The small town of Maybury is quiet, and everyone thinks its perfect.

But not to me.

I hate the perfect, almost identical houses, I hate the year-around-green grass, I hate how people always act so happy-go-lucky, and most of all I hate that no one can say "No" without "thank you" following behind it.

My name is Dave Strider, and I am in need of some sort of excitement in my 18 year-old life.

I currently sit on the balcony next to my bedroom, looking out to the field across from me and listening to mixes I made sometime last night.

I close my eyes for a second and sigh. I hate these new mixes. I push the headphones off of my head and onto my neck, sighing again. Why is it that every time I make mixes that I like at the time turn out to be complete and utter shit? Ugh.

A yelping...Shout type noise reaches my ears and I open my eyes. I see a short kid being beat up by three guys that look about my height. Now, I'm many things: A dick, a hypocrite, a player- but one thing I am not? Someone that lets some kid get beat up when I can very well help him out.

I dash out of my messy room and into the hall where I throw on my sneakers. Once I get to the front door, I toss on my shades and dash across the street to the bright green field that lay opposite of my house.

The kid shouts something along the lines of "Leave me alone! I didn't do anything to you!" and gets punched straight in the jaw. He makes this squeal-y, yelp noise and I lose my shit. You do not punch someone in the jaw for no reason. "Hey!" I shout, feeling quite proud of my deeper voice that I almost forgot I had. "Get your jock asses off that guy before I beat the living shit out of you."

I step closer to the guy about to trow another punch at the guy on the ground. "You little-" "Shut the fuck up. You don't punch someone while they're down, that going double in this case, since he obviously doesn't want to fucking fight. So, if he doesn't want to, allow me to kick your asses."

They all turn to me and back off the guy on the ground who is clutching his nose. The tallest guy throws a punch, so I just flash-step to the side and punch him in the temple. I kick the second guy coming at me in the nuts, and punch him in the stomach to top it off. The third guy just runs. "Wise choice." I mumble, walking to the guy on the ground.

The first thing I notice about him is his eyes - that sounds gay but holy shit they're like an unreal shade of bright blue. His hair is kinda tossed around his head, and it's short, black and messy. It looks like he's looking for his glasses in the tall grass, but I step closer to him and he backs up slightly.

He's still on the ground, and he's still clutching his nose. He looks scared of me, and it makes me kind of sad. "Hey," I say quietly, like I don't want to scare him. Which I don't. "Don't worry about it, I'm here to help, bro. Show me your nose."

I bend down in front of him. He looks at me awhile before speaking in a soft, high voice saying, "I can't see anything, I need my glasses." His voice is so much softer then I thought it'd be, and it's almost nice. "Yeah, okay. I'll find your glasses, just show my your nose. It might be broken." My voice is just a little louder now.

"...Okay." He lets go of his bloody nose, and I can see him cringe. I examine his noes for a bit, turning his head when needed. I'm no fucking doctor, but when I was younger I strifed with Bro enough times to know when something is broken. "You're fine. It's just bleeding a bit. You should probably rest for awhile dude. You got his pretty hard." I fail to keep a bit of my Texan accent out of my voice and the word "probably" comes out as "prolly".

I don't know why I'm being so caring for this guy I just met, but I really can't help it. He just gives off this feel of being a little kid and it makes me want to fix him up ugh. "...But I live like four blocks away.." He says, sounding a bit disappointed. "Well then come over to my place- it's like right across the street. I'll get you fixed up and send you home." He looks up at me quickly.

"But I only just met you."

"And I only just saved your ass."

"You could be anyone."

"But I'm not."

"You could want to kill me, how would I know?"

"You can't. But I just beat up three punks to keep you from getting your shit wreaked, you think I went through all that trouble to kill you in the end?"

"Hmm...Okay fine. But I have to know your name."

"Dave Strider. You?"

"John Egbert."

I smirk, feeling pleased with the exchange. "Okay, lets find your glasses Egbert." We spend the next 15 minutes trying to find his fucking glasses.

They're huge, I have no idea how we didn't find them. They have thick glass and big black frames. They sit on his nose snugly, looking like they were built for his face.

"Okay then Egbert, lets go get all that blood off of your face." I say, standing up and offering him a hand. He takes it and I pull him off the grass, then starting to walk across the street.

Once we get to my house, I lead him to the kitchen and start to wash dried blood off of his face with a wet washcloth. "So what was the deal with those dickheads?" I ask, throwing the washcloth into the sink and getting ice for him. "I dunno. I get bullied a lot, I guess." He said, shrugging. "That's it? They had no reason for punching you in the fucking face?" I ask, almost in anger. "Yeah."

"Well do you know their names?"

"Why?"

"Because I really fucking hate it when dicks pick their fights with people they know they can beat, and I'm not gonna fucking stand for it."

"You don't have to do that-"

"Yeah I do."

"And why is that?"

"Because I made an investment when I decided to save you."