Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack didn't like Roger. Well, he liked him, but not like that.

At least that's what he told himself every time he caught himself staring or being too touchy with the boy, which happened more often than he liked.

This time wasn't any different.

He was sitting in class and instead of paying attention to whatever irrelevant story their history teacher had been chatting on about for the past 10 minutes, the red haired boy had been staring at Roger (obviously) wayyy too much (just like he hated).

The boy's dark, long hair was sprawled over his bony uniform-covered shoulders, his leg was bouncing from boredom, and his lips were smooth and kissable.

Okay, it’s happening again.

Why was he even thinking about his best friend that way? he was just a boy, a violent and impulsive one at that!

A boy that got into fights for no reason, a boy that cursed at everyone and everything, a boy who didn't like him back.

Fine, he can admit it. He...likes Roger. Even though nothing could ever happen between them.

His friend likes girls, anyway.

A loud bell buzzez and dissmises the class, but the redhead is still thinking about Roger, Rog, his best friend…a friend. Just a friend.

But what if?

What if he would like him back?

What if they held hands?

“Dude.”

What if they hugged?

“Dude!”

What if they..kissed..

“Jack!”

The voice of his best friend startles him as it rings through the now empty classroom.

He was really daydreaming, wasn't he? How embarrassing.

“What’s up with you today? You keep staring into nothing, weirdo." He pokes his cheek. “You remind me of Simon.”

“God, you're so dreamy.”

Is what he would say if he was in a cheesy rom-com. Instead, he glares at the boy, trying as hard as he can to be annoyed by his presence, and spits out his words with as much venom as he can muster up.

"Shut up. Leave me alone.”

The raven haired boy scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“What's up with you, dude? I haven't seen you this depressed ever since they said we can't sing Kyrie Eleison at choir anymore.”

Jack perks up at his statement, going back to his normal self.

“It's an amazing song! Easy to sing and everyone likes it. They only cancelled it cause it was too hard to sing for the older kids. Damn altos…”

He continued, sitting straighter in his seat.

“It’s like they dont even try to sing higher, they just spit a bunch of bullshit to make it easier for themselves! Nobody cares a couple kids can't reach C sharp. I'll do it alone!"

Roger smiles one of his ugly, sneer-like smiles and it warms Jack's face more than he'd be comfortable admitting.

“Glad your dumbass, stuck-up self is back.”

He pokes the red haired boy's face and gets his hand slapped away, but persists anyway and speaks sternly to him.

“Seriously though, what's going on?”

Who is he?

Who is this stranger pretending (and failing) to act like his best friend?

Usually, Roger would pat him on the back half-heartedly (rather roughly), tell him “Dont worry, dude” and then drop the subject altogether.

Why can't he just leave him alone?

Why can't Jack be normal?

He has good grades, he's the choir leader and his class's president.

Why is he weird?

Why is he like Simon?

Why is he gay?

Jack would love to get the answers to all of his questions, but now, with Rogers piercing eyes staring him down, awaiting an answer, he can't think of any other excuse, anything else to say, except for the truth.

"I think i'm gay.”

Shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

Fucking hell.

Why would he ever say that?

It's over.

He's dying. 

Bye, Merridew. 

“I mean- i'm obviously unsure I've just been thinking about it and-”

“Dude.”

Roger interrupts him.

“Thats it?” He chuckles.

“It's fine. Why should i care about who you find hot? It's not like you like me or anything, obviously."

No, don't accept him.

Punch him.

Hit him where it hurts so he can forget all about you and get an excuse to stop this idiotic, unrealistic, immature crush.

That last sentence was a low blow, so...at least that's half of the work done.

He has no chance with Roger.

Better give up.

Please, give up.

“Yeah. Not anything like that." He stood up.
“Obviously.”

______________________________

The next day went by as usual, with the exception of some gay jokes made by Roger, everything seemed fairly normal.

Until Jack took his eyes off of him for just one second and the boy was instantly trying to fistfight with the random kid in front of him.
While his impulsivity was annoying at times, the ginger still found it attractive.

