John was running late again. The bell had rung at least two minutes ago, but he was still in the Home Ec classroom on the far side of the building at that point, trying to scrub grime from the counter. He and his group had been baking a cake and, if John had to say so, it was a nice cake. Baking wasn't really his forte – admittedly, John thought as he sprayed the stubborn stain again, it was a sort of girly thing to do – but John had found that he enjoyed it all the same, even though he was nowhere near as good at it as his Nanna was.
The stain finally vanquished, John removed his rubber gloves and tossed them back in the cupboard under the sink. "Hey Mr. H., can I have a late pass?" he asked, straightening up. He glanced over a little wistfully at the cake. It was chocolate, his favorite kind, and it wasn't even some dumb Betty Crocker box mix cake; it was made from scratch and had taken two classes to do.
His teacher must have caught John's longing glance at the cake, because as he wrote John a late pass he told him, "John, take a slice of cake home with you. You show more dedication to this than your peers, so you deserve it."
John lit up like a kid who had just been told Christmas was coming early. "Really? Thanks!" he exclaimed, immediately cutting himself a modestly-sized slice and sliding it gently onto a paper plate. He wrapped it with cling wrap, just to be sure it was safe as he made the long trek back to his locker on the other side of the building.
The bell to start the next class rang and John cringed, knowing that he was really late now. "Can I have that pass?" he asked sheepishly, hurrying to the front of the class. He took the pass from his teacher, thanked him, and left the room.
The hall was devoid of students and of sound, save for the slight squeaking noise that John's shoes made against the clean linoleum floor. The school was built a little weirdly, and John reflected on this, wondering why whoever had designed the school had chosen to put all the electives on one side of the building and all of the core classes on the other, with the library as a sort of midway point. Middle school was hard enough to navigate without the stupid building design plotting against you.
Seventh grade, especially, seemed to be hard. John knew that he hadn't had any trouble making friends when he was younger, but once he had hit sixth grade, he suddenly found himself withering from a near-crippling shyness around strangers. Luckily, John reflected as he turned the corner and started down the other long hallway that led to his locker, he had managed to keep hold of his three best friends throughout all of elementary school. In fact…
John slowed down and then paused by the library, peeking in through one of the windows. One of his friends, Rose, had a study period right now, and she usually spent them in the library, reading or talking with one of her other friends. John stood on tiptoe and craned his neck, finally spotting Rose sitting at a table nearer to the side of the room than the middle, her head bent, presumably over a book. Her back was turned to him, or John would have pulled a goofy face at her and then run off. As it was, only the librarian was looking at him. Quickly, John crossed his eyes and put on his goofiest grin before re-focusing to see the old woman look at him as if she had just seen the devil. Giggling to himself, John turned on his heel and began to run down the hall, only to stop suddenly about ten feet from the library window.
There were three boys standing there that John hadn't seen at all before. They were probably eighth graders; all three of them were taller and broader than John – but okay, there were few people who weren't taller and broader than John. But still, John had almost run into them, and they had most likely seen him make that stupid face. John's face broke out into a wildfire of embarrassment. "Uh, sorry," he said, managing a small smile as he tried to scoot around the three older boys.
One of them stepped in front of John, blocking his path again. "Whatcha got there?" he asked, smiling down at John. Except, well, this wasn't a friendly smile – John felt like he was a cornered rabbit, looking up at that predatory smile.
"It's, um, it's from Home Ec, it's some cake I made with my class…" John tried to explain, and even though he was relatively brave for a scrawny kid, the way that this boy in particular was looking at him made him want to run screaming for the exit. "The teacher offered it to me," he added lamely, his voice quieter than it had been.
There was a moment's pause and then the boy who had stopped John started laughing, prompting the others to laugh too. "Wow, we got ourselves a little faggot here," he said, grinning at John, the edges of his grin so sharp they seemed to cut at John.
John hated that word. He hated it with every mite of his being. It was mean, plain and simple, and John didn't like anyone who was mean without a cause. "J-just because I helped make a cake doesn't make me that," he said, puffing his chest out a little as he said it.
Somewhere down the hallway, a classroom door opened and closed.
