Archive of Our Own

Johnny Vincent lies awake on the lumpy mattress of his scarcely used dormitory bed. It's the end of November, when autumn brisk air gives like tissue paper to the early, icy claws of winter. On nights like these, it's too cold to spend huddled in a windowless tenement (as in, the glass panes are gone, but the holes in the building are not), or bike to his grandparents’ home at the far end of New Coventry.

At least he doesn't have to put up with his roommate for the week, not that he knew the guy well enough to be annoyed by him personally. Just some non-clique nobody who he met one day, and forgot the name of the next.

As much as people sent their kids to Bullworth to not have to raise them, the school was mandated to offer a break for Thanksgiving (though he was sure it was more to give the teachers a reprieve from the student body).

It’s a bit of a surprise that his roommate headed home, all things considered. He supposed a kid that forgettable couldn't be too annoying. Lucky son of a bitch.

With the dim moon and brighter city light pollution filtering in through the window, he can see the face of his alarm clock. 

The long hand marches forward through the minutes unwavering, and its shorter friend stumbles as it follows suit.

It's midnight.

Happy birthday, Johnny Vincent. You're an adult.

The bed feels too small, even as he rolls over to fall asleep, curled up as tightly as he can. 

The leather jacket draped over him, once his father's, feels far too big.

-

Johnny headed out of the dorms once the sun had warmed the outside air enough to be bearable. Which is to say, around 9 am. Later than he'd wake up on a school day (on the occasion that attendance was preferable to vigilance), but he doesn't have anywhere to be. 

He’ll be able to visit his parents on Thursday, but the rest of the week was to be a smear of wasted free time. He'd just have to pick up some odd jobs or shake down some sorry sucker in town to get enough money to eat.

Now, he doesn't expect a parade for his birthday. The last time he had anything you could call a party for the occasion, he'd been in middle school.

It's not something he thinks to tell people about. 

But, it's a feeling not unlike holding your breath for no reason; that something invisible and irreversible has changed within him.

From where he's ended up sitting, the rim of the school fountain, he looks at the few students milling about — all in casual winter wear. It's a disquieting sense of otherness: realizing that he's aged out of his peer group and that he's still stuck in this school with them for the next half year.

He pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights one up. No one is around to tell him off for smoking in the middle of campus.

Maybe he could swing by Lola’s in the afternoon, see if she wants to go out to dinner. He wouldn't even have to lie to get a free slice of cake at the diner he likes — and he knows Lola will want some, despite whatever she says about 'maintaining her figure’. 

What he didn't expect to interrupt his idle planning was the thud of familiar footfalls approaching him. Larry, who'd mentioned just two days ago that he would be spending the week at his mother's. 

What the hell is he doing on campus? Did he forget something in his locker?

Of course not. He was here for Johnny. He was one of a handful of people who knew his birthday; oddly diligent in all things Johnny Vincent. Larry’s grades are middling, but if there were one topic he could excel at on a test, it would be this.

Johnny had given up on finding it strange a long time ago.

Always trailing after him like a stray dog, over the years, Larry became his near constant companion — dependent enough to stroke Johnny's ego and eager to prove himself. 

It was comfortable to have him by his side. Familiar.

He sat next to Johnny, bumping his arm with his proximity. Normally, this would hardly be worth acknowledging, but in this instance, it was notable for the wall of warmth Larry provided. Hardly conscious of it, Johnny found himself leaning against his friend.

“You got any plans for the day, Johnny?”

He hummed a non-committal note, putting out his cigarette on the cement before speaking. 

“Just the usual. Poke around the junkyard, get something to eat. I wanna take Lola to the diner later.”

Larry nodded along, pausing at the mention of Lola. He would try to pick his next words carefully, not sure if it was the right thing to say at all. He didn't wanna ruin Johnny's mood for the rest of the day.

“I passed by her place on the way over, and her family's car wasn't out front. Matter of fact, wasn't there yesterday either.” 

Johnny was silent. 

Did his girl skip town for the week without telling him? That would be a little too much like her, and she did have family outside Bullworth that her folks loved to visit any chance they got. 

But seriously… His mood visibly darkened.

This is what Larry had been worried about; he shouldn't have said anything. Lola could've stayed home; she’d mentioned before how much she couldn't stand one of her aunts and a load of her cousins.

“We could go check? I didn't go up to their place to see if she was still around, maybe…” 

Johnny grunted, half reply and half a sound that came with standing. He trudged off to the auto shop, and Larry was close behind.

-

She left a card for him, at least. 

The edge of it peeked out from under the doormat, so as not to be blown away or swiped.

Her handwriting was slanted and narrowly packed, stems of letters taller than they ought to be, but with florid little loops and crosses that Johnny always found cute.

His eyes scanned the message, eight lines in total. He could hear her usual theatrical charm in the words, and smiled despite himself at the familiar feeling.

With how rocky they could be, and even at this moment, feeling hung out to dry, he couldn't help but think: she really likes me, huh?

He folded the card and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket, sighing. It’s hard to cling to his annoyance when she's sweet like this.

He wasn't in the mood to go to the diner without her, even if it meant no free cake. But, he could always lie about it being his birthday some other day.

From behind him came the sound of Larry idly scuffing his shoe on the building’s cement walkway. Seeing that Johnny had finished reading and straightened his posture, Larry piped up.

“We heading out?”

Johnny looked at him for a long moment and nodded.

-

Time flows frictionless when they're together, hours falling away like the few leaves still stubbornly clinging to branches when a harsh wind barrels through. 

It’s afternoon by the time Johnny realizes he hasn't eaten yet today (and hardly, the day prior).

They're biking leisurely across town after selling some parts they'd salvaged in good condition — ones that they couldn't use on their own bikes — when his stomach clenched so sharply that he had to stop pedaling. Larry calls to him out of concern, which he hardly registers.

“Jesus…” Johnny hissed, nausea washing over him. What an incredible feat of the human body, to make him feel like he was going to throw up when there was nothing but acid in the tank. 

He doesn't want to eat when he feels sick, it makes him want to smoke like nothing else; a soothing balm for a headache and his appetite.

There's no point in wasting a smoke like that, though. The small wad of bills he'd made could cover a couple days worth of meals, easily.

