Chapter Text
They met thirteen years ago at the YMCA that was, coincidentally, just down the road from both their houses. John was just six at the time but already a burgeoning prankstraordinaire, and spent a solid four-and-a-half week period after his sixth birthday refusing to leave the house without his favorite bristly mustache on. When Dad decided to enroll him in children’s improv classes at the YMCA, John was at first annoyed, then curious, then enthralled. The big, brown old building had always reminded him of a warehouse, and had seemed just about as appealing to ever be inside, with its linoleum floors and fluorescent lighting overhead. But the room the improv classes took place in was tiny, off the main hallway, and actually had a little raised dais at one end for the children to use as a stage. This room had wood paneling for the floors and a handful of little windows that faced southwest, so the room was bathed in the last of the afternoon’s warm light each day when he arrived after school for class.
A number of classes were held at the YMCA as part of their after school activities roster, and many of them were very popular. The town was small and working-class, and most parents couldn’t pick their children up till 5. The local school system had any enrolled children bussed directly there at the end of each school day, so John got to enjoy goofing off and hamming it up in improv with his friends. He was an instant hit, with a loose, goofy, funny way about him that had a self-awareness most children his age lacked, which made his routines, always freshly-invented on the spot (some children admitted to secretly trying to plan lines in advance), all the funnier.
That day he was up on stage, standing in the center of a half-moon of other children and delivering what he thought was an excellent monologue about clowns. He had so many in his house, you see, and what was up with his dad’s weird taste in harlequins? He had the other kids in stitches and was feeling very proud of himself when a loud crash from the adjacent “ballet studio” (really the center’s dedicated yoga room with convenient wall-to-wall mirrors) interrupted him. John stopped mid-sentence to stare, and so did all the other children, plus the improv teacher. The older woman was barely able to get out a “What on Earth—?” before there came another crash, and both boys and girls in the improv class shrieked and scrambled away as an impact cracked and very nearly broke through the plaster wall. Out in the hallway there was the sound of heavy, running footsteps, and now very clearly everyone could hear the wailing and tantrum-induced shrieking of a little girl next door.
Not hearing (or simply ignoring) his teacher’s reprimands to the contrary, John immediately jogged over to the door and stuck his head out into the hallway. He was just in time to see the YMCA director, a very nice older man named Mr. Kowalczyk, march down past the door with a squirming, screaming girl with warm mahogany skin and a rat’s nest of long, wild black hair in his arms.
“No! Fuck you! Put me down right now!”
“Vrischika, please, you know better than to use that kind of language in here—”
“My name is Vriska, shut up!”
She wriggled so hard that Mr. Kowalczyk had to stop and readjust to keep his grip on her upper arms, and during the pause Vriska just so happened to glance over at John. Her bright blue eyes were luminous with furious tears, and she snarled at him, kicking her legs as if she could somehow reach him from three feet away.
“What the hell are you looking at, four-eyes?! Mind your own beeswax— ow!”
Mr. Kowalczyk had regained control enough to start walking again, sternly reprimanding Vriska all the way. Vriska flailed and kicked and turned her head to shout, just as loud as she possibly could,
“By the way, your mustache is freaking stupid!”
That was the first time John Egbert and Vrischika Serket spoke.
“Whoa,” breathed John to no one in particular. Just as he started to ease his way out of the room to follow the spectacle to its final destination - likely the director’s office, which always felt suspiciously similar to the principal’s office at school - a hand on his shoulder brought him up short. Craning his neck, he stared upwards at his normally laid back improv teacher, who was looking none too amused at the moment.
“John Egbert,” she said, her voice taking on that lilting, clipped quality it always did when she was really mad. “Just where do you think you’re going?”
“To make sure she’s okay,” his brain immediately supplied, and it didn’t sound like a lie at all when the words rolled off his tongue. Largely because it was not a lie; it was just also not exactly the truth. Ms. Chae, despite the deep laugh lines around her eyes, could be very imposing when she wanted to be, which was right now. To John’s sinking sense of dismay, she didn’t seem to buy his story.
“Friends, are you?”
“Yeah!” It was only too late John realized the implications of such a statement, especially since Vrischika - no, Vriska - had just nearly punched a hole through his room’s wall. “I—I mean,” he sputtered, following up too quickly to maintain any semblance of innocence, “I’ve seen her at school, we’re not like, close or anyth—“
Ms. Chae’s eyes were narrowed now, and John petered off into sudden silence. He knew she knew he was innocent - but now that the gentleman had protested too much, he seemed too guilty by association to let go. The little smile on her face told him he wasn’t really in trouble, but that treating him like he was would be his punishment for being such a sneaky little voyeur. “Maybe you’d better go join her in the director’s office, John.”
Ms. Chae released his shoulder and gave a nod of her head down the hallway. “Hurry up!”
