Dave Strider walks down the school hall to get his composition book that he had forgot in his science class when they were released for the lunch break. Once he has retrieved his book, which was mostly filled with doodles rather than actual science notes, he began to make his way back to the cafeteria but stops suddenly at the sound of music.
The song is faint and sounds as though it is far off. In a moment of curiosity, the blonde follows the sound of what seems to be a lullaby down the hall. The steps of his red converse on the concrete floors is the only disruption of the gentle tune. The relaxing sound guides him to the last door on the left of the hall, which he recognizes as the music room.
The boy glances around the corridor momentarily before peering in to the crack of the door that has been left slightly ajar.
There is a boy that appears to be about the same age as Dave in the room, sitting at an old wooden studio piano. His face cannot be seen from the angle that Dave is at, but he wears a blue shirt and has black hair. Dave watches the boy in the room for a moment, eyes trailing over what he can see of the boy's hands and back and listening to the music that streams from the room.
The dark haired boy sits on the piano bench, playing a slow and melodious song. He plays the piano with his whole body, swaying with the rises and falls of pitches and lifting himself higher with crescendos. His arms move almost as if he is dancing as his hands slide across the ivory keys, pressing into the chords and plucking out melodies. The lowest end of the piece rolls out a slow and steady arpeggio of chord progressions while the highest is gliding smoothly over the rest of the refrain.
Somewhere in Dave's mind he wants to know who this mysterious person is. His mind is so focused on the sonata and the person playing it that he doesn't notice when he begins to lean on the door to the room. By the time that he realizes he is falling, it's too late.
The boy at the piano straightens up suddenly in shock and turns in his seat to look at the blonde haired boy who is now kneeling on the ground. He stares with bright blue eyes in surprise but says nothing.
Dave looks up at the other boy, straightening his sunglasses quickly as he stands up, trying to recover his dignity from the fall. "Hey," he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black skinny jeans and offers the stranger a slight nod.
The blue eyed teen just stares Dave in wonder for a moment before lifting his hand and waving slightly as he pushes up a friendly buck-toothed smile.
The blonde can't help but notice how cute, not to mention how talented, this boy is and even though he doesn't know anything about him yet, he feels as though he likes him already. A slight blush works its way across Dave's freckled face. "Um... So," he shifts slightly, not really paying attention to the lack of a verbal response, "What're you doing down here alone?"
John opens his mouth for a minute and lifts his hands as if he was about to make a gesture while speaking. He then drops his hands to his lap and bites at his lip, seeming to think something over before pointing to an empty cafeteria tray on the floor to his right.
Dave nods slightly in understanding. "You ate down here?" he asks kindly then pauses for a moment to allow the other a chance to answer. After not receiving a reply, Dave walks to the teacher's desk, about ten feet to the left of the piano. He leans against it and stares at the blue eyed teen. "I mean that's okay and all," he says a bit anxiously before adding on, "Yeah, I just came down here to get my comp." He holds up the red and black composition book, hoping to start a conversation.
The dark haired teen turns to face him better with a bright smile and joyful wide eyes behind a pair of oversized glasses.
Dave is becoming a bit unnerved by the silent teen, and is starting to ramble, "It's got some pretty awesome shitty doodles in it. I get a little side tracked when I take notes... But I mean, what can I say? I'm a fucking artist. I live to make shitty drawings. Literally, they're the worst, but that's what makes them genius, ya know?"
The other boy's shoulders shake slightly in silent laughter, but still he says nothing to the blonde.
"Well," Dave says and then glances around the room before looking back at the other, "I know you probably get art... That was some awesome piano playing shit you were doing." The room was beginning to become hot and stuffy from the building tension. Dave finally asks, "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?"
Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he is regretting having even thought them.
The dark haired boy frowns at the comment and immediately lifts his hands and begins moving them hurriedly in front of him in what Dave quickly recognizes as sign language.
Dave feels his stomach drop and he gapes at John in horror, feeling mortified at what he had just said. One word races through his head over and over again in big, bold font: 'shit.'
"Goddammit man," Dave hurries out quickly, "I'm really sorry. I didn't know!" His face is flushed a bright shade of red in embarrassment as he quickly drops his cool composure.
The other boy slowly stops moving his hands and drops them back into his lap. Then he smiles softly at Dave and shrugs a bit unsurely as if to say he didn't mind.
The freckled boy sighs and runs a hair through his fair hair, trying to regain his cool before talking again, "Let me just... Start over, alright?" He takes a deep breath before glancing around the room, seeming to be considering the possibilities for something important. He pushes off of where he leans against the teacher's desk and makes his way to the chalk board. His eyes zone in on a piece of bright blue chalk that sits on the easel of the board. He picks up the chalk and turns to say, "My name's Dave," as he tosses the piece of chalk gently to the other kid.
The teenager with glasses fumbles slightly with the piece of chalk, barely managing to catch it. He then blinks up at Dave in confusion from his place on the bench. Suddenly, his eyes light up in understanding and he stands up, making his way toward the board. Then, in bold blue letters, he writes out a single word: "John."
This was a request for Mute!John x Dave by Reader7289 on tumblr.
In case anyone was curious about the title, I was listening to Kiss the Rain by Yiruma on repeat while writing this and I couldn't think of a title.
My tumblr is writingonprospit if anyone wants to follow and maybe request a drabble.