“Peanut,” Larry perked up in a way that he only seemed to when it was Johnny calling him that, “let's get something to eat.”

-

On the walkway above the alley, at the abandoned tenement the greasers had made their hideout, the two waited around. If any of the others were coming to hang out today, they'd be able to see them from here.

Johnny was smoking as he often did when idle, and beside him, Larry was finishing off the burger he had gotten on the way over.

 (Johnny scarfed his own down the minute it was in his hand.)

Dusk comes early this time of year, not even 4pm and daylight was waning fast. A chill blew through the space between the buildings like a funnel.

Larry shivered. Hands now free of his meal, he could pull them into his coat. Even gloved, they got cold easily. 

Maybe his gloves suck. 

His hand made contact with a palm sized box, settled deep in his pocket.

“Oh.” 

Johnny glanced up at Larry's small sound of surprise and tilted his head at the box that emerged.

Holding it out toward him, Larry muttered, “For your birthday. Sorry, I lost track of time.” 

He was acting timid in a way unlike Larry, usually so insistent on his tough-guy posturing.

Johnny furrowed his brow and popped open the box.

Within was a nice watch: a burnt umber-brown leather band with silver hardware, a blue-black face that shone pearlescent. It held a simple beauty in a way that Johnny liked — that Larry knew he liked.

Johnny stuck out the hand that now held the box.

“Would you put it on me? I don't got a free hand right now.” gesturing with his half-smoked cigarette. They both knew he could just hold it between his lips or put the watch on the wrist of that hand, but Larry didn't protest. He liked to do things for Johnny.

Warm fingertips brushed the sensitive skin of Johnny's inner arm, fumbling with the buckle briefly — having lost dexterity from the cold.

Once snugly affixed, he raised and tilted his wrist, watching how the ripples of nacre caught the light.

“Gorgeous… how'd you pay for a piece like this?”

Larry visibly stiffened this time. Seriously, it's weird for him to be so cagey, with Johnny of all people. He’s usually tripping over himself to make conversation, seeming to delight in just hearing Johnny speak.

“...You didn't steal it, right?” Johnny squinted, suspicious. “I don't wanna get locked up for wearing out some family heirloom.”

“No! No, I bought it. From an antique shop out of town. I got a job for a bit.” This would all be a fine explanation if that final note didn't send his eyes skittering to the side. Larry is not a particularly good liar, especially not to Johnny. This clues him in. If Larry got a job, he'd have told Johnny, right?

“What job, Larry?”

Johnny could see the twitch of his jaw as he bit the inside of his cheek, measuring his response for a long pause before sighing. 

“I picked up a gig at the boxing club.”

Johnny's brows shot up as Larry fumbled to elaborate.

“One of ‘em overheard me wondering where I could make a chunk of change.  You know, part-time hours are rough during the school year. Anyway, he uh- made me an offer. For cleaning work. And- listen, I know he was making fun of my mother, okay. I’d’ve socked him if it wasn't a golden opportunity.” Larry started mumbling toward the end, embarrassment properly setting in. 

Johnny could feel his temper coming to a boil under his skin. His cigarette burnt down to the filter unattended — he stomped it out with more force than was probably safe, considering the dilapidation of the building.

“Why the hell would they play charity case with one of us?” he ground out, “thought they loved being the haves over the have-nots.”

Larry hung his head. “Um. I think they got a kick out of how desperate I was. And getting to order a greaser around don't happen every day.”

Johnny had to unclench his teeth before he cracked them.

“I'm going to their little club to cave some fuckin’ heads in.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Jeez, man, this is why I didn't wanna say nothin’,” Larry stepped around Johnny, putting his hands on his shoulders and planting his feet. 

“I didn't wanna ruin your birthday, getting you pissed off about something that happened weeks ago. I'm just telling you now ‘cause I figured you'd find out sooner or later, and I’d rather it be from me.”

 Larry was good at this, talking Johnny down. He had more practice than anyone else in the world. But because of this, when he got like this on Larry's behalf, cooling him off took his A-game.

Larry is also good at acting desperate.

“Johnny, please, at least for today. It’s already dark out, and they're all probably on some ritzy vacation anyway, just forget I said anything.”

Johnny's ears were finely attuned to that pleading tone of Larry's, always asking him for help. His angular features and dark eyes would soften at times like these. 

It made him look younger. 

Like a mirage, Johnny could see him before his growth spurt hit, when Larry could fully hide behind him. And Johnny would act sometimes annoyed, but it always made him feel so needed.

God. Is he this fuckin’ easy?

Lola is in a league of her own, but Larry's got him wrapped around his finger too, huh? Are those two trading cheat codes or something?

The force he had been pushing against Larry's hold fell away like worn clothes.

Tension drained, the corner of Larry's mouth curled smugly. He couldn't hold back a little bragging, now that they were in the eye of the storm (he's not dumb enough to think Johnny's over it for good).

“Besides, I bled those suckers dry. Anything's easy work if it's for you, Johnny but, man-”

Johnny cut him off, tousled Larry's hair to keep himself from getting annoyed again, and snorted. The glint of his new accessory caught his eye as he drew his arm back.

“I forgot to say earlier, thank you.” his voice came out husky. It made it sound like a secret.

You wouldn't think it, seeing Johnny day-to-day, but his droopy eyes and the downturned corners of his mouth could form a most sentimental smile.

Larry almost forgot to fix his hair, transfixed as he was by that expression. He felt warmth stretch out to his fingertips, straightening loose strands where Johnny had touched.

The moment was shattered as soon as it had crystallized by the slam of a door on the floor below them. Seems the boys had arrived.

-

Norton and Lefty were huddled over a countertop when Johnny and Larry found their way over. From the doorway, it wasn't clear what they were doing, but a barely-hushed argument filtered over.

“Come on, man, you've gotta write smaller, you won't fit the whole thing at this rate.”

“Heh, that's what she said- wait, why the hell do I have to do it in the first place?”

“You want me to get ash in it?”

“Fuck- back up, man, you probably have already.”

Lefty stepped away, giving Johnny a clearer view of what they were up to.

Norton was standing over an open paper box, the sort you'd get from a bakery, drizzling chocolate syrup on its contents. He had a concentrated look on his face.

Lefty noticed the two watching from the doorway and called out a greeting.

