Phei couldn't stop laughing.
Not the polite chuckle people fake at parties. Not even the sharp bark of someone who's just heard a good joke.
This was deep, ugly, chest-rattling laughter—the kind that starts in the diaphragm and keeps coming like it's trying to claw its way out of your ribcage. Wave after merciless wave until his abs burned, his eyes streamed, and he had to brace both hands on the edge of the desk he was perched on just to stop himself sliding off and hitting the floor in a heap.
"Oh my gods," he wheezed, wiping at his face with the heel of his hand. "This is—this is actually happening. You actually—" Another convulsion of laughter choked him off. "You actually brought muscles."
Derek stood framed in the doorway of the empty classroom like a man who'd walked into his own funeral and found the coffin already occupied.
