Chapter Text
XXII
Your name is JOHN EGBERT. You are TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD.
//
Sometimes you remember that you are supposed to think that you are a truly HORRIBLE PERSON. Mostly, you forget because you are unexplainably happy. School is AMAZING. And somehow, people get along with you! You are considered as very BRIGHT and PASSIONATE and people almost seem to flock to you, and GOSH does this feel so new to you. It’s not even that important, because you have three AWESOME FRIENDS who seem to understand EVERYTHING you have ever felt. One of those friends you get to hold in your arms day after day. So you don’t ever feel quite lonely or sad enough to remember that you’re horrible, almost.
Your life is almost a FAIRYTALE, but only almost. You know, everything is MOSTLY perfect. And you should probably be satisfied with that, that’s more than what most people get!
But then sometimes you do remember that you are just DESPICABLE. And you feel as if you must do something to right your wrongs.
It is possible that you could have avoided this problem, probably not though. You don’t know what the real difference was between your bedroom back at home and the dorm room you share with Dave, but… It had taken a few days maybe for you two to completely fuck up the sleeping arrangement.
Sure, you can blame it on the bed bunk’s disposition, you’d gone years with the possibility of simply glancing downward to convince yourself that Dave was breathing safely, and now there he was sleeping up there on the top mattress, where you couldn't reach. You could also blame it on your nightmares, the terrors that just would never leave your inner realm of sleep, and how it did happen from time to time back at home that Dave would lay with you to help you forget. So it had been perfectly excusable that you had called out for him and you had clung on to him, even if the mattress was considerably less larger. And NATURALLY maybe that in your sleep induced state you had claimed some foolish things and that afterwards he just wouldn't DARE not return to your side to sleep.
That’s all jolly good of course, and you could almost pass it off as nothing. But as soon as it had gone from sleeping together to, erm, ACTUALLY sleeping together, there wasn't much you could say in your defense. But then again, it entered in your category of things you never spoke aloud of. So it was hard to determine, and as far as you’re concerned, if someone were to find out, you could probably call it casual sex. However, nothing is ever exactly CASUAL with Dave. It’s always these multilayered plains of nonsense and meaning. It’s always a lot more than what he lets it on to be. That is pretty FRIGHTENING considering that he does act as if this particular thing means a lot.
His collection of comical sunglasses has grown a lot recently. Most of the students would laugh at this little running gag, were it not for his reinforced impassible façade, once again he has fallen back into the category of ‘COOL KID’. However, as soon as he returns to your room at the end of the day, whatever glasses he has picked out end up discarded and a peaceful smile will stretch across his face.
He is VERY open with you and you don’t quite understand it.
Maybe, possibly, you two have more than a thing going on here. And he does not feel the need to establish it with words, it’s just there. You NEED for him to say something though, and so, yesterday, when you’d had him pinned down underneath you despite your outbursts of giggles and smiles, which seem to be very popular when you are in serious and overheated predicaments, and he had indeed said something, with wide opened eyes…
Yeah, his eyes. His pupils had been dilated to the point that it was hard to tell his eyes suffered from a special condition, but the alarming ring of red could not be missed. When he stared at you unblinkingly, which he never really did elsewhere than in the shadows, your stomach liked to do interesting things. After all this time, he still looked like an untouchable being, someone for whom you held unlimited respect and reverence. But all and the same, it looked like he also perceived himself as UNTOUCHABLE, someone who was set aside from the rest. And so, being with him, touching him, catching his gaze was ultimately very special. It was as if you acquired the right to interact with someone who seemed out of your world entirely, but it also looked like as if he thought he was given the outmost important chance to come close to someone.
In the end, no matter what it was, if he was involved it was EXHILARATING and all such a RUSH.
So really, going at it night after night really hasn't dimmed the appeal of having his hands tugging at your hair or of your long fingers finding the nicks in his skin given by shitty swords he should have been more careful with. Most of the time, you lose the ability to really LISTEN, your eardrums seem to cave in with the presence of what can only be qualified as MAGIC. So you don’t ever hear the sounds he makes, which might as well since he is mostly incoherent in those instants. You like to think he hasn't used his vocal cords enough in his lifetime and thus they quaver under any sort of pressure. That is, as has been noted, you tend to laugh when you are being intimate. You laugh when your hands are in his pants or vice versa, you laugh when your oversized teeth clonk against his, you laugh when he holds on to you with too much force, you laugh when it feels good, and it always does, so really it’s a bit incessant.
You don’t think it bothers him all too much. Anyhow, it hasn't kept him from coming back to your side on a nightly basis. But this time, he spoke above the almost anesthetic buzzing in your ears and he’d put a nice stop to your fits of overly elated giggles.
