Your name is Dave Strider, you are 6 years old and your favorite person is your bro. You love your bro because he is the coolest, he has a cool hat, cool swords that he sometimes lets you touch, but only if you behave. He is really tall and nice, he lets you stay up almost as late as him and play video never win, hes way too cool to lose against you, but its still really great to play against him, and if its cold he always lets you sleep in his bed, so that you wont freeze. You love to wrestle him, you like to believe that one day you will be as awesome as he is, and one day you will be as tall and skilled as him.
You are 10 years old, its fall and the air is cold, orange and brown leaves color the pale, gray pavement outside your school, around you are children being picked up by their parents, hauling in their heavy backpacks into shiny cars, met by smiling mothers or fathers who then proceed to buckle them up safely, asking them about their day. You watch them behind the darkness of your shades, every single movement, listen to every word they exchange, your heart beats at the same pace as the feet surrounding you shuffle against the ground, and you slowly turn your head, making sure to catch and register everything around you. You notice how some of the younger kids cling to their mothers or fathers hands, glancing up at them then and then as if to learn the ways of the other, even though they aren't really paying attention to the small kid watching them, and you secretly make small notes in the back of your brain.
A loud honk wakes you up and forces you into reality, and you spin around to stare into a pair of pointy, black shades, placed upon a familiar face which belongs to a familiar man, who just so happens to be sitting in a very much familiar truck waving. He is smiling, and you begin to walk towards him, red sneakers scraping against the wet gravel as you drag you feet. Its not that you don't want to go home with Bro, you just want him to believe that. You cant explain that feeling, but if you had to make a guess you suppose its because you don't want him to know that he is your biggest idol, at least not in public, there is a difference between worshiping his every step at home and openly showing society what a pathetic little kid you are. Its better off as a secret, its not like he needs to know really either, unless he does know.
You shrug off all these thoughts as you open the door and get into the car, and then he ruffles your hair and asks you about your day and everything is okay again, the gray in the world suddenly melts away and is replaced by your bright smile as you return his gesture by leaning away and laughing.
He chuckles and revs up the engine, and you love the sound of his silent laughter mixed with the rough sound of his old truck starting up, you love how he always hits the gas immediately, not caring about speed limits or anything, just driving off, and how he turns on the radio without a bother in the world.
This is Bro, and he is the coolest person in the world, but you are pretty sure he knows this already himself. Even though he is the one person you look up to the most, you don't want anybody to know, because its childish to feel the way you do.
Your name is Dave, today is your 13'th birthday, and you've been on your computer talking to your friends all day, Bro hasn't been around, he's never around that much and you hardly ever see him anymore. This is something you've gotten used to, its not like you sit around and wait for him to do something awesome and out of this universe, him just existing is pretty great. But its not like you are obsessed with him either or anything, absolutely not, yo are way too ironic and chill to be occupying your mind with useless bullshit such as being obsessed with your Bro, and you have never been either. Nope, no way. You even got a pair of own shades from John, that aren't as silly and pointy as the ones Bro gave you for some reason, you didn't wear those pointy shades because you wanted to be like Bro, they just proved that you were born ironic.
Your eyes drift from your computer over to the small clock on your wall, it is already 5 PM, and your head is starting to hurt from staring at the bright screen all day. With this you turn it off and slide away from your desk, crossing your arms over your chest and spacing out a bit. Your room is beginning to get dark, the sunset outside is painting your walls in a deep red and orange color, and the shadows are stretched out. Its cold, considering its December, but you can still sort of feel the warmth of the sun over your body. And it somehow feels reassuring..
You catch yourself wishing that Bro was here, after all, it is your birthday, but as soon as you realize where your brain is taking you, you immediately snap out of it and get off the chair, standing up a little too fast. Your head spins and you stumble backwards before catching yourself and straightening up, with a frown you decide to go eat something and you make your way to the kitchen,
The floor in the hallway is cold against your feet, and for some reason you are tip toeing, making sure to be as quiet as possible. Just as you reach the fridge, you can hear him, shuffling through the hallway, and as you reach and grab the milk you can hear the sound of him kicking off his shoes and walking into the kitchen as well.
