Robert woke up with a sharp, throbbing ache behind his eyes and the confusing, disorienting feeling of being utterly lost. He sat bolt upright in bed. He was in his own dormitory room.
The panic was instantaneous and total. He felt his chest—the binder was still impossibly tight, secure beneath his tunic. But the memory of the hallway floor rushing up to meet him was terrifyingly real.
"Easy, Robert. Take it slow."
James was sitting near the window, a book closed on his lap, looking like the picture of calm, concerned friendship.
"What happened? Who... who brought me back?" Robert demanded, his voice thin with anxiety. He scanned the room, searching for any sign of a medical professional, any lingering scent of a hospital. There was nothing.
James rose and walked over, his expression completely honest and concerned. "I did. You collapsed right outside the lounge. Massive fatigue, man. You scared me."
"But I... I was out," Robert insisted, fear tightening his chest. He was too light; anyone carrying him would surely have felt the contours of the binder, the lack of a proper male chest.
James smiled, a soft, reassuring expression. "You were. But you're just a light sleeper, Robert. Honestly, the second I laid you on the bed and pulled the blanket up, you started snoring. Loudly. You were just so exhausted you passed out, then fell into a dead sleep."
Robert blinked, his mind frantically searching for holes in the story. Snoring. The explanation was so simple, so mundane. It was the perfect lie. If he was snoring, he was just a boy who had overworked himself. Nothing was revealed. James had protected his secret without even knowing it was a secret.
A slow, profound wave of relief washed over Robert, leaving him weak. He slumped back onto the pillows.
"Thank you, James," he whispered, the gratitude choking his voice. "You saved me a lot of trouble. I owe you."
"You owe me rest," James said, meeting his eyes with genuine sincerity. "We look out for each other here. Just promise me you won't work yourself this hard again."
Robert nodded slowly. The crisis had passed, and the resulting feeling was an intense, sudden trust in James. He felt secure in the false belief that his secret was safe, and that James was simply an incredibly loyal friend.
Later that evening, James returned with a simple bowl of nourishing broth. "Just let me help," James insisted, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. "I'm not asking questions, but I won't let you hurt yourself for this company."
Robert accepted the food and the quiet promise. The bond was sealed, built on a lie of convenience for James, and total trust for Robert.
Outside the locked door, David was pacing the hallway. He had tried to distract himself with Amelia, but the news of Robert's collapse had shattered his composure. He heard the low murmur of Robert and James talking inside.
He saw James emerge from the room, playing the quiet hero, and felt a confusing, ugly surge of rage. Why is James the one he trusts? Why is James the one getting to be close? David despised his own inexplicable jealousy over a male friendship. The shame of that feeling pushed him violently away from the door and straight into the waiting, conventional arms of Amelia.