John was the very picture of kicked-puppy dejection as he slouched away, and Ms. Chae’s soft laugh following his steps didn’t make him feel any better. Mean. Though that whip-quick, biting, dry-as-the-Sahara sense of wit was certainly what had gotten her the job as children’s improv coach in the first place. It gave her a firm hand with keeping potentially unruly kids like John in line.
As John took his time on his way to his not-really-a-punishment punishment, it was several minutes before he arrived at the first floor director’s office. By the time he got within speaking distance of the door, he could hear voices, muffled, raised slightly in argument emanating through the faux-wood and semi-translucent white plastic that masqueraded as a window. Immediately John felt keenly aware of his position and started to back away before remembering he’d been sent here in the first place for accidentally eavesdropping. He might as well make this one intentional.
Very carefully, he eased open the door, which to his immense relief had somehow not been shut all the way. No one heard him as he gave himself an inch-wide window of space through which to peer. All he could really see was the side profile of a woman, tall, whose round face did nothing to soften the severity of her expression. When John twisted and craned his head he could just see Vriska’s legs dangling over the edge of a chair, kicking petulantly back and forth.
“Hey John!”
The sudden voice startled John so badly that he slammed the door shut, and somehow smashed his nose with the edge of it as he did so. Instantly he doubled up on the floor, hissing “ow ow ow ow ow” and pressing both hands to his face. Seconds later the door opened hard enough to smack right into him again, sending him sprawling on his butt in the hallway.
“John!” Mr. Kowalczyk immediately bustled over and knelt by the boy’s side, helping him back to his feet. “Good God, I’m so sorry. Are you—“
“He’s a rude and sneaky little boy,” said the tall woman John had just seen as she stepped out into the hallway. Vriska was behind her, mouth twisted into a quivering frown and head bowed so she could stare more effectively at her untied sneakers. “Who just got what he deserved for snooping.”
Mr. Kowalczyk had the good grace to look appalled. “Are you saying you intentionally opened the door on—“
“Not at all,” Vriska’s mother instantly and breezily interjected, already turning to leave. “How was I to know he was there? I did not, that’s how. I thought the door shutting was just a strong breeze. Now come on, Vrischika.” Away she strode, and Vriska hopped to stay on her mother’s heels. She turned back for just a moment to stare at John and give him a despondent little wave before the two disappeared out the YMCA’s front doors.
“That woman,” Mr. Kowalczyk muttered under his breath, seeming unimpressed before remembering his present company. “Right, never mind. Come on, let’s get a tissue for that nose and you can tell me why my best improv student got sent here just a couple seconds after I got done scolding my worst ballet student.”
It wouldn’t be until late that same night that John found out who had called his name in the hallway and scared him so badly. In the immediate aftermath no one had thought to look, and the culprit had, of course, already been long gone. When Dad brought the phone to his room around 6:30 PM as John doodled on his arithmetic workbook, he didn’t think much of it until the voice on the other end started apologizing profusely and very awkwardly.
“Oh man, John, I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d—“
“Dave?”
John’s best friend paused, though for him a pause just meant going “uhhhhhhhhhhhh” for a long moment before continuing to speak without taking a breath. “Yo, you were just standing there, staring, I was thinking maybe you were watching something cool!”
“It was nothing like that.” John frowned against the cordless handset, trying to put his thoughts together about all the weird stuff that had happened that afternoon. “I was peeking, okay? Look, I’ll tell you tomorrow at school!”
“Oh shit, is it something good?”
“Dave, you know you’re not supposed to use words like that.”
“You’re the only one who cares, man. Bro doesn’t.”
“Yeah, and Dad says he should.”
“Whatev. Look, just hook me up during recess tomorrow, okay?”
John shook his head and bid Dave good night, turning off the phone and putting the handset down on his bed. Dave always talked like he was too old and too cool to be a little kid, which was dumb, because being a kid was the coolest thing ever. John did not agree with most of his friends that being an adult would be the best, mostly because being an adult seemed to mean somehow becoming or being related to professional clowns, and it wasn’t something John wanted to be within a mile of. Man, his dad was so weird.
Still, despite Dave’s call and the resolution of that one small mystery, John couldn’t help turning his thoughts back to that girl. He had seen her before at school, though they’d never spoken. She showed up every morning in pristine and adorable frilly dresses that by every afternoon would be torn to shreds, and the barely-clinging ribbons of what was left would flutter about her wiry, tiny frame. They’d stopped sending her home for outfit changes after a while, a long as her tatters still mostly covered her up, which they did. She bossed other kids around and most of the grade saw her as a big bully, avoiding her as much as possible. John wasn’t easily cowed, though, and had no real impression of her other than she didn’t seem happy.
“Son!” John nearly gave himself whiplash he looked up at his bedroom door so fast. “Are you ready to review your homework yet?”
“Yeah, I’m coming!” John scrambled off his bed and tumbled out the door to go talk to his dad, pushing thoughts of Vriska out of his mind. He probably wouldn’t talk to her again, anyway.