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Valentines’ Day. A day of sweet affection, straight people, and discounted chocolate. To the pessimistic few, this day was also known as Skip School Day – it was noted that half of the student population had either vanished, or decided that love was overrated and spent the day moping from class to class, despair and loneliness as common as the flu.
It was also a day of unrequited love – a trope entirely inescapable by the average high school adolescent, and completely overdone. And no matter how much the author was aware of this fact, the sound of hearts splitting could still be heard periodically on the hour, minute, and second.
The point was; Valentines’ Day sucked ass.
In fact, the sound could be heard now. The obnoxious tearing of an envelope sliced your eardrums, the fourth one today. It was a miracle how many goddamn love letters one man could get, especially if that man was as big of a goof as John. Who would have known? John, a heart throb. Incredible.
“If I hear that sound one more time, you will bleed,” you muttered, head pressed against your locker in exasperation. John giggled, ripping open another. Presumably to spite you.
“You’re just mad because no one gave you any Valentines. Jealousy is unattractive.”
You lifted your head at that, rubbing away the red welts the grates in your locker left on your forehead. You scrunched your face uncomfortably, but John just laughed again. What a fucking catch he is.
“Doing that is also considered unattractive.”
“John, please. Have you seen me? Have you actually given a long, hard look at my appearance? Saying Dave Strider is unattractive is a paradox. A black hole,” You swipe one of his cards from his fingers, reading it while you speak. “To say I am ugly is a spit in God’s face, how dare you insult the creator? Are you a blasphemer? A non-believer? You will be beaten and damned, sir.”
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You smell like shit,
But I want to taste you >:D
What in the fuck is this unholy garbage you are holding in your hands.
“Jealous. You’re jealous.”
John removed the card from your limp hands; you couldn’t ever remember reading anything that bad or disgusting before, especially in relation to John. No, in relation to anybody, it was wrong on so many levels you could ride that escalator all the way to the next universe and still keep climbing.
“I don’t doubt you’re attractive, Dave. Just jealous of my clearly prominent charm. Ladies want me.”
This, accompanied by an eyebrow wiggle, was the last straw. You cracked your knuckles absent-mindedly, and watched John stuff his hundreds of pink and red envelopes back into the tiny interior of his locker. They’d stay there until June, no doubt.
“If you think I’m so attractive, why do you need ladies? You have me right here and ready. Good and seasoned. Packaged and ready to go. Juicy and prime. Hot and bothered. Long and –“
“Okay! Jesus,” John clamped your mouth with his hand, and only let go when you gave his palm a wet kiss. Ironically. Of course. “I don’t even want to know what you mean by ‘packaged’ or ‘juicy’.”
“Are you sure? I can tell you between classes if you change your mind. Or show you if I’m feeling frisky.” You wink, and John blushes like the lemon he is. You know this didn’t have any effect on him other than humiliation, but it was worth a well-placed shot, anyway.
John closed his locker, clicking the lock back into place with a flick of his wrist. He huffed at your grin, and brushed past your shoulder to go home – you’d forgotten school was even over it had taken John that long to open some fucking letters.
“Stop joking and come on, dude. My dad’s gonna wonder where I am.”
He whistled, something off-beat, off-key, and just plain off, the sound echoing all around the empty hallway. If you were into writing mushy gushy poetry rather than shitty ironic raps, you would have said it echoed around the emptiness of your chest, where your heart would be. But that was gay. And the author will not allow you to be gayer than the minimum requirement needed to not ride the ride of homoerotica and penises, because homosexuality is a sin. And you are not a sinner.
“Sure. I was joking. Whatever. No big deal.”
Needless to say, he didn’t hear anything you’d said, so you just scampered after him like the puppy you were, chasing a bone(r) you were never going to get to chew on. Or just generally put in your mouth, whatever.