Page 65 of Small Sacrifices

He agrees to meet Everett in half an hour, in the same place where they spent their last lunch break together. When he looks up from his phone with a sigh, Marisol is smirking at him.

"Loverboy want your attention again?" she asks.

The groan rips itself from Reid's throat without his consent. But the effort to hide his face behind his hands is intentional. "Stop. You know it's not like that."

Marisol hums. "But it could be like that."

"No!"

His voice is so loud that Marisol sits up in her chair. With that comes the immediate urge to apologize, but he ignores it. Boundaries. He has to set them.

"No," he says again. "It can't. Please stop."

"Okay."

Immediately, she looks concerned, even reaches out a hand. But he scoots back, turning to face his desk. He still has things he should do before he goes on break. It's just after a weekend, there are still so many questions he has to answer. When he gets started on that, he doesn't look at Marisol. Luckily, she accepts it.

He types mechanically until it's time for his break. As he walks to the small nook with the wrought iron furniture, he feels a profound sense of numbness. He's already contemplating leaving early. If he's this drained now, what will he be like after talking to Everett? He can't imagine the conversation going well.

When Reid steps into the nook, the first thing he sees is Everett's bright smile, a stark contrast to his own mood. But it fades as Everett looks at him.

"Everything good?" he asks.

"No."

Everett makes to get up, but Reid just shakes his head. God, why does he feel so exhausted all of a sudden? It's difficult to maneuver around the heavy bench, but he manages. Then, the airtight lid is stuck to his lunchbox. Heat floods up in him again. Why is nothing working today?

Lean hands move into his line of sight to break the vacuum seal and carefully position Reid's lunch in front of him without spilling anything. He wants to say something. Wants to tell Everett that he can open his own damn lunchbox, that he's not a child. But when he looks up at him, he's already puttering about with his salad again.

"If you wanna tell me about it, I'm here," he says and then opens his mouth ridiculously wide to fit in a gigantic amount of lettuce. He's not even looking at Reid.

The nonchalance calms him down. Enough to eat his first bite of poké bowl, anyway. But he knows he has to talk. When he's finished chewing, he takes a deep breath and does just that.

"Mr. Wright seems to have gotten wind of our little sightseeing tour on Thursday.I got interrogated," he says and then carefully spears a piece of avocado.

"Fuck." A pause. "Wait, how?"

Reid tries to explain the weird conversation he had with Mr. Wright. But instead of anxious, Everett looks relieved by the end of it.

"Geeze, and here I thought he actually knew something. This is nothing, he's just gaslighting you. We're fine," Everett says and gestures as if to wipe away the worries.

Reid closes his eyes for a moment. Maybe Everett can afford that attitude, but he certainly cannot.

"I don't think we should keep doing this. We'll get in trouble."

Next to him, Everett stops chewing for a second. Waiting for him to start up again so that he can talk is almost painful.

"And bydoing this,you mean having lunch together?" Everett finally asks. His voice is blank, but Reid can practically hear the raised eyebrow.

He swallows. "And talking to each other. I don't think it'll end well."

Everett sighs, and there's a clank. Reid looks over to see he's put his fork down. His face is vulnerable when he says, "I really like talking to you. I don't wanna stop."

"We should," Reid says. His voice doesn't break, but it's a near thing.

"Maybe," Everett concedes. "But do you want to?"

His eyes are arresting, wide and dark. Reid almost feels hypnotized. He's not put together enough to lie. "No."

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