There was not any way around it. The house was utterly empty, sans for one. A man in his early twenties silently sitting at the freshly abandoned piano. Soft golden hair was tousled horribly, and his rather large hand kept on stroking a few keys. He seemed to be trying to play something, but it all simply sounded wrong. Almost horrible, in fact. But there was emotion in it, nonetheless, very strong emotion in it. And he was not getting up for anything.
His other hand, the one not occupied by ivories, was propped up on the raised wood on the side of the instrument. His forehead was pressed to an open hand, which fingers were tangled up in his locks. It was so hard to tell if his eyes were open, closed, or anything. Dark tinted shades hid it all. Everything there was to hide.
Dave only had one thing on his mind. One person would ever be, and always was. John Egbert. This was his piano, and his house. But not a scene foreign to Dave. He practically lived here with that boy. Boy, yes that was what John always was. Not in a derogatory way, of course, but in a more endearing. John was always so sweet and kind, and always had an innocents to him. A sweet innocents Dave tended to love. Not in an ironic way, either.
A droplet fell onto the keys which he stroked. And then a few more. He stopped playing momentarily to touch his wet face. This also was something not entirely new. These droplets have been coming and going quite frequently lately. But in all honesty, Dave was never caring of this 'problem'. He used to call it a problem, anyway. Now he sees it as a normal, everyday thing.
Wiping off his face slowly, his hand came down again to play the same very few notes. It was even wrong octave and tempo. Not that he cared about that, either. This piano was quite vital for him right now. And he could swear, if asked, that this was his lifeline for the rest of his natural existence. He said the same thing about John, too.
He did not know he was being watched, either. By another blonde, though female. She was wearing a very beautiful black dress that her girlfriend made her. But her radiance and beauty was hidden by the aura she gave off—the very same emotion that was played out in those keys.
"Dave," Her hand touched the other's shoulder after she glided over almost silently, "perhaps I should take you home, now." Rose offered in a very quiet voice. She did not receive and answer, either. She knew before that even Dirk, Dave's brother, came in to talk to Dave. But the younger Strider never replied to him. He never stopped playing the same few, sour notes. "Dave..?" she called again quietly, and was getting the exact same treatment as Dirk. "Dave, please…you cannot stay here all night." She mumbled gently, a hand coming up to touch the other's head lightly, trying to shake him from this somewhat hypnotic trance he was in. But Rose could never blame him for this.
It was rather abrupt, being honest, when the music stopped. It was also sudden when tears fell from Dave's face freely. They were silent tears, but tears falling nonetheless. He did say something, but it was so quiet and cracked that Rose—straining to hear—alas could not make out what the other had said. "You may stay the night at my home, if you would like." She offered suddenly, touching his shoulder to console the other in any way she possibly could. More silence just filled the air.
There was absolutely no way Dave would leave that Piano. A fire could break out, he could be on the verge of death himself, and he would simply not move. Perhaps, that was what he wanted. Or something else. It was almost too hard to tell what he wanted. Almost. For people who knew him, or just saw him at a previous date, they would know exactly what this broken soul wanted. How could he not want it? The most important anything in his life, was violently snatched from him.
"Dave…you will feel better if you come home with me." Both of them knew that was an utter lie though. There was nothing in this world that would make Dave feel better now—save for the piano, and this home.
"I'm fine. Right here." He wanted that to come out so much stronger than it actually did. But it did not in the least bit. In fact it made him sound rather pathetic, if anything. He would take his life, but not for the fact that he sounded weak. That was something not factored into anything anymore. "Right here…I'm fine."
Rose frowned a little bit more at the four words Dave said. They were so hushed and broken; it made her feel like crying. All over again, sobbing. She felt she cried more in the past three days than when she did when she was a mere child. With perfect reason, naturally, but seeing Dave cry was such a rare sight. Of course, excluding the past three days as well.
"You are not. You will get sick—"
"So what." The response was so sudden; it seemed to shock the woman next to him. Another silence fell upon them. This one felt more awkward to Rose, than just general quietness. The only thing that broke the silence, though, was Dave's hand dipping back down to start playing those sour notes again.