God, he found everything about Roger attractive. His hair, his skin, his smile.

Stop.

Why can't he just move on?

His friend already gave him as many signs as necessary for him to back off, but his brain is acting against all his commands.

God, he was so attractive with a bloody nose.

Wait, what? Bloody nose?

Roger was quite clearly losing the fight (the other guy was like...two years older than him, what was he thinking?) but he was somehow still punching his opponent with enough force to cause some serious damage, to convince him not to mess with him again, the hard way.

Jack rolled up his sleeves and moved his lanky body closer to the boys, determined to defend his idiotic...crush, when two teachers arrived at the scene and tried to break up the fight.

The raven haired boy had a bloody nose and a broken lip, both bleeding a concerning amount, but he was still retaliating against the teachers, stupidly trying to land a couple more hits on that asshole (and failing).

This unnecessary violence earned him couple extra hours in detention after school.

After the grown-ups succeeded, he shrugged off their orders for him to go to the nurse, simply walking towards the ginger and wiping his bloody smirk with the back of his hand, spreading more blood on his battered face in the process.

“..’Sup?” He said, casually.

“Don’t “'Sup" me, asshole!” Jack exclaimed.

“You just got beat into a bloody pulp. Why do you always insist on getting detention?”

He took a tissue out of his pocket and shoved it in Roger's hand.

“Thanks.” He stared at the tissue and muttered: “..He had it coming.” 

Jack scoffed. “Just wipe your face already."

The silence between the two was deafening and Roger couldn't stop thinking about what Jack had said the other day.

He found his confession brave, as they weren't usually this open with eachother.

He thought about the ginger, about guys is general, and something clicked in his mind.

Roger stayed quiet, and the red head thought it was so, so awkward.

The awkwardness in the air was mostly on his part, though, as he kept suffering with the apparent rejection expressed by his best friend. 

Roger finished wiping his face with the tissue and kept it to wash later and return, staring at the ground deep in thought.

His voice made Jack perk up.

“I think I'm also, like, into guys or something.” He cringed.

“I'm not gay or anything. Women are like, way better.”

Oh.

Okay then.

Cool.

“That’s…cool.” Jack bounced his leg nervously.

Don't get your hopes up, Merridew.

“I mean, how did you know you were gay?” Roger asked, slightly embarrassed.

“I just find them...attractive. I see them kinda how straight guys see women.” He explained, trying to be as vague as possible.

Jack didn't think he had the brain capacity to even think about coming up with a confession.

"Uh i actually like you so much and i wanna kiss you" wasn't exactly the best thing to say in this situation.

“So, I’m attractive in your eyes? Jackie-poo?” Roger gestured like a cute girl, fluttering his eyelashes.

"Yeah, you're gorgeous" Is what he thought.

“As if.” Is what he said.

He punched his dark haired friend playfully. “You're the ugliest guy I know.”

“Oh, how you wound me.” His crush continued, chuckling.

After a couple moments of comfortable silence, Roger spoke up again.

“I'm still not sure, but...i think i like both, or something.”

“Cool.” Jack exhaled. At least it wasn't awkward anymore.

“Why did you fight that guy anyway?” The ginger spoke, curious.
“He called me a faggot.”

Chapter Text

It's been a couple weeks ever since both of their confessions, but Jack couldn't move past them at all. His initial lost hope somehow found him once more, as his thoughts were yet again flooded with thoughts of Roger. (Maybe it could work out?)


Currently, he is sitting at lunch with the choir boys, Piggy and Ralph (who insists on sitting next to Simon every time).

He sighs, playing with the defrosted plain peas and mashed potatoes on his plate.

Ralph elbows him in the ribs. “What's all this sulking about?” The blond speaks with his mouth full.

Jack scoffs, rolling his eyes and ignoring the boy's question.

“Come onnnn. I bet it's something related to Roger.” He wiggles his eyebrows up and down at the ginger, who widens his eyes and covers Ralph's mouth with his hand violently, eyes wide from panic.

