Word Count: 938

Paris stumbled into his room late that night, close to midnight, or perhaps passed it – long after he should have rightfully been in the dormitory, with the lights out and in bed. He’d snuck in on one side of campus and trudged through the piles of snow that remained on the ground, as quiet as possible and on the lookout for anyone who may be patrolling the grounds. He was exhausted, and after an evening spent at Crystal helping Ladon achieve a goal that had been different than he’d originally been told, Paris wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep for the next week.

He didn’t turn the light on, mindful of the fact that it would draw attention at this time of night. Through the darkness of the dorm-room, he could see the shape of his roommate, fast asleep in his own bed, snoring quietly between mumbles and soft grunts. Paris did his best not to rouse him, closing the door with a nearly inaudible click and flipping the lock into place. He tiptoed across the floor, almost tripping over a discarded shirt but catching himself on the edge of his desk. He kicked the shirt aside impatiently, cursing his own untidiness and that of the boy he shared the room with.

With little more than a whisper of fabric, Paris slipped out of his winter coat, mittens and scarf, and finally the Crystal uniform. It had been a fun adventure buying it and preparing for the night’s attempted fun, but he was happy now to get out of it. Skirt, coat, and shoes piled onto the floor, followed by the black stockings he’d worn beneath, the ribbon tie, and the white blouse. He left it all where it fell, not caring that the sight of it would inspire questions from his roommate in the morning, and after removing the small hair clip he’d used to hold his straightened bangs in place, Paris stumbled over to his bed and slipped into the inviting warmth of his covers.

He thought about what had happened tonight, and how he had felt when he’d discovered Ladon’s lie. The fact that Ladon had lied to him wasn’t quite as strange as he’d made it out to be at the time; it had been disappointing, but he knew he should have expected it at some point. Everyone was guilty of lying, or at least he didn’t know anyone who wasn’t.

It was the fact that it had gotten to the point where a simple lie could hurt that bothered him. He didn’t keep many close friends specifically because he didn’t want to give someone that much power over him, and what relationships he did have he’d long ago convinced himself were nothing more than he using his companions for their company, and they using him for his. It was never supposed to go further than that. He’d learned a long time ago not to give himself too freely, not to expect so much out of people.

But somehow, someway, Ladon was different. At some point, before he’d even realized it, he’d let Ladon in close enough to hurt him. Maybe it was because he was in desperate need of a friend despite his insistence otherwise, someone he could talk to and share things with, more than the pointless conversations and empty actions he shared with his lovers. Maybe it was because he and Ladon were so different, and he’d thought that difference was enough to protect him, to save him from caring about what the other boy did or thought. Maybe it was because, no matter what he tried to believe, he was still so lost in his own life.

Before he was even aware of it, Paris’s eyes began to sting and his vision blurred with moisture. He felt cold and lonely even in his warm bed, and his chest hurt and his stomach felt upset. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to care. He wasn’t supposed to be so vulnerable.

This was the problem with friendships, he decided. They crept up on you, sucked you in, trapped you with their promises of warmth and acceptance, and then they spat you back out once they’d stripped you of your defenses – the many layers you used to protect yourself. They zapped your strength and left you weak.

Even pointless flirting hadn’t helped. It had been a welcome distraction at the time, but now that Paris was on his own with nothing more than his thoughts and his snoring roommate to keep him company, the horrible feelings were coming back. They ate away at him – his confidence and his vanity – until there was nothing left but loneliness and sorrow, and the memory of his mother’s back as she’d walked out the door. Again, he was abandoned. Again, he was left behind. Again, there were lies and deception, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He was powerless.

Tomorrow, Paris would get up and wash his splotchy face, conceal his swollen eyes with make-up, and pretend that everything was okay. He’d put on his girly clothes and go out into the world as if he owned it, when in reality it was the world that owned him. Maybe he’d visit Ladon, and he’d bake those cookies or brownies or cupcakes that were long overdue, and he’d smile brightly and act as if nothing was wrong. But for now, he buried his face into his pillow and cried – for Ladon (and all his secrets and lies), for himself, and for the child he used to be.