Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Come on.”

“What?”

Roger glared at Jack as coldly as he could, and as it was, Roger’s glares were pretty bloody cold. The redhead raised his brows and forced a smile upon his face. Jack wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by Roger, who was a stupid and mean prick, no matter how much he glared.

And anyway, Jack was head chorister. Roger had to do what Jack told him to, at least in choir.

“I said come on,” Jack repeated without sparing another glance the other boy’s way. He pushed his way through the school corridor, elbowing anyone who dared to come into his way.

“I don’t want to?”

“Then fuck off.”

Roger sighed and Jack heard him crack his knuckles—Jack still refused to look back at him. He was just about to turn left to the music room when a girl—she looked to be around the age of fourteen—dropped her books. Right onto Jack’s feet.

They just stood there for a moment.

“Well?” Jack then snapped at her expectantly, throwing his rams out into the air. “You waiting for the damn books to fucking fly back into your arms or what?”

The girl only shook her head quickly, and Jack realised he had frightened her. He almost felt bad enough to apologise, but before he could muster up the courage to do that the girl was speed-walking away with the books in her thin arms, her eyes suspiciously red.

“Well done, Merridew,” drawled Roger, “frightening little girls. Feel good ‘bout yourself yet?”

Jack turned around and crossed his arms, his mood even fouler than it was before. “I was going to apologise,” he said haughtily, “if she hadn’t fled the scene like I’d caught her with her fist up someone’s arse, she would’ve gotten an apology.”

Roger only nodded dutifully without a single word, which only enraged Jack further. Whatever, whatever, whatever.

“A’right. Let’s go. Wouldn’t want to keep my choristers waiting too long,” Jack grumbled miserably once he realised Roger would only keep on being a stupid cunt.

Roger smiled suspiciously wide. “Uh-huh, go on then. I’ll text you later!”

And before Jack realised what the other boy even said, Roger was gone, lost in the thick sweaty crowd of teenagers stampeding through the hall.

But Jack stopped himself from being angry. He did tell Roger to fuck off. He did not think Roger was enough of a bastard to do it, but Jack supposed he should know his friend by now. And so with a sigh, he opened the heavy door to the music room.

/////////////

“So I was like, ‘what the fuck?’,” Maurice pulled the stupidest face he had yet that day, and Jack had to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile too much. God knew that Maurice Murphy had enough of an ego to power a plane engine with some left to spare.

“Anyway, then Anderson went back to drawing, and Smiths just continued talking to her like nothing happened,” Maurice finished his story with a dramatic clap of his hands.

The other choristers kept cackling like hens, and the room was filled with a sort of light, airy atmosphere. The choristers sat in a circle on the ground like a bunch of girls at a sleepover. Jack watched Maurice’s grin spread from ear to ear and fondly thought that Maurice was a person whose emotions lived on his face. That was probably why people liked him—he was easy to read.

“Quiet, quiet!” Jack yelled over the laughter. “Anyone else got a report?” Report. Funny word for what it was.

“I do!” Robert blurted and went a bit red. Robert was one of the shyer choristers who wasn’t noticed much outside of choir, which made him perfect for gossip—others forgot he was even there. The perfect agent, Jack thought proudly, one of my own.

“Go ‘head, then,” Jack urged him excitedly, ignoring the annoying vibrations coming from his phone. Roger, most likely. That stubborn bitch could wait, he shouldn’t’ve left Jack.

Robert cleared his throat. “So, you know the Foley twins, right?” Everyone nodded and Jack tried not to roll his eyes—even hearing of the twins sometimes made his blood boil. They used to be his friends, once upon a time, but then they decided they were too good for him. Which was fine, it wasn’t Jack’s problem—he had a bunch of other friends to back him. He didn’t need them back then, he doesn’t need them now.

“Well,” Robert continued, “I went to the loos during history, which Wilfred can confirm.” Wilfred nodded with a grin. So he already knew what Robert was about to tell them. “And as soon as I came in, I heard these strange sounds.”

Everyone burst into laughter, including Jack this time. Everyone knew where this was heading, as unbelievable as it was. For Jack, thinking of one of the Foley twins in that situation was… unpleasant, but surprisingly amusing.

