Work Text:
Flap is what my friend calls me. Jack, my friend, is the kindest person to ever exist… when you get to know him. My father, he owns a really successful company. I couldn't care less about learning the name of said company, I mean if he couldn’t care to name me then why am I to care. Gala’s, they're so boring. Flap isn’t able to bring Jack to them, but recently Jack's father said he’d be able to bring Jack to the one coming up! Only if Jack’s parents said yes, though, they did. Both of them were excited, very excited.
Both of them wish they didn’t have to be there, but it was way better with each other. Jack, though, he was only slightly hurt, he knew. He knew that his father only told him about the plus one memo for this gala so he wouldn’t try talking to him. Jack made him feel better about it, though, even if he didn’t really need to.
They were by the window stargazing when it happened. Glass, no, windows shattering. The room was filled with screams seconds later. His arm was being pulled, his feet were moving, moving along with… with Jacks, to keep him from falling. Flap didn’t know what was happening. He felt something wet roll down his cheek, he was, is crying.
Jack snapped him out of whatever trance he was in when he screamed. They were outside now, running away from the gala and towards the woods nearby. Flap looked over just in time to see that he had an arrow going through his leg. Not even a second later, another arrow was shot through Jack. This time through his neck.
Jack was gargling, gasping, was he trying to speak or was he trying to breathe? Flap couldn’t tell, he was screaming too loud to even notice at the moment. The next thing Flap knew, his mind was working on autopilot. He was running into the woods, deeper and deeper into the woods. Zigzagging through trees avoiding what sounded like arrows, almost tripping at times, he did trip once, skinned his knee, but he pushed through, got up and kept running. At some point, he believes he lost them.
Now he sits high up on a tree branch, covered in his only friend's blood, tears racing down his cheek, some dripping off of his face, some sliding down onto his neck, most being stopped by his left hand, his hand held tightly over his mouth as to make sure he is quiet.
Quiet. Quiet is nice. Flap has been quiet for a long time, that was until he met Jack. He found his voice when he met Jack. He found sound when he met Jack. Now he has lost, well is losing his voice, currently his sobs are starting to be less… loud, more quiet.
It's been what felt like hours, but Flap couldn’t bring himself to get down and run. His knee stung too much. So he keeps waiting. He was sure that once Jacks parents hear the news of what happened to their son, they'd regret saying yes.