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For the sixth time in the span of six whole minutes, Naim glanced at the analogue clock on the wall and internally sighed at the second hand signaling that — once again — only a minute had passed since his last pleading glance.
It was a sort of game he always ended up playing in class: twenty minutes of class left meaning its actually only ten minutes two times which is only five minutes four times which is only —
Today was dragging on especially slow, however. Maybe because it was Friday, maybe because it was overcast so there wasn't even a sky outside the window to daydream his time away, or maybe because the day marked exactly a month since his mum dragged him to a new town and a new school and a new life he didn't fucking ask for.
Mood souring, Naim glanced around the classroom. Equally as uninterested students doodled or stared out into space as their teacher droned on about the first green bans imposed in Sydney or something. Naim wasn't really listening, either.
When he looked at the clock again, a shocking two minutes had passed. He needed to get out; just for a few minutes at least or he was going to rip his hair out.
He raised his hand and was quickly excused for the bathroom, awkwardly shuffling out of the room at the feeling of any attention being even remotely directed his way.
Closing the door to the classroom behind him, Naim took a deep breath and started the trek to the bathroom farthest from said class. He just needed a few minutes to breathe, to splash some water on his face, to hide.
He still wasn't comfortable in Bandee — didn't reckon he'd ever be — but school was particularly uncomfortable. He wasn't specifically the target of any bullying (some snide comments and shoves in the hall were about the worst it got for him), but that was probably because he was basically invisible.
He'd only spoken to teachers when called on and other students when required to do classwork together. Otherwise, he kept to himself.
He was never exactly the social type, especially after year nine when other boys started getting taller and stockier and meaner. Naim stayed rather short and skinny and quiet, so he was either the target of bullies or a complete wallflower. It was always one or the other with him. So, he figured being ignored at the new school wasn't the worst outcome.
His mum worried about it — him not having any friends. But Naim wasn't interested in having any, anyway. The kids at his new school were either dickheads or dropkicks, so he was fine to keep his head down and stay invisible until graduation.
He was at least friendly with some kids back in Adelaide, but the only one he really missed was Josh, the kid in his maths class who sold him weed from time to time.
Fuck, what Naim wouldn't give for a joint right now. Getting high would fix at least ninety-percent of his current problems.
His mum loved the saying "speak of the devil and he shall appear"; Naim thought it was bullshit and most people used it as a joke anyway, but he realized she might have been onto something when he finally reached the designated bathroom — under the stairs by the music room on the first floor — and walked right into a drug deal.
He swung the door open to see fuckhead Macca from bio exchanging a small wad of cash for a bag of weed held by —
Naim's breath caught in his throat.
Ryan Whelan.
Oh fuck.
Heat rushing to his face, Naim mumbled out apologies and all but ran out of the bathroom.
Of course — of fucking course — he had to walk into the one bathroom in school with the one guy he never wanted to notice him. Or, if he was being honest, Naim wanted Ryan Whelan to notice him just a bit too much.
And said guy was currently selling weed to one of his dickhead friends Naim couldn't stand.
And said dickhead had run out of the bathroom right after Naim and grabbed him by the back of the shirt.
Naim grunted as he was pulled backwards, slightly choking on the starched collar before his back was slammed against the wall. Hidden under the stairs, Macca got right in his face, a fist balled into the front of Naim's shirt, painfully pushing against his sternum.
"Hey, new kid," he spat. "You didn't see anythin' in there, did ya?"
Naim barely had time to shake his head before Macca pulled him away from the wall and shoved him back into it.
"Because if you did see somethin', and you say anything, you're fucking dead, cunt. Dead. Got me?"
Holding his breath, Naim nodded frantically, too scared to even breathe in the other boys direction.
"Macca."
Ryan Whelan appeared behind the other boy, and Naim's eyes widened with fear.
He was no match against either of them on their own, much less two against one. Instinctively, Naim squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prepare himself for whatever blow was about to come. Instead, he heard:
"Let him go."
Eyes shooting open, Naim looked in shock at Ryan, then at Macca who looked almost as surprised as he was.
"What?" the other boy asked.
Looking past Macca, Ryan eyed Naim impassively. Even in his baggy, two-sizes-too-big uniform, Naim had never felt so embarrassed and exposed.
"He's a fuckin' dag, mate." Ryan stared at Naim, blue eyes empty and cold. "He's not gonna say anything. I'm not even sure he talks."
Macca breathed out a laugh. "Right. This pussy ain't gonna do shit." With one last shove for good measure, Macca gave Naim another glare before he turned around to go, gesturing for Ryan to follow.
Breath now coming out in quick gasps, Naim saw Ryan look at him again, then turned his head away out of humiliation.