Robert smiled, red-cheeked. “At first I wanted to back out, right, who am I to interrupt? It’s not like I was about to piss myself. So I’m backing away towards the door, right, when suddenly I hear ‘Eric, Eric please—'“

Harold, who was drinking coke whilst listening to the story, suddenly spat it out and nearly choked on it. Jack was laughing his arse off.

“Was it a bloke?” Bill immediately asked the question on everyone’s mind. Everyone—meaning everyone—knew the rumour saying that Eric Foley was into blokes, but no one actually knew the truth. Not even Jack’s gossip club (much to his chagrin). Until now, apparently. Thanks the gods for Robert.

Robert stayed quiet for a few seconds, making it last. Jack had half a mind to throttle him, but only leaned forward, wide-eyed.

“It wasn’t a bloke,” Robert admitted. Cue groans and swears.

“Well fuck me,” Harold said while he coughed up the last bit of the coke he inhaled, “Eric Foley’s straight. Honest, I didn’t expect that.”

Maurice shrugged. “He don’t have to be straight to snog girls, you know.”

Soon enough, the choristers began discussing Eric Foley at length, which bored Jack truth be told—but he didn’t have the heart to stop them when they seemed to be so very enthusiastic about this topic.

If his smile was anything to go by, Robert seemed very proud of himself for this piece of gossip. Jack caught his eye and grinned, which Robert returned.

/////////////

After the club meeting concluded (no one had topped Robert’s story) and they successfully avoided any singing at all, Jack finally took out his phone to see which fucker was texting him all the way through.

Twenty five messages from Roger. The fuck?

ROGER

Roger: jacky boy youll want to see ts

Roger: jack

Roger: pause your damn gossip club you cunt

Roger: btw have i told you how pathetic that club is youre like a bunch of 11 yr old girls at a sleepiver can you please grow some balls

Roger: jack

Roger: jack

Roger: jACK

Jack narrowed his eyes in annoyance as he saw that the next thirteen messages were just shouts of his name.

Roger: ok fuck it ill send a pictur

Roger: but dont b fucking mad at me it was you who didnt answer me

The last message was a photo set to view once. He tapped on it.

And it made Jack’s blood run cold. His hands shook with rage (or was it sadness? Disappointment?) as he looked at that awful, horrible photograph.

It was a picture of Ralph. The fair-haired boy stood next to what looked like the back entrance to the school, the place Jack, Roger and Maurice went to smoke sometimes. And next to Ralph was that stupid batty friend of his, Simon.

And they were holding hands. And Ralph was blushing.

“What,” Jack seethed through his teeth even though there was not a soul to hear him. He was all alone in the corridor.

How could he not know this? How did that manage to slip through? What was his stupid gossip club even for if he couldn’t even fucking keep track of one of the most popular students at school?

How could he not notice this when Ralph was the entire reason Jack turned choir into a girls’ sleepover?

His hands kept shaking as he dialled Roger. This was not acceptable.

“Please don’t murder the poor bloke,” was the first thing Roger said when he picked up.

“Who said anything about murder?” Jack said and laughed joylessly.

Jack and Roger had a lot to discuss. Maybe even Maurice would need to be dragged into this. Whatever it took to right this terrible, terrible wrong.

Chapter Text

Maurice looked to his left, then right and left again multiple times to make sure he was alone. He still half-expected Roger to materialise out of nowhere, like he usually did (especially when he had Biology… not that Maurice could blame him).

Fortunately for Maurice, the boy was nowhere to be seen. Maybe Mrs Manner gave them a surprise exam, thought Maurice.

He liked the quiet of the hallways during lessons. It seemed like a different place then—less dreadful, almost impossible to imagine it being the disgustingly cesspool of sweaty teenagers it quickly turned into as soon as the bell rang.

Discreetly, Maurice took the knife out of his pocket.

It made more noise than he would’ve liked it to, but he only but the inside of his cheek and focused all his energy on it. Making it nice and visible. Very clear.

Each drag of his knife made an awful screech, and his grip on the knife grew sweaty and stiff.

