Chapter Text
"Dude, you’re staring again." Sherry’s elbow dug into Jake’s ribs hard enough to make him flinch. He tore his eyes away from the cafeteria table where Piers Nivans was currently mid-story, hands waving dramatically as Chris Redfield nearly choked laughing beside him.
Jake scowled, rubbing his side. "I wasn’t staring. I was zoning out."
Sherry rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful. "Right. And I’m the Queen of England." She shoved a fry into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before adding, "You know, if you just *talked* to him like a normal person instead of—" she gestured vaguely at him, "—whatever this weird antagonistic flirting thing you’ve got going on is, you might actually get somewhere."
Jake opened his mouth to argue, because of *course* he was going to argue. A sharp burst of laughter from Piers’ table cut him off. Piers had his head thrown back, one hand clutching his chest like he was dying, the other pointing at Chris accusingly. Even from across the room, Jake could see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed.
Jake’s fingers twitched against his tray. He wanted to walk over there, slide into the seat next to Piers like it was nothing, and what? Make some stupid joke? Steal his drink? He wasn’t sure, but the urge coiled tight in his chest, restless and stupid.
Sherry kicked him under the table. “Earth to Jake. You’re doing the thing again.”
“What thing?” Jake snapped, too quickly.
“The thing where you look like you want to throw your tray at him or kiss him. Honestly, it’s hard to tell.”
The cafeteria buzzed around them, but Jake barely heard it; his pulse was too loud in his ears. He tore his gaze away from Piers and shoved a forkful of lukewarm pasta into his mouth just to have something to do. "I don't wanna kiss him," he muttered, though the lie tasted sour.
Sherry snorted. "Uh-huh. And I *totally* believe you." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Look, I get it. Piers is... Piers. But you're gonna give yourself an aneurysm if you keep pretending you're not into him. Just *talk* to him. Like, normally. Without the whole" she waved her hand "grumpy act."
Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. "Easy for you to say. You're not the one who—" He cut himself off as Piers suddenly stood up from his table, stretching his arms above his head. The sunlight streaming through the high windows caught the silver rings on his fingers, glinting.
Sherry followed his stare and groaned. "Oh my god. You're hopeless."
Piers’ laughter carried across the cafeteria again, bright and unguarded, and Jake’s fingers tightened around his fork like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. Sherry sighed dramatically beside him, tapping her nails against her soda can. "You know," she said, voice dripping with faux innocence, "Carlos mentioned Piers is single again. Apparently Helena dumped him last night over text."
Jake’s head snapped toward her so fast his neck cracked. "What?" The word came out sharper than he intended, earning a knowing smirk from Sherry. He cleared his throat, forcing his tone into something casual. "I mean—that sucks for him, I guess."
Sherry arched an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Yeah, real tragedy." She took a slow sip of her drink, watching him over the rim. "Carlos said Piers took it kinda hard. Chris had to talk him down from climbing the gym roof at, like, 2 AM."
Jake’s stomach twisted. He glanced back at Piers’ table, where the guy in question was now slumped against Chris’s shoulder, still grinning but with something tired around his eyes. Jake swallowed hard. "He’s... okay, though?"
Sherry gave Jake a look that said she knew exactly how much he cared, despite his half-assed attempt at nonchalance. “Yeah, he’s fine,” she said, rolling a fry between her fingers. “But you could, I don’t know, *check* on him yourself? Wild concept.”
Jake glared at her, but his pulse kicked up at the thought—just walking over there, dropping into the empty seat next to Piers like it was nothing. But then what? Offer condolences? Crack a joke? *Hey, heard your girlfriend dumped you, that’s rough, buddy* yeah, no. Jake exhaled sharply through his nose. “He’s got Chris and Carlos. He doesn’t need me barging in like some—”
“Like someone who gives a shit?” Sherry finished, arching an eyebrow.
Before Jake could retort, a crash echoed from Piers’ table, Piers had knocked over his water bottle, sending it rolling across the floor. He lunged after it, but his sleeve caught the edge of Chris’s tray, tipping it just enough to send a fork clattering to the ground. Piers froze, hands hovering mid-air like he’d just committed a crime. Chris burst out laughing, clapping him on the back while Piers groaned, pressing his forehead against the table. Even from a distance, Jake could see the tips of Piers’ ears turning red.
The fork clattered again as Piers fumbled to pick it up, and Jake couldn’t stop the snort that escaped him. Sherry elbowed him, again, but this time, he didn’t look away. Piers was grinning sheepishly now, rubbing the back of his neck while Chris wheezed beside him, and something warm curled in Jake’s chest.
“You’re doing the thing again,” Sherry muttered, but there was less teasing in her voice this time. More like she was watching a car crash in slow motion.
Jake ignored her. Piers had straightened up, running a hand through his already-messy hair, and Jake’s fingers twitched with the urge to do it for him. *God, what the hell is wrong with me?* He swallowed hard and forced his gaze down to his tray, stabbing at a limp piece of lettuce like it owed him money.
“You should go over there,” Sherry said suddenly, nudging his tray toward the edge of the table.
