SEX AND THE BOY ✓

LACHANOPHOBIA IS FOR CHILDREN

LEROI'S TONGUE BURNS. SO MUCH it fucking hurts. Last week, he and the boys went to Chipotle and had a literally blazing eatoff and this isn't about those chilli hot wing he shoved down his system all for the sake of impressing the hot cashier chick with the daggerlike cheekbones.

But still, his body is under an enigma. It's seriously working on overload for choosing what to feel. There's nausea and there's giddiness and they are all pretty potent and it's weird feeling them all together.

LeRoi doesn't know what's worse between attempting to cut Leonardo into sushi chunks on a wooden platter or mopping peanut butter sandwich remains from Kaolin's mouth.

And the kiss, it was fucking sloppy. Leroi had done it out of whim and something that reckons a level beyond the physical because he is sure it had pushed him against Kaolin's lips. He couldn't have wished it on his own. Kaolin is his best friend and that's what he'll always be.

That same strange thing is responsible for Leroi going berserk with the blade. Well, not completely but the more he saw Leonardo smiling, Maurice's face keeps flashing into his head. The sight of the boy all sweated up and looking like he's an asthmatic about to wild on an allergy attack. The sight of his father's fist grinding his jaw into a pulp.

The ethics teacher's words are not even trying to enter his head anymore and have given up when Leroi gets a boner ten minutes ago. His train of thought parked at a mental station where Kaolin's tongue jacked a spot on his neck into a twist that not only made him scream the hardest moan but it's--strategically?--placed besides Maurice. And this station morphed into a threesome.

Maurice came minutes ago, halfway through the class and with fat bandages around his elbow. An untainted nun in silent hours but this one is actually grovelling not in the words from the Bible's book of Lamentations but emptiness swirling round his figure like a regalia of foxfire.

Mrs Flora continued to pelt him with bullets of nags that his entire aura nullified like they weren't even existing in the first place. Now, he's staring into the window, a hand supporting his chin and his blue eyes distant and ironically bluer.

Leroi knows it is all his fault for forcing the boy to attend his party in the first place. A literal retard can realize it isn't and will never be his type of scene. Maybe, if and only if, Leroi wasn't so selfish and his alpha complex too sophisticated even for him to decipher.

But there at least could be an iota of wanting of Maurice to be present. Yes, it could happen. Leroi can't mistake the look in his eyes- there's something he has learnt over the years. Years of shuffling behind judgmental mirrors as a bisexual Brazilian baby "owned" by a African-american lesbian couple surviving on strange wealth amongst the racist homophobic American elite... The stories go on and on.

Leroi is capable of seeing that wanting in his eyes, minus his yeasted ego. But he didn't. He never sees anything in Maurice. The latter is a blank, so pure yet dastardly tainted slate of memories.

Maurice is the first to exit the class the instant the bell rang. Kaolin follows soon without a second glance, leaving Leroi to his own social devices. Which he can swear, are really skewed at the moment.

Leroi is not going to make this too dramatic or all about him but there's a part of him, a deep part that's making seeing Maurice and his best friend (merely) leave him out of their company a bigger deal than supposedly and like his whole life is crashing down unto his head.

"You look like your whole life is crashing down upon your head,"

Thanks for taking note, Leroi comments until moments later when he realizes his subconscious can't be that loud. He couldn't have hit that stage of depression just soon. That stage where your inners are amphitheatre walls echoing the dareful and dangerous to your core.