Archive of Our Own ^beta

All the things that usually worked for John started to lose their appeal.

Even when John had the urge to escape and run away, he would still fancy a couple of comic books and movie tapes, at least he used to treat them as an escapism. Bob was more than happy to bring him the newest episodes whenever he could.

The smiles and proactivity genuinely pulled wool over Bob’s eyes; the caring gestures, the soft-spoken tone and the attitude that was so interested in everything he said……the fucking meal attempts (of course John couldn’t cook shit, but Bob happily assisted and ate every single one of them). He should have noticed when the blonde was looking at the same page for a little too long, or reading through the rolling credits that had been showing the last production house logo minutes ago. The sun-shined boy after his name being called was a clunky facade, yet Bob chose to believe what John was trying to deceive. 

Until the brunette found John at the base of a staircase, blood pooled and sealed into the interstice of wooden floor planks. That was when he called the shots and phoned a private doctor. 

Knowing what all the abuse and oppression would lead to, it still struck him when he heard the words from the doctor. John’s diagnosis was…not good, of course it wasn’t good and Bob already had this ominous foreboding all the time. The phrase hurt him more than finding out he slaughtered the wrong target, the sentences from the diagnosed crushed his long damned soul. 

I tried to love you. I’m sorry I did a bad job. 

The blonde said. 

Soon after, John’s behavior spiraled straight down into the bottom of Crater Lake. Once he realized Bob would only frown at every flattery word he fawned, he barely talked. To be exact, gave up the effort to form sentences and the pleasure of seeing his perpetrator’s good mood. When they ate, the mashed potatoes on John’s plate would get smudged all over the white porcelain, thinned and spreaded out, pretending that the portion had been reduced. The boy also slept a little too much—— he slept enough hours he’d still manage to slumber, laying on his back or stomach on anywhere Bob put him. Staring at a distant phantom first, eventually dozing off to oblivion.

That’s where the books and tapes started collecting dust. 

Bob did think of suggesting hockey to him again, despite the incident, the one that nearly killed them both (Bob still refused to believe it was a suicide attempt). When he mentioned it to Walker, the boy looked faintly surprised, a rare look that was now a glooming skull. Then, his eyes were like matches lighting up thawed candles in a dark chamber. He asked if he’d be playing alone this time. Bob knew the thoughts behind that question, so he said that he’d play with him, more safety precautions and borderlines. And he reminded John that the lake wasn’t frozen anymore, that they’d be playing hockey on the grass. It's field hockey. 

Never have Bob seen candles flame metamorphosed into traces of smoke so fast. 

At least John would be happy to play hockey again, right? Bob naived, because that was John’s biggest passion, it had to be. He might not care about Bob, but he would care about the latest hockey gear released on the market, which Bob had come to an acceptant. John was startled at the change of seasons, sequentially the visible frustration formed on his face. He pushed Bob abruptly, causing the brunette bumping into the coffee table.

Seconds after, he quickly apologized. His annoyance still present, fingers were dug into the skin of his cut-off leg. 

Bob, despite the voices in his head screaming again, still asked softly if he wanted to play, a glimpse of hope that he would be interested. To his demise, John hit him with the ‘If you want me to’. Bob downed a bottle of prescription that night. 

Bob had no shame to admit that he’s not creative with ideas, and he had run out of them. John’s minimal movement and drastically decreased activity level pained him in the eye. Some people said if you do nothing, you’d get even depressed. Bob acclaimed that. Part of the excruciation was that his interaction with John nowadays solely includes feeding, carrying and cleaning (Okay, maybe sex too but that’s not the point). 

He kind of missed the brisk cocky captain from the Bears. He remembered he would sit on the furthest section of a bench and watch the blonde skate around the rink for hours. Listen to him brag about his every state championship when cutscenes from a video game tape are rolling.

That was it. His memories took him to an idea. They haven’t touched his video game console since it was broken, now stored in the attic. Maybe they could start off their rebonding with this. 

He got the console fixed within a week, good as new. On his way home, he bought the newest release of John’s favorite fighting game.

“Ta-da !” The brunette told John to open his eyes after placing him against the wall, loped to the other side, showing a monitor glowing blue screen with open hands.

