Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck, any of the characters featured in the webcomic, or any part of any associated media. I am making no money from this fic and its sole purpose is for the entertainment of myself and other fans. No copyright infringement is intended.
x
The message alert on his phone pinged, and he reopened the chat with John he'd woken up to that morning.
EB: you are taking so long, dude.
TG: how about you can walk your perky ass out here into the rain and piggy back me up this mountain im presently climbing if its really that much of an issue for you
TG: you should be counting yourself lucky i even volunteered to be out right now
TG: the unyielding dick of the heavens is pissing snowballs down my back and if i werent such an upstanding citizen concerned with making good on my promises i would have told you to fuck yourself and gone for coffee at a reasonable hour
TG: somewhere that wasnt situated on the most physically taxing leg of the tour de fucking france
EB: fine, fine! sorry, jeez you're grumpy.
TG: why are you even conscious right now youre like a stepford wife
TG: like if i possibly hadnt agreed to come meet you today you would have turned up at my door with my dry cleaning and a baked good smiling like enzyte bob
TG: oh hi dave thought you might like bundt cake and a fresh pair of pants to contain all your natural male enhancement after we assimilate you into our erectile dysfunction cult
TG: at a quarter to ungodly o'clock
EB: um...ok. i don't really get your fascination with dicks, but some of us have to keep normal hours. you know, for that crazy thing called work.
TG: i work
TG: my job just doesnt require me to roll out of bed to kick the early bird in the ass
EB: stop whining already sheesh, you're already awake.
EB: it's about to be my turn to order. do you want me to get you something and you can pay me back later?
EB: you know, just so you don't have to stand in line when you get here.
EB: (hehehehehehe)
TG: whatever the fuck that was should not happen again
TG: like at any time
TG: but yeah sure
EB: what kind of coffee do you want?
TG: i dont care
TG: get me the biggest of whatever has the most caffeine i guess
EB: ok, see you when you get here.
"I really do not like him this fucking much," he mumbled, closing the message window. It was some time around five past an unacceptable hour on a Sunday morning to be awake and doing anything but nursing a hangover, and his hand was covering his phone to shield it against the chilly drizzle. His soaked shoes were carrying him up what he was sure was one of the steepest hills in San Francisco, but according to the map on the screen it was the only way to get to the coffee shop where John had asked to meet. He couldn't have just suggested Starbucks because that would have been convenient for Dave, of course, but as he trudged on with his hood thrown up and failing fucking miraculously to protect his hair from the weather, he didn't know why he wasted his breath; he damn well did like John that much. In fact, he liked John so much that he'd be willing to do the same thing every day for the rest of his life if it would guarantee him the chance to get good and slicked up and do the naked hokey-pokey with John until his dick fell off.
No, probably not that long. Maybe he'd take short breaks to rehydrate, he thought. There was definitely no danger that his gear might atrophy from disuse, though, and after he nearly tripped over a crack in the sidewalk he wished he had the energy or the flexibility to kick himself in the face for having thoughts, any thoughts, just thinking in general because idiots shouldn't think at any time, much less when they were groggy from only having gotten two hours of sleep, and he was just such a groggy idiot.
Fantasizing about wanting to get John between the sheets, using sex as an excuse to justify why he was out and about when normally he'd be curled up for, at least, the next five hours was all well and good until it came cascading down around his ears like so much bullshit when he managed to reach the coffee shop. Wet pants, wet socks, wet hair, spirits soaked, he stepped over the threshold, pushing his hood from his head and scanning the tables. Off to the side, an arm went up in the air, drawing his eyes. John was flagging him down to a table in the middle of the room, megawatt grin stretched from one ear to the other. Dave knew it was meant to be strictly friendly, but it left him feeling jittery and elated, so he let himself revel in the feeling, pretending it could mean more than what it did, and knew as he stalked across the room that this wasn't about sex in the least. He didn't want to get John naked. He wanted to get John smiling
"Wow, Dave, you're soaked. Why didn't you bring a raincoat or an umbrella or something?" he asked when Dave pulled out the chair across from him, and Dave almost didn't catch it because he was busy taking in everything about John: the way his eyes were a jewel navy in what little of the soft overhead lights caught in them, how the rain had left his dark hair looking even wilder than usual, the loose fabric neck of the worn shirt resting on his collar bones when he leaned forward on his arms, cradling a tall coffee cup with a chewed-tip straw sicking out of it. Fucking beautiful.
