Author's Note: Well, I obviously overshot the one-year anniversary of this fic. And 4/13. My writer's block has lasted several months. I can't believe I've been struggling through this shitstorm for more than a year. That should be illegal. To be honest, I'm kind of sick of this plot, and I have a standing one-shot request from, like, July. But I am determined to finish this, and finish it well, for all 127 of you guys. You inspire me, and you're all so patient. I appreciate it.
Your bike sails down the street, flinging muddy water off to either side as you splash through massive puddles. John is laughing hysterically as he clings to your back, letting the picnic blanket billow out behind you. At one point, he tears it away and bundles it up between his chest and your spine. You cringe as the wet droplets barrel down, flattening your hair to your head. Looking ridiculous is pretty much a given at this point, but John is whooping and hollering and ripping your water-stained aviators from your face. Shocked, you almost careen the bike into a pothole. John just cackles gleefully, peering at you over your shoulder. His eyes are bright and blue behind his glasses, where beads of water pool and refract light like small galaxies.
You wake up loving John more than ever, because while you were worrying about keeping your clothes dry, he was enjoying nature's sharp proof of being alive. That's just the kind of person he is.
A smile creeps up on you as your push the covers aside and place your feet on the carpet. You remember now: after you came to an abrupt halt in front of John's house, he dismounted from the bike and came around to face you. He had a sort of giddy air about him as he took your cheeks in both hands and planted a sloppy kiss on your nose. Stunned, you waited silently as he slid your aviators back onto your face and draped the blanket around your shoulders.
The touch of John's lips still lingers on your skin. Incredible.
Every minute of the school day is torturous, and spotting John in the hallways is pure agony. You yearn with every fragment of your being to stride right up to him and kiss him for all the world to see. John teeters forward every time your eyes meet, as if he's thinking the same thing. But he never takes a step toward you. There are eyes everywhere.
For the first time, you wonder what it would mean to be out. Up until now, the goal has been to coax John into reciprocating your feelings. You didn't really think past that. To be honest, you weren't sure if you would make it this far.
During lunch, you bite numbly into a cold sandwich and think. There's only ever been one same-sex couple at this school, and that's Rose and Kanaya. Everyone always knew they were lesbians, though, and they were so perfect for each other it was only a matter of time. They're so fiercely determined to be together that even the assholes don't poke fun at their relationship. At least, not to their face. But no one outside of your friend group knows that you're gay, and not even John himself has figured out that he's bi. Being overtly affectionate in public would surely turn unwelcome heads.
In order to make it through the day alive, you push these thoughts out of your head. By the time you get home, you're already busy with plans for today's surprise. When you enter your room, you abandon your backpack and strip, flinging open your closet. A pair of khaki shorts and a blue t-shirt are folded neatly over a hanger. You try to pull the shirt over your head, but your aviators get in the way. Frustrated, you pluck them off and toss them onto your mattress. The shirt comes on, but the collar feels a bit tight around your neck. Next, you step into the shorts, but you end up hopping around and tripping over yourself in your rush.
Once you manage to get dressed, a pair of yellow converse strapped to your feet, you dart into the restroom and banish Bro from his post at the sink. He makes an incredulous noise around his toothbrush as you push him out the door. You lock it behind him and wrench open a cabinet, where you find a white plastic bag waiting patiently for you.
The largest of the three items in the bag is a tall can of black temporary hair spray. Shaking it methodically and taking a deep breath, you uncap it and spray until your hair is coated. You glance into the mirror at black-haired Dave and ruffle his mane so it sticks up at odd angles. Perfect.
Next, you extract a pair of bright blue contacts from your plastic bag. They itch at first when placed over your crimson irises, but you gradually get used to them. To avoid looking in the mirror too much just yet, you untangle a pair of thick, boxy glasses from the bag and slide them onto the bridge of your nose.
Finally, you raise your head and examine your reflection.
A burst of laughter escapes you. "I did so well, I'm almost attracted to myself," you muse, crumpling up the plastic bag and tossing it into the trash. You leave the spray can and the contacts' container in the cabinet as you head back to your own room.
Bro catches you in the hallway, toothbrush still dangling from between his lips like a cigarette. He holds you by both shoulders and looks you over before grunting noncommittally and pushing past you into the bathroom. You quickly duck back into your room to make sure you haven't forgotten anything. You're about to leave empty-handed, but you dig your phone out of your backpack as an afterthought and slip it into your pocket. As you exit through the kitchen, you call out, "Be back soon!" before shutting the front door behind you.
When you pull up to the curb outside of John's house, the curtains in living room window flutter with the touch of a hand. You drop the bike and sprint up to the front door, stumbling to a halt just before it swings open. John steps out a closes it behind him, and soon you're chest to chest. He cranes his neck up at you and bursts out laughing.
"Dave…what?" he gasps, pushing you back so he can get a better look. You direct a toothy grin back at him.
"Dave? Who is this Dave you speak of?" you inquire in a voice pitched higher than you usually speak. "My name is John Egbert." While John is doubled over, you stick out a hand for him to shake. Instead, he takes you by surprise, pulls you to him, and gives you a lingering kiss.
"So you're supposed to be me, huh?" he asks when he steps back, leaving you beaming like an idiot. He looks you over in quiet appraisal and nods appreciatively. "I didn't know I was so hot."
You take him by the hand a draw him closer to you. "The hottest," you smile. Seeing his blush, you laugh and push past him into the house. "And now, this hot guy is going to kick your hot ass at Mario Cart."
John scoffs. "Bring it on." He marches past you into the living room and starts hooking up the equipment. A remote is tossed in your direction. You catch it deftly, and when the character select screen appears, John chooses Yoshi and a Standard Kart, as usual. Your control hovers over Baby Peach, who gives a delighted cry when you fit her with a Bullet Bike. Snorting, John plops down next you on the couch.
"C'mon man," you protest. "Baby Peach is the shit."
After Yoshi totally bashes Baby Peach's tiny head in at Mushroom Gorge, Dad Egbert strolls casually into the room with an old-fashioned camera looped around his neck.
"Hello John," he says politely, nodding a head in his son's direction. Then he turns to greet you. "Doppelgänger John."
You play along. "Hello, sir. How are you this evening?" John groans at your shenanigans and plants his face into a cushion.
"Oh, I'm swell," Mr. Egbert replies. "Care for a photo, you two?"
With reluctance, John stumbles to his feet and joins you next to the fireplace. Looking down at him, you realize how much darker his skin is in comparison to yours. Your face is pale from springs and summers spent indoors, hiding away. His arms are tanned from afternoons spent outside with friends, summer camps that tested his talents. In a way, you think, John is out. He's put himself out in the world, and he's comfortable with how others perceive him now. Who are you to ruin that?
You're not.
A moment of doubt casts a shadow over your face, and you have trouble mustering up a grin as Mr. Egbert raises the camera. After several rounds of pictures, he joins you two by the fireplace and takes what he calls a "family selfie." John is practically slumping over in embarrassment. Finally, he snatches the camera from his father and insists that he take some photos himself. In a moment, you are standing next to a warm fatherly figure in front of the stone fireplace, while John hurries across the room.
Both you and Mr. Egbert watch John laugh and chatter excitedly as he fumbles with the buttons. Mr. Egbert leans down imperceptibly just before John snaps a photo and whispers, "Thank you."
You can't help but smile for the camera.