Chapter Text
The alarm on Jimmy’s phone went off at 7:30 sharp. He slapped it silent, rolled over on his bed, and stared at the ceiling of his room for a solid minute.
Two thousand and ten. Jimmy was no longer the same fifteen-year-old troublemaker. Nineteen years old now, five-foot-eight now instead of the scrawny five-two he’d been at Bullworth. He turned out fine, most would think.
Some days, college felt no different from stepping back into that Bullworth shithole. The bullies were gone, yes, but were replaced by immature people spreading rumors around the establishment like we were eleven again.
“Urgh…” Jimmy muttered, hauling himself up.
He went to the bathroom, sighing loudly as he entered. The mirror above the tiny sink showed the same face—same sharp jaw, same buzz cut, same gold earring. Older, taller for sure. But still the same old Jimmy Hopkins.
He brushed his teeth, blasting music on his phone as he did, and splashed water on his face when he was done.
Red shorts, red cap, white sneakers, and a white and red tank top. It was true that Jimmy liked showing off his build, especially since he went to the gym daily. “Jimmy gym”, he would call it.
No uniform. No stupid Bullworth crest. Just normal clothes for a normal guy pretending he hadn’t spent his entire adolescence punching his way through every clique in New England. But maybe people could tell by the way he dressed… Well, he didn’t really care anyway.
By 8:15 he was out the door, backpack slung over one shoulder, the early-fall air crisp enough to wake him up properly.
The campus was huge—red-brick buildings, wide lawns, people everywhere chattering and laughing. Jimmy kept his head down, one earbud in but turned it off as soon as he got into the campus. Old habit. Always better to hear trouble coming.
His first class was ‘Intro to The Criminal Mind’ or whatever. Well, not whatever, because he actually thought it was interesting. Signing up for psychology classes was maybe one of the best ideas he never had.
The lecture room was massive, tiered seating for one hundred, already half-full by the time he pushed through the double doors. Jimmy scanned for an empty seat near the back and slid into one on the aisle, tenth row up. He dropped his bag, pulled out a notebook he probably wouldn’t use, and let his eyes wander while the professor fiddled with the projector.
Jimmy stayed rooted to his seat, backpack still half-open on the floor between his sneakers, notebook untouched on the flip-down desk. The professor was already deep diving into the subject, but the words that would normally tingle Jimmy’s interest slid right off him like rain on glass. All he could do was doodle in his notebook and bounce his leg repeatedly under the table.
Ten minutes later, Jimmy finally looked at the images the professor was showing through the projector, before he heard someone clear their throat. His bored eyes automatically glanced at where he heard the sound, and his brow furrowed instantly.
Three rows down. Dead center.
A guy. A guy he definitely knew.
Lean frame, dark brown hair shaved on the sides in a neat fade, sharp jaw. A grey hoodie, black pants and black sneakers.
Wait, did he really know him?
No jittery fingers drumming the desk. No restless leg bouncing under the seat. Just calm, deliberate movements as the guy turned a page in his notebook, pen moving in neat, controlled strokes.
It couldn’t be…
The guy turned his head slightly to the side and Jimmy’s stomach dropped. That scar on his eyebrow.
Gary fucking Smith.
Jimmy’s brain kept trying to overlay the old Gary on top of this one and failing. The old Gary would have been slouched so far back his chair would’ve creaked, smirking at nothing, waiting for the perfect moment to lob some verbal grenade into the room just to watch it explode. This Gary… wasn’t doing any of that. He was listening. Actually listening. Head tilted slightly toward the projector screen, dark hair falling across his forehead the exact same way it always had.
He’d grown into the height he’d always promised he would—probably five-seven now, maybe five-eight. Shoulders a little broader under the hoodie, but still that same lean, almost wiry build. Face sharper with age, cheekbones more pronounced, but the eyes… those were the same. Dark. Piercing. Except right now they weren’t scanning the room for weaknesses. They were fixed forward, thoughtful.
Jimmy’s pulse wouldn’t settle. Every few seconds his brain kept overthinking the situation.
