By the time Rhys puts their steaming plates on the breakfast bar separating the kitchen and the living room, Thommy has wandered over to the large French windows, staring down at the slowly busying street below them. His wide back and broad shoulders stretch his t-shirt thin, but there is a slight slouch to them this morning that usually isn’t there. The sight makes Rhys frown, concerned.

“Thommy?” he calls and Thommy’s head snaps up as if he forgot where he is for a moment.

“Ah, yes. Coming.” Except he doesn’t move, just keeps staring at Rhys over his shoulder, his expression troubled.

“What’s going on?” Rhys asks, leaning against the column upholding the bar.

Thommy presses his lips together for a moment then heaves a sigh and walks over to the bar. “I hate owing people.”

“Are you talking about yesterday?”

“What else? That teacher went out of his way and saved my ass. And that’s it. No hidden agendas. No tricks. He came in like he owned the shithole I was kept in, somehow got us both coffees from the cops and then proceeded to verbally shred that detective or whatever to pieces,” Thommy explains staring at his plate. “They actually listened to me. Can you believe it?”

He saw Armand swan through the precinct forcing the lieutenant to bow to his will effortlessly, not once raising his voice. It was impressive, not to mention effective as hell. Even after he got Thommy out he remained on their side, no question asked. He waltzed out from wherever they had been holding Thommy on the boy’s arm as if they were entering some party. It felt surreal, especially when it seemed to took Armand literally seconds to realize what had been going on between James and that officer, and then adjust his stance accordingly.

So yes, he actually can believe it. It doesn’t mean he wants to. “Technically speaking it’s his job,” he says, but neither of them believes those words.

“Yeah, right,” Thommy scoffs, pushing away his untouched breakfast. “Because Mu—”

“Don’t. It’s not the same.”

“Yeah, because this time it’s me and not Mark.”

“No, because Armand is not like that.”

“Oh, suddenly you’re so sure of it? Wasn’t it you who was attacking him left and right yesterday?”

“Thommy.”

“No, Rhys. I’m a bit slow but I’m not a fucking idiot.”

“I know you’re not an idiot.”

“Then don’t treat me like one!”

“I’m not. You’re just not listening. Armand is a liar, yes. But.” He glares when Thommy opens his mouth to comment. “But, he is nothing like Mulligan was.”

“And how do you know?” Thommy’s voice is dripping with acid.

“He never once initiated physical contact.”

“What. He touched—”

“No. I meant, he never once touched either of us first. And even when he did touch us, he only picked safe places. Arms or shoulders.”

“He could be playing the long game.”

“Oh, he’s playing one. Just not the kind we’re assuming.”

“Should that make me feel better?”

“No. It should make you be careful. But also yes. Because if I’m wrong and he tries something, he won’t live to get the same fate Mulligan had.”

“I still owe him. And I hate owing people.”

“Well, you don’t have to be all eager to put ideas in his head. Wait and see if he comes up with something to make you repay him.”

“I hate waiting.”

Rhys rolls his eyes and reaches over to ruffle Thommy’s brown curls, his fingers tangling into the long strands. Thommy huffs out a weak laugh and butts his head against Rhys’ palm. “Welcome to the club.”

“Yeah, yeah. Guess we better get ready? Who knows what’ll happen if we miss homeroom.”

“Don’t tempt fate.”

“I thought you don’t believe in fate.”

“Just get your ass into gear. And eat a few bites!” Rhys calls out from his room, his sleeping shirt already discarded. He puts on an undershirt before he slips into the starched shirt of his uniform. He doesn’t bother brushing his hair, but he dips into the bathroom to brush his teeth, hoping that Thommy is as ready as he gets by the time he’s done.

Checking his phone after taking it off the charger, he notes that they are running later than he expected but could get there on time if they hurry. Fortunately, Thommy is waiting for him by the door, uniform thrown on in a haphazard fashion and his long hair put into a messy bun on top of his head. For all intents and purposes, he looks like a delinquent. Especially with the way his black eye is highlighted by the color of the blazer.

“I know I’m a handsome devil, but if you don’t put your shoes on in a minute we’ll be late. And it looks like we can’t afford it,” Thommy says, smirking.

“I was admiring your pretty shiner. Must have been a nasty hit,” Rhys answers, his grin wide and full of teeth.