Saying nothing else, Ryan left and followed Macca down the hall.
Naim's shaking legs managed to carry him back into the bathroom where he threw himself into a stall and locked the door. Trembling, he sat on the toilet and clutched at his hands to calm himself down. He took shuttering breaths as he pulled on his fingers until they popped and picked at hangnails until they ripped and bled.
He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed at them with the heels of his hands.
Fuck. He wasn't sure which was worse: Ryan Whelan calling him a fucking dag while looking at him like a bug under his shoe, or just getting beaten up.
He might've preferred getting beaten up.
Naim wasn't comfortable enough in his sexuality to even call what he felt towards Ryan Whelan a crush, but…it was maybe, possibly something like it.
The other boy was not only in Naim's bio and lit class, but he also went to the same church. Naim knew he shouldn't look at him as much as he did, he knew, but sometimes he didn't even notice when his eyes drifted in his direction.
Ryan Whelan was utterly captivating.
Light blond curls that took on light like a halo, equally as blond brows and lashes framing icy blue eyes, strong shoulders that carried his solid frame as he walked through the halls or stood with the other teens after service on Sunday when the adults milled about for an extra half hour. He had a strong neck and jaw, but soft-looking lips that quirked up just slightly higher on one end of his mouth than the other when he smiled.
He didn't talk much. He sometimes hung out with Macca and their friend, Hunter, and a couple other guys from school, but not all the time. And when he did, he was always on the edge, never inserting himself unless directly addressed. He seemed to be like Naim in that way.
Naim wondered what a guy like Ryan thought about. What he did when he was alone.
The only thing Naim ever prayed for was that Ryan's family sat in front of him and his mum at church so he would have a reason to gaze at the back of his head. One time, they accidentally bumped into each other when filing out after the service, and Ryan's hand briefly touched Naim's waist as he passed.
That night was the first time Naim jerked off while thinking of someone specific while he did it. He cried after, then he prayed again, too. Just in case.
Okay, maybe he had a crush on Ryan Whelan. Maybe he was even a little bit in love with him.
But it didn't matter, because Ryan was straight, cool, and way above Naim's league in every conceivable way; there was no way on God's green earth someone like him would even want to be friends with someone like Naim.
It was clear enough with the vacant way he looked at him, the hollow fuckin' dag thrown in his direction.
Naim was a loser. He knew it, Ryan knew it, the whole fucking town knew it.
And he didn't even have any fucking weed to take the edge off after school; no way in hell was he going to ask Ryan.
He was going to spend another weekend holed up in his room, sober and alone.
After he felt calm enough, Naim realized he'd probably been gone way too long and quickly washed his face free of tears before returning to class, head on a swivel in case Ryan or Macca were still roaming the halls.
Of course, now that Naim wanted class to go a little slower so he could avoid Ryan, it sped by. Bio had already passed for the day, so Naim's next class with Ryan was lit, but luckily he sat in front of the blond, so it gave him a great excuse to not look at him.
However, as soon as class ended, Naim made the rare mistake of looking up from his shoes as he turned to go. He made direct eye contact with the other boy across the room and froze like a deer about to get flattened by a car.
Ryan, for his part, simply looked away and passed Naim without a second glance as he followed other students out the door.
Naim hadn't even noticed he'd held his breath that time.
By the end of the day, Naim's nerves were fried from the whole thing and he booked it out of the building as fast as he could. As much as he disliked the new house, at least he would be there alone.
He had only made it five or so minutes away from school, keeping his head down towards the paved footpath, when someone called out to him.
"Naim."
Freezing in his tracks, Naim turned to see Ryan coming up behind him, backpack slung easily over one shoulder and his hands in his pockets.
Oh no.
Naim didn't even have time to come up with an exit plan before Ryan strode up to him, all casual coolness per usual.
Panicked, Naim gripped his backpack straps tightly in his hands and looked around for any help, but he was on his own. Also per usual. He stared at the ground as Ryan got closer and turned his head to the side, keeping his body angled towards the street. "I—I'm not gonna say anything," he muttered, knuckles turning white around the backpack straps. "I swear."
"No, I—" Ryan paused, then took a deep breath. "I wanted to apologize."
Naim's head shot up in disbelief. "What?"
Ryan let out the air he'd held in and looked away for a moment, eyes darting to some trees, then the sky, before landing back on Naim. "For earlier. For Macca and — y'know." For the first time, Ryan actually seemed unsure. When he looked at Naim, it wasn't with coldness, but slight concern.
It took a few seconds for Naim's brain to catch up with the current situation. He quickly looked around them, half convinced a group of guys were going to emerge from the trees and beat his ass. He even turned in a full circle to check all 360 degrees around them.
