#=untitled

“ then stop looking in the mirror so much” A side glance followed shortly by a mutter of words that wasn’t exactly her whispering to herself and she realizes that a few seconds too late. Alarmed she turns to him, hands held up defensively “ That was my out loud voice, wasn’t it? Crap-i mean shit- sorry sir that was in poor taste or wasn’t it in any case I am now rambling and you obviously did not sign up for a rambling student of yours so I’m going to shut up. right. now.” and her fuschia pink lips purses into a thin line, the pad of the index finger pushing up her glasses as she adjusts the glass of spiked pineapple juice. Ah yes, the seaside, a glass of heavenly drink and the air of thick, awkward silence between yourself and a teacher of yours.

Perfect.

he didn’t mean to complain out loud. it’s different when one grows up in a place where the sun’s too scared to shine. but he isn’t the first one to apologise, so that’s fine. he’s not going to admit he was looking at rose through the mirror he had held up -- or explain why he has a mirror in the first place. discretion is key in situations like this, so he makes waving notions with his hand, as if to dispel it. he smiles, too, just to seem friendly.

the voice is sharp and cuts through the trill of shouting that encompasses the group he’s fallen into. darian turns, hands newly wrapped around the football that had just sunk into his catch, and is faced with the stern eyes of the teacher who, presumably, had been the one to yell. darian glances down at himself; bare chested and barefoot, dressed only in a light and airy pair of shorts, but it’s no different than anyone else in his circle right now. an eyebrow is cocked and darian purses his lips, lifting his chin back up to face the teacher, eyes locking with his.

“but sir,” he begins, waving his hands as he gestures to the group, “we’re doing shirts and skins, and i’m on the skins team. plus, it’s like, a thousand degrees out here.” his voice is borderline whiny, pleading even. he doesn’t want to put a shirt back on, because the broiling heat of the summer is the entire reason he took it off in the first place.

he doesn’t even know why he’s so pressed about it. maybe because he doesn’t want rose ogling at anyone else, though he trusts her enough not to do that. and she’s not the kind to, say, sleep with a teacher and dump dean for a much younger model. rose wouldn’t do that. he chalks it up to teacherly concern. nothing wrong with that.

“you’re gonna get a sunburn, kid,” he says, sighing and wishing that he, too, could be in the skins team. would it be weird to have a teacher join them? probably. kids these days have a thing with keeping themselves separate from adults, and frankly, dean can’t blame him. if he had the chance, he would’ve distanced himself from his mother too. his father, of course, is no problem. all he had to do was donate something that probably stains his sheets after some weekend romp with whoever’s desperate enough to sleep with a guy in a mask. but dean shouldn’t judge.