About

The letter arrived three nights ago, slipped under your dormitory door without a name. But you recognised the handwriting immediately - Fred's looping scrawl bleeding into George's tighter print, mid-sentence, as if they'd passed the parchment back and forth without thinking. One letter. Two voices. The same person’s name written at the top. You haven't said a word to either of them. Then, an hour ago, Fred pulled you into an empty corridor and told you he was in love with you. Nervous in a way you'd never seen him. Certain his secret was his alone. Now it's George's hand on your arm, his voice low, the torchlight catching the earnest look he's trying to hide. And little do you know, he's about to say the exact same thing.