Chapter Text
"Hey Simon- Wait.”
Ralph’s eyes narrowed in disgust. "How the hell are you wearing shorts in this weather?"
Simon looked down, as if he only just realised shorts existed, then blinked. "Oh. I have practice today?"
"It's Wednesday, Simon,” Piggy informed him in a clipped tone. "You have practice tomorrow .”
"Well-” Simon’s eyes widened at the sight of his knees, the fabric seemingly having transformed from the trousers he thought he put on this morning to bare skin. Oh god- did Piggy do this? Was Piggy a beast ?
"Well,” he said slowly, trying to determine the colour of Piggy's eyes, "I don't think I noticed this morning. Whoops.”
Piggy turned to give Ralph a Simon's-a-weirdo-why-do-we-hang-out-with-him look, before stopping at the sight of his friend's clear thinking face.
"What?" he asked, shifting his glasses further up his nose. "Did something happen? Are you finally considering my plans for world dominance?"
"What?" Ralph blurted, as Simon added another tally to the ‘Piggy is a beast’ side of his mental list. "No, it's just-why do I have such a low cold tolerance?"
Well, that was a reasonable question. Ralph was currently wearing his football jacket, a scarf, mittens and a jumper- and yet there was still a flush on his cheeks, growing pinker by the second.
"Er,” was the reply from Simon, who was now wondering if both his friends ( was Piggy his friend? ) were beasts . "I mean, it is normal for us all to have different tolerances, because-"
"No, I agree with Ralph,” Piggy cut him off, all three of them continuing the way to school. "I mean, Ralph- you're British. Aren't you meant to have a higher tolerance to the cold?"
"I don't think the British have rhinoceros skin,” Ralph bit, his words smoke in the air. "And if we were that cool, then you wouldn't have assmar now, would you?"
"Leave my asthma alone! I'm just saying, it's funnier that Simon has a higher cold tolerance than you.”
They had reached the school gates now- Percival, Billy Rafelli's younger brother, was singing Shakira at full volume as Bill pretended they weren't related. Ralph dropped his bag at the wall, and rubbed his mittens together. "Why's it funny?"
"Well, because-" Simon's head popped up behind a bush he had followed a squirrel into, and he tuned into the conversation. "Just funny that you don't have a higher cold tolerance, being born and raised here,” Piggy continued.
"I was born and raised here,” Simon frowned, louder as Jack Merridew nearby chatted about NFTs.
"Yeah, but-"
"RALPH!" Jack called merrily (merridewely???) over at the three of them. "Ralph!"
"Gaslighter,” Ralph coughed un-subtly, staring enviously at Jack's fleece lined jacket. "I'm not letting you steal my Music notes.”
"I was not going to ask that,” Jack scoffed, sliding his empty Music folder back into his bag. "I was gonna-"
He broke off, staring at Simon, who shifted uncomfortably. "Oi Simon, are you wearing shorts ?"
"Er.” Simon looked down to confirm that he was indeed once again wearing shorts. Maybe Merridew was a beast too? "They’re comfy.”
"You're insane. Roger! Hey!” Jack waved at the tall, possibly-emo, possibly-goth, possibly-allergic to oranges boy, who reluctantly walked over.
"I'm not letting you steal my Music notes,” he said immediately.
"Why does everyone think that I'm gonna do that?” the redhead complained, re-tucking his music folder into his bag. "Anyway. You should join rugby.”
"Absolutely not.”
"What? Why? I got you to enjoy choir, right? This is just like that!"
"You got me to join the choir to turn Stan Green's hair green after he called you a ginger, Jack.”
"Oh yeah, I did do that,” the redhead mused, looking startlingly pleased. "But still, can't you think about it?"
"Can't. Busy.”
"I didn't even say when it was!"
"Too bad, I've got kickboxing anyways.”
"Ralph, help me out here,” Jack whirled around to the boy. "Come on, look at him! Wouldn't he do so well?"
