Chapter Text
You’d always found John’s friend-making prowess equal parts impressive and disconcerting. 15:15 this early January afternoon presented no exceptions to the rule. John bounded into y'all's little apartment after Bio and loudly announced that you both had plans tonight, so you’d better put your game face on, David. You looked at him skeptically and he laughed at you.
“Come on dude, it’s gonna be awesome,” he said, and wiggled his eyebrows at you.
You sighed and shook your head. “Pretty sure ‘bowling’ and ‘awesome’ are mutually exclusive. We can’t all have my finely-tuned sicknasty radar but that one seems obvious.”
“Your sicknasty radar is obviously tuned to the wrong station because bowling is great and Carly & Shannon are great,” he told you.
“Gosh, you even went out of your way to find the two most Midwestern-cheerleader-named ladies to be our escorts. Makin’ me feel right at home.”
John rolled his eyes at you fondly. “They’re awesome. And the fact that they also happen to be cheerleaders doesn’t negate that.”
“You know in all your cheesy movies the nerd doesn’t end up with the cheerleader, right? He ends up with the hotter nerd that was grotesque until she took her glasses off at prom,” you said.
“I think I’m really more like a band geek than a nerd nowadays,” he told you and flopped down next to you on the couch. “And ladies love musicians. Soooo..” He elbowed you and wiggled his eyebrows again, harder. “I bet they’d come to your show next week.”
You froze and narrowed your eyes at him. “Hold up, hold up. Are you Failure to Launching-ing me, Egbert?”
You watched him smile a huge, goofy smile. “David. You should be so lucky.”
And that, like so many things in your life with John, had been that. You rolled up promptly to the AMF – fashionably late isn’t real, dude – and ordered a pizza and a lane. John snapped a photo of you posing like Captain Morgan in your bowling shoes.
“I always forget you have Godzilla monster feet!” He snickered, and then looked down at his own feet, woefully un-socked in boat shoes. You’d dutifully Snapchatted him sliding miserably into the rentals and that had been when the girls walked in.
You were happy to own up to what you were doing, posting a video of your best bro’s feet on social media, but the ghost of an old Dave in the back of your mind whispered that it was a terrible first impression. John hopped up unabashed and hugged them both, shepherding them towards you.
“Dave, Shannon and Carly, Carly and Shannon, Dave!” He chirped, and winked at you.
You nodded reflexively from behind your sunglasses and slid your phone into your back pocket.
“I’ve got takeout riding on my ability to beat Egbert tonight,” you told them. “Bowling is serious business in this family.”
Shannon and John, you promptly discovered, were actually pretty good friends. He swooped her up onto his team and Carly moved over to you, swiped her hair back over her shoulder so it splayed out against your arm.
“Twins tonight, huh?” She smiled up at you. She stepped out of her heels into the bowling shoes and you offered your arm for balance. She was taller than Shannon, closer to your height. You were both wearing red and both, you were fairly sure, naturally blonde.
Seventeen years of majorettes and mums and Big Texas School Spirit had really soured you on the whole deal, but Carly was objectively beautiful even with the Cowboys cheerleader vibe she had going on.
John’s defeat at your combined hands was shameful. Against a less-worthy opponent it might’ve been an aw-shucks effort, respectable even, but against you and Carly it was a slaughter.
John punched you in the arm when the game ended, laughing. “You asshole! Every other time we bowled, you were hustling me! I thought you were terrible!”
“It was the long con, O Unseated Prankmaster,” you said. “Chinese food delivered to my mouth by tomorrow night or I’ll collect interest.”
“Oh man,” he punched you again. “Shannon and I are gonna go cool down our burns with consolation ice cream.”
Shannon piped up, “It’s this really cute place by, like, the Flagship on Mansfield. If you guys drove here y’all’s car here, I can take John and you can take Carly?”
John was trying and failing to hide the thumbs up he gave you and you were sure the girls exchanged equally meaningful, if subtler, eye contact.
“We’ll give them a chance to strategize for next time,” Carly said, and Shannon winced theatrically.
“Ouch.”
John gave her a high five and shook his head at you. “They won’t know what hit ‘em!” They giggled their way outside and Carly took your arm again.
