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BOARD GAMES
1. Toshiko
2. Wolfgang
3. Grace
4. Desmond
5. Eloise
6. Jett
7. Ulysses
8. Wenona
CLUB
1. Kai
2. Diana
3. Ingrid
4. Jean
5. Cass
6. Mark
7. Eva
Damon leans away from the white board, nodding. Seems accurate. He turns in his chair, marker in hand.
"Good?"
The rest of the 17th class of Eden's Garden Academy stares back at him; from bean bags, couches, and chairs of their own. Third years, now. The same as him.
Grace snorts from her spot on the recliner. She's got one knee hiked up on the arm rest, the other crossed beneath her.
"You forgot yourself, dip shit."
Damon blinks.
"Oh," he says, dumbly. "Right."
And moves to scrawl his name under the board games category without hesitation.
Immediately, some start to heckle him. He keeps writing anyway. A pencil and a balled up piece of paper plink off his back and fall to the carpet.
“Tch, coward..”
"Come to the club with us, you pleb!"
Aaand done. The marker cap squeaks home, and he turns back around. The stare he gives Cass is deadpan.
"I'm not doing that."
"Dude, you're so lame!" Kai shouts, laying across a bean bag; the one that he claims is oh so good for his lower back. He throws his arms up to the ceiling. "Don't you ever wanna do something spontaneous? Something totally unexpected of you?"
Ingrid lets another wood shaving fall into the bucket between her feet. She's taken up hand carving. It's an all-new medium full of all-new possibilities, she says.
"Well now, I don't think it's always a bad thing to do what's expected of ya!"
Damon smiles softly at her, barely there. He thinks she's just happy to have something to do with her hands at these meetings.
"It is when you're lame!"
Cass materializes in front of him like one of those characters from that stupid anime Jett once made him watch. Dragon Sphere Q. Yeah. She snatches a red marker from the holder at the base of the white board.
"And you threw off the balance, man!" she complains. "I mean, look at these numbers."
She draws a stark line under both the 9 beside Damon's name and the 7 beside Eva's. Then, between both columns, she draws a gigantic greater than symbol — bug eyes, sharp teeth, and all.
"Mathematically, this makes you an asshole. Tell him, Eva!"
The girl in question stops brushing her hair mid strand; it's a Sunday evening, and Damon has been her friend long enough to know she has a whole night time ritual around hair care. Not skin care, or even body care. Just hair.
He never asked, and she never explained. Can't deny the results, anyway.
"..she makes some sound points."
"Sending an equal amount of people to both activities was never part of the plan," Damon sighs. "And I'd rather do almost anything else than go to a club — no offense, Mark."
Mark sits cross-legged on the ground, hunched over his laptop, one ear stuck out of his headphones. Using tech was usually frowned upon at these meetings, but Wolfgang made an exception. The club gig Mark's headlining for is tomorrow, after all. Apparently some finishing touches were necessary.
He doesn't even look up from the screen.
"I'm heart broken."
"Also, I don't see any of you three hounding Jett for choosing board games," Damon continues. Yeah, he's going there. He's going after the 'Video Game Gang'.
..Cass' choice of name, obviously.
"Bro, it gets hot as balls in those clubs!" Jett yells. He's sitting beside Mark, except he has the good sense to use the nearby couch for back support. "That is not suit friendly!"
"Real respectful, Damon!"
"Yeah, Bargain Bin, it's not suit friendly!"
Damon closes his eyes and reflects upon his choice of school for the thousandth time since first year.
Blissfully, Wolfgang stands up to corral the room — and God, Damon never thought he would say that.
"It sounds like we've reached a conclusion, everyone," he says, hands behind his back. "Seven of us will be going to the club to support Mark's set, while nine of us will stay in to play board games. This meeting is adjourned. BAF thanks you for your time."
BAF, of course, standing for Bonding & Fun. The Bonding & Fun committee.
Class full of elites in their respective fields, by the way.