“Hey, guys! Vance’ll be here soon, too; he's just picking up something we forgot.”

Surprised by the sound, Norton squeezed the bottle too tightly. Syrup burst out, covering his careful lettering.

“Dammit. Whatever, he knows what day it is.”

Johnny hung back by the doorway, with Larry beside him. It wouldn't do them any good to interrupt Norton further. Lefty’d shuffled over to a window to smoke out of — the low noise of life outside the building filtered into the room.

He didn't bother asking what was going on. Given what Norton said and the fact that it was some sweet baked good in that box, it was easy enough to guess that the boys might be doing something for his birthday. He would be patient and let them present it however they liked. 

He really hadn't been expecting anything, in fact — he didn't remember telling them his birthdate at all. But he was in no rush. He watched the hands on his new watch slide over the numbers like water.

Footsteps came down the hall toward them.

“Do you guys know how hard it is to find a store in Bullworth that sells pomegranates? Christ, I feel like my legs are gonna fall off. Hi Johnny, hi Larry.” Vance stumbled into the room and dropped a grocery bag on the counter by Norton.

Tonight, the world will get an answer to the age-old question: how many delinquents does it take to decorate a cake?

It was another dozen minutes spent watching his friends go to war with a piece of fruit and argue about how best to extract the seeds, and a following ten of the most focus he's ever seen from them, before he was called upon.

“Johnny, whaddya standing over there for? If you want us to sing, you're shit outta luck. Don't wanna burst your eardrums with Vance’s heavenly tones.”

“Hey, speak for yourself, I can sing good and normal. Hap-”

Lefty sidestepped and clapped a hand over his shoulder. “Don't start with that.”

Johnny crossed the room and peered down into the box. Man, they'd kinda knocked this out of the park. 

Knowing his birthday was one thing, getting together for it was another, but his favorite cake, too? Cheesecake with chocolate and pomegranate isn't a common combination by any measure of the word.

Sure, he'd watched them put it together from a distance, but seeing how carefully they'd arranged his name still made the back of his eyes feel hot. He wanted to wipe at them with his cuff, but he knew they'd yet to water.

This all had to have been a concerted effort.

He glanced over to Larry, still hanging by the far wall. 

He was looking back this way, lowering a disposable camera from his eye. A rare grin stretched across his face.

Figures.

-

That Thursday, the bus line out of Bullworth was stopped by early snowfall, making the route unsafe to drive for the day. Johnny couldn’t afford a cab ride to the next county over, especially with the detour it’d have to take.

He won't be seeing his parents this month after all.

-

“That bitch!” A kick thrown out in blind rage sent a chair flying across the room. It hit the far wall with a crack.

Larry was sat on the mattress in Johnny's tenement room, watching him fume from behind.

The guy was surprisingly energetic after a more violent tussle than usual, and a subsequent run from the police. Larry could hear a ragged wheeze in Johnny's panting from here.

Oftentimes, his outbursts had a performative edge, defensive even: away from the subject of his ire, he'd stoically brew in resentment before going off and starting some shit. Such was not the case now. It seems what that prep said really got to him (strange, because it wasn't too different from usual). And now, he was working himself up into a lather — pacing and kicking whatever he came within range of.

His mood had already been a bit dark when Larry saw him on Friday, giving clipped, non-committal answers when Larry asked after his parents. Must've been a rough visit.

Sunday evening, Lola's family rolled back into town. Johnny considered heading over just to see her, but between unpacking and her family's less-than-favorable impression of him, he played it cool.

This did not last.

The first day back from break, it would've been hard not to notice an uptick in smug little looks and whispering in his direction. He couldn't pick off someone to wring answers out of, moving in their inbred little pack as they do.

So he waited.

Passing through town that afternoon, he overheard a couple of them talking it up out in the open.

How they'd bought Larry, and Lola was hardly his to begin with — someone visiting the same town as her had seen her with a different boy each day of the week.

They're lucky he didn't have something heavy on hand, or they might've come away from it limping.

Whoever the second kid was, ran off to tell the cops, no doubt. Anyone with half a brain and twice the muscle wouldn't be confident against Johnny, even 2v1.

It was a bit of a blur, whaling on that kid. He had a mean jab and got Johnny a few times, but there was no way in hell he stood a chance. Those boxing dorks never seem to expect a kick.

Johnny had hoped to knock a tooth outta that Bryce kid earlier, teach him not to talk about his woman like that, and was sure he could've if he'd gotten another good punch or two in before he had to book it. 

But Larry was right to pull him away when he did. There's no point in testing his luck, now that he could be tried as an adult.

So here they are, holed up in Johnny's room. He was still pissed beyond belief, with nothing to take it out on but the furniture or himself. (or Larry, but he was trying not to think about that.)

“Why's she always doing this to me, man, going behind my back all the time… If she wants attention, I'll give it to her, but she's always running off to someone else instead!”

Johnny clutched his hair tightly, mussing up the strands that still clung to their original style after the altercation before. His knuckles flexed, the split skin over them pulling tight and oozing blood. He let out a low whine that stuttered out into a gasp. 

Larry's concern overcame any precaution of Johnny's mood.

“Whoa- Johnny, Johnny, settle down, come on- lemme see your hands.” 

Larry tugs on the hem of his jacket until he falls back onto the mattress, his shoulder slamming into Larry's chest.

Johnny’s hands don't leave his hair when he tries to right himself, so Larry is easily upon him. He angles around until he's sat between Johnny's splayed-out legs. He tugs at Johnny's wrists, pressing thumbs into his palms to loosen their grip and pull them away.

Johnny watches him with a furrowed brow, still wound up tight. He doesn't want to fight Larry, but he hasn't gotten it out of his system. All he can do is lock his joints so he doesn't sock him when rag soaked in rubbing alcohol is dabbed on his broken skin. He just hisses through clenched teeth.

-

It's always a little scary to be so close to Johnny when he's this upset. But Larry likes to do things for Johnny, and this is one of the few times he's allowed to take care of him. 

“Jeez, you did a number on ‘em, I bet Bryce is gonna be walking around lopsided with how swollen his face’ll get.” 

He's trying to lighten the mood. 