"I was barely awake enough to remember to pull my pants on. Cut me some slack," he said, a splotch of color in the seat catching his eye. Glancing down, he snorted at a bright pink whoopee cushion, inflated and resting where his ass was supposed to go. "Are you serious right now?" He grabbed it, squeezed the air out of it, and tossed it at John, taking his seat.
"Aw, damn it. You saw," he said disappointed, bringing his arms up to shield his face. It bounced off the backs of his hands onto the table, and he scooped it up, shoving it into the pocket of his shorts.
"No shit. The thing was like a flashing roadwork sign directing the sultry vehicle that is my ass which way to park. Where did you even get a whoopee cushion? I thought those were discontinued after they invented sticks - the clearly superior, more entertaining toy."
John rolled his eyes. "Blah blah blah. Don't you ever get tired of hearing your own voice? Stop talking, and have some coffee." He pushed the other large cup at Dave, but he was suspicious now, thinking back to their chat earlier.
"I call bullshit. I'm taking yours," he said, reaching over for John's and not sparing a moment to change straws. Even if he had spared a moment, he wouldn't have change them, and he felt only slightly stupid for being excited at the thought that his mouth was where John's had been a few moment before. A secondhand kiss was halsfway to first base. He was making progress, and he wasn't even trying. Though what little coffee he could get to his mouth was too sweet and made him slightly queasy, he kept drinking.
John made an indignant noise and tried to grab it back from Dave, but he pushed his chair away from the table, out of John's reach, and continued trying to coax something through the straw. The end of it was bitten nearly flat, though, so he just kept away from John's hands. "You take a sip of it first, and then I'll drink it."
"Oh, come on. I paid for it! You really think I'd sabotage something I spent my own money on just for the sake of a prank?" Dave shrugged, going back for more of John's coffee. "Ugh. Fine, okay? Stop drinking all of mine. Here, look." He pulled the clear plastic dome from the top of the cup, and a short clipping from the top of the straw came out with it, pulling out a party popper that had been hidden, buried in the whipped cream.
"Jesus, dude. A party popper? Really? So, what, I try to take a sip and get cream and confetti blown in my face like a 3AM cake stripper at a community college frat party?"
"Not like it matters. You didn't fall for it anyway," he said dejectedly, and Dave mentally kicked himself for being unable to drop the cool guy act for five seconds to let John enjoy a victory because now he wasn't smiling. John grabbed the string from the end of the straw and pulled it, and the party popper exploded, blowing bits of brightly colored, sticky paper across the table at Dave. Something stuck to his glasses, and he groaned, reaching up to pull them from his face so he could clean them.
"Nice, John," he said. "My bro's kind of like a master prankster at all things inconvenient, unfunny, and dipshit-like. You're going to have to step up your game if you want to get the drop on me, but there may be hope yet." He was looking down, rubbing the lenses clean with the underside of his hoodie, and when John didn't respond he glanced up to see he was being given an odd look. "What?"
"Nothing, you just took off your shades."
He realized he had never taken them off in front of John before and shrugged. "It's not really a big deal. I take them off all the time to sleep and bathe and shit. Besides, what else was I supposed to do after you creamed me?"
"Okay, but I've never seen your eyes before. It's just kind of surreal." 'Your eyes are red. What the fuck,' Dave imagined was what went unsaid.
It didn't show on his face, never would, but he hated people drawing attention to his eyes because it just reminded him that they were exceptional in the way that had him doling out the rudest verbal ass whoopings (and sometimes the rudest physical ones) all the way through high school. That it was John who was doing the commenting made him feel awkward. He was never sure if the people who commented on them meant what they said or if they were doing the catty, two-faced bullshit that teenage girls did to each other when they said one thing and meant the opposite, but if he pretended not to care they were less likely to say anything. "Look at you, all fawning and using big words. Like what you see, Egbert?"
