Public Knowledge (Sweet Pea x Reader)

The Revelation

To Be or Not To Be?

You stared at the question at the top of Sweet Pea's screen before looking up at him.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing a little bit in the way they always did when he was testing you.

"I thought you would have gone with one of the revenge prompts," you admitted, hesitantly, bracing yourself for the rant coming your way.

"I had more to talk about with this one," he said simply, his eyes darting from the screen and then back at you.

"Oh," you said quietly, turning back to the computer and scanning over the first line. Coming from the Southside and being part of the Serpents everybody here thinks that I'm a deadbeat or a criminal. You stopped yourself, looking up at Sweet Pea.

"If you don't want me to read this one, I don't have to. I can walk you through some self-edit strategies because you've really been getting better. You don't need me to–"

"You can read it," he cut you off, his voice even and measured for once. Your own brow furrowed as you looked at him for a second longer, as if trying to determine whether or not he really meant it. He didn't flinch or move or look away. He met your gaze and held it. Steady.

You broke first, shifting your attention to the essay, your face feeling warm.

I can hear it in their little comments and in the way they whisper when I walk past them in the hall. I can see it in their expressions when I make a good point in class or the way they won't make eye contact. So, yeah, I get angry. I'm angry all of the time because I'm tired. I'm tired of being treated like I'm like a second class citizen because I was born on the wrong side of town. I'm tired of being treated like I'm a criminal because I chose a family who will always look out for me since mine split. I'm tired of being dumped on and blamed for everything when all I do is what it takes to survive. So yeah, sometimes I question whether it's worth coming to school or not just to put up with this. Like Hamlet I have to wonder if it's worth "suffering the slings and arrows" of my classmates and fight to prove that I am smart and belong here or do I give up and become the ignorant thug everyone already sees me as?

It was hard to focus on the parts of the essay that needed work. Clearly his wording could be better and there was room to make this more powerful, but the very fact that he was writing this and sharing it with you gave you pause.

"Do you really feel this way?" you whispered. You didn't mean to whisper. It wasn't like anyone was around to hear you. It just came out that way. As if the question was meant to be asked softly.

He shrugged, looking away from you and towards the wall, crossing his arms.

You nodded shoving anything you would have said back down. Instead, you chose to sit in silence, staring at Sweet Pea. You noticed for the first time, the way he always seemed to be crossing his arms, and if he wasn't doing that he was clenching his fist. Your eyes ran up his arm to his face, which looked distant and closed. And in that moment, Sweet Pea suddenly made a lot more sense. Because you knew that look.

"You thought of me like that when I asked you to help, didn't you?" he mumbled, finally, still refusing to look at you.

You wished you were a good liar. Or that the two of you were friends now. Or that you were braver than you were. But you weren't. You were you, and all you could do was look down and mumble "Yeah, but I was wrong."

His head snapped to you, and he furrowed his brow, his eyes bore into you with that assessing look they sometimes got. You looked up and met his gaze wondering if he was going to charge you with lying or push you on it or say anything else. He didn't. He just continued to stare at you intensely as if calculating something in his head.

"I mean, you're still terrifying. Just um not so randomly? Does that make sense?"

He gave the smallest shake of his head.

"Like," you bit your lip, trying to form the words in your head into sentences. Sentences that made sense and wouldn't cause him to bolt from the room or knock over furniture or scream at you. "You get frustrated when you don't know something so you act all angry and storm away because you'd rather die than have people think you're stupid. That's why we have our arrangement isn't it? Because you don't want people to know you need help?"

He shrugged again.

"And now you're saying you're angry people only see you in one way, which makes sense of why you're always ready to snap on the Bulldogs. Because they are most of the reason people see you like that. I guess I'm just saying your anger makes sense. You're not some raw nerve or ball of senseless rage. You're a real person."

He snorted. "Thanks."

"I don't know, I guess I'm just saying that it's harder to think of you as some thug and weigh all of that Southside and Serpent stuff against you when I like you."

You flushed as Sweet Pea raised his eyebrows. "Not like you like you. Not like that. I mean there's a bunch of girls who do. Even Northsiders. Because you're objectively good looking. Like really good looking, and tall, dark, and mysterious and stuff, but I'm not–I just mean as a friend. Even though we're not friends. Uh, well we could be, but—"

"Breathe, Y/N," Sweet Pea chuckled, his arms falling down to his sides. "I know what you mean."

You flushed and looked back down at the desk.

"And for the record, I like you too."

You nodded, failing to keep the smile from sliding onto your face. "Great. Umm, let's get this paper sorted out then."