and Rian chuckled, but the worried question in his eyes didn’t match the curve of his lips, as he glanced at Damon.
His lips moved subtly, and Damon had to focus on them intently—how they bowed, the way the upper lip was slightly thicker and fuller than the lower, a small overbite that made Rian’s upper lip look like a luscious thing that needed to be bitten—to read what he was saying, the syllables carefully shaped out.
Want to try?
Damon shook his head slightly.
He didn’t think they’d get anything useful out of Valdez at this point.
Rian held his eye for a few moments longer, then nodded minutely and looked back at Valdez. “So nothing’s been going on with your life that’s affecting your performance in my class?”
“Nah,” Valdez retorted glibly. “I’m just no good at art, so I don’t feel like doing it.”
Rian slumped. “There are other elective classes besides mine,” he said flatly.
“Yeah, but Iseya’s a fucking tyrant in psych. You’re not.” Valdez shot a look over his shoulder at the row of sculptures on the back table. “Well, you fucking weren’t.”
“There are other elective classes besides Iseya’s,” Rian hissed, coloring hotly. “Take wood shop, if you hate my class that much.”
“Not about to lose a finger. Those circular saws got teeth, yo.” Valdez grinned unrepentantly. “And you let me nap. It ain’t that deep, fam.”
With a deep sigh, Rian dropped his face into his palm, fingers digging in at his hairline. “...go see Mr. Iseya.”
“Which one?” Valdez retorted flippantly, grin never wavering.
“The guidance counselor,” Rian muttered.
“Oh.” Valdez’s grin wavered. “Am I in trouble?”
“No.” With an exasperated sound, Rian lifted his head, eyeing Valdez tiredly, hazel eyes dull. “Go find an elective you’ll actually enjoy, Merry. I’m not going to make you suffer through mine if it puts you to sleep.” He pursed his lips. “And could you at least try to watch your language in front of staff?”
“Sure. I can try.” Utterly irrepressible, Valdez just smiled wider, utterly unfazed by Rian’s apparent disgust. “Can I go now?”
Rian just flicked his fingers toward the door with a hopeless, unintelligible sound.
Valdez laughed.
And bounced to his feet, scooping up his backpack and making for the door like his ass was on fire.
“Later, Mr. Falwell, Mr. Louis!”
Rian’s only answer was a despairing grunt.
While Damon turned his head to watch the door swing shut, raising his brows. “So...that looked like it stung.”
“Shut up,” Rian mumbled, bowing his head and rubbing his fingers to his temples.
Damon frowned, shifting his gaze back to Rian. “Was that really necessary, kicking the kid out of your class just because he hurt your ego?”
A spluttering, furious little noise escaped Rian’s lips. He snapped his head up, loose wisps of hair arcing and flaring around his face, and glared at Damon with his color high and his eyes sparking like guttering golden candles. “I wasn’t kicking him out over my ego! He just—” The tiny growl he let out was less menacing and more kittenish. “If he didn’t want to be in my class, I had no intention of forcing him to stay.”
“Didn’t really give him much choice,” Damon said. “You don’t gotta control everything, Falwell.”
That glare crackled hotter, and Rian dropped his hands to his sides, fingers clenching up into tensed fists. “I wasn’t trying to control—I—just shut up.”
“Yeah. Sure. Not trying to control anything. No reason you were hissing at me for opening my damned mouth before you gave me permission,” Damon snarled, and pushed away from the desk. Fuck this. “Pointless of me to be here, anyway. That didn’t help shit. Chris isn’t dating anyone, isn’t up to any shit after school. Guess you got an audience, though.”
He stalked away from Rian, toward the door, only for sharp words to fling at his back.
“So sorry I didn’t hit that one out of the park,” Rian threw at him sardonically. “I tried. I tried, all right? Do you want Chris to realize we’ve figured out something is wrong, and just get better at hiding before we can help him?”
With a sigh, Damon forced himself to stop just in front of the open door, gripping the frame. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we’re building this all up in our heads.” He tightened his hold, the weathered wood smooth against his palm, little rough spots biting. “Then again, maybe not. You knew they’d been sneaking weed?”
“They’re teenage boys. Weed is as ubiquitous as ceramic dicks. So?” Rian retorted sullenly.
“So?”
“I would rather have them in their rooms, relaxed and sleepy with