"Um, Dave, I'm sorry, but I don't really, you know," an awkward movement with his hands, "other guys."
Dave's stomach dropped straight to his heels, and he slipped instantly into Self Preservation Mode, raising a hand in defense. "Woah, man. It was a -," he started, trying to save face and feeling like an ass, thinking of all those times he'd caught Vriska's hands on John and wondering how he'd ever tried to kid himself that there wasn't something going on between them. But John's serious frown cracked into a smile, and he started laughing, so Dave trailed off.
The focus on his eyes left him feeling open for an attack, as it always did, so when John laughed loudly and said, "I am totally joking. Got you!" his hackles were still raised, and he wasn't ready to laugh with him. In fact, the 'joke' had set him effectively on edge, not sure if it had counted as an actual dig at his pride, but he was very leery about it. On the defensive now, he felt more stung than he would if nothing had been said about them, so he lashed out.
"Why would that be funny at all? Unless you think I'm straight, and you were trying to pull some god-tier, homophobe, bonding magic you thought would bring us closer together." As soon as he said it, he wanted to gnaw his tongue off, knowing that wasn't what John meant, but he only slid the glasses back onto his face and reclined against the backrest because turning it around and making John feel guilty took the focus off himself, and that was less uncomfortable.
John looked a little bewildered, and the smile slowly dissolved, leaving him staring unsure at Dave across the table. "Oh, no. Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I just thought -."
"Not saying I don't occasionally get my bromosexuality on or anything, but even if I didn't I'd make it pretty crystal that your commentary wasn't needed." He hated the uneasy stress his words put in John's shoulders, but that was how he protected himself.
"I really am sorry, Dave. I wasn't trying to imply anything by it. I mean, honestly, I really dunno what I am as far as all that goes, but I am definitely not a homophobe. I - ugh, bluh. Dang, this isn't going well. I am still getting used to how different everything is here. I didn't want to pick a fight with you, it's just hard to remember what I am allowed to joke about anymore. Can we forget I said anything about it and maybe just be friends?" He tried not to be skeptical that John 'not knowing what he was' was just backpedaling, but it was difficult when he was so twisted up now, cycling rapidly through anger, embarrassment, confusion, and the pangs of hope that he might genuinely have a chance. Using his fingers to pull the long part of the straw out of the coffee, John wiped the mess off on his pants.
"That sounds great."
"Oh, good. Um, can I have my coffee back now?"
"Negative, I've claimed it for Spain," he said, no longer bothering with trying to get anything out of the straw but reluctant to give it up. "Let's not forget the whole conversation, though, and talk about how you're an immigrant who's still getting used to things here."
He smiled brilliantly, and Dave's insides turned to mush. "Yeah, I moved out here with my cousin for school. I'm from Washington. It's not like back home at all."
"No shit. So, is Jade the cousin? I could see you two being related."
"Yeah, she is pretty awesome. So what about you? What brings the great Dave Strider to San Francisco? Unless you were born here."
"No, I moved here from Houston when I was thirteen, but that's a long, lame fucking story I don't feel like getting into right now. Let's focus on you for a while." John shrugged, and Dave thought about his mom, wondered how she was holding up in Switzerland, if she was any better than she had been the last time he saw her. Later, he decided, he'd give her a call and find out.
Thankfully, John had no problem talking about himself once he'd been prompted. As it turned out, John did not watch his videos, but Vriska had seen a few and told him what little she knew about them, so all of Dave's paranoia that John was aware of his feelings had been for nothing. He felt so relieved it surprised him, and he was slightly disturbed when John's eyes drifted to the ceiling, and he started to recall details about his past for Dave.
John grew up in a little town in Washington, had a dad who was really into Jeff Foxworthy (which Dave tried not to comment on) and big band, and named off some of the shittiest cinematic abortions ever directed as his favorite movies (which Dave could not help commenting on). Dave quietly relished every little thing he heard. Sure, Little Monsters was unwatchable 80s tripe, and fruit gushers were the dietary swill of the earth, but that John liked them lent massive credibility. There was something goofy about John that made his sincere, undying appreciation of Nic Cage entirely appropriate, and Dave couldn't imagine him being any different. The only thing that he found genuinely creepy was when John pulled out his phone to show him a picture of his pet iguana, Casey, and the fucking thing was bright orange and leering into the camera like it was either brain dead or out for blood.
