five times lennie scowled + one time they didn't: pt. three

or, a saturday away from norwich

Still no cause for dire spoiler warnings!

Have fun x

"I love this room," Lennie said. "It feels the most like you."

Dimpling, but not smiling outright, David inclined his head slightly. Lennie had learned it was his way of blushing. He said, "I used to spend hours in here just watching the water from that window." He nodded toward the large panes of glass a few feet away from their rattan chairs and tea table. "Particularly when I wasn't allowed outside on my own."

The house in Cromer felt welcoming to Lennie. But at those words, they wondered if it was a gilded cage for David. He seemed at home, though, as though he'd lived here his whole life. He hadn't; the Mills had primarily used it for winter holidays and left it empty otherwise. From time to time, David explained, they came in summer, but his father wasn't as keen.

Even with several rooms in a state of disuse now, it had much more space than anywhere Lennie had lived. Things really have changed.

These days, they resided in a beautiful home overlooking a public garden and could abscond to another beautiful home overlooking the sea. Neither was theirs. But David shared readily.

Together, they'd visited the Mills' Cromer house four times and Lennie was still trying to suss out if his father haunted the place. The answer hadn't been readily given to their satisfaction.

Watching David as he poured out for both of them, they said, "And you're sure your father's ghost isn't skulking about?" Without being prompted, David added a tot of milk and two sugars. Lennie added, "Thank you."

It was hard to believe a ghost could be in this immaculate parlor. But there were always those rooms nobody had entered for months. Even Alastair, a loquacious and jovial spirit, seemed to enjoy less busy spaces when he wasn't shadowing Paul in The Shuck.

Since David was naturally adept at necromancy, Lennie presumed a ghost could sense his abilities and bother him, and they'd be none the wiser. They had to be sure David wasn't lying about being content simply because they liked being here. Bad memories were one thing. A ghost was quite another for a man whose preternatural talents ran toward attracting the dead, especially if the ghost was his neglectful father.

"Why, have you seen something that indicates he is?" David meant as a seer could see; they could tell by his curious tone.

True, David said he'd consider moving house here, but Lennie wouldn't want him to be harried just for the sake of it. They enjoyed Cromer more than the house itself, and David could find property wherever he wished in the area.

Lennie couldn't see ghosts as a general rule, nor had they seen a future where Mr. Mills appeared from the ether. "No."

"I assure you, if Father were here, we'd be in The Shuck and the house would be for sale. Stop asking." He spoke cheerfully enough, but Lennie had wondered aloud, more than once, if the dead Mr. Mills lingered here. They knew it was starting to vex him.

Then again, there was probably no reason why David's father would. No attachment existed to either David or the house, or it didn't seem to.

He'd likely just maintained two houses as a matter of doing the done thing, of having a space where he could retreat. Mrs. Mills had grown up in Overstrand, so there was probably some slight concession to sentimentality. But Cromer was also fashionable, something David's father had been interested in embodying—in a seemly way, of course. Lennie had never met him, but he'd seemed keen on preventing most opportunities to call him new money.

The most cutting of insults.

And supposedly, Mr. Mills was not much loved by his wife's father, so Overstrand was not where Mr. Mills preferred to keep a house. Ridiculous, as it was right next to Cromer. Lennie assumed most, if not all, of Overstrand's post went there anyway.

When they pointed out the practicalities, David tiredly remarked his father had believed it was the principle of the thing.

Lennie couldn't see what that had to do with the price of fish. And if Mr. Mills' father-in-law wished to bother him, surely the lines between Overstrand and Cromer wouldn't hinder any efforts.

"And if he were, I reckon my time here would be naught but awful." Lennie shrugged and slipped David a smirk. They imagined the brass candlesticks on the long windowsill flying at their head, and the costly rugs, woven with hues of ochre and green, being pulled from under their feet. "Wrong accent, wrong clothes, wrong everything. He'd adore me."

David frowned. "If ghosts are the people they were when they died, I doubt he'd understand much of anything." He set down his teacup and lit a cigarette, grasping for a lacquered seashell to catch the ash. He'd mentioned it was his mother's; she'd had a rather shocking fondness for smoking. Lennie did not see what was shocking about it, and by David's expression, neither did he.

Mr. Mills had, however.

Softening, Lennie said, "He never really suspected Theo of being more than your secretary, did he?"

Theo was only around for the end of Mr. Mills' life, which by all accounts was not a time when he was sound of mind. It might have been a blessing, because the portrait of the man who'd existed before was not flattering. He reminded Lennie of engravings of Puritans from old books they had rifled through. Puritanical ways might not entirely square with Mr. Mills' reputed love of genteel finery, but his beliefs felt similar to those of his earlier witch-hunting kin.