You close the fridge and place the milk on the isle, without so much as glancing towards him, but you can hear each creek in the floor as he walks across it and the way the chair squeaks when he sits down on it a bit too hard. You continue ignoring him and take out cereal and a bowl and spoon.
The nasty, colorful pieces sugar-coated cereal that he insists on buying tastes like shit, but you still fill the bowl up to the edge and then drown it in milk, feeling the way Bro's eyes watch your every move as you then lean up against the fridge and place a spoonful of the nasty shit in your mouth.
Its completely, utterly silent, except for the sound of your chewing and Bro's barely audible breathing, other than that it is really quiet. You wish he would say something, you always get nervous during moments of silence like this, although you refuse to show it. But he continues to watch you from behind his shades, they hide so much, you can never tell what he's thinking because of them, they keep you from seeing through him, from figuring out this mastermind, and maybe that's the point of it all, or maybe he feels safer with them on. The only reason you've worn shades is because... Lets not go in on that topic again.
You shift uncomfortably against the coldness behind you and take another spoonful. Its like this, between the two of you, whenever he does show up, its just like a contest, about who can remain quiet and keep their pokerface the longest. Honestly, its kindof annoying, and you are about to make a snarky remark about him staring at you eating when he suddenly straightens up in his chair and speaks.
"Where'd you get those shades?"
You are shocked, he usually never gives up just like that, and he doesn't sound as cool and composed as he usually does. Your eyebrow jerks up and you are unable to register his words.
"Dave"
"What?" you nearly choke on your cereal as you shove one more spoonful into your already full mouth and you start coughing violently, putting down your bowl and reaching for a glass of water, you can feel his stare burning into your back.
After chugging down several cups of water and coughing up half of the cereal you ate, you turn around, wipe your mouth and reply, knowing that he doesn't like having to repeat himself.
"John sent them to me", you raise both eyebrows as if to emphasize what you just said, "its my birthday today".
He doesn't even move, and you regret mentioning anything. After a moment of staring, he finally gets up, grunts and disappears into his room, probably for the night.
You sigh and decide to follow his example, you can always work on a comic or something, maybe take some pictures of the view from your window...
Its a Friday, last week was your 15'th birthday, and you are sitting on the couch ironically watching iCarly, actually you aren't really watching it, you are drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for Bro to come home so you can strife. This is how all your weekends start, because he is never around, its like he's forgotten that he lives here and basically only comes here fight you, shower, eat pizza and sleep. You don't know what he does, but you are guessing he has a job of some sort, something way too ironically cool for you to even know about.
You snort and turn the tv off, its beginning to peeve you off, you want him to come home, so you can be around him and strife with him, anything, you just need him to be around more often, or at least interact with you when he is, it sucks to be so alone. You go to school alone, you don't really hang out with anybody at school because everybody is either too shy to talk to you or they hate you for being a sarcastic asshole, and you come home to an empty house everyday, or almost empty. There's always lil' Cal, but he's creepy as fuck, and you are certain that it has a life of its own, the freaky little puppet seems to navigate through the apartment just as freely as you do, and it terrifies you.
You roll off the couch. Its already getting late, Bro's not home, you are hungry and now you're just kind of extremely pissed. With that you stomp down the hallway, kick aside some smuppets and fling open the door to your room, you slide your jeans off a bit too rough and the zipper scrapes against your thigh, with a hiss you toss them into a corner and flop down on the bed.
Almost right away you regret doing so, it's freezing cold, but you are too tired to get up and put something on. Life is pretty shitty. Okay life isn't that shitty, but some things could always be better, you know, like this.