In return, Dave told John that he had an older brother named Dirk and a paternal twin named Rose, but other than that he was disinclined to offer up any details. The past was the past, and his business was his own until he was more at ease around John, which he didn't think would happen soon considering how wishy-washy John was about some things, specifically whether or not he did "you know...other guys." He'd be assertive one second, and then he'd backtrack the next and say 'kind of,' 'a little,' or 'I think,' like he was unsure if it was the truth or if he actually meant it. Then, he'd drop it altogether and move on to the next topic, all while flashing Dave obliviously with that stupid grin. More than anything John said that might have offended him, that indecisiveness was what really made Dave antsy. Normally, he didn't have the patience to deal with people who made him nervous and would have long since made an exit, but he stayed anyway because, between sips of iced coffee that left his throat chilly, the gray, drifting flurry on the windows that made the cafe seem more cozy than it probably was, and the way John's eyes translated indescribably between blue, black, and violet in the dim light, he couldn't tear himself away. They must have talked for two hours before John was checking the time.
When he said he needed to get home to check on Casey because she had been sick recently, they decided to wait until the rain let up to make a run for it. Dave went along without protest, all the while wishing he could stay a little longer to feel John's knee brush his under the table once more the way it had been doing all morning. After the first time, John had ducked and glanced down at their legs before he apologized, after the second he had said 'oops' and laughed it off, and after the third he'd forgotten about it entirely. It would have been easy for Dave to sit up straight in his chair and pull his legs back to stop it, but he pretended they were too long and stayed right where he was until the conversation halted and John pointed out the window. The rain had stopped enough to walk through comfortably, and he rose to walk around the table.
Dave followed suit, pushing his chair back and grabbing his trash before he turned to face John and had to restrain himself from laughing. They had never stood together before, so he hadn't realized how short John actually was, but now that he was side by side with him, he wondered how he'd never noticed the difference between them. Pushing past John to hold the door open, he made it a point to stick his arm out so John would have to duck under it. "Woah, what happened to the rest of you?" He flicked his wrist up and down the length of his body, and John groaned, rolling his eyes like he was tired of the conversation before it had even begun.
"I don't want to hear it. I am like an inch shorter," he said, knocking Dave's arm out of the way and darting down the hill toward the bus stop.
Dave cocked an eyebrow, easily catching him and tugging up his hood. "Right. Try like six."
"It's not that much!"
"Or twelve."
"Maybe I might be sensitive about my height, jerk. Did you think of that?" They were nearly running down the sidewalk, John trying to get away from Dave, and Dave unwilling to let him because he'd found a new button to push. There was nothing like finding a new button to push, even if he thought he was in danger of slipping at any moment while he ducked and bobbed around the other pedestrians to keep up.
"Dude, I'm not saying anything, but are you or are you not here to represent the Lollipop Guild?"
"Hey! Fuck you, Dave. I could ask what happened to the rest of your body. You look like an old garden hose."
"I guess from way down there your perception of my manly bod might be a little skewed, but I assure you that beneath this hoodie lies a chiseled Adonis."
"Chiseled out of bone, maybe, so you can eat a dick because you need to eat something, and I am still growing."
It was cute how angry John was getting about it. "How old are you?"
"Twenty."
"Sideways, maybe." They came upon the bus stop just as the rain started again, and when Dave settled into the seat beside John's, he looked annoyed. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was giving Dave the most nonplussed look he'd ever seen on him. He spread his arms over the low back of the seat and resisted lighting up, not sure how John would react to it. Most of the city was a No Smoking zone, but he only cared when it was convenient. For the moment, it was convenient.
