Chapter Text
The club was loud. Much too loud for John, who Shaw knew preferred quiet when he consumed alcohol. Not that he consumed a lot of alcohol, or consumed it very often. As far as she knew, the occasional drink out with friends was usually more than enough for him.
But not tonight. Tonight, he was drinking his troubles away, and Shaw was paying for it (in more ways than one).
"You're pathetic, Hayes."
Coach Shaw, much like John Hayes, very rarely raised her voice. Even now, she spoke as if she was the only one making a sound. Nonetheless, she was sure that John could hear her clearly over the synth beats blasting out of the club's giant speakers,.
"I know," John's reply was drawn out, almost a whine. Shaw had no patience for it.
To her knowledge, this was the first night that John had not gone home with Harold after classes for the day. It was to give him time with his boyfriend, John had said. His boyfriend that he still hadn't introduced to John.
"Am I so untrustworthy?" John thought out loud, listlessly leaning onto the bar.
Enough.
---
"Swift,"
"Yes?"
Harold picked up his phone on the first ring. It was silly, he knew, to stay up waiting for Mr. Hayes. Wheelchair or not, Mr. Hayes was an adult perfectly capable of calling himself a cab after a night out drinking with his friends.
Regardless, Harold stayed up, reading Asimov by lamplight. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it was nobody else' business besides, if Harold stayed up because... just because.
"Come pick up your pet gym teacher, he got himself plastered in O'Halligan's. You know, that dive off the corner of Brighton First and Ocean? "
"Ms. Shaw?" It took Harold a moment to process that it wasn't Mr. Hayes calling (though the call came from his phone), but their colleague.
"Has something happened to Mr. Hayes, Ms. Shaw?" Harold was putting on his shoes even as he asked.
"Relax, Harold. He's drunk off his ass, but he's fine. I have an early day tomorrow, so I need to leave before 1:30, with or without this asshole."
Harold glanced at the wall clock as he retrieved his keys, exclaiming when he saw the time.
"It's already a quarter past one o'clock, Ms. Shaw!"
"So hurry up, then."
---
John was floating in a haze where everything was soft and nothing hurt. Harold's face swam into focus in front of him. Harold was so handsome
"Oh, hey Harold, you're looking handsome as usual,"
"Hey yourself, Mr. Hayes. Let's go home. Do turn off that camera, Ms. Shaw, it's impolite to film someone inebriated."
John didn't understand half of what Harold said, but he understood home well enough.
"Hehehe, home. Harold's taking me home,"
Upsy daisy, spinning around, and suddenlt John was in Harold's car. It was a nice car. How could Harold afford such a nice car? Doesn't matter, Harold should have the nice things.
"Are you quite all right, Mr. Hayes? There's a bottle of water in the glove compartment, if you'd like some water."
See? So kind. Harold should have all the nice things.
"My name is John," he reminded Harold. Because Harold forgot sometimes.
John fiddled with radio, thinking. He was going to do something... What was it?
As soon as they got to Harold's house (home), John remembered.
"Hey, Harold?" John poured himself into his wheelchair as soon as Harold wheeled it close enough. His wheelchair that used to be Harold's, so it had that little thing? That made it move?
"Yes, Mr. Hayes? Do you need assistance?"
"Nah. But you can bring your boyfriend by sometimes, you know"
"What?"
See, this is what John was talking about at the club with Shaw. Harol'd didn't have to sound so surprised.
"I'm not, like, an asshole or anything," John clarified, "I'm down with the rainbow."
"Mr. Hayes, I--"
How many times did he have to remind Harold?
"It's Jo-. It' Joh-."
hurk
John winced. At least he hadn't hit anything. Just the poor sidewalk.
"Why don't we get you to bed, Mr. Hayes."
John closed his eyes in humiliation as Harold rolled him inside. He could have sworn that he'd only closed them for a second. But when he opened them again, he was already in bed, Harold tucking him in to prevent him from falling to the floor. so kind.
"Good night, Harold"
"Good night, Mr. Hayes"
"It's John,"
John's eyes were like lead weights, becoming impossible to keep up. He might already be dreaming at this point, because he thought he heard Harold's voice one more time before going under
"Good night, John"