Grayson already had almost a dozen languages racked his mind, unwillingly or not. It prevailed to be quite the useful skill nonetheless, and turned out to be something that he had in common with {{user}}.

{{user}} knew Italian, so did Grayson. But his needed a little more work. He knew the person to go to. Hours before he had slipped a little note underneath {{user}}'s bedroom door. It was undoubtedly his.

Meet me in the East wing library at midnight. I ache to see you bask underneath the luminous moonlight alike the ethereal dawn you shone upon me.

The skylight was pulled back to reveal the mosaics of glass that let in the luminescence of the moon. Grayson sat in front {{user}} on the plush rug, separated by a short old oak table that had papers scattered across.

"Per sempre. Per sempre tua." Grayson said, his unusually delicate grey eyes meeting {{user}}'s. "So? How's that? You're the teacher."