“Did you actually hustle him?”
“Eh. Depends on the definition. There was never money involved before. I may have kept it classified until this exact moment that my older brother enrolled me in a bowling team as a third-grader. Just never came up.”
She laughed and you knew she thought you were kidding. She had a nice laugh. It was two distinct notes and then an exhale, low and then high like a bell. You didn’t clarify and slid into her Jeep Wrangler.
You were two minutes and fifty seconds into the drive, some indie CD pulsing in the speakers, when she stopped at a red light and looked you up and down in the passenger seat.
“Alright, I’ve gotta ask.” She paused. “Two asks, actually. How is your hair possibly that color?”
“Straight from the womb. Born like a cherub with a full head of this stuff.” As far as you’re aware, that’s true. Bro’s is the same. There’s a picture of you in a dumb gilt frame in the living room as a baby, gnawing on a game controller with a little purple crown perched in your nest of white-blonde hair. At least Carly hadn’t tried to touch it. You ran your own hand through it.
“That’s crazy,” she said. The light turned green.
At least you’re used to the question. You’ve never tanned very well and the bleached-bone radiance of your mop stands out even against the ridiculous paleness of your skin. At least Carly hadn’t asked for your hairdresser’s number.
“Okay, second question. What’s up with the sunglasses? Is it like, a Corey Hart tribute thing, or are you on the run from the law?”
You get asked this one less often, the question relegated to a distant second behind confused and suspicious looks. Looks that would be a good deal more confused and suspicious if you ditched the sunglasses. The hair on its own is weird, but acceptable. The hair paired with your naked eyes, a truly alarming shade of red that John likes to tell you is veritably bioluminescent, is a whole new world of strange and strangers’ opinions that you’d rather not deal with. Jade had once told you the whole deal reminded her of the Wendy’s mascot, which had seemed pretty fucking unreasonable because having freckles and the color red somewhere in the head area was not sufficient similarity for a comparison. Jade’s eyes are green, anyways. She’s got no room to talk. John’s got these ridiculous clear blue eyes that you’d swear on your life still change with the weather. People swoon for far less, including, in this case, your darling sister. There’s something romantic and intriguing about her purple that doesn’t translate to your red. Purple is some fucking fairy princess shit. Red is a demon-infested seven-year-old in a box office hit but critical flop horror movie.
“Sensitive irises,” you told her, and you could feel her disbelieving look. “I’m an international man of mystery,” you tried.
She laughed and you unclenched. “It’s your turn to ask one, if you want.”
“Yeah,” you said. “You are from Texas, right?”
She laughed again. “If you aren’t, then I’m not either. I was gonna go to Texas Tech, but the scholarship was better here.”
You looked at her shirt again and picked out the double T’s emblazoned in white on the hemline.
“Was it my lusty country boy accent that gave it away?” You asked her.
“Please,” she said, “you can always tell.”
John flopped down on the couch when you got back and you tossed him a soda from the fridge. You cracked yours and stood by the counter to drink. He wiggled his toes, hanging off the edge.
“If I wake up tomorrow encased in a mold cocoon from my infected bowling feet, you’ll have to cut me out and carry me to the hospital,” he mused, and you could hear the skeptical excitement in his voice.
“If it’s flesh-eating bacteria I’m not touching you without a Hazmat suit,” you said.
“Necrotizing fasciitis,” he told you.
“Finally, a flesh-eating hacker bacteria of my very own,” you told him.**
He made a gagging noise. “Second worst thing you sent me with no explanation in middle school.”
You both went quiet. The space heater chugged away and you shuffled forward across the kitchen tile to nudge your shoes off and shove your toes as close as possible to the white coils.
“I still can’t believe how bad you beat us,” John sighed.
“Thrashed,” you said. “Thrashed within an inch of your life, and then through all your remaining lives, sans save slot.”
He threw an empty soda cup from somewhere under the couch at you, still lying down. An invisible draft carried it all the way over and you batted it down.
“Your alter-ego is bowling champion,” he told you. “I’m gonna buy you a monogrammed shirt for your birthday.”
