Chapter Text
“Dave, I’m leaving now. Would you mind closing up?”
“So soon?” Dave Strider asked, leaning on his broom and grinning. “Cutting it pretty close to ditch out on me, there’s only another hour til the mall closes. What’s the big rush?”
His boss Kanaya snapped her purse shut with an air of finality, but couldn’t hide the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “I…have other obligations to--”
Dave laughed. “You can tell me you’ve got a hot date. I know.”
“How do you--?”
“Please, Kanaya. I couldn’t get my cousin to shut her trap if I tried,” he replied. “Rose literally doesn’t ever stop talking about you.”
The blush was more defined now but Kanaya’s nerves had ebbed. “Really?” she asked, trying to act as if she wasn’t deeply flattered. “Well, that’s nice of her.”
“Don’t stay out too late, you crazy kids,” Dave joked.
“What, like you never stay out for wild romantic endeavors?” Kanaya asked.
“Nah, I got too much else to do. Too much hair to cut, too many floors to sweep. Some of us just don’t have time for sloppy makeouts.”
Kanaya rolled her eyes at that. “You really have no respect for authority. I should have fired you ages ago.”
“But I’m just so good at sweeping. Can’t lose my valuable talents. I’m an asset to the team, Kanaya.”
The two of them worked at the pathetically lame hair salon at the somehow even more pathetically lame SkaiaMall, which wouldn’t have customers if it wasn’t the only mall for miles. Kanaya did more of the admin shit that Dave had no mind for; he was more into the actual hair-cutting. Years of practice with his turntables gave him steady hands. The other stylist, Feferi Peixes, was better, but only because she had more experience cutting her own wild hair. And of course Dave was the number-one sweeper in the joint. No one contested his skills there.
“You’re more ass than asset, Dave,” Kanaya teased.
Dave sighed melodramatically and slumped over the broom even more. “Aw, all this time I thought my ass was my asset.”
“Good night, Dave,” Kanaya said, breezing out of the store with her usual flair. But she was laughing all the same. She was cool, even if she did have it bad for Dave’s annoying cousin who worked at the dusty old bookshop next door. But questionable taste in women was hardly reason to hold a grudge against someone.
Dave was anticipating one last quiet hour on shift. People didn’t tend to linger around this hellhole of a shopping center because of how tacky it was, with the outdated tiles and flickering fluorescent lights and the general old-building feeling. And people especially didn’t tend to frantically fling themselves into the salon at the last second, desperate for their locks to be graced by Dave’s or Fef’s world-renowned shears. Even at the height of the day things were pretty…well, pretty fucking boring. He kept sweeping and frowned. “Pretty fucking boring” could encapsulate a lot of his life, if he was honest. Sure, keeping up with all the clowns working in this dumbass mall was amusing in its own right, what with Karkat screaming at customers at the GameStop and Jade struggling to manage the dysfunctional pet store and Rose constantly detailing her latest eldritch horror hentai fanfic to piss him off, with Feferi loudly complaining about how that douche at American Apparel wouldn’t stop awkwardly hitting on her and the weird sweaty security guard zooming around on his segway to bust people for littering and the billion other stupid things they all got up to. But Dave was always just an observer. Nothing ever seemed to happen to him.
Kanaya had asked him why he never went out. What was the phrase she’d used? Oh yeah, “wild romantic endeavors.” That was pretty much a wasteland. No one ever kept his attention and he always kept his distance behind his enormous dark shades. Kanaya had found someone worth ditching work for, apparently, and he didn’t resent her in the slightest. But admittedly, he was kind of jealous; jealous of that intensity of feeling. Jealous that someone could enhance her life to the degree that she’d throw her responsibilities out the window. Jealous that someone was making her life exciting. Jealous that she wasn’t stuck in the same old routine like he was.
Dave rolled his eyes at himself. Stupid. All that shit was stupid. Feelings? Who needs ‘em. Not him. Definitely not.
He swept all the hair trimmings away and checked his watch. Only a half hour to go. He might as well close up. No one was coming in anymore; in fact, he was positive the only people still hanging around were employees of the various shops silently counting down the minutes until they could leave.
The setting sun sent bright rays through the dingy windows of the mall and bounced off all the mirrors in the hair salon, and Dave turned to shut the door.
“Hey, wait!!”
Some dude came charging in out of nowhere and screeched to a halt right in front of Dave, panting like he’d just run the fucking marathon. “Sorry,” he said, wheezing; Dave stared nonchalantly. “I know I’m really late and you probably just want to go home--”
“Sure do,” Dave deadpanned.
“I just need a little trim,” the guy said, with an apologetic sort of smile. “Look at this.” He puffed his overgrown jet-black bangs with his breath - they shot up and descended back down right into his eyes. “Heh. I let it go a bit too long. But that’s all! Just really quick! I meant to come here earlier but--”
Dave sighed impatiently. “Get in the chair. The more you talk the longer I gotta stay here,” he said shortly.
“Thanks!” The guy was beaming and he settled into the closest seat. Weird. That’d been pretty mouthy, Dave had to admit. Normally people got pissy when he said shit like that.
“Gonna need you to take your glasses off,” Dave said as he swung the cape-cover over the guy’s shoulders and surveyed the untidy mop of hair before him. “You sure you just want a bit off the front? Because the back’s pretty messy.”
“It’s always like that,” he chuckled. “I just need the fringe out of my eyes.”
“Yeah, that sounds pretty crucial, considering you can’t see as it is,” Dave replied, gesturing vaguely at the glasses tucked away in his customer’s front pocket. “You got a name?”
“I’m John,” was the answer.
“Fascinating.”
