John had always thought of Dave as perfect. Flawless. Ethereal, even. He loved the freckles that scattered across his pale face like stars, and every soft flaxen hair that eventually fell into place after he had shaken it enough. He adored the slight Texan twang that splashed color across his sentences, and how his ears would turn noticeably pink when he was embarrassed. He treasured every fleeting smile that cracked his ironic exterior, and every chuckle he was able to coax from deep in that stubborn Strider chest. He cherished the moments when he would lay quietly in the others gentle arms, inhaling the scent of apples that rested at the base of his neck, comfortable in a warmth that was akin to laundry fresh out of the dryer.

In the early morning, the sun would cast a radiant glow across his sleeping face, free of the ever-present sunglasses that freed him from the taunting glances of others. John would lay awake and wonder why Dave ever thought less of himself. His eyes would trace over his cheek, his chin, his neck, as he thought back to every clever metaphor, every witty simile, and every outrageous hyperbole he'd watched those lips curve to create. He'd recall how the corners of his mouth would teasingly reach upwards as he wore a smirk like no one else could, and remembered the immaculate 'o' shape it had made as he lifted his shades to blink at the layer of glistening white snow that covered the ground on his birthday. He reminisced the times Dave had surprised him with sudden and soft kisses that were given more often than the blond would care to admit.

Laying there, the illusion of a speeding clock was a magician's act he always missed, opting instead to listen to the steady breathing of the one he loved most, nestled closely together beneath vast sheets and comfortable blankets. Minutes had wings, and soon the sleeping figure stirred, eyes fluttering open and squinting at the parted curtains that leaked light into the familiar room. His ruby irises were like limpid mirrors as they locked with Johns, the scarlet color filling him to the core with a fuzzy warmth that only Dave could ever deliver so effectively. His eyes would smile when his mouth refused to, and it was just as powerful as when he showed those charming dimples, only painted a deep crimson. He was perfect, and that was an incredible, extraordinary, astounding understatement.


Well there it is, my first Homestuck fanfiction. Sorry for the shortness or crappyness, I wrote it at one of the more ungodly hours of the day.

Homestuck belongs to Andrew Hussie

-TheLumpyNinja