As the group starts to turn to each other to chat and slowly head back to their dorms, Diana sidles up to Damon.
"And thank you, as always, Mr. Secretary," she whispers, smiling.
He lurks in the BAF group chat and writes things down on the white board. That's the entire extent of his position.
Wenona once said that Damon had a soft spot for Diana; her innocence, her positivity, her kindness. Wenona is not allowed to know who managed to rope him into the committee. If anybody asks, it was Wolfgang.
..yeah, right.
"It's fine," Damon replies. That same awkward feeling he gets whenever he's met with her painful sincerity starts to bubble up in his chest, and he feels his nose twitch. "You don't have to thank me after every meeting; it's not like it's hard."
She touches her fingers together, and she bends a little, toward him.
"I-I know, I just—"
"Princess Di, we're making a game plan! Get over here!"
They both look toward the centre of the room. The club goers have pushed their seating arrangements together around Mark. Cass waves her over.
"Ah, sorry, gotta go," Diana finishes. She straightens back up and beams at him. "I hope you have fun playing board games, Damon!"
And off she goes to join the others.
With a muted sigh, Damon brings his attention back to the white board. He picks up the scuffed eraser from the tray.
"So I'm thinkin'.. pre-gaming, my dorm, 6 P.M. ish. Who's in?"
"What's.. pre-gaming?" he hears Eva ask. Mark's reply is a mumble under clicks of the track pad.
"Getting drunk before getting drunk."
"I think the club will have plenty'a drinks for us already, no?"
"And pay premium prices to line the pockets of the bourgeoisie club owner scum?! Hell no!"
Damon laughs a little, just an exhale of air out the nose. He starts by wiping off the board game list. All the names start to fade away, with only little pieces of marker dust and debris in their wake.
"Aye, it is fairly costly.."
"I have a case of White Claws from Eva and I's last girls' night!"
"There's a bottle a'red wine I've been savin'. Seems like sharin' it with friends is the best reason I have t'open it up!"
"And I'll bring the ciders; the Ultimate drink for the Ultimate pre-game," Cass says, conspiratorial, in that weird villain voice she likes to put on. Or maybe it's supposed to be a generic movie trailer voice. In a world— whatever. She drops it immediately. "Kai, I'm thinkin', mm.. mudshakes?"
"Oh, I don't drink."
Damon's arm stops mid eraser swipe.
..huh?
"..you don't?" Diana asks after a beat, clearly trying to keep herself from sounding too shocked. She's respectful like that.
And then there's people like Cass.
"Pft, he's joking arouuund," she ribs. "Dude, you're always drinking the stuff I leave out on the kitchen counter at parties. Nice try."
Though, that is exactly where Damon's mind went. When it came to their group hang outs, Kai almost always had one ring-covered hand wrapped around a solo cup.
He pictures what he knows of Kai at the parties they have been to; loud laughs, flushed cheeks, often leading conversations and being the centre of attention. That.. wasn't from alcohol?
"U-Um, correction; I drink the mixers you leave out on the kitchen counter at parties. You're all just too blitzed to notice."
"A likely story!"
Damon frowns; both at the information, and at Cass' less-than-tactful reaction. Thankfully, Jean steps in.
"Whatever the case, seems we're all available for it. Let's have some fun, no matter what we drink!"
"Real," Eva croaks.
Damon pulls himself back to the task at hand, his arm slowly starting to move again. The frown stays.
★
It's later that evening when Damon finally gets up the courage to talk to Kai.
Every Sunday, they've made a habit of sitting together on their dorm couch to watch the latest episode of Oceandale; a terribly written teen drama. Damon walked in on Kai giggling to himself while watching it a couple of months back, asked what was so funny, and the rest is history.
Kai grins as the credits roll, smoothing his hands over the blanket across his lap. It's got a crushed velvet texture; one that he adores, but that sets Damon's teeth on edge.
All this to say, they don't share covers during episodes.
"I'm totally using that one from now on," Kai grins. "Nobody's gonna be safe. Like, next time you put on that salmon hoodie your mom sent you — 'you're wearing my signature colour'."
