N/A Hey guys, I'm not going to say much about this but if anything at all bothers you in any way (too OOC, dont like how somethings worded, etc...) just go ahead and let me know! I'm writing this for you guys, after all.
Oh and I don't own homestuck Andrew Hussie does.
In a dazzling display of just how cruel the world can be, a raven sits smugly atop the window and shouts in the face of a very sleepy Dave Strider. Glass bottles adorn the frozen floor that makes contact with two sluggish feet, and a sharp intake of breath, barely audible, is released.
Dave retreats to the warmth of his bed swiftly and covers himself with his comforter, which ironically has been little to no comfort in these hard times. After a few moments of silence, save for the rufflings from a preening douchebag, a small sigh was released, a comforter removed, and slippers slid on.
Aforementioned douchebag takes off with what Dave swears is avian laughter, and he makes his way to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Its not such a rare thing, in fact this has become routine over the last year. After Dave s surgery, he had about a week of endless bliss before it recoiled and left a burning emptiness in his heart.
Most nights he comes home to the familiar warmth of alcohol, as uncool as that is. He is proud to say that he stays safely away from drugs, however, and uses this as a form of comfort. After he stands and downs some Tylenol, he shuffles out the kitchen for some cereal and milk (its already out anyways...).
What a shitty start to the day. And to add to it, the absolute worst part of it all is that he has work, and someone he'd rather not see is going to be there. This person is the cause of a significant amount of Dave s troubles, and he just has to be on the exact same schedule as he is. How else will whatever gods that are out there get their laughs?
An hour passes and the drumming beat in Dave s head has faded enough to focus on getting dressed, (Wait, pants don t go there...) and driving to the bookstore that he works at. As Dave enters the store, we are suddenly him, and as expected, the second you clock in and walk out onto the floor, you re confronted with dazzling blue eyes and a toothy grin.
"Dave we just got in a book about Nic Cage! I have to own it right this second!" John says excitedly, and you find yourself smirking. Just a small lifting of one corner of your mouth, enough to look cool.
In a not-terribly-deep Texan accent you reply. "Well 'ain t that just the coolest thing ever. Why don't we get on over there and hide a copy, because its sure to be just flyin off the shelves." Sarcasm is layered so thick into your response that even John couldn't miss it.
He frowns and stares at you a moment, and you worry that maybe he caught the small bit of anger in your voice as well. This is why you shouldn't get drunk and go to work with a hangover, knowing that John was there too. As if he didn't already make you look uncool enough.
As you think this to yourself, you find your eyes wandering around Johns body. Again. Like every other day, you take in the black mess of his hair, vibrant blue eyes, a thin, almost weak looking body, skinny arms and legs, not built to be carrying stacks of books around, and yet he does. Your favourite part about John is his teeth, but you aren t going to admit to that any time soon. You find yourself staring at them for much longer then you should, and finally realize his lips are actually moving.
...and it would be pretty cool of you to actually tell me for once, rather than to hide it behind those stupid shades of yours! He seems pretty angry and you're instantly sure he's been giving you his daily 'talk about your feelings Dave!' speech. You let a small sigh escape you before you just turn and walk away. Honestly, you aren t able to deal with this today. It isn t a normal thing for you to do though and you just know John is hurt by it so you do your best to avoid him for the rest of the day.
That was a bad idea, because you find yourself staring at him from a distance all day, watching as his hips swished back and forth a little femininely. Your heart aches and you are more confused than ever. The only way you can explain the pain is to say that you might possibly have a thing for John. You refuse to believe it however. You are a man and men don t date other men, they date women and have kids and live happily ever after. Right?
You groan and lean into a shelf of romance novels, hating yourself for probably being in love with a guy, but allow yourself to continue watching him as he works. You wonder absently if you should even be doing this, but the feelings you get are just too good for you to stop. The end of your shift draws closer, and you are doing pretty good at avoiding John, until you trip over a book left on the floor and come crashing down to the hardwood flooring.
He's at your side in an instant, anger thrown out the window, and concerned only for your health. This is one of those reasons why you think you love him. As he helps you to your feet you feel a rush of feeling through your body that was too intense to be simply just standing too fast, and a blush threatens to ruin your already poor reputation with the boy.
You assure him that you are fine and Jesus Egbert, back off, that was obviously an ironic fall! (And it was because you tripped over one of the romance novels while fantasizing about waking up with the kid in your arms). He backs off and the concerned look on his face goes away, leaving relief in its wake. You turn to leave but he calls you back. You merely turn so his face is in your peripheral vision.
Our shift is over, am I still coming over today? He looks at you like he thinks you will say no, and you heavily consider the option, but the part of you that you hate most speaks for you first, and before you know it, you're both climbing into your shitty car and heading for your house.