I don't react.
"I swear to God, I thought that man was dead or something," another guy chimes in from the armrest, already laughing. "Did you see him like a decade ago? He was fucking tragic. Little guy looked like he'd cry if you touched his shoulder."
They all burst out laughing and my own laugh just cuts. My heart spikes so fast it feels wrong, like they're talking shit about me, not Rava.
I stare at them. All of them. I don't get what's funny.
Mark leans forward.
"But damn. Boy grew up. Got the jawline. That mouth. You hit that yet?"
The world slows. That. He calls Ravathat.
Like he's a sex toy.
What do I do? Fuck, I don't know what to do.
I can't look offended. I can't act weird. This group talks like this about everyone. I can't just snap for one person.
But it feels like I'm betraying Rava just by sitting here. By letting them talk about him like that. By not saying anything.
And it makes no fucking sense.
He's not even here. He wouldn't even know. But it feels so, so wrong. So wrong my chest actually hurts.
It feels filthy. Like they're smearing something innocent that shouldn't be touched by them at all.
Enzo grins. "Guess not yet." Another voice joins, one of the younger guys, barely twenty, eyes gleaming like a sick dog.
"Bro, not gonna lie, Rava looks like the type you'd have to mentally prep before sex. Right? You think he'd be into it? Looks like the type you have to train a little first, no?"
What the hell am I hearing?
I snap my head toward Rava, even though he's far, to make sure he's not hearing this filth spill out of their mouths. My brain is killing me. It keeps making pictures I don't want to see.
If he were beside me right now, God, I don't even know if he'd answer. He is strong, I know that. He pushes back when he needs to.
But I also know the limits of that strength.
I know what crosses the line. And this. This would fucking crush him. He wouldn't fight them. He'd laugh it off.
Pretend it doesn't get to him.
Then he'd go home and overthink everything. Replay every syllable. Ask himself if it's true, if he really looks "difficult."
He'd stare at the ceiling all night. He'd lose sleep over people who don't even remember his last name. He'd ask what's wrong with him again.
I'm angry. Really fucking angry. And their stupid smiles are making it ten times harder to hold it in.
"I bet he's the kind that acts all shy till you get your hand on his neck," the kid goes on, laughing. "Then he melts. Fuck, I'd—"
"Shut up," I say.
"Wait, think about it, if we got him drunk enough, we could share him," Mark offers, grinning at me like we're boys.
"Come on, Gio. You've had enough of him. Let us play too."
My body moves before I can even name what I'm feeling.
