The Queerest [🗸]

so detention sucks ass

The five minute walk to the office is painful as fuck.

Painful as fuck because I'm still fucking reeling from the shit that Ryder said. Painful as fuck because I'm walking right next to Damien Cortez and I have no idea what the fuck to say to him.

His side profile glints beneath the school lighting, a gentle outline. His eyes are downcast, hands slipped into pockets, bottom lip brought beneath his teeth, one hand moving to run through dark curls.

I don't say a word to him as we make our way down the hall, making curves and turns down different halls. My eyes dart to him every few seconds, but absolutely nothing leaves my lips.

Not a fucking word.

Partially, because I'm fucking awkward and it seems like every time I make an attempt to talk to Damien, something inevitably comes crashing down to the ground. 

Shaking my head, I purse my lips. I'm cursed. A useless-ass gay. Especially when I'm around one Damien Cortez. 

However, the other reason I'm not saying a word to him is due to the fact that he hasn't talked to me. Day after he walked me all the way to my class, he said nothing to me. Can't tell whether he was purposely avoiding me or not.

Either way, hurts like a bitch.

I keep moving, though, keep moving foot after foot. Damien's eyes rest on the side of my head, briefly, gently.

Exhaling, we finally approach the office. There's a plaque stuck onto the front of the wall, the Principal and Vice Principal's names printed out onto it. The outside walls are a plain white, plain doors firmly shut, windows allowing a glimpse of the front desk inside.

A few chairs are sat in front of the office, a signature blue. The chairs reserved for when you're in deep fucking shit.

Which is us, right now.  

With a careful glance toward Damien, the two of us lower ourselves down onto two seats next to each other. A silence. A fucking awkward silence to say the least.