Wow, what a surprise, I'm writing another davekat fic! Nobody saw that one coming. Despite the fact that one of the major parts of the fic is that Dave is already dead, I'm not going to make this an angsty sad thing. There will (of course) be some sad parts, but for the most part Dave has come to terms with his death and isn't upset about it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I hope I don't make too many mistakes.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you are dead. You died almost a year ago, when you got hit by a drunk driver on your way home from school. Your soul somehow managed to attach itself to your phone, which was a big mistake because you have currently been stuck in the same goddamn Verizon store for months. Nobody buys iPhone threes anymore, not when you could get a five or six, so all you ever did was sit on the table and mess with their customers. Occasionally you got away with drawing, but that was pretty hard to do.
At the moment you were sitting on the counter next to where your phone was. The store was relatively empty, only the two workers and some lady who was asking why Siri wouldn't work on her Samsung phone. The door opened, and the worker who was dealing with the lady hastily excused himself and went to help the short boy who had walked in.
You had seen him before. He had come into the store and stared at your phone for like ten minutes and then left. "How can I help you today, sir?" The worker asked.
"Is—uh, is that phone I was looking at last time still here?"
"Yeah, it's right over here," he brought the boy towards you and your phone. "Do you have the money now?"
"Yeah I do," he pulled out a small, half-destroyed wallet. "Can I buy it now?"
"Course, just give me a second to get it set up."
He nodded, "Thank you."
"No problem."
He sat down in a chair, watching as the worker took your phone and brought it to the counter, opening it up and making sure that it worked and everything. You, however, floated-that was a cool new thing you could do now that you were dead-in front of the boy, staring at him and trying to decide whether he looked cute or pathetic. He was short and sort of...poofy, if that word could be used to describe a person. His hair was fluffy and messy, and a dark black. There were little spots of a nearly white blond near the roots, but not enough to make it look intentional. His eyes were a dark brown, nearly black, and he had intense bags under them. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. His face was very round, and he had long eyelashes that made him look like a girl. He was wearing a giant black sweater that went down to his knees and tight black jeans, making his legs look like short twigs.
He stood up and walked right through you. You were pretty sure that was the worst thing about being dead; when people walked through you it gave you a terrible, cold shuddering feeling. You could tell that the boy felt it too, because he did one of those full body shudders that make people look like they're being possessed. You followed him as he walked up to the counter (apparently the worker dude had called him over, and you hadn't noticed) and took your phone, holding it like it was some kind of precious gem. He thanked the worker and began to walk out.
You had gotten so used to watching people leave and not being able to follow them out that you didn't think to go with him, so when he got past the maximum distance you could be from your phone you actually got yanked forward and ended up being dragged along behind him. You managed to stand up when he stopped to unlock his door. He obviously had no regard for invisible ghosts who couldn't get too far from their old phones.
He stepped inside the small house, looking around cautiously. He shut the door, and then there was a person in front of him. You momentarily wondered if he had come from around the corner or behind the couch.
He looked similar to the boy, though he was taller and thinner. He had the same dark hair, though his looked natural, and his eyes were a brighter brown. He also wore a sweater (this family was insane, it was summer), though his was a bright red, and you were pretty sure he was wearing leggings. He crossed his arms. "Where have you been? It's almost 7:30."
"Chill, Kankri. I was at the store buying...something."
"Buying what?"
"That's none of your fucking business."
"Karkat! What have I said about using that sort of language?"
"That I'm too young to, that it's inappropriate, and I'm pretty sure that you've told me that it's improper for a girl like me to use before too."
He looked appalled. "That was before you told me, Karkat. You know I'd never-"
"Look, I don't want to talk about it right now. Just leave me alone, okay?"
"I don't think-"
"Goodbye, Kankri," he spat out before running up the stairs.
He half ran down the hallway and into a small bedroom. The walls were a light green, and they were covered in drawings and posters of various shows and movies. His bed was pretty boring, besides the fact that he had about seven pillows on it. He had a shelf next to the window, which was filled with books and movies, as well as a few dolls. He also had a desk, and on it a crappy, old Dell laptop. You chose to sit on the desk, next to his laptop. You watched him as he sat down in his uncomfortable-looking desk chair and opened his-your phone.
The first thing he did was text someone a simple "I got a phone finally". Though he typed in all caps for some reason. The person replied with "is it used".
"HOW DID YOU KNOW?"
"I guessed, because I officially know you well enough to do that."
"YOU'VE KNOWN ME SINCE WE WERE FOUR."
"Yes, I know." They then continued, in a different message, "Could you please not type in caps? It's hurting my head."
"Oh, sorry. Force of habit."
"I know."
"Anyway, yeah. Phone."
"Does it have any of the older users stuff on it still?"
"Uh, no I don't think so." He closed the texting app and started looking through your phone. "Oh, there are still some pictures."
"Oh really? What of?"
"They're mostly selfies. Probably of its old owner?" He opened a photo. You smiled fondly at the photo, it was one of your best selfies, you were wearing your favorite hoodie-actually, you were wearing it at that moment. You had been wearing it when you died-when you took it, and all your best photos were taken while you were wearing that hoodie. Actually, he had chosen to open one of the few photos you had ever taken without your shades on, and your hoodie made your eyes look even redder than they already were. He stared at it for an oddly long amount of time, before texting "He looks like a douche."
"You bought an iPhone, right? All iPhone users are douches."
"Hey! I'm an iPhone user now!"
"Oh, I know."
"Don't be a dick, Kanaya."
"Me? Being a dick? Well I never."
"Anyway, while he looks like a douche, he is surprisingly attractive." You felt very accomplished.
"Send me a picture." He sent the one he was looking at earlier, and you felt a pang of anxiety in your chest. Even in death you still didn't like people seeing your eyes. "Oh, my. I hope you weren't hoping to meet him or anything."
"Um, I wasn't, but why?"
"He's dead."
"Oh, shit. How do you know?"
"He was Rose's cousin. She and him were very close, and she's been rather depressed since his death." Another pang of anxiety, mixed in with a sinking sadness. You missed your cousin, a lot. You missed everyone.
"Oh. That really sucks."
"Yes, it does."
"Now I'm gonna feel bad every time I use my phone in front of her."
"For your sake, I suggest we not mention this to her. She doesn't need to know about the whole same phone as her dead cousin part."
"Yeah, okay."
"I have to go, I'll talk to you later."
"Okay. Bye."
"Bye."
He sighed and set his phone down. You hoped you wouldn't have to see Rose, you didn't think you could stand to be around her again. You watched as he plugged the phone in and walked over to his dresser, though you decided to look away when he changed into pajamas; as cute as he was you didn't want to be creepy. He flopped on his bed, pulling the covers over himself and groaning loudly. You hovered above his bed, watching him roll around under the blankets and decided that you would attempt to introduce yourself that morning, which would give you the whole night to decide what to say. You really wished that you could sleep.