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i.
The first time Maurice needed Jack’s help, really needed it, was when he’d broken his wrist at 13.
He and Roger had been messing around in their common room, Maurice standing on one of the tables meant for studying. He was dramatically re-enacting something Simon Cambourne had said in their earlier choir practice, tossing an arm over his forehead with a loud statement containing that of much whimsy.
Jack had warned him. Told him to get off because he was going to fall and injure himself. The brunette had insisted he would be fine, feeding off of Roger’s laughter and not wanting to stop.
Suddenly, he’d misplaced his footing, and had come tumbling off the table mid-laughter.
The crack was instantaneous.
For a second, Maurice seemed fine. If anything, he just seemed a little startled, and Jack wondered if maybe he’d hallucinated the sound of it breaking.
Though it was soon obvious that this wasn’t the case.
“Mgh!” The brunette cried out, wrist clutched to his chest as his green eyes welled with tears, the pain finally registering.
Roger momentarily stopped laughing, unsure on what to do.
Jack took charge, going to crouch beside his friend. He tried avoiding Maurice’s face, heart hurting more than he’d like to admit at the tears running down the other’s cheeks.
He gently reached for Maurice’s wrist, prying the boy’s uninjured hand from its hold on the broken bone.
“Move your hand, Mauri,” he requested with quiet order. “I’m not going to hurt you, I just need to see it.”
Maurice sniffled, allowing Jack to remove his free arm and place it to the side.
The blond delicately took it into his own, pushing up the sleeves of his light blue uniform shirt and inspecting it. He was careful of the bent area currently turning a sickening shade of purple. Jack turned it over in his hand, analyzing the situation.
He could feel Roger watching them, eyes dark in a way that felt wrong.
“Roger,” Jack said, glancing up at him. “Go get a nurse.”
The boy mumbled an agreement, eyes locked fascinatingly on Maurice’s deformed wrist before turning to make his way out of the room. In such a huge academy, Jack knew it could take awhile before the nurse arrived.
Maurice instinctively leaned into the blond’s touch, head going to rest on his shoulder while he hiccuped a cry.
“I told you not to stand on the table.”
“‘M sorry, Jack,” he whispered through tears.
Jack sighed, shaking his head in minor disapproval.
“D’you think it’s broken?” Maurice asked.
The taller of the two looked back down at the swollen wrist.
He nodded, “yeah,” he began. “Yeah, Mauri. It’s broken.”
“Oh,” the boy mumbled into his friend’s shoulder. “At least it’s not my right?”
Jack felt himself smiling. Just a little. “At least it’s not your right,” he agreed.
Maurice let out a broken laugh that got caught between a sob, and Jack tried to ignore the obvious pull at his heart.
“Jack,” the brunette whimpered through pain, “it hurts. Help.”
Jack pulled back a little to look at Maurice’s agonized face. He took the boy’s wrist into his own and guided it above his heart, informing him to keep it elevated above there while he got ice.
He returned only a few minutes later with some wrapped in a paper towel, crouching to press it on Maurice’s wrist, and watching as the boy bit his lip to hold back the pain.
Eventually the door to their common room re-opened and a nurse came rushing in, a much too calm Roger following suit.
Maurice felt a deep sense of luck fill his body at the fact Jack was there for his injury. He couldn’t help but think if it were just him and Roger, he may have been laughed at and not taken seriously.
Jack was good at helping.
ii.
The next time Maurice needed Jack’s help was for math, only a few months later.
Maurice’s intelligence was a common topic among the boys of their school, and he’d often help the students in geography and human science. Everyone knew that behind his joking personality, there was a very clever kid.
Which is why it came as a shock to Jack when his friend admitted he was struggling in a subject.
He’d come back from his duties as head boy to find the brunette tucked into their shared desk, hand carding through his hair in distress. The boy had barely offered Jack more than a glance upon his arrival.
Unusual.
“Hey, Mauri.”
No reply.
“Maurice!”
The brunette jumped, pen slipping from under the tight grip of his fingers. “Jack!” He exclaimed in shock, smile appearing on his face.
Jack smirked, “studying?”
With a nod, Maurice began explaining. “Yeah, this math work is really getting to me. I think I’m behind, actually.”
“Want me to take a look?” Jack asked, already making his way over and putting a hand on the table, leaning over the boy.