"He wanted you to keep this," Rose started up after a while, touching the lovely, beautiful grand piano that was so old, worn in, but taken care of. "He knew how you loved it when he played." Dave knew for sure that these were not John's words but somehow, they seemed to fit with that eager boy. It just sounded like something exactly like he would say.
"He knew how much I loved him." Those notes kept on playing through the silence that stretched itself out once more. Both fell into a loss of words at that. That deep abyss seemed to only echo the horrible sound those ivories produced for Dave. But to both the blondes, that sound was near bliss. But at the same time, it sounded so horrible and agonizing. Especially to Dave, who was practically dying with each note he tried to play.
"Dave, let us go home." She said again. It was hurting her to be in this house, as well as seeing Dave like this. It was horrible, actually. "You may come back tomorrow." She offered, "…perhaps you should sleep, or at the very least rest. You have been at this piano for hours."
"I don't care." His voice was still cracked and quiet. There was no way he was leaving this piano tonight. "It's the only thing I have left right now." They all missed John, but perhaps Dave was affected tenfold. They loved each other since middle school, even if they did not become lovers until their High school careers. John was the only one ever to make Dave truly smile. John was the first one in years—besides Dirk naturally—to have seen Dave without his glasses. The blonde male felt so secure around John, happy and relaxed even. He swore nothing could rip them away from each other. 'Till death do us part' came sooner than Dave ever thought it would.
John's funeral was earlier that day. His death was so abrupt that Dave was not even properly digesting it. He was still expecting—hoping—that John would walk into the room and laugh. Then teach him how to play this music correctly. Perhaps that was what Dave was wanting or waiting for. For this not to be an actual reality, but perhaps a dream or a prank gone well too far.
Silence over took the entire house again. Not even the crude playing of the piano could shake it up and break it. It had stopped some time ago when Dave lost himself in memory of his John. "I'm not leaving, Rose." He said suddenly, "I'm not leaving right here. Ever." Both of them realized how irrational that statement was, but Rose understood, at least slightly. But she was feeling such an opposite emotion—she wanted to get out of this house as quickly as she could. She could not handle the depression that laid itself heavily from being in John's home.
Those disgusting notes started to hammer out again. But this time, at the very least, it was in the correct octave. Dave corrected himself, if just a little. But by that point, it could be heard what Dave was attempting to play. Ragtime, of all things. It was John's favoured pieces to play, with their whimsical upbeat tempo and the sheer excitement that came in the early nineteen-hundreds. Where everything was absolutely new and constantly changing.
"Dave, let me take you home," She insisted again, "you aren't well."
"No shit, Sherlock." He knew there was something wrong with him. But it was completely and utterly just, as well. He suddenly lost the love of his life. He couldn't handle it.
But suddenly, he stopped playing all together and took off his shades. He set them on the piano, and slowly stood up. Fresh tears were streaming down his face and he rubbed them away with his sleeve. "Fine." He agreed suddenly, but leaned on Rose. Her arms wrapped around that poor man to give him a securing hug. There was not anything else that possibly could be done now.
They stayed like that for some time, before Dave composed himself enough to pull away. Slowly, Dave willed himself to walk out of the home with Rose. Though, as he opened the main door and stood in the frame of it, he looked back to the piano, the shades. The house, the pictures. What could have been, what had been. The love left over, the life gone. Everything.
After a few moments, he shut off the light. Slowly he walked out and closed the door. He knew he was never going to sleep tonight, for he had not in days, but perhaps the change of scenery would help. He doubted it; his mind was still so heavy with thought and denial. But nevertheless how it was looked at, the one topic was always the same: John.
…why…why did I write this? Honestly…I don't know. I got in the huge mood for sadstuck, pianos, and DaveJohn all at once. And produced this. It's kind of crap, I know. It's my first homestuck fic after all. I don't roleplay, even, as Dave OR Rose. To…excuse their…possible OOCness. Or whatever. I don't know. Hope you enjoyed though