Honestly, the cops weren't that close; he could've given Johnny the time to get another good swing in. But fuck, he was gonna cave in that kid's face. Larry knows Bryce is a good fighter, up there with Bif if he’s being honest (minus his height), and he was still getting absolutely steamrolled. 

Larry knows how vindictive and bloodthirsty Johnny can get when it comes to Lola. But he can't help the feeling that something else has been bothering Johnny for a while, and he's not telling him for some reason.

Caught between hope and dread, he thinks: It's not about me, right?

-

The adrenaline has ebbed out of Johnny's body over the minutes that he's held still, while Larry attends to him.

Anger burns off fast when he doesn't let himself do anything about it, but it leaves the heavy feeling in his chest all the more noticeable. 

Johnny's always been quick to cry. It’s cool how expressive he is — like an action movie hero giving their heartfelt monologue, when they get the girl, or sacrifice themself.

He doesn't feel cool right now. 

If it were anyone else around, he’d’ve kicked them out a long time ago; not looking to let anyone think Johnny Vincent is a sniveling chump. But Larry's seen him like this plenty of times and still depends on him like second nature. 

So, he could let himself be downright pathetic for a moment.

“She's toying with me, huh… Does she even,” the words hang in the air, as he reconsiders his next, “Does she even care? She's breaking my heart, man, and I keep falling for it.” his voice cracks wetly on the last few words.

He knows what Larry thinks about all this, has heard him air his grievances with Lola more than once before. Maybe Johnny's just fishing for pity here.

“Johnny- why do you stay with her?”

He didn't expect Larry to be so direct.

Turning his head up to meet Larry’s eyes, the tear that would've fallen unnoticed instead runs down his cheek.

Johnny sees him trace its path as it slides over his skin, disappearing into the collar of his shirt. Larry's gaze flits back up, and he flinches a little, realizing he's been caught looking so intently.

Johnny is in the habit of dismissing his close attention, especially when preoccupied with his own heartache.

“What? Why do I…?”

That question has him feeling like the pit in his stomach is trying to swallow him whole.

All his anger and desperation, fondness and annoyance, the fear of losing, the thrill of winning — without Lola, he wouldn't have any of that. He's only feeling an ounce of it now, the scraped raw and hollowed feeling, and it's got him losing his mind. But forever? 

He's terrified that if he broke it off, Lola wouldn't chase him.

He wouldn't know what to do with himself.

“I…”  I don't want to be alone. That's what he was about to say.

But he's not alone, is he? Larry is right here, always. It’s not the same as Lola, though; Larry's not his like that.

“Because I love her.” It feels like lead on his tongue, and it's heavier when it's off. He will not let himself question whether this is love. Does a car love fuel? Does a starving man love food? He can't live without her. That has to be enough.

He hears Larry breathe out long and slow; anything he could've said, shut down by Johnny's resolve. It belayed not even disappointment, so much as total resignation.

His grip on Johnny's now bandaged hands slackened and fell away. 

Johnny wants to catch his wrist, the lack of contact after the terrible thoughts he'd had making him feel more anxious than he had any real reason to.

He stops himself when Larry leans forward.

He freezes, momentarily thinking Larry's about to kiss him, what Johnny had just said about Lola be damned. He only loops his arms under Johnny's and holds on.

Johnny can feel Larry's cheek against the side of his neck, and angles closer without thinking.

Their chests are pressed together, with Larry's palms flat against his shoulder blades. He had been surprised, then felt a bit pinned, but gradually Johnny sank into the embrace. It's less than he can't move, and more like he really doesn't want to.

He clasps his hands around Larry's lower back, under his jacket, and cranes his head forward as he relaxes. A contented hum slips out of him, and he feels it reverberate in both of their chests. This is comfortable.

Without warning, he leans hard to the side until they're lying down. 

“Whoa, what're you-,” Larry squawks in alarm and tries to flail, but he's pretty effectively weighed down at the moment.

Johnny just chuckles. He can tell that Larry's out of sorts, how he doesn't know what to do with his legs, pinned as they are between Johnny's. His whole frame went stiff as it sank in what position they were in.

If Johnny was in the mood, he might see if he could put Larry in a wrestling hold. Could add some levity, or at the very least, let him save some face after looking like a lovesick sucker who always needs to be coddled.
He doesn't do all that because he's tired, and he knows not to let his pride always ruin a good thing (only a lot of the time).

Johnny adjusts himself, nudging the leg that had been on top between Larry's knees.

He feels Larry jolt, settle, and then, slowly, like he's scared to get caught, hike his leg up higher til the dip of his ankle slots against Johnny's knee. 

When Johnny tipped, he'd tucked his head so they wouldn't bash their skulls together. His forehead now rested against Larry's collarbone. He relaxes against the mattress, curving his spine so he settles lower. His ear is closer to Larry's chest — he can hear his heart pounding.

Larry tries to talk big when he's anxious, as he does now, saying, “Oh yeah, go ahead’n make yourself comfortable. What am I, a friggin’ body pillow…” with a sarcastic tone. 

He does nothing to get further away from Johnny; quite the opposite. His arm pinned beneath their bodies snakes up until his bicep is just under Johnny's head, and Larry's hand splayed over his shoulder.

Johnny crinkles his eyes fondly without smiling and pretends he doesn't know why. It's the only way they can stay the same, and he knows Larry knows it too.

Lying like this, he's blanketed in the familiar scent of Larry's skin. It's not something he has the words to describe beyond that, just something he knows from frequent proximity.

He doesn't remember where he heard it, how a smell can override logic in lieu of memory, but he's getting a good idea of what it was all about. If he could bottle this, he could get a good night's sleep whenever he needed. But he supposes that what makes it so soothing is that it’s Larry, close enough that it's all he can make out.

Beyond conscious understanding, his body knows that he's never alone when that happens.

“G’night, Peanut,” he mutters into the fabric of Larry's vest.

“Night, Johnny.”

Johnny feels hot breath ruffle his hair,

And he falls asleep.

-

Larry lies awake with Johnny breathing slow in his arms. He watches headlights streak up the wall and slide past, across the surfaces of Johnny's face. 

Nothing on earth makes him feel more special than getting to be right here. 

