Warnings: slash, drugs, sex, angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Hollyoaks, or any of the characters
Spoilers: up to the five a side football and the apology after
Ans: I know John Paul's only 17, but I didn't realise when I wrote this, so am pretending he has an early birthday
February
The first question Jacqui asks him is "Who did it?"
John Paul raises a hesitant hand to the worst cut on his face, (just below his eye) and says nothing. Jac's got that look on her face, the one where she'll go through hell to protect her family, and while John Paul appreciates it, he's pretty sure her parole officer won't.
"Leave it," he says, trying to slip past her upstairs. She grabs his arm, firmly anchoring him in place while she examines his bruised face.
"Mum'll go mental when she sees this," she murmurs, hands gentle as she tilts his chin under the light. "Homophobic little twats."
"Don't Jac," he protests. He doesn't want this to be a big deal. And he certainly doesn't want his family knowing that it was Craig who hit him. "Things just got a little rough on the football pitch, that's all."
"Yeah right," Jacqui spits, but her eyes are soft as they track his face.
"Leave it," he says again. "I just…I just want to be on my own for a bit."
She nods, looking sad, and then pulls him back for an uncharacteristic hug.
He can feel her eyes watching him as he goes up the stairs, and just knows she has that hard, flinty expression on her face.
Upstairs, he lays facedown on is bed and feels too tired to cry. He's done enough of that already today. He tries not to picture Craig's face as he attempted to apologise, if you can call that an apology. As if he expected John Paul just to go running back to him.
Right now, nothing could get John Paul to talk to Craig again. Nothing.
What was it Jacqui had said to him, before he left for school? Something along the lines of he'd find out who his true friends were.
Well, he supposes he's found out. He just wishes it hadn't been quite so painful.
John Paul quits the football team a week later. It doesn't matter how much he loves playing, how good he is. He doesn't need the extra grief.
His games teacher doesn't look too surprised. John Paul remembers, bitterly, those moments when he was on the gym floor, Craig's fists in his face, and how no one did anything to stop it, not even the bloody teacher.
Yeah, no room for queers on his team.
He spends the next two weeks drifting through school, hardly talking to anyone and ignoring all of Craig's attempts at an apology. He notices, vaguely, that Craig's being just as cold to Sarah as John Paul is to him, but the thought doesn't leave any sort of impression on him. As far as he's concerned whatever Craig and Sarah do now is none of his business.
Or at least he keeps telling himself that.
Surprisingly, Hannah's the only one who's still actually talking to him. Well, smiling at him anyway. He doesn't smile back in case she gets the wrong idea. They can't go through that again.
He's in the Drive 'n' Buy on Tuesday afternoon, searching for emergency tinned pineapple (his mum's making fruit salad) when he loses his grip and drops several tins on a red Converse shoe that isn't his own.
"Ouch," says an unfamiliar vice, and John Paul looks up into green eyes that make him forget, quite suddenly, all about Craig Dean.
The guy grins at John Paul as he hands him back his pineapple, and for a moment John Paul swears he lets their fingers brush not accidentally.
He thinks this whole thing with Craig is sending him round the bend.
His family decide to drag him out to the Dog, despite much protest, that Friday night. Myra insists that they can't let anyone in the village think they're giving in without a fight.
John Paul feels too tried and miserable to fight, and asks if they can go to the Loft instead.
He regrets it as soon as they walk in the door, and see Justin Burton standing at the bar, looking like he owns the place.
Jac is giving him a particularly poisonous look as well, although John-Paul's not sure what Justin's ever done to her.
He sees Kris Fisher in the corner with his friends, and feels an unexpected twinge in his chest. He used to like talking to Kris at the Dog, whenever he was waiting for Craig.
Kris waves at him, but John Paul doesn't go over. He's far too perceptive for John-Paul's liking.
He isn't too surprised, however, when Kris follows him into the men's room half an hour later. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, leaning against the sink and watching John Paul with narrowed eyes.
"So, how are you?"
John Paul shrugs and avoids eye contact.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah right," Kris snorts. "You and Craig were walking around with matching bruises a week ago, and don't think I haven't missed you at the Dog. What's going on?"
John Paul shrugs. He wishes people would just leave him alone.
"Why don't you ask Craig?"
"I have. He's not talking."
"Well then."
He tries to escape, but Kris is standing between him and the door.