And then, he licks it. He licks his fucking hand.

“Ohmygod- ew!” The ginger recoils and wipes his hand on the blond's shirt. 

“You're such a weirdo! I can tell you've been hanging out with Simon–” Jack makes a total scene, but slowly gets embarrassed and backs off, making himself smaller in his seat.

Roger is staring at him.

Oh god, he probably thinks he's dumb and childish. 
Probably thinks he's a weirdo.
Probably thinks he's embarrassing to be around.


Focus on the current issue, Merridew. How does Ralph know?

“How do you know?” Jack yells a whisper, aggression clear.

Roger is still staring.

Calm down, Merridew. Calm down.

“Uh…I don't.” The blond takes another scared bite of his food and speaks with his mouth full.
”That reaction kinda told me everything.”

The ginger is grasping his fork hard enough to bend the frail plastic holding it together.

“Told you what.” His tone is controlled yet furious.
Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Slow and steady.

“That you like him.” Ralph says it like it was the most obvious and logical thing in the world, leaving no room for doubt.


The air in his lungs started to feel heavy, making breathing infinitely harder and his face infinitely warmer.

That bullshit breathing exercise never fucking works.

Wait, wait. He wasn't that obvious, right?

How did he figure it out so easily? 
Is Ralph going to tell everyone?
Is he going to tell Roger?
Fuck, everyone's gonna think he’s a fag now.

His breathing got faster, more uneven, erratic.

With no way to expel all of his frustrations and  fears, he clenched his fists.

What better way to solve the issue at hand other than his go-to? Violence.

The ginger readies up his right fist and shoves it in the face of the blond aggressively, knuckles hurting from the impact.

Ralph chokes on his food, hand flying to his face.
“What the fuck, man?! What did i do-”

Not letting him finish, Jack pushes the boy off his seat and continues his assault, skin ripping from his knuckles. 

Thankfully, Ralph wasn't going to let the ginger rip him to shreds, as he fought back with a similar intensity, keen on giving the ginger the same violent treatment. 

Many things were happening all at once: kids chanting “Fight! Fight! Fight!”, betting on who wins, skin breaking and bleeding, shirts stretching from being pulled and teachers clawing at the two boys, desperately trying to separate them.

Everything made Jack's heartbeat quicken, made his palms sweat, made his ears ring, made his chest hurt from the aggressive inhales the fight forced him to intake.


After the boys finally got tired and let themselves be pulled away by the teachers, they immediately got sentenced to detention, effective immediately, but before the pair could start heading to their destination (accompanied by the teachers, of course), Roger walked up to Jack, yanked his shoulder to bring them closer, and whispered something in his ear, smirk audible.

“You were hot as hell, fighting the blondie.” He patted the spot he grabbed and walked away casually.

Oh.

Oh.

That was–uhm.

He could immediately feel the warmth crawling up to his face and ears, clouding his bloodied expression.

What the hell was that? 
He found him…hot?
Roger Elwin thinks that he, Jack Merridew, is hot.

The ginger was glad his face was spotted with blood, as he couldn't handle anyone seeing him in the current flustered state he was in.


Sitting in detention all patched up from a quick trip to the nurse's office (and now equipped with some ice packs), Ralph pinched the ginger's arm to get his attention, speaking barely above a mutter to avoid catching the eye of the sleazy teacher in front of the class (it would be next to impossible for the grown-up to actually care about the volume of the kids’ voice and do their job, but the blond whispered anyway, subconsciously sticking to the rules of detention without ever considering otherwise).

“...You want some advice?” 
Jack cringed at his question and turned his head away from the boy.
“Fuck off.”

What could he even ask Ralph? 
What could Ralph even tell him? 
What does Ralph even know about being gay?
Inhale, exhale, inhale….God this fucking breathing exercise never works.
Maybe it wouldn't hurt to see what Ralph has to say.
Swallow your pride, Merridew.

