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Jervis sat, resting his chest and arms that he was using as a pillow against his side of their shared desk.
The town's weather was starting to cool, but the Sun was already up and shining directly onto Jonathan's face (in a way he neither specially liked nor vehemently disliked), making him a shield to Jervis, who appeared closer to falling asleep again with every second that passed.
Jonathan often found himself observing others, and Jervis was one of his favorite people to observe these days; the acne on his face, the way his curly, short, blond hair was cut (the way it looked with the specific way the light was hitting it in that moment), his height, shoes, striped tie, the blue cardigan he wore (that reminded him of the dress the woman that sat next to him in church wore every Sunday). All the things he took note of whenever he and Jervis sat like this, in silence- in peace.
Jervis yawned. It was clear he hadn't slept well that night, just like he didn't most nights; Jonathan would have berated him, but Jervis would have answered in the same manner, and about a lot of other self-care related tasks that he didn't do.
The boy raised his head from the desk, eyes barely open, looking up at his classmate as he pushed towards him the book he was hiding under him.
"Can you read this chapter for me, please?" He asked, voice quieter than usual, almost weak with weariness.
The book was, of course, 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland', closed and page marked with a piece of paper ripped from the chemistry notes they were supposed to be taking.
Jonathan was almost impressed by how Jervis never got tired of it, despite being one of the only things he read (besides The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, but that was more like their thing, to read together, shoulder-to-shoulder, sharing a table in the schools's library, while Alice was more of Jervis' thing). He always carried a copy, with its pages full of annotations and little drawings, that he added more to every time he re-read it. A never-ending passion that Jonathan had never seen in anyone else before, and intrigued him greatly.
(Jonathan was convinced it was as much of a genuine interest in the story as the feeling of comfort the item itself provided Jervis, whom he had seen before reaching into his bag just to feel the hardcover, retreating his hand right after, with a barely hidden smile, without ever even pulling out the book.)
"Can't you read it yourself?" He asked (slow, clipped, quiet and gruff), as if reading it for him was a bothersome chore he'd rather avoid.
Jervis let out a tired, complaining noise as he buried his head in his arms once more. "But... I'm too tired to read..." He looked up as he explained, "My vision's blurry 'nd i can't focus on the words..."
Jonathan looked at Jervis suspiciously, which, considering his typically monotonous face, ended up looking more like a grimace. "What? Are you high?" he asked.
"O, i wish," was the pitiful reply.
Jonathan snorted.
"Do you have any?" Jervis asked suddenly, not really looking at the redhead in the eye, but more in his general direction (whether due to the blurriness in his vision, or something else entirely, was unclear to Jonathan).
"Any what?"
There was a pause; Jonathan was wondering if his classmate had finally fallen asleep when he heard, "...Drugs."
Jonathan made a gesture with his hands and shook his head. "I don't carry drugs with me to school. Sorry."
"Ugh. You're just saying that because you don't want to share." Jervis pressed his forehead against the table and laid there, despite the uncomfortable position that left his bulbous nose in.
Jonathan looked at him for a moment longer before analyzing the rest of the classroom; the teacher was busy grading the tests they both had already finished, and were sure to have done perfectly; she just left them with an activity that she was sure to have forgotten about by the next class, and, as long as they were quiet enough, or at least quieter than their other classmates (that being, not very), they were going to be unbothered until next period.
Jonathan nudged Jervis' shoulder, "... Do you want me to read it, or not?"
Jervis immediately raised his head, with his eyes still closed. "Mh, yes, please."
Jonathan took the book and swiftly opened it on the marked page. He cleared his throat and started reading chapter VII, 'Mad Tea-Party'.
He kept his voice quiet, low enough to not be heard by anyone other than Jervis. Their desk, being on the front row, next to a wall and opposite of the teacher's, with the desk closest to theirs being quite far away, gave them a sense of privacy, which allowed them to go mostly unnoticed during class.
"'...Said the Dormouse indignantly. However, he conceded to go on-'" Jonathan recited, running his index finger on the cover, over the shiny 'L.'
(He was careful not to run his nail over it too and add another scratch in the old cover; while his nails were not very long, they were jagged, with sharp edges he knew could scratch very well.)
"Consented," Jervis interrupted him. He kept his eyes on his classmate's hands, or maybe the book cover itself.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's 'consented,' you said 'conceded.'"
