Work Text:
Your name is John Egbert.
You have a fairly normal life, aside from your cake-obsessed father, prankster nana, and your 'cool kid' best friend.
Grades and school for you are easy come easy go. No one bothers you during the day because you have Dave to back you up. Everyone is pretty much okay with you two.
Although rumours around school get around that you, John Egbert, is gay.
Some kid at lunch time tipped your tray up and backwards, making your lunch splatter all over your logo'd sweater.
"Jeez, such a faggot. Watch where you are going next time." he snorted at you, the entire cafeteria burst into a chorus of laughter.
You bite your tongue and clench your fist. You spin around and walk to the bathroom down the hall and begin to furiously wash your hoodie.
No, your not crying. Why would you cry? Your just clumsy.
Damn you wish your eyes would stop watering.
"John?"
You look up to see your best friend, Dave, standing beside you. He's making a face, a disgusted face and you look away. "Who did this to you?" he grabs your chin, pointing at the red, swelling mark from where your lunch tray hit you hard.
"A lunch tray.." you mumble before going back to your sweater.
When you think he's going to turn and leave, he pushes you out of the way and sticks his hands into the murky water and begins to rub at your sweater.
"Your fingers are already raw, Egbert. Have some class, jeez." You look at your fingers, they're red and they sting.
Resisting the urge to bite your nails, you always do that when you're nervous. "Why aren't you in the lunch room?" You ask, dabbing at your shirt.
Dave sighs and just keeps working on your blue sweater. "I heard what they said to you, Egbert. Do you think I'm deaf?" he says, his voice already turning a harsh tone.
You blink absentmindedly, actually yes. You kinda did hope that he was deaf to all those rumours and threats that egged your depression on.
"Kinda.. yeah." you responded and looked at your reflection in the water.
"Well John, I'm not. I should beat that asshole up for even doing that to you." you could hear Daves irritation, it was so clear in his voice.
He pulled the plug out of the sink and rung out your sweater. Of course it wasn't dry enough for you to wear it.
"Sorry man, you'll just have to wait for it to dry later. I'll put it in my locker, don't use it anyway." he shrugged and folded it up.
"Oh, uh, thanks Dave." you tried to say. Dave bumped you in the shoulder.
"John. Come on, let's get some ice so that mark doesn't bruise a lot." he led you to the nurses office.
When she was caring for you, getting some ice, Dave had left and put your sweater away.
It was like he was never gone. You breathed in deeply, putting the ice pack on your chin. It was fucking cold, but it felt good on your pulsing skin.
Although Dave was more attentive to something on your arms.
Those marks.