Musickind
A Homestuck Fanfiction
DaveJohn / JohnDave
Chapter Twelve
You are Dave Strider and you just woke up from the weirdest dream you've ever had. You dreamt that it was New Year's Eve, and Egbert found out you're going blind, and he kissed you, and oh god wait what is he doing sleeping next to you on the couch? There he is. Just snoozin' on your chest. It's a god damn miracle you didn't accidentally push him off in the middle of the night.
You hope he's a heavy sleeper, because you really need to take a piss, and you'd hate for him to wake up, so you gently pick up his arm by his wrist, which was laying on your chest, and carefully move it out of the way. Phew, lucky you! Egbert really is a heavy sleeper; you slowly move off of the bed and make a break for the bathroom, the first place in the entire house you made a point to memorize its location.
You finish your business a flash and wash up, preparing to go to work. There's a calendar in Egbert's bathroom, so you take a quick glance at it and- Oh! You're so stupid, today's New Years! You don't have to work! Well, you could have, but you thought it'd be nice to take a day off and spend some time with Egbert. You're sure he wasn't going to be too busy today. At least, you hope not.
You make your way back to your room to change and think about making dinner for Egbert. That is, if you could cook. It's nice to fantasize, though. You just finish taking off your shirt when you hear a squeak from behind, turning to see Egbert at the door, whose hair is in a mess and wearing a surprised expression on his face.
"Oh, gosh!" he exclaims, moving away from the door, embarrassed at being caught. "I didn't know you were changing."
"It's cool," you say, shrugging and digging through your drawer for a new outfit. "I'm not a lady, John." He smiles at you.
"You've been calling me 'John'!" he grins and laughs sheepishly. "It's a nice change! But I'm still trying to get used to it."
"Um," you hesitate, not really knowing what to say. You thought that since he took your relationship up a whole different level, you'd accommodate the change in same sort of way. You didn't actually think he'd notice. "If you want, I'll call you Egbert again."
"Call me whatever you want, Dave!" he laughs and dismisses the though with a wave of his hand from outside the door. "Gosh, you don't need my permission."
"Okay, honey," you tease, smirking and finding a shirt and belt.
"Anyway, your lack of a shirt and common decency isn't what I was gasping at!" he elaborates, pursing his lips in slightly the same manner you do, and putting his hands on his hips.
"Why not? I've got a rockin' body. Bitches be linin' up to lay their pinkies on this fine ass body." You rub a hand seductively over your stomach, but John only snorts. "Also, what are you going on about common decency? You were the one running around naked a few days ago."
"I thought we were passed that," he answers, slightly perturbed, narrowing his eyes into a glares. "Anyway! I was talking about your tattoo, Dave!"
"Oh, that thing?" You instinctively reach over your shoulder. You had a pair of asymmetrical orange wings tattooed on your back a few years back. "In memory of our chill bro, Davesprite."
"I figured," he says, beaming. "I've always liked him. He was… cool!"
"He's me…" you remark, pursing your lips again. John just smiles guiltily and bolts. You sigh and finish dressing, and by the time you're out, John's already rifling through today's paper, muttering something about a lack of sales.
"So, what are the plans for today, sweetpea?" you ask in what you perceive to be a sickeningly sweet voice. He raises an eyebrow, looking over his paper.
"Are we being serious about the pet names?" he asks, blinking slowly.
"Are we being serious about this?" you counter. He takes in a deep breath, raising both eyebrows, caught off guard. "Anyway, I thought you weren't a homosexual. You made that pretty clear when we were kids."
"Well," he starts, voice wavering a bit, looking off to the side. "I never said I wasn't a bisexual." He seemed pleased with that answer, and you are too. You're actually pretty surprised you both are handling this so well. After all, you never really thought about other men this way. Then again, you had only felt romantic feelings for Jade, and possibly Terezi, so you are, in a sense, inexperienced at this kind of stuff.
As sappy as it may sound, being with him made you feel good. He was always your best friend, but he's more than that now. You try leaning in for a kiss, but John is so surprised that he reflexively covers his lips with the newspaper and you end up kissing the paper, bumping glasses with him in the process.
"Oops," he says, laughing it off. "Sorry, Dave! Um, I haven't done this in a while, so I'm a little… embarrassed…" This time, he's the one to lean in, giving you a quick peck on the lips as a sign of apology for cutting you off unexpectedly. He holds up the newspaper to shield his face in embarrassment, and you guess the two of you are going to need some time to adjust to… this.
"Anyway! There are no plans for today!" he exclaims from behind the paper, desperately trying to change the subject. "It's New Year's, so most of the shops aren't open! Plus, it's a Sunday, so lots of people are in church at this time." He trails off and you mumble something incoherent in reply to let him know you're still paying attention.
