Civility was going to take some getting used to.
The boat ride home had been for getting used to things, Roger supposed. He wasn't supposed to still be savage. He was supposed to be a perfect little boy, maybe a little dirty because that's what boys do, maybe with his hair a little long because of course they didn't have anything to cut it with, but perfect.
Roger had never been perfect. He hadn't even been good at pretending to be perfect.
Thankfully, everyone seemed to be blaming what had happened on Jack. He could just melt back into the shadows, just like he was used to, and if anyone were to give him a glance, he could glare at them and they'd run off.
Only the twins were noticing – and being terrified – of him. Everyone else was focused on Jack, because Jack had the personality, he had the talent, he had the presence.
Roger? He had nothing.
Everyone else was forgetting already. They weren't caring about what had happened on the island. Maurice was talking with Bill and Robert, laughing and joking and pretending that they hadn't been savages just a bit before. Ralph and Samneric were a little more withdrawn, but they were all together and looked like they weren't having too bad of a time. All of the littleuns had already forgotten, of course – they were playing some insane game that made sense only to them.
Only Roger himself and Jack weren't talking to someone, weren't busy shoving that island out of their minds forever.
"Hey, Roger!"
Roger glanced at Maurice, who was waving wildly at him. He wanted him to go over there – it wasn't going to happen. Bill was fine, usually, and he didn't have that big of a problem with Robert, but Maurice.
Maurice had killed sandcastles with him, that was true. But he'd left before the real fun had begun, and there was the problem with Maurice invading his personal space every time he got within three feet of him. He hadn't had that big of a problem with Maurice before the island, mostly because Maurice didn't seem to a) despise him, b) be scared of him, or c) pretend he didn't exist. But the island had changed everyone, and with Maurice, it had made him even more likely to touch people.
And there was Jack, right in front of him, looking at him.
"Um, hello," Roger said, muttering into his hand and looking at the ground. Jack nodded and sat down beside him, not Maurice-close, but closer than Roger ever remembered Jack ever sitting beside him before.
"Maurice wants to talk to you," Jack said. Roger nodded. "You don't want to talk to him."
"No," Roger said. "Maurice is weird."
"It's not like you're not weird," Jack said. "Even if you are getting off completely free. They're blaming it all on me – oh, no, they're not telling the adults what went on, but I can tell. They all hate me."
"I don't," Roger said, and perhaps he had said this too quickly, because Jack looked started. "I don't… hate you."
No, Roger didn't hate Jack. Far from it. Far from it. What he felt for Jack… it was probably the closest thing that Roger could ever feel to love. It was admiration. It was desire. It was –
Jack was closer to him now.
Roger wasn't sure if he wanted to slowly edge away or stay where he was. Jack was close – he was very close, he was Maurice-level close, and Roger's instincts told him to leave but he didn't want to.
Jack was close to him, and it seemed like Jack was close to him on purpose, because now Jack was edging closer and closer and closer. Now Roger was at a complete loss of what to do, because now Jack was standing up and he was taking his hand and he was leading him to a place where nobody else was and they were alone and they were close.
And Roger was at peace.
I really love Jack x Roger. It's always nice to write some. :)