Jonathan furrowed his brow and squinted closely at the book to see past his bad vision, only then realizing his mistake. But Jervis' remark made him suspicious of something.
"And what comes after that?"
"'And so these three little sisters-they were learning to draw, you know.'" He spoke with a slightly more animated tone than he had before.
"You memorized it?" Jonathan asked. "Why am i even reading it to you, then?"
Jervis' pale face became pink and burned more and more as he talked, "I told you already! I like your voice... And it's not like i'm forcing you to read, am i?"
Jonathan opened his mouth to keep arguing but closed it in thought.
He couldn't believe that Jervis meant what he said. Who could actually like his voice? Croaky and devoid of all the emotions the blonde seemed to convey so easily with his own. Though, in all honestly, no one else had heard Jonathan speak for long enough to know what his voice even sounded like (even his grandmother wouldn't recognize it if she heard him speak a whole sentence); Jervis himself had held conversation with him using more body language than spoken ones. The few days he felt like he could speak prolongedly were few and far between.
(Jervis would have felt embarrassed to say he tried to make the most of them when those days happened. He didn't want Jonathan to think he had to change who he was for them to be friends; after all, he would be happy to spend his whole life with him in utter silence, as long as they stayed together. That thought caused his face to turn completely red.)
More had been the days in which they sat on a bench on the playground of the school (that was mostly used by the elementary students during the afternoons), Jervis reading and Jonathan picking bugs out of the ground or breaking twigs, getting even more dirt under his nails, only focusing on the soft voice of his friend as he was reading to himself. Whenever he looked up, the Sun burned his eyes and the looks of other kids was overwhelming.
He had never been liked by their classmates. Everything about him seemed to make others hate him (how he stood, the shape of his face, nose, teeth, arms and legs; the uniform that looked baggy and way too small at the same time; how nothing about him seemed to really fit). They called him Scarecrow, meaning stupid, ugly, mindless; that they saw him as a brainless, gangly thing, but... Jervis also called him that.
In Jervis' mouth it never hurt like an insult nor stinged like a backhanded compliment; it meant Jonathan was a step further into the blonde's inner world. Via silly nicknames or references only he understood, Jervis got closer and closer to him, to truly knowing Jonathan and to letting himself be known in exchange.
When Jervis called him March Hare, he wasn't calling him crazy or weird (a mad hare with hay on his hair), he was saying he saw him as his best friend, because he saw himself as the Mad Hatter (all they were missing was a Dormouse, but, one step at a time).
Jonathan knew how apologetic Jervis felt about his interests, how afraid he was of being seen as childish and less than his peers, just because of what books he liked to read or how he liked to dress once he got home (only one time had Jonathan been to his friend's house, and in the backyard he caught a glimpse of a few costumes hanged out to dry. Jervis was crearly embarrassed and hadn't wanted him to notice, so he pretended not to), so being allowed this level of trust with what he could easily use as a weapon against Jervis (one that he knew would truly hurt him), made him feel honored.
Maybe, Jervis truly wanted to stick with him, for the company, understanding, friendship that he provided (?).
Jonathan looked up to the clock above the chalkboard; it was almost recess time and he really didn't want to spend it alone.
He sighed and let himself fall limp against Jervis' shoulder.
This relationship had developed a feeling in him, of (how did that one book describe it...?) 'us against the world;' losers have to stick together and all that. At least they had someone to do nothing with once the P.E. teacher turned around, someone to do homework with, someone to just exist with, without fears or discomfort. At least he could have someone, and maybe he didn't need to think about how long (or even if) it was going to last.
Maybe, since Jervis showed such signs of impetuous and undeserving trust towards him, Jonathan could see him as an ally, since he couldn't be an enemy even if he wanted to. They could be friends, if Jonathan saw him as too incompetent to truly hurt him.
(And he made for a very good pillow, with his soft clothes and warm form.)
Jervis side-eyed him, tired and curious, almost hopeful, with his bright, blue eyes and blond eyelashes.
He opened the book again, on the page that he left it on. "Do you have... Through the Looking-Glass?" He accommodated the book in the middle of their desk.
A second passed before Jervis reacted and nodded, dumbfounded.
"Bring it, tomorrow; i'd rather... that one," he settled more comfortably and started reading again (or pretending to, but nobody needed to know that).
Jervis nodded again and, tentatively, rested his head on Jonathan's own.