Since when was Gary in this class? What if he turns around right now? What if he remembers every single thing—the boiler room, the carnival, that big fight they had on top of the school and decides the past isn’t past at all?
But Gary didn’t turn. Not once. He just kept taking notes, occasionally tapping the end of his pen against his lower lip in a way that was almost… normal. It couldn’t be… He couldn’t be normal! He was Gary Smith!
Jimmy’s mouth went dry. He swallowed hard and forced his gaze to the front for maybe ten seconds before it dragged right back. Gary shifted in his seat—nothing dramatic, just crossing one ankle over his knee—and the movement was so ordinary it hurt. No dramatic flair. No exaggerated sigh. Just a guy existing in a lecture hall like he belonged there.
The overthinking kicked into overdrive.
He’s on meds. Obviously. The right ones, probably. No more of that ADD cocktail they threw at him in senior year that just made him worse. Maybe bipolar. Maybe something else entirely. Something that finally clicked. He looks… settled. Like he figured out how to live with the noise in his head instead of weaponizing it. Jimmy could only remember those erratic speeches Gary had that clearly weren’t normal for a child.
Jimmy’s fingers curled into the edge of the desk until his knuckles ached.
Does he even remember me the way I remember him?
Jimmy bit repeatedly his lower lip. Are we still friends? Were we even friends at some point? I thought we were, at least.
Did he ever wonder where I ended up?
Did he ever think about me at all?
A girl two seats over coughed, and Jimmy flinched like it was a gunshot.
God, he couldn’t believe Gary was right there! Should he go and talk to him? No… Yes! No…?
After an hour that made Jimmy's skin crawl with impatience, the lecture ended with the usual rustle of bags and muffled conversations. The professor called out reminders about the homework, but Jimmy barely heard any of it, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared much.
Instead, he watched Gary packing up the same way he’d done everything else that hour: neat and unhurried. Notebook closed, pen capped and clipped, bag zipped. He stood, adjusted the strap on his shoulder, and started to walk down the aisle without looking around.
Jimmy watched him go.
The hall was emptying fast. People streamed past, laughing about weekend plans, complaining about the professor’s mediocre slideshow. Jimmy stayed in his seat until the row in front of him cleared, until Gary was almost at the double doors…
Then something snapped.
He grabbed his backpack, slung it over one shoulder, and stood. His sneakers squeaked on the wooden floor as he moved—faster than he meant to, heart thudding like he was sprinting toward a fight instead of… whatever this was. No, actually, he would definitely feel calmer walking into a fight than reuniting with someone from the past.
Gary pushed through the doors first. Jimmy was maybe fifteen feet behind.
Outside, the hallway was brighter—fluorescent lights and tall windows letting in the pale February sun.
Gary soon went outside, the metal bar of the door he’d just opened clanging behind him. Jimmy caught it before it slammed shut and stepped out after him.
The cold hit instantly—dry February wind slicing through his tank top like it was paper. But again, he didn’t really care. He barely even felt the cold.
Gary had already walked a few paces onto the empty campus courtyard, shoulders hunched just enough to show the wind was getting to him too. He stopped near a bench, pulled the cigarette pack from his hoodie pocket, and tapped one out. The lighter clicked twice before it caught; he cupped the flame, inhaled deep, and let the smoke roll out slow like he was buying time.
Jimmy let the door swing shut behind him with a dull metallic clunk. The sound made Gary’s head turn—just a fraction at first, then all the way.
Their eyes met.
Gary froze mid-exhale. The cigarette hovered an inch from his lips. For the first time since Jimmy had spotted him in the lecture hall, something cracked through the calm mask: genuine, unguarded shock. His dark eyes widened, pupils flaring for half a second before he caught himself. The hand holding the cigarette dropped slowly to his side, smoke trailed forgotten from the tip.
Jimmy crossed the distance in three steps, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. He stopped maybe four feet away—close enough to talk, far enough that Gary could still bolt if he wanted.
“Hey.”
The word came out rough, quieter than Jimmy meant it to. His own heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat.