You don't know exactly when you fell asleep, but when you hear someone in the hallway your eyes go wide open, and you force yourself to sit up, because if its Bro, you intend on scolding him, maybe calling him out for being a shitty guardian and not feeding you, staying out way too late, he cant even use the excuse that its a weekend since he always comes home late and...
Wow, you sound like a pissy mother about to rat out her son..
Bro is not your son, and you are not his mother. But maybe you should... You know, say hi, or some stupid shit.
You swing your legs down over the edge, ignore the sting of cold against your naked legs as you tip toe over to your door, place a freckled hand on the doorknob and slowly open it. And there he is, hair messy, shades on (ofcourse?), wearing bright orange boxers and a black wifebeater. You are about to say something when you realize your shades are not where they should be, as the seemingly colder air in the hallway hits your face, and you are unable to move.
Your eyes flicker between him and the bed behind you where they lay, and you contemplate on shutting the door right in his face and hiding under the blanket, but that would diminish your coolkid facade, yet you start to believe that it is already gone as heat starts rising to your cheeks.
"Sup, lil dude".
You forget why you are there in the first place and end up just glaring at him, face blazing red and fists clenched by your side.
"Nice blush", he says and lifts an eyebrow, "It matches your eyes".
Your jaw drops and you stare at him in shock, he just commented on your eyes, asshole, that's it, you don't care how cool he thinks he is, that was a dick move. You desperately try to regain your pokerface, but you already know its too late.
"Nice boxers, dickface", you spit, "they match your eyes".
He looks surprised, as if he didn't expect you to have a voice about the matter and he frowns.
"Jeez kid, chill, i was just messing with you, you know i don't mean it", he reaches out to ruffle your hair but you take a step back, avoiding his touch, and he freezes in the middle of the movement.
The pointy shades cant hide his stare anymore, you can feel him staring into your soul, because you have never reacted this way before, you have never pulled away like this, or snapped back at him in such a fashion as just now, never. This is the first time that you've ever been seriously upset with him, and for no real reason, its not like you had a bad day, its Friday for gods sake, Friday's are always awesome, so then why are you so angry with him? Why does it feel like you are about to explode, or scream, why do you feel like strangling him? Don't you love him? And when you think about it, it's not like he is coldhearted ot anything, you have several memories of him treating you like the most important thing in the world, but then why do you sometimes feel like he doesn't? This asshole raised you, he obviously fed you, since you are alive, and he's paid for you, he still does, he has taught you everything you know...
But why is it not enough?
"Dave.."
You are yanked into reality and you look up at him to realize that he has removed his shades as well, not that it really helps, it just makes it seem like he's trying to kiss up after realizing that he's been neglecting you, which, to be honest, he hasn't.
He has been there for you since your parents died, in a incident that shouldn't have ever taken place. Your parents were killed in a robbery, and when nobody else was willing, he was there to take care of the both of you, give up school, his future, just to take care of a little shit like you. And here you are, yelling at him for all the things you put him through.
"Dave, you're startin' to freak me out here, answer me". And he sounded sincerely worried as he grabbed your shoulders and shook you lightly.
You were about to shout "lay off me", but when your mouth opened, not a single word came out and you just stared up at him, speechless. His hands felts heavy and warm on your shoulders as you swallowed. And suddenly, things began to make sense, you began to understand what was going on, and your eyes widened with disbelief.
The sudden urge to wrap your arms around him became overwhelming and you started shaking violently where you stood, trying to force away the disturbing bunch of thoughts that were crowding your head. You flinched and pushed his hand away, then turned around and slammed the door behind you, locking it just in case, before you then slid down the cold wood and slumped against it on the floor.
You had always looked up to him, you had always respected him, for screaming out loud he was Bro, and he was the coolest person you knew. But you had never thought that there was something else behind it all, you had never thought that you would want it to be anything other than that. An icy spark shot up your spine at the thought of how you had just embarrassed yourself in front of the one person you wanted to think you were cool. Because it was true, no matter how much you told yourself that you didn't care what he thought of you, you knew that you did, but, in a entirely different way.