The boy blink at him bluntly. Realizing the surprise he meant all along was a functioning television with an outdated console chipped in new compartments, he let out a neutral “Oh.”. That was the best he could do for receiving the surprise. 

It was spring. The attic was blooming with warmth, but it seemed cold to John. He looked like he was going to bury himself in the essence of melted snow and close his eyes for a long, long time.

“Uhm…okay.” Bob smiled and nodded awkwardly, the unfazed reaction from John made him want to bash his head through the wall. Could not stand the awkward silence, he rummaged through his tape collections and picked out a blue one, “Uh…Hey I got the newest street fighter, it came out as a special edition. Looks hella cool. I figure you would wanna try it out?”, he suggested nervously.

“Sure.” He replied.

It’s not a ‘If you want to’, which is a win. Wasting no time, Bob inserted the tape. He scooped over and sat next to John on the floor, handing John a gamepad excitedly. 

A familiar title card shined on the square box. 

“You still know how to play-” Bob turned his head, but was cut-off by the scene he saw.

Walker was looking at his right hand, the one that only left three digits and scarred horrendously on the surface of the missing two, the one that had metal pins sticking out from the dorsal side and wrist. The gamepad loosely hung on the palm of his right, mostly supported by his thigh. Overgrown hair cascaded down, hiding his expression from Bob’s vision. Instantly Bob wasn’t so sure if this was a good idea anymore. He faded his smile and turned back rigidly. 

They added more characters since the last update. Bob had always loved to experiment on new characters, he went through every one of them to finally decide his pick. 

John’s side of selection is still the default. Every round they played, he used to choose that American guy with a super weird hairstyle, without hesitation. Bob once made a good laugh about it, John’s hands were soft when he pushed him, flushed cheeks and curved lips. 

The blonde’s head was still dipped down, he seemed lost in his own headspace, unaware of the timer counting backwards. 

“Hey.” Bob nudged him gently. John shot up his head, gold fringes retreated like pulled curtains, revealing his fuzzy pupils. The game had not even started, and he already looked like being thrown into a marathon, features resembling a soaked piece of worn out cloth.

If it wasn’t for the cold matt of plastic stinging his skin, John would have thought they finished all the tapes in one go. The gamepad sat so heavy in his hand, his arms seemed to mimic its weight as well, he couldn’t bring himself to move a button. So he just stared at the screen, despite Bob telling him to pick one. The number counted from twenty to ten , then from ten to five, the last five seconds felt much more draggy than it should be. 

His character was standing opposed to Bob’s. What he’d normally do was a high jump combo punch, but his right hand appeared to  ache, and the ache wiped out all his knowledge of gaming controls, his remaining bit of energy melted with the dissolving stitches in his knuckles. So his character just stood there, bouncing up and down, cornering itself to the only space it left. 

Bob landed a few attacks before noticing John’s character wasn’t doing anything. 

“Come on, man. Fight back. Come on~” Bob nudged the bouncing John back and forth, he jumped on his head and rolled down to the pixelated concrete. But John just kept standing, the fighter threw in a few yawning motions to not bore himself out.

“Alright, how about I let you win this round. I’m just gonna stand here and you K.O me, cool?” Bob walked back to his corner, expecting John to do something. 

The timer ticked—— the health bar remained green on the right side, half red on the left. Now both of their characters are yawning.

Bob tried chuckling, “Johnny, you do know that you can’t yawn your way through-” 

“How long do we have to do this.” The blonde uttered under breath, almost inaudibly. But Bob heard it loud and clear. Heart clenched, pores tighten, the howling screams were breaking the chamber. 

A thought of John seeking his final snap hit him. Those voices were louder now.

Bob rubbed his temple, “You know what?” He pushed out a smile, “Let’s try another game.”

The brunette boy put on a classic platform game. Simple, easy to play, no overwhelming graphics, should get John going. His plan had dimmed to desperation for any positive interaction, just, something. 

Yet John did nothing. 

His mini figure stood on the foreground. Barrels and barrels rolled towards him at a snail speed, he dazed at the approaching masses, feet planted. Slowly, dreadfully,  trundled over him, crushing him to a flat mince. Over and over again, until he jumped off the steel beam himself.