Gary didn’t answer right away. He just stared, like he was trying to match the face in front of him to the memory he’d filed away years ago. The scar over his eyebrow pulled tight when his brows lifted. He blinked once, slow, then let out a short, disbelieving breath that turned into visible fog.
“… Jimmy?”
Jimmy nodded once. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Gary’s free hand came up, rubbed hard across his mouth like he was wiping away whatever he’d planned to say next. The cigarette trembled—just a tiny, almost unnoticeable shake—before he brought it back to his lips and took a long drag to steady himself. When he exhaled, the smoke came out in a rush.
“Didn’t—” Gary started, then stopped, clearing his throat. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Well— Me neither– At first.”
Jimmy shifted his weight, hands jammed deep in his shorts pockets to keep them from fidgeting.
“You were… right in the middle. Taking notes. I wasn’t sure it was you but— I actually did recognize you.”
Gary’s gaze flicked down to the cigarette, then back up. The shock was still there, lingering in the corners of his eyes, but he was reining it in fast. Old habits.
“Guess I’ve had practice at looking normal,” he said, voice low and smoke-rough. “You look… bigger. But not so different.”
Jimmy gave a small shrug. “Gym. It keeps me busy.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
Gary’s eyes traced over the red tank top stretched tight across Jimmy’s chest, the broader shoulders, the way he stood solid against the wind like it didn’t faze him. Then his gaze dropped to the ground for a second, almost like he didn’t know where else to look.
“Fuck. I didn’t think I’d ever…”
He trailed off, not finishing his sentence.
Jimmy swallowed. The wind tugged at his cap, but he didn’t move to fix it.
“Me neither, Gary.”
Gary took another drag—shorter this time, more mechanical. He flicked ashes off his cigarette, watching it scatter on the floor. When he spoke again, his voice was steadier, but the shock hadn’t fully left yet.
“Why?” He asked. “Why’d you come to see me, Jimmy? After everything?”
Jimmy’s stomach twisted. He’d been waiting for it—knew it had to come eventually—but hearing it still hit like a cheap shot.
Gary didn’t look away this time. His dark eyes were steady, searching Jimmy’s face without the old cruelty, but with something just as sharp: raw honesty.
“I was a complete… asshole back then,” Gary continued, quieter now. “Actually, worse than that. I fucked with your head, your friends, the whole damn school. l—”
He gave a small, bitter huff of a laugh that had no humor in it.
“You still beat my ass but— Why? You could’ve stayed in your seat. ‘Could’ve pretended you didn’t see me. Most people would’ve…”
He took one last drag, then dropped the cigarette between his sneakers and crushed it out with a slow grind of his heel.
Jimmy pulled one hand out of his pocket, rubbed his thumb over the callus on his knuckle like it might give him the right words.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You were just– there– So I… I was curious I guess.”
Gary’s brows drew together, faint confusion mixing with the wariness still in his expression.
But Jimmy kept going.
“And you seemed– seem much more… stable? No offense, I’m just pointing things out.”
Gary stared at him for a long beat. His hands found their place in his hoodie’s pockets again until he spoke, his eyes showing a vulnerability Jimmy had never seen before.
“I’m not the same,” he said finally. “Not even close. But I’m not… fixed. Not completely. Some days the noise is still there. Just quieter. Meds do help, therapy even more. But I still remember who I was. It’s haunting me.”
He looked away for a second, then back at Jimmy.
“If you’re waiting for an apology, I don’t know if I’ve got one good enough. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t cover it. But I–”
“I’m not waiting for anything,” Jimmy said, cutting Gary mid-sentence. “Not an apology, not a fight. ‘Just… wanted to say hey.”
Gary’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, small and tired.
“Well. Hey back, Hopkins.”
Then, silence. It wasn’t awkward—at least for Jimmy. He didn’t know about Gary though. But they both stood there, eyes locked until Gary grimaced and shivered.
“Fuck this,” Gary muttered, shoving both hands deeper into his pockets and hunching his shoulders higher. “I’m freezing my ass off out here. Library’s got heat. You coming Jimmy?”