"…What are you doing?" Ryan asked, now sounding just as confused as Naim felt.
Looking for your mates to jump out and give me a bashing, suddenly seemed like a ridiculous likelihood. They were alone together. "You're talking to me," Naim blurted out, only to immediately go red and force his eyes back down at his shoes. Fucking idiot.
"Um, yeah. I mean — that okay?" Blond brows furrowed at the question.
Naim took a deep breath as subtly as he could to calm himself down. It wasn't much, given that he sounded like a wheezing hamster. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Yeah, that's okay."
"Cool."
For a moment, neither said anything, then Ryan spoke up again.
"So…actually, about earlier—"
"I'm really not going to tell anyone," Naim repeated.
A small smile quirked up in the corner of Ryan's mouth. "Naim, I'm not worried about that."
A small thrill went through Naim's body at hearing Ryan actually say his name for the first time, but the joy immediately died when he took in the rest of the other boy's words. Humiliation twisted in his gut. "Right. Because I'm a fucking dag. I don't even talk."
Ryan was the one to clear his throat this time and looked down, poking his runners at the pavement. "Yeah, I'm — uh — I'm sorry about that, too." He looked up and maybe it was Naim's imagination, but his ears seemed to redden. "Macca's a dickhead. I just, like, wanted him to leave you alone, y'know?"
Naim was at a loss for words. Who was standing in front of him? This Ryan seemed so different than the one in school. This one stumbled over words and shuffled his feet and had — now — undeniably red ears in the pale afternoon light. Naim quite liked this Ryan. He was cute. Felt just a little less untouchable. Maybe it was risky, but the brunet boy gave him a small smile.
For once in Naim's life, a risk paid off. Ryan smiled back.
"So…what about earlier?" Naim asked, trying to keep his smile normal and not freak Ryan out by grinning like a maniac.
"Right. Just wanted to know if you smoke."
"Weed?"
"No, crack."
Naim snorted a laugh, choked on his embarrassment, them immediately recovered at Ryan's grin. He wasn't sure he was going to survive this conversation; his heart couldn't take it.
"Yes, weed, ya cunt." Unlike Macca's usuage earlier, Ryan's tone was friendly. Warm, even.
"Sometimes." Naim's smile grew. "Wasn't sure where to get some around here, though."
Bobbing his head in a slight nod, Ryan glanced around casually. "I can be your guy." His eyes met Naim's. "If you want."
Fuck yes I want. Naim had to physically lock his legs in place to prevent himself from falling to his knees at the sound of Ryan's rich voice. I can be your guy. He knew the blond just meant as a dealer, but still. Naim would be thinking about those words in bed later that night, he was sure. "Yeah. Works for me." God, he hoped that came out chill and not as shaky as he felt.
"Sick." Ryan smiled and held out his hand, palm up, "Here, gimme your phone."
As fast as humanly possible, Naim fished his phone out of his pocket and gave to the blond. He watched in astonishment as Ryan Whelan put his phone number into Naim's phone.
Ryan handed the phone back, then shoved his hands back in his pockets. "Text me sometime. I'll get you sorted."
Naim clutched the phone to his chest like a lifeline. "Okay." He realized he was staring and glanced down at the ground again, biting his bottom lip to keep himself from beaming. "Thanks, Ryan." When he looked back up, Ryan's ears were red again, even more than before.
"No wuckas." The blond cleared his throat again and slouched a bit, glancing around before huffing out something that sounded suspiciously like fuck it. "Actually," he started, "are you, like, doing anything tomorrow?"
Heart now beating in his ears, Naim shook his head. "No."
"Then…" Ryan trailed off, kicked at a small pebble, and faced the smaller boy again. "You wanna hang out or somethin'? I mean, I can bring the weed. Show you a good place to light up."
The rush of blood in his ears was practically drowning out Ryan's words as Naim nodded so hard it nearly hurt his neck. "Yeah. Cool. Sounds…fun."
"Beauty." Ryan smiled, then bit his lips as he took a few steps backwards. "Text me tonight, then. I'll let you know where to meet up."
Breathless, Naim watched him go. "Okay. I — I will."
Ryan gave him a final smile before turning around and making his way in the other direction.
Naim stood motionless for thirty seconds before he could even get his feet to move.
It wasn't until the next evening, after a trip to smoke in the town's abandoned mill became one of first kisses and self-discovery instead, that Naim finally got a hit.
He snuck outside after his mum had gone to bed and and lit up in the backyard, laying on his back as he gazed dreamily up at the sky. The strain was good — really good — but with the taste of the blond boy still on his lips, Naim already knew that Ryan Whelan was his new favorite drug (though weed was a close second).