Jake’s fingers tightened around his fork. “And say what? ‘Hey, sorry your girlfriend dumped you, wanna grab a milkshake?’” He scoffed, but his eyes flicked back to Piers’ table, where Piers was now dramatically reenacting whatever story had sent Chris into hysterics earlier. The sunlight caught the curve of his grin, and Jake’s chest ached.
Sherry sighed, sliding her tray aside. “Or, and hear me out—” she leaned in, lowering her voice “—you could stop overthinking it and just *exist* near him without being a prick for five seconds.” She flicked a fry at him. “Shocking concept.”
Jake opened his mouth to argue, but a sudden burst of movement caught his attention, Piers was standing up, shrugging his backpack over one shoulder while Chris waved him off. Jake’s pulse spiked as Piers turned, scanning the cafeteria like he was looking for something—or someone. Their eyes met for a split second before Jake jerked his gaze away, but it was too late. Piers was already weaving through the tables toward them, hands stuffed in his pockets, his usual half-smirk in place.
Sherry kicked Jake under the table again, hard. “Breathe,” she hissed.
Piers slid into the seat across from Jake with the kind of energy that felt like a live wire sparking—too bright, too fast. His fingers drummed against the tabletop, his knee bounced, and his words spilled out in a rapid-fire stream before Jake could even process he was sitting there. “—and the tournament’s next week, right? So I was thinking, if we could squeeze in one more practice session before Friday, maybe we could workshop the rebuttals for the Lincoln-Douglas format? Oh, and also—” Piers paused just long enough to snatch Jake’s water bottle, taking a swig without asking, “—did you get the geometry notes from today? I missed third period ‘cause Carlos dragged me to some bullshit seminar on ‘emotional resilience’ or whatever.”
Jake blinked. Piers’ voice was loud, his grin wide, his posture loose but something was off. The way his fingers kept tapping against the water bottle lid like he needed to keep moving or he’d explode. The way his eyes darted to the side when he mentioned the seminar, like the words left a bad taste in his mouth. The way his laughter hit a half-beat too late when Sherry made a joke about debate nerds.
Jake clocked it instantly: Piers was *not* okay.
“Yeah, I got the notes,” Jake said slowly, watching Piers’ face carefully. “I’ll send ‘em to you.” He hesitated, then added, “You good, Nivans?”
Piers’ grin didn’t waver, but his fingers tightened around the water bottle. “Me? Yeah, man, never better. Just—” He waved a hand dismissively, rings glinting. “Seminar was boring as hell, and Helena dumped me via *text* like we’re in middle school, so, you know. Peak comedy.”
Sherry winced beside Jake, but Piers barreled on before either of them could respond. “Anyway, debate practice. You in or what? Chris bailed ‘cause he’s got some ‘family thing’”—he air-quoted with one hand—“so I need a partner who won’t fold like a lawn chair the second someone brings up utilitarianism.”
Jake frowned. Piers was talking *too* fast, his words tripping over each other like he was afraid of the silence between them. And his eyes—usually sharp and focused, kept skittering away, landing anywhere but Jake’s face.
“Sure,” Jake said cautiously. “But—”
“Great!” Piers clapped his hands together, the sound too loud in the space between them. “Tomorrow after school? Oh, and—” He leaned forward suddenly, close enough that Jake could see the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his smile didn’t quite reach them. “You got those geometry notes, right? I *cannot* fail another quiz or Carlos will actually murder me.” He laughed, high and brittle, like the joke was funnier than it was.
Jake exchanged a glance with Sherry. She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, nodding toward Piers like “Do something”
Jake gritted his teeth. He wasn’t good at this “comforting people” shit, Like trying saying the right thing without saying something to accidentally make them feel worse; But Piers’ knee was bouncing under the table like a live wire, and his fingers kept twisting the rings on his fingers, over and over.
“Nivans,” Jake said finally, his voice lower than he meant it to be. “Cut the shit.”
Piers blinked. His grin faltered. “What?”
“You’re talking like you’re on speed,” Jake muttered, shoving his tray aside. “And you’re wound tighter than a damn spring. Knock it off.”
Piers’ laugh was sharp, defensive. “Wow, thanks for the psychoanalysis, Freud. Didn’t know you cared.” His tone was light, but his fingers dug into the edge of the table.
Jake leaned forward. “I don’t,” he lied. “But you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack if you keep this up. And then who’s gonna be my debate partner?”
Piers rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed, like he was bracing for impact. “Oh no, the *horror* of inconveniencing Jake Muller. How will I ever—”
“Shut up,” Jake interrupted. He reached across the table, snagging Piers’ wrist before he could think better of it. Piers froze. His pulse thudded against Jake’s fingertips, too fast. “Just—*breathe*, okay? You’re spiraling.”
For a second, Piers looked like he might bolt. Then his breath hitched, and his fingers twitched in Jake’s grip. “I’m fine,” he insisted, but his voice cracked.
Sherry kicked Jake under the table again, softer this time—and nodded toward the hallway. *Move.* Jake exhaled sharply. “Yeah, you’re a *great* liar. Come on.” He stood abruptly, pulling Piers up with him.