Jimmy glanced at the gray sky, then back at Gary. “Yeah. Sure.”
They turned onto the narrow path that cut between the psych building and the older brick annex. The concrete was patchy with old ice melt and slush; their footsteps crunched in uneven rhythm. Neither spoke for the first minute—just walked, breath fogging ahead of them in short white bursts. The wind followed, but the buildings blocked most of it once they rounded the corner.
Inside the library’s side entrance, the warmth hit like a wall. Dry, faintly dusty air scented with old paper and coffee from the café downstairs. Gary exhaled audibly as the door swung shut behind them, rolling his shoulders like he was shaking off the cold.
“Better,” he said under his breath, before giving a quick glance to Jimmy. “How are you doing this? You’re practically naked and you don’t feel the cold? Lucky you.”
Jimmy shrugged with a faint smile. He didn’t know what to say, he was just like this. And yeah, maybe he was lucky.
“Or maybe you’re just being a wimp about it.”
Jimmy answered, which made Gary chuckle slightly.
Gary’s chuckle faded into something quieter, almost fond, as they moved deeper into the library. The warmth wrapped around them like a blanket, muting the outside world. Gary led the way without asking, heading straight for the back corner where the long wooden tables sat under tall, narrow windows. The spot was half-hidden by shelves, far from the main traffic—his spot, clearly.
He dropped his bag onto the table with a soft thud and slid into one of the chairs, stretching his legs out under the table. Jimmy hesitated for half a second, then took the seat in front of him.
For a moment neither of them said anything. Just the low hum of the vents, the occasional page-turn from someone farther down the row, the faint clink of a coffee cup from the café below.
Gary leaned back, arms crossed loosely over his chest, studying Jimmy like he was trying to memorize the new version of him.
“You still dress like you’re ready to start a brawl at any second,” Gary said eventually, voice low enough to stay between them. “Red everything. Your cap isn’t even straight. You wear shorts and a tank top in February.”
Jimmy snorted. “I mean, I just like dressing like that. And I’m not so cold.”
Gary’s eyes flicked over the tight white-and-red fabric stretched across Jimmy’s shoulders and chest.
“You really did turn into a gym rat.”
“‘Jimmy gym,’” Jimmy corrected with a half-grin before clearing his throat. “Every day, same time, same playlist. I like it.”
Gary nodded slowly, like that made perfect sense.
A new silence settled between them as Gary open his backpack to start rummaging inside.
Jimmy leaned forward slightly, one hand on the table. “You said you were taking meds and going to therapy. Are you okay?”
Was it even okay to ask about that?
Gary froze and his gaze dropped to the grain of the wood for a second. When he looked back up, there was no deflection, no sarcasm—just honesty.
“Yeah. I guess.” He exhaled through his nose as he put his backpack on the side. “NPD. Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Along with bipolar disorder. They told me it’s not just mood swings—it’s the whole wiring. The need to be the smartest person in every room, the way I’d just manipulate any given chance… Just to feel safe. The way I convinced myself I was untouchable because being vulnerable felt like dying and...”
He gave a small, crooked shrug. “That explains a lot of Bullworth, doesn’t it? Why I couldn’t stop pushing until everything broke. Including… us.”
Jimmy stared at him. He wasn’t judging or anything, he was genuinely curious and interested. It didn’t seem to bother the other either.
“I hated that label at first,” Gary continued. “Felt like they were calling me a monster with a fancy acronym. But once I stopped fighting it… once I started actually listening in therapy instead of trying to outsmart the shrink… things started shifting. Not overnight of course.. But I can catch myself now. When the old impulse kicks in—the one that wants to cut someone down just to feel taller—I can usually stop before I open my mouth.”
Jimmy rubbed his thumb over the callus on his knuckle, thinking. “Wow, dude. I mean I’m glad you got the support and everything. You’re normal now!” The words came out faster than he intended, and Jimmy realized how badly that came out. He leaned back in his chair and shook his hands. “I mean— No, not like that. Like you’re… You’re stable now. Not normal. I mean–”
Gary’s mouth curved into a soft, genuine smile. “It’s okay Jimmy, I get it. You’re not so bad yourself. You realized your words may have an impact too.”
