Theo’s eyes went wide, his body still pinned under Kota’s, his hands frozen on Kota’s shoulders.
“Kota,” he whispered, his voice pitched high with panic.
“Kota, should I hide?
Is there a closet?
I can fit in a closet.”
Kota shook his head, pushing himself up off the bed.
His heart was hammering in his chest, but underneath the panic was something else.
Resolve.
They had been sneaking around for weeks, lying to his dad, hiding the truth about everything.
Maybe this was exactly what needed to happen.
No more running.
No more fake construction jobs.
No more excuses.
“Now’s as good a time as ever,” Kota said, grabbing his jeans from the floor and pulling them on.
The fabric stuck to his sweat-slicked skin, uncomfortable and cold.
He yanked his hoodie over his head, not bothering to find his boxers.
“Get dressed.
Make yourself presentable.
My dad’s about to meet his son’s boyfriend.” (LESS FUCKING GO- excuse me)
Theo scrambled off the bed, still completely naked, his massive ass jiggling with every frantic movement.
He grabbed his blazer and pants from where they had been discarded hours ago, pulling them on with shaking hands.
He buttoned his shirt wrong twice before giving up and just tucking it in haphazardly.
His handbag, the designer one he had brought with him, was hanging from the back of a chair.
He slung it over his shoulder, gripping the strap like a lifeline.
“Prepared?” Theo repeated, his voice cracking.
“I’m not prepared.
I’m never prepared.
I’m going to meet your father while I still smell like sex and my hair looks like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket.
He’s going to know.
He’s going to take one look at me and know exactly what we were doing.
Oh god.
Oh god oh god oh god.”
Kota grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him quickly, firm and grounding.
“Breathe.
You’re the principal of a high school.
You’ve handled school board investigations.
You can handle my dad.”
“Your dad is scarier than the school board!
The school board doesn’t judge my worthiness as a romantic partner!
The school board doesn’t have the power to forbid me from seeing you!”
“He doesn’t have that power either.
I’m eighteen.
I make my own choices.” Kota squeezed his shoulders once more, then turned toward the bedroom door.
“Come on.
Let’s get this over with.”
Kota stepped out of the bedroom and walked into the living room, Theo trailing behind him like a nervous shadow.
Khalil was standing near the couch, still in his work jacket, his tool belt hanging from his hip.
He was stretching his back with a low groan, his face creased with exhaustion from another long shift.
The smell of motor oil and concrete dust clung to him, filling the small apartment.
“Hey, Dad,” Kota said, trying to keep his voice casual.
“How was work?”
Khalil grunted, rolling his shoulders.
“Today sucked.
Ramirez called in sick again, so I had to cover his whole section plus mine.
Supervisor’s been on my ass about the quarterly numbers.
And some idiot backed a forklift into the new concrete pour.” He paused mid-stretch, his eyes scanning the living room.
They landed on the open board game box on the coffee table, the Monopoly board still spread out with tiny metal pieces scattered across it.
His eyebrows rose.
“You bring a friend over?”
“Something like that,” Kota said, his voice tighter than he intended.
Khalil’s lips twitched into a knowing smirk.
He nudged Kota’s shoulder with his elbow, the gesture rough but affectionate.
“It’s that elevator boy, isn’t it?
The one with the van?
The one who keeps making those weird comments about construction slang?
I knew something was going on there.
You two have been dancing around each other for weeks.”
Kota’s stomach dropped.
“No, Dad.
It’s not Corey.
It’s someone else.”
Khalil’s smirk faded, replaced by curiosity.
His eyes narrowed slightly, studying Kota’s face.
“Someone else?
Then who is it?”
Kota opened his mouth, but the words got stuck in his throat.
His heart was pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears.
This was it.
No more lies.
No more deflections.
He had to say it.
He had to introduce his boyfriend to his father, the same father who had spent years warning him about the dangers of getting too close to “those freaks” who shook their asses and talked about feelings.
“Just…
come here,” Kota managed, his voice rough.
He turned and walked back toward his bedroom, his legs feeling like lead.
Khalil followed, his brow furrowed with confusion.
Kota pushed the bedroom door open.
Theo was standing in the center of the room, exactly where they had left him.
He had managed to make himself somewhat presentable, his blazer straightened, his shirt tucked in, his handbag clutched in front of him like a shield.
His hair was still a disaster, but he had attempted to smooth it down, one stubborn cowlick still sticking up from the crown of his head.
His face was pale, his eyes wide, and he was trembling visibly.
He stood extra rigid and straight, his spine so stiff it looked painful.
His free hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, the gesture nervous and oddly delicate.
His polished British accent came out strained, each word carefully enunciated as if he were reciting lines from a play he had only half memorized.
“Good evening, Mr.
Abdel.
It’s a pleasure to meet you.
My name is Theodore Hawthorne.
I’m Kota’s…
I’m his boyfriend.
I’m very sorry for the state of my hair.
And my clothes.
And my general existence.
I hope you can forgive the intrusion.”
Khalil’s jaw dropped.
Literally dropped.
His eyes went wide, his face cycling through shock, confusion, and dawning recognition.
He knew this man.
Everyone knew this man.
This was Principal Hawthorne.
The principal of Westfield High.
The youngest principal in the district.
The one who signed off on Kota’s transfer records and attendance reports.
The one Khalil had spoken to on the phone twice about Kota’s “academic performance.”
Khalil stepped forward, his hand extending automatically for a handshake.
Theo grabbed it and shook frantically, his grip too tight, his movements too fast, like he was trying to pump water from a well.
His nervous laugh came out high and strained.
“It’s so nice to meet you, sir.
Truly.
I’ve heard so much about you.
Kota speaks very highly of you.
You raised a wonderful son.
He’s very kind and smart and talented and I’m very grateful to be with him.
I hope we can get along.
I hope you don’t hate me.
I hope this isn’t too awkward.
I know this is awkward.
I’m making it more awkward.
I’m going to stop talking now.”
Khalil extracted his hand from Theo’s grip, his expression unreadable.
“Right,” he said, his voice flat.
“Nice to meet you too.”
He turned to Kota, and Kota saw it.
The gears turning behind his father’s eyes.
The slow, grinding realization of what this meant.
His son, the son he had raised to be strong, to stay away from the “softness” of this new world, had not only been dating, but dating his own principal.
The man in charge of his education.
The man who held power over his future.
The man who was currently standing in their tiny apartment with sex hair and a designer handbag.
Khalil’s left eye twitched.
It was a small movement, barely perceptible, but Kota saw it.
He saw the muscle jump just beneath the skin, the way his father’s jaw tightened, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
“Kota,” Khalil said, his voice low and controlled, the kind of voice he used when he was about to deliver a lecture that would last for hours.
“May I speak with you outside?
Now.”