheek against his shoulder, wondering if his mother chose to die so he could live. No, he didn’t want to contemplate her motives; he wanted to lose himself in his boyfriend’s strong arms. “This feels so good, Ronan, so natural.”
“It is,” Ronan whispered. “And don’t let anyone ever make you believe differently.”
Not even your mother. Michael shut his eyes tightly. Stop thinking of her, he commanded. After a second, he opened them and tried to focus on the long strands of black hair matted down on Ronan’s chest, visible beneath his wet white shirt. He was just about to press his lips to them when the thunder roared so loudly he jumped in Ronan’s arms. “Is somebody afraid of a little thunder?”
Smiling, but shivering, Michael replied, “No, but honestly, if I don’t get inside, I think I might freeze to death.”
Ronan’s gym towel wrapped around his shoulders, Michael allowed the warmth of the fire to envelop him. The heat felt good and his shivers had subsided. He looked up and for an instant thought Brother Dahey’s black eyes staring down at him from the portrait were filled with life, examining him, trying to determine if he was worthy of a place here at the academy. Worthy of such an elite education, such a privileged existence, such a welcomed awakening. Yes, I am, Michael thought. But when he looked back up, the monk’s eyes were black but lifeless. “Feeling better?” Ronan asked.
“Yeah, thanks,” Michael said, noticing that Ronan had changed into a T-shirt. “You’re all dry.”
“Bit smelly, though,” Ronan said. “I’m not sure how long this shirt’s been in my knapsack.”
Michael was going to protest, but then took a deep whiff and smelled a stale, musky odor. Not entirely offensive, but definitely not fresh. “I’d say at least a week.”
Another wet student sat on the couch next to Michael to reap the benefits of the fireplace, forcing him to inch closer to Ronan. They both shared a conspiratorial grin as their thighs pressed together, their connection igniting almost as much heat as the flames from the fire. Michael looked up and again caught the monk staring at him. He laughed out loud at the thought of Brother Dahey being a witness to his and Ronan’s budding romance.
“What’s so funny?” Ronan asked.
Michael shook his head. “Nothing.” But then he remembered something he had forgotten to share with his boyfriend. “Well, this isn’t funny, not really, just weird. Last night I went out for a walk and got lost again.” Ronan fought to hide his concern. “Not sure where I got to, but the next thing I knew I was back in front of my dorm.” Michael rubbed his hands vigorously in front of the fire and raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you spiked my cider.”
Ronan smiled but didn’t think anything Michael had just said was funny. “Why were you walking around last night?”
Looking away, Michael’s impulse was to remain quiet, but he then reminded himself that secrets had no place between boyfriends. “I had a … well, I had a little fight with Ciaran and ran out. It was dumb, but I got mad and just left.”
“What do you mean, a fight?”
“Oh, you know Ciaran,” Michael said, patting his damp hair with the towel. “He said something, then I said something. You know how it can be with a roommate; I don’t even know exactly …”
Ronan grabbed Michael’s hand to make him stop. “What did he say?”
“Look, I shouldn’t have said anything, I don’t want to cause any trouble between you guys. It was nothing, really.”
“It was enough to make you storm out.”
Michael buried his face in the towel, breathing in Ronan’s scent. He couldn’t take back what he said, so he leaned in close to Ronan and whispered, “He said … you’re not like us.”
Luckily, a few more kids burst into the anteroom to escape the downpour that continued outside, and distracted Michael so he didn’t see fury mask Ronan’s face. His porcelain cheeks grew red; his lips clung to each other tightly. What the hell was Ciaran thinking? When Michael turned back around, Ronan had regained most of his composure. “Not sure why he’d say such a thing.”
Taking a deep breath, Michael said what was on his mind. “Do you think he could be jealous? I mean not of us, me and you; he’s your brother and all. But just that we’re together and maybe he’s jealous that he doesn’t have a boyfriend of his own.”
If Ronan weren’t so upset at the moment, he would have laughed out loud. “Ciaran isn’t gay.”
“What?!” Michael shouted so loudly, heads turned.
“My brother isn’t gay, Michael, just very British.”
Michael thought back to the first time he met Ciaran; he appeared so refined, so guarded. And what about his comment about girls? “If you go for that sort of thing.” He thought of his look, his demeanor. “You’re kidding me?”
“Trust me, I know my brother. He may not have a girlfriend, never had one really, but no, he’s straight.”
“Then why in the world would he tell me that you’re not like us?”
Ronan knew; he just couldn’t explain it. “My brother likes to fit in, to be accepted. Maybe he is a little jealous that I spend more time with you than with him.” Ronan didn’t know if he was making any sense, so he just kept talking. “He knows you’re gay, probably did from the first moment he met you, and so he let you think he was the same and tried to get you to think I’m different.” If there was logic in that statement, Michael didn’t recognize it; all he heard was that Ronan thought that anyone who looked at him would immediately assume he was gay.
“Oh, so you’re saying I can’t even pass for a straight guy?”
Ronan smiled. “Michael, there is nothing wrong with appearing on the outside exactly what you are on the inside.”
A log in the fireplace twisted and fell, causing the flames to stir and crackle loudly. Michael shrugged. “Unless of course you’re Dorian.”
Ronan stared into the fire, watching the embers burn, and it reminded him of things that Michael couldn’t comprehend and things Ronan hoped Michael would never have to see. “You don’t have to worry; your soul is far from black and burning.”
There it was again, Michael thought, the melancholy, the sadness that sometimes took over Ronan’s eyes. He wished he was back outside with Ronan underneath the tiny stone roof, so he could hold him in his arms and tell him that he would protect him, that he would help prevent those feelings of sorrow from ever returning. He couldn’t do that, but he could make a small gesture. He placed his hand over Ronan’s and let his fingers caress his briefly, hoping that his touch conveyed compassion. Michael couldn’t tell because Ronan’s eyes drifted back to the flames, orangey, red, and some a deep chestnut brown, the color they were just before they turned black and evaporated into smoke. The same exact color as Phaedra’s hair.
“What are you doing here?” Michael asked when he noticed the girl standing next to him.
“I picked a fine day to search for a book,” Phaedra replied, her normally curly hair plastered down against her face.
Michael handed her Ronan’s towel. “Doesn’t St. Anne’s have its own library?”
Rubbing her head furiously, Phaedra’s words shook a bit when she spoke. “Yes, but it’s not as complete as
