I nodded, unsure what to say. I always felt unsure what to say around him, like his mere presence was enough to make me forget every single word I had ever learned. It was bloody stupid.

“So, are you coming back to my room? My roommate won’t be back until one.”

I finally dared to meet his eyes. They looked less piercing than they usually did, the ice blue melted to clear spring water.

Maybe it was the smear of paint on his cheek that gave me the courage to say, “Okay.”

Jasper lowered his brush. Raising his voice so that everyone could hear him, he said, “All right, guys, I think that’s enough for today! You can leave everything out here to dry. Thank you all so much for helping out—I’ll see you all for our next rehearsal on Thursday.”

As with every time he spoke, the room immediately sprang into action. While everyone put down their brushes and cleared out of the auditorium, I shakily got to my feet and hurried up the stairs to the control panel. My hands were trembling as I turned off all the lights one by one, the ground beneath my feet rocking a little bit like we truly were on a ship.

Jasper des Lauriers wanted to spend time with me. Alone. In his room.

It felt impossible; he was so far out of my league, a prince and pauper situation but times ten and queer.

But then I looked up again and he was standing by the door, the last one in the room, meeting my eyes with a grin and an

“Are you coming?”

And because it was Jasper, I did. I shut off the last light and made my way down the stairs to meet him in the dark, even though the tornado inside me made my head spin.

“Are you tired yet?” Jasper asked when we stepped out into the corridor together.

“Not really,” I said. I had been, earlier this evening, before I had gone down to the auditorium, but with Jasper next to me, I couldn’t even think of sleeping. “You?”

“Not really.”

A smile tugged the corners of my mouth up without my permission.

“How’d you like the scenes we went through today?”

“I loved them,” I said honestly. “You’re a brilliant writer.”

“Merci. Are you into writing too?”

“No, not really. I’m not that good with words.”

By now we had reached the stairs that led up to the boys’ wing.

Moonlight fell through the windows in the entrance hall and cast our shadows onto the steps in front of us. They looked conjoined, lanky limbs melted together into something that wasn’t Jasper and Seth but JasperandSeth, indistinguishable and inseparable. The sight made something unfamiliar swell in my chest.

“So, what’s your thing then?” Jasper asked.

I hesitated for a moment, unsure whether I should be honest or not. Eventually, I said, “True crime. Detective novels. That kind of stuff.”

For a moment, I feared he would laugh. Instead, he responded,