“Oh John, there you… are?” Jake English stares down the hallway at the scene before him: his best friend pinned up to the wall by one of the red jackets. Jake’s eyes are suddenly very hostile as he advances toward the blonde with clenched fists.
“Ohthankgod,” John whispers. His chest starts convulsing again with shallow, shaky breaths. Dave panics and smoothly tries to comfort the black-haired teen again.
“Hey, no, wait. We just stopped this. The crying. Oh man, please. No tears.”
“What the hell did you do to him?”
“… Nothing,” Dave replies, letting go of John’s face and taking a step back.
“Bullshit.”
“Look, dude. I was just trying to talk to him and then he started crying. I don’t know what else-”
“Just get away from him,” Jake says flatly. He pushes Strider away from the cornered teen, placing his hands gently on his shoulders.
“John?” Jake looks at the boy for some sort of response, but his friend only continues to look down at the floor. Tears are still spilling over the brims of his eyes and down his cheeks. The senior glares daggers at the jock behind him. Turning around, Jake makes sure he’s completely in front of his friend to protect him, just in case.
“Dave Strider, is it?” The confronted blonde tries very hard to keep his poker face.
“Yes.”
“I suggest you and your buddies on the rugby team-”
“Football.”
“-stop harassing and abusing my friend here. I’ve got a permit for a .22 Long Rifle, and I’m quite sure that you senseless jocks wouldn’t exactly enjoy a run in with it.”
Dave’s eyebrows raise unironically behind his glasses.
“If I see you or any of your acquaintances anywhere near him, I swear I’ll-”
“Jake.” Both teens turn around to look at John. His eyes drift to Dave momentarily before focusing on his friend before him. The battered teen says nothing to him, just gives a knowing look. Jake sighs before facing Strider again.
“Come on, John,” are Jake’s final words as he takes the frazzled boy’s hand. He escorts him away from Strider with a dark glare. “Let’s get you home.”
—
“So, that’s a pretty snazzy jacket you got there,” Jake says as he walks with John to his old green Cressida. John weakly laughs, hiccuping and blubbering through his tears. The older teen smiles softly as he unlocks the trunk of his car, taking John’s backpack and putting it inside. He reaches to close it when he feels a warmth come up beside him.
“Thank you so much, Jake…” John wraps thin arms around said boy’s chest, burying his face in its warm safety. For a moment, the hugee has no idea what to do. John is hugging him. John.
“Of course,” he says after a few stunned seconds, turning to John so he can return the embrace properly. “Anytime.”
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