At times, it could make him feel like a scheming sicko, trying so hard to please Johnny, for the thrill of being acknowledged. But when he depends on him and no one else, lets down his guard and acts like Larry's got something he needs…

To be extreme, it makes him feel like he's alive for a reason. His page in the book of life has a dog-eared corner, and this smooths it out, makes him a whole human being.

He has never been good at planning long-term, and has few aspirations to speak of. It's easy to be aimless, and easier still, to admire someone. He's lucky to be able to trail so close behind Johnny.

His own little dream, abstract as it is, is this: he wants every moment spent with Johnny to stack up to ‘forever’. He'll take whatever scraps he can get.

He's given up on more than that.

Larry keeps watching the lights until it gets so late that no one is driving. Even in the dark, he can see Johnny's face. He's got it memorized.

It sinks in that he'd do anything not to lose this.

-

Johnny wakes up in the morning when the sounds of New Coventry that seep through the tenement walls grow too loud to ignore.

He is alone in his room, which is not unusual at all.

Curled up into a ball, and jammed to the side of his mattress; His uniform is wrinkled, his belt is digging into his stomach, and he doesn't want to open his eyes.

A shiver makes him realize that he won't be getting more rest like this.

Sitting up, he smooths out his hair and massages his sore earlobe. He’d slept with his earring in. It normally wouldn't be an issue, but sleeping with Larry's arm for a pillow isn't exactly what he builds his routine around.

The space beside him is cold now; it would have been the moment Larry left, with the ambient temperature so low. He can only assume that Larry must've left pretty early, if Johnny’d had the time to curl up in the absence of his body heat. Does he have somewhere he’s gotta be? 

He checks his watch. School’s starting about now.

Larry usually sleeps in the dorms, so he's probably just used to being on campus earlier than Johnny. Plus, his mom pays his tuition, so he's less inclined to skip on a whim. Unless Johnny asks him, of course.

He kind of wishes he had asked. 

The moment he has that thought, he shakes his head to disperse it. He must still be half asleep to be thinking some silly shit like that. What is he, a girl?

…Fuck. He's gotta get on Lola’s case about her little ‘vacation’ today.

He gets into gear: stands, straightens his clothes, pulls on his boots, the works. He's got a reputation to uphold, can't be hiding out in his room licking wounds he's barely got when there are still plenty of chumps slandering his good name and his girl is running wild. What kind of leader would he be if he let that slide? One not worth listening to, that's what.

He’ll be late to class, have to dodge some prefects, but his attendance record has never been much of a concern: he shows up enough to pass. Luckily, he's got Galloway first period. The man hardly ever remembers that he’s supposed to take roll.

With his grandparents paying his tuition in the absence of caring about him, it will all be copacetic as long as he doesn't get held back. Soon, he’ll have the diploma he needs to land a ‘slightly above bottom-of-the-barrel' job. And it'll be over.

By the time he's ready and stepping out of his bedroom doorway, he feels like himself again. Taking a glance back to make sure he hasn't forgotten anything, his gaze catches on the rumpled sheet encasing his mattress.

He can't place why it's got him all twisted up inside.

He feels like things keep slipping through his fingers, no matter how tight he tries to hold on.

-

Larry’s acting distant, which is practically an oxymoron.

Normally, he's the one to approach Johnny all the time. To the point that it's been a bit difficult to get some alone time when he needed it; with a habit of barging in all excited to talk when he's with Lola or trying to sleep, hell — even a couple of times when he was getting dressed. 

Johnny hasn't seen him more than in passing in over a week. And, at first, he didn't really notice. It’s not like he's the one to initiate contact, basically ever. He’s never had to. Honestly, he wouldn't even know where to look for Larry if Larry weren't right behind him.

He’s not stupid, by the way. He has been looking.

Once he realized it’d been a while, he started checking all the expected spots: the tenements, garages, his dorm (he's there less than Johnny had expected), even swinging by Larry's classes (he's there more than Johnny expected). 

But he's never around, always just passing through or busy, and it's starting to make Johnny uneasy. His whole routine is off. It’s like trying to speak when you've lost a tooth. None of the words feel right.

So Johnny’s started trying to keep an eye on him when he's able to, paranoid that Larry is avoiding him for some shady reason, and darkly hoping to catch him in the act.

Him and Lola have known each other since they were kids on account of their families, right? Maybe he’s- don't even go there. He wouldn't do that.

Instead, Johnny finds him writing. A lot. He always puts his notebooks away and gives Johnny his full attention when he pops into Larry’s classes or dorm to say hi, but the fact that he's got it out in the first place is… new.

Is he seriously hitting the books and becoming a model student all of a sudden? Johnny is gonna be out of school soon, so Larry’s getting a head start on a good senior year. Yeah, he'll land a scholarship, be a real rags-to-riches Ivy League success story. 

He snorts at the idea, but he can't discount the possibility somehow.

College isn't an option for Johnny. He's never had strong feelings about it before. Who the hell wants to keep going to school when the government’s not making you? 

But thinking ahead, it'll only get harder to keep in touch. 

Johnny tries to think back to when this must have started. Larry was his usual self so recently; it must've been something big, something to do with Johnny. 

He counts back through the days, dread pooling as he realizes the obvious catalyst. The night that Larry soothed his stupid tantrum, he must've come away from it thinking Johnny was such a loser. He groaned now, remembering that he’d been the one to get them lying down together, how embarrassing. 

He couldn't blame the guy for wanting to keep his distance; it must've been so creepy to have Johnny all cuddled up to him. 

Is the end of their friendship sooner than he thought at this rate? Was it over before he even realized? Has he been weird this whole time, looking for him?

He would like to go back to not thinking about it. 

-

Johnny is passing through the halls when he catches the sound of something interesting. 

“What is he even doing there all the time? Is this a silent invasion? Psychological warfare? I can't focus on building my module with the psychic miasma he exudes.”

“Right? I know he doesn't truly value the noble academic pursuit, why- he even stole Bucky’s homework a couple weeks ago! What could a greaser even want with our turf if not to-”

Johnny corners a couple of nerds- well, they corner themselves, seeing The Johnny Vincent stalking over, and knowing they don't have time to make an escape. 

(They pray they can talk their way out of it, with their superior intellect.)

“Oh, Johnny Vincent, w-what can we do for you, good sir?” Melvin flourishes, laying it on thick.

