a/n: i started writing a toumaki fic how it turned into johndave idek
disclaimer: i don't own homestuck or anything related to it i just really like it
Somewhere in the universe, two boys sit next to each other, not too close for it to be uncomfortable, but not so far away that they couldn't feel the others presence directly next to them.
In said universe, this event occurred, but also, it did not. It was the outcome of both boys' that were sitting next to the other's choices, that may not have been the right ones at the time, but the wrong ones that lead them to an outcome they may have preferred.
The boy sitting on the left's name is John. He is wearing an outfit that looks good on him, but not right. The right outfit would be bright blue robes and yellow shoes, but instead he is in a turquoise and black suit, with regular black shoes. He can sense something off, as they both look into the empty void in front of them, trying to make out the end of their timeline, the shell of their bubble and the thousand others that surround them.
The boy on the right is called Dave. He is also not in the outfit he should be, but is in something that he had been in. He, like John, is in a suit, only his black with a bright red tie, rather than deep red robes and a thick cape. The feeling in his gut as he looks out is part wonder, part terror.
They are both older than they were when they met, but still too young to be having the conversation that they are about to have.
In this timeline, a few wrong decisions, and a few right ones, had lead the kids to a null game that required a restart. The wrong decisions, however, had led the kids to never reach their god tier. They hadn't realized what it had meant at the time, but after a warning from several trolls, the prospect of dying and being completely forgotten about in this specific timeline was worrying to them.
The right ones, however, had lead the boys to be where they were now, not too close nor too far from the other, with impending death and erasure from the universe probing at their minds; but try as they might, all that was really running through their minds was the other.
John's eyes flick over to Dave for a fraction of a second, and thinks the gesture went unnoticed. Dave doesn't know what the gesture meant, so he carries on looking ahead, although it's getting even harder to focus on death when he is next to him.
A breath is inhaled on the left side and Dave squints slightly, not that it could be seen behind his shades, training his eyes on a singular spot in the deep black expanse of the end of their timeline.
Tanned fingers shuffle a centimeter closer to thin, pale ones.
Dave is reminded of the time a crow came to his window and he tried to feed it, only he was so nervous it was going to bite him he kept his hand just out of reach.
Eventually, the bird flew off.
He had a feeling this moment was like the crow.
Swallowing to find his throat bone dry and tight, he let his hand slide just a bit closer to John's, so their fingertips weren't touching, but could be, just like how they were sitting, untouching, but could be.
Johns reaction is more noticeable than Dave's, but then, everything John does it more noticeable than Dave.
Once blue but now empty white eyes linger on him for a bit longer now, he lets the tops of his splayed fingers rest against the bony joint of his own.
Dave is sure that he may pass out, from fear or happiness or shock or something, because his heart is beating wildly and unevenly and he can't control it. He bites his lip so hard blood may be drawn, inhales heavily, and slides his fingers in underneath John's, linking them.
The image of the crow looking up at Dave expectantly when he held the bread out just in front of its beak flashes through his mind.
John clears his throat and Dave flinches.
Somewhere far behind them, not on the edge of their plane of existence, Rose draws her knitting needles and prepares herself for the scratch, because its obvious Dave is too preoccupied with other matters to do it himself. She isn't bothered though, because she is happy for her brother, even if they are all about to die; and also knows its better this way because she will do a better job than him, if there is a way to scratch a record better than someone else.
"I've always loved you, you know," John says quietly, and its probably the first time Dave has ever heard him say something quiet. "Even when we were kids and I thought you were so cool and wondered why you spoke to me, and even more so when I grew up and realized you were a massive loser."
Dave flicks his eyes over to his best friend and notices tears tracing their way down his matured face.
Dave squeezes the fingers in between the gaps of his own. "I'm not a loser," he replies.
John sniffs and gives what he supposes is a laugh. "You are."
It's silent for a moment, but not the awkward and tense silence that usually follows after one proclaims their affections and the other doesn't respond in kind. Dave figures he ought, but he is fairly sure John has known about how he feels about him for a long time, which makes him wonder if there is any point in him saying it too.
He swallows again and says "you know I love you," tightly, hoping his fingers arent clammy and sweaty against John's.
Rose wants to give them more time but Kanaya is telling her its now or never, so she positions herself, needles at the ready, and takes off.
John coughs out another laugh through tears that will not stop flowing. "Yeah, I do. Sorry it took me so long to get back to you on that."
Rose is at the other end of the platform, weapon of choice dug in to the ground, a bright yellow and jagged crack following in her wake.
Dave feels something wet pool at his chin and drip off, and realizes he too is crying. "Better late than never."
The entire world goes white and the last feeling either of the boys have is the others hand in their own.