Frivolous though these things might be, Nickās life was an invariable bouquet of such frivolousness and this ball was, whether he liked it or not, painstakingly important. Not to Nick on a personal level, nor an emotional, but in respect to his reputation, his social status, and his life as he knew it as a golden member of the prestigious and elite.Ā
It was also an opportunity. Because with dates mandatory, this was an occasion in which tradition worked in Nickās favour. Potential girls who would both look good on his arm and make him look even better, would look at him with more than apathetic amusement or attraction this week. They would be looking at him in consideration, if he were lucky. They would be looking at him and musing, were he to ask for the pleasure of their company on such an evening, would they say yes? Would he be a good candidate?Ā
Heād like to think that most of them would think, yes, he would. Because Nick Mercer was a gentleman. He was charming, well-mannered, polite. He had an infectious smile, one which some young woman could foreseeably take home to mother, a sharp mind, and he was flirtatious and sweet. He was also handsome and looked undeniably fine in a suit.Ā
Nick as the Nicholas Mercer he presented to the student population, was a catch. It was only in the privacy of his own dark spaces hardly even ventured in his head, where he had doubts, and even then, it wasnāt his handsomeness or his wit or his charm that he considered up for debate. It was his intentions and his motives that even he questioned. In his weaker moments. The ones he did his best to suffocate.
This afternoon, he was strolling casually through the breezy courtyard, lazily scanning the roves of students as he sipped on a sweet Americano. Lucas would of course be going with Lauren, so it wasnāt like Nick would have much of a wing man in his friend, in terms of finding himself a date.Ā
He was honestly looking forward to a time when he was in a relationshipābut the sad thing was, his want for it wasnāt in service of his emotional needs, but rather a convenience thing. Being with someone meant he could stop trying so hardĀ to impress, and to make a statement. Having a girl to call hisĀ āonlyā on his arm, meant she was doing half the work for him. It meant maintaining stature, maintaining relevance. Heād be talked about, thought about and respected, and that was what mattered. At least in terms of what heād grown up believing and being taught, itās all that ever mattered.
ONE. Miles was never attractive. If anything, he was well-groomed. His suits were tailored every week, and he polished his shoes every afternoon. The cologne he wore was brought over from Paris, France, where his father would travel to negotiate dealings with his partners. It was also suspected that his father had a lover staying in a penthouse that he owns in Paris. That, though, is to never be questioned. The young boy, nonetheless, was one who did not have the features often marketed across media. All he had, if all accounts measured, was his height. This is a fact that was pointed out by his sister. She would giggle in her angelic beauty, her chocolate hair in curls, and her sweet smile would tease him for looking like a sloth. She even mentioned that her friends found him to be a character from a cartoon. How charming.Ā
TWO. The girl that fawned over him was beautiful. Her strawberry blonde hair rolled down to the mid of her back, and her lashes would bat intrigued with the pale complexion that differed from her olive tone. She found him mysterious, and after reading Twilight, all she wanted was her own Edward. Miles made the perfect match, for he sat in the back with no company, his skin was too pale, his eyes were depicted by Stephanie Meyer to an exact, and he was smart enough to claim that he knew enough due to his long life. The girl was not in love with Miles, and she was not heartbroken because Miles broke up with her. She was upset that her Edward Cullen was not devoted to her Bella aesthetic.Ā
THREE. This ball was another event thrown that was a waste of money. It was an excuse for the elite to occupy their time, for they have nothing better to do. Itās a design that tricks the public into thinking that they are all grander than life when the truth is that they are just lost souls with money as their only friend. Itās an event of validation. Miles Kenilsworth was familiar of the phenomenon, for his family would host parties to cover the fact that they would be sitting on the couch with no communication if the parties were not thrown. He was all too aware of the truth that manifested.
