IV

"You do realize," Violet's voice came muffled from somewhere beneath a heavy mound of blankets, "—that this school feels like it was built by men who hated the very concept of joy." She says.

Outside, the rain pressed steadily against the dormitory windows. It wasn't a violent storm, but it was enough to soak the campus grounds in a grey shroud.

Clara had always loved the rain. When she was small, she used to run barefoot into the downpours back home, her dress turning grey with mud as she splashed in the ditches.

Her father would watch her from the foggy glass of his study, eventually rushing out to shout at her for ruining her clothes. A small smile etched itself on her face when she remembered when she would offer a small, apology, only to do the exact same thing the next time the clouds broke.

Eventually, he'd given up. He knew he couldn't fight the rain in her.

Standing by the narrow window slips now, she wished she were out there. She wanted the cold droplets to sting her face and mat her hair, just to feel something familiar. But her father wasn't across the hall anymore, and the mud here felt different.

Clara looked down from the heavy duvet draped across her thighs, watching a fat droplet crawl slowly through the crevices of the glass. She blinks.

"I'm serious," Violet continued dramatically, throwing the blanket off and sitting upright. Her ginger hair was wildly knotted, standing up in a chaotic fringe. "Who designs hallways that long unless you want to lose weight?"

Clara's bends her brows and turns her head to look at her roommate. "You find a lot of things to complain about." She points out. She understood they were both still trying to adjust to the environment but Violet's little commentaries were starting to irk her.

Clara let out a soft sigh, looking away. On her bed, Violet frowns.

The small room had settled into a heavy, close warmth over the last hour. The single iron oil lamp on their shared desk cast a flickering gold glow across the wall, the scent of burning lard and wool softening the silence between them. Violet's side of the room already looked aggressively lived-in.

She had rough winter tunics slung carelessly over the back of her wooden chair, parchment stained with ink littered her mattress, and one of her heavy horn rings lay abandoned on the floor beside a handkerchief.

Clara's side, by contrast, was almost painfully rigid. Her shifts were folded into perfect squares. Her books were stacked by size. Her tallow candles were aligned neatly along the rim of her trunk, untouched.

After a moment, Violet's eyes drifted over the layout, studying it. The rain lashed harder against the glass, a sharp rattle before subsiding into a rhythmic thrum. Clara pulled the sleeves of her oversized hoodie over her knuckles, drawing her knees up to her chest. She focused her gaze on the coarse, uneven weave of her duvet, tracing the rough threads with her thumb to avoid Violet's unblinking stare. Violet had dropped her chin onto her folded knees, her eyes tracking Clara through the dim, orange light.

"Do you like girls?"

And just like that, there was a silence that stretched shortly. At first, Clara didn't think she had heard correctly but when Violet's gaze didn't drop, she instantly knew she was wrong.

"No, I don't." Clara answers. Her reply was short but she didn't miss the thump in her chest and how she could practically hear her own heartbeat. She wanted to ask the reason behind the question but she didn't feel like it was needed. Yet, it felt it was.

"So you like boys?"

But Violet wasn't tired yet. No, not at all. On her bed, she was still curious. Curious to know more of her roommate and somehow, she was inspired by the little conversation that had happened during orientation she just couldn't turn a blind eye to.

Clara doesn't say anything. She stares ahead of Violet, towards the candle that was starting to burn hurriedly. The sound of the rain that hit the glass kept ringing in her ears.

She looks back at Violet who didn't for once break the gaze and then she swallowed thickly. "I've always been curious about my sexuality. Right now, I don't know what I like." She replies and Violet's gaze finally drops.

Violet stayed quiet for a long moment, her eyes fixed on a thread on her blanket. The sound of the rain lashing against the glass seemed to grow louder in the silence, filling the space between their beds until it was the only thing left.

Then, she let out a short, dry snort and looked up, the familiar smirk creeping back onto her face.

"Well," Violet said, tossing her head back against her pillows. "At least you picked a school with absolutely zero distractions. If you ever decide you want to test the theory on a boy, you'll have to scale the eastern wall and find a stable hand."

Clara let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The sharp, tight knot in her chest loosened just a bit, the heavy panic receding as quickly as it had arrived.

She pulled the sleeves of her hoodie down over her hands again, feeling the warmth of the room settle back over them.

"That's never going to happen, I'm good," Clara murmured.

"I'm just suggesting, you'd never know." Violet conversed, rolling onto her back and staring lazily up at the ceiling. Her hands knitted together over her stomach. "Besides, not knowing is better than being like the rest of these girls. Stiff as boards and pretending they've got it all figured out. It's exhausting just watching them."

Clara didn't answer, but she nodded quietly to herself. She looked back down at her duvet, tracing the familiar polka dot pattern until the lines blurred slightly in the dim light of the lamp.

The room felt different now.

Clara lets out a little shrek when the bell outside rang.

Curfew.

Suddenly, there was a low, echoing melody of the midnight choir music that drifted through the corridors a moment later.

Violet sighed, though it lacked her usual dramatic flare. She reached over and clicked off the small desk lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

"Get some sleep, Bellamy," Violet's voice came through the dark, sounding genuinely tired now. "We have this school to survive in the morning."

"Goodnight, Violet," Clara whispered into the quiet, closing her eyes as the rain continued to pour its heart out against the glass.