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It was toward the end of semester one, and all students attending the Institution had just about submitted all their assessments.
English, Mathematics, History, Science, swordsmanship, stage one wrestling, and squire training ranging from armour cleansing to sword sharpening. Those were the basic classes 20-year-old squires like Ambrosius and Ballister took– they had electives too, like music or food technology, workshop, maybe even creative arts (although Ballister had overheard the Director discouraging Ambrosius from such a class– something about ‘focusing on things that would actually matter’) but there was a long list of options.
Truly the best for the most noble families of the kingdom.
For about two years, when they were still serving as Pages, they were forced to do four school-chosen electives each year so they could try all the options. Except for music, they have two elective slots and for those two years music was always one of them. It was an old tradition for knights to be able to play at least one musical instrument, like the flute or the lute, if you continued the elective past two years you could move to more advanced instruments, an example being the harp. Ambrosius had his first lesson on it a while ago, after pressure from teachers and the Director because it was suspected that it was one of Gloreth’s favourites– delicate and graceful, but he had enough by the end of the first week.
In the end, Ambrosius had stuck with the Director’s ‘highly recommended’ elective class, and practiced the harp almost in solitude, sitting away from the other students (who chose better instruments, in his opinion) with a teacher who instructed him.
He chose dance as his other elective, and even though it was tiring with the inclusion of his other physical classes, he really enjoyed it.
He was one of his teacher’s favourites, always piping up with choreography for new routines, being the kid to step in as an example to the class when the teacher wanted. Over a few years, he was acing assessments that required him to be able to tell a story through dance and wishes he could do something for that and not knighthood.
Ballister had wanted to join Ambrosius in the class he hated so much, but Ambrosius convinced him to do the elective he really wanted, workshop, where he would be taught welding (and when he was much much older– when he'd been doing it long enough to have the elective branch out into more specific options– mechanics).
And Ballister certainly didn’t want to go through the embarrassment of screwing up in front of the snobby (minus Ambrosius) dance kids, so his second elective was food technology. He wanted to pick another class that could help him climb the metaphorical ranks, but Ambrosius had shut that down enthusiastically saying, in his words, “Ballister, I have no doubt you’re smart as hell, but you are going to exhaust yourself– I KNOW what you’ll be like for workshop. Pick something more relaxing.”
And he’d even watched over Ballister’s shoulder when they’d received the forms to choose.
Ballister was logging in his journal (or diary, as Ambrosius would giggle), a helpful tool for him to reflect on the day and improve tomorrow. It also gave him an outlet for his struggles (Todd), bullies (Todd, Blanche, Chad), and annoying people (Todd and his classmates). He pressed his pen hard on the page, huffing as his hand wasn’t writing as fast as his brain fired words.
Some cheesy pop song was playing faintly from Ambrosius’ phone, and he laid on his bed, feet kicking in the air behind him as he doodled with a pencil lazily.
Ambrosius hummed off-key, missing and forgetting words when he chose to mutter along, no doubt banging his head and moving his shoulders up and down as he did.
Ballister scribbled on his page, today had been rough as hell. He’d been up late trying to cram in extra studying for the test they had, and the whole year level had been surprised with an hour early wake up call. Ballister was practically dead on his feet all day, Ambrosius had to drag him along.
He’d forgotten half his notes in his dorm, his phone was dead (and then confiscated– because a student had yelled out about the phone in his hand, when he was just trying to check which class they had next) he completely forgot a key point for the test he’d stayed up late for, and had been scolded by three separate members of staff!
And on top of that, The Assholes (Todd, Chad, Blanche, just to name a few) had been dick-riding him all fucking day! They wouldn’t let him out of their sight for five fucking minutes and the worst part was Ambrosius had to be called away for something about his dance class, so he wasn’t there to stick up for him.
At least he held his tongue.
Right now he wishes he didn’t, but future Ballister would thank him.
