Work Text:
You name is Dave Strider and you are having something worth being called the worst fucking day ever. And with that you don't mean that you failed math or broke your leg or lost a sword fight with your bro again. That's all the kind of shit you could shrug off or at least force yourself not to think about. Actually, nothing bad at all had happened. You went to school, you saw your friends, you're about to go home.
Your day sucks because of the inevitable and unbearable feeling of hating your life. And you can't even put your finger on why it is today, maybe just because nothing happened, or maybe because Eridan had forgotten to charge his phone before going to school on Valentine's Day.
But in the end, it's like this: You've got a boyfriend who you love and who loves you back, friends who are just amazing, the best fucking WiFi connection at home and more money than you can waste. It's just that today, you can't stop thinking about the miles between you and Eridan, how your friends are way too awesome to have to put up with you, how your bro caused a fucking power cut this morning - again - and how disturbing his dumb company is. The only pro you can think of right now is that it's no problem to maintain your poker face when you feel as dead inside as you want to seem.
As the bell after your last lesson fucking finally decides to move its ass and rings, you decide to walk home. It has nothing to do with how healthy it is to get some fresh air and everything with how you know that as soon as you're home, you're not going to be able to do anything but lie down on your bed and that's every fucking time the point where you can't stop the thoughts any longer. Also, you don't want to annoy your friends, who you would normally drive home with. They already have to bear you too often as it is.
Although fresh air also isn't that bad, you guess.
The second as you're on your way, though, you have to recognize that walking is actually just fucking boring and doesn't distract you whatsoever, not even with the music blasting out of your headphones that you already turned up way too high. So, you decide to serve the stereotype of a teenager as good as you can and additionally pull out your phone. Still no texts from Eridan, which shouldn't surprise you, because he has school for four more hours. Your empty inbox still sends a jolt of disappointment through your guts. Fucking time zones can go fuck themselves.
You try to occupy yourself with scrolling through the comments on your web comic, but they stopped being interesting a long time ago. They all say the same stuff. Same with the messages on your official twitter account. None on your personal. You don't even check your SoundCloud.
You give up better distractions and started playing Crossy Road by the time you're maybe fifteen minutes from home and your phone vibrates. You close the game after your unihorse bravely sacrifices itself to a truck.
It's a text message from Eridan. Eridan? Is he home early? You fucking hope so.
wwhen are you gonna be home?
You frown. Apparently he is, or is today one of his shorter school days? Nope. Maybe you just forgot that he told you he'd be home earlier.
few minutes
why you ask
You're already opening Crossy Road again, but it only takes him a few seconds to answer. You open the message. It's a picture. You stop walking as you feel how your heart stops beating.
It's a selfie. You didn't expect anything else. Eridan's standing at a street, holding his phone from beneath so that you can see the high building in the background. The caption reads:
because i'vve been wwaitin for much too long already
Before you know what you're doing, you are pushing yourself past the same people that just cursed at you for standing in their way. You don't remember the last time that you've run in public like this; it was probably sometime in seventh grade when you'd had your parcours phase. You just don't feel like you'll ever be able to care about the way your hair is getting all messed up, how you could accidentally throw your phone across the street every fucking moment, how your shades don't feel as securely sitting on your face as you'd like them to. The people around you must be shouting at you because you're pushing them away pretty roughly, but the adrenaline rushing through your ears is louder.
A dark thought lets you pound into your phone again, never slowing down. You push your headphones down so that they dangle around your neck. You only realize how out of breath you are when you bring your iPhone up to your mouth to record an audio message, not even thinking about the people who can hear you.
"Eridan, I fucking swear to fucking god, if that's photoshopped, I swear, I'll fucking kill you and your- Just be actually there, okay?"
You can feel how it's getting harder to breath now, but your legs still won't slow down and it's not as if you want them to. Four corners between you and seeing your boyfriend for the first time ever.
Three.
Two.
One.
