Maybe there was a problem with his computer that made him read the words on his screen. Perhaps one of his failed programs had fucked up his computer. That made sense - that kind of thing could happen.
John clicked out of the web page he had been reading on silent films (the longer he read, the more that he wanted to watch a couple), and then turned off Pester Chum. He couldn't just keep that up.
His desktop, though filled with various shortcuts and a radical Ghostbusters background, seemed empty.
John shook his head; the stress from his computer was getting to him.
The smell of baked goods wafted from downstairs; John's stomach flipped, and bile rose in his throat. What was with his father and cooking anyway? Did he really need that many cookies and cakes? It wasn't as if John would eat any of them. It certainly didn't do him any good then.
With a firm click, the sound of his finger pressing against the mouse ringing through his ears, he restarted his computer. Once it rebooted, things would be totally fine and back to normal.
John swallowed. It took him a moment to realize how dry his throat was, but then he quickly went to get water. Maybe it would be good to leave his computer alone, to let it have some space.
The stairs seemed to creak louder under his feet than before. Every step he took filled him with worry.
Maybe, he thought, I need some time to restart.
Yes, that would be good. He could get some sleep and wake up feeling one hundred and one percent better.
A little water would surely help him as well.
Entering the kitchen, he did his best to keep away from his father. Luckily for him, he was too busy trying to put frosting just right on a cake; his father could think the cake was as beautiful as a sunny spring day in a flowery meadow, and John still wouldn't eat it.
He got a cup and quickly filled it with water. His father turned over to him, freezing the boy in his tracks.
Silently, his father pointed over to a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. The smell wafted through the kitchen.
Quickly, John grabbed a cookie. As soon as he did so, his father turned back to the cake, seemingly satisfied with his son.
Quickly, before his dad could notice, John placed the cookie back on the tray, and then quickly drank his water. He couldn't risk bringing a drink near his computer, not now.
Slowly, he worked his way upstairs, allowing his computer a little more time alone. Things would be fine; they had to be.
When he finally got back to his computer, he was ready to pester Dave about the cookie incident. Surely he would have something funny to say about it - he always did.
When he got on, he just as quickly got off.
No, Dave couldn't have possibly blocked him. Why would he ever do that? And even if the words that John had read on his screen were true (and they absolutely were not), Dave wouldn't block him. Even if Dave broke up with him (and he did not), they were still friends.
Right?
John turned his computer off. Dave had to be doing this shit ironically. It would all be a big joke, something to bother John. In the end, Dave would laugh at how gullible John was and everything would go back to normal.
Removing his shoes, he got into bed. Pajamas were just a waste of time - what he needed was sleep. When he woke up, everything would be perfectly fine.
And if not, he could just take his computer somewhere to get fixed. It was worth forking over a bit of cash to get his life back to normal.
That would work.
Right?
Right.