I Am Not The Boy Next Door (OPEN)

[Tristian]

This really was starting to get embarrassing.

He gently removed the arms from around his neck, all the while smiling as charmingly as he could.

“Whilst I would love to my dear, I must look to my duty as a Prince first, that is my priority, it has to be, I am sure that you understand” he said, holding her hands in his.

“Oh yes, yes of course,” said the girl, squeezing his hands tightly; he fought hard to supress the eye roll that was dying to be released, “I will wait for you. Forever if I have too.”

Rather than responding Tristian gave her one last smile, let go of her hands and started walking away. The minute he had her back to her he finally let the eye rolling commence. What sorts of idiotic stories were the filling these girls brains with? There would maybe be a part of it that might feel bad for allowing her to continue in her fantasy that he might just return and sweep her off her feet, however it was a necessary fabrication. Whilst he pitied the delusions of these young ladies it was essential in solidifying his reputation as the perfectly charming, and more importantly perfectly straight Prince he was attempting to portray.

He saw the irony in this given his father and his ‘advisor’. A very dear friend of his who was one of the few people whom he had told of his particular preferences, had pointed this out to him and questioned why he was so afraid of being public about it, at least hear in Tintagel in any case. Tristain had first corrected her that he was not ‘afraid’ as he put it, motioning to the clothes the two of them were currently donning in the latest ‘rainbow’ club the two of them were frequenting, and had proceed to ply her with more drinks before she realised he never actually explained ‘why’.

So why was he keeping it a secret? Why was he continuing the charade?

He stood in front of his locker and started to switch over the books for his next class.

Reputation, of course, this place could be as progressive as it wanted to be, but the minute he had that label slapped on him it would be a constant uphill battle to prove that he was still capable of ‘masculinity’, more capable than most. Still, he could do without the constant need to prove it. Like father like son, was another reason, and he really, really hated the idea of that one. So many people delighted in pointing out the many similarities between the two he really did not need to add another, especially not this one.

Then there was Mordred. He could never know. Not ever. For a million reasons he did not want to think about right now he could absolutely never know the truth.

He picked up his English books and slammed the door shut.

No, better the dark prince, as Tristian had taken to calling him in his head but never to his face, think that Tristian was leaving a string of broken female hearts than the truth. Which was that he had the same taste in men as his mother; bad boy jerks who thrill and excite and then leave you broken hearted and alone.

As he turned to walk to class he bumped into someone. Rather than going into ‘Arrogant Prince’ mode which was the norm for him for some reason what came out was, “apologies, I didn’t see you there.”

[Luc DuLac]

"You usually don't." the words were out of his mouth before he could even stop himself, and honestly it was meant to be a depreciating little comment about himself, an under-his-breath muttering that nobody else heard, but of course Tristian was right there and there was no way he was going to miss it, even if he had managed to make it as sotto voice as he had originally intended.
He followed it up with a faint smile, trying to indicate it was just a light hearted joke, but he was fairly certain this encounter was not going to end well, typical of his luck with the prince, really.

"Sorry, I wasn't really looking where I was going either," he added, hoping he could soften the blow with an apology in return, running an awkward hand through his hair "but no harm done, right?" he only hoped he hadn't somehow mussed or scuffed or otherwise done any damage to a single item of the prince's perfectly selected clothing. Tristian was always perfectly put together, whether in Camelot or here, and everybody knew how much effort went in to looking so effortlessly perfect. If he had done any damage to the pristine attire, not only would he earn Tristian's ire, but he would also likely paint a target on his back for the legions of Tristian Summer-Pendragon fangirls who haunted every corner, and even his own rogueish good looks would not be enough to save him from their collective hatred. Luc was fairly certain Tristian didn't actively send the pack of fans after his enemies, but he also knew he didn't have to.

[Tristian]

“Excuse me?” said Tristian raising an eyebrow, just about catching what the dark haired young man said.

