Chapter Text
The hallways at St. Catherine’s were familiar to John, though not much. It had been weeks since he stepped foot in this horrific place called high school, known as hell.
Two months and six days had changed everything so much.
‘Johnny Boy! Where the hell have you been then?’ A large boy shouted. John couldn’t remember his name, although he vaguely recalled playing rugby with him last year, nothing else though. He can’t be really important then.
‘Around.’ He replied. The story had blown up on the news, it was obvious that everyone would know. The ringing gunshot, Harrys scream, the blinding pain in his shoulder, the blood everywhere. He closed his eyes, shaking away the memory, as his feet took him the familiar path to the mathematics classroom.
He could feel the limp as he walked and he knew for a fact that the others could see it too, people moved out of his way, some whispering behind their hands, others staring, one girl pointed at him incredibly obviously while he passed by, talking to her friend in a hushed voice. Many people probably thought he was dead, others thought he would have been locked up, be it in prison or in a mental asylum.
The bell rang, shrill and loud, and the crowds started moving like the red sea and John just let the flow of students push him into the classroom. Lumbering over to his old seat, he noted that someone was already sat there. He looked familiar too, like a face from a faded photograph. Everyone looked like that nowadays. Everyone was same old same old, he had been put through hell and back and no one changed during the process apart from him. It ground the whole ‘fitting in’ thing to a halt.
‘No way, John Watson? Captain of the rugby team, went missing for months on end, killed a bloke and got away with it, John Watson?’
‘I didn’t kill anyone, Anderson, and you know it.’ John muttered while he made his way to an empty seat.
‘Don’t fucking joke with me, Watson. It was plastered over the news, I’m surprised they haven’t locked you up yet.’ Anderson sneered at him. John sat down and leant back on the hard plastic chair as the teacher walked in.
‘Phillip, sit.’ She said, arms full of exercise books which she dumped on her desk rather flamboyantly, Miss Calibo, he thought her name was, she was a short, curvy woman with long dark hair which she held off her face with an elastic hair band. She was young and pretty, as pretty as a teacher can be anyway.
She glanced over at John, and the shock registered on her face. He knew no one thought he would be back in school, it was actually recommended for him to switch schools, too many bad memories of the building, too many bad memories of the people. John reckoned it was just the normalness of it all; the idea that everything is completely fine. The entire thing made him suddenly and unbelievably angry. He clenched his fists and forced himself to breathe deeply, a calming mechanism he’d recently mastered.
‘John? Are you okay?’ The teacher asked, while placing his old maths book on the table. ‘I heard what happened and I’m very sorry.’
John didn’t dignify the patronising words with a reply, and he heard her move on. He just flipped open his book, pulling a pen from his pocket, and when she started blabbering on about the square root of whatever, he just doodled in the corner of the page with the blue biro, little leaves and flowers and blades of grass. God did he miss being outside. It couldn’t be helped though, that he wasn’t allowed outside apart from under supervision because of what happened. But still.
The bell rang faster than he expected, Miss Calibo clapped her hands and announced the homework should be in for Thursday. John took his time packing his books and pen away, letting everyone else leave the classroom before he did, the class of rowdy teenagers shoved each other through the door, allowing enough commotion for John to slip out behind them unnoticed.
Apart from he was noticed.
As the door banged shut behind him, various groups of other people mulling around, he saw him.
John didn’t think he had ever seen a prettier person in his lifetime. The boy, at least a year younger than him, was leaning, shoulders hunched, against the wall, his uniform was scruffy, but not in the cool way, it was like he couldn’t be bothered. His tie hung loose on a stained white shirt that had sleeves rolled up to the elbows to reveal pale, smooth skin with multiple braided bracelets tied around his wrists, and three top buttons undone. He had skeletal hands, in which he tossed up into the air then caught an expensive looking mobile phone. He had raven black hair that was almost mad-scientist curly, that hung longish around his thin face. He had sharp cheekbones that pushed against his skin and devilish eyes. Blue and clear as the springtime skies. Eyes which were looking directly at John.
The mysterious boy smiled cheekily, almost a smirk but it was too playful, with plump, pale pink lips. He shoved his phone back in his pocket before picking up his worn leather rucksack and pushing through the sea of students. John just managed to catch a glimpse of his crazy hair before he was engulfed.
John shook his head, trying to clear his suddenly not-so-innocent thoughts and calm his pounding heart. The boy looked familiar. He had never seen him at school before though, ever. He would have remembered someone like that.
John turned and began to walk, head down, in the opposite direction to which the boy walked in. He cleverly avoided walking into people, being able to navigate your way through the busy hallways was a skill you never really lost.
Heading to his next class slowly, he heard a few more whispers and saw a few more points. It hardly mattered though, because the only thing he could think about was the thin boy with the pale face.