“Fuck you. That little rat bastard got lucky but I pounded his ass good after that.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“Oh shut up!” Thommy’s cheeks are flushed with embarrassment, arms crossed across his chest in defiance. “Anyway, it’s that shitty Mark’s fault for bailing after his first match because he had some date. As if.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he probably just fucked off to shoot himself up with some of the guys from that creepy group. He got all chummy with them these past few months.”

Rhys’ somewhat improved mood evaporates instantly. He remembers that group. A bunch of bad news punks from an even worse neighborhood trying to establish their power with anyone willing to pay them any mind. If only Rhys hadn’t been forced to spend the majority of August in D.C. playing the obedient, perfect son to his father’s esteemed politician, he could have been there. And maybe prevent Mark from making a terrible mistake. Or at least try it.

“How long has he been doing drugs?” he hears himself asking.

“Not like I ever caught him with a needle hanging from his arm,” Thommy replies with a small shrug, glaring at the old woman who sends him a scandalized look. “It’s just a hunch, ya know.”

“Ah, the symptoms.” Rhys nods, thinking back of Mark’s behavior yesterday.

He’s always been a willful jackass and that hasn’t changed in the past month. But he seemed agitated and more volatile than usual, lashing out at everyone around him. Was it a sign of withdrawal or was he simply in a bad mood? It’s hard to tell. It doesn’t help that Rhys has next to no experience with drug addicts. Which means some research and investigation will be in order once he gets home, provided none of his friends decides to create havoc again.

Thommy grimaces as they reach the gates, the school’s front yard almost completely deserted. Living so close to school really has its perks, but they still need to pick up speed to get through security and then reach their homeroom class before Armand does. They somehow make it in time. Mark is sitting at his desk, his eyes ringed with dark smudges of sleeplessness and he looks suspiciously pale. It could mean he just stayed up all night having some fun with his date, but it can also mean other things. Like drugs.

He ignores everyone around him, and Rhys sends Thommy a glance he’s sure is more worried than it should be in public. Thommy just shakes his head and makes an aborted hand gesture, silently telling him there is nothing they can do at the moment. Not with all these hyenas around. And certainly not with Armand, who chooses that moment to stride in with his wide gullible smile and a weird glint in his pale eyes.

“Oh, shit,” James mutters two seats down from him.

“Fucking bitch,” Mark adds his two cents, but too quiet for Armand to hear. “Bet he marked me absent.”

“Oh, he didn’t,” James tells him eagerly. “I just forgot to tell you when we met up.”

“What.”

“Yeah, listen Dim-A said that he doesn’t give two shit about whether we show up to his class or not. No attendance sheet.” While James regales Mark with the tales of their first English class of the year, Rhys watches their teacher sitting on the edge of his desk, not moving, not saying a thing for the past five minutes.

No one pays him any mind, yet instead of throwing a fit, he just waits. Still smiling. And suddenly Rhys realizes that why he’s been feeling weirded out. The man looks like a snake waiting to devour its prey. It’s creepy and Rhys is instantly on alert, wary of what Armand has in store for them.

As it turns out, he’s right to be on guard.

There is two minutes left of homeroom when Armand moves and the air shifts with him. He does something with his lips, pulling the lower one between his teeth as if in a nervous gesture, then the next second Rhys has to force himself to keep his hands on his desk instead of plastering them on his ears because the room is filled with an ear-splitting whistle.

“Nice, now I have your attention!” Armand says with a chuckle, as if nothing happened.

Some of Rhys classmates groan, heads falling on their desks, some are rubbing their ears and probably glaring. And Armand keeps grinning. He lifts an eyebrow at them, silently mocking them for not being able to withstand his torture, and Rhys wants nothing more than to wrap his hands around his slender neck and squeeze. Squeeze until no air is left in the bastard, his smug smile frozen on his face. Such a pity he can’t.

“Devious bastard,” he murmurs under his breath, then turns his head away, refusing to play the man’s stupid game.

“As we only have one minute left I’ll be quick. You have until the end of next week to decide if you want to sign up for a club or transfer from your previous one. Oh and please check your tablets when you have the time because the class trip options have been posted and you need to pick one. That’s it. Thanks for listening and have a great day.” And with that, he grabs his bag and walks out of the room, not even sparing them a second glance.

Rhys blames his eyes for being unable to look away for long. He blames Armand for being so infuriating and never doing what’s expected of him. Thommy seems to think along these lines too because he leans over to whisper into Rhys’ ear in the mids of the suddenly exploding pandemonium.

“He never even looked at us.”

“Yet.”

Yet.