Clusterfuck

vii

Toby's frustrated, because Leo hasn't said a damn word.

Well, yes, he has. He's said a word. He's said multiple words. Several of them. He's done most of the talking so far, in fact. But every single thing that has come out of his mouth is strictly about calculus. Fucking calculus. Not once does he mention what happened—what he did, that motherfucker—the night before. It's borderline infuriating, and Toby is truly beginning to wonder if maybe it was all some drunken fantasy.

Leo's saying something, but Toby's not listening, because he couldn't give less of a damn about math. Instead, he's focusing his glare on Leo's mouth as he speaks. That fucking mouth. That damn mouth that sent Toby spiraling, officially, after he was already teetering the brink of insanity. He hates that mouth.

(No he doesn't.)

"...you hot?"

Toby blinks and looks up. "Wh-what?"

Leo grins. "I said, aren't you hot?"

Toby exhales and glances down at his hands. "Oh. Uh. I'm—fine?"

"You sure? It's pretty warm in here, and you're still in your jacket."

Toby clenches his jaw. "Yeah, well. You've made me paranoid that if I take it off, I'll end up leaving it here."

Leo cocks his head to the right. His hair is messier today, sticking up in some places, defying gravity, because why not? But it's not like Toby notices. Or cares. "I was just messing with you," he says. "And besides, even if you do leave it, you know you can count on me to get it back to you."

Toby bites the inside of his cheek, as if doing so will force away the blush that rushes to his face. "So make up your mind," he shoots back before he really has the chance to think about how not to make himself look like an idiot. "Do you want me to forget it again, or not?"

"Why would you assume I want you to forget it?"

"I don't know, but you seem way too happy at the idea of being my... coat... getter."

"All right, well, if this is going to become a common theme in our conversations, you're going to have to come up with a better term than 'coat getter.'"

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's too basic. Too... politically correct."

"Yeah? What would you call it, then?"

"I dunno." Leo pulls a pensive expression and reclines back in his seat a bit. Staring up at the ceiling. Toby looks up too, just for a brief moment, to check and see if anything interesting is up there. There's not. Obviously. It's a library ceiling. "How about, 'coattail-er?'"

Toby scoffs. "That's just stupid."

"It's a pun. Clearly, you have no appreciation for advanced humor."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever."

Leo brings his head back down to look at Toby—and he does, he looks at him for way too long, to the point where Toby begins to stir under his penetrating blue gaze. For some reason, he gets significantly more nervous when Leo knits his eyebrows together.

"You're different today," he says. Toby swallows hard.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I don't know. You just are. Usually, you're... like, nervous around me. Did something happen?"

Toby can't fucking tell if he's joking or not.

"What do you mean, 'did something happen?'" he demands, and he knows his tone is hostile. Defensive. He has a right to be upset, confused, but maybe this is a little much. Still, though, despite his doubts, he doesn't apologize.