Kota gripped the edge of the truck seat as Khalil pulled up to the curb outside Westfield High, the old Ford's engine rumbling low like it was as tired as he was.
"Running late for the site, son," Khalil grunted, eyes already flicking to the clock on the dash. "Big pour today. Text me if you need anything."
The words were clipped, practical, the same tone he used when quotas were tight and the crew was waiting.
Kota nodded once, mumbled a quick "yeah," and pushed the door open before the truck had even fully stopped rolling. The cool morning air hit his face like a slap, carrying the faint scent of cut grass from the school lawn and the distant rumble of buses pulling into the lot. His sneakers hit the pavement with a soft crunch, backpack slung heavy over one shoulder, and he didn't look back as the truck peeled away, exhaust puffing white in the early light.
The school hallways were already buzzing by the time he pushed through the double doors, the familiar chaos of lockers slamming, voices overlapping, and the rhythmic clap-clap-clap of massive asses swaying in tight jeans and shorts filling the air like background music he couldn't turn off. Kota kept his head down, shoulders hunched, trying to blend into the crowd even though he knew it was pointless now. Yesterday's hallway scene had spread like wildfire; every pair of eyes that flicked his way carried that same hungry, knowing glint. He reached his locker and spun the combination with fingers that still felt a little raw from gripping hips and hair the day before. The metal door clanged open, the sound sharp in the noise.
Riley was already there.
Leaning against the next locker over like he owned the hallway, platinum hair perfectly styled, crop top riding high enough to show the smooth dip of his midriff and the dramatic flare of his hips. His ass—those legendary planetary cheeks—pressed back against the cold metal, forcing a soft, subtle jiggle every time he shifted his weight. He flashed Kota that teasing grin the second their eyes met, glossy lips curving slow and deliberate.
"Morning, big man," Riley purred, voice pitched just loud enough to carry over the hallway din. "You see my message this morning? The one about the janitor's closet? I've been thinking about it nonstop."
Kota lied without missing a beat, slamming his backpack inside the locker and grabbing a random notebook he didn't need. "Didn't see it."
Riley's grin widened, eyes sparkling with knowing mischief. He stepped closer, close enough that Kota could smell the vanilla body spray layered over the faint, lingering musk of yesterday's loads still clinging to his skin.
"Liar. I know you read it. Your little read receipt popped up at 6:42. You were probably stroking that monster the second you saw it, weren't you? Thinking about bending me over the mop bucket again?"
Kota's face heated instantly, a flush crawling up his neck that he couldn't hide. He slammed the locker shut harder than necessary, the metallic bang echoing down the hall and drawing a few curious glances. "Later, Riley."
Riley fake-pouted, lips pushing out in that exaggerated, glossy way that always looked half-serious and half-playful. "Aw, come on. Dennis is on spare first period. He's got a surprise for you. Something special he's been prepping since last night. You sure you don't wanna see it? I could walk you there right now, quick detour before English."
Kota considered it for half a second, the image of Dennis bent over somewhere, ass presented, that cheeky grin on his face while he waited with whatever "surprise" he had cooked up. The thought sent a traitorous twitch through his crotch, the new, heavier weight of his cock shifting against his thigh in a way that still felt foreign after last night's discovery. But he shoved it down hard. "Later," he repeated, voice firmer this time, and turned toward the English wing before Riley could push any harder.
Riley let out a dramatic little huff, fake-pouting even deeper as he spun on his heel. "Fine. But you're missing out, stud. Dennis is gonna be so disappointed."
He walked away with that signature sway, cheeks clapping softly under the tight fabric of his shorts, drawing eyes from half the hallway as he disappeared around the corner.
Kota exhaled through his nose and headed into English without a binder, the classroom already half-full when he slipped through the door.
The usual scent of dry-erase markers and old paper hit him, mixed with the faint body spray and sweat of twenty-plus bodies crammed into one room.
Sebastian stood at the front in his usual arrogant stance, arms crossed over his chest, that smug little smirk plastered on his face like he was about to hand out Nobel Prizes instead of graded essays. He "glazed himself again," as the class liked to call it—running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, adjusting his collar, making sure everyone noticed how put-together he looked while the rest of them were still half-asleep.
"Alright, everyone," Sebastian announced, voice dripping with self-importance. "Collecting all the essays from two days ago. The ones on 'Why I Admire My Favorite Teacher.' I hope you all put your hearts into praising the greatest educator in this building."
Everyone groaned in unison, the sound rolling through the desks like a wave. Most of them had actually handed stuff in, crumpled papers sliding across the wooden surfaces, some still warm from backpacks. Sebastian skimmed each one with arrogant little comments muttered under his breath, loud enough for the front rows to hear every cutting word. "Bare minimum… not positive enough about me… I'm failing you because you said I'm one of the greatest, not THE greatest." He flipped through the stack like a king reviewing tribute, shaking his head at every slight imperfection.
When he reached Kota's seat, he paused, eyebrows lifting in mock politeness. "Did you do the work, Kota?"
Kota shot him a flat, withering glare, the kind that carried every ounce of yesterday's leftover dominance, the memory of bending principals and chefs and making them beg still fresh enough to sharpen the look. (Shanks haki)
Sebastian's smugness faltered for half a second.
He nodded quickly, almost nervously, and moved on, scooping up everyone else's papers without another word to Kota. The rest of the class passed in a blur. Kota napped through most of it, head down on the desk, the steady drone of Sebastian's voice fading into background noise while his body finally caught up on the sleep it had missed. The bell rang eventually, jolting him awake, and he filed out with the crowd, backpack slung over one shoulder, mind still foggy.
In the hallway he checked his phone again. Another message from Riley.
Riley: "2nd floor bathroom near the stairs. Now. Don't make me come find you."
Kota's stomach dropped. That bathroom. The infamous slut bathroom, the one on the second floor tucked near the back stairs where all the boldest, horniest guys went to vape, fuck, and use the glory hole that had been carved into the stall wall since last year. The air in there always smelled like strawberry vape and fresh cum, the tiles perpetually damp from quick clean-ups, moans echoing off the walls at all hours. What the hell would Riley need him there for? Kota dreaded it, the image already forming in his head: Riley waiting with that teasing grin, Dennis probably bent over the sink or on his knees in one of the stalls, both of them ready to drag him back into the chaos he had barely escaped yesterday.
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, the weight of the day already pressing down again as he headed toward the stairs, the hallway noise swirling around him like a current he couldn't fight.