Sometimes it is the people no one can imagine anything of
who do the things no one can imagine.

–Alan Turing

Sherborne, England 1929

The letter in Alan's hand was signed with –Your C. C. Morcom, just like every other letter he received from Christopher. Throughout the summer holidays, they had written to each other about their latest discoveries, where he and Chris constantly tried to outdo each other. Alan wrote about his homemade telescope while Chris playfully bragged about the newest and fanciest model he got for his birthday.

Biting his lip, Alan reread the last letter for what felt like the quintillionth time this morning. It was the only way the boy could control his nerves. His gaze lingered on the signature again. He was yet to convince himself that Chris was his friend, not some stranger he on occasion wrote illegible letters to. As he studied the letter's graceful handwriting that was so much unlike his, he assured himself Chris wouldn't ignore him. Not like all his other classmates.

Alan stashed the letter safely in his desk drawer, along with his red journal and a stack of other letters. He locked the drawer as he heard the pebbles crunch in the driveway. A black lacquered car stopped in front of the boarding school. He couldn't suppress a smile as a blond-haired head appeared behind the car window.

He bolted to his feet like a madman and ran to the door of his room. From today on everything would be different. Now Chris was there, descended from the Heavens like a guardian angel. It sparked hope, but his heart was beating mercilessly fast.

With his hand still clinging to the door handle, he was stopped by Blamey. "Don't tell me you're going out like that. There is already a scarecrow in the garden, one is enough."

His perpetually worried roommate put aside his textbook and got up from his made bed. Blamey was the epitome of order and tidiness. He had therefore accepted the secret mission of teaching Alan the same decency.

So far he had not succeeded. Although Alan admired his perseverance.

Blamey tightened his tie with maternal precision, while Alan brushed his own hair back from his face.

The boy across from him scratched his invisible beard and seemed to approve of his appearance.

That look was all it took for Alan to yank open the door and sprint down the hallway. He was called after not to run in the hall. His smile only widened, if there was one person he wanted to break the rules for, it was Chris.

Half stumbling, he flew down the stone steps. The limestone bannister allowed some coolness to his clammy hands.

Once he arrived at the main gate, Chris was already loaded with a suitcase and a holdall, waving goodbye to the car.

He wore the dark blue vest, the Sherborne logo embroidered on it. Although everyone wore the same uniform, it looked like it was specially made for Chris. The colour perfectly suited his blue eyes and golden hair.

His friend turned abruptly, pulled the sack a little further over his shoulder, and scanned his surroundings. Alan's heart skipped a beat, was he expecting him?

That hope sank as Chris' face darkened and strode past Alan to the door. For a split second he stood there like the mute scarecrow Blamey had referred to. Maybe Chris hadn't noticed him. Yet Alan is so tall he is hard to miss. His greatest fear tapped him on the shoulder, as if loneliness in person drew him back into obscurity and shadows.

No, he shook off the imaginary hand and followed his friend.

Soon Alan caught up with the boy, who hadn't gotten very far with his small legs. The first time he had met Chris, he had immediately caught his eye. Not only was he shorter than most of his peers, but he was also a grade above Alan. At Sherborne, boys of other years weren't allowed to mingle, but as he'd made clear, those rules vanished into the infinite void of the universe when it came to Christopher.

However, now that the boy had to repeat his grade, Alan didn't have to follow the rules at all. Last year he had already noticed how often Chris was absent due to illness. Maybe it was selfish to be happy about that, but he couldn't resist.

He was still uneasily staring at Chris' back, who was moving further and further away from him. 'Christopher?' the words came out as little more than a whisper. Maybe it wasn't written in the stars that he would notice him.

But that claim was soon disproved when the little boy came to a stop. Chris turned, his gloomy face brightening as his eyes met Alan's.

A relieved smile tugged at the corners of Alan's mouth as he hurried over to him.

Alan's voice failed once more. The way Chris' eyes sparkled was something he'd been thinking about all summer vacation, and now he could see them again for real. He felt his cheeks turn red and bowed slightly to cover it up. This was exactly why the little voice in his head pressed him to avoid Chris, knowing it would end badly. He fought to ignore that voice.

"Salutations, Mr Morcom," Alan said formally, his hands clasped behind his back. He flinched at the sound of his own voice rising several octaves.

"Greetings to you too, Turing," he said in an equally solemn tone, and then they shook hands, as their fathers would.

Alan burst out laughing, a little relieved, at their idiotic attitude. Chris followed suit, baring his teeth with a smile.

"How I've missed that smile of yours," he chuckled. Chris pulled him by the sleeve and together they started walking towards the dormitory. "I almost didn't recognise you."

Alan straightened his back and his coat. "Is it because I look decent? Blame Blamey for that."

That made Chris laugh again. "No, those ink stains on your shirt give you away." He tapped Alan's stained sleeve with his finger as proof. His eyes briefly shot up. "How is it possible that you've grown any bigger?" he huffed in surprise.

They had arrived at Chris' room, which he shared with a boy from their year. The door creaked open, revealing a cramped space with two empty beds. His roommate clearly hadn't arrived yet.

"Hah, I'm not the last one to arrive on the first day of school for once, looks like it's going to be a good year." Chris swung his suitcase onto the right bed and carefully lifted the bag onto the brown desk.

"What's in there?" Alan couldn't contain his curiosity.

Chris grinned and patted the bag gently. "Dad allowed me to bring my telescope. That way we can watch the stars at night instead of getting bored in the study," he said delightedly.

Alan admitted he was looking forward to that, anything was better than the study.