Bob even came to a point that he grabbed John’s left hand and moved the joystick for him. The blonde jerked at the sudden contact, subconsciously backing off to the floor. John guarded Bob’s approaching hand away. The metal pin poked his palm, Bob felt it in his guts. 

“Sorry……”John didn’t get up, his hair was all over his face again. The controller had fallen out of his palms, but he did not bother to pick it up. 

Bob clenched the back of his teeth, swallowing felt hard. He tried not to sound on edge, “No, I should be sorry……Do you still want to play?” 

“...If you want to.”

Bob had to go down from the attic to take a tablet. 

Letting out a sigh, he decided that he’d just walk John through another game. If it didn’t work, which Bob doubted it would, they’d call it a day. And Bob would continue his search for other entertainment for John, not a big deal. Please don’t make it a big deal. 

When he returned, thankfully John was still laying there on his side, instead of appearing under the hatch. He checked on him subtly, his eyes stayed half-lidded, hazed ice blue drops to the gravity, crystallized at the corner of his sclera. 

“I don't think you’ll dig this one, "Bob pushed the tape into the console. “but it’s one of my favorites, I think it’s pretty sick.” 

And then the title screen is a hillbilly farmer boy with his bunch of silly cows. 

Bob caught John’s iris peeping through his hair, moving to the square box, so he took the gamepad and gently placed it on John’s palm. 

“You don’t have to press anything if you’re not feeling it, but I just need you to push the joystick so I can show you around?” Bob asked, earning no response. 

His eyes dropped, lips compressed, “...Nevermind.”

Since farmer John wasn’t moving, farmer Bob was stuck in the frame with him, a vast pixel of green. He had nothing else to do, so he decided he’d just entertain himself until he was sick of games too. He circled around：the grass, the frame edges, a square foot, two square feet, three square feet, the John. He ran horizontally and vertically, from one side to another. Later he ran in shapes and letters. First he wrote his name, then John’s name, and then John’s pet name. He drew triangles and stars, imagining the field was a sky. He also drew a flying penis plane; he snorted quietly at that. 

Finishing his skyscape, he drew a seascape, running in wavy lines and zig zags, there’s a green beach and a green sea. For a while, he sat beside the standing John, pretending they were soaking in the sun. Bob had an idea：he drew a heart around John. He drew again, adding a letter ‘U’, right below John. 

Just when Bob developed a self-made game called ‘Run to the corner and back to John’ and was running in place after he reached the border, the screen moved. 

Bob almost jumped through the roof. He darted his head to John, the boy was holding the controller, thumb fiddling the toggle. 

Bob couldn’t hide his big smile, it cost a leg and an arm for him to peel his sight off John. He had to keep the progress moving before he lost it. 

The brunette farmer showed the blonde farmer a field of corn crops. He demonstrated how to collect the corn and store them, and he talked about the planting process too, how seasons could affect the growing and which are the good bugs. John stood beside the bar of soil, may or may not be listening, but he would move closer whenever Bob needed to go further. 

Then they visited Bob’s barn, he raised some chickens, horses and cows, a black goat was strolling around the place. Bob wasn’t the best at spatial organising, there were chickens in his cow shed, and horses in his coops, but it didn't affect the harvest, so it was whatever. It was pretty hilarious when John was being pushed continuously by the unstoppable strolling goat, gliding across the screen horizontally, Bob had to come and lead the goat away. 

He showed him how to collect milk and eggs. Then the steps of putting saddles on horses and riding them. 

“Press the X…And that’s how you do it !” Bob got down from the horse. “There’s a pond out town and the fishing game is THE bomb. We can only get there by horses…… but it’s fine. We’ll go see my house next?”

To his surprise, John slowly lifted himself from the ground, grimacing, his arms trembling to support his weight while holding the controller. The wrist on the right looked too painful to be bent like that——Bob could see the pin protruding half an inch out when he did so. Bob impulsed to help Walker up, but he held himself back, afraid that he’d only make it worse.

John rested his head on the wood plank, he put his gamepad on his thighs, and used his left index to press X. Farmer John got up the horse in a swift motion. 

Oh my god. Oh. My. God. John was sitting on his favorite horse (Bob named her Becky) ，it was the cutest fucking thing ever, little John on Becky! Bob could not contain the ticklish feeling any longer, if it was John from a year ago, he probably would tell him to get the hell out, along with his lame hella gay tape. Then, he would seize the console to play the latest metal slug series. Not that it’s bad.

