It All Started in Detention

Chapter Twenty-Four

The day started with the sun nibbling at the sky, it's light shining through the cracks of the curtain covering the fire escape window. Davey blinked awake, and took a look around.

The room hadn't changed much from when he went asleep, boys still lying on boys, but their positions had differed from when he last looked at them; he could tell who dreamt heavily and who barely reached the pits of a heavy sleep. He supposed Race was one of them, and Albert could remain undisturbed through an earthquake.

Race, Jack's only blond friend, was wide awake and standing in the kitchen. Davey could hear the frothing sound of a coffee machine at the end of its cycle, and the clicking of silverware lying in a draw with its brother and sisters. Race was humming softly, dressed in a large t-shirt and black sweat pants.

Davey decided to get up, immediately feeling his arms ache from the atrophy of disuse. His head buzzed as blood rush away from it, causing him to stand as his body pulled itself together. When he did manage to take a step forward, it was on his toes, and he was careful not to step on any fingers and toes. He did land on an arm, but when the guy attached to it didn't move, he considered it a win.

"Good morning", he greeted lowly, meeting Race in the kitchen with a smile. He ran a hand through his hair, hoping it hadn't decided to dance without the help of a pillow—if he'd looked in the mirror, he's see it was completely fine, but he didn't want to use someone else's bathroom unless it was an emergency. "I didn't know you liked coffee."

"Oh, yeah", Race chuckled, pulling a spoon out of the mug decorated with words that would make anyone younger than thirty-five cringe—"Coffeeholic." It got the job done. "I drink it early in the morning. I'm not supposed to, but I can't get a refill on my meds until tomorrow, so I'm taking advantage of today."

Davey nodded, unsure of what to add to that, if there was anything. He never knew how to navigate conversation with people who were so open about everything. It took him two years to tell his friends his middle name, and he's not even sure they actually remember it. Race treated himself like a book that willingly allowed itself to open, no matter how many times people drew penises at the corner of the pages.

Speaking of, there was a tiny penis between his eyes brows. "You...Did someone draw on you?"

Race raised a brow before humming in remembrance. "Yeah, Finch did it. I know their handiwork anywhere. It's fine, though. I drew a bigger one on his cheek for his mom to see. She'll kill him."

Davey hummed, turning his head to the pile of sleeping boys on the floor, zeroing in on who he assumed was Finch. They were still lying on their boyfriend's lap, but with a comically large dick going from his nose to his ear. Race proceeded to laugh, but Davey was more concerned with the idea of either of them waking up in the middle of three to four hours of sleep just to graffiti their friends faces. "Remind me not to piss you off."

Race chuckled, grabbing his cup of coffee and sipping from it. Davey looked around the kitchen awkwardly, staring at specific pieces of decor, like the chicken in the corner, under the two cabinets. There was also another chicken, on an oven mitt, cawing the same way a dinosaur roars. Red and black towels hung from drawer handles, matching the minimal but weird chicken decorations.

"Oh, would you like some coffee? Sorry I didn't offer earlier", Race asked, already reaching for a mug. Davey figured he could only agree, what with Race going through the trouble of getting him a mug before he could give him an answer. "We only have black coffee for the machine, so if you drink it with sugar and milk and shit, there's milk in the fridge and sugar", he grabbed a little black tin, "right here."

"Thanks", Davey mumbled, involuntarily relaxing as Race placed the tin down. He could feel the lack of a full night's sleep catching up with him, and he was more than grateful for the cup of joe Race passed him after pouring it into the mug. He drank it immediately, sighing at the warmth it filled him with. Then the silence got to him, and he decided to fill it. "Do you like sugar and stuff in your coffee?"