Title: A Thousand Words (and maybe more)
Universe: Homestuck
Chapter/s: 1 out of 3
Pairings: None (but mentions of Dirk/Jake)
Genre/s: Humour, Family
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters.
Notes: WOW I AM REALLY SORRY THAT THIS TOOK FOREVER TO GET OUT? But I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you guys enjoy it, uheheh. I think I'm gonna amp it up to three chapters. Last chapter coming up, I swear. Reviews would be awesome.
Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of homosexual shenanigans. Nothing explicit of course.

II

You have never, in your thirteen years, seen your brother grin.

Like, ever.

It's a little bit terrifying.

You've seen him smile, sure, but you can count on one hand how many times you've actually seen him do it. He smirks a lot. But, yeah, that's about it.

The picture is caught precariously between your fingers like it's something hot that you are two seconds away from dropping. You swallow nervously and you know you're acting like a huge dork, but what if he comes home and sees you he is going kill you oh shit oh shit hurry up get the out of there. But y'know. You don't. You keep staring at the photograph because wow, is that really your Bro?

It's nothing out of the ordinary, you guess. Just two teenage boys being bros. You and John have plenty of photos that look like this one. Well, you aren't grinning in any of them and John doesn't have his arm around your waist in any of them. And that's what makes this such a huge deal to you.

Bro is grinning and he has some guy's arm around his waist.

Just who the hell was he anyway?

You've seen Bro come home with girls and you've seen him come home with guys, so that's nothing new. It's just that you've just never seen him come home with a guy who looked anything like the one in the photograph.

Bro's heaps young here though, you reason with yourself. He could have fallen out of contact with him a long time ago, but the longer you stare at the picture and the longer you think about how happy your guardian looks; you can't bring yourself to believe that Bro would have parted ways with this guy willingly. Something must have happened.

It takes you a little bit of effort but you finally tear your eyes away from your brother's face to study his companion closer. You choke on your spit when you realise that he could be John's double. He's a little broader around the shoulders though; taller too, with eyes as green as the foliage around him and your brother. Both their cheeks are almost touching and his grin is bigger than Bro's (which actually looks like quite a feat since Bro's grin is already pretty fucking wide). His strong arm, peppered with bruises and scars that look white against his sun-kissed skin is wrapped tightly around your brother (correction: your brother's waist) in something that isn't a strictly bromantic embrace. Nope. In fact, it's bordering on totally not platonic.

"Dave,"

Oh motherfuck.

Your bro's voice rings out from the front door and you can hear his shoes hit the wall as he kicks them off. You've got to get out of there, right now. The door creaks as it shuts and just as you hear the lock gently click into place, you're flinging yourself out of the room, shutting the door behind you as quietly as you can and landing in the best commando roll you have ever pulled off and start making a beeline straight for the kitchen.

"Dave, what the hell are you doing,"

You freeze. Embarrassment trickles down your spine and you turn your head slowly to face him, making sure to keep your expression stoic. He doesn't know anything. It's fine. You're in the clear. He's still staring at you and he's got two boxes of pizza in one hand so you're guessing he just got back from a gig and he's in a good mood.

"Hey bro, what up," you shrug, nonchalantly. "I was just goin' to grab a drink or something."

"So do you just commando roll everywhere in the house or what," Bro starts moving towards the futon to drop the pizzas down on the coffee table and you're about to quip something back when Bro, with his back still to you says, "What's that in your hand, lil' man,"

In your hand? The hell you on about Bro oh.

Shit.

You've still got the photo in your hand. You kick yourself mentally and Bro cranes his neck to the side to shoot you a glance when you don't respond.

"None a' your business," you say a little too defensively and before you know it Bro's walking towards you. You step back involuntarily and you let your lips twitch downward slightly.

"S'it a letter from your boyfriend?" he teases and you snort.

"Why, you jealous?"

Bro scrunches his nose up at you. "Gross."

You snicker when it proves to be deterrent enough. Or at least, you thought so. He stops but he doesn't leave and you can feel him staring you down.

"Have you been going through my shit again,"

You swallow. "Fuck no,"

"Show it to me, Dave."

"No."

The air seems to shimmer for a moment and it literally takes you two seconds to process Bro's movement. With adrenaline as your prime driving force, you lurch to the side and just barely dodge your guardian's grab for the photograph in your hand. It quickly escalates into a flashstep tango. You're surprised this has even gone on for as long as it has which is about ten seconds before Bro snatches you up by the ankle and holds you suspended, upside-down, in the air. You fumble with one hand to keep your shades on and you promptly shove the photograph down your pants with the other.

Bro quirks both brows up at you and you resist the urge to stick your tongue out at him while mentally apologizing for shoving the thing down your pants (wow, that sounded dirtier than you expected).

"David,"

"Broderick,"

"That's not even my name, you dickwad,"

You shrug and fold your arms over your chest, trying to look as indignant as you can while upside-down. The blood is rushing to your head and you can bet your face is redder than a blushing virgin's. "You ain't gettin' it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah,"

And then suddenly, he's tickling you, rough fingers digging into your sides, under your neck you can't help it. You shriek.

"No! No, Bro, don't ahaha! Hahahaha! Stop you fuuu –hahahhaaa- cker! Stooooop!" He's got you wheezing in seconds and crying within the next minute. You know you've lost all the cool points all of them. But you don't care right now. All you care about is getting as far away from him as possible.

But you struggle to no avail. Bro's deft fingers keep tickling you until you can't even keep shouting and you're scarcely breathing. Thankfully, your douchebag guardian seems to realise that you couldn't tell him that you give up even if you wanted to. He sets you down and your knees almost buckle, but Bro leaves you alone until you catch your breath, hunched over your shoulders and trying to wipe tears from your face. God you hate that man.

He opens his mouth and you hold up a hand, "Wait a sec," you say shakily before straightening yourself out. Your glasses are askew, your face is flushed bright red and your hair you don't even want to get started on your hair.

Eventually, he begins to get impatient with you and your hurriedly stick your hand back down your pants and retrieve the photograph. You thrust it against his chest begrudgingly and mutter something about accidentally peeing on it. He ignores you and smoothes the photo out.

You brace yourself and when Bro goes completely still, you blurt out, "I'm so fucking sorry."
And you really fucking are.