A Symposium Of Our Own | Maurice

2. Nightfall

Maurice couldn't bear to get up from his recent nap dozing by the tree, blond head resting on Durham's linen chest. The blond head that Durham would search for in the halls.

And so, he spends the moment with great care.

When the sky starts to bleed out shades of red and purple, Durham stirs awake. He shoots upward, pushing a startled Maurice right off him.

"Hall..?" He squints around.

"Good sleep, hm?" Maurice quips, now sprawled on the green.

"Quite so. How long has it been? Where's my watch anyways?" Durham's finger glides around the inner of his shirt collar as he fixes himself up.

"I don't want this to ever end..." Maurice murmurs to himself and his shoulders sink deeper into strands of the earth.

Clive halts. He stands up and faces away from Maurice, feigning fascination in the wisps of the sky.

Anything but looking at Maurice's face.

"We should go back. Less we starve tonight."

They make a quiet ride back to campus, with the only words spoken was of Maurice still sitting on the thoughts of how much trouble they would be in. Clive remained wordless throughout the way back.

-

"We're lucky this time, the dean's got some meeting out of campus." Durham shoulders off his outerwear and slips back into the thick uniform.

"Luck runs out," Maurice points out. They managed to slip past the dean twice already. He slumps motionless at the very edge of Durham's bed.

Durham pushes back a loose lock of hair while cracking a book open, rereading the introduction. Eyes still on the text, he uncaps a pen with his mouth and scrawls something down.

Maurice watches in discreet awe.

Durham puts the book down.

"Dinner?"

"Oh. Let's."

-

Durham, Durham, Durham. Clive.

Another restless night for Maurice. But so full of joy was today!

What was he doing now? Sleeping?

Or reading! Reading, maybe.

Reading what, then? What could that man be reading? He was always picking up one book after another, even if the rest goes unread for weeks on end.

Maurice squeezes his eyes shut. The seams of his eyelids scrunch and meet each other. Maybe that would make him think less.

The moon is brighter than ever. That didn't help.

Maurice yelps out of frustration. This isn't fun. He just needs sleep.

-

A knock. Maurice had just fallen into real sleep. His eyes are wide open once again.

Two more knocks followed, softer than the first.

"Clive!" Maurice recognizes the knocking, although he's not quite sure how exactly... He gets up and makes a beeline to the door.

Clive makes a frightened noise at the sound of his name, shushing Maurice frantically on the other side of the door. The door swings open and Clive quickly slips in.

"Awake, I see."

"Awake, yes."

Silence grows in the small room. They face each other now.

Is the moonlight getting brighter?

Only half of Clive's face is illuminated. Maurice sees nothing but the curve of Clive's small, pursed mouth. One finger rests in between the beginning pages of a green book Clive brought along with him.

"You shouldn't be here, Clive. What are you doing?" Maurice's own mother still rests deep inside him and Clive notices.

"I know, but I just wanted to see you."

Maurice's heart blooms the moment he hears those foreign words. He could only smile and blink at Clive dumbly.

Silence reached its very peak. A look of epiphany falls on Clive's face. He instantly swivels around and makes his way back to the wooden door.

"I don't know why I'm even here! What was I thinking? I was just sitting in my room and all of a sudden I made my way here! It wasn't like I..." His quick flurry of words falters and fades out.

Maurice still stares at Clive. He still hasn't gone out the door yet, just one hand resting on the turned doorknob.

"What?" Clive finds this unbearable and finally glares straight into Maurice's eyes.

He could read all the literature in this world but he couldn't read Maurice. Maurice had the kind of face that would always show some emotion, but only emotion in swallowing moderation. His eyes were beads that stared right through Clive's.

"We both need sleep. Talk about this tomorrow?" Maurice reaches out for the doorknob, his blue-veined hand brushing against Clive's hand that had found a home deep within the calm of gripping fountain pens.

Clive switches his book to the other hand and lifts his hand to eye, rubbing it and letting out a mute yawn. "Right. Right. Good night then, Maurice."

"Good night. Good night, Clive." Maurice simpers and shuts the door after he can make out the sliver of moonlight on Clive ambling away.