Maurice straightened up abruptly, face going pink.
“Here,” the blond said, pointing at an equation, “you’re using the wrong formula.”
“Hm?”
“You’re using the wrong formula,” he repeated.
“Ah?”
“Are you listening to me?”
The boy blinked a couple of times before speaking. “Yeah. Sorry, Jack.”
Maurice turned to look at him, green eyes meeting blue ones. His friend was still leaning over him, faces now inches apart.
Jack gulped.
Maurice tried not to laugh from the nerves.
Then the blond stepped back, going to sit on his bed and patting the spot behind him. “Bring your work.”
The shorter one shuffled his papers into a stack and placed them atop his textbook, going to sit with Jack on his bed.
The mattress creaked under his weight and Maurice tried not to smile at how close the two of them were. He could practically feel Jack’s breath on his neck.
They stayed up late, the blond explaining bit by bit everything his friend lacked to understand.
By the end they’d both grown tired, Maurice’s body beginning to go limp against Jack’s side as he explained yet another type of formula.
“Mauri?”
No response. The boy was now leaning on him, head against his shoulder like the day he’d broken his wrist.
For a second, Jack felt himself tense up, but upon remembering nobody was around to see, he felt his body relax and muscles untense. Slowly, he brought his hand up to card through the brown strands of his friend’s hair.
They slept together that night, not even bothering to change out of their school uniforms. Jack had told himself there was no point in carrying him to his own bed, for Maurice may wake him and he was already clearly exhausted. It was logical they remained in the same bed that night. That was all.
Over the next couple of days, Maurice’s grades went up and his math tests came back with 100% after 100% after 100%.
Jack was a good teacher.
iii.
At 14, Jack risked his status as head boy to lie for Maurice.
He’d been called into the office, unsure of the reasoning. He’d half expected it to be a duty they wanted him to fulfill on account of his role. Give a new kid a tour, tutor a young boy, those kinds of things.
He hadn’t expected to find Maurice and Roger sitting there, bored expressions on their faces until his arrival.
“Mr. Merridew, have a seat,” greeted the principal, gesturing to one of the chairs across from him.
The other two were sitting on a bench against the wall to his right.
The man had his hands folded out on the desk in front of him, and Jack found it difficult to read his face or the situation.
“It’s come to my attention,” he began, “that these two have been skipping classes to hang out outdoors. Presumably burning ants. Which is an issue in itself, but we’ll get there.”
Jack tensed.
Maurice was hanging out alone with Roger? Why? Did Maurice prefer him? Was he funnier? Maybe he’d been too cruel lately.
A voice cut through his thoughts.
“Mr. Merridew.”
He shook his head, zoning back in. “Sorry, yes?”
“Maurice Dal explained to me that you, as head boy, have been granting him permission to leave class for calming breaks. Claims it helps him to relax for the next period and focus.”
The blond looked over at his friend, who avoided eye contact and looked racked with embarrassment. His head was bowed in shame, brown hair falling over his eyes.
“What I want to know,” he said, meeting Jack’s eyes once more. “Is if this is true. For if this isn’t the case, he could be at risk of suspension.”
If this was anyone else, he would’ve called them out.
But Maurice wasn’t anyone else. So he didn’t hesitate.
“Yes, that’s true.”
He saw Maurice straighten out of the corner of his eye, whereas Roger slumped against the wall at the realization he’d be going down for this alone.
The principal hummed in consideration, leaning back in his chair. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “You see, Maurice struggles to focus after such a long intake of knowledge. I’ve been allowing him to skip a class of his choice per day, that way he can focus on whatever classes he deem more important. I take the time out of my day to help him with the coursework he missed later on, when he’s ready.”
It was all a lie. His entire status could be ruined by it if he hadn’t been convincing enough or the man didn’t like his answer.
He would take that risk though.
In fact, he would always take that risk for Maurice.
When the principal looked at him, he suddenly felt much more self aware. He noticed the looseness of his tie and the slight wrinkle of his blue shirt, the singular strand he’d missed when slicking his hair back that morning and the faint mud on his shoes.
“Very well then.”
Jack’s eyes widened and he could hear Maurice exhale.
“If that’s what you deem fit. However, if Mr. Dal’s grades begin decreasing, he will have to return to a regular schedule. Please speak to his teachers about this, that way they are aware.”