“Well, you asked,” he said, his tone bordering on defensive.
“Pretty generic, in my opinion.”
“So what’s your wildly exciting name, then?”
Dave twisted his lips. “Dave Strider.”
“Oh yeah, because Dave’s such an unusual name.”
“Watch it, or I’ll snip your ear by mistake,” Dave retorted. He heard John snickering and pursed his lips. “I’m not joking. Ask anybody, I’m deadly with these things. Seriously, you sure about the back? Because I could fix it up real easy.”
“No, I know I’m keeping you here late anyway. I’ll survive having unkempt bedhead.”
Dave was taken aback; he actually sounded sorry for causing a fuss. Most people who claimed to be sorry for pulling shit like this really weren’t. But for some reason this was different. He seemed genuine. “Suit yourself. Why’d you come charging in so late anyway?”
“Work,” John answered simply. “I thought I could get away and make a real appointment, but it just didn’t happen.”
“Shoulda showed up earlier. My co-worker Fef is the magician in here,” Dave remarked.
“You seem pretty good to me!”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re just trying to walk outta here with both ears,” Dave replied, and he couldn’t help but grin. Was he actually having fun at work? Perish the fucking thought. He had to admit that John had a quick wit, and the banter was certainly making him forget that he was staying late for this shit. He leaned over and started working on the front fringe, taking locks of hair between his fingers and snipping away.
“Where are you from?” John asked suddenly.
“Hmm? What’re you asking for?” Dave questioned vaguely, wrapped up in his work.
“Your accent.”
He paused and drew back to stare incredulously. “My what?”
“I mean, it’s not super noticeable. But you slur your words a bit. Sounds Southern. Am I right?”
Dave raised his eyebrows and went back to work. “Good guess. Texas. Most people can’t tell, I’ve been living around here for so long that all the hard consonants have stuck to me.” This was only partially the truth. Really, he did his best to keep that drawl at bay. In fact normally he denied having an accent if anyone noticed. But he let himself slip to joke, “I talk proper now like the rest of y’all. Like a real lady, y’know?”
John laughed at that and Dave felt his smile grow without meaning it to.
“It’s not that bad.” He sounded earnest and, strangely enough, it killed Dave’s impulse to be embarrassed.
“What a glowing compliment. “Not that bad.” I’ll have a certificate made.”
“Make sure to get a nice frame,” John teased.
He did a few more snips at John’s fringe, stared, and said, “Alright, look up at me a sec.”
John did so and…jesus fucking christ he had nice eyes. Dave was relieved to be able to mask his expression behind his shades because quite frankly it was embarrassing. But damn, those were some pretty lookers. That perfect shade of blue ought to be illegal. Not even the sky was that blue. Skies in paintings weren’t that blue. He was hoarding all the perfect blue in his fucking irises.
“Uh. Good,” he said awkwardly after a few long seconds had passed. He set his jaw and got back to work. A couple more cuts and a few more flashing motions of his shears and he was done. “Alrighty. That’s it.”
John stuck his glasses back on and smiled wide. “Thanks again,” he said warmly. “I know I was a pain.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Shit happens,” Dave said breezily, although an hour ago he would have had nothing but acidic words for some random dipshit who wandered in at a half-hour to closing.
He paid with card and signed his name as John Egbert. Altogether his entire name was so helplessly lame that it seemed made up, but oddly it seemed to suit him. Even more oddly still, Dave was sorry to see him go.
“I’ll see you around! Because I can actually see now with my hair out of my eyes,” John joked, grinning. Dave took a moment to duly note that, in addition to having nice eyes, John also had a really stunning smile.
Normally Dave sent customers off with a brief good-bye and little more; he never responded to any of their queries or the exit statements all the customers thought were just so witty. But today Dave said, “Don’t let it happen again. Come in sooner next time.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and the next sentence tumbled out of him in a rush: “You know, I work most days, so you can just pop in whenever. Usually it’s pretty quiet, I’ll probably be free to fix your hair. Maybe work on the rest of it next time.” He was getting dangerously close to rambling and it never ended well for anyone when he started down that road. But there he was.
“Ha, thanks! I mean, I don’t get my hair cut that often. It grows slow.”
“Oh. Yeah, I get that. Whenever it strikes your fancy, then.” Shit. Shit. Fucking mayday. Dave felt some surge of desperation that rocketed out of his gut and locked him in a vice grip and he didn’t know why. What did it matter if he never saw this guy again? Why did he care about John Egbert’s eyes and smile and general presence and…fuck. All his trademark stoicism was swirling down the drain.
John laughed again, but not in a way indicative of pity; his eyes were bright. He didn’t seem to notice the panic that seemed so obvious to Dave himself. “You don’t have to wait around here if you wanna hang out,” he said. “I work at the dumb joke shop over on the other side of the mall. You should come visit! I mean, if you’re not too busy. It’s really boring over there, I could do with something to look forward to.”
“Uh. Sure. Totally. I’ll…yeah,” Dave stammered. “Cool.”
He sounded like a total moron but John only smiled wider. “Awesome! It was nice to meet you, Dave.” And with that, he waved and departed, freshly-chopped hair catching all the light of the dying sun in such a flawlessly cinematic way that it seemed unreal.
Dave blinked slowly, suddenly acknowledging some weird fluttering feeling rising from the pit of his stomach. Something to look forward to…John was looking forward to seeing him. Hell, he’d invited him down to visit. Asshole basically dropped his goddamn calling-card. And for whatever reason, this made Dave indescribably happy.
“What just fucking happened?” he asked himself aloud. But it was obvious, even if he didn’t want to say it.
He’d just fallen head-over-heels for some dweeb named John Egbert.