Ballister dropped his pencil onto the desk, then groaned into his hands in annoyance. He’d lost his train of thought, and his notes were barely legible. His eyes stung. He wanted to go to bed.
But he needed to shower.
But what if he was followed by his ‘favourite’ person?
And it wasn’t even time for dinner yet– they took attendance for that, too. He couldn’t just miss it.
Ambrosius looked up from his book of lined pages labeled ‘Notes’ (which was really just a way to hide his drawings in there amongst his textbooks and schoolwork) and pushed himself up
He craned his neck to try see around Ballister and what he was upset at, but when he couldn’t see past his elbows on the table he spoke up.
“What’s wrong?”
Ballister grumbled and folded his arms to use as a pillow.
“Okay,” Ballister could hear the smile in his voice. "Do you wanna take a break from your... leisurely writing?"
He gently slipped a hand under Ballister's arm to grab the book, and he didn't bother fighting him for it. Ballister would've told him everything before he wrote it down anyway.
Ambrosius turned the pages until he saw the day's date.
Reading along, he saw all the things he'd been with Ballister for and the parts he had to miss, he also noticed how his handwriting descended into barely legible scribbles and there were grammatical and spelling errors he either hadn't noticed or bothered to fix.
Ambrosius leaned against the edge of the desk, flicking the paper carefully. He read until he really had trouble making out the words and the writing abruptly stopped.
"Maybe an audio diary could be better for you?" He mused, going to the beginning of the book and seeing the stark difference from chicken scratch to beautiful, carefully written words.
"No," Ballister sighed, "It's better I don't say things out loud sometimes. And it wouldn't work, my thoughts don't get out fast enough no matter what I do."
He kept laying on his arms, and Ambrosius brought a hand to softly scratch his nails on Ballister's head.
-
The pair sneaked through the halls to the shared bathroom quietly, giggling as they shoved themselves into the same shower. A small room with an area to hold your things and a shower. They took turns, knowing all too well how difficult it was to share a shower and actually get clean. Not under this shower head and with these two full grown men.
But, Ambrosius did help Ballister shave.
They practically ran back to their dorm room, fresh clothes wrapped around them with wet towels and toiletry bags hung over their shoulders.
-
They were facing each other, laying on Ambrosius' bed. They had wanted to move their beds together, but it would be too hard to explain if someone walked in.
Ambrosius studied the bags under Ballister's round eyes and frowned slightly, bringing a hand up to cradle his cheek. He shuffled closer so he could press his smooth lips to Ballister's, and had the delight of seeing the affection in his eyes before he did.
They moved together slowly. The room was quiet, other then the sound of the slight smacking from when they'd pull away for a breath.
They muttered words of adoration to each other, often being muffled when they were pulled back in close.
They didn't go any further than that, but it was fine. Ballister was exhausted, and Ambrosius promised if he fell asleep that he'd wake him for dinner in a few hours.
He laid his head on Ambrosius' chest, covered by the warmest blanket, soothed by the rise and fall of his even breaths.
He kept his arms wrapped around his upper torso, snuggling into him as close as he could. Ambrosius kept his arms around Ballister, too, warming him along with the blanket.
"You always know how to make me feel better," Ballister whispered into the silence. He heard Ambrosius let out an airy chuckle, careful not to jostle Ballister too much.
Ballister laughed quietly as Ambrosius wriggled around, trying to get closer to Ballister somehow, although he was already laying atop him.
He didn't even think about how Ambrosius would fall asleep too, after he'd promised to wake him.
Ambrosius ran his fingers through Ballister's hair until he drifted off, both of them cuddling and pressed up against each other.
Later, he'd find Ambrosius set an alarm, and the boys woke up with limbs tangled and their blanket tangled around their limbs. They'd have marks on their arms from the imprints of the wrinkled sheets.
Then they'd find an excuse to skip dinner.
One that, hopefully, the Director would accept.