The blond boy nodded profusely in agreement. “Yes, of course, yes.” He rambled.
Jack was good at lying for Maurice.
iv.
Maurice was 15 when he first got into a physical fight.
He wasn’t violent, often finding himself feeling increasingly guilty when Roger would hurt their classmates for fun.
But listening to someone call his friend slurs and refer to him as an egotistical, cold hearted git was something he couldn’t take lightly.
Obviously he hadn’t just turned around and punched them. He’d tried talking, telling them to keep Jack’s name out of their mouths.
He was hit first, after minutes of a verbal confrontation.
He was simply defending his honour.
And Jack’s. But he would never know.
“Maurice,” Jack condemned, “don’t ever do something stupid like that again.”
He was currently washing his bruised fingers with a washcloth and occasionally dabbing it in water.
“I’m sorry, Jack” he admitted, voice hoarse as he looked at the blond’s face.
“I’m serious,” he warned. “The fact I put my trust in you everyday, just for you to go out and do something reckless like getting into a fight is ridiculous.”
“I know,” the brunette mumbled, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes.
Once his hand was cleared of the blood, Jack began bandaging it up with careful precision.
Lastly, he brought a new damp cloth to Maurice’s face, rubbing it over the scarred cheek full of cuts. Before pulling it away, his eyes lingered with the green ones of the other, causing him to waver before finally stepping back a bit and handing him a couple of bandaids.
“Thank you,” spoke Maurice, “for helping me.”
“I’m always going to help you,” Jack professed, voice still holding its contained coldness.
Jack was good at treating bruises.
v.
It was Maurice’s 16th birthday when he decided he wanted to learn how to kiss.
He’d declared this abruptly, just after setting down the wads of cash his parents had sent him, along with the many gifts that already piled the room.
Jack hadn’t replied, unsure how this correlated to him and assuming Maurice was just thinking aloud.
Until the boy repeated it.
“Jack! Are you listening to me?”
The blond looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow from his bed. “Yes? You said you wanted to learn to kiss.”
“Exactly, can you teach me?” Maurice flirted, putting on a dramatic tone of voice and tilting his head.
“Don’t be stupid, Mauri,” mumbled Jack, going back to his reading.
“What!? I’m not!” He sighed, scrambling over to sit with his friend. “I’m serious, Jack!”’
Shutting the book, he looked at Maurice. “How would I know how to kiss? I’m just as clueless as you.” He explained with a laugh, as if this was obvious.
“Then we can both learn. I’m 16 now, mind you.”
Jack hesitated momentarily before putting his brave face back on. “Wouldn’t that be weird?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re both boys.”
“That’s exactly why it’s not weird. Because it’s not going to be romantic,” insisted the brunette.
Jack felt his heart drop at the words. Because they were both boys was the very reason why it would be romantic for him.
“Go ask Roger.”
“Do you know, Roger? He would kill me for even asking. C’mon, Jack, don’t be annoying!”
“Okay!” He huffed. “Fine! Just get it over with then!”
Maurice smiled.
Then it faltered.
“Well—I don’t actually know how.”
“I assumed that when you said you wanted to learn how to kiss, yes.”
Maurice hummed in thought, considering his options. “Okay,” he decided, leaning forward to put his hand on the back of Jack’s neck. “I’m just gonna start with this.”
Jack smirked. “Great.”
The clock in the distance signaled that it was nearing 12am, ticking closer with every second. Their usually cold room felt intensely hot, and Maurice found himself wondering if someone had turned up the heat.
“Just—put your hands,” he laughed awkwardly, grabbing the blond’s hands and placing them on his shoulders, “here.”
“What next, director?” His friend joked.
“I guess I just…lean in?”
“Hm. Go on then.”
Jack sounded cocky, but inside his heart was beating faster than it ever had before. His palms were getting sweaty and he tried to subtly wipe them on the bedsheets.
The brunette kept his hand on Jack’s neck, bringing their faces just inches apart like all the previous times.
Their eyes met for a second before the shorter boy leaned in and kissed him.
It wasn’t long, or intense. Maybe 5 seconds of their lips brushing against each other’s, as if not wanting to be able to count it if needed.
Though it felt like everything.