"Okay, shut up. My mom was really small, and my dad is more stocky than anything. It's just genetics, and at least I have a normal body weight for my height. Do you never eat at all? Looking at you makes me want to do push-ups. Now, I know why you hate noodles. It's practically cannibalism." Aside from the two of them, there as no one around because, obviously, everyone else was smart and still in bed or at least somewhere dry and comfortable. The soles of his shoes were completely soaked through, and his socks were wet up to his cold ankles under his jeans. He was too close to John, and he could feel that little bit of imagined heat coming off his knee from where it was nearly touching his thigh. If he were a braver person, he'd close the distance and call it an accident, but he wasn't, so he didn't and kept imagining there was heat there. It was almost friendly with the straight-down rain making perforated tracks on the shadow-box scene of the street ahead of them, but they were as dry as they could be, sheltered from it together even if there was a moldy smell stuck to the walls.
"So, if it's not too personal, can I ask you a question?" John asked. Dave slid his eyes over, shrugging.
"Nothing's really off limits to ask about because I kind of don't give a fuck, so sure. Go ahead. Just don't get too worked up if my answer isn't what you were looking for."
"What's it like being with another guy?"
He spoke without pause to try and cover how off guard he was taken by the question, but his throat went dry and he was afraid his voice would crack. "It's like being with a girl but with more sausage for breakfast." Boy, was he romantic. This was how seduction was done.
"Oh, gross, Dave. I didn't mean that."
"What are you looking for here, Egbert, a sonnet? It's biology. There's another dick in the equation, and that's all there is to say about it."
"Yeah, but, I meant how does it feel?" Dave took a moment to swallow and clear his throat.
"Here's what you do: imagine the last girl you had sex with."
He made a face and fidgeted like he was uncomfortable with the way the conversation had gone, which annoyed Dave further given he was the one who asked. "Alright."
"Now put a joystick on her. Congratulations, you just had your first gay sex experience."
"That can't be right."
"Look, sex is just sex to me. Obviously, there are different shenanigans a guy gets up to between the birds and bees, and some folks are better at it, but at the end of the day it's all just to pop one off, and an orgasm is an orgasm. Doesn't really matter how it happens. Getting one from a chick feels the same as getting one from a dude."
"Sorry, I guess I shouldn't have asked." He relaxed and leaned against the seat back only to jerk forward again and turn in his chair to look down at Dave's arm, then back at Dave skeptically. "You trying to put the moves on me, Dave? I told you I didn't like guys."
Dave pulled his arm away like he'd been bitten and thought about mentioning the fact that, for someone who didn't like guys, he was scarily fucking inquisitive about Dave's same-sex sex life. "I was just resting it there. Stop freaking out."
John laughed again, though, and Dave grit his teeth, beginning to be pissed off about the way John was jerking him around. "I got you again!"
The rain was coming in fast and heavy, and they were almost shouting at each other to be heard over the sound of it pelting against the slim, red roof. When the bus squealed around the bend, sloshing through a gray pool of rainwater, Dave stayed seated. John stood and looked at him, pulling his bus card from his pocket. "Aren't you coming?"
"I'm thinking of sticking around. I need to buy food for my cat." What he needed was to recuperate from the emotional tumble dry John had run him through all morning and have a smoke, he thought, but he might well pick up some cat food while he was out.
"I didn't know you had a cat."
"I guess it never came up."
The bus rolled up in front of them, door sliding open, and John hesitated before he said, "Well, I guess I will see you around, then." Then, he took a step forward before stopping just as he was nearly out from under the roof and turning, rain hitting his unprotected back. "You are coming to work Wednesday, right?" His eyes were that horrible, knee-buckling navy color again, and of course Dave was going to be there Wednesday.
"Yeah, and I'm bringing some friends with me. I'd hate to leave you hanging, since we all know how much you'd miss me."
"There you go again..," he sighed. "I will be on pesterchum later. Talk to me then," he said. Then, he dashed into the bus, and Dave watched him walk from the front to the back and plop down in a seat with his back to the window as it drove away. He curled the fingers of one hand tightly into a frustrated ball, and with the other fished in his hoodie's pocket for his cigarettes. While he had some relative privacy, he finished one off and then ventured out into the mess again for that cat food, trying not to over-think how much more confusing John was now that he was replaying breakfast through his head, but it went poorly. By the time he got home, fishing his keys out of his wet pocket with the hand not holding the grocery bag and shouldering the door open, he was keeping his eyes down, unnecessarily worried that everyone could see them even behind his glasses.