“Already have several,” you told him. You do, too. They don’t fit anymore. You melted down all your old league trophies. You’re actually not sure how this never has come up before. Rose would tell you it’s your twisted subconscious preventing you from being emotionally vulnerable and sharing personal details. But she’s not even a fucking psychology major, the fraud, so what the fuck does she know.
“That went great though, dude! You’re so weird about girls but I’ve never seen you bomb once.”
You chugged the rest of the Tab and crushed it against the fridge door. “I don’t go around advertising my moves like a douchebag,” you said and walked over to him, moved his feet out of the way and sat. He put them in your lap and you spread your legs into a vee, scooting the little IKEA table out of the way.
“Not that it’s any of my business,” he said. “I just want you to be happy! You could totally like, have a cool lady friend if you wanted, that’s all.”
You snorted and grabbed the controller to queue up a game on the flat screen, one of the few nice things in the apartment that you’d pilfered from Bro.
“All that sexual charisma I gained growing up on a porn set,” you said. “There’s a girl out there for you too, boy wonder. Buck up, little camper.”
“Pfff,” he laughed and ruffled your hair. “Duh. I learned from the best.”
You pushed your glasses back onto your head and side-eyed him.
“Not you,” he said, and patted your side gently. “Obviously, I meant John Cusack.”
turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
TG: alright so whatd he tell you
TT: Good morning to you too, Dave. “He” being John, I assume?
TG: no i meant vantas yes john
TT: Well, from what I hear he’s enjoying his studies and looking forward to the jazz concert next month.
TG: do we seriously need to do this
TT: You’re such a charming conversationalist, Dave. Something I’ve always admired about you.
TG: id just like to get the oohing and aahing about my dating life out of the way early
TG: just cut that motherfucker off at the head
TT: Aside from his general excitement about how well he thought it went, I’ve heard nothing.
TT: Contrary to popular belief I actually have very little to say about your romantic choices.
TT: You might consider contacting Vantas if you’re looking for advice and/or admonitions.
TG: somehow ill find the self-control to ignore such a golden opportunity
TG: just confirming this is not a grand group plot to get dave strider laid
TT: I genuinely think John just enjoys all of his friends being friends and spending time together.
TT: If it ends in a double wedding, so be it.
TG: yeah yeah
TG: i guess i gotta text her
TG: do my gentlemanly duty
TT: The big man hass the ball in his court.
TG: about to up and take his shot
TT: You are the big star, it’s you.
TG: about to pull a rudy on this
TG: touchdown
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
You closed out Rose’s chat window and stared aimlessly at your Pesterchum list for the four seconds it took you to realize that Carly’s handle wasn’t going to show up. You realized maybe you had been expecting it to. But you’re Real World Dave now, it’s you, and you should really be used to using your cell phone as your primary means of communication.
Once the game had ended, you’d started to suspect Pesterchum was another one of its endless temporal features. You’d downloaded it from the ass crack of the internet in an effort to one-up Bros’ chat client of choice. The website looked like the Google team had set up home base on Geocities and you remembered being disappointed when Pesterchum itself had both looked and run pretty well.
You’d never had anyone else on it but the other three and the trolls, and the trolls, of course, had found you. You’re not sure you ever asked another person to add you.
When the game ended you’d logged in, convinced it would disappear as you typed frantically. You’d hidden it in your hard drive and ignored it for as long as you could stand it. 26 hours, 4 minutes, 13 seconds, and then, of course, you’d come back to it. Reached out blindly and desperately for anyone and everyone.
turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
TG: yo
EB: ‘sup!
TG: arent you supposed to be in class rn
TG: living out all your sexiest delinquent fantasies
TG: finally cutting class and breaking your perfect attendance record
TG: does it make you feel alive
TG: john did the cops get you
TG: are you a truant for life now
TG: should i call your dad
TG: how much is bail? i should prepare him for the level of bake sale hes gonna have to whip up to free you from this jam
TG: damn i can already smell the slutty brownies from here
TG: hes lowered himself for you
TG: are you proud of what youve made your father become
TG: youre tearing this family apart
EB: i’m taking notes on my laptop, dummy.
EB: i was gone for like two minutes!
EB: so needy.
EB: you’d better start coming to class with me or i’ll worry about you tearing up the apartment while i’m gone.
