The Allure of Love

Chapter 15

The warm spring sunshine filtering through the oak canopies lining Central State's central quad did little to dispel the cloud of unease permeating Anastasia's thoughts as their group meandered through the idyllic campus. Though the others kept up a steady stream of chatter and hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie, she found her mind continually spiraling back to that loaded look she had exchanged with Chris right before departing the Alpha Sig Sig house.

There had been something about his carefully tempered expression in that moment – the tightly reined stoicism around his eyes and rigidly set jawline – that struck her as simultaneously resigned and yet brimming with unspoken yearning. Or perhaps she had simply fooled her own senses, projecting wayward hopes and insecurities onto a situation that no longer merited such wistful analysis. Hadn't she crossed this Rubicon long ago with the finality of choosing Jack and his whirlwind globetrotting lifestyle over the steadier, less mercurial affections of Chris?

Curling her fingers more securely into the hollow of Jack's palm where they swung entwined between them, Anastasia resisted the urge to shoot a furtive glance back over her shoulder towards Chris. She refused to give undue energy to entertaining any sort of futile nostalgia or what-ifs when it came to her dear friend. Those had been fully mourned – grieved, even – long before she had allowed her heart to wholly embrace Jack's intoxicating spontaneity and appetite for life. Chris would forever occupy a tender place inside her, but that was in the increasingly distant past tense now. She had resigned herself to that lonely but self-preserving reality. 

So then why was a current of disquiet still rippling through her gut each time she caught an inadvertent glimpse of his quietly pained profile out of her periphery? It was almost as if her subconscious simply couldn't put the saga surrounding them to rest, determined to keep dredging up half-articulated ghosts for her heart to endlessly contend with.

"—wouldn't have wagered anything that our resident brooding artist would be one to lean towards the architectural merit of those grotesques up there," Sam's voice broke through Anastasia's distraction.

She blinked, pivoting to find the group had paused alongside the ivy-draped facade of the admissions center. Sure enough, Chris stood inspecting one of the grimacing gargoyles leering down from a battlement overhead with an appreciative cocked brow.

"You'd actually be surprised at how much allegorical detail and symbolism those medieval masons were able to pack into seemingly 'grotesque' embellishments like this," he replied without looking away, giving the weather-worn creature's snarling stone maw an admiring rap of his knuckles as if acknowledging an old friend. "The craftsmanship of integrating contrasts of human and bestial forms into prominent placement over holy spaces was an incredibly nuanced art form dating back to antiquity."

Leave it to Chris to find unexpected poetry and artistry in elements typically dismissed as mere blight or blasphemy by others. Even now, after all this time, there was still an ineffable spark of wonder ignited in Anastasia's chest at that gift for transfixing insight which had always awed her. How many hours had they spent parsing Grecian urns or stained glass triptychs together between their various lectures and study dates on the quad? Though her forte had typically favored more classic prose and literature criticism, she could never resist that helpless tug to expose her inner academic geek fully when mirroring Chris's infectious passion...

Sensing her fixed stare but misinterpreting it, Chris suddenly cleared his throat and gestured down the riotously blooming walkway towards the stately old library building beyond. "If you all are up for it, I can probably finagle us into the rare archives for a quick peek at some of the campus's real prized antiquities. Only if that wouldn't, you know, bore our more impatient cohort into complete catatonia, of course."

The deliberately self-effacing jibe at his own dusty intellectual leanings fell with a bit of a thud on Anastasia. She searched his carefully neutral features, so adept at playing the good-humored introvert card in order to deflect further vulnerability. Another pang of longing – or something equally inscrutable – echoed in the chambers of her chest. Was this to be the extent of how they could commune in mere passing anecdotes from here on? Always skirting around the deep, jagged fractures lurking just beneath any surface interactions? Or maybe she truly was the only one continually torturing herself with unrealistic notions of rekindling their intimacy by indulging in nostalgic flights of romantic fancy...

"Well, I don't know about this party aspiring to be worthy of entering Hogwarts' Restricted Section," Jack piped up in that smirk-tinged baritone of his, gesturing with their loosely entwined hands to Sam and Josh. "But you may have a few willing sacrificial accomplices if it means getting to witness grouchy Gryffindors at research in their natural habitat."

Instantly, the tension sluiced away into a ripple of low, throaty chuckles from their companions – Josh and Sam clearly relishing any opportunity to jockey for position as class clowns determined not to let the banter or revelry lapse for any protracted spell. 

"You heard the man! Wave your magic alumni lampposts and guide us straight to those dusty parchment worms, Professor Winchesterrrrr," Sam immediately added with a playfully ghoulish wiggle of jazz hands. He strode straight towards Chris with that signature theatrical flourish of his, briefly hooking an arm over the other man's much more unassuming shoulders.

"For once, let us young roustabouts bask without shame in the ambient dusty musk of thwarted scholarly potential like a fine _vin rouge_." Sam smacked his lips with an exaggerated guttural noise of satisfaction. "And provided our escort deigns to grace us further with more of his scintillating rock glamour discourse, well...consider this heretical revenant more than converted to the ecclesiastical life in penance!"

Chris, ever the consummate good sport, met his friend's grandiose needling with a reluctant but discernibly authentic chuckle in return. His shoulders relaxed a fraction under Sam's playful weight as his posture shifted back to that of an indulging eyeroll.

"Who am I to deprive the village prodigal of the very limited education he so clearly craves?" Chris retorted, eyes sparking faintly with that gentle mischief Anastasia recalled so vividly.

Shrugging Sam's arm from around him with good-natured exasperation, he nevertheless dutifully pivoted to lead the way through the arboreal alcoves towards the library's ancient Gothic facade – his body sidling briefly alongside Anastasia's before veering out of her orbit's range. 

Reflexively, she tracked the path of his exit with an inscrutable intensity, savoring every infinitesimal second the fabric of his sleeve or aftershave hung in the charged space between them before dissipating again.

It was only when Jack cleared his throat beside her, that gentle, grounding squeeze of his hand in hers, that Anastasia registered what her subconscious had already realized: that somewhere amidst all of Chris's rambling and their friends' clowning interjections, a vital current between them had reawakened once more. For good or ill, inertia towards nostalgia had already seized the helm of the day's course – and she found herself helplessly adrift in its powerful undertow.