Third Person's POV.
The student body exodus for Thanksgiving started a full week before the official break. Lecture halls thinned out, the quad grew silent, and the air held that crisp, abandoned feeling of late November. For Gemini, the quiet was jarring.
In the small orbit Gemini and Percy had built—a world defined by shared study tables, constant knee contact, shared meals and the large, comfortably warm bed—the idea of a holiday break simply hadn't registered. Their relationship was a self-sustaining system, and the prospect of a five-day interruption felt like a structural failure.
Gemini had a train ticket home, despite Percy's protests. A planned return to his familiar childhood suburban home. Percy, predictably, had a vague but high-powered schedule: a "brief research consultation" in New York, followed by meeting a fellow designer in Boston for a "necessary discussion regarding the new collection" before going home to his family for Thanksgiving.
The separation anxiety hit Gemini on the Tuesday before the break, not as a sudden wave of panic, but as a slow, creeping chill in the space where Percy's presence usually was. They were packing in Percy's massive bedroom, both lost in their own thoughts. Percy was folding bespoke shirts into an expensive suitcase; Gemini was tossing sweaters into a duffel bag.
"You have the spare key, right?" Percy asked, not looking up, his voice purely logistical. "If I'm delayed getting back, you know how to disarm the alarm. Use the code."
"Got it." Gemini replied, his voice flat. He watched Percy's hand as it smoothed the linen of a shirt. That hand, which usually rested possessively on Gemini's shoulder or knee, was now occupied with perfect folds. The lack of contact felt deafening.
He realized the fear wasn't about being alone; he was perfectly fine being alone. He always has. The fear was about losing the comfort that had replaced clarity. For weeks, Percy's physical demand had been the answer to the question "What are we?"—the silence made the question return with a vengeance.
He watched Percy meticulously check his flight details. "Are you… looking forward to the trip?" Gemini asked, trying to sound casual, but the question felt massive and intrusive.
Percy paused, his finger hovering over the screen of his phone. He looked up, his green eyes briefly meeting Gemini's.
"It's necessary, something I must do." he stated, and the word held the same heavy, impersonal gravity as his complex structural concepts. "It would be hundred times better if I could stay here and work, but family duties dictate this brief inconvenience." He frowned, as if deeply annoyed by the concept of human obligation and connection.
That night was the worst. They had long since stopped bothering with being discreet while sharing the sofa. They shared the bed, Gemini lay rigidly on his side, hyper-aware of the proximity he was about to lose. Percy was restless. He shifted, sighed once, and then, without a word, reached over to the younger boy.
His hand settled on Gemini's lower back, just above the hip—not a searching or flirtatious touch, but a simple need to feel his body heat, to be reassured he's still there. Gemini instantly relaxed. It was the same silent, demand for intimacy. He leaned back slightly until his spine pressed lightly against Percy's chest. He didn't know what Percy wanted, or why this contact was suddenly so important to the touch-averse third-year, but he accepted it. He was starting to crave it too.
They fell asleep like that, two separate entities anchored by a point of contact, refusing to acknowledge the emotional current passing between them.
The next morning, the campus was nearly empty. Gemini had gotten a text from Ohio, telling him that she was on her way home. Penelope also left campus last night. The silence echoed as Percy's driver pulled up to the curb. Percy, impeccably dressed, zipped his carry-on and turned to Gemini, who held his duffel bag.
"Don't lose your key," Percy said, his tone back to its usual authoritative register. He extended his hand, not for a handshake, but to quickly adjust the collar of Gemini's hoodie, which had been folded unevenly. It was a purely mechanical correction, a demand for order.
"Don't worry, I won't." Gemini managed, his throat tight.
Percy gave a short nod, a silent acknowledgment that their logistics were in order, and stepped into the waiting car without a further glance back. The tinted window slid up, and he was gone.
Gemini stood on the curb, suddenly feeling utterly exposed and alone. The solid, warm presence that had defined his existence for weeks was replaced by the cold, clear air. The absence wasn't just physical; it was an emotional void that swallowed the comfortable confusion.
For the first time since he got close to Percy, Gemini realized he wasn't terrified of being rejected by Percy; he was terrified of being alone without him.