Chris took something out of the side pocket. Alan recognized it immediately, the wooden figurine of a wombat that Chris carried everywhere as a good luck charm. He put it next to the bed.

"There, I unpacked all that I need," Chris winked at him. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to freshen up. The car ride here was endless and heated."

He followed Chris out of the room and closed the door behind them, silently watching his friend walk down the hall to the shower room.

Alan himself stood protectively at the door, mostly because he had nowhere else to go. He didn't want to interrupt Blamey's afternoon ceremony at all costs. It consisted of the full recitation of his favourite passages from The Iliad, or King Lear when he was in a good mood.

Alan snapped out of his thoughts when a shrill voice called his name. He already knew things were about to go down and braced himself before he was brutally grabbed and thrown against the wall.

"What are you doing here, fag?" He didn't dare open his eyes, though he knew all too well what was going on in the light. The view of everyone in the hall motionlessly watching the spectacle and Cyril's ugly head towering over him.

When he didn't answer, his floundering body was flung to the ground. He welcomed the pain.

"This isn't your room, Turing," he spat out the words, "it's all the way on the other side of the building. Surely we would expect you to be smart enough to remember that. Or were you continuing your search for a new species of insect?"

Much to his frustration, he heard a few laugh softly. If they didn't have the guts to help him, they might as well laugh.

Cyril kicked him in the stomach. Alan gasped and made several spastic lunges at his attacker, one of which hit his leg. Taking advantage of Cyril's cursing period, he scrambled to his knees.

This certainly wasn't the first time he had been humiliated by such bullies as Cyril. Who always found a reason to justify his actions, as if he were law enforcement himself, a true hero. Last year they had hidden him under some loose floorboards because he was still in the study after curfew. He had lain there until the smothering feeling took his breath away.

Now Alan did what he had done then. Like a rag doll, he stopped resisting the blows. He couldn't forget the world around him, but he could ignore it. People like violence only because they find it deeply satisfying. Cyril took pride in his pain. But remove that satisfaction, and the action becomes meaningless.

He only became aware of his surroundings again when he smelled the scent of vanilla soap, which was unmistakably associated with Chris. He blinked at the light as two hands dragged him to his feet with all their might.

Alan's eyes scanned his entire surroundings, from Cyril's indignant face, to the students still gawking, finally stopping at the hands that held him up.

Chris stepped in front of him, though his short stature most likely didn't impress Cyril. Still, Alan stood tongue-tied as Chris raised his finger at the brawny boy.

"Go lecture someone else, Cyril." His words were both as innocent and as sharp as a razor.

Alan admired his guts, for the first time in his school career someone stood up for him against the older boy. Although he was embarrassed Chris had to witness his cowardness.

He straightened his back, making himself taller than Cyril, who raised one eyebrow and turned to Chris.

"I didn't expect that from you Morcom," he laughed, "that you would lower yourself to this level." He pointed at Alan with one hand and mockingly patted Chris's back with the other.

Cyril was right, Chris had many friends, and there wasn't anyone who didn't love his positive charisma. Still, he stood up for the one embarrassing boy, who was now staring at the tips of his muddy shoes.

Chris broke away from the bully's mocking embrace and repositioned himself next to Alan. It felt like a united front, a wall beyond which his words could not touch him.

The two boys let out their bated breaths as Cyril huffed and marched out of the hallway without further ado.

The others in the corridor also started moving again, the show was over.

Alan turned to his blond friend. "Thank you, no one has ever stood up for me–"

Chris raised his hand to silence him, then grinned. "No thank-yous for standard kindness. That's what friends do." He said those words so casually, but to Alan they meant everything.

Chris let out a shaky breath, as if he only just realise what happened. "The way you– I thought they knocked you out."

"I don't fight back out of principle."

Chris gave him a puzzled look, then rubbed Alan's upper lip with his finger. It wasn't until he put his finger to Alan's eyes that he saw the dark red liquid. "Your nose is bleeding. Are you feeling all right?"

"Yes– no." A wave of nausea washed over him, Alan slumped against the wall. "I just can't stand the sight of blood," he laughed weakly. He slid down the wall onto the floor and fished his handkerchief out of his trouser pocket to dab the blood away.

Chris sat down next to him. "I can see that," he chuckled.

Alan took advantage of the situation to take in the boy next to him from the corner of his eye. His head rested on his knee, golden locks framing his smiling face. Much like the time he had been under the floorboards, his breath was taken away.

"It's not really your day, is it? With first that fopdoodle Cyril and then nearly fainting. At least tell me you came by train this time, not by bike."

"Fopdoodle?" Alan laughed louder than he intended. Last year he had missed his train, and hadn't had the patience to wait hours for the next train. So he had cycled from Southampton to Sherborne by bicycle, arriving a full day late.

Though the entire school had gawked at him when he arrived from his fifty-mile trek, he was surprised Chris had remembered.

The face of the boy in front of him turned serious. "I think the principle of not standing up for yourself is balon– Oh no." His gaze suddenly shifted. "Your day just seems to keep getting worse."

Uncomprehendingly, Alan followed his gaze. He cursed under his breath as Headmaster Boughey came to a halt in front of the two of them.

They both scrambled to their feet. Alan expected him to make a comment about his bloody appearance, or the fact that he wasn't allowed in this hallway. Boughey did none of that.

His gruff voice was the last thing Alan needed today. But the soft touch of Chris' shoulder against his arm reassured him. He told himself he could take any adversity with him by his side.

"Turing. Morcom. I expect you in my office at once."