The boys didn't move, though. They were definitely eighth graders, if the prospect of a teacher finding them harassing someone else didn't scare them. "What's your name, kid?" the boy who seemed to be the ringleader asked.
"Egbert, or Eghert, something like that," another kid supplied, and John wondered where the kid had heard his name before, because John knew that he didn't recognize any of these kids.
"Fagbert, he's fagbert now," the ringleader said, looking down at John as if to say, You got a problem with that?
As a matter of fact, John did have a problem with it. His face heated up, this time from anger, and John told them, "You can't call me that, it's not right and you should sto – oof!" he exclaimed, cut off at the end as one of the other kids shoved him, making John stumble backwards. Normally, John had good balance, but today just wasn't his day, because he tripped on a seam in the floor, falling flat on his butt with a thud, the cake flying out of his hands and into the air. It was silent for a moment as the four boys watched its arc and then its descent into a splattered mess on the ground.
"Do y'all fuckin' mind?" someone else, someone behind the boys asked, and John's heart skipped a little. He recognized that vague southern accent as belonging to his best friend, Dave. John scrambled to his feet, wincing a little as he stood, realizing that his backside was probably bruised now.
The ringleader of the three turned around, coming face-to-face with Dave. Dave had hit his growth spurt earlier than the rest of the grade and was the same height as the eighth graders. In fact, he often got mistaken for one. The boy paused before answering, coolly, "Nope. We're just showing Fagbert here how his kind is supposed to be treated."
John flushed angrily again and was about to open his mouth when he caught Dave's eye. Dave had given him a swift, cutting glance, meaning to shut up.
Then, so quickly that John couldn't be sure if he had seen it happen, Dave had gone around the three boys once, knocking one boy to the ground with a swift hit to the knee, making the second boy clutch his face as Dave caused his nose to bleed without fully breaking it, and finally by delivering a sucker punch to the gut to the ringleader. "Y'all better get to class," he drawled, "or the nurse, before anything worse happens. And you leave him alone from now on, hear? He's mine and you don't touch him, or even look at him."
Throwing curses at Dave, the three boys left rather quickly, making tracks for the nearest boys' bathroom, which was back around the corner and towards the electives.
"Haha, thanks, Dave, but you didn't have to injure them," John said, grinning at Dave. He glanced down at the ground and noticed that his slice of cake had been entirely smashed and had probably fallen out of the cling wrap, too, making it impossible to salvage. He sighed and bent down to pick it up, only to nearly bump heads with Dave, who had apparently had the same thought. "What?" John asked, surprised.
"Looks like some good cake to me," Dave said, shrugging and offering John a small, slightly crooked smile.
John blinked once, then started laughing, standing up with Dave, each of them holding a piece of the plate. "Yeah, I bet it looks great compared to those pancakes your bro makes," he replied, grinning again.
"Hey, those pancakes are delicious, like little pieces of heaven in your mouth," Dave defended. He reached out with his free hand, the one not holding onto the plate, and pulled John's fingers off of the plate, rather easily due to the sudden sparking feeling that John had in his fingers when Dave touched them. "You should come over after school and we can bake you a new cake."
John smiled slowly then, a different kind of smile than his usual goofy grin, and Dave was the one who blinked this time, unsure what that meant. John had never smiled at him like that before. And suddenly, John leant up and pressed a soft kiss to Dave's cheek.
His usual, goofy grin was back, this time accompanied by his reddened face. "Yeah, I will. See you later, Dave!" John walked around Dave and down the hall, his grin widening with each step. It didn't matter what those idiots said about John, because John had Dave, and that was all he'd really needed.
A/N: Oh no, more Homestuck! I wrote this for one of my super-awesome and adorable friends, because I think she deserves some cute JohnDave to go with her sad headcanon about them, hehe. c: I hope you like it, Cassidy! xxxx
If anyone's got any advice for me (yes, even you, Cass), I'd greatly appreciate it! I'm actually nervous about having published this because I don't even know if this is in-character or what and if I need to improve I will! So thank you for reading, and drop me a review or somethin' if you'd like. c:
~Chari