TG: curl up at your feet under your desk like a lost fucking puppy
TG: pop out from underneath like fdr
TG: just poke my head out and give your teacher the eye
EB: there’s no room in the 400 seat lecture hall for any extra students.
EB: i’m glad you understand.
TG: woah woah woah
TG: 400 seats and you cant spare one? stand up and defend my honor by kicking another kid out of the classroom?
TG: i get it
TG: youre propositioning me
TG: you want me on my knees down there
TG: upgraded to a true marilyn monroe situation
TG: im not that kind of girl john. i cant just be your dirty little secret.
EB: i think marilyn monroe’s president was jfk.
EB: also were i to be a president it would definitely be a president beck situation.
EB: who i guess was maybe kind of a shitty president, depending on how you read the movie.
TG: is that comparison because you literally escaped a literal meteor or because you think you have something in common with morgan freeman
TG: either way offer rescinded
TG: i will no longer be selflessly choking down your hog to distract you from your studies
TG: no deep impact puns about how far i can take it
TG: intercourse officially fucking canceled
TG: oh yeah
TG: do you have carlys number
TG: im supposed to text her back
EB: . . . . . . . .
EB: you are the romantic, dave. it’s you.
TG: the ghost of hella jeff is really fucking haunting me with that line today
EB: i’m almost 100% sure she gave you her number.
EB: i think I watched her program it into your phone.
EB: 100 percent.
TG: yeah dont think i didnt notice those eight dots either
TG: a doomed love, f8ted to end in tragedy.
TG: ::::)
EB: gross.
TG: yeah honestly i kind of feel like showering after even making the joke
TG: you have subpar choice in the womenfolk
EB: she’s actually pretty cool now!
EB: Mr. 2triider.
TG: 0_0
EB: ):
EB: not like that.
EB: shit, sorry dude.
TG: as if id ever with that fucking wannabe
TG: cool is born, not made
TG: really just sad on his end hes still incapable of understanding the echelons hed have to climb to reach my level
EB: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wx9XYrRpHjo
EB: mike understands you dude. he’s here for you in your time of need.
TG: okay haha lets just be done with this whole comedic circle jerk about sollux and i hate-fucking each other to commercial electro funk
EB: hehehehehehe
EB: but seriously, I think you already have it.
EB: carly’s number, I mean.
EB: go for it!
TG: * ! ! ! ! ! ! !
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
EB: hey rose!
TT: Hello, John.
EB: okay so normally i wouldn’t be asking something like this, because i wouldn’t want to betray dave’s trust, and it’s really not technically my business
EB: but we were joking around this morning and i thought i maybe really upset him
EB: but then i totally didn’t and that was great but he got defensive about something else
EB: that i hadn’t even really considered
EB: and now i’m asking you because i’m way too curious even though that’s not cool
EB: you can just tell me nothing or tell me to fuck off
TT: It’s particularly during times like this that I feel the 3 hour time difference
TT: Hold on for a moment while I finish my 7 am coffee.
TT: . . .
TT: All systems prepped and ready for untangling the depths of Dave’s psyche.
TT: From the beginning?
EB: hehe sorry.
EB: there’s not a proper beginning exactly.
EB: we were talking on pesterchum and he was ribbing me for my dumb teenage crush on vriska, which he does all the time, so i was teasing him back and called him mr. 2triider because he and sollux always had that weird dumb battle about who was more ironic or whatever
EB: and i thought
EB: that i’d, like. reminded him of the game. of something he didn’t want to remember.
EB: so i started apologizing
EB: and he turned it right back around into sort of a joke but mostly just being kind of defensive about how he never liked sollux like i liked vriska.
TT: So far this all seems fairly on brand for your conversations.
TT: Or at least, equal parts on brand for the two of you and for Dave’s endearing ball of minor insecurities.
EB: okay, see, that already is insight i did not have.
EB: i don’t think he’s insecure.
TT: It’s in no way an insult. We’re all insecure about something.
TT: I think Dave has come to terms with his use of irony and meme culture to cover up whatever may be distressing him internally.
TT: What was the question?
EB: did you decide not to study psychology because you thought you’d know more than the professors?