“John-“
It was almost funny how you’d almost missed the following words and therefore almost missed the mess you are currently in. You were stomached with the use of your name, not because it was a rarity, though it was, a tiny bit, it still occurred from time to time… But because you were pulled back to the very first time you had video chatted. You recalled the same way the smile of your lips had shed off completely when he had used your name back then. It had been the first time you had seen his face, or heard his voice, or had him say your name out loud. But not really.
Not really…
You’d opened your mouth at the same time as he continued, with the foremost knowledge that you were about to do something unimaginable, you were about to REMEMBER.
“I love you,” he finished with his vacant stare.
And all vestiges of remembering, of calling forth things you’d both forgotten fell apart as your mouth could not shut itself, but nor could it form words.
Maybe it should have been a given. Maybe that all things considered, you could have easily pulled the conclusion at least ten million times. You probably should have known that ‘casual sex’ wasn’t really a thing that would fit into Dave Strider’s lifestyle. You know, someone who’d remained locked in all by himself for so long probably wouldn’t have been one for those sorts of things. He would probably be, and is, the sort of person who would only dare open up and open his eyes with someone he honestly LOVES.
This, however, was precisely what reminded you that YOU, JOHN EGBERT, THINK and KNOW that you are basically HORRIBLE.
You had been extremely grateful when he had shut his eyes after that and did not open them again. At first, it felt as if he had removed a clutch or something, it was destabilizing to have the heartbreaking eyes gone, but at the same time, you felt a bit safer. Nonetheless, you were overcome with fear, and so, it was practically violently that you held him afterwards, and without any sort of laughter.
When he’d turned away from you afterwards, eyes still squeezed shut, you knew he wasn't sleeping. You also hoped you could pretend that you hadn't heard a thing.
Today has proven otherwise. Of course, you have zero classes in common. It had even been a hassle to arrange for the two of you to share the room, what with the major difference in studies and levels, but nothing extra fees couldn't solve. Time apart was what you needed, and thankfully you already had daily doses of this. However, it was much too difficult to pretend you hadn't heard a thing when the words kept drumming down on your thoughts, as the steady beats of rain would.
‘I love you’ you’re terrible
‘I love you’ you’re terrible
‘I love you’ you’re terrible
The cycle wasn't breaking off. So you decided that if the cycle couldn't break, THIS WOULD BE your BREAKING POINT.
An ACCUMULATION if you will, of all the hatred you had directed to yourself but had refused to acknowledge.
It came up a lot. When you’d cross him on campus on a sunny day, and the rays of sun would bounce off his hair and glint GOLDENLY. When he’d wear one of the pairs of sunglasses that were rimmed GOLD, just like the first pair you had offered him. When he’d stall near the window of your room and you could almost imagine a GOLDEN aura.
Gosh, you were just the WORST. And after all these years, you still couldn't help associating Dave to the person you had dubbed to be your FIRST LOVE. It fucking blows; you hadn't thought you were still trying to make him fit the role, but your eyes begged to differ. Your eyes wanted him to be the BOY MADE OF LIGHT and not the BOY MADE OF SNOW.
It had taken you all day to come to the conclusion that you had to tell him. You felt you were cheating him in the memory by keeping this to yourself. You just had to COME CLEAN, admit that you had tried your best to bite it down, but just couldn't.
This is precisely why you have obliged Dave to sit down on the lower bed, the bed you SHARED, and pushed his studying and homework aside in the hopes to discuss it. Also why you are pacing nervously and not saying a word at all. Not the best of strategies, to speak frankly.
“Dave,” you start bravely and brightly…
But it dies out as he slides in a simple “What’s up?” to answer his name.
He isn't helping at all, possibly things would be better and easier if he were just not to speak at all. You withdraw your breath with the memory of the absolutely LONG period of time in which he was quite quiet.
You whip around to face him, to somehow erase the thought, though it had not even been uttered. But your eyes land on him and the ridiculously oversized neon blue sunglasses he is sporting and your mouth runs dry.
“Would you take those off?” You demand shortly, knowing full well he had the bad habit of simply going with whatever you told him to do.
This was a bit WORRISOME actually, he hadn't tossed them aside yet. You’re suddenly quite terrified with the way you have been handling things, you don’t want him to shut you out. While you were busy breathing a sigh of relief that he just wasn't talking about ‘THE THING’, he had probably obsessively waited for YOU to say something.
And you are about to.
As soon as he takes off the glasses, which he hasn't yet. All he’s done is readjust them slightly, keeping the posture of someone who was defiant while not really caring that much after all. He was still the cool kid, but you weren't really interested in that. You were interested in DAVE and how butt hurt he tends to get.
“Would you just take those off?” You giggle stiffly as you pause your pacing.
You see the smug grin that twists his lips and you decide you can laugh a bit more genuinely at that. He moves to take them off, but pauses, smiling wider with the way your eyes had followed the movement robotically.