“Cut the crap, brace face, what were you talkin’ about just now?” 

(Melvin very wisely does not correct Johnny with the fact that he doesn't have braces.)

Their eyes dart around. Good.

“We were only discussing a uh- recent shift in the library ecosystem, nothing to concern yourself with.”

Oh, so they're gonna lie to his face about it. Got it.

He bunches Melvin’s vest in his fist and pins him to the wall with his forearm, hearing the breath burst out of him on impact.

“Funny. I coulda sworn I heard you mentioning one of mine, n’ until you spit it out, I could do this all day.” He presses harder and sees the boy grimace in pain.

“Fine- fine, it’s- you greasers aren't trying to take over the library, right?”

“…? No, seriously, what the hell are you talking about. If we were trying, we’d have it by now.”

The slightest bit of tension drained from Melvin’s face. Now he's just confused.

“Wait- so it's not about you guys? Peanut’s been holed up in the library constantly for the past couple weeks; it’s stressing everybody out.” 

He takes Johnny’s silence and raised eyebrows as an invitation to say more, instead of a warning.

Melvin scoffs and offhandedly remarks, “Considering how rarely the rest of you come around, I'd almost think he was hiding, y’know, if he didn't look so bus-”

His overfamiliar chatter was cut off abruptly.

Alright. Maybe Johnny lost his temper a little bit. Melvin ended up lifted on his toes and slammed back hard enough for his head to bounce against the wall. But come on, he hasn't even hit the kid yet; he's practically being gentlemanly.

Hearing a click off to the side snaps him out of it. He glances over. 

That Juliet kid, Cornelius?, has his hand on the fire alarm lever, looking all scared. It was anyone's guess if he was more worried about his friend or getting in trouble for this.

The alarm starts ringing a moment later. 

Johnny drops Melvin with half a mind to pay Cornelius some attention for that stunt, when a door down the hall slams open. Nothing unexpected, considering standard fire evacuation procedure, but speak of the devil, a familiar voice comes from that way. 

“I've gotta find Johnny in case it's for real this ti…me?” He makes eye contact with exactly the guy he was thinking of, standing between himself and the exit.

“Oh, hey, Johnny. These dorks bothering you?” 

Johnny has got a lot on his mind at the moment; it takes him a few moments to form a proper response. 

In those moments, he marches over and drags Larry to the exit, nerds forgotten where he'd left them.

(If one were listening for it, the sound of Melvin being carelessly trampled by evacuating students would be audible.)

Johnny's angling to find somewhere private to talk now that he's got the guy and something to grill him about. But Larry pipes up before he settles on a good spot.

“Uh, Johnny? Could’ja let go of my arm?” 

Here will have to do.

Against the side of the main building, far enough from any windows, he turns to face Larry when he drops his grip. He'd been white-knuckling his wrist.

In the overcast sunlight, Johnny gets his first good, long look at his face in days. It's not a pretty sight.

Larry's got some new bruises on his jaw, a half-healed split lip. Call Johnny a bleeding heart, or easily distracted, but he forgoes mentioning anything he had wanted to say in favor of questioning this development.

“Jesus, what happened to you? Got jumped or something?”

“What? Oh, nah- just the usual. I can't win every fight I pick and, you know me, man. I kinda…” Larry scuffs his shoe on the ground shyly, instead of finishing his sentence.

And Johnny does know him. He knows how Larry will run up to any poor sucker who he even thinks looked at him wrong, and start some shit to feel like a big dog. Beating up on old homeless guys in the street, shooting his slingshot at random kids — he even saw Larry pick a fight with a girl once, ‘cause she’s taller than him. That one, Johnny didn't intervene. (Larry lost badly. Girls do not hold back when it comes to groin kicks.)

Johnny realizes that he's so visibly beat because he hasn't been there to help- no, it's not his fault. Larry hasn't been there to be helped. This idiot is actually having to fight his own battles for once. 

Some wicked part of him feels vindicated about it, like: See how rough it is out there when you're not sticking with me? But he's not happy by a long shot. Larry is avoiding him despite all that. If anything, it pisses Johnny off more.

He wants to know what's going on. His pride makes his throat feel thick, and between his heart and his head, he ends up thinking: If he doesn't have the balls to tell it to me straight, I shouldn't bother.

So when Larry turns to him and asks if Johnny needed him for something, as if he hasn't been the one acting weird, Johnny stalks off like he didn't even hear.

-

Another week goes by, seeing each other scarcely now that Johnny's not taking the initiative. 

He's started losing his temper even more easily — and staying that way. It's to the point that him and Lola had a lover's quarrel mid-week, a bad one, and they still haven't made up. Johnny hasn't been in a romantic mood in the slightest, so her sweet little words and affectionate touches are more likely to set him off than anything. She's got other places to turn to for a good time. 

This only makes it worse.

Even the boys are steering clear of him.

It's winter break.

-

Today is Christmas, and Johnny is at the county prison, waiting to visit his parents. It’ll have to be one at a time since they're in different blocks, an all-day affair considering the individual waits and the trip back. 

It really is unfortunate that he couldn't see them last month, because it’s a way busier day for this sort of thing. He'd called ahead, filled out a form when he got here, and still, it's been at least thirty minutes. 

He knows, because he's been counting; eyes idly following the hands of his watch like a trail of ants.

It's a relief to hear his name called. Watching time pass has been making him nervous these days.

The woman leading him has a sorry look on her face when she stops him just before the door. With an apologetic tone, surprisingly so — she must be new, she lets him know that his father is in solitary at the moment, for starting a brawl that got out of hand. 

What a wonderful start to the visit, really setting the mood on a high note. It's been months since he's gotten to see the guy, came all this way, and the man couldn't keep his cool for a week leading up to it? 

Johnny knows where he got his temper from, but it still bites.

He takes a deep breath to collect himself. The trip over had been too damn long and cost enough money for him to not want to ruin this with his persistent bad mood. He’d bite his tongue off if he had to, he just- he wants to see his parents. He missed them. It was always easier to talk to his mom anyway.

So he walks into the visitation room, sits in front of the glass, unhooks the phone from the wall, and takes a good look at his mother like he's done a million times before.

The conversation flows comfortably stilted; they know the steps, but they're out of practice. Johnny just listens to enjoy his mother's company, and speaks so he doesn't have time to think too hard. 

