Instead it was a new text from Louis, Damon—black diamond, white circle.
Terse words.
We need to contact Chris’s parents. He looks like he’s on something.
Rian sank down in his chair, staring at his phone. That...was all Damon was going to say to him?
Of course that was all Damon would say.
That was all that mattered.
So he tapped back, He looks worse today. Said he’s just been up late studying for Iseya’s midterms. He paused, biting at the inner flesh of his lower lip, then added, What do we do?
A few moments of silence, then a curt buzz: Let me think.
Rian stared at his phone helplessly, his heart sinking. His fingers flew over the screen. Why did you kiss me? he typed out.
But let it sit.
Unsent.
Before he deleted it, typed Okay, and hit Send before he could second-guess himself.
Then turned his phone face-down on the desk and looked away, without waiting for a reply.
He didn’t want to see it.
He didn’t want to wonder.
And he didn’t want to make this about himself and his own chaotic, churning, rioting feelings.
Chris was more important.
Rian would just...
He’d deal, that’s all.
Yeah.
He’d just...deal.
Even if he had a feeling he wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.
...again.
Fine. Fuck. Whatever.
He’d deal with that, too, with enough coffee.
Whatever happened, he’d just...
Find a way to deal.
* * *
Damon was not fucking dealing with this very well at all.
He glowered at the punching bag in the small weight room attached to the school’s gym, and slammed his fist into it until a deep dent formed in the rubbery blue casing, the impact reverberating up his arm. Normally a spar with a sandbag and a few hours working himself into a lather calmed him down; it was a simple, quiet pleasure, thoughtless exertion focused only on form and technique that gave him an outlet for his frustrations, leaving him clean and light.
It wasn’t fucking working.
Not today.
Not when he was pretty fucking sure Rian was avoiding him.
Probably because Damon was avoiding him.
What the fuck else was he supposed to do? He let out a fuming, irritated sound as he crashed his taped knuckles into the bag again, sending it swinging, the chain overhead creaking. He shouldn’t have kissed Rian. He didn’t know what to do about it. What to say about it. He’d been thinking about it all fucking weekend, until his skin nearly itched with the memory of Rian’s body pressed close against his. But if Rian had just brought it up with that insatiable curiosity he had, they could’ve called each other every damned name in the book, fought it out, and then put it behind them as a fluke.
As long as neither of them said a damned word...
Damon couldn’t stop himself from wondering what if.
What if the janitor hadn’t interrupted?
What if Damon hadn’t lit out of there like his ass was on fire?
What if he’d stayed and pulled Rian into his arms and kissed him again and again, softly and fiercely and every way in between, until Rian’s eyes were hot melted honey and he looked at Damon with his sugar-candy lips bruised so sweet?
Stop it.
He sent another hard roundhouse slamming into the bag, the impact shocking through his whole body until he tensed to take it, absorb it, then stopped as the reminder alarm he’d set on his phone went off.
That faculty meeting.
Fuck.
Groaning, Damon caught the bag and stilled its swing, just lingering for a few moments, taking several deep, centering breaths.
They’d be around nearly two dozen other teachers and staff.
They wouldn’t even have to look at each other.
Just...breathe.
He kept reminding himself to breathe through a shower and through dressing in a clean T-shirt and track pants, before making his way to the large conference room situated between the principal’s and assistant principal’s offices. Principal Chambers wasn’t there; Damon wasn’t sure what Chambers actually did or if he even lived on campus, when the only time he’d ever met the man had been during his job interview. Instead Assistant Principal Walden always presided over these meetings, and it was downright disgusting how crisp and put-together Walden looked at the head of the long oval conference table, when the rest of them looked about ready to fall asleep in their chairs with an hour until the morning bell for breakfast, and two hours until bell for classes.
Damon was pretty sure Walden held meetings this early not so staff would be clear for cafeteria duty, but because the man was a fucking sadist.
And Damon had to be a fucking masochist, because even as he stole his usual corner chair under the window...his eyes gravitated to Rian.
To Rian, and how he’d bundled himself up like a sleepy kitten, folding his tall frame into a high-backed leather chair with his knees hugged to his chest and his oversized clothing falling all over him, his hair a bed-rumpled mess and his eyes clouded and half-closed.
The ache that punched Damon in the gut took him right back to that rain-streaked afternoon in Rian’s studio; that kiss, fingers in his hair, gasping needy sounds. But he didn’t realize just how intently he was staring at Rian until Rian turned his head with a drowsy noise, pillowing his cheek to his kneecaps—only to go completely still, heavy-lidded eyes opening fully, sharpening, as they crossed paths with Damon’s.
Color climbed high in Rian’s cheeks as they stared at each other for several stricken moments. Damon looked away first, forcing his gaze aside and fixing out the window. His blood felt like slow poison, and he reminded himself yet again to breathe.
Fuck, this wasn’t supposed to be this hard.
Clenching his jaw, Damon kept his focus out the window—and was hardly aware of when Walden started talking. It didn’t matter. He almost never had anything to say in these meetings, anyway, and most of them weren’t relevant to him until he had to get down into the nitty gritty of coordinating away game schedules around teachers’ tests and makeup projects. Someone would yell at him if they needed something.
Someone was yelling at him, he realized.
Well...not really yelling. He didn’t think he’d ever heard Lachlan Walden raise his voice.
But Walden was sure as hell talking very firmly as he said, “Misters Louis and Falwell, if the two of you could stop your personal feud long enough to pay attention, please?”