Chapter Text
Ah, Friday night, the perfect time to call up your friends and go do something stupid. And that is exactly what Dave Strider was going to do. He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot his good buddy John Egbert a message.
TG: yo man wanna throw a party
EB: what? dave are you drunk?
TG: hell no man but i want to be
TG: call up the gang and tell them partys in my dorm room
TG: theyre free to bring whoever they want
EB: ...alright! sounds fun! :B
EB: we'll be there.
TG: be there or be square egdork
Dave pocketed his phone and threw on a slightly nicer outfit consisting of dark jeans, a white shirt, and a snazzy red jacket with wings on the back. He made a quick run to the store for some snacks and drinks and shit, party fare for the night to come. Dave had to admit, this was one of the perks of being in college. Parties were the shit. And no classes for him tomorrow, thank god, so if he got totally hung over it did not matter. Yes. Hell yes.
The photography major returned to his dorm room and was in the midst of setting up some music when John arrived with Rose and Jade. Not long after his twin brother Dirk showed up with his boyfriend Jake, and then the crowd kept growing and the music got louder and the drinks got stronger (especially when Rose's cousin Roxy arrived and started mixing shit half of them hadn't even heard of). Somehow, Jade ended up streaking down the hall and getting the Dean called, and the party was broken up with a stern warning and a two day suspension from class. Well. Shit. Dave was going to miss his Music Theory class on Sunday.
Well fuck him sideways. Actually, that sounded like a remarkably good idea to the tipsy college boy. So did a Hershey's bar now that he thought about it. Aw yeah, all that delicious chocolatey goodness melting in his mouth would be fucking heaven. His mouth was watering at the thought, like his taste buds were having some sick ass wet dream. Nasty shit yo. Get your drunk thoughts under control Strider, c'mon.
And that is how, at one forty two in the morning, Dave Strider found himself in a convenience store bathroom throwing up a Hershey's bar and wishing his life would end. That candy bar was a bad idea, he had come to realize as he let loose another technicolor yawn. When his stomach had sufficiently emptied itself, he wiped his mouth and spit a few times to get the taste from his mouth. Pulling his sleeve over his hand, he wiped his bleary eyes and stood, stumbling into the wall of the stall as another wave of nausea crashed into him.
He fell to his knees and pulled out his phone, intent on calling John to come pick him up. Egbert was a light weight, so he hardly drank. Therefore he was totally sober enough to drive. His best bro would come pick him up. He went to dial the number and hesitated, eyes catching something in his periphery. Turning his head slowly, he saw a phone number scrawled on the floor in messy purple sharpie, and after another moment of hesitation decided to call it.
After a few rings, a slightly too loud for his pounding head voice picked up the phone, clearly irritated. "Who in the egregious fuck is this and why are you calling me at two in the piss milking morning you obscene assfuck?"
Dave couldn't help himself, he bust out laughing at the stranger's language. "H-holy fuckin' siht y'ur funny man! Hah, piss m'lkin' god I-I can't enven!" He snickered a bit more, before trying to speak a tad more coherently. "'Kay brah, tihs is th' st'ry. I found y'r numbrah in a bathroom stall. An' I am smaaaashed as all hell. If ya c'nt tell amirite? Haha, anywhore...I want yuo t' come pick m' up. 'at cool bro?"
There was a very long pause, and Dave had almost thought the guy had hung up, before a drawn out sigh reached him through the phone. "You are lucky my father raised me to be a good man, shit stain. What's your name and where the ever loving hell are you?"
"Score! A'ight m'name is Dave Strider...an'...I'm at teh gas station on da croner of Market and Belvedere."
"...About a ten minute walk from my apartment, great. Stay where you are. I will be the short little dipshit in the oversized jacket. See you in ten minutes fucker." And with that he hangs up. Shit, didn't even get his name. Strider you are the biggest moron. It is you.
To distract himself from his blatant idiocy, Dave forced himself to stand again and stumble to the sink, rinsing the lingering vomit taste from his mouth as he splashed cold water on his face. The drunken twenty two year old stared at his reflection, cheeks tinged pink and red eyes glassy behind dirty aviators, and he cringed. He looked like a hot fucking mess.
Dave didn't know how long he stood there, staring at himself, but it must have been at least ten minutes because suddenly a short guy shoved open the bathroom door with a loud call of, "Dave? Are you in here you dumbass?"
He turned around, gripping the counter for support, and waved. "Present an' counted f'r bro."
There was an awkward moment as they stared at each other, the stranger taking in Dave's disheveled and drunken appearance while Dave looked him over. The guy looked pretty smokin' hot to him. He was short, maybe five foot six inches to Dave's six foot two, with copper colored hair and vivid red eyes, ringed with silver-grey around the pupils. His Venom jacket engulfed his small frame, and Dave couldn't help but smirk at the fact that this guy was a Spiderman fan.
"...Where the fuck do you live? And God you look like shit. Come on moron, let's get you home before you throw up your last three brain cells." He grabbed Dave's arm in a surprisingly gentle grip, supporting him as he stumbled out of the store with the short stack. "Where the fuck do you live?" He repeats, free hand stuffed in his pocket.
"Skaia Un'vresity, dorm 612."
The stranger proceeded to help him back to his dorm in silence, laying him on the couch with a pillow and a blanket. "Alright fuck wad, you're home and it is late as balls. So I am going home and you are going to fall your ass to sleep and have alcohol induced dreams of pink elephants and whatever other merry shit haunts your delusional brain. Got it?"
Dave nodded, too tired to argue as Cherries (Dave had taken to calling him Cherries because of his eyes) swiped his keys and phone, setting them on the table. "'Kay...night sweetheart," he mumbles, sleep dragging him under as Cherries leaves the room, flicking off the lights. That night his dreams were haunted by cherry scented elephants (that may or may not have been of the pink variety) and the kind soul who dragged him home.