Fear None (A Jackieboy-Man Fic)

1 - Peter

All in all, college wasn't terrible. People talk it up to be an impossible challenge, like school but ten times worse. Tyrannical professors and projects that made you want to rip out your hair. A swirling sea of stress and ramen.

Peter Jackson had always been smart. It wasn't his major in computer science that bothered him. He didn't give two shits about his professors either–they were boring and lazy. In the end, it was the loneliness that was the worst.

And it was the loneliness that ate him up as Peter lay in bed, staring up at the yellowed ceiling of his apartment. An apartment that was ridiculously expensive, despite the cramped slanted walls and lingering mold smell. He had gotten used to the weird water taste and insects, but being by himself was something he never thought he would be able to stand.

Plus it was too hot, and his whining wire fan was doing little to nothing to lower the temperature of his resident shithole.

Peter let out a long sigh, rolling over onto his side to check his phone. The only app he had notifications turned on for was the News. The ridiculously-high crime rate in New York was only interesting when your dad was a cop. It meant front row seats to every grisly low-life mugging, and maybe even a ticket past the yellow tape once and awhile. Everyone knew Mr. Jackson as a friendly guy. The good cop. No one knew how much of a pushover he was. It didn't take much for Peter to convince him to pay rent.

Sometimes, when Peter thought a little too hard, he would remember how much he hated himself. It was easy to think about that type of thing when you're being baked alive alone in your apartment.

He sighed again, wiping his hands down his face and closing his eyes tight. He needed to get out more. How pathetic was it that the News was his only source of entertainment?

His phone buzzed and he sat up. His stiff body crackled a little at the movement and he stretched, letting out a long sigh. Leaning his chin on one hand he opened up his phone, scrolling through the notifications. His thumb froze as he noticed some kind of robbery on his dad's beat–a couple blocks of strip clubs and pizza places. Welcome to New York.

He stood up, sticking his phone in his jacket as he walked to the mirror where his backpack was sitting. For a moment his gaze lingered on the tired, stringy guy in the reflection. His eyes were red and baggy. He had terrible skin. Probably from all the fast food he ate. Peter reached up, pushing long, curly bangs away from his face. It didn't do much to help. He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand before he grabbed his backpack and stepped out the door.

What did normal college kids do on Saturdays? Go out to bars? Maybe just hang out with friends. They probably didn't go to crime scenes.

Peter walked down the steps of his apartment complex, squinting as he stepped out into the sunlight. His street always smelled like cigarettes, and there was a dog always barking, but in way it felt like home. It was his street. He blended right in–he looked identical to every other pale, sickly tweaker that hung around his building. Some of them would even wave hello, as if they knew each other. It was all just another way to fit in.

Officer Jackson's beat wasn't far from Peter's apartment. It was about a ten minute walk on a good day, and it gave Peter a chance to observe the two sides of New York as they blended together. The further he walked, the nicer the buildings. More and more tourists would dot the sidewalks, and the smell of weed would morph into the aroma of pizza or street food. The sun even seemed to shine brighter, not obscured by hovering, dilapidated buildings. He liked the brighter, sunnier side of New York–the business of it all was almost comforting. The people that walked by you didn't linger, or stare at you. They didn't care about you. All the cared about were the lights, and the attractions.