#jorty

The rumors start with varsity.

Their whispers and glances are easy enough to brush off at first. Whatever they’re up to now, once they’re on the water, the so-called golden boys are quick to eat their words.

The judgement doesn’t stop however and by the following week, Bobby snaps at varsity, telling them if they have something to say, they should say it to their faces.

This calms the tension a bit, but accusations still sneak in until Shorty can’t let it go. Evil words wrap around his brain, tightening like a noose. None of it is true. Or if it is, no one deserves that kind of hatred.

Shorty stares long and hard at the stained wood in front of him before he takes a breath. With a shaking hand on the knob, Shorty opens the door, the creaking hinges announcing his arrival.

Jim is already there, sat at his desk, head buried in his notes and books. He glances up when Shorty comes in, gives just a small wave before turning back to his homework. Shorty tries to force a smile but it‘s a weak attempt at best. Fear courses through his veins, each step is heavier than the last. By some miracle, he reaches his side of the room and sets his bag down near the bed.

The space is quiet save for Jim’s pencil scratching the paper. Staring at the wall, Shorty thinks to forget the whole thing. It’s not his business. Not his worry. The other side of him wins out, however, and he begins to speak, his whole body shaking.

“I don’t know if the rumors are true, but if they are, you’re still my friend.”

Jim’s writing comes to a stop. Now in the thick of it, Shorty can’t face him. If he’s wrong, he’s made a serious accusation. But if all of it is true, he worries. Not for himself but for Jim.

“What?” Jim’s voice is soft and, dare Shorty think it, scared.

“What varsity was saying about you,” Shorty jumps to explain.

His mind is a flurry now and he spins to look at Jim. He falters when Jim isn’t looking back, where instead he still faces his homework, posture tight.

“If you are…,” Shorty can’t say it and he makes a hand motion he knows Jim can’t see. “I don’t mind. You’re my friend and always will be.”

He winces at the words, how forced they seem. Awkward and hesitant. Yet he means what he says. As long as Jim doesn’t commit some atrocity like murder, Shorty wants to remain by his side. He needs Jim, his friendship, his guidance.

Shorty is so lost in his own thoughts that he flinches when Jim stands, facing him head on.

“You mean that?”

Shorty blinks, nods. He straightens up, doesn’t break the staredown between Jim and himself.

Then, Jim’s arms are wrapped around him, squeezing so tight, Shorty struggles to breath. He thinks he hears a small sob escape from Jim and Shorty is quick to return the embrace. How long Jim has been hurting, he doesn’t know. The pain must be unimaginable.

“Shit,” Jim sniffs, pulling back to wipe at his face. “I didn’t—I don’t—,” he stumbles over his words and coughs.

“Our secret, yeah?” Shorty holds Jim’s shoulders.

Jim nods, offers Shorty a watery smile. It breaks Shorty’s heart and all he can do is hug Jim again. They’ll figure this out. He’ll protect Jim with his life. Together, they’ll make it through college and Shorty’s determination only grows as their embrace continues.

~

The friendship doesn’t change much.

If anything, Jim is more relaxed. He doesn’t shy away from challenging Bobby, his speeches as captain don’t carry a hint of hesitation. Shorty is proud of Jim to say the least and if varsity gives them any trouble, the other boys are at the ready.

Shorty wonders if anyone else knows, if they’ve talked to Jim on their own too. They all still joke and laugh, some seeking out Jim’s advice while others just want his company. Whatever it may be, Shorty is glad that Jim is still here making each day count.

Practice has just wrapped up but as Shorty makes his way to the locker room, he spots Jim following Ulbrickson up the stairs to the office. Shorty’s stomach drops and he hangs back, watching the shadows, the flickering light as one, two people shift around. He leans against the staircase, dying to hear the conversation. He hopes and prays it’s just talk for the upcoming race, but this is too close for coincidence.

The time ticks by and when Jim finally emerges from the office, Shorty holds himself back from pouncing on him. Jim’s face is a stark white, his hands are clenched into fists, hanging tight at his sides.

“Dorms,” is all Jim says and Shorty follows him into the locker room.

The space is empty but still, Jim and Shorty rush to change. The silence pounds Shorty’s ears, his stomach is twisted into knots. He wants to say something, anything, yet he stays his tongue. It’s a march back to the dorms then and Shorty struggles to calm his racing heart as he watches Jim walk ahead of him.

Once in the safety of their room, Shorty’s impatience rises and he looks at Jim, waiting for him to take the lead.

“You still mean what you said?” Jim’s voice cracks, wavering and small.

“Course,” Shorty furrows his brows. “Nothing’s going to change that.”

Jim nods, his eyes drifting to the ceiling. “Coach knows.”

Shorty’s stomach drops and his eyes widen. He opens his mouth but Jim is faster.

“He’s letting me stay on the team. Told me he doesn’t care what I get up to outside of practice, long as I stay focused. And if I don’t get caught.”

Jim’s words hang over Shorty. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry. While he’s deciding, Jim’s face breaks into a small smile.

“Who’d’ve thought Coach of all people?”

A grin splits Shorty’s face then and he can’t help but bring Jim into a hug. He’s the one crying now, tears of relief spilling out of him. In this embrace, Jim tucks his head into the crook of Shorty’s neck and a harsh exhale leaves him.

A warm tingling fills Shorty and he squeezes Jim even tighter as a small hiccup escapes from him. It’s then Jim pulls back and he sets his hands on Shorty’s shoulders. Flushing, Shorty wipes away his tears and gives Jim a watery smile.

“Thank you,” Jim says just above a whisper. “Thank you for standing by me.”

“Of course,” Shorty shrugs.

He wouldn’t dream of turning his back. He’d rather face the wrath of thousands than to ever lose Jim. Staring into his eyes, Shorty swallows and a new thought strikes him. He doesn’t linger on it, instead choosing to duck his head.

Jim squeezes Shorty’s shoulders before pulling away. His hands draw back so slow, Shorty can’t help but tilt his head. A silent question that he can’t find the words for. With a smile, the shake of his head, Jim steps away and sets his bag on top of his desk.

“Better start on homework.”

The fragile state of the room is broken and Shorty takes a breath. He copies Jim’s actions, settles into his chair. A long night of studying lies ahead for both of them.

As he’s staring at his notes, the thought from before wiggles back in and Shorty nibbles on the tip of the eraser.

He wouldn’t have minded if Jim had kissed him just then. Instead of disgust rolling his stomach, butterflies flitter up to his heart and fill his chest. This isn’t like his first crush. This isn’t like anything he’s ever felt before.

Panic floods Shorty and he slams his book shut. He can feel Jim’s stare on his back but Shorty doesn’t turn around. He simply pulls out another book and shuffles his notes around. Only when he hears the scratching of Jim’s pencil do Shorty’s shoulders drop.

He has yet another part of himself to figure out and if that starts with deciding whether or not he’s in love with Jim, then so be it.