BEHIND HIM

CHAPTER NINE: BEHIND HIM

The school gates had never felt so far away.

Leon walked with his head down, one foot in front of the other, focused entirely on not letting his legs give out in public. The morning air was sharp and cold against his bruised cheek. He had covered the worst of it with his collar, tilted his face down at an angle he had calculated would draw the least attention.

He had wanted desperately to stay in bed, to pull the covers over his head and simply cease to exist until his body stopped reminding him what had happened. But his father had appeared in his doorway at seven sharp, voice flat and final, and that had been the end of that.

So here he was.

He spotted Damian before he even reached the main building.

It was impossible not to. A small crowd of girls had already gathered, their laughter carrying across the courtyard in bright, cheerful waves.

Leon stopped walking.

He stood there for a moment, just looking. Last night, in that corridor, he had been so certain. Those broad shoulders. That jacket. His fever-addled brain had built an entire catastrophe around it. And underneath the terror, some stupid, traitorous part of him had thought… if it’s Damian, at least it’s Damian.

He forced himself to look away.

That was when he saw the other face.

Leon’s feet stopped moving entirely.

He recognized that face.

It was the man from the bar. Standing right there in the middle of the courtyard, hands in his pockets, completely at ease.

What is he doing here? Is he a student?

The thought landed like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through everything. Leon pressed himself instinctively back against the wall, watching from under his lashes. His heart had started that frantic, uneven rhythm again.

The man crossed the courtyard without hurrying and threw an arm around Damian’s shoulder like they were old friends.

Damian laughed at something he said. 

 "Since when does Damian hang out with such trash?" Leon muttered to himself.

Leon’s jaw tightened. He watched the two of them drift away from the group, moving toward the far edge of the courtyard, toward the corridor that led to the Old Wing.

He should have gone to class… but no! He followed them instead.

He told himself it was strategy. Information gathering. If this man was connected to last night, that was something he needed to know. 

He kept a careful distance, ducking behind a pillar when one of them glanced back, pressing himself flat against the wall at the corner of the Old Wing.

He peered around the edge.

Damian had his back against the wall. His head was tilted slightly upward, eyes half-closed. One hand raised to his lips.

A cigarette. Smoke curling lazily into the cold morning air.

"Oh my god, Damian smokes?" Leon whispered to himself.

Before Leon could even make sense of what he was seeing, the other guy took a slow drag from his cigarette and raised an eyebrow, almost amused.

“So… how was last night? You enjoy yourself?”

The words hit like a sudden drop in temperature. Leon went still, staring at him as his heart began to pound harder, louder.

“It felt great,” Damian said, calmly.

‘Wait—what? Was it him? Was it Damian all along?’ Leon mind reeled.

Everything he thought he knew kept turning over to show him its wrong side.

He pressed his eyes shut for a moment.

Who are you, he thought, really?

He wasn’t sure anymore if he was asking about the man from the bar, or Damian, or himself.

The other guy let out a low, disgusting chuckle. “Had my eye on that one last night too. Bet he’d be a hell of a fuck.”

The words hit like dirt in the mouth. Leon swallowed hard, a wave of nausea rising in him.

He instinctively looked to Damian—waiting, almost pleading, for some kind of denial, some reaction, anything.

But Damian didn’t correct him. Didn’t even flinch.

Instead, he …

“What do you think you’re doing?”

A deep, commanding voice snapped behind him.

Leon barely had time to turn before a hand caught his shoulder and shoved hard. The force sent him stumbling, then down onto the pavement.

For a second, all he could register was the scrape of concrete against his palms and the sharp sting blooming through his body.

When he looked up, he was exposed… messy, off-balance, right in front of Damian and his friend.

Damian barely reacted. Ash slipped from his fingers onto his expensive jacket, but he didn’t even glance at it. His attention stayed fixed on Leon, cold and detached, like he was something inconvenient on the ground rather than a person.

Leon’s breath caught.

Those eyes… usually bright, almost disarming… looked distant now. Empty in a way that made his stomach tighten.

“Damn it,” Leon muttered under his breath. 

He twisted his head, already knowing who had pushed him.

Of course.

Aaron stood over him, expression half-annoyed, half-amused, like this was just another interruption in his day.

“What’s with that face, you little eavesdropping rat?”

He crouched down in one fluid motion and caught Leon’s chin between his fingers, tilting his face upward with a grip that was almost gentle and entirely humiliating. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a peeping tom habit.”

Leon’s chest tightened. Did he  know?About the storage room. About the locker. About all of it. 

The shame came up so fast and so hot he thought it might choke him.

 “I wasn’t — I didn’t—” The words collapsed before he could build anything out of them.

Aaron’s smirk widened fractionally. He let go of Leon’s chin and straightened up.

Behind him, Leon heard the soft grind of a cigarette being crushed against brick. He turned just in time to see Damian push off the wall, and walking away.

“Damian—” Leon’s voice came out before he could stop it. He hated himself for it immediately.

Damian didn’t slow down. Didn’t look back. Just rounded the corner and was gone, taking all of Leon’s carefully constructed image of him along for the ride.

"Hey, you planning on staying down there all day? Or does your ass hurt too much to move?" Leon looked up to find a hand extended toward him.

‘How does he know my ass hurts?’ The thought arrived a beat later and sent a fresh wave of heat crawling up the back of his neck.

He slapped the hand away and got up on his own, which cost him more than he wanted to admit.

“I don’t need help from a hypocrite like you,” he said,  turning and walked away before Aaron could respond.

Each step was its own small battle. He kept his pace even. Kept his shoulders back. Behind him he could hear it  Aaron laughing.

He rolled his eyes. “Psycho.”