“Take them off, I’m trying to tell you I love you!” You argue energetically, happy to forget for a moment that YOU, ARE, HORRIBLE.
Predictably, he lowers the glasses, melodramatically being who he was, and gives you an expectant look. It was funny how expressive you found his eyes to be. It was funny, because if you were to make abstraction of it, he indeed had a natural bland, expressionless thing going. His eyes were a different story entirely. So sometimes, when you’re in public, you like to imagine the sorts of things his eyes are doing behind the shades, and just how involved he could appear to be with the conversation.
His eyes were reading; Egbert speak now or I am going to murder you.
“So, remember that place in California we went to like two years ago?” You exclaim all in one breath, deciding to backtrack into your plan of already prepared lines.
His eyes switch to panic mode. You ignore this.
“John let’s not—“
“It’s just, I mean, I went there when I was really young. And I sort of fell in love with someone back then, but you know, I still love them now. But I haven’t seen them since! And I love you, but yeah… What I’m saying is that I loved someone before you and yeah, just, sorry.”
Well that wasn't too difficult. Verbal diarrhea, but no, not so difficult.
“John.”
It’s your turn to shut your eyes. Things could go either way now, but what you are expecting is that you will be needed to reveal your whole story and that it will be extremely powerful and—
“You’re an idiot.”
Then again, blatant rejection was also a possibility.
Your name is John Egbert, you think of yourself as horrible, and you had this one coming.
Your name is DAVE STRIDER. You are TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD.
//
Your world is turning out to be WORDLESS, paved with conquered fears, unspoken aspirations, boundless lethargy, timed contemplation, and sobering doses of love. You like your world, it feels very large and opened to even larger paths. You are beginning to like who you are, even if it's only a little. You suppose you've come a long way and that might be admirable to some extent. You also happen to be in love with this inexhaustible force of nature, who is always radiating happiness, even when you can tell there is something underneath it. So, you like things as they are. You like to think you are moving forward, you are bettering yourself and things will get better as a whole.
Of course, with John there are always words involved and right now it’s… Almost FUNNY actually. There are ways for you to restrain this avalanche of words coming from him, surely you will soon, right now you are watching him panic. Words aren't your favorite things, so you are letting things blow over before saying anything.
“Gosh, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
He’s babbling on about something, but you can’t be sure if he’s switched topics yet or not. His tone is intoxicatingly APOLOGETIC. There is actually no apology needed, so you just sit there and wait for a clear shot to finally limit his words.
It never comes, so you speak his name, his first name, and as every other time you have done as much, he quickly finishes off his word and stares at you bewilderedly. You wonder if he does this with anyone else who uses his name, you find it to be oddly charming.
“You are telling me,” you exhale deeply to keep your composure up, “That you contacted me after seeing that I held a certain attachment to the maze. You later found out that I was basically paralyzed without appropriate eyewear. That we kissed in the stupid maze; and that somehow, that doesn't translate to some kid you met there who was crawling and crying about his lost shades?”
“Yes, no, I’m sorry? It’s not like… Yes, okay, at first I thought I could pretend you were him. But that was only at first, I know that’s stupid!”
You are FLABBERGASTED.
“No, that’s not stupid, but you are.”
When this conversation had begun, approximately five minutes ago, this had not been what you were expecting. Sure, you might have expected this discussion to eventually turn up, but this was never how it was staged in your mind. He could have been refusing to gather the evidence, he could have been keeping it bottled up… That was, alright, you guess. But you two had RECOGNIZED each other out there, a few years ago already, he shouldn't ‘not be getting’ what you’re saying. That is absolutely senseless, yet…
“It doesn't really matter anyway. Gosh, I just, shouldn't have told you. Only, I wanted to tell you how much I loved you too, but… I am still so terrible.”
You’re not even going to begin to analyze that, or any of his erratic pacing, you are going to ignore his idiocy because, to be completely honest, your feelings are almost hurt. YOU’d recognized HIM such a long time ago. And he still didn't even have a clue.
“The first time we met, we were seven.”
It doesn't get much clearer than this.
“See, no, I’m able to see how that’s not the truth now. It’s super fine.”
You’re still not paying much attention. Things are pretty PERFECT and it’s about time he comes to terms with that.
“You asked me are you okay, and I said ‘sup.”
Cue to the end of his pacing. Well, better late than never. However, he’s also stopped breathing. He’s far gone, gone in thoughts you prefer not to think of. Gone in those same disgusted looks you sometimes catch him throwing towards his reflection. The moments in which it truly shines through that he despises himself are the toughest. They almost FRAZZLE you, you, Dave Strider.
“John, it’s okay, come here.”
What you had intended by those words was for him to find solace in your arms, but this collapsing next to your spot on your shared bed will do just as much. He still isn't breathing, his hands are fisted tightly, and his eyes are nowhere near meeting yours. You’d never really gotten over your fascination for his eyes. The origin of skies and light and color, that’s what it should look like, like his eyes.