EB: the real question is
EB: whether or not dave and sollux were ever actually a thing.
EB: it just seemed like a big response for nothing.
TT: Quite honestly, I don’t know.
TT: I had my suspicions when we were younger, but it feels a little ridiculous now to look back at them with any seriousness.
TT: I was confident you, in fact, would eventually take Karkat up on his obtuse attempts at flirting.
EB: yeah i mean, that was only like the once we kissed, so.
TT: I would insert another ellipsis here but one seems sufficient for a single conversation.
EB: did i never tell you that?
EB: hehehehe
TT: I’m sure it conveniently slipped your mind.
EB: yeah! just wasn’t meant to be. he bit me and that was kind of it.
TT: I suppose this is your answer to your earlier question as well then.
TT: The reality of psychology pales in comparison to a dozen horny teenagers with the might of deities trying to navigate courtship.
TT: There’s less room in the actual profession for sordid romance and dark psychic undercurrents.
TT: And as charming as you and Kanaya find my prying, it’s not generally all that welcome. I’m not confident I was particularly accomplished at it anyways.
EB: ooh, tell kanaya i said hi!
EB: and that i haven’t gotten the new book yet but i’ll send pictures once it comes!
TT: Noted. She will be appreciative of your support.
EB: :) of course!
EB: and rose? you can psychoanalyze me any day!
EB: i think you’ve still got it.
TT: You’re too kind.
TT: Was that everything about Dave? I don’t mean to hurry you along but I’ll be needing to leave for a lab meeting soon.
EB: yeah, that was everything.
EB: i still feel kind of shitty for asking.
EB: i should probably just ask dave. i dunno. it seems weird.
EB: it’s not like i need to know anyways! just nosy. soooo noooosy.
TT: I’m sure if you begin with the details of your romantic rendezvous with Karkat he’ll open up readily.
EB: pfft, he already knows! karkat told him before i even got a chance!
EB: lured him in with shitty clipart like a dave taming professional.
EB: actually, i don’t know why he hasn’t brought that up like, a million more times.
EB: traumatizing visual i guess!
TT: Karkat’s a lot for any man, even on a good day.
TT: As always, keep me posted on any developments.
TT: And I’ll give Kanaya your love.
EB: bye rose!
tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB]
Her name is Carly Watkins and she’s from Dallas. Her major is Art History. She is four months older than you and she loves the east coast, even though she hates the snow on game days. She’s tan, has a dog and two sisters, and is nothing like you expected. Again.
You met up for coffee at the Peet’s in the library and she joked that it was somehow fancier than the only Peet’s within 20 miles of her house back home. You told her there were several in Seattle, and you’d been shocked the birthplace of Starbucks let anyone else encroach on its territory.
“Wait,” she said, “I thought you were from Texas too! We bonded over it.”
“Houston,” you told her. “Egbert’s pops lives an hour out of the city.”
“So how do you two know each other? Met at school, or?”
“Online. When we were wee babes courting danger on the world wide web.”
“That’s kind of adorable,” she said. “I can’t believe you stayed friends so long! Did you fly out to visit him?”
There’s a lot to be said about John, probably enough stories to fill one hundred one-on-one dates. You plowed through a few and changed the subject. Sometimes it felt like you were hoarding him, rationing out little bits and pieces to the world. It was a dumb fuck plan, though, because John is the friendliest motherfucker this side of the Rio Grande. He never runs out of anything. He’s got nothing to ration.
A friend of Carly’s showed up five minutes before you’d planned to part ways. She fluttered around the table and chatted about cheer practice. You zoned out and pulled out your phone, flipping through some useless blog buried in your cavalcade of tabs. She whispered something in Carly’s ear and then pulled her in for a selfie.
“Dave!” You looked up. Carly smiled and motioned for you over the table. “Get in here with us!”
On the way to your lab she texted you the photo, a request for you to come to tomorrow’s football game, and a promise to let you crash the team pizza party if they won.
turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
TG: check what i just sent you
TG: try not to get too upset, i can explain
TT: I’m weeping into my lavender perfumed handkerchief, curled up in the window seat of my castle. My vision of the lands beyond the grounds blurs with tears. You’ll have to speak quickly, before this slight to the Princess is noted and a war is started in her name.