“The pond we go!” Bob jumped onto another horse and led the way. They passed the town and woods, sometimes John would ride his horse straight into the bushes or tree trunks, Bob had to remind him to push up or down so he could unstuck himself. John just followed him in silence.

It took them a while to reach the destination, Bob almost worried that John would get bored out, as the further they rode, the more often John got stuck in the bushes, he certainly was starting to zone out. They set their horses aside, Bob approached the pond to trigger the fishing mini game. 

“This might be a bit tricky. You see the thin green bar in the middle? You have to wait until the arrow points at it and…bam!” Bob pressed the triangle button and his farmer swung the fishing line like a cowboy off leash, throwing out a perfect radian into the pond. Not long after, the bait was pulled up, a glistening bass attached to the end of line.

“That’s how you got one! I mean bass is a pretty basic collection, you might get an epic rare, who knows?” Bob chuckled. 

John raised his brows and frowned his mouth faintly, his index wandered around the buttons, unsure what to press. 

‘Yeah you have to aim and press the triangle. ”Bob drew himself closer, pointing at the small icon printed on the knob. John’s neck was intimately close to Bob’s face, his scent sprawled naked before his senses. The boy smelt like disinfectant and his freshly bought soup bar, with a distinct hint of essence surrounded both. It was kind of sweet, but not thoroughly pleasant. It's the type of sweet that he would find under the cabinet, a candy unwrapped and forgotten, already gone mildewy and stale. Bob had noticed it since the beginning of John’s odd behavior, a smell he could never wash away no matter how hard he scrubbed.

He heard John’s breath hitched when his nose touched the gold ends, a click sound hastied from the trembles between nails and plastic. 

The arrow pointed at the white bar. Farmer John pulled his bait up, empty. 

Bob backed off, scared that he’d interfered too much space, “You wanna uh… try again?”. John didn’t answer, his eyes locked to the colored screen, index placing on the button.

The brunette watched as John tapped and tapped, long intervals in between, his brows knitted deeper as the number of arrows hitting the white section increased. Bob sat beside him by the bank, his head moved up and down as the bait pulled and dropped. 

When the arrow finally hit yellow, Bob cheered while John pinched his nose bridge. The bait got pulled and something was hanging on the hook. A rugged boot with poorly stitched patches. 

A common type bass wouldn’t hurt the system, but this game was just messing with both of them at this point. Bob hastily consoled, “...Shoes are sick too. We have plenty of baits, we could try again-”

John went back to his horse and pressed X. 

Bob sighed, “Okay.”

Surprisingly, Walker stuck around longer than Bob expected. They fed cows and planted crops. Some mechanism required for long pressing buttons and clicks quota, Bob demonstrated both of those,  John followed. He would sometimes plant too many crops in one square or empty all the hay for one cow. He likely zoned out for every task. But Bob waited; he removed the overflowed saplings when John pressed the button for too long, replenished the hay whenever John just stood there, empty handed but body still continued in hay-putting motion. They finished those tasks, then they did other more stuff. Until Normie started barking downstairs for food. 

Bob supposed they could continue the whole day and John wouldn’t say a thing. But the blonde had looked so beaten down and knackered: his skin was a little paler, eyes drooped heavily and bags protruded,also his bottom lip hung open. Fatigue was written all over his features. He had been using his right hand for a while to play as well, it tremored in frailty, but his grip only grew tighter. Bob was unsure if John wanted to stop, or he was simply wallowing in the pain of exhaustion hurting his nerves. Probably the latter now. 

“Hey, I think we’ll call it a day,” Bob took the gamepad away from John, which earned himself a quiet sigh. 

“You did great today.” He said, flashing a smile. The window light in the attic shone on him, but part of his curved lips hidden in the casting shadow of the boy beside him. 

John looked back. Backlight blurred his contour. His brows furrowed and unknotted, pupils contracted and dilated, maybe his lower eyelid jumped. His eyes dropped, the river in his eyes froze then melted, glaciers collided yet parted. The corner of his lips tensed and released, it twitched.

A smile that seemed so vague, so wry.