After feeding the cat, stuffing what little else he'd bought into the cabinet space that wasn't occupied by the jars of preserved bugs he collected, he flopped onto the couch and melted into the cushions, rubbing his hands over his face. For a long while, he thought about going back to sleep there on the couch, but he remembered wanting to call his mother and wanted to hear her voice just for what small, familiar comfort it could give him, however distant. It was odd that he couldn't rely on her, hadn't relied on her for much since he was old enough to tie his own laces and climb up on the bathroom counter to get his own band-aids, but he wanted to more than anything sometimes. It was why he didn't call her very much.
The phone only rang once before she picked up, bubbly and thrilled that he'd called. They talked for nearly an hour about things like his life and hers, how slow her work was going, how she missed Dave so much that she watched all of his videos and read all of his articles just to keep up with him.
"Your sister and your brother call me way more than you do. Is everything okay, or are you just too busy batting the girls away to bother with your poor old mom, mister big time video star?"
"Yeah, I got some irons in the fire," he said, thinking of John and pushing away from the couch to take himself into the bathroom.
"Aw, that sounds fun! Just remember to be careful, babs. Follow your heart and be happy, but keep your guard up, kay?" The way her voice went soft when she said it made his heart ache, and he knew what she was thinking about. A woman's muffled voice bled briefly through the receiver, and his mother groaned. "Soz', baby love, but I gotta bust out. They're calling me down to the lab again. Big bad data jumbles to unravel!"
"Alright." He pulled the shades from his face and set them on the counter, watching his reflection without turning on the light.
"Anyways, I love you, and since I always gotta remind you: say it back, now."
"I love you, too."
She gasps dramatically. "Oh, no...You didn't even argue. One: boring. Two: now, I know somethin's up."
"No, mom, my life is crescent fresh. Shit is hearts, stars, and horseshoes. I was just checking in to make sure you haven't blown up Europe yet."
"Aaaaagh, fine, be difficult. I really gotta go now, or I'd get it outta you, so don't think I'm giving up. All the pretty pink hearts for my iddle baby genius, and seriously call me more often. I mean, damn."
"Will do. Bye, mom."
"Bye bye."
The whole time she'd been speaking, he'd been scowling at his own red eyes, maroon in what faint light came from the hallway. When he hung up, he continued staring at them, leaning in and running the tip of his thumb under the crest of his eyelashes to pull the bottom lid back for a better view. The corner of his mouth pulled down disapprovingly. He let go of his face, turned on the light, and took a shower, and though he didn't mean a word of it the video he filmed that night was an impromptu attack of the most spiteful, condescending, personal kind on people with imperfect teeth. He wouldn't be surprised to see his subscriber count drop noticeably the next morning.
By Wednesday afternoon, he was debating whether or not he really did want to go to the cafe, from shame and the renewed nervousness at being around John after their outing, but he'd already said he would, so at four o'clock he was flicking the smoked-down butt of a cigarette over the staircase railing and pulling his door shut. The lady in the apartment next door to his waved at him as he passed, and he nodded back in greeting, tugging his ringing phone out of his pocket.
"Hola."
"Honk."
He hung up without further exchange and proceeded the rest of the way to the concrete corridor that ran from his complex and the parking lot before it was ringing again. "We going to try this one more time?" he asked after accepting the call.
"No need to be all hostile and shit, my brother."
"Why isn't Karkat calling me?"
"Little dude's got his hands all kinds of preoccupied with the motherfucking steerage wheel."
He ran his tongue over his upper teeth. "Karkat, who has the worst road rage of any living life form in the reaches of known space and has to pull the seat all the way up to reach the pedals, is driving your car, even though you're currently in your car. I'm genuinely shocked you would make a call like that." The sun was hot on his cheek, and he hung the phone up without waiting for Gamzee's response when he saw them pulling in. His arms and the untamed black mop of his hair were stuck out the window, and when he turned his head around to point him out to Karkat, he swerved the car and jack-knifed to a stop across three empty spaces in front of him.
"Sweet drifting, Karkat."