“You okay?”
It’s ample time for role rehearsal, and you can’t help the proud smile you’re sporting, it doesn't matter much as he will probably never see it.
“Uh huh,” he mumbles, overbite completely prominent as he seemed intent to draw blood from his own lips.
Naturally, you lean in to busy his lips with something else entirely; your own. Somehow, your breath successfully transmits to him and you feel him emerge back into the living, long and agile fingers quickly finding their way in your head of white locks. Eventually your smile also spreads to him and you feel as if you've successfully balanced things out.
But not entirely, not quite.
“This feels pretty juvenile,” he whispers against your lips.
You sneak a glance at him, but his eyes are still closed, so you don’t waste the efforts to keep yours on his face. You revert back into a world of darkness and your hands find his lap, clutching on to the piece of light you have always dubbed him to be.
“Just the word I was looking for,” you supply sarcastically, not pulling away in the slightest.
His laughter is the ghost of breath on your lips and you are so scared of him voicing his thoughts on this. You wouldn't want for anything to SHATTER. You feel SAFE. Yet you feel FREE. This is not a thought combination that should be possible, this wasn't something that should be possible for YOU specifically speaking. But… It’s starting to feel as if it is a reality. If only John can manage not to set fire to the whole thing.
“Having your first love as your true love is a bit too childish, no?”
Your laughter joins his, because there had been absolutely no consulting to this… Indeed, you've considered him as your true love for a long time now, and apparently he did the same.
“We deserve as much,” but the words are stale in contrast of the laughter you’d been sharing.
You feel an unknown presence behind you, inside of you, you don’t know. But it feels as if the back of your skull is suddenly wet with something… It feels as if your head is about to split open.
“What?”
His eyes are wide now, and you realize, so are yours. You NEED some distance now, but instead you find yourself pulling him closer, your hands now almost claw like on his lap. There is only a little light that infiltrates itself into your dorm room. John had installed blinds on the window, and they’re only ever slightly tilted. And so, you are able to see in your world of relative darkness. You’d never come to understand how INTIMATE it was until now, breathing in the silence greedily and trying your best to delve deeper into the splitting agony taking over the parameters of your mind.
“Being childish. We were pretty much robbed of our childhood, right?”
Right?
Is that right?
“Sburb.”
The word had fallen from HIS lips, yet it had resounded at the same instant in your head, with just as much abandon as he had used.
Yes, that was quite right.
You want to propel yourself to your feet, run as the memories assault you, instead you collapse. Your forehead knocks deafly against the spot where his collarbones meet. You had not realized the cold sweat that had taken refuge over your skin until the contact was made, but by then you are shivering, plagued with an ocean of images involving your corpses. Perhaps your feet are sweating as well, but to you, you sense it as if blood is pooling at your feet.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
You don’t know who spoke which onomatopoeia; does it matter? Probably not. He must have collapsed too. His head is in the pile of pillows, yours is on his chest, regulating your thoughts to the speed of his breathing. Suddenly there wasn't much else in the world but the two of you, even though you had suddenly been aggressed with a complete understanding of just how this world came to be.
The laughing is back. Yours is frightened, but you can’t help but to feel less frightened with his accompanying nostalgic laugh.
You’d done it, the both of you, you’d remembered. You can’t help but to be extremely thankful that you had not been alone, no one knew just how much damage that could have provoked. Everything was finally PERFECT.
“We should probably talk to Rose and Jade—“
“Dave?”
His hand is petting your head lightly, you force yourself to understand the words, to hear them and to keep them forever. You are alright with shutting your eyes for now. To forget that you have access to colors and lights and so much of John. You are alright, because you know that once you face the world again, nothing will have changed. You are alright, because you've gone through SO MUCH, and you know what that so much is, and you’re ready to reap the rewards. You are ready for the peaceful, happy life.
“Our love is like a fairytale,” he snickers into your ear.
You wonder how he is so light after remembering the countless losses, the constant heartache… The adventure that could explain all of your actual pet peeves, ambitions, and overall identity.
“No shut up.”
You remember yourself as a child, the child who had not been raised on fairytales, but hoped and dreamed of them regardless. You remember how John had always been a part of that, how it didn't really depend on the game. It had always been MEANT TO BE, nothing less, nothing more.
“Dave…”
“Shut up,” you repeat in a softer voice.
You feel him humming, it reverberates through his frame and into your soul. He probably also feels your tears on that same frame. There were a lot of things to be said, that much you were sure of. But for now you wanted to treasure this, accomplishing the impossible, as you had all been able to as teenagers when you could still best games that tore everything from you away.
You’d REMEMBERED. And yes, that plan still sounded perfect. You were going to love as freely as a child would, because you’d EARNED it.