Strolling in the quad, he was crossing a path with his hands stuffed into the inside of his tailored dress pants. Miles was appreciating the nature of spring, enamored with the music of shuffling trees and the whistles of birds. He was, in that moment, a naturalist. It was the contact of gravel and feet that caught him off guard, for his walk was not as obviousāhis steps were light. Averting his focus toward his approaching company, he would have been keen of passing along as if he did not notice the other, but with where the pair stood, it only made sense that he, at the least, said hello. It was good conduct for the Riot Club members.Ā
āThe event calls for all white.ā Miles nonchalantly claimed with the roll of his neck, a mocking chuckle following leaving the taste of alcohol onto his lips. It was a permanent flavor that only lingered for he drank too much. It was not alcoholismāit was more him being desperate to not feel the emptiness; his eagerness to get his heart beating once again.Ā āWhen have you ever seen me in anything other than black?ā
Nick wouldnāt know how to describe his fascination with Miles, if he tried. Not that he dared tooāeven pondering the sensation in the privacy of his own head made him feel vulnerable. Like there were secrets in the answers to that question that even Nick himself didnāt want to uncover. He didnāt want to look himself in the mirror and see truth. Truth was ugly, unforgiving. Truth was, by nature, far more difficult to stomach than a lie. And, much as people denied this, the average person would always prefer a lie over the truth. They would prefer to hear what they want to hearāonly they would prefer not to know that it was all a construct.Ā
Because people were cowards, by nature. Selfish by nature and dishonest, by nature. People wanted simple. Easy. Safe. And Nick was one of those people, much as he was loathe to admit it.Ā
So he attempted to chalk up the rush in his veins when Miles around, to a strange curiosity. To the fact that Miles was both alike him, in the way that he swaggered with ease, charmed without effortāand unlike him; in the way that he kept to himself. Sauntered the lawns of a world truly his own. Kept his secrets quietly tucked under stones, designed to appear a mystery without guise or denial. No one was meant to think he had nothing to hide. He donned black over translucent skin, a stalking parade of the secrets he kept. Sultry in his mystery, in the way people would look and look but could never see beyond his stoic, alluring shell.Ā
Nick had always operated so differently. He sought brilliance by standing out, by being both transcendent and seamless. Fitting into expectation, showing cards as though he had nothing to hide nor to run from. Disappearing in plain sight.Ā
And there was a piece of him that maybe found Milesā enigma to be enticing enough that he almost envied it, in a way. Wondered if it brought the man a sense of independence, or security that Nicholas still struggled to grasp in powdered fingers. He wondered if there was peace there, or if there was less effort involved in not having to fight to present himself bared and answered and without mystery, so that people would not ask questions. Questions, for Nick, were dangerous territory. He presented himself in a way specifically designed to avoid the invitation of them.Ā
Ā The last time theyād interacted itād been something of a rollercoaster for Nick, though somehow he imagined that not to be the case for Miles. Itād started off well enough, heād thought, but then heād hit several roadblocks, despite his efforts to make peace, to compliment or understand. It didnāt help that Nick felt unlike himself around the tall, alien-esque blond. That he felt fumbling and uncertain where he was usually confident and swaggering. It didnāt help that he found the manās gaze both intimidating and intoxicating, and he didnāt know where to settle his weight when under the scrutiny of it.Ā
Still, he found it almost a relief, of sorts, when Miles was the one to break the silence today, despite the indifference in his tone, and the bored apathy of the subject. In fact, there was something that sounded vaguelyĀ like humour, like familiar sarcasm in the comment, and Nick clung to it, feeling curiously hopeful for it to be a good sign. Though he couldnāt put his finger on why he cared at all.Ā
He chuckled in turn, eyes flicking downward as Milesā tongue swiped over an unusually pouty mouth.Ā āI donāt believe I haveāthough you wear it well, I admit. And no oneĀ wears white well,ā he continued with a smile, eyes seeking Milesā, but feeling slightly nervous when he found them. His gaze to the ground, briefly, but he hid behind an easy grin, hand slipping to his pocket as he took a sip of his coffee and spoke over the rim.Ā āIām not sure whose idea it was but Iām tempted to remind them itās not 1978.āĀ