Once his work was finished, he couldn’t help but grin. It was perfect. It stood out from all the others surrounding it—it was as though the ‘M x R’ shone brighter than all those other stupid initials.

Somewhere deep inside, Maurice wished he hadn’t done it, but he seemed that part of him stupid and cowardly. There were dozens of M x R couples at school, Maurice was sure of it.

As he pocketed the knife with a satisfied smirk, he felt his phone buzz.

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: Murphy

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: I better be wrong about this

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: But did you steal my knife

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: Don’t lie to me, I always know when you lie you little bitch

Maurice frowned and began typing while he slowly walked back to his classroom.

Me: why

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: Don’t play games with me, Murphy

Me: no games here cheif

Me: just want to kno why your blaming me already

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: Give it back

Me: i don’t have it

Cheif Merridew 🧑‍🦰🧑‍🦰: Fucking liar

Maurice sighed deeply and his hand instinctively went to the pocket with the stolen pocket knife. If he flipped it open now, he’d cut himself—the blade was frighteningly sharp because Jack spent at least ten minutes every day sharpening it. (Maurice knew this because Jack took pride in these psychopathic tendencies of his.)

He was just about to write back when he suddenly heard a screech.

“Mr Murphy, what do you think you’re doing?”

Maurice cringed and nearly dropped his phone onto the ground.

“I trust you know very well that the usage of mobile phones during lessons is expressly forbidden,” Mr Hale prattled on behind Maurice, “and that the punishment for that is detention.”

Maurice turned around and out in his most charming smile.

/////////////

That afternoon, after Maurice got out of detention, he found that Roger and Jack were waiting for him at the school gates.

“You missed a good one today,” Jack told him snootily as they walked together. “Even Simon showed up.”

Maurice whined. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Jack said very seriously. Roger gave Maurice a look.

“Did he have anything interesting?” Maurice asked defeatedly. His eyes were set on Roger, hoping that the boy would answer.

His hope was futile.

“He did, actually,” Jack slightly lit up as he said the words, “apparently he saw Mrs Manner exchanging a few words with Mr Rykker.” He smirked and gave Maurice a meaningful look. “And not just friendly words.”

Maurice couldn’t help but giggle at this, though his eyes ran to see if Roger found this as amusing as he did. Of course, he didn’t. He seemed bored.

“Wow, what a scandal. Two coworkers getting it on. Unheard of,” the boy deadpanned, which earned him a nasty glare from Jack.

Maurice shrugged. “Aye, but still, it’s funny. I mean, have you seen either of them?” he sniggered.

Roger didn’t answer. Maurice looked away, slightly ashamed of himself.

The three walked in silence for a bit, which was rather uncharacteristic for them. It seemed like they were all lost in their own worlds. As for Maurice, he couldn’t help but think back to that morning. Now it seemed so absolutely stupid to do what he did, but he supposed that’s why he did it. Because it was fucking stupid.

“Want to go to my place to play something?” Jack suddenly offered. “You owe me, by the way, for stealing my knife,” he told Maurice coldly when he noticed him hesitate.

Maurice sighed. “Fine, fine. Not like I’ve got anything better to do anyway.”

Roger waited a few more seconds to answer.

“I’ll come with.”

/////////////

“How did you know?”

Maurice looked up from his scribbles and saw Jack looking at him through narrowed eyes.

“Huh?” Maurice said intelligently.

Jack rolled his eyes. “About Mrs Manner and Mr Rykker,” he said tediously, like it was meant to be obvious. “Y’know, that little engraving joke?”

It took all of five seconds for Maurice to get it.

Engraving joke.

Manner and Rykker.

Oh.

M x R.

Oh.

“Oh,” Maurice said even more intelligently. “Right, yeah. It was just a joke.”

Jack narrowed his eyes at him even more, and Maurice felt himself begin to sweat. He glanced to the front of the classroom where Mrs Holliday was threatening poor Riley Glover.

“A pretty spot-on joke,” Jack said and smirked, and Gods be good, Maurice’s felt a weight lifted off his shoulders.

He decided that the next time he’d have an idea like that, he would give himself a nice slap.