"How about a picnic?" he suggests, putting down the paper and looking at you expectantly. He's got those puppy dog eyes, a sign that he wasn't going to take no for an answer anyway, even though he asked. You weren't big on picnics, but why not? There wasn't anything else to do anyway. You tell him yeah, and he darts over to his garage to find a basket.
So you help him pack a simple picnic brunch: sandwiches, soda, cookies, all the good stuff, obviously. John says there's a park a few blocks down, so the two of you could walk and he could save gas. The walk over was cut short by John's gossip of fellow coworkers at the concert hall.
When you're there, you're surprised to find that the park isn't all that crowded. But then again, it was pretty hot out, so you expect most people would want to stay inside. But who needs an air conditioner when you've got the motherfuckin' Heir of Breath with you? He's your own personal air conditioner. His skin is always so cool… Not that you'd know, of course…!
With that thought brushed aside, you find a nice spot to sit in and lay the blanket across. The two of you sit and remove the contents of the basket. The two of you enjoy your brunch, with John fretting over ants and you telling him to stop being such a little girl. After the two of you are done, he scoots in closer to you and leans on your shoulder. He turns to face you.
"Dave? There's stuff on your face." He leans in to take a closer look, but you're already covering your face with the back of your hands. "Wait, are those… freckles?"
Crap, you forgot about them! Whenever you're in the sun for too long, your freckles, usually very light and invisible, become much more prominent.
"No!" you say, perhaps a bit too quickly. You're actually very self-conscious about them! Bro once told you that they were uncool, although he had some himself. John flinches, but after a moment, he bursts out laughing.
"Dave," he protests, grabbing your wrist. "They look nice! Let me see!"
You struggle to resist, but John is miraculously able to remove your hands from your face, toppling you over in the process. You're lying on your back with him on top of you, and he has a bit of a surprised look on his face, being in an unexpected position. You're not sure, but you might be blushing; your face is getting hot, but it may be because of that damned sun for all you know. You hope it's the latter. John removes your shades with one hand and your vision blurs momentarily until you're able to focus on his face. He was close enough so that the edges of his face were vivid and sharp.
"Your freckles are cute, Dave!" He comments, grinning and revealing his overbite and buck teeth. You always thought his teeth were a bit goofy. Actually, they still are. John's face softens into a gentle expression when he mutters something else. "And your lashes are long too."
With that, he leans in for another kiss. This is the third kiss. Fourth, if you count that pseudo kiss behind the newspaper earlier in the morning. But you're not keeping track or anything! That'd be stupid. However, you're a bit embarrassed that he's kissing you in public, but you get so caught up in the moment that you eventually ignore it. You kiss him back. He pulls away and smiles. Without thinking, you reach up and take off his glasses.
"Dave, I can't see!" He attempts to reach out for them, but you pull your arm away.
"Are you near-sighted?" you ask. He cocks his head to one side and confirms that he is. "Good. All you need to see is me."
And you lean up for another kiss.
"Dave! Guess what?" John has just burst through the door after a long day from work while you were in the middle of a treasure hunt (toilet paper being the gold). It's pretty late, which is saying something, since your last shift was way past dinner time. Luckily for you, your wife-I-mean-boyfriend took the liberty of preparing you a sandwich (haha) earlier in the morning.
"Another surprise?" you ask, searching the closet. He bounces up to you expectantly.
"Yes! Since you've been playing around with the turntables again, I thought it'd be nice for us to put on a little show together!" You stop reaching around.
"What?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, I should have asked first! Um, it's okay if you don't want to do it! I can cancel if you wa-" You hold your hand up, stopping him mid-sentence.
"No, that's actually really… awesome," you manage. "A show at your hall?"
"Yeah! I talked to my manager about it, and she said that it's a really cool idea, and it may draw in some younger kids." John grins and plants his hands on his hips in triumph. He probably thought of the idea all on his own. "Do you want to do it? You'll have plenty of time to practice! And, of course, part of the money we get from the ticket sales will be split for you, since I'm already paid by contract."
Sure, it sounds like a really great idea, but you're not exactly sure you're up for it. You mean, you're already pretty awesome at producing sick beats, but you've always done it in the comfort of your own room, or a small crowd at clubs. Never for a large crowd such as a concert hall. But there John goes again, making those puppy dog eyes at you. You try looking away, but he only moves into your direct line of vision, still pouting.
"Alright, fine," you sigh, and he whoops and throws his arms around you. "But only because I'm getting paid!"
After John's finished thanking you and calling his manager, he gets dinner ready. After the two of you are done and settled on the couch to watch TV, he scoots in closer to you and leans on your shoulder, putting a hand on your lap.
"Wow, Dave, you're pretty in shape! Your legs are pretty rock solid." You can't help but to burst out laughing, since that was such an awkward comment. You're glad the two of you aren't in public. He blushes instantly. "I… I'm not that out of shape, am I?"
