“We’re not pre-schoolers, we know how to get home on our own,” James says, pulling away from Dmitri’s touch. “Just because you were halfway decent you’re no boss of ours.”
“Just like you know how not to get caught by the coppers?” Dmitri shoots back, earning three equally dark glares.
“You defended me in front of that damned detective and now you’re accusing me?!” Thommy snaps, pushing into Dmitri’s personal space despite Rhys’ vice-like grip on his bicep that appeared even before Thommy made the move. “What kind of—”
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Dmitri cuts in, not backing down. Are they seriously trying to pick a fight with him in public and only a stone throw away from the cops? There might be not many people out in this area, and at least they are not blocking anyone’s way to gather extra attention but still. How stupid teenagers can get? “But you were caught by the police. Arrested for something you had nothing to do with just because you were stupid enough to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“We are not cowards,” James defends their idiocy hotly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And we can protect ourselves.”
“Not being a coward doesn’t mean you have to abandon all your common sense and dive headfirst into dangerous situations just to show the world how brave you are.” They don’t budge physically, but at least they seem to be listening now. “Use your brains. You want to play the hero? Take a second and assess the situation, then act accordingly.”
“What do you mean?” Thommy asks with a frown.
“He means that if you see a crowd of confused and screaming people, you don’t try to push your way into the middle of it,” Rhys speaks up for the first time, but his tone isn’t particularly friendly. His sharp eyes settle on Dmitri and in the near darkness they seem to shine with serious intent. Of what Dmitri isn’t sure of. But those eyes force him to take notice and recognize a worthy opponent despite his idealism still trying to placate his baser instincts. “Shouldn’t you be telling us to not try to act like heroes?”
“What use would that be?” Dmitri finds himself saying with a sigh. “You are good kids despite giving it your best shot to convince me otherwise. Of course, you will try to act all brave and noble. I’m not fond of wasting my time on things that cannot be avoided. Which leaves giving out actually useful advice.”
“Oh,” Thommy mutters and finally steps back. “Still none of your business,” he aims for bravado with his words, Dmitri is sure of it. He is desperate to get Rhys’ approval, going as far as turning against Dmitri despite owing him his scat free freedom just because Rhys refuses to budge and accept that Dmitri is not a monster out to get them.
“Then make sure the police doesn’t get their grubby hands on you next time,” he snipes, maybe a bit meaner than he wants to. “I have better ways to spend my evenings than running after a bunch of morons too stupid to run away when the coppers are near.”
“Coppers?” Rhys lifts a sardonic eyebrow at him.
“What? Isn’t that how you delinquent types call the police in movies?” he asks, feigning ignorance. Thommy and James scoff at him, shaking their heads, obviously judging him for trying to use their language and failing. Rhys, however, keeps looking at him with an inscrutable expression, mysterious like a sphinx and just as irritating. “Whatever. If I get another call tonight or anytime in the upcoming week, I’ll make sure being locked up in juvie will seem like a walk in the park.”
“Okay, you can stop with the hardass act, Dim-A. Just because you could fool a buncha coppers with your fake Godfather moves, you totally can’t fool us,” James says flapping his hand and leaning against Thommy’s side. “We seen you in your soda bottle glasses and nerdtastic getup. But I guess we owe you one for being somewhat cool.”
“Wow, don’t I just feel the appreciation brimming?” Dmitri sighs, raising his eyes to the dark sky. “Guess that’s what you get for being nice to kids nowadays.” The kids snicker at him, sticking their tongue out.
“Ugh… so lame,” Thommy mutters. “To think I kinda thought you were cool, Dim-A.”
“What’s with that thing? Dim-A? What’s that?” Dmitri asks, looking between Thommy and James in confusion but they just smirk and shrug their shoulders. “Brats. Just get out of my sight.”
“What happened to escorting us home?” Rhys pipes in, his asshole face still on, but two can play that game.
Dmitri smirks and cocks his head to the side, opening up his neck. It’s a move that always worked for Carmen and Mai when they were dealing with posturing dicks. The move instantly draws attention because it looks so submissive, the way taut skin stretches further in an offer to come and tear into it. The perfect trap. And it works this time too.
“Are you so desperate to have me by your side, Mr. Martinez?” he inquires, pitching his tone low and sweet.
“As if,” the boy scoffs, jaw clenching. But he basically has to tear his eyes away from Dmitri’s neck. Dmitri’s smirk widens. “I’m out of here,” Rhys all but snarls and starts walking away without a second glance, not even waiting for his friends.
“You really must be crazy for picking on him,” Thommy murmurs, leaning close to Dmitri for a second while James rushes off after Rhys, not even bothering to say goodbye or even spare his teacher a glance. “He could break you with his bare hands.”