Damon's smiling, too. He stares down at his own hands as he quotes back at the other, awkward and phoned in.
"’You don't own the colour pink. Pink existed before you’."
"’Not at Eden's Garden Academy’!" and he's so dramatic about it, yet somehow still not as dramatic as the actors on the show. How do they manage it? "’Here? I invented pink. I am pink.’"
Damon shakes his head. He knows his dimple is showing, but any feeling of insecurity stays muted under something else. Something warm.
"It's so bad.."
"It's really bad!"
A soft silence stretches between them. Name after name scrolls down the screen.
The smile slowly slips off Damon's face. He keeps his eyes trained on the television.
"..I, uh.. didn't know you don't drink."
He holds back a full body cringe. Smooth, Damon. Very smooth. Years from now, debate coaches will still be using that as an example of a subtle transition, surely.
Out of his peripheral vision, he sees Kai look at him. He looks back. His roommate seems completely confused for a second, just staring, until—
"Oh!" Kai half-gasps, half-laughs. "S-Subject change, haha! Yeah, n-no, I don't. Not anymore."
There's another long pause, though it's not as pleasant as the last. Kai's smile is thinner now as he grabs the mug on the side table and brings it to his lips. It's chamomile tea; Damon brewed it. His fingers twitch in his lap as he watches the other take a sip.
"..mind if I ask why?"
Kai chokes on a swallow.
Damon rears forward. One hand grabs the mug from Kai, the other goes to his back — but doesn't make contact, just hovers. Kai coughs and coughs into his own forearm. Damon watches, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.
The coughs peter out into nervous, rasping giggles.
"Oh, my God, Damon, y-you can't just ask someone why they're sober..!"
Damon feels heat wrench up his neck and face, blotchy on his skin. His knuckles go white around the mug.
"I-I'm not trying to pry, I—"
"No no, it's — it's fine,” and Kai's laugh sounds deeper, more genuine. Less squirrely. He coughs one last time, rubbing at his sternum. “It's a fair question, dude.”
Haltingly, Kai leans against the couch's arm rest. His knees go up and tuck beneath his cover.
“There are.. a few reasons, if I'm being honest,” he murmurs. Bony fingers fidget with the ring around his middle right; the only one not made out of gold, that's tarnished.
“But one of the biggest reasons is, well.. my, uh, 'rep',” Kai explains. The jewelry spins around and around. Damon stares at it, too. “When you're drunk, it's a lot easier to do dumb, embarrassing shit. And, I mean, you've seen it; I can't go out for more than fifteen minutes without somebody trying to film me when they think I'm not looking.”
He stops fidgeting, and looks at Damon. His eyes are shiny.
“Managing my image is already hard enough, y'know? I don't need the headache."
There's a large, very loud part of Damon that wants to point out the tears and get more answers. But he didn't just judge Cass a few hours ago, nor get jokingly scolded by Kai, just to make the same mistakes.
Instead, he reaches forward. The mug settles on the coffee table with a dull clink.
"That's.. smart of an influencer,” Damon whispers. His pinky rubs at the handle, just a little. “To think ahead like that."
He hears Kai snort.
"It's almost like I have a talent for it, or something."
And looks back over his shoulder. The poker face comes easier.
"I didn't know that."
Kai rolls his eyes. There's no actual venom behind it; he's smiling again. It eases the tension out of Damon's spine.
"Clearly.”
They both start moving to put things away. The chip bag goes under Damon’s arm, the blanket under Kai's. They bring each other's dishes to the sink — for tomorrow. It's late.
Damon turns to the cupboard where they keep the snacks, opens the door.
“I..”
He leans back out of the cupboard. Kai's picking at his nails.
“..I just don't know why everybody makes such a big deal about it,” he frowns. Their fridge buzzes lowly beside them. “I-Is it really that surprising?"
Yes.