"What happened?" he asks softly, and John Paul suddenly realises how badly he wants to talk to someone about all this. How much he misses his best friend.
"I kissed him," he says, a little hoarsely. "And I don't think he liked it very much."
He tries to laugh, but it sounds miserable and pathetic.
"He hit you?"
John Paul shoots him a 'yeah, duh' look.
"Look, I know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a fag bashing-"
"Yeah, but it wasn't your so called best friend, was it?" he interrupts. Part of him marvels at the easy way Kris says fag, as if it's no big deal. Maybe it isn't.
"I'd say he's a close minded loser and that you're better off without him, but I do know he cares about you."
John Paul laughs again, and this time it's bitter.
"Yeah. Right."
"He does," Kris insists. "Maybe you just need to give him time."
John Paul shakes his head, once.
"No. I could take him not talking to me, calling me stuff. But beating me up to show off to people he doesn't even like? No."
Kris sighs and nods.
"Well, it's your life. If you ever want to talk…"
He leaves it an open invitation, and John Paul thinks about it, after he's gone home and lying in a bed which feels cold. Maybe he should talk to Kris. It isn't like he has a surplice of friends these days.
The next week at school, he hears retching coming from the girls' toilets in one of his free periods. He doesn't think anything of it, until he sees Hannah come into the common room a few moments later, looking pale and shaky. She probably has the flu. She should go home.
He bites his lip and turns away, recognising that it's no longer his place to even think things like that, let alone say them.
On his way home, he sees Sarah and Craig kissing at the gates. He averts his eyes and hurries on, pretending not to feel Craig's eyes on his retreating back.
It's none of his business.
When he gets home, there's a text on his phone from Craig. He wants to talk. He's sorry.
John Paul stares blankly at it for a moment, then deletes it and turns his phone off.
March
He's quieter now.
He doesn't really speak to people at school anymore. Hannah attempts to be friendly, but it's strained and awkward between them. Sarah keeps well clear. And Craig…Craig tries to apologise again and again and again. John Paul tries to pretend he doesn't exist. He can't forgive Craig. It hurts.
Michaela buys him the Queer As Folk season one box set to try and make up with him. At first he thinks she's taking the piss, but when he looks at her, biting her lip, begging him with her eyes, he knows he can't stay angry at her. Even if she is slightly homophobic.
And at least she's making an effort, unlike Mercedes, who still flatly refuses to believe he is gay at all. It would make him laugh, if it didn't want to make him cry.
Two weeks into March he is waiting for a coffee in Il Gnosh, when the door swings open and the guy whose foot he dropped the pineapple tins on walks in.
He seems to recognise John Paul, and flashes him a smile before turning back to his friend, laughing about something as they sit at a table.
He's probably just paranoid (or crazy) but he swears he can feel the guy's eyes on him as he waits, although whenever he tries to sneak a look, the stranger's attention is firmly fixed on his friend.
Or maybe more than a friend, John Paul realises, as he sees the guy's hand rest casually on his 'friend's' arm, stroking over the bare skin.
Realising he's been staring for too long, John Paul tears his eyes away, only to be greeted by the guy's amused green stare.
John Paul feels himself redden, and is glad when Dom brings his takeout coffee over.
He's walking past the guy's table, trying desperately to avoid eye contact, when he feels something hit him hard on the stomach, and he stumbles, dropping the cardboard cup onto the floor, the lid bursting off and hot liquid splashing up his jeans.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry."
The guy, half standing after ramming his chair into John Paul's side, hurries to steady him, grabbing a napkin off the table as if to clean him off, then stopping and biting his lip.
"Shit, I am so, so sorry. I've ruined your jeans."
John Paul shakes his head, painfully aware that the guy is holding his arm. He can feel the hand through his clothes, as hot as his coffee soaked jeans.
"It's fine," he manages to say. "It'll wash out."
"At least let me buy you another one." The guy offers. He finally lets go of John Paul's arm, moving to hold out his hand. "I'm Greg."
"John Paul," he replies, reaching to take it, and trying to ignore the spasm that trips down his spine at the contact.
Greg smiles his blinding smile.
"I'm such an idiot. Why don't you sit with me and my friend? You can join us for lunch, I'll pay. It's really the least I can do."
John Paul knows he shouldn't. He has ten minutes to get back to school, and no free periods this afternoon. They're working on their final coursework drafts in English. Plus he doesn't even know this guy. It's crazy. It's completely un-John Paul.