Ah there was ‘Arrogant Prince’ mode, kicking in just a little too late, but better late than never. And he was really going to need it with this one. Dark and brooding, just his type, and almost certainly terribly, terribly straight. He was just about to launch into a tirade when the young man hit him with that somewhat roguish smile. Well if Tristain wasn’t a sucker for that, he even found himself smiling a little and cursed internally.

He looked down at his clothes and smoothed out the creases a little bit, no harm done, thankfully, the last thing he needed was a pen bursting over his shirt or something. Then again, he would just pull it off and by tomorrow everyone would be spilling ink onto their shirts. Except Mordred that is, he always danced to his own tune, and his own tune was almost certainly black…sometimes very dark grey.

“No harm done,” repeated Tristian.

He held out his hand, “I don’t think I’ve seen you round here before, I thought I knew everyone that was worth knowing here. I’m Tristian. Prince Tristian Summer-Pendragon of Albion and the Summer Country. You can call me Tristian unless you can handle a mouthful.”

[Luc DuLac]

Well... there was a moment there where it looked like storm Tristian was about to explode with full force, but somehow he managed to drop it back down to a light breeze, and honestly Luc wasn't sure how he'd pulled it off. All he'd done was smile a little, and there was no way Tristian Summer-Pendragon could be won over with a simple smile from someone like him, was there?

He was grateful that Tristian acknowledged there hadn't been any damage incurred, that should call off the rabid fans that were surely watching the exchange like a hawk, and that left all of his negative possibilities squashed - could it possibly be he was about to have a pleasant interaction with the prince?

"I know who you are, your highness," Luc began automatically, until Tristian's words penetrated (Ha) and he stopped. Had Tristian just... had the prince just flirted with him? That definitely sounded like an innuendo, a very pointed innuendo and as much as Luc was tempted to convince himself it was just wishful thinking, there was something about it. "And I can handle the mouthful quite easily." he found himself saying, and his tone was a little deadpan, perhaps not quite as flirtatious as Tristian's, but he was interested to see how the prince would respond.

[Tristian]

It had just come out, before he could stop it. That was the problem when he was speaking to someone he was even remotely attracted too, he fell back into ‘performance mode’ (as he called it) and suddenly it was all innuendo and winks galore. He waited for the inevitable awkwardness that would follow when things like this happened and he wasn’t in the club in full costume…but…it never did. In fact…the boy appeared to be a little calmer for some reason.

Of course he knew who he was, Tristian had never doubted that the young man knew who he was, however it was polite to at least pretend that was not the case. However Tristian gave him extra points for noting that he did know who Tristian was, it was just the right amount of flattery and-.

Tristian’s eyes widened at the young man’s next comment and he really could not help the grin that came unbidden to his face and such a response.

“Are you sure?” said Tristian, caution truly being thrown to the wind now, “it’s quite long.”

[Luc DuLac]

The prince was flirting with him. The prince was definitely, 100%, completely flirting with him. There was no way somebody said something like that without it being totally intentional, and... why? What was happening? How was this happening? Tristian had a reputation with the girls, though, admittedly, so did Luc, so he knew that meant nothing, but even if that bizarre possibility that Tristian was not, in fact, entirely straight, was actually true, why on earth would he be interested in Luc of all people? Tristian didn't even know his name, and... and Tristian didn't know his name. Maybe he should start with that rather than having a silent, hidden freak out in his mind. At least his face had remained impassive, and he was pretty sure the pause hadn't been too long.

"It's Luc, by the way, Du Lac," he didn't like to draw attention to his father when it was someone who would definitely know who he was, but it would at least give Tristian the little nudge that might make the prince remember him? Maybe? "And length isn't a problem, it's usually something to be proud of."

[Tristian]

Tristian laughed.

It wasn't one of his cultivated laughs that indicated that the other person was amusing but Tristian was still better than them, but a loud genuine laugh, which he hates because it often came out as part laugh part giggle. And his nose wrinkled. He hated it when his nose wrinkled. It was gross.