"Oh, shit, no that's not I was laughing about!" you manage to say in between laughs. "You are not out of shape! Are you telling me I have shitty taste in men?" You poke him in the stomach, causing him to jump and squeal in surprise. Oh, no fucking way. He's ticklish! So you proceed to poke and tickle him and he's trashing about madly, possibly on the verge of suffocating due to laughter. You're about to stop when he accidentally knees you in the nether regions. You make a sound akin to that of a dying, suffocating goat and topple of the couch, embarrassingly in the fetal position.
"Oh, jegus fuck!" you moan as he scrambles off the couch.
"OH SHIT DAVE I'M SO SORRY!" He's practically screaming in your ears. You want to reach out and pat him on the shoulder, but you're close to blacking out… okay, no, that was an exaggeration but holy shit, it hurt like fuck! You now know how he was able to survive Sburb for as long as he did.
"I'll be okay in a few minutes," you inform, although your hunched position wasn't exactly a good indicator of that.
"NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO BE IRONIC." He screams. Except you weren't, and you guess he isn't thinking straight either.
The rest of the night was spent with you watching TV with an ice pack settled nicely on top of your crotch. What a romantic evening.
And so Sunday rolls along fairly slowly, because you spent much of the week agonizing over the whole ordeal and practicing a few songs with John. You try to blow it off by telling him that you're pretty much awesome and don't need him worrying, but he sees straight through your calm and collected act and knows you're actually the one that's shitting his pants over this whole thing. He assures you that you're the shit and you tell him that you're just plain shit.
Oh, and did you mention this fancy tux that John got you? It is nice and red and it is THE SHIT. Seriously, you cannot get enough of red. You teased John once about being the big bad wolf and how he should resist the growing temptation to eat him up, if he knew what you meant (eyebrow wiggle). Which he didn't, sadly.
And then the event is drawing hours near and the two of you are already at the concert hall. You're fidgeting over your tie and how tight your shirt is and oh my god your fingers are going numb. John literally slaps some sense into you via your face and tells you to calm your nuts because it's almost time to go on.
John's manager knocks and you nearly jump out of your chair. You swear, you're probably sweating through your suit. You think you saw someone do that once on TV, and it was super embarrassing. You ask John to check your pits, but he just rolls his eyes and walks away.
So you do a pep talk with yourself. Stop this, you tell yourself. You're Dave Strider. David Motherfucking Strider. You got this. You adjust your shades and flash yourself pistols in the mirror. You're cool. You're cool. Totally.
However, when you are about to walk through the curtains, you almost turn around and walk back. John probably saw this coming because he places a hand on your shoulder. And grips tightly. The MC makes the announcement and the audience applauds. Well, there's no turning back now.
The first song starts off with a quick melody from John, to which you're supposed to join in. You think you're sweating bullets, but you hope not, because that would be uncool. AND you don't want to let John down! But mostly because you don't want to look uncool.
Luckily for the both of you, you two have practiced every song at least a million times, and you come in with your sicknasty beats, and the crowd suddenly goes crazy. Everyone starts oohing and awing, which soon swells up into an applause. And you have to admit, it made you feel good. No, not just good. It made you feel like a motherfucking pimpalicious (what the fuck is that) superstar.
The song is over and the two of you have them eating right out of the palms of your hands. You smile. An actual, genuine smile. You look over at John, who's bowing, and follow suit. He flashes you a thumbs up and you return the gesture.
The next few songs pass by much quicker and with less stress, now that you've grown accustomed to the crowd. After all, you're back to doing what you love and glad that you're able to, in a sense, show it off for others to see and hear. You aren't just so nobody DJ wannabe anymore.
The last song finally comes up, and this is YOUR song. Well, most of it is. You have a big, rockin' solo that John's supposed to follow up, and it's been tricky getting the timing just right, but the two of you are sure you'll be able to sync up. He was sure the two of you would be in perfect harmony.
So your solo comes up and you're jammin' and pulling all the punches. You have to admit, you are a motherfucking genius. You aren't sure how you managed to think of these beats within a few weeks.
Cue dramatic pause. This is it. You were supposed to wait 8 seconds. No more. No less. And you do it, and it you are perfect. Except for one thing.
John is not. He is 2 seconds too late, which is TOO long. The two of you are totally out of sync, and it's sounding horrible. Absolutely horrible, and the crowd knows it. There's muttering. There's gossip.
You look over and John has a worried expression plastered all over his face. He is visibly sweating and shaking. Then, without warning, he stops and has his hands on his ears. Something is definitely wrong now. You stop and kind of stare, not really knowing what to do.
Until he yells and pushes back his chair, crumpling to the ground. That's when you run to him. That's when you put your arms around him. That's when you call out his name over and over, only to have him keep yelling and yelling. And you just feel so goddamn pathetic and useless for not being able to do anything while he is writhing in pain.
"John! John, what's wrong?" you shout, hands gripping his shoulders, ignoring the increasing murmurs from the crowd.
"Everything is so… loud," he manages to whisper, before finally passing out.