Alright, so I'm reuploading this stuff but I'm really not rereading the first three chapters of my story. Proofreading is something I'm horrendously bad with, and while I'll probably rewrite my third chapter, these first two are going to stand as they are. It's been a really long time since I've even touched this fanfiction, and as a writer I feel like my interests/ships/skills have grown. I'm still a shit Homestuck, though, and despite school I'm going to make a larger effort to begin updating this again.
Chapter 1
Your name is John Egbert. Today, it just so happens that it's your birthda- no, no, that's not right. Your name isn't John Egbert at all! What the hell are you going on about, anyway? Concentrate on jogging, if you trip over and crack your shades on a rock or something Bro will have your ass- and he won't hesitate to beat it into the next generation of Star Trek. Awful jokes that are always cleverly twisted into the knots of your internal dialogue set aside for the moment; your name is Dave Strider. You are, at this very moment, jogging along the dampened, pleasantly cool asphalt road that runs through the tiny town of No-where-ville, Texas. Not the actual name of the town, but it might as well be. A 'course, it's the usual small town type of back country, with all the gossiping elderly and the church goers. No one says much to you as you get on your way, just polite hellos and smiles, the occasional wave. You'd think that these closed minded people would get over themselves, especially considering you've been doing this job since you were 14 when Bro decided you were getting too old to sit around any longer. Now you were 17, and you'd long gotten used to not being a lazy.
Tugging on the straps of the large flower carrier that hung from your shoulders like a backpack, you decided that you still didn't give a non-ironic crap at the occasional glares that you got as you made your daily stops. Going by the businesses that had ordered flowers, dropping off the flowers that were nestled in the carrier, then winding your way through the streets and pass the quaint (you liked to call them squat and ugly, but 'quaint' was what someone appreciating the town from the outside would say) little houses that lined the roads, many of their wind sills proudly displaying flowers as well, to reach your next destination, that was what the plan should have looked like. You didn't care for the more suburban part of your town one bit, because more of the Bible thumpers lived in the area. Oddly enough, it tended to be the younger kids that were raised with the word of the Lord shoved forcibly down their throat, opposed to the elderly folks, that really gave you hell about you Bro's preferences.
Your brother was gayer than Maria after Tony promised to meet up with her, only this wasn't a straight brand of gay. (Sue a guy for liking West Side Story.) He was a flamboyant homosexual who didn't have a qualm with spitting the fact in your face, and then beating you until you resemble the colors of the rainbow, a little top heavy on the red, if you get a bug up your nose to insult him. Now that it was getting warmer, and by warmer, you mean smoldering heat that crushes you- 'cause Texas doesn't get much luck with weather, even in the Winter department- people that have problems to take up with Bro become more brash about it, strutting right into the Flower Shop he owns like it ain't nobodies business. Bro was gay as a circle, but that didn't mean that he didn't know how to whoop someone into line. Even the church left a polite little message asking that he and his adoptive brother don't come down to church, seeing as many people felt 'uncomfortable with his advances on the towns folk.' Irony was flying off that letter hotter than the sparks of hot metal that flew off the tip of Bro's welding tools while he was working on something or another out in his little shed behind the shop. You doubt your brother has ever, in his entire life, attempt to go to church. He'd rather drive for the hour and a half drive that it took to get to the next largest city, and find a prayer house there, although you weren't under the impression he had a religion. You'd only attended the church twice, courtesy of your best friend's family.
Speaking 'a your best friend, that's the reason you haul your ass down the long way on your rout, heavy flowers strapped to your back, getting the occasional look from the people living in the town, for multiple reasons (although you privately think some of them are just jealous for your stunning legs, which you display flagrantly when you go running in comfortably small shorts.) You were winding through the streets, trying to beat the sun, which was just peeking over the tree line, waiting to take away that nice morning cool before you could finish your jobs and try to make your way back home for a weekend relaxation before dying 'a overheating. Where were you going if you had no business in these parts?
Well, you were running to John Egbert's house, although the both of you knew you weren't going to say anything, you two weren't even going to speak. Still, as you saw the light blue porch come into view, you slowed down, and there he sat, waiting there on that rickety, wicker, two person swing, like he always did when you were making runs. Slowing down just enough to not be a fleeting image, you stretched your legs a bit, letting your rear jutt out in a way that gave him a clear view, the smallest smirk finding its way to your lips. Stopping completely, oh, and you had his attention now, you pulled out a bottle of water, screwing off the cap and taking a sip, a small trickle of sweat working its way down your face as the sun slowly climbed into the sky. It was just buying time, letting him take more of you in. Your sunglasses hid your eyes, so his own shockingly blue pair couldn't tell if you were returning the look, and you knew that his vision was glued to you, over the small distance of his yard. It was funny, how you knew that same, slightly eager, small intake of breath he'd take as you stretched your arms up, stretching your slightly sweat dampened shirt across your slightly thin, muscle toned chest, and really, it was the cutest damn gasp if you could hear it close enough. You couldn't hear it, really, you weren't even checking to see if he did the endearing little action, but it was an inevitably, a perk of knowing just enough about him that you would bet money on the matter that he did.
He looked a little tousled, like he might've been sleeping out there, because his glasses were just slipped off the bridge of his lightly freckled nose (you only knew they were there because you'd tried counting them once while he slept, he was terribly insecure although he knew they were almost invisible), and his black hair stood up in a disarray that was a little more messy than usual. His full length Ghostbusters pajama pants were rolled up a bit, revealing his thin legs just up to his mid-calves, and were paired with a black t-shirt that was a little ridden up, showing just a thin line of skin that ran between the two articles of clothing. The small section of skin soon disappeared under the cloth as he literally leaned forward, his fingers closing around the edge of the chair, almost like he was expecting something. He earned a small groan from the old swing, and for a second he looked up at the structure, like he expected it to snap. His rosy, perfect lips were tucked under his slight overbite, the buck teeth he had not pronounced or unattractive at all, but simply there, gnawing on his lip in a way that made you envious. A playful chuckle slipped out of you, before you turned, prepared to leave again.
You both knew that this was a bad thing, that him watching you that playful, slightly innocent look that definitely told stories of its own, and you, slowly taking in his image, eating away at it- it wore down on both your resolves, made you want to open the low riding white picket fence that surrounded his house and completely tear away any of the distance between you two. It was mutual feeling too, because he would just as quickly meet you out on the road, shamelessly. So, per every morning that you saw your own personal adonis, there had to be an end to the meetings, and it ended by you finally starting to get a move on, just as the top of the houses on the block were graced by the sun's heat.
Your name is Dave Strider, and despite the religious Egbert household, the high school full of kids eager to single out anyone they could, and a town that probably joined in with the whole burn the gays at the stake thing back in the day, you were still and would probably always be a total homo for your best friend, the younger of the two male Egberts. And he was too.