"Shut up and get in the vehicle, Skeleton Jack." Gamzee willingly crawled over the center console to settle lazily across the backseat so that Dave could sit in the passenger's side.
"Thanks."
"Not even a problem, my righteously sun-shaded brother. Would you all up and be caring for a hit of this delicious motherfucking bud?"
"What's the blend?"
"White Widow, motherfucker."
"I'm good." He wouldn't have accepted even if it were something not quite so strong, but he definitely didn't want to show up high as a kite and have to carry on a conversation with John. Some peppy love song was playing on the radio, and he assumed Karkat had control of the radio.
His hands tightened on the wheel. "Thanks for offering me some, Gamzee," he said. "You're a real charitable fucking guy. No, honestly. I'm balls deep in a veritable mating canal of good will and generosity. Someone stop him before I ejaculate from all the altruism and impregnate the spirit of compassion."
Dave whistled. "I have a dream that one day I'll be as classy as you. It's a thing that's on my bucket list."
"Eat shit, you mealy, worthless, tape worm-ridden prick."
Gamzee snickered and shuffled through the CDs on the floor. "Can't be all having you puffing at this, the most magic of the motherfucking dragons, when you've got your drive on and happening so nice, brother. No doubt, a motherfucker's safety's got to come as the first."
"All I heard was 'Hi, I'm Gamzee. I'm a burden to society who holds the blue ribbon for being a waste-oid of astronomical proportions, and I'm making Karkat brownies when I get home,'" Karkat said. Gamzee reached a long leg between the seats to tickle the edge of Karkat's face with the toe of his sneaker, and when Karkat turned around to rain fists down on him, Dave reached out to steady the car by putting a hand on the wheel and wondered where his life had gone so wrong that this was his reality.
John was manning the counter when they walked in, and without missing a beat he leaned over to wrap Dave up in a tight hug like they were best friends already, which only made him slightly uneasy. Karkat grimaced, but when Dave stepped back Gamzee opened his arms wide like he was expecting one, too, so he tried to convey to John with a look that it was nonnegotiable. It seemed to work when they shared an awkward, extended hug.
John clapped Gamzee on the back several times and withdrew his arms in an attempt to signal it was over to no avail, and finally it was Karkat who stepped in to end it. He snapped his fingers in Gamzee's face and pulled at his ear until he let John go, but when John made a comment that he thought he was taller than Karkat, Karkat told Gamzee he could go back to holding him as tightly as he wanted. He was already spreading his arms and leaning down toward John again when Dave caught him by his back pocket and towed him over to a table after passing Karkat a twenty, letting him order for them.
Gamzee started rearranging the sugar packets and condiment bottles as soon as he was seated, and Dave sat watching him, fascinated with the intricate ketchup-and-napkin castle he was constructing until Karkat returned, rolling his eyes. "That is one disgusting individual. He's a bus boy; why is he so chipper?" he asked when he sat down, looking back over his shoulder at John, who waved at them. Immediately, Dave saw an opportunity to aggravate him and leapt.
"Don't even think about it, Karkat."
"What?"
"That thing you do when you like someone but pretend to hate them to make yourself look like less of an uncontrollable, pants-pissing, brain aneurysm in a turtle neck."
"I didn't think - pretentious albino fuck, don't pretend like you know how I work. You don't."
"Actually, there's about a one-hundred percent chance that you were thinking John's got a nice ass." There wasn't, but Dave had been thinking it, and there was a vein in Karkat's left eye he had been trying to burst for years that looked like it was only waiting for the right kind of incentive. He was hopeful he'd figure it out one day.
Karkat flushed from the neck up and glared as hard as he could. "I wasn't doing anything close to that! Not everyone shares your shitty tastes and wants to collect dead insects, moldy food, and oblivious, grabby dorks in glasses."
"Whatever, I'm not here to judge. I'm here to lay down the fucking law. Law is: I've already put an X on that spot. I'm just shining up my spade and waiting to commence with the shoveling of sexual buried treasure. Since, I'm the clearly superior shoveler, it'll be easier in the long run if you give up hope now."