"Sure," he says. "Why not?"
Greg is 20 and studying media at HCC. He touches John Paul more than necessary and doesn't seem fazed when John Paul admits he's only 18. After lunch, his friend, Alex, has to leave, but Greg doesn't seem in a hurry to go anywhere.
"So," he says, as they order yet another drink. "A levels, huh?"
John Paul nods, suddenly feeling self conscious. And young.
"That means you should be in school right now."
John Paul shrugs.
"School's not exactly my favourite place at the moment."
Greg raises an eyebrow.
"How come?"
And John Paul finds, quite suddenly, it all comes spilling out. All of it, Hannah and Craig and Sarah, the dance off and the football game. Everything, to a guy he's only just met.
"Sounds like this Craig's a bit of a moron," Greg says eventually. "Even if he can't see how gorgeous you are-" John Paul feels his cheeks colouring "-he could at least appreciate what a good mate you are."
"Yeah, but I kissed him."
"Didn't sound like he was protesting too much, from what you've told me."
John Paul nods slowly. Greg was right. Craig had kissed him back.
"It doesn't matter now anyway," he says. "I'm finished with him."
Greg looks at him for a long moment.
"Seem like you need something to take you mind off it all," he says. "Something to help you relax."
He stands up and holds a hand out in invitation.
John Paul hesitates for a second, then he takes it.
He doesn't do this.
It's not him at all, it's completely out of character.
Yet he doesn't protest as Greg takes him back to his dorm room. Doesn't protest as Greg pushes him down onto the bed, kissing him deeply, sliding his hands under John Paul's shirt.
Doesn't protest as Greg undoes his jeans, and slips a hand inside his underwear.
He doesn't do things like this.
He doesn't do things like lose his male virginity in the middle of the afternoon with a guy he's only just met.
But he doesn't say no.
He may not do things like this, but he wants to.
He wants it.
April
John Paul falls hard and he falls fast.
He knows it isn't love, but even after three weeks Greg still makes his stomach drop and his head fuzzy.
Greg likes to go out with his friends a lot, and he always asks John Paul to come. They go out to pubs and night clubs and Greg is always all over him: at the bar, on the dance floor, in the toilets. He can't seem to get enough of John Paul, and appears to have a slight exhibitionist streak, but John Paul tries not to mind too much. He never used to like public displays of affection. But then again, he never used to have someone who wants him so badly that they drag him into a toilet cubicle half way through the night to blow him.
His relationship with Greg is different and exciting and he's learning things about himself that he never would have dreamed of before.
(Like the fact that when Greg touches him through his trousers on the dance floor, hissing a stream of dirty words in his ear, he's harder than he's ever been in his life.)
His mum worries about all the time he's suddenly spending out of the house, but he finds himself less inclined to please her, less afraid of disappointing her, then he used to.
He's having fun. Screw the rest of it.
They're in one of Greg's favourite haunts on Wednesday night, drinking tequila at the bar with Alex and some others.
Alex announces he's going to the toilet, and a few of the others hastily, slightly unsteadily, clamour off their chairs to join him, Greg included. They nearly always do this, have a group trip to the toilet, as least once in the evening, and John Paul has never joined them. The only time he ever tried, Greg made it tactfully, but firmly, clear he wasn't welcome.
Now though, he grins and takes John Paul's hand in his own, lacing their fingers together as he tugs him off his chair.
"You too."
John Paul follows him into the toilets, adrenaline and tequila fizzing through his veins as they stumble into the men's.
Alex raises an eyebrow in John Paul's direction, but doesn't say anything as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little bag of white pills.
John Paul isn't too surprised. He suspected they were taking something during their toilet trips.
Alex offers him a pill and he takes it, shooting an uncertain glance at Greg.
"What it is?" he asks, throat dry, voice strained.
"Just E," Greg says. "Nothing to be scared of."
He smiles widely as he puts a pill in his own mouth.
John Paul hesitates.
"Don't worry," Greg says. "This one's a freebie. On me."
They are all waiting for him, he realises.
He shouldn't be doing this.
His eyes meet Greg's. There's expectation there. And a challenge.
Can you handle this?
He takes it.
The next morning he wakes up with a parched mouth and banging headache.
He squints in the sharp sunlight that's cutting in through a gap in the curtains, trying not to move too much as his whole body is stiff and sore. He's almost become used to hangovers in the times he's been going out with Greg, they're hard to avoid with the amount they drink, but this is different.