“Your concern is sweet, Mr. Prescott, but completely unfounded,” Dmitri replies, patting the huge boy’s arm. “I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not worried! Just… I hate being indebted to others. But see if I care! If Rhys messes your face up, it’s on you!” With that, he runs off as well, but unlike his friends, he throws back one last glance, the darkness on the sparsely lit street hiding the emotions crossing his face.
Dmitri sends him a bright smile nevertheless, then takes out his phone to check his messages and notifications, ignoring the missed calls from Carmen. He can’t say he’s still angry, he can never stay mad with her for long, but he’s not going to make it easy for her. Not when she was seriously out of line this time. He also ignores the annoying pings from that weird hook up app Bree downloaded for him, but he has never bothered to use. Yet somehow there are new notifications all the time from people with ridiculous and over the top nicknames.
Seriously, why does he need to hook up with someone just to prove that he’s normal?
With a scowl, he heads for the nearest subway station, still immersed in his phone, and trying to give another desperate attempt to deleting the blasted app and then composing a scathing but completely useless message to Bree about it. He is so busy glaring at the cheeky winking smiley face that he doesn’t notice that he’s not alone anymore until a heavy arm lands on his shoulders and yanks him against a pudgy body.
“Heya sweetcheeks, wanna hit up the bars with me and ma boyz?” a nasally voice asks, obnoxious confidence oozing from every slurred word.
Dmitri sighs and looks up at the punk manhandling him on the streets almost right in front of the precinct. Just his luck. He’s sure that his smile is strained at best, yet the moron leers at him as if he was having fun playing with his new toy. What an idiot. “Look,” he starts and links his fingers with the oblivious man’s beefy ones, “I had a long day. My new students hate my guts despite not even knowing me. One of them just got arrested a few hours ago and I had to come down here, here, to bail his idiotic ass out. And now this. Can we just not?”
Someone snorts, but Dmitri’s attention is on the pig looming over him. “Aww,” the swine coos, his beady eyes laughing at Dmitri. “Ya r’lly need some fun. Let us show ya.”
“I see,” is Dmitri’s reply, smile dropping. “I guess I really have no choice, right?”
“See, now ya gettin’ it!”
Ah famous last words. It takes him exactly five seconds to break the pig’s fingers linked with his and then send him to the ground with a well-aimed knee to his shrunken nuts. His lackeys, as it turns out there are four of them, stand still for a long second, the air frozen around them. Then as if awakening from a dream, one of them pulls out a fucking knife and charges at Dmitri. As if this day wasn’t already bad enough. Hell, he even includes a battle cry, because if they haven’t had everyone’s attention on them yet, they definitely needed to change that.
Dmitri sidesteps the pathetic attempt the short ratlike kid tries to pull on him and grabs the brat’s wrist just long enough to kick him in the knee. He falls down clutching it with a pained sob, but Dmitri knows that it’s not broken no matter what the stupid little rat says. The remaining three guys don’t attack him, choosing to eye him warily instead. It’s obvious they thought this little tete-a-tete would go differently. If Dmitri had to guess they most likely wanted to mug him and maybe even get some below the belt action if they were lucky. Instead, here he is, 147 pounds soaking wet, decked out in designer clothes, and already managed to hand their leader and buddy their asses without breaking a sweat. Of course, they are wary to approach him.
Even if they rushed him, all three of them at once, they would have zero chance to win against him. Maybe if one of them had a gun… Okay, he’s not going to jinx it by thinking of scenarios this situation could go wrong. He needs to get out of here before he finds himself on the wrong side of a holding cell despite being the victim here.
“Look, boys, why don’t we all go on our merry way and forget this happened?” he offers, gallantly in his opinion. The little wannabe gangsters try to stare him down, still hoping they can establish their dominance despite being two people short. It’s almost cute, really. “I don’t want any problems, okay?”
One of them steps forward, almost cleverly shielding the leader from Dmitri, something Dmitri finds an admirable treat in gang members no matter how small and useless. “You have ten seconds to get out of here,” he grits out, arms folded across his moderately defined chest that is clearly visible through the tank he is wearing under his ratty plaid shirt. The shadows thrown by the street lamp not far turn him younger than he probably is. Just a child, really, who was blinded by the dark glamor of the thug life but only managed to fall in line with petty criminals. What a pity.
“Thank you.”
“One.”
“Take the kid to a free clinic. His knee isn’t broken just dislocated.”
“Two.”
“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He laughs a little and waves over his shoulder as he continues his way towards the subway station. Hopefully, no one will stop him this time. And hopefully, no one has seen him get into trouble with these useless punks. No one important at least.
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