But he couldn't help it, the guy was funny.

See, unlikely Luc, Tristian had figure out what this was, he has been through it many times before. This is what the kids these days were calling 'banter' and it was great fun. Tristian thought this because as much as he tried to deny it, repeatedly and at length, he was his fathers son and was completely oblivious to the idea that someone he could genuinely be interested in was flirting with him.

The name rang a bell. A lot of them. Du Lac. Ooooooh. This must be 'that poor handsome boy with the sad expression' his mother was always talking about. The one she wanted to 'wrap up in a big blanket and take away from that evil witch and feed him chocolate.'

Anna's brother.

Yes, that's who this must be.

No one ever said he was hot! Ok his mother said he was handsome but he had seen what his mother said was handsome and sometimes she was dead wrong (although he'd never tell her that). This Luc was funny too, and perhaps somewhat laid back as well, so laid back he was horizontal.

And now he has been staring for too long and probably should say something before this got too weird.

"Oh and your from Albion then?" He said charmingly, "how's Anna?"

[Luc DuLac]

Oh no.
Luc had always held a fierce admiration for the prince. Fierce admiration in this context being a synonym for 'desperate crush' or possible 'undying love'. He had always assumed there was nothing that would make it any worse. Then he saw Tristian laugh.
That little giggle, the wrinkle of his nose, it added a level of adorable to an already amazing picture of a person, and was yet another nail in the coffin for any hope that Luc could possibly fall for someone else.

But of course Tristian barely knew him, despite Luc's visits to court and the way he used to make sure he was everywhere the prince was, waiting to be noticed. He did, apparently, know his sister, and honestly Luc would be bitter about that if it weren't for the fact that his sister was a lovely, charming young lady and of course Tristian remembered her, she was a sweetheart.

"Anna's great," he replied, glad at least of the reason to continue the conversation "She's been spending a lot of time with Gawain lately." and everybody but their parents knew exactly what was going on there.

[Tristian]

"Yes I heard," said Tristian in that knowing way, "I'm glad, my mother is as well, she's spent a lot of time cultivating that one."

He never considered that Luc might not want to hear about Gwen setting up Gawain with Luc's sister, mostly because he believed everyone should marvel at the excellent matchmaking skills of his mother. Also because Anna deserved happiness and Uncle Gawain made her very happy.

The bell rang again. Now he was late.

"Apologies I have to cut this short, can't be late for English, it is my first language after all," he said with a smile, "but it was lovely to bump into you Luc, we should meet up again soon."

[Luc DuLac]

Luc nodded slightly, he wasn't the least bit surprised. Everybody knew that if the Queen took an interest in you, it was likely to result in you being married - maybe sooner, maybe later, but eventually it would happen, and it wouldn't always be the person you expected, but it would always be the person who was right for you. Luc was just as protective of his sister as their father was, but he agreed with Tristian - Anna deserved happiness, and she was definitely very happy with Gawain. Besides, he'd heard the stories, Anna had been dead set on marrying Gawain since she was four, and she was a determined sort of girl.

"Oh, I know, I'm in your english class," Luc pointed out, voice level - he was used to Tristian not noticing him after all. He started moving towards the classroom "It's my first language too, my mother wouldn't have it any other way, but not my only one." his mother might be stubborn and insistent, but you try telling Ben Du Lac that his first grandson wasn't going to be fluent in French and you'll find out the true meaning of stubborn and insistent.

[Tristian]

Luc was in his English class.

That took him aback for a moment and Luc had already gone a few steps in that direction when Tristian’s feet finally caught up with his brain and followed him. He fell into step beside him and said, “You are? I am sure I would have noticed if you were in my class,” said Tristian, mostly to himself, “Are you sure it’s my class that you are in? If you are, are you just as bored by Plath as I am?”

Which was when the rest of what Luc said caught up with him as well.

“What’s your other language?” asked Tristian, “no, wait, let me guess…Italian?”