“Ralph, i–’
The boy cut him off.
“I’m dating Simon!” 

…How many times do people have to shock him today?

Ralph continued. “I just…i thought maybe i'd be able to help if you like Roger.”

“I'm not saying you do, but–”

It was Jack's turn to cut him off.

“How did you…confess?”

He didn't dare gaze towards the blond, as he knew he probably had his signature “i figured you out” look.

“I didn't, he did.”

Ralph scratched his head and smiled bashfully. “It was quite sweet, actually. We went on a date. He got me flowers and confessed before we went home."

The blond put the ice pack on his damaged face.

"We've been dating ever since.” 

Should he…buy Roger flowers? 

“That's cheesy.”

Jack muttered, deep in thought. Maybe he should invite Rog over sometime..

“Honestly, I think he feels the same about you.”  Ralph whispered, smiling.
The ginger looked at him wide-eyed. 

“...Really? You think so?” He tried to be as calm and collected as possible, but the tone and volume of his voice ratted him out.

“Really. Have you seen the way he follows you like a duckling? He probably isn't even aware that he likes you.”

…Really? For real? No joke?

Jack couldn't even begin to believe his words. I mean, it's Ralph for god’s sake! The guy who always knows exactly what to say to infuriate him, to make a fool out of the choir chief!

Wouldn't this be the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, and then tell Roger everything?
Wouldn't he be disgusted? 

This is too much for one day so Jack just sighed, drowning in the depths of his mind.

“Don't worry dude, your secret’s safe with me.”
Ralph finished off, catching a glimpse of the fond smile on the ginger's face.

Chapter Text

Roger didn't know why he said that.

Well, he did, but he doesn't know how he had the balls to actually tell him that.

Jack was objectively hot, so it shouldn't be that weird that he just…pointed it out. 
Right?

(In reality, the ginger wasn't that conventionally attractive. Maybe this was love speaking.)

Yeah, no.

Okay, maybe a bit.

On another note, the rest of Roger's day went by a lot more monotone than usual.
While the absence of his best friend made things calmer, it also made them unbearably boring.

It's not like he had anyone else to hang out with, either. 
None of his “friends” were close enough with him to actively reach out and interact with the black haired boy (well, excluding Jack and maybe Simon). 

He didn't know if Simon really counted, though. 

The weirdo would never hang out with Roger if Ralph or Piggy were at school that day. 

He just didn't enjoy his “explosive company” (as his mom called it) over his other friends’.

Hell, Simon would probably hang out with Maurice, maybe even Robert, if it meant avoiding Roger. 

Maybe only Jack could handle his behaviour.

Maybe he really was unbearable to be around.

Maybe these thoughts were slightly influenced by some slightly negative thinking but…whatever.

Ralph wasn't that different from the epileptic.

Except for the fact Roger would probably wipe that shit-eating grin he always has off his face if he even tried to hang out with him (and the blond did try…but stopped after being given death threats).

He didn't really know why he'd get these sudden aggressive impulses.

Not only for Ralph, but for Piggy, Simon, and most of his other friends, but never Jack. 

He felt some sort of possessiveness for the redhead. 

Like a lap dog who goes feral after anyone approaches their owner.

But what if he made him uncomfortable with his comment?

Hell, he'd serve someone a fist sandwich if they tried any flirting bullshit on him.

So what made Jack different?

Would he be disgusted by his best friend flirting with him? 

Roger knows that just because Jack is gay doesn't mean he'd fall in love with any random boy, so how was he not a random boy in the redhead's eyes?

Could he be special?

Maybe if he was special, it would work out between them.

It almost sounds like he likes Jack.

He doesn't.

He doesn't fucking know what he feels towards him.

But, like, it wouldn't exactly suck if the ginger liked him.

…That's kinda gay.


Well, he's technically half gay, anyway.

So, who gives a fuck?



Okay, fine, touchè,  you caught him, he gives a fuck.



God, this romance shit is so hard.


Ruffling his dark hair, he left the depressed queer loser thoughts for later, lest he spirals again.