It comes along anyway, half-conscious as he is. He’d never been able to keep his mind off things that upset him for long.

She looks older than he remembered and younger than he expected.

Johnny had always thought she just looked like herself, but for once, he really notices the features they share.

With that, he realizes that he's the age that she was when she had him.

His stomach twists sickly, and he tells himself it's the gas station sandwich he ate during the break between buses.

He's been doing this, these trips, for years now; as long as he's been at Bullworth.

How long does he have left before he's on the other side of the glass — just over a decade? 

Would he drag Lola down with him, and Larry too? 

He learned so much from his dad: how to throw a punch without breaking his thumb again, hotwire a car, make sure everyone knows who his woman is, how to make everything an argument — and win too.

It really made him feel like he was doing something right, to put it all into practice. He had big shoes to fill, and he had to do it fast once his parents weren't around.

But where did living that truth get the old man?

His father's jacket feels heavy on his shoulders.

It's odd how relieved he is that he can't see him today. It would be easier to forget the details of his face, and only the impression of the man he admired would linger. 

Seeing a true resemblance in the mirror every morning would haunt him.

Johnny doesn't know what he's chasing anymore. He knows he's on a dead-end track.

His mother can tell he's upset and tries to steer their idle conversation toward something more involved, something light.

She asks how his little friend Peanut is doing.

…There are a lot of things he doesn't know.

-

Johnny makes it back to his dorm room a few hours past curfew. He gets as far as kicking off his boots before collapsing face-first onto his bed. A spring is pressing into his cheek sharply, and he cannot bring himself to move.

-

He's woken by a knock on his door and the sound of his name. The dorm walls are thin, so it's hardly muffled. He knows exactly who is at his door.

Johnny wants to be cruel, gloat that he's come crawling back, so he doesn't have to apologize for whatever he did to scare Larry off. Calling him a coward would be so easy. 

But he's just woken up, dead-tired even after a good seven hours, and- this is what he’s been waiting for, isn't it? For Larry to come back to him and stop being so goddamn weird, for him to talk to him at all. 

“Come in.” He says into his pillow, voice still rough with sleep, but he knows Larry heard him loud and clear. 

The door creaks open and shut, footsteps plod their way, and a familiar scent hits his senses. He basks in it for just a few seconds as drowsiness wanes, before rolling over to address him.

Larry's hovering beside his bed, a bit closer than expected, so Johnny finds himself looking straight up at him.

“Hi, Johnny." He faux-whispers, like he's gotten self-conscious about his volume at this distance.

“I uh- got you something for Christmas.”

He drapes a scarf over the edge of Johnny's bed, a slate grey, flannel thing. He neglects to mention that he did steal this one from the lost-and-found bin. It's basically fair game, especially if it's been there for more than a couple days.

Johnny glances at it and mutters his thanks before going back to staring at Larry intently. There's gotta be a reason that he's approaching Johnny all of a sudden, and he's not gonna act all buddy-buddy til he knows why. He sees the tension get to Larry as he steps back a bit and shifts his weight from foot to foot. 

“So… what're your plans for New Year's?”

That's not anywhere close to what Johnny expected him to say. He feels his jaw twitch in annoyance. If this is some stupid way to distract him from the creeping around he's been doing, Johnny's gonna tackle him and sit on his back until he spits it out. But he'll give him the benefit of the doubt for these first few moments, just in case. 

Johnny thinks of how the boys are surely gonna get together and have some fun, and how if he doesn't pay attention to Lola that evening, she'll run off to some rich kid's party.

He remembers that the boys are giving him space, to put it kindly, and that he and Lola have barely made up. 

If whatever Larry's got in mind means he’ll come back, it's more important. God, that sounds pathetic to think so plainly.

“I ain’t got any big plans.” He sees Larry relax a little bit.

“Sweet, nice- that's, that's great.” Giddy apprehension fills his voice. “I’ve been working on something for a bit, I kinda wanted it to be a surprise once it was like, sorted.”

Johnny feels a knot in his chest loosen up. Getting any information at this point was a blessing, and it doesn't sound like bad news. It's too early to really let his guard down, but there's a chance that he's misjudged the whole situation.

“Yeah? What's this surprise of yours, Peanut?” The fond way he formed that nickname came back automatically.

“There’re a couple more things I've gotta do- could you meet me at the beach house in town? Y’know on- on New Year's Eve.”

“I’ll be there.” His response clips the end of Larry's sentence, showing his hand a little too much, but that’s not his concern right now.

Johnny is so relieved he could cry. He doesn't.

Larry leaves the room less quietly than he came, and Johnny does not feel particularly alone. 

He still lies on his back in bed, looking at the lumpy patterns in the paint on the ceiling. Gradually, a not-unpleasant tight feeling builds in his chest until he's breathlessly laughing, each string ending in a small cough as the air and tension drained from his body.

He was really looking forward to this.

Touching the watch on his wrist lightly, he wishes the days would go by faster for the first time in ages.

-

When he sees Hal in town the next day, he gets asked what he's so happy about. Johnny hadn't even noticed he was acting any different.

-

It was lucky that he'd been staying at the dorms (for the most part) this winter. The bike ride to the beach was a quick trip, and uneventful any day.

But tonight is New Year's Eve. Frigid air stings his cheeks into numbness, and the edges of the road are lined with thick slush. He rides slower than he would like, pedaling hard and trying not to skid.

At the dock, he pulls over, hops down the stairs, and onto the sand. He stows his bike underneath, and silently hopes the tide doesn’t come this high.

Closer to the shore, and now level with the water, the humid air struck him with greater intensity.

“Jesus, it's fuckin’ freezing down here… kid’s trying to kill me or something.” There's no bite in his tone. Johnny pops the collar on his jacket to seal the pocket of air his new scarf creates.

He heads west, under the dock, and toward the beach house. A short walk, but he's oddly pensive. He doesn't see a light in this direction. Is Larry not here yet? Johnny had headed out a bit late, thinking it wouldn’t be a long trip. Besides, who meets up early on New Year's Eve? The main attraction is the fireworks when the ball drops. Larry could still be on his way over from across town. At this rate, he’ll have to break into the beach house to get out of the cold. 