“That.. shouldn't matter,” Damon finally hears himself say. “People should have the decency to be subtle about it either way.”
Which is clearly not what Kai wants to hear, because he turns on his heel.
The mini Cass that he hallucinates onto his shoulder at the worst possible times leans against his neck, stabbing him with her horns.
‘Kai will remember this,’ she simpers. ‘Broken social link, go!’
His nails bite into his palms. He needs to start tuning her out more during their shared lunch period.
"Aaanyway,” Kai sing-songs, too casual. Damon watches him take his phone out of his pocket and unlock it in record speed. He's already scrolling down his Instagram feed. “I’m gonna go do my skincare routine. Thanks for watching cringe with me!"
And he walks off to their bathroom without another word, Reels blaring from the speakers.
For his part, Damon stands alone in their kitchen, feeling profoundly, stupidly lost. He must open and close his mouth at least four times in the silence that follows. If grandma were here, she would say he ought to close it, or else he'd catch flies.
..sighing tersely, he closes the cabinet.
His slippers skid across tile as he trudges his way to the sink. Two mugs and a snack bowl stare back at him.
..it's a bad idea.
He squeezes dish soap onto the sponge, lathers it up into a foam with his thumbs. The skin of his left cheek is chewed up between his teeth as he scrubs at a dish.
It's a really bad idea.
The tea stains are stubborn. Damon feels his eye twitch. The steam from the water — almost too hot to be bearable — floats up to his face. He feels his bangs start to stick to sweaty skin.
You're going to regret th—
He swipes the faucet shut and stomps away, wiping his hands on his shirt in quick, aggravated movements. The bathroom is just around the corner. He comes face to face with its door.
He raises a fist—
And then he hears her. That podcaster.
—and that became an important reminder for me. Like a ferris wheel that doesn't stop, I know that I'll always come back to that scary top, sometimes. But that also means I'll always come back to its safer bottom, too.
Eloise recommended it to Kai a couple of months ago; a podcast for people who struggle with chronic anxiety. Apparently, Desmond had told her about it. She said it had been helping her decompress after hard fencing lessons, when she began to doubt herself.
Damon hadn't intentionally eavesdropped, obviously. He just happened to overhear them talking about it over a group project while he wiped the kitchen counters nearby.
He only ever hears Kai listen to it on very particular days; a new hate campaign started against him online, he had to go visit his family, a test was set for the next day.
And now this.
Knowing it's a cycle, knowing what goes up will always come down.
Damon's unclenches his fist, and lowers it.
It can be grounding, to remember that the most intense parts are temporary.
"..if you need someone,” Damon hears himself rasp. His eyebrows twitch. “To keep others from pressuring you now that they know, or, u-uh, bothering you about it, or something — I'd.. do that. I'd be there. For the club."
There's no answer, not a sound. Damon runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, swallows. Maybe he wasn't loud enough over the podca—
The door unlocks and rips open in one loud, sudden motion. Kai stands there, frame in a death grip. There's some pink goop all over his face. His free hand, too.
Those amber eyes practically sparkle.
"R-Really?!"
Damon's gaze darts left, then back. His teeth are clenched so hard that his jaw aches. After a beat, he nods. Barely.
Then, the loudest sniffle on planet Earth.
“..oh, dude!”
And Damon's being seized in a hug.
He's only ever been hugged by one other classmate; Toshiko, after he helped her study for a social policy exam. Which she should not have been required to take, for the record, considering how much younger she was than literally everyone else in the course. And despite their headmaster insisting she “rise to the occasion as an Ultimate”, Damon wasn't just going to let her fail. So he tutored her. And she hugged him.
He was just as stiff then as he is now.
“You're so fucking nice sometimes!" Kai weeps. “I can't believe I used to hate your ass..!"
Damon thinks about everything he knows about clubs; flashing lights, too many people in each other's personal space, blaring music, humid air. His personal sensory nightmares.
Kai squeezes him tighter. Damon's voice is strained along with it, lungs struggling for air.
“S-Same to you..”