He leaned against a door frame, his long, lithe body artfully arranged, and he looked into the last room in the Humperdink—God, what a dreadful name for an equally dull family—memorial dormitory building. Two twin beds were opposite each other in the small room, a window on the wall between; this was one of the less expensive rooms. Theo sniffed, his face cold and slyly scornful.

A skinny boy with messy hair was setting up his side of the room. His skin was a warm gold, his hands thin, bones showing, but they seemed strong, forceful. He had one (small and shabby) bag, a set of worn sheets, and he looked vaguely familiar despite being totally...unnoticeable.

An easy target. Hardly worth his time.

Theo felt that practiced Beaumont smile spread over his face with a little warm glow of malice.

He cleared his throat, and the boy looked up—and he had the bluest eyes, and rough, striking features, and Theo was shocked silent for just a moment, feeling something squirm low in his gut.

The boy returned to unpacking without speaking, as if Theo weren’t there.

Theo had always drawn attention, at least from his peers. This dismissal was not acceptable.

“Welcome to Gwynns.” His voice was perfectly pitched to sound polite—and entirely inauthentic.

Just a glance in response. No other acknowledgment.

“I’m Beaumont, Theodore—you know the Beaumonts, of course.” He was sure that this...person didn’t. Best to make him uncomfortable right away. Make him aware of how much of an outsider he already was—no family, no money, no name.

He clearly did not belong.

“Friends call me Theo.” He watched the other boy’s shoulders as they tensed, and he grit his teeth, again unaccustomed to being ignored. “You should call me Beau.”

The other boy paused over his bag, facing away. “I don’t think I’ll need to be speaking to you at all, actually.”

Of all the—“No?”

He turned to Theo, face set in mulish anger, glaring up from a three-inch height difference. How crude. And foolish, to show so eagerly how he felt already. “No.”

“It would be better for you if you do.” Theo smirked. “Not that I expect you to have anything interesting to say, of course.”

The boy laughed, head thrown back, as if Theo were the person being ridiculous in this conversation. His teeth were shiny white and slightly crooked; Theo watched his neck as he laughed and was very aware of the frayed collar of his T-shirt against his collarbone, and that the shirt against his tanned skin was an emerald green.

Theo felt, in his cashmere sweater and perfectly hemmed trousers, unexpectedly very small. He had an uncomfortable flash of—

It wasn’t as if he’d needed his parents to stay. Other mothers and fathers did—did coddle their children, setting them up in their rooms, giving hugs and fond kisses, but—