Your street. Your house. You make the place out where Eridan must have stood to take that picture, still not stopping. He's not there. You're not fast enough. Your lungs burn. Your feet scream at you to slow down. You make sure that he's not standing at your side of the street and cross the road way too carelessly, just barely noticing the honking around you. You can't see him at this side, either. You prepare yourself for the stinging disappointment that seems not as impossible anymore. You're going to kill this bastard. How could you ever think he would just fly over a whole fucking ocean just to surprise you? There isn't even a school break soon, for fucks sake. God, you could kill yourself for being so dumb, so naive, so-
You're standing in front of your doorway. Oh god. Ohfuckinggod you didn't think something could ever make you feel all of this, all of this shit storming inside you now, but there it is, there HE is. Eridan. Your boyfriend. He's leaning against your own fucking front door like the pretentious dick he is, but his face betrays him. You don't think you have ever seen him grinning like that, wide and careless, and you want to kiss him, so, so badly.
That's when you remember. This time, you can fucking kiss him. You can go over and touch him instead of looking at his lips, maybe gracing your fingers across the computer screen when he isn't looking.
The weight of your messenger bag suddenly feels unbearable. You rip it off your shoulder, not caring that it could land on the street with the force you throw it away. In no time at all and still fucking years later, you throw yourself onto Eridan, just pressing him against you as hard as you can, not caring about how you both can't breathe. And fuck, he didn't lie about his height; he's just a tad taller than you, that ass. Then again, the way you can lean your chin onto his shoulder and breath in his scent just about makes up for all the mocking you ever had to endure.
"I hate you", you say into his hair because god, he makes you feel all of these- THINGS. He knows you mean the opposite, though, because of his chuckling - you can feel it more than you hear it.
You know much time must have passed when your arms seriously start hurting, and you still wouldn't care to let go, but you want to see his face to remind yourself that this is REAL. So you do let go and wait a few seconds until Eridan does too. You just stare at his eyes with your hands on his chest, fully aware that you're looking like a fucking cliché coming to life.
"Shit", he only says.
It's when you notice how he isn't looking at your eyes but everything else that you remember your shades. Without a second thought, you take them off. You don't remember the last time that you grinned like this.
"What the fuck are you even doing here, you idiot", you say, but don't wait for an answer before you finally kiss him. Shit.
He's so warm and he smells so good and he tastes so perfectly, and your teeth collide a few times but you can still feel, taste the smile on his lips, and just can't help but laugh. Laugh about him, about you two idiots, standing here where everyone can see you, kissing and just feeling. You can't remember how you ever could have been in a bad mood while Eridan existed.
When your need to breath and see his face again becomes too urgent, you pull back and see the tears on Eridan's face. You bring a hand up and wipe to wipe them away.
"Good to see you, too", he says. No, grins.
You just can't seem to stop shaking your head. "You're so stupid. What are you doing here? You had school today. You'll have school tomorrow. I'll have school tomorrow. You didn't even fucking tell me, you ass. God, I love you too much." And that's when you start kissing again. You think you might have to google if kissing can become addicting. Or rather, if there's some kind of treatment against it, because you seriously have no doubt that you already are addicted.
The next time that you part, it's because Eridan's laughing too much. "Let a man the right to defend himself, okay?"
You just say, "Nah", and want to pull him down again, because damn, you just can't get enough of his taste. But he turns his head away, still laughing.
"The people are staring already." You can see that he doesn't care at all about that.
"Doesn't matter", you say nonetheless, but don't try to reach up again. After all, you ARE kind of interested why he's here.
"Yeah, yeah. Just listen." You couldn't listen more. "I told you how pissed off I was at my family yesterday, didn't I? Well, and because you didn't sound like you were feeling well, either, I thought, fuck it, I'm young and free, packed my bag, wrote a note and booked the next flight, which was this morning. Also, it's freaking Valentine's Day, right? Oh, wait a second." He lets go of you with only one arm to bend over and rummage in a big bag that you'd plainly ignored before. It makes your chest feel even warmer in pride that you recognize almost every piece of clothing Eridan digs through. Finally, he pulls out a bright pink envelope.
"Happy Valentine's Day", he says and gives your nose a peck, handing it to you. "I thought this would do your ironic needs justice."
"Hell yeah, it does", you say and reluctantly let go of him with both arms to open it. You make sure that your hips never stop touching. "Best fucking Valentines EVER."
The card, also an eye disease inducing shade of pink, reads in big, cursive letters:
YOU REPULSE ME THE LEAST.
You can't - or don't want to - suppress laughter.
"Oh my god", you say, "Babe, if I'd known that you feel that way about me-" But his lips already found yours again.
"I love you", he says between kisses.
"I love you too."
And this time, you don't get interrupted again until your bro whistles at you from the window.