Chapter Text
Smitty still remembers the day he first met John, even all these years later, when he couldn’t remember meeting friends he met after him. He couldn’t really remember anything before meeting him either—it was like he was the center of Smitty’s world, what made it start turning.
And maybe he was.
The memory of the diner was fuzzy, despite the fact it used to be the group’s hang out spot every Saturday for years. He and his friends—except Matt, who refused to hang around them because they didn’t “vibe”—would stumble in, Smitty a little awkward despite being used to them being high. Smitty would go order their usual pizza to share while they passed around their vape pens, hiding it in their sleeves as though they were slick, even though the employees didn’t get paid enough to care.
He couldn’t remember their faces anymore, just the clouds of smoke and typing on phone screens, hitting each other and laughing as they showed their phones to each other. He faintly remembered loud conversations, heads down with phones under the table like they did in school to hide the fact that they were on them. He remembers always feeling awkward, never comfortable, but didn’t realize at the time because he was so used to it.
He cringes when he remembers it—how ignorant he was to the fact that they ignored when he was the one talking, how afraid he was of them judging him constantly, of how the in–sync checking their phones and laughing meant they likely had a group chat without him.
He didn’t realize they weren’t really his friends, but he didn’t know how people typically interact with each other—his only true friend was Matt, who came from a home just like his, both left to fend for themselves most nights since they turned eight. So, when they all left without him, all using different excuses, he didn’t catch the hint.
And then this man walked right up to him, head held high, hands not fully in his pockets—the utter definition of cool. Smitty immediately clocked him as the epitome of perfection—good looks, confident, uncaring about anything, probably got a lot of girls eyeballing him, and so fucking cool. Smitty just sat there, eyes wide, taking in the fact that this guy is willingly approaching a nobody like him.
“Ditch those fuckers.” The voice, softer than a lot of others’, yet it still demanded more attention than anyone’s Smitty’s ever been around before. It seemed to scratch Smitty’s brain just right—something about it just made him relax yet eager to become this guy’s friend. “You’re better than them.”
Smitty found himself about to mindlessly nod before he processed his words, bringing him to a halt. “Wait—what, why?”
He scoffed, as if agitated that Smitty was questioning this stranger—maybe Smitty shouldn’t be questioning someone obviously so much better than him. “Trust me, you don’t want to hang around those fuckers. I come here every Tuesday and all they do is talk shit about you, like they can do better than you.”
And Smitty was only slightly ashamed of how “better than you” rang in his head for weeks after, leaving him grinning every time he remembered. This man—surely handcrafted by whatever’s above, because he’s just that perfect— said it with such certainty in his voice, as though it was a commonly known fact that they can’t do better than Smitty.
After that, he couldn’t get the stranger out of his head, and found him suddenly in his school soon after. He happily began following him around, like a lost puppy, searching the sea of people for the familiar face, abandoning others just to jump to get a chance to be by his side for a minute or two. And the more Smitty talked to him, the more he was drawn in—it wasn’t his fault, really. This guy was just insanely fucking cool.
He didn’t need to even worry about his ex friends causing drama or something when with him. He found himself less caring of if he completed his assignments, or if he was passing or not. He slowly stopped caring about other people judging him and nitpicking, as just being around Mr. Confidence himself boosted his ego.
He also found himself being swayed by Matt to try out for the hockey team, wanting to have some reason to be cool enough to hang out with this guy.
“Do you even know his name?” Matt teased when Smitty was going on about how he might actually be able to earn his right to be the cool guy’s friend.
Smitty paused, frowning and dropped his hands. “Well—no, but…”
“Damn. Dude doesn’t even bother giving you his name and you’re still obsessing over him? What, you gay for his ass or something?”
Smitty bit his cheek, brows furrowing, fists lightly clenching as he turned away, focusing on the cold white walls of Matt’s house—empty of all life, except for them and Matt’s room. The time showed to be midnight—if they were normal thirteen year olds, their parents would be shooing them to bed, but they had no parents to shoo them most days. Even if they were home, they both doubted they’d even take notice.
“No… I don’t … think so—?” He turned back to his brother. “He’s just really fuckin’ cool, Matt. And—And he helped me cut off those asshats I used to hang around, remember?”
Matt grumbled. Shortly after Smitty cut them off, when they learned that Smitty was hanging around a ‘scary dude,’ they turned their attacks to Matt, since they were practically brothers. They tried to get him to ‘admit’ that Smitty was taking this guy’s dick up his ass, or sucking his dick, and when he insisted that Smitty was straight, said they should’ve known he was “just a faggot too.”
Smitty didn’t like to remember it. He didn’t like to remember how he’d open his locker at school and his shit would be trashed, his lock picked time and time again. He hated remembering how they’d slide him notes in class, insults and insanely specific inappropriate comments. He feared going home alone many days now, lest he find unwanted visitors making themselves at home just to taunt him like he was their brand–new play toy their mommas bought them.
He hated how he couldn’t do anything to protect Matt. He was ashamed of how he just dealt with it, not knowing what else to do. He finally went to the counsellor’s, assured he didn’t need to worry about a thing—Smitty did, until they stopped showing up to school and both he and Matt got letters from the school that they had some sort of restraining orders in place.
“You just—have to get to know him, I guess. But, like, he’s out of my league, dude. I don’t know why he lets a loser like me hang out with him, but I’m not gonna push my luck.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “This … guy shouldn’t be the only reason you’re playing hockey, Smitty.”
Smitty scoffed. “He’s not. If he was, I’d be playing football. I’d get way more attention doing that.”
Matt hummed. “True. Impressing this guy’s just a bonus.”
Smitty felt his face go hot and he prayed it wasn’t too red. “I—I’m not tryin’ to impress him! ” he cried, before dropping his tone, voice going much softer and more vulnerable. “Besides, I don’t think he would give a shit, really.”
Matt lifted a brow, shifting to get more comfortable—as if preparing to hear an endless rant. “Why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that, like, good, that he won’t make fun of you for it?”
He sighed. “He couldn’t care enough to make fun of me for it, I know that. That—That’s why I hang around him so much, really, I think. It’s him not caring enough to think it’s cool that I got into hockey—if I make the team, that is.”
“So … you’re wasting all this energy on impressing a guy who you know you’ll never be able to impress? Why? Are you sure you’re not gay for this fucker?”
Smitty huffed. “It’s just—He’s—You’ve gotta get to know him to understand.” It came out more as begging than anything, begging Matt to understand something not even he understood. But he was only thirteen, why did he have to truly understand anything?
So next time Smitty spotted him in the crowd with Matt by his side, he urged Matt to follow him, grinning ear to ear at the fact that his two favorite people are finally meeting. He could only pray they got along.
“So you’re the guy Smitty’s been ditching me for?” was the first thing Matt said, causing Smitty to freeze, face going red as he gawked.
The guy just raised a brow, glancing back at Smitty who tried to quickly play off his embarrassment. He then glanced back at Matt, gesturing to Smitty. “This guy? Didn’t know he had friends, to be honest, with how much he clung to me.”
And, suddenly, all the confidence Smitty built from being around him was falling apart. Was he too clingy? Too annoying? Did he not consider them friends? What if he was just like a thorn in his side, a parasite?
Then Matt laughed, lighthearted and easy, not at all bothered by his words. “He is a clingy one, yeah? I’m—Well, we’ve known each other for way too long, since, like, diapers. I’ve heard a lot about you, stranger.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Matt.”
“Better be good then,” he responded before accepting the outstretched hand. “John.”
And, suddenly, he just couldn’t get that name out of his head.