The whole of last night is a jumble of crystal and fuzzy images. At the club then afterwards, back at Greg's.
John Paul winces as he shifts, pain making itself known in his arse and lower back. They had a lot of stamina last night.
Beside him, Greg moves, moaning into the pillow as he surfaces into consciousness.
"Shit," he murmurs, when he can speak. "I feel like crap."
"Me too," John Paul agrees. He wonders vacantly where his watch is. "What time it is?"
Greg half turns over and squints at the clock.
"Just after nine thirty. God, it's way too early."
"I'm late for school."
Greg yawns and throws a leg over John Paul's thigh, effectively keeping him captive.
"Skip it," he advises.
"I can't," John Paul protests, though he makes no move to pull away. "I've missed tons lately. They're sending letters home to my mum."
"Fucking schools," Greg mutters. "They should just let you get on with it."
He reaches for John Paul, pulling him close for a deep kiss which shouldn't be as good as it is, considering neither of them had bothered cleaning their teeth when they got in.
"Don't," he says, pulling away, breathless, after a moment. "Don't start what we don't have time to finish."
"Fuck school," Greg insists, pulling him back.
John Paul allows it for a minute, then pulls away.
"I really have to go."
His head spins as he tries to get up, and he feels distinctly sick.
"Come back to bed," Greg says.
"Get lost," John Paul mutters, trying to focus on exactly where his underwear went last night.
Eventually he makes it to school, slipping into his second period class ten minutes late, and aware that he looks like complete and utter shit.
He struggles to stay awake all through the class, and is relieved when it's finally over. Greg was right. Coming in today will be a total waste.
"John Paul."
He blinks and Craig comes into focus, standing in front of his desk. Everyone else has left, except Sarah and Hannah who he can see hovering in the doorway.
"Are you alright?" Craig asks. "You look terrible."
"I'm fine," he replies tonelessly. This is the best way to deal with Craig. Don't show him any emotion, anything he can take something from. John Paul doesn't have anything to give him.
"You don't look it," Craig reiterates.
John Paul shoots him a glare and pushes back his chair, standing up too suddenly as the blood rushes in his pounding head. He stumbles and Craig immediately moves to catch him.
It's the closest they've been in over a month, and John Paul has to take a deep breath before firmly pushing him away.
Damn Craig Dean. Damn him.
"I'm fine," he says again, though this time it comes out as more of a snap.
Craig looks uncomfortable, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and then pulling them out again as he asks "So, how have you been?"
If John Paul could summon the energy, he would roll his eyes. They're a bit past pleasantries.
He starts walking towards the door, and Craig hurries after him.
"It's just I haven't seen you around much lately. You seem to have been missing a lot of school."
"And?" John Paul asks as they go out into the corridor, a definite defensive note in his voice. Up ahead he can see Sarah and Hannah, pretending not to be waiting to see what happens.
"I'm worried," Craig says quietly.
John Paul shoots him a disbelieving glance.
"Yeah right."
"I am," Craig insists, following John Paul as he walks down the hallway. "I know you hate me, but it doesn't mean I don't care."
"I don't hate you," John Paul says automatically. It isn't completely untrue. He wonders how the hell it's possible to love someone and hate them at the same time.
"You don't?" Craig sounds surprised. "But after what happened, I thought-"
"What happened?" John Paul snaps, turning to face him, suddenly furious. "You mean, you beating the crap out of me to prove something to Sonny fucking Valentine?"
Craig looks ashen as he meets John Paul's eyes.
"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so, so sor-"
"Oh save it, Craig," John Paul interrupts. "I don't want to hear it."
"John Paul please."
He grabs John Paul's hand as he tries to walk away, and John Paul glares at him while his skin burns at the touch.
"Please, just give me a chance?"
"A chance to do what?" he asks, and for a crazy, crazy moment he thinks that Craig wants him, wants him like Greg wants him. That Craig loves him.
"A chance to explain, to try and make things right."
That isn't what John Paul wants to hear.
"Ok," he says. "I'll meet you at lunch."
"I'll buy it for you," Craig says, unable to stop a smile from creeping across his face.
God, it makes John Paul hurt.
Craig buys him chips, and they sit on the high street and eat them in uncomfortable silence.
"So," Craig says eventually.
John Paul waits.
"I don't know what to say," Craig confesses after a moment. "I don't how to tell you I'm sorry."