[Luc DuLac]

"I sit at the back, it's easy to miss me," Luc shrugged. He wasn't sure that was true, but despite the fact that he wished Tristian noticed him more, he didn't want the prince to feel bad for not. Why would he notice Luc? Sitting quietly in the background, not really drawing attention to himself, there was no reason for Tristian to see him when there were always hordes of other people actively vying for his attention. He probably wouldn't have even seen Luc walking past if they hadn't bumped into each other.

"Plath's okay, some of the stuff she writes about is... interesting." he couldn't say he identified with all of it, but there were definitely one or two of her poems that struck a chord.

"Non," he smiled slightly "Je ne parle pas italien, je parle français."

[Tristian]

Ah well that explained it then, if he sat at the back then of course Tristian would not have noticed him. Tristian had managed to ensure that his own seat, which was dead centre in the middle of the classroom, was kept empty, even when he was running late. It was the perfect position, a good view of the board and just far enough back that he could get away with getting on with the real business of the classroom, catching up with all the gossip via notes from his faithful girls. He would have to make sure to ask them about Luc once they were all settled in their seats.

“She’s too hung up on her mother, some of the things she wrote about her is just awful, and really the poor woman was just trying to do her best,” said Tristian and then conceded, “but there is something about ‘Daddy’, that one resonates.”

Tristian grinned. Mission accomplished.

There was nothing that Tristian loved more than listening to a French accent. Another taste he inherited from his mother. With a name like Du Lac could he really have been from anywhere else, besides he had met Lancelot.

“I would respond in kind but I would hate to butcher your language with my awful accent,” said Tristian happily, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

[Luc DuLac]

"I suppose so," Luc agreed casually "But I imagine you feel that way partly because your mother is so great, I mean, nobody would complain if their mother was like her majesty. Some of us aren't so lucky, maybe that's why I find it easier to connect with them. I agree with you about Daddy, though." because of course he did. If there was one thing that he knew for a fact he had in common with Tristian, it was a dislike of his father.

Whatever offense he might have felt for being mistaken for Italian immediately melted away at the sight of Tristian's grin. He had wanted Luc to speak French, Luc had walked right into his little trap... only, he wasn't bothered by that at all, because it meant that Tristian wanted to hear something he had to say. He admittedly could have just asked, but then he didn't know that Luc would do just about anything he wanted, and there was something kind of sweet about him coming up with a way to 'trick' Luc into speaking French for him.

"Ah, oui," he couldn't help but smile back, "l'anglais si rarement le droit...mais je pense que ça sonne bien dans ta voix, quel que soit ton accent" and maybe he rushed that together just a little bit quickly, hoping Tristian wasn't all that fluent.

((the english so rarely get it right...but I think it would sound beautiful in your voice, whatever your accent sounded like))

[Tristian]

Now this lovely boy was complementing his mother, well now if that did not get him a gold star in Tristian’s book. Tristian’s mother was his idol, he was a mummy’s boy and he would be the first to admit it and did not understand why anyone would think that was a bad thing. She was beautiful, intelligent, stylish and ruthless, what was not to love? Whilst in the Summer Country no one would dare say a word against her there were still a few in Camelot that thought they could get away with their snide remarks, but Tristian quickly put them in their place.

The only person he couldn’t was Mordred. For some reason that was where his courage failed him. Maybe one day it would hold out, or maybe one day Mordred would realise how brilliant she was. That would be better. Although he believed the feeling was mutual between the two, it was the one thing he did that went against his mother’s wishes. Spending time with Mordred Le Fay. She had gradually come to accept it but that did not mean she liked it. He was a bad influence, but she just did not see him the same way Tristian saw him…which was probably a good thing, her complicated love octagon was complicated enough.

Oh and now he was speaking in French. Tristian had absolutely no idea what he was saying but it sound wonderful and for a moment he just let the words wash over him and enjoyed the moment. When Luc had finished Tristian smiled and leaned in a little, “I bet you say that to all the boys.”