Mutely, David shook his head and sipped his tea.

Knowing he desired a change of subject, and Lennie couldn't blame him, they took a careful swig and considered what to say. They certainly didn't want to bring up why a Saturday away from Norwich was suddenly so enticing to them, or why indeed they'd abruptly suggested such an outing: Miles had shouted at them on Gentleman's Walk and asked if David was a mark.

But Lennie hadn't seen him for well over a year... and the last time was so dull and awkward...

They shifted in their chair, resettled, and reached for one of David's cigarettes from the scuffed, engraved silver case.

Miles was harmless, if terrible at reading a room, as it were. He was sometimes a pickpocket like they'd been, though more interested in forgery than pickpocketing. The two of them had also slept the night together twice, with the second encounter being the dull and awkward one. So much so, Lennie had simply hopped from Miles' bed in the middle of the night and declared, brightly, they were going home.

Miles was a peaceable lad. He'd said all right and left them to it. Others might've tried to punch Lennie, or wheedle them into staying.

After that, they avoided seeing him. He didn't frequent the same places anyway.

Then he'd hollered on Gentleman's Walk. Why he was there, they weren't sure, but he lingered near the Royal Arcade. Lennie kept both themself and David going, although David had paused and asked with some bemusement if Lennie'd heard. If David were a mark, Miles would've ruined it.

Miles was not bright. He was alluring in an earthy, broad-shouldered, warm-handed way, but it didn't compensate for his lackluster carnal talents.

Lennie had mumbled something to David about old colleagues, and glared at Miles in a manner that discouraged more interaction.

Now they cast their eyes about the superbly furnished room washed in waning afternoon light, admiring how cohesive David had made the colors, the wood, the textures. A more obvious choice might have been to echo the sea and clouds, but David preferred warmer tones reminiscent of spring leaves and sunshine.

All they could think to remark upon was the fluffy cat. "Well, the cat seems fine enough. Can't be a spirit here. Mum said cats are always bothered when a ghost is underfoot." Lennie nodded to Mary, the sweet mouser who behaved more as a pet and was presently residing upon David's lap. According to him, Mary usually resided with the house's caretaker. "She knows the best seat in the whole place."

"You have that in common." David exhaled smoke gently.

Triumphant, Lennie believed the conversation would shift to a playful tenor they always found enjoyable and Miles wouldn't be mentioned again. Somehow they'd survived the train to Cromer without David asking more about him, then lunch also passed without incident. It wasn't to be.

They had just lit their own cigarette when David, arch and a bit steely, pressed, "Are you going to tell me more about that fellow? The one who made you chivvy us here?"

They raised their eyebrows. "What's to tell? Nobody made me chivvy us anywhere. Just fancied a look at the sea."

"I rarely see you so put out."

"I wasn't put out."

"No? He asked if I was a mark, and you said he was a colleague," said David. He apparently couldn't hide a flash of amusement and snorted. "I had colleagues like that, too. Mine were just from Peterhouse and the like."

Assuming Peterhouse was some college or other at Cambridge, Lennie said, "Yours were from the university cesspool; mine were from the city cesspool."

At that, David couldn't smother his obvious mirth.

In a different, more demonstrative man, there might have been a grin. But for David, mirth was a small chuckle. "Lennie. You know my past exploits. You know Tom, and you know Theo." He paused and amended, "You know my important past exploits. Others, the ones from the university cesspool, they're not worth your time at all."

Begrudgingly, Lennie said, "You've kept me far away from them, and I'm glad you have. More for their sake than mine."

It was bluster. In secret, Lennie shrank from the thought of meeting any Cambridge colleagues and compensated by maintaining they would gladly fight any of them. If David understood Lennie's bombast came from fear of inadequacy, he was graceful enough not to address it.

"They don't deserve to know you."

"Miles isn't a past exploit." They inhaled tobacco smoke like it was air and coughed, scowling because they were so out of practice. Cigarettes were lovely, but they didn't partake as much as some others.

"Ah, Miles, is he?"

"He's nobody," insisted Lennie, their eyes watering slightly as they caught their breath. "The last time we fucked, we didn't even get to it. Not really. I left his bed 'round two in the morning, that's how much of a nobody he is. He just looked at me, and he was naked as a new baby, and he said, 'All right.'"

"I love you," said David. "I'd never think to do that. Just leave because I wasn't... enjoying it. Politeness was too drilled into me. Here." He poured more tea into their cup.

They drank mulishly. Whenever David said he loved them, and he said it quite a lot, they might float off and join the moon and stars. But just this moment, they wished to be irked before joy caused them to ascend. "And I love that you only started asking questions after we'd settled in here."