Maurice pulled back with a wide grin, awkwardness obvious as he stared at Jack.
The blond just gulped, tongue coming out to wetten his lips.
“Was that—How was—Do you have any critiques? Since this is for…learning?”
Jack laughed. “I think a kiss is usually longer?” He tried.
Maurice leaned back in before his friend could even register the situation, giggling into his mouth as they both tried to focus on the task and not the silliness they felt.
It was more passionate this time, lips actually meeting. Maurice recalled Roger telling him to focus on only the bottom or upper half, momentarily thanking the boy in his head.
Eventually they both pulled back again, breathing loud.
“How was that?” Maurice asked, playing with the loose thread of Jack’s white t-shirt.
“Better,” he confirmed, eyes glancing at the clock just as it turned 12am. “Can I count this as an additional birthday gift for you?”
The boy nodded with a laugh, face flushed pink. “This…was…romantic? I think. Despite us…both being boys.”
Jack ignored this, “maybe you should kiss me again? That way I can critique more, maybe all night I can help teach you.”
Maurice leaned in again, smiling.
Jack was good at kissing.
+1
Jack didn’t need help. Men handled issues on their own. Needing help was weak, or, at least to him. For him.
He’d been helped once, by Simon, during a sickness he caught through the long vaccs.
Otherwise, that was it.
Until late April, when he had no choice but to let his friend—no, boyfriend—help him.
“Jack! Where are you?” Called Maurice, opening the door to their dorm. “You’re going to miss—Jack, what’s wrong!?”
The brunette quickly rushed to the bed, where Jack was sitting there, arms hugging his legs as he cried. He took the blond’s hands into his own, ducking his head to try and see the boy’s head, which was hidden in his lap.
“Jack…” he mumbled.
He didn’t look up, just choked out a broken, “hi.”
“Hello,” Maurice said through a whisper.
He tried pushing the brunette’s hands away, failing to do so as Maurice tightened his grip.
“Jack, stop.”
“Go away, Mauri.”
“No, you’re upset. I want to help you.”
Jack groaned, finally bringing his head up, only to flop it back against the headboard and stare at their ceiling. He let out a sniffle, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Did someone say something?”
The blond shook his head. “This is embarrassing, please just leave me alone. I don’t want you seeing this.”
Maurice crawled over, settling against Jack and stroking the back of his thumb. “You don’t always have to be tough, y’know? I won’t think any differently if you tell me what’s wrong…You’re still the coolest, strongest person I know.”
“I just—” Jack started, struggling to find the words. “It’s too much. I can’t—I just. Us. My grades. My father—All of it, Maurice.”
Maurice tried to ignore the way his heart dropped at ‘us.’ Instead, he waited for Jack to continue.
“I hate—I hate keeping us hidden, and the feeling of guilt. I feel like I’m—” he hiccuped a sob, “betraying God. My father too. All I do is study for my grades. It feels like—I don’t know!” He cried as his breathing picked up.
“Jack?” Maurice said as the boy began hyperventilating.
His eyes widened, “hey, please try and take a deep breath!”
“Ugh! I can’t feel my legs—Maurice, I feel like I’m going to—going to pass out!" He admitted through panicked gasps of air.
“Yes, that’s because you’re hyperventilating, Jack. Please try to calm down. Here, tell me 5 things you see.”
Jack leaned forward, sobbing in mild annoyance. “Why!?”
“It’ll ground you,” Maurice explained.
“This is—” He choked out, “so embarrassing!”
“Jack, it’s not! Everyone has bad days!”
The blond shook his head, sobbing until he finally looked over.
“You.”
“Huh?”
“I see you,” Jack quavered.
Maurice smiled. “That’s good. What else?”
“The clock,” he said with a nod to it.
“What else?”
The brunette kept going until Jack’s breathing died down into streaming tears and tired gasps of air. By now he was leaning into him, Maurice playing with the usually slicked to the side hair. It was now sweaty, taking on the form of curls.
He stroked his arm, holding him in silence.
Eventually, tired out from the sobbing, Jack fell into a light sleep against his boyfriend.
In the morning they would talk it out, and Maurice would help find coping strategies, as well as ways to handle all the issues. But for now, all he could do was hold him.
Because Jack wasn’t a man.
He was a boy.
And Maurice could help too.