That was a last resort at its finest. Never ask something from Ralph when he is cold.
"Well", Ralph replied immediately, "I can help you. I will help you, in fact. For a small price.”
"A small pri-Ralph.”
"Yes?” the boy's eyes had become 43 percent glassier, still locked onto Jack's jacket. His cheeks were considerably more flushed from the cold.
"Stop staring at my jacket, You're not taking it.”
"Please.”
"No.”
"BUT IT'S SO COLD!"
"AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?"
Oh god, they were arguing again. Piggy looked thoroughly disgruntled at being ignored for so long. Roger calmly re-tied his shoelaces.
"LISTEN, I'LL GET ROGER TO-"
"-WHY DON’T YOU JUST GET A NORMAL JACKET-"
"-YOU DON’T GET IT, IT"S ABOUT THE AESTHETIC-"
"-WHAT AESTHETIC, STRING CHEESE?"
Percival stopped singing Shakira and swapped to ‘Fight song’. Ralph's face grew red.
"COME ON, I'LL GIVE YOU MY MUSIC NOTES-"
"MY JACKET IS WORTH WAY MORE THAN YOUR CRAPPY NOTES-"
"-WHY DO YOU EVEN NEED ROGER? CAN’T YOU SETTLE FOR LIKE SIMON OR SOMETHING?"
"TWO WORDS. ARM AND LEG POWER.”
"DIPSHIT, THAT"S FOUR WORDS. AND SIMON DOES TRACK ANYWAYS!"
"HE DOES!" Jack turned around so quickly Simon thought he had dislocated his neck. "Simon.”
"Nope.”
"Simon. Cool guy. Amazing guy.”
"Please stop.”
"Of a perfectly reasonable height. Not small at all. Leg power.”
"Stop looking at my legs, what-"
"Comrade.”
"I'm not communist!"
Jack groaned. "It's hopeless, guys. I'll never find a proper match, because Roger - my right hand man, my hunter-"
"Please stop making me sound like a furry.”
"-Has abandoned me, and I hate you all,” Jack declared.
"Such a shame,” Piggy muttered. "Was looking so forward to our date, too.”
"Are you making fun of me, Pigsy?"
"I would never dream of it,” the blond (not to be mistaken for the other blond, Ralph, who was trying to comb his fingers through his hair and looking a bit like a raccoon) replied.
"The date, or making fun of him?" Simon blinked.
"Both,” Roger snorted.
"I am going to pray for your death. Both of your deaths.”
"You wouldn't, you need someone to do all your dirty work for you,” was the immediate answer.
"And to steal homework off of,” Ralph butted in.
"And to bully for 4 years straight in primary school then go on as though nothing has happened.”
"I APOLOGISED LIKE TWENTY TIMES! I BAKED A CAKE FOR YOUR AUNT!"
"Which she got hives from.”
"Okay, so I'm not the best baker.”
"You gave her eczema . How was that even possible?!"
"I BOUGHT HER FLOWERS!"
"Yes. Lilies. The only flower she's allergic to.”
"There's just no pleasing some people,” Jack huffed.
Simon blinked at his phone, the cracked screen protector peeling off the corner. "It's 8:32. We should go in.”
"8:32?" Piggy yelled, looking frantic. "The bell rings in three minutes and we need to get all the way to the other side of the building- Ralph, we're gonna be late!"
But Ralph had already slung his bag over his shoulder and was running off, coldness and eye-glassiness forgotten.
"He really wants to be prefect, doesn't he?” Jack snorted.
Then he squinted. "Wait, shit, I want to be prefect.”
"Better get running,” Roger supplied hopefully.
"See you in Music! I'll have your notes back by then, I swear-"
"My-what?" The taller boy quickly took a look in his bag, groaning at the loss of a tell-tale purple folder.
"JACK! JACK, YOU PRICK! BRING IT BACK!"
"LOVE YOU TOO! SEE YOU IN FORM! DON"T BE TOO LATE!"
"WANKER!!"