"Maybe you can't," John Paul says, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He can't look at Craig.
"I just want things to be like they were before," Craig says quietly.
John Paul laughs bitterly.
"What, before I was gay you mean?"
Craig sighs heavily.
"That's not what I mean. I don't care if you're gay. I don't."
John Paul wonders who he's trying to convince.
"I miss you," Craig says softly.
And that just about undoes John Paul. He can't do this. He can't sit there and have Craig say things like that and pretend he doesn't feel anything.
"I miss you too," he admits.
He can feel Craig's eyes on him, but stares determinedly at the ground.
"When did everything get so messed up?" Craig asks.
When I fell in love with you, John Paul thinks, but he doesn't say it.
They are both silent for a long time, until Craig finally asks "So what do we do now?"
John Paul open his mouth, unsure, to respond, when a familiar voice cuts across him.
"JP!"
He looks up to see Greg walking towards him, wearing a green long sleeved t-shirt and looking as if he'd never touched a drug in his life, let alone spent the entire night tanked up on ecstasy.
"Greg," he says surprised. "What are you doing here?"
Greg shrugs and smiles his amazing smile.
"Thought you might like some company for lunch. I was just heading up to the school to call you."
John Paul can't help smiling in return. Greg just has that effect on him.
He feels Craig shift beside him, and Greg's eyes move over him, before going back to John Paul.
"I'm Craig," Craig says eventually. "John Paul's, uh, friend."
"I know who you are," Greg replies calmly, but John Paul can see the slight darkening in his eyes.
John Paul waits until he can't wait any longer, then says "This is Greg."
"His boyfriend," Greg puts in, and John Paul can feel Craig stiffen beside him.
"Boyfriend? I, uh," Craig says intelligently, and Greg pretends he isn't there.
"You want to get out of here?"
John Paul hesitates.
He knows he shouldn't.
"Yeah, okay."
He stands up, and Craig grabs his arm.
"John Paul, what about school?"
John Paul shrugs his arm off irritably.
"Fuck school," he mutters, and Greg grins at him.
"Yeah, fuck school."
He takes John Paul's hand, and John Paul notices, dully, the difference between Greg and Craig's touch. He suddenly, desperately wants to be as far away from Craig Dean as possible.
"John Paul!" Craig shouts, but John Paul pretends he can't hear, and lets Greg entice him away.
There's nothing back there for him anyway.
His mum's waiting for him, when he gets back from Greg's, hands on hips.
"The school called," she says.
Oh crap.
"Yeah and?"
"And you were late this morning, then didn't go in this afternoon. Again."
He doesn't say anything. Like he cares.
"They're on the verge of suspending you, John Paul!" his mum snaps in desperation. "Don't you care about going to university?"
He used to. He and Craig had discussed it, once, and he'd enchanted John Paul with descriptions of Trinity College in Dublin. Then he'd said, so very casually, that John Paul should apply there too. Just because it was a really good university. As if it even mattered anymore. Craig was going to Leeds with Sarah.
Now, he just shrugs.
"If I fail everything, I'll just go to HCC," he says. "They let anyone in there."
'That's not the point!" his mum cries in exasperation. "What's happening to you? I don't understand what's going on in your head anymore."
John Paul rolls his eyes.
"I'm fine, mum."
"Are you doing drugs?" she asks.
He blinks at her, and tries to ignore the sudden burning in the pit of his stomach.
"No," he lies.
"I just want to know what to do for you," she says, defeated.
"You can stop going on at me for a start," he mutters.
And then she bursts into tears, and he stands there, utterly bewildered, because he doesn't think he's ever seen his mum cry. Ever.
"I don't know who you are anymore," she sobs.
John Paul goes upstairs and lies on his bed, remembering how good everything seemed last night.
He calls Greg.
"JP, babe, what's up?"
John Paul hesitates for a second.
"Do you have anymore?" he asks.
"Anymore?"
He swallows.
"Pills."
Greg laughs, and it's the first time the sound's ever given John Paul a chill. Usually he loves Greg's laugh.
"I knew you'd love it. Come round to mine tonight. I'll invite some of the others. We'll have a party."
"No," John Paul says before he can stop himself. "Just me and you."
He can feel Greg's smile down the phone, see the heat in his eyes.
"Alright babe. Just me, you and our own private party."
John Paul hangs up the phone. He feels better already.