That flaring warmth in his chest leaped into a sparking flame, though, as he slipped through the half-open door of the art room and saw Rian standing there—perched on his desk like some kind of slim fae, his hair tumbling over one shoulder and mingling with another of those ombré shawl-style wraps, gradient rich purple and black draped over a loose silk camisole top and another pair of jeans that probably cost a thousand dollars for a few scraps of denim someone had deliberately ripped to shit and back.
But Damon only had a moment to relish the bursting feeling of wanting inside him before his brain processed the second person in the room, slouched in one of the front row chairs at the work tables and glancing at Damon guiltily from under his brows.
Luke Maddow.
Chris’s roommate.
Damon stopped just inside the door. “Luke,” he said slowly. “Hey.”
“Hey, Mr. Louis.” Luke sounded reluctant to even talk, and he glanced at Damon, then at Rian, before ducking his head and rubbing his fingers behind one ear, his dark brown skin starkly contrasted by the silvery white he had bleached his tight cap of curls to. “So, uh...wow. Didn’t know this was gonna be a trial by jury or some shit.”
“No one’s on trial,” Rian said gently, beckoning to Damon with a subtle flick of two fingers, even though his gaze remained on Luke. “But Coach Louis has been worried about Chris, since he’s been missing practice. I’ve been worried, too. You said you know something about Chris, so it’s better if both of us hear it.”
Damon frowned, drifting slowly into the room; what was going on here? He settled down next to Rian, propping himself against the desk and leaning back on his hands, very firmly ignoring that where one hand curled against the edge of the desk, it almost brushed against Rian’s upper thigh.
“You know something ’bout what’s going on with Chris?” he asked, and Luke winced.
“I...guess, yeah.” Luke’s shoulders worked tightly, restlessly inside his uniform jacket. “Look. Me and Chris are ride or die, you feel?” Brown eyes watched them suspiciously. “So you can’t tell him I told you.”
“Not a word,” Damon promised, and emphasized it with a finger against his lips. “You’re that worried about Chris?”
“That’s what ride or die means, fam.” Luke let out a derisive snort, slouching down in his chair with his arms folded loosely against his chest. “I keep his secrets, but not if they’re gonna fuck him up like this. I mean, the room feels weird without him. He’s been in the infirmary for what, like, a week? And I know y’all been sniffing around, tryna get people to dime on him. You really thought Merry was gonna sing?”
Damon quirked a brow, casting Rian a sidelong look, and found Rian giving him the same dryly amused, almost fond look right back.
So much for being subtle and not tipping any of the kids off.
“So yeah,” Luke continued. “I don’t know what he’s into, but...you can make it stop, huh?”
“We can try,” Damon said, shifting his gaze back to Luke—just in time to catch a hint of wary tension making him stiff, his gaze skeptical. Damon leaned forward, holding Luke’s eyes. “Hey. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re doing what a good friend would do. It’s okay.”
Luke mumbled something, lowering his eyes. “I...damn it, I should’ve said something sooner.”
“You’re here now.” Rian spoke with a comforting richness that seemed to promise all the warmth and understanding in the world. “That’s all that matters. And we’re glad you are. So just tell Coach Louis when you’re ready, Luke.”
Luke hesitated, and in the waiting silence that followed...
Damon felt something warm against the back of his hand, soft and smooth against his knuckles, and looked down to realize Rian had let his fingers fall to cover Damon’s, gripping gently. And Damon only hoped he wasn’t giving away the tightening in the pit of his stomach, the faint flutter-soft feeling in his heart, the way that light touch and the shy, almost entreating look Rian gave him made Damon feel like he was going to fall apart into a tangle of jumbled, messy emotions.
Especially when that look was saying, Be with me on this.
Together, you and me, handling this between us.
Damon turned his hand so that his fingers laced with Rian’s, hidden in the space between their bodies, and squeezed—before turning his attention back to Luke as Luke cleared his throat and began to speak.
“So uh, I...” Luke swore, then seemed to realize what he was doing and cringed, before clearing his throat and starting again. “Chris is, um...he goes out at night. After curfew. Like, almost every night. He sneaks out the window and gets past the guards, like, he knows all their rotations and he’s real good at it. And he doesn’t come back until morning.”
That hit Damon like a splash of cold water; he jerked, while Rian’s hand tightened on his spasmodically. They both stared at Luke, who shrank back, his face the picture of regret and a whole lot of other things that added up to nothing good.
“What?” Rian gasped. “Where is he going?”
“I don’t know,” Luke shot back defensively. “He won’t tell me, okay? He just takes his bag and he goes.”
“Hey,” Damon soothed. “It’s okay. We’re not upset with you. You did ask him where, though?”
“Yeah,” Luke answered, miserable and low, sinking down so far in the chair he was barely head and shoulders above the table. “He won’t spill. He just begged me not to rat him out.”
“You’re not ratting, you’re trying to protect him,” Rian said. “But when does he do his homework? His grades haven’t been slipping in other classes, and there are no missed assignments in his records. And when does he sleep?”
Damon grunted. “You’ve seen him. I don’t think he is sleeping.”
“No, uh...” Luke made an odd sound under his breath, dragging it out long and low. “He, uh, he does his homework before class, I guess. I usually wake up and he’s, y’know, grinding out at his desk in our room. But he, um... I can show you where he sleeps.”
Blinking, Damon paused. “...wait. Where?”
Wrinkling his nose, Luke pushed his chair back and stood, his body slumped forward as if these confessions were a heavy weight bowing him down; he shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled toward the door. “C’mon.”
Damon exchanged a confused look with Rian, before they both pushed away from the desk—and for a moment both stopped and stared down at their interlaced hands. Damon wasn’t sure which one of them pulled away first, but Rian’s face went red as a damned sunset, and Damon probably wasn’t much better when his own felt so fucking hot. After an awkward moment, they looked away from each other, and trailed Luke out into the hall.