John 8:32

2 - Proverbs 12:24

The hand of the diligent will rule, but the slothful will be put to forced labor.

Damien was gonna be late to class if he didn't hurry his ass up. It was 7:45 in the morning and he had been awake for approximately ten minutes. He didn't necessarily enjoy living on campus, but the nice thing about it was he could sleep in by accident and make it to class on time.

He was only wearing about half of his uniform — but he was almost on time.

Until.

"C'mere."

Spencer was grabbing his wrist and Damien was being pulled towards the bathroom.

As soon as the stall door shut behind them, Damien was lifting Spencer's chin, "Well, isn't someone impatient this morning?"

"No, no, not that," Spencer shook his head, shrugging off Damien's hand, "I need you to proofread my paper."

"Really?"

"Listen, I fell asleep last night!" Spencer huffed, "Will you just do it?"

"Yeah, give me the paper," Damien sighed, holding out a hand.

The paper was in his hand in seconds.

It wasn't very long, or very good. Very bare minimum. Very Spencer Morris level effort.

Damien might have been known as the delinquent around Saint Augustine Prep — but if anyone deserved the title, it was Spencer. He basically got to do whatever he wanted without repercussions. Daddy's Boy got away with anything he wanted to because nobody — administrators and teachers alike — would fuck with Father Abraham.

"It looks fine to me," Damien shrugged because nothing that was wrong could be fixed in the five minutes before class started. He handed Spencer the paper, and it was then that he noticed Spencer wasn't in uniform today. He was always perfectly in uniform.

Today, however, he ditched the blazer. Underneath his shirt was a turtleneck, clearly to hide Damien's "accidental" hickey.

"You're out of uniform," Damien laughed, enjoying the way Spencer's face flushed as he froze.

"It's your damn fault!"

"You like it and you know it," Damien snorted, and he would have continued to poke at him if the door didn't choose that moment to open.

Damien practically held his breath as the pair of shoes walked past the stall, stopping at the urinals. Spencer next to him was frozen similarly, watching the pair of shoes intently.

For the most part — everybody at Saint Augustine's minded their own business. He wouldn't have said anything if he noticed, probably.

Still though, when the pair of shoes walked out the door (without washing his hands — gross) Damien sighed with relief.

"Damn, that was close."

"No thanks to you!" Spencer spluttered, face reddening.

"Oh, you like it," Damien rolled his eyes, an idea forming. Within seconds he had Spencer trapped between the wall and his body, one hand propped up just next to his head.

Spencer's face flushed, "And you're calling me impatient?"

"Doesn't count when I do it," Damien grinned, leaning in close to Spencer.

He could feel Spencer's breath quicken, catching in his throat. Damien leaned in, until—

The bell. Of course. Class.

"Go, get to class," Spencer all but shoved Damien away, "I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Wash your hands afterwards," Damien left the stall with a singsong voice, earning himself a kick to the back of the knees.

"Shut up, Yates."