"This is the rankest smelling, most deplorable, diarrheal gas spray of a conversation I have ever had he supreme displeasure of engaging in with you, and that's really saying something considering everything that tumbles from the tightly puckered pink asshole you try to pass for a mouth is useless shit."
He clapped sarcastically for what he reasoned was the nastiest metaphor Karkat had used in the past month, including his earlier gem. "Wow, you're on a roll today. How can such a tiny, tiny man contain so much anger?"
"Miracles, my brother," Gamzee cut in, and Dave didn't bother responding because he saw blue in the corner of his eye and looked to see John heading toward them.
"Gamzee, I swear upon all you hold dear that I am going to staple your dick to your belly button and pluck it like a banjo," Karkat said, and John's eyebrows went up when he sat down hesitantly in the empty chair beside Dave.
"Hi..." John trailed off. Karkat was prodded by Gamzee to swallow the rest of his insults and say hello, and after he had he received an appraising pat to his head that he tried to shrug off.
"Yeah, don't mind them," Dave said. "They're cooler than they first appear." A middle finger was aimed his way from Karkat, and Gamzee easily pushed his hand back down to his lap.
"Manners, Karbro. Got to remember those all delicate motherfuckers to talk at a new friend, feel me?" Karkat groaned but begrudgingly introduced himself to John, followed by Gamzee, and the rest of their conversation was pleasant until John excused himself from the table to grab their food. Jade had taken his place at the register while he spent his break eating and listening to them antagonize each other.
It was nice to see John there, hanging around laughing and talking with his friends like he was part of the group. There were moments when it got awkward, like when Gamzee brought up Dave's music, and John spent the next five minutes asking if he could hear some. He played it off like John was too uncool to handle his flawlessly crafted ironic genius, but in truth he was nervous as all hell and didn't want to have to deal with the awkward waiting period of showing someone important his work and waiting for them to give their opinion. When John admitted that he was something of a musician himself, Dave conceded to a trade, and they went back to arguing amongst each other. Karkat dominated those arguments.
"I can barely understand most of what he says," John leaned over to whisper in his ear when Karkat was too busy talking at (not with) Gamzee to notice. Dave struggled between bristling and thrilling at the breath on his ear, so he did a little of both, sitting up and turning toward him to whisper in kind.
"You should hear him when he's mad. It's like he's speaking a second language." He ran his finger around the edge of his glass and nodded to him. "He called a bathtub an ablution hole once or something. It was fucking sad."
"You are a dork, and you have weird taste in the the company you keep, but you're okay, I guess," John laughed.
"And you're dumb, but you're okay, too."
"Wow, lame. I thought you were supposed to be witty and have all these great comebacks and stuff. Here you are echoing me."
"I got comebacks for every occasion, Egbert. I'm Hallmark in a pair of Ray-bans, so bite me."
"With teeth like these? I would decapitate you," he grinned playfully, showing them off.
It stabbed him in the gut and had him remembering his video. "Your teeth are perfect," he deadpanned, and he meant it.
"Oh." He was obviously surprised at the sudden turn of mood and avoided Dave's eyes, wiping a nonexistent spot from the table with his napkin before he dumped it onto his plate. "Um...Thank you."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your panties twisted about it. It's just an indisputable fact of fucking life that you should get used to."
"Okay, Bruno Mars."
"I think it's time for you to get back to work, now."
"Pfft, whatever," he said, but stood anyway. "I will talk to you later then, if you're going to be online."
"Count on it."
"Awesome. See you, Dave!" After another devious laugh that made Dave a little nervous, he was leaving.
"Peace," he mumbled after him, watching John make his way back into the kitchen. It wasn't until after the door was swinging back on its hinges that he realized how silent it was at his table, and he turned to see Gamzee grinning at him like a smug piece of shit and Karkat watching like he was the last five minutes of Letters to Juliet. He felt the upturned corner of his mouth droop at the sight of them both, unaware he'd been smiling until he felt the urge to frown again, and pulled his phone out to message Terezi, thinking he should have introduced John to to her instead of these assholes.
"Aw, if that ain't the cutest motherfucking -"
"Choke on it, Faygo," he cut in. Next time, he was definitely bringing Terezi.