•••

"Sherwin!" Jonathan called out, chasing after his friend. School had ended, and he had sprinted outside as soon as the bell rang to catch the ginger before he disappeared. "Wait!" He saw Sherwin stop mid-step, but he didn't  turn around.

"You can't walk with me, Jon."

Jon slowed his pace, trying to figure out what was going on. "W-why? Are-are you...? Are we...done?" Sherwin trembled, then finally looked at him, a tear sliding down his face.

"He's gonna tell the whole school," Sherwin whimpered, clutching his bag. Jonathan stepped forward, only to have his friend step back.

"Who?" Jon asked, his stomach dropping. "What happened during lunch today?"

"I-it was Dante. He wrote the note. He followed us home. He t-took a picture!" Sherwin's face was flustered and upset, and Jon wanted so badly to comfort him, but the freckled boy would only back away.

"Dante told me he didn't write it, though," Jonathan said, still confused. "He doesn't have first period with you, either." Sherwin just shook his head.

"He could have had somebody else do it. Just like he got someone to beat you up," the ginger choked. "I'm sorry, Jon. I...I..." Sherwin blinked a few times, then turned and ran away. Jonathan just stood there and watched as his best friend rounded the corner and out of sight.

"I love you, too," he whispered sadly.

•••

When Jonathan got home, his mother was already there. "I got off early," she explained, kissing his temple and turning back to the dishes stacked in the sink. He reached out and took a few, wiping them off under the running water.

"I'll help," Jon muttered, trying not to let his mom hear the melancholy in his voice. He wanted to tell her about Sherwin, about everything that was bothering him. But, what would she say?

"Thanks, Jon," she sighed, handing him a plate. "So, how was school?" Jonathan's throat felt tight. He tried to say 'fine', but nothing came out. "Jonathan?" His mother looked at him closely with a concerned expression.

"I..." he started, "I need to...can we talk?" Jon met her brown eyes, which softened.

"Of course. You want to go to the sofa and sit down?" she suggested, and he nodded, following her into the adjacent room. The couch barely sagged under their combined weight, and he noticed how small his mother was.

"Mom...you know Sherwin, right? The boy who came over the other week?" Jon asked, not meeting her gaze.

"The red-haired one with all the freckles?"

"Yeah."

"What about him?" she questioned. Jonathan took a deep breath.

"Well, I'm not sure how to say this, but...um, we both like each other. A lot," he said. "We're not like, going steady or anything, it's just...I don't know." His mom smiled.

"I knew it," she joked, ruffling Jon's hair, much to his shock. "Were you worried how I would react? You know I'll love you, no matter what." He sighed again.

"I know. It's not just that, though." Jonathan swallowed. "Some kids have been really, really horrible to us, Sherwin especially. They threatened him, and told him that we couldn't hang out or else they'd tell the whole school that we..." he trailed off, putting his face in his hands. He couldn't go on.

"Oh, sweetheart," his mom cooed, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm so sorry. Sherwin is always welcome to stay over here, you know." Jonathan didn't reply; he was too busy trying to stifle the sobs that were threatening to overcome his senses. He never cried much, but he had been holding it in for too long.

"I'm gonna head back to my room, I'll be out here for dinner," he said, barely keeping his composure. His mom nodded, and he got up and calmly walked to his bedroom. After closing the door behind him, he let himself weep silently and crumple to the floor.

•••