[OPEN] Real Life Slash

It wasn't difficult to figure out which bathroom the story was written in. Even now, after "Moaning Myrtle" had long found her resting place (or whatever had happened to her, all Clair knew was that she wasn't here now) this bathroom remained stubbornly disused. Maybe it was Voldemort's final curse on the school or something equally bizarre.

Finding the actual story - and what a story it was - that was more difficult. There was ink on every spare tile of this bathroom. Even around the edges of the mirrors; though the centres were conscientiously clean. Clair supposed a certain type of girl needed a reliable reflection to fix her beautifying charms.

He eventually found it on the back of a toilet door. Scrawled over the top of fading gossip from decades ago, and... Well, he could only call it carefully embroidered. If the girl who'd written it ever found out what he'd really said to Julian, she'd probably be mortified.

Mortified or enraged. Girls were so touchy that way.

Julian was probably going to be late to Potions but Merlin he had to piss. He had just finished another horrible Divination lesson and was on the second floor when he realized he needed to go. He immediately headed for the out of order bathroom. There was one toilet that (usually) worked and the bathroom had long ago stopped being a girl's bathroom. It was just an awkward extra bathroom. Like when people had a toilet in their laundry room or basement because the house had been only halfway renovated. So it was fair game as far as he was considered.

And there was something sort of cool about it too. It used to be the girl's room.

His pace quickened as he realized all that orange juice at breakfast had gone through him. He shouldered his way in and headed for the stall with the working toilet, noticing that it was closed. His face pursed in confusion - he had never run into someone here. He knocked rapidly on the door, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Hurry up, I gotta whizz."

Clair startled as a familiar voice echoed around the bathroom. He'd heard the door open, but hadn't concerned himself with it, figuring it was only someone like Margo or some other girl come to add more writing to the walls or fix her hair or have a smoke in relative peace.

Julian, though. Clair hadn't really spoken to Julian since the party, and he'd been all ready to act like nothing had happened. At least for the moment. But it seemed like that wasn't an option.

He let the door to the stall swing open and slipped past Julian more carefully than he would have in the past, to sit on the edge of the sink.

"There's some interesting reading in there," he said.

Julian felt a clenching in his stomach - he really needed to pay attention to his body more. He had been so distracted in Divination by his complete inability to accurately read tea leaves that he hadn't noticed he had actually gone through quite a bit of tea as he tried and retried to discern sooooomething from the leftover leaves.

Fortunately, the person behind the door almost immediately opened the door, and Julian lurched forward to step into the stall.

It was Clair. Which would have meant nothing more to Julian than a friendly face if he had not been so weird around him lately. Ever since their tumble, Clair seemed to be horrible with actually meeting Julian's eyes. He didn't get it.

"Oh yeah?" Julian asked, clapping a hand on the Ravenclaw's shoulder as he squeezed past. He unzipped his fly quickly and immediately went about relieving himself.

A satisfied sigh left his mouth and his shoulders relaxed. "How's classes going, mate?"

Boundaries? What boundaries?

The hell?

Clair didn't think he was imagining Julian's regular, enthusiastic demeanour. It wasn't forced, either, and it occurred to Clair that maybe all the weirdness between them was happening inside his head. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

What was weird was the way Jules seemed to want to carry on a conversation while he was taking a piss. Did nobody ever teach him bathroom etiquette?

"They're fine," Clair lied.

Was he really going to do this? He could just leave, and leave Julian in blissful ignorance. No, he was going to do it. Gryffindors might have courage, but Ravenclaws had curiosity and that was almost as bad.

"You really want to read the back of that door when you're done," Clair said.

"Cool, cool," Julian said, almost a hum as he finished his business. He could hear Clair over the flush of the toilet and he turned curiously, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. There were always some fun anecdotes, some very necessary factoids for his education on the ladies of Hogwarts. Julian trusted Clair's recommendation.

"Alright," Julian said, rubbing his hands together excitedly. He gripped the door and his eyes scanned- was that his name?

His fingers went slack and his eyes widened. What the- Why would anyone think-?

And suddenly he was laughing. Because it was all so ridiculous. People had seen him at the party, had they not? He was on his way up. Girls were talking to him without wary eyes now. Anyone who was watching knew Julian was on his way to becoming a lady's man.

He pushed his way out of the stall and approached one of the taps, turning and turning into a small trickle of water finally poured from the pipes. Thrusting his hands under the water, he shook his head. "You think with exams people wouldn't have the time or the imagination left over."

He had been ready for a whole array of reactions. Disbelief, confusion, anger even, but not laughter. Even though Clair knew that the story on the door was a flight of fantasy, Julian's laughter didn't feel like it was directed at the writing.

Clair edged over to allow Julian access to the sink, but the other boy wasn't done yet.

"Christssakes, Jules, they're not using their imaginations," he replied, messing up his hair in frustration. "They're just not fucking oblivious, unlike some people."

"You spend so much time chasing every girl in this school that you don't even notice when someone is actually-"

Whoa, let's not get too carried away. Clair didn't want Julian getting the wrong idea. He wasn't "into" him like that, anyway.

Clair used to be a lot more chill. Julian had noticed the Ravenclaw had become more bristly, more irritable. He had never been a ray of sunshine, of course, but he hadn't seemed to care enough about anything to ever get frustrated. Something had set him off. Julian knew that more than a few people had left the Valentine's Day party with more baggage than they had shown up with. Rumor had it Margo had left to catch up with him. Was it something to do with that?

Julian's hands stopped moving beneath the water, hanging limply as water trickled over them. He looked over at Savauge, brows pulled inward.

"What are you saying?"

Merlin, did someone like him? What did that have to do with-

Oh.

Wait.

What?

Julian was unbelievable. Clair had known he'd be forced to explain, if only because he'd not finished his sentence, but "what are you saying?" Only people who wished they didn't know what the other person was saying asked that question.

"That's so cliché," Clair said, staring at the row of stalls opposite them.

He couldn't look at Julian. His eyes had slid away from Julian's a lot lately, but this was something else. He knew if he tried, the tremor in his voice would take over and he wouldn't be able to speak at all.

"Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not in love with you or anything," he said. "I just... I dunno. You're kinda cute and I'm not blind, okay?"

There, that sounded good. Flattering, even. He certainly didn't want to tell Julian some of the other things he'd thought about him. Clair almost wanted to sigh in relief at having got that out without totally stuffing it up. Instead, he just gripped the bench he was leaning against harder.

Julian didn't mean for it to be cliche. Honestly, he didn't care if it was cliche. If he had to stop and consider whether each of his actions and statements were cliche, he would never get anything done. Introspection was for the people who had the time to waste. He had too much in this life he wanted to do.

Of course, a suspicion was starting to prickle in his mind, a strange one because, despite his newfound appreciation from his peers, he wasn't at the point to assume people actually thought of him. Especially that way. His dry spell, sixteen years in the making, was evidence enough that he shouldn't started getting any ideas.

He didn't know what to do.

What were you supposed to do?

He had imagined this scenario before, someone stating their interest, and in theory he had always been quick to reciprocate. Then again, in this fantasy, the person stating interest had always been a young Pamela Anderson, Baywatch era.

He had no idea what he was supposed to say, but he knew he had to say something. "Gotcha." Okay, but that wasn't enough. "Cool." Cool? Cool? "Um..." Come on, he could do better than that. "Thanks."

Nailed it.