Rhys is used to living an empty, stagnant life. The same routine again and again and again. And here is this man, who is thoughtlessly trying to shatter the fragile status quo Rhys and his… friends have worked so hard to build. And he can’t have that. Just like he can’t keep going in useless circles because that won’t solve a thing. He needs to be patient but on his guard. Sooner or later Armand will make a mistake and then Rhys would strike and take him down.

A slow smirk curls his lips and he pushes himself up and off the couch. Picking his phone out of his blazer, he finds Thommy’s number and is about to hit Call when his screen lights up with an incoming call.

James.

Rhys frowns before he swipes his thumb over the screen and puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Rhys, oh my god, shit, thank you, this is crazy! You gotta help,” James rambles, completely out of it. “Rhys you gotta come and help. It’s Thommy.”

“What?” Rhys’ heart speeds up until it’s nearly beating out of his chest as every worst-case scenario flashes through his mind. Thommy bleeding out. Thommy crippled. Thommy already dead. No. He needs to calm down. Losing himself to his mounting anxiety won’t help anyone. So he takes a deep breath and starts again before James can say another word. “What happened?”

“I… I have no idea! The cops arrested Thommy out of nowhere!” James is working himself into a frenzy and that won’t help anyone either.

“Okay, stop,” Rhys says. “Deep breath, James, and start from the beginning.”

He listens to James wheeze through a few shaky sighs, opening and curling his fingers by his side. It probably doesn’t take longer than a minute before James starts speaking again, but the seconds seem to stretch into eternity.

“We went out to cheer Mark up, ‘cause after today… so yeah. And sure, we horsed around on the streets a bit, but you know Mark. He hates the sharing is caring stuff. So you know we were just playing. Then we headed for one of our spots, and sorry for not calling you by the way, but I guess Mark was still pissed…” he trails off, apologetic.

“That’s fine.” And it is. His relationship with Mark has never been without conflict. Mark’s explosive personality and his own carefully constructed detachment just cannot coexist without clashing every now and again. Just like they did today. Just like they will as long as they know each other. “Go on,” he continues, focusing on the pressing matter at hand.

“Okay, so we had some fun. And Thommy lost a few rounds but ultimately won his match, but you know how he bruises like a peach, which is still totally funny, but… yeah? So we were walking back to Thommy’s when we see this huge commotion and go to see what’s it about. And the next thing I know? I’m on the ground, some old hag is screaming and then the cops turn up out of nowhere and Thommy is on the ground, too, handcuffed with a suitcase next to him.” The words start to blur together once again by the end of James’ speech, but Rhys still gets the gist of it. He swallows back the angry growl that threatens to escape his mouth because it’s so typical. Of course, the cops would arrest the battered kid without a second thought and ignore all evidence saying otherwise.

“Where are you know? Where is Mark?”

“Mark wasn’t with us by then, you know? Said he had a date or something and left after his match. So it was just me and Thommy. And we’re at the 40th precinct. In the Bronx. Thommy can’t stay here. If his dad learns about this…”

“You know school policies,” Rhys grits out while yanks on his shoes and then pushes his free hand through his hoodie. “Forget Prescott Senior now. Have you seen Thommy since he’s been taken in?”

“No. And they won’t tell me anything either!”

“Okay, I should be there in about an hour.”

“An hour?!”

“You’re in the Bronx. Even with a car, it would take at least 40 minutes. I don’t have a car with me,” even as he says this, Rhys is locking his front door and then calling the lift. He taps his left foot impatiently, while James keeps whining in his ear. “Stop freaking out. They won’t let Thommy go faster if you throw a fit.”

“But what’s gonna happen now? This is bullshit! Thommy didn’t do anything!” James snaps, but his tone is more desperate than angry. “Who are they going to call?”

“The school year has started.”

“No. I go and break out Thommy myself, but I refuse.”

“James.”

“No, Rhys! You remember what happened last time.”

“Last time was different. Mark actually hit that guy.”

“Yeah, and that asshole deserved it!” Rhys decides to let that pass because he is in no mood to argue about the past. “If they call the new teach…”

“I’m not sure if our files have been already updated. They might call the old hag,” Rhys says with a sigh. But even if they do, Pratt has Armand’s contact info. And then who knows what will happen. Getting humiliated would probably be the least of it. The worst-case scenario[ Previous year Mulligan used Mark’s trouble with the police to blackmail him and molest him.]—No. Rhys refuses to think about that incident. About failing someone he sees as a friend however fleeting that connection is. “I’ll be there soon, but I just got to the subway station. Just stay put and don’t start anything, okay?” When James doesn’t reply, Rhys wants to bash the idiot’s head in. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be good. Promise,” James mutters. “Just hurry.”

“I will.” Rhys disconnects the call and swipes his pass at the gate, rushing to the platform to catch the train that’s about to arrive.

He absentmindedly scrolls through his contacts, finger hovering over the number of his family’s lawyer, but there is not a chance Phil Mason wouldn’t rat him out to his father if he asked the man’s help. He has to solve this problem on his own just like every other issue.

If he’s honest, he doesn’t know what to expect from Armand, but his first guess would be Thommy getting ridiculed at the precinct by their Homeroom teacher. Or at least yelled at. Which is the same thing basically. Nevertheless, he doesn’t expect anything good. Maybe Armand will show his true colors and they can get rid of him early in the game. That would be the best option, and if there is a small pang at his chest, it’s because he wants this whole bullshit over with.

If only this train ride wouldn’t take so long.