Another quiet beat passed. Gary opened one of his notebook, his dark eyes locked onto the white sheet. Jimmy watched him, putting his hands back in his pockets as his right leg began to swing from left to right. Was Gary actually studying? Well, did that really matter? But it felt so unreal. Gary Smith was in front of him, calm, quiet…
Jimmy finally asked the question that had been sitting heavy since the lecture hall.
“Did you… ever think about me? After everything?”
Gary didn’t answer right away. It took him a second to look up from his notebook, and when he did, his eyes showed something almost vulnerable. When he spoke, his voice was softer than Jimmy had ever heard it.
“Every day for the first year. Then every week. Then… every time something reminded me of you.” He swallowed. “You had something everyone else lacked. At least, through my crazy-teenager-eyes at the time. Reminder that I wasn’t thinking straight and I was so… Whatever. At the time you really intrigued me and I— I wanted… to be your… friend?” Gary’s cheek lifted a bit, like he realized how false it sounded. “I didn’t act like a friend towards you, I know, but I didn’t know how to behave like one either. I really wanted you to be my friend.”
This somehow felt so intimate it made Jimmy’s heartbeat increase. Gary’s face had flushed a bit, surely out of embarrassment from admitting his terrible past actions. It was hard talking about feelings in general, Jimmy knew that too well. And Gary just spitting out everything like that to him, even though they haven’t seen each other in years? The balls, man.
Jimmy didn’t know what to say right away. The words hung there between them like smoke that hadn’t quite cleared, thick and real and impossible to wave away.
He stared at Gary’s flushed face—cheeks pink under the library’s soft yellow light, scar pulling tight when he swallowed—and felt something shift in his own chest. Not pity. Not forgiveness on a silver platter. Just… understanding.
“Yeah,” Jimmy said finally. “I get that. I understand. I don’t care anymore, it’s in the past now. And I don’t like thinking about the past.”
Gary’s eyes flicked up, surprised, like he hadn’t expected Jimmy to meet him halfway on that. His fingers twitched on the edge of his notebook. He looked down at the white page, then back up.
“I’m sorry–”
“Gary, I don’t care.”
The words came out firmer than Jimmy meant them to, but he wasn’t angry. Not at all. He leaned back in the chair, arms crossing over his chest.
“I mean it,” he continued. “I spent years replaying every shitty thing. But I’m not that kid anymore. And you’re not that guy anymore. At least… you’re trying not to be. And that’s enough for me. So yeah. I don’t care about the apology. I don’t need it. I just needed to see you and talk to you.”
Gary stared at him for a long beat. Something flickered in his eyes—relief, maybe, or gratitude. Saying “sorry” must be a pain in the ass for someone like him.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
Jimmy nodded once, decisive, like that settled it.
Gary glanced at the clock on the wall. “You’ve got class soon, don’t you?”
“Yeah. And you don’t?” Jimmy asked, furrowing his brow..
Gary huffed a small laugh. “Nope. Actually I’m done today. I only have one class on tuesday.”
Jimmy snorted. “Lucky. Wait– And you come anyway?”
Gary nodded, which made Jimmy shake his head in disbelief. He got up and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder.
“Tomorrow, then? Same class. Back row?” Gary asked as he put his notebook in his backpack, getting up as well.
“Sure, man.” Jimmy tugged the brim of his red cap down a fraction.
“Okay… Well, see you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow, Gary.”
Jimmy turned and walked toward the doors. His footsteps were quiet on the carpet, the library air still warm against his bare arms. He didn’t look back, but he could feel Gary watching him go until he opened the doors and disappeared.
Outside, the wind hit him again, sharp and cold, but it didn’t sink in the same way. His tank top flapped against his chest, shorts riding up slightly as he walked across the slushy quad toward the building again. His heart was still beating fast, but it wasn’t the same panicked thud from earlier. It was something else.
Jimmy shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking, head low.
Tomorrow he’d sit in the back row again.
But this time,
Gary would be by his side.