Somewhere bone-deep and wordless, he realizes how much warmer he'd feel right now, with his friend by his side. With that realization, it becomes almost unbelievable how he’s gotten through even a third of winter, seeing him as little as he had.

He doesn't want to be here alone. One could remove a word from that sentence, and have on their hands a truth he’d rather not think about.

Johnny stumbles across the sand, feet naturally falling into divots there before him. An easier trail. His pace quickens.

Across the way the shore curves, over the crash of the waves and the distant clamor of fireworks set off well before they're due, Johnny can make out the sound of someone calling his name.

It's one of the most familiar sounds in his life for the voice saying it.

He looks up from the sand where his eyes had gravitated, the surface silvery shimmering in the near-full moonlight.

Fifty paces away, dimly lit but unmistakable, Larry stands by the beach house steps.

Johnny makes it over in only twenty.

-

Larry's surprised to see Johnny in such a rush. His hands come up to clasp his shoulders as he stumbles on his last step: a friendly greeting and to situate himself — a familiar elation blooms, being so close together.

He chuckles, pats Johnny's arms, and puts his hands back in his own pockets.

“What’re you in such a hurry for, man? It's just me.”

Confusion etches Johnny's features. 

Larry seems happier than he's seen him… kind of ever, grinning like he won the lottery. And sure, the moonlight might be playing tricks on him, gaps in what he can read filled with the pleasant glow of close-proximity, but he's gotta trust his intuition sometimes.

Which begs the question, what on earth could he have gotten up to in a couple weeks of radio silence that’d be so important?

It makes him antsy, so he cuts straight to the big ask.

“What’s the matter with you recently?” He doesn't say it unkindly, but it's a bit more blunt than he could've phrased it. But if a certain someone is gonna be pussy-footing around, be it all secret-like or coy, he’ll have to be the adult here.

Larry catches himself grinning and turns away. He exudes a playful tension, like the first second when you've walked into a surprise party. Well, the second passes, and it’s time for the reveal.

“…I’m gonna graduate with you.”

Johnny can't wrap his head around what he's just heard before Larry starts trying to clarify.

“Okay, well, not like, graduate- but I'll be done with school at the same time.”

“You’re dropping out? I know your mom ain't gonna be okay with tha-”

“No, no, I mean- not exactly,” he chuckles, "there's a test you can take. Long as hell but, I've been…” His excitement boils over into embarrassment when the reaction he gets isn't quite what he expected. Maybe he jumped the gun. His next words come out with a halting pace.     

“I don't have a reason to stay in school if you're not there. You know I'm always trying to keep up with you.”

Johnny's heart feels so full that he thinks he might throw up. 

The pressure mounts, burning in his chest, and he presses his fist to his mouth on reflex, but what arises instead are tears. It's always tears.

He felt so- so childish, to be moping and clinging and flinching away when Larry was doing everything he could. He'd been so afraid to lose him, and he didn't know how to stop it. Fuck, when did Larry get so good at giving him exactly what he wanted?

Johnny doesn't like the idea that Larry can always see exactly what he's missing; that's too vulnerable. 

He hopes that Larry needs him too. That all this to stay by Johnny's side was a self-serving effort. It has to be, right? He's no saint, and Johnny's no charity case, so surely, everything he does for Johnny, he's getting something out of it, too. It feels safer that way, like he's got leverage.

What a terrible feeling, to be so happy about this. He can't help it.

“Jeez, man, I-” He feels that he's starting to get choked up, and tries to cover it with a chuckle.

“Are you sure, though? I know Bullworth ain't a delight and anyone’d wanna get out sooner if it was easy, but this sounds like… a lot.” Why are you doing all this for me? “You know, if you feel like you owe me something, you don't. If anything, I… Larry, what do you want?” 

Johnny would give him anything he asked for in this moment.

Larry looks at him, his concern over the watery sound of his friend’s voice smoothing into a plaintive smile. 

“Come on, man, you know me. You think I'd be doing this if I didn't want to?” 

Johnny does know him. And he could hear that he was telling a truth larger than the question asked of him.

-

00:00

-

The year is ushered in by a synchronized storm of colored light, splashing across the sky and illuminating these two. It’s a good thing they hadn't made their way up to the beach house to skirt the cold; they would have missed the view.

“Happy New Year's, Johnny. Let's be best buds this one too, yeah?” Larry says with a side-long, wistful smile.

Johnny can hear a self-conscious edge to his tone. Unbelievable. As if there was any shot Johnny doesn't want this guy glued to his side for the rest of their lives. 

This thought crashed over him heavier than all the ocean. Is now a bad time to mention that he's not the best at swimming?

The enormity of this desire, spanning decades into the future, is something he cannot put into words. His throat is clogged with whatever you'd call the opposite of loneliness.

It's as obvious as taking medicine when you're sick, eating when you're hungry.

He pulls Larry into a hug so tight his bones ought to creak, kisses his cheek so hard you'd expect it to bruise. Neither of them would mind, attached as they already are. What's one more mark?

Larry tenses, and despite it all, Johnny thinks: Now I've really done it. Before, in a flurry of motion, he finds himself pressed against the banister of the stairs. 

Larry's lips are on his: clumsy, chapped, and cold from the night air. 

He cannot recall a single more satisfying kiss in his life. Surely, because he's been anticipating this for ages. 

Johnny would have to be an idiot not to notice the way Larry pays attention to him; he's just vain enough to let it happen. And his mentality has always been that it's fine to throw him a bone if the want is already there, because Johnny wants to be important; in charge.

He'd never considered that he wouldn't do that for someone else.

They're close enough, even when Larry pulls away marginally, that their chests rise and fall as one, like they form together, a single pair of lungs.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…”

Larry is looking at him with that usual cautiousness, and Johnny wonders if this is what he'd been wanting every time he had that look before. 

Johnny’s still holding on, isn't he? His own girl doesn't love him in a way he understands, but she's still his. Why should he draw the line there?

“I like doing things for you too, y’know.”

He squeezes him for good measure, and sees Larry’s gaze soften, feels the ghost of a smile against his lips.

Something finally clicks into place. It really is a mutual need; maybe not the disease, but the same cure.

No matter how big or small he felt, he'd always fit perfectly right here.

-

00:01