TG: thats the girl john set me up with
TG: tripped me and got me to fall square on this romances american dream dick
TT: Is the purpose of this conversation critiquing a young woman, who is in all likelihood incredibly sweet, for her personal style?
TT: Or should I send it along immediately to Bro, stupefying him with the deep and unbeatable irony of dating a cheerleader and pulling a Stepford Wives?
TT: Or is this an admission of your latent incestuous desires to only copulate with blondes like your mother, brother, and sister?
TG: hey lalonde heres a hot tip
TG: try explaining incest or oedipus to the trolls
TG: completely foreign concept to them
TG: theyre all just one big incestuous slurry of cleaning supplies and jegus blood feuds
TG: you can cream your scented lace panties to your hearts content introducing an innocent species to sexual taboo
TT: I’ll find it in myself to move past your choice to replace me with a similar woman.
TG: the idea that id ditch the chick who completes my shining twins duo
TG: bred in some nightmare vat with the children of the corn
TG: is quite frankly batshit fucking maggots
TG: get those aforementioned panties out of a knot
TG: and clear up those abandonment issues
TT: I’ll never tire of your ability to sensationalize an issue that doesn’t exist and then viciously rip it apart.
TG: one of the many things keeping the casa de strider in hot and cold running bitches
TT: I wondered if you would outgrow some of the more problematic dude-bro lingo.
TT: It appears I have my answer.
TG: habits instilled from birth are hard to break
TG: nurture over nature
TG: or lack thereof or pants-shittingly terrifying over nurturing by a sex puppet
TG: but now with my college education i immediately regret it and curse bros name to the heavens like a 21st century viral heathcliff
TT: Aside from your fixation on the nonexistent implications of your current dating choice, how do you feel about her?
TG: tokyo drift level swerve on that conversational topic
TG: somebody better call vin diesel
TG: and then the rock because this beast of a vehicle careening into a sudden left turn is too much for the deez to handle
TT: Forgive me for trying to steer us back towards the impetus for your contacting me.
TG: yeah not sure whats up with that
TG: pretty clearly uncouth
TG: trying to suck out all the details from my clamped jaws like sexy fodder for your lady loves romance novels
TT: I’m an emotional vampire.
TG: its good that you can see your true self
TG: anyways gotta go get ready for this jockstrappalooza
TG: going full avatar here with my trusty sidekick
TG: later
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT]
John knocked on the bathroom door a fifth and sixth time, crooning your name against the crack. “We’re gonna be late for your very important date!” He pounded again. “Daveeeeeee. Get it together in there! I’ll sing for real!”
You stared into the mirror and mussed your hair a final time. You slapped all your pockets, checking for car keys, and tightened your grip on the stick of face paint in your hand. John started singing.
“I’m coming out, Pavarotti. Clear the area.”
You kicked the door open and John plastered himself against the opposite wall. You watched his eyes widen and he laughed.
“Dude-“ he started, and you stepped in close, pinning him. You cupped his face with one hand and drew a stripe under each eye with the gloopy Halloween makeup crayon.
“Dude!” he spluttered. “Sabotage!”
You let him go but stayed close, keeping him hedged in, ready for retaliation. “You say sabotage, I say sabataage.”
“Paging Captain Kirk,” John said, and then dissolved into a snorting kind of giggle. You could feel your cheeks getting red under your own war paint.
“It’s all about school spirit, Egbert. This is the world we live in now,” you told him.
You watched him laugh. You could feel his breath against your chin. You thought, it must be permanently cool, huffing out of him tinged with mint and swimming pools. You thought you were probably smiling like the biggest goober since John crash-landed into Dad’s arms.
“You look so lame, dude,” John finally managed. He got an arm free from the strange position you’d found yourselves in, all tanged in the hallway. He slid your sunglasses off and hooked them in the front of your shirt. You could feel the way his legs shook against yours every time his laughing set off again.
He patted your chest, right on top of your heart. Your glasses swung. He looked up at you. Were you to recount this to someone later, you would tell them that time slowed down. The amount they’d call it poetic license would depend on who you told, but regardless of who you told, it would be true. You’re not gods, not anymore, but you have these little moments.