Roger focused on a more important task: getting home before his parents get a phone call about today's encounter, and getting on their good side.

This was no easy task.

After arriving home he had to start on cleaning the dishes, doing this week's homework, folding his clean laundry and tidying up his room, all a crucial part of his evil “getting away with it” plan.


The fear of getting grounded helped him acquire the needed motivation to finish every task, and thankfully, the plan worked perfectly as usual.

As the name of the plan implied, his parents didn't make even the slightest fuss about the fight (but they didn't really care about him or his actions, really).
 
He didn't really care about their actions either, but sadly, he was constantly affected by them.

Just like now, when the brunet didn't account for the unforeseen change of schedule his parents decided to bring up disgustingly late in the evening. 

A dinner date with their church friends.

At 12pm.

Cool, do whatever you fuckers want.

No, don't ask him if he wanted to do anything else!

Please, indulge in mediocre wine and gossip!

At least it's Friday, though.

At least he can sleep in tomorrow. 

At least he'll get distracted from his own thoughts for a little while.

He really wanted to go to sleep and forget about this entire shitty day, though.


Despite his many protests against this spontaneous meeting, his opinion was, as usual, completely disregarded. 

And now, he was eating dinner disgustingly late.

Well, “eating” is an overstatement. 

He mostly picked at the piece of chicken on his plate trying to find a bite that wasn’t concerningly pink.

The scratching of his fork against the plate made a piercing noise that only caused his exhaustion-induced headache to worsen, while simultaneously annoying the ever living hell out of his mom.

“Stop that.” 

His mother muttered sternly, gripping his hand discretely to encourage him to drop his metal utensile.

He complied, loudly dropping it on his plate intentionally, causing a sharp “clank!” sound to resonated through the entire dining area, effectively making his feelings of contempt obvious to the adults.

Of course, his face didn't lack his signature ugly scowl, eyebrows furrowed and mouth made an unmoving downward curved line.

Why did he get the icky leftovers and the guests got freshly cooked meals?

Assholes.


During this tense interaction, his parents were gossiping about all of the “sick” kids in the neighbourhood, mostly the ones accompanying their parents to church every Sunday.

“Did you hear about Darla's boy?”

Ms. Osborne, the beloved guest, swirled her wine and took a sip of it.

“I heard he's been taking some of the devil's lettuce…”

She completely ignores her full plate, continuing. 

“Horrible influence on his siblings, that one.”

The woman thinks for a good second.

“I think his name was William? Or is that the Jones’ boy?”

Roger's mom interrupts.

“Darla? The one with the sick daughter and deadbeat husband, right? That poor woman.”

She sighs.

“I could never imagine having such satanic children, a drug addict and a faggot."

He froze.

“I heard they sent her to a conversion camp but it didn't help much, she's long gone, never accepting any help from any of the pastors, never accepting the Lord's blessings.”

His mother wipes her mouth with her caramel-coloured handkerchief.

“That whole family really is cursed, isn't it?”

The conversation continued, but Roger didn't listen.

“I couldn't imagine having a child like that.”

The conversation continued, but Roger didn't have an appetite anymore.

"I wouldn't allow it under my roof, thats for sure."

The conversation continued, but Roger excused himself from the table.

Retreating to his room and locking it, he stood in the middle of it, alone with his thoughts.

There's no way in hell he just heard that.

I mean, he knew his parents weren't very supportive, but this is some next level bullshit.

He could probably run away from home if they ever found him out, right? 

It's not like they would even care all that much, they'd probably just kick him out.

It's not like he was planning on staying with these deadbeats longer than legally required, his coming-of-age birthday would finally set him free.

It's not like he cared.

He actually cared so little he decided to not sneak out of the window to Jack's house.

Because he didn't care. 

That's why he didn't throw rocks at the boy's window at 2am.

He cared even less that Jack's face and voice made his heart flutter.

He didn't care that liking the redhead would get him kicked out of his house.

He didn't care about the ache in his chest.

He didn't care.