John will know when it’s going to get stormy, and when it does the wind will glide over the top of his umbrella and leave him dry. Rose, in the sun, sparkles like a prism on the periphery of your vision. The rain sounds warbles when it falls on her hair and drips off her fingertips warm. Jade might as well be a Disney princess, the way animals flock and plants curl out of the ground to hold her hand.
And you? You have this. Tiny and subtle manipulations of time. It’s kind of a rotten trade for what you used to have. At least, you figure, you never find yourself dead anymore.
Time rolled down your back at quarter speed. You caught John’s eyes and kept them. You wondered if he could tell too, that you’d accidentally slipped the pair of you out of the classic temporal stream.
For a second, like in every shitty movie he’d ever made you watch, you thought he was about to kiss you. He reached down and held your hand. Time sped up.
“This color really matches your eyes,” he told you, and then he hooked his fingers in your shirt, tugged the neckline down, and scribbled a wavy shape on your chest with the pilfered face paint.
You squawked and reeled backwards as John busted out in throaty chuckles.
“This is the most dangerous prank war to start,” you got out, barely regaining your balance. He just kept laughing, bent in half and quite nearly slapping his knee like a geezer. His laugh was nothing like Carly’s. His laugh could fill a room. It’s deep and just keeps coming, simultaneously surprised and lived in. Like he’s got a song stuck in his throat that hums out with each gasp for air as he guffaws.
Guffaws, you thought, because he was still a massive fucking dork through all of this.
You two finally managed to pile into your truck and get to the stadium. It was a full twenty minutes later than you had planned for. You could feel the seconds ticking through your pulse. John had ended up changing his shirt after the choice of white v-neck became truly unfortunate for the bright orange paint strife that ensued. It might never recover, he crowed in your ear, clearly gleeful at this destruction of his personal property. Maybe, he said, we’ll tie-dye it this weekend. You’ve got to have extra clothes somewhere. The new shirt was dark green and he had on that dumb high school cardigan, complete with embroidered crest. His hands were bare, fingernails glowing gently like tiny moons in the floodlights.
You settled into your places in the stands and took turns throwing ripped up pieces of pretzel into each other’s mouths. You attempted to narrate the game to him, watched him revel in your subpar knowledge of sports. You hammed it up a little, maybe. No harm in it.
“It’s like you lived in a cave and your only knowledge of the outside world came from Game Bro,” he said and munched loudly on a handful of caramel corn. “Which isn’t even correct, because they had to have reviewed Madden at some point. Where are you on WWE?”
“Challengin’ me to a Yapapi Strap Match, boy?” you growled out.
He turned to look at you, mouth open. “How have you been hiding a tiny Hulk Hogan in your stomach for so long without me noticing?”
You took a piece of popcorn from the bag between his legs and put it on his tongue. “Normally he’s sated and quiet. Tonight he’s getting hungry. Must be all the bogus mangrit in the air.”
John snorted and scratched his cheek. He pulled his fingers back in confusion and wiped them on your nose, to your protest.
“You know, dude,” he said, “your prank backfired. I would have been so down with painting everything.”
You shrugged. “You didn’t see your face. Surprise was worth it.” He shook his head at you. “I’m not a destructive prankster, Egbert. I’m chaotic good.”
He flicked more popcorn at you and let you pull him into a noogie before the roughhousing got a little rowdy for the narrow benches. He smiled sheepishly and waved an apology at your seat neighbors and settled back down with his head on your shoulder. When your team scored he shot up to his feet to cheer so fast he knocked your chin back, hard enough to make your teeth rattle. You rubbed your jaw, spat on the concrete to check for blood. He looked down at you grimacing and pressed his soda against your face, condensation icy in the early January chill. You hissed and he shooshed you.
“We’re winning, dude! No time for your grumps.”
“I’ve been bodily maimed by a teddy bear. Gotta cradle my pride,” you told him, and he grinned.
“Sop up some of that mangrit! Your jaw’s gotta be in top shape for all the pizza we’re about to consume.”
And that, like so many things in your life with John, had been that. He was just that kind of guy. Hard to be mad at.