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Your name is Dave Strider and you are pretty much the most inconspicuous guy at your high school. You have no outstanding talents, unless people knew how awesome you were at mixing music with your turntables. Unfortunately, the school band doesn’t exactly call for someone with talents of your genre. Whatever. They are way beneath you anyway.
You pretty much live in the shadows of your high school, hiding behind your camera lens and your shades. Not because you’re insecure or anything, just because you have standards when it comes to being friends with people. If it weren’t for the fact that you took the majority of the photos for the school yearbook, you probably wouldn’t even be in it. That is exactly how you want it to be. You take great pride in being so smooth you slide past the crowd. There is pretty much no better way to be.
Or you wish you could say that, but unfortunately you have only one vice. That would be gym class. Without that measly requirement in order to graduate from this place, you could have slid past everyone and right into the rest of your life. When you started this class at the beginning of the year, it changed your entire senior year in way that you certainly didn’t think possible.
Enter John “Johnathan” Egbert.
Of course you know this guy. You’ve known him informally since at least sixth grade. He was just an awkward little kid like you. But somewhere along the lines puberty hit him on the head just right and he tried out for the school track team. He made it big and became a track star, bragging to his new friends about how far he was running and all the records he wanted to beat.
Essentially, he never changed. He had added on basketball during the winter as well, which he was somehow just as good at. You could verify this from the numerous occasions you were sent to take pictures of the school idol. There was simply no one more popular than the ever-apparent Johnathan Egbert. Of course, you knew his secret was that he was once as dorky and scrawny as you. It never failed to amaze you how well built the guy was. Not that you were looking; the photos made it pretty obvious.
It just so happened that you, Dave Strider, had the honor of taking your P.E. credit with none other than the infamous John Egbert. You knew right away that this guy would make your life a living hell. On top of being a star athlete, he was an incredibly good-natured and friendly guy. Also, he would never let anyone scrape through a gym credit without giving it all their effort. That was basically your problem.
You were fitter than you let on. Your older brother loved pulling some serious stunts, and he had trained you to be quick on your feet and flexible. So yeah, to an extent you were strong yourself. But could you bench-press more than half your body weight or run a 5k? You highly doubted it.
So for as long as possible you used your unbeatable camouflage skills to blend into the rest of the herd of men. Thankfully, most of them being as uncaring as you, this wasn’t difficult. The only one who seemed intent on over-achieving the shit out of his “A” was Mr. Track Star.
Two weeks had passed before the official meeting of said track star in question. It was the first day out on the track, and the teacher had yelled at you all to sprint a 400. You swallowed back the rising complaint in your throat, but you kept your face blank as the class huddled along the line. The whistle sounded and you flash-stepped your way ahead of most of the class. Sprinting for a short period of time was no big deal. It was an important escape tactic. Your bro would have never let you quit his pointless rooftop training sessions without a proper abscond. As you come around the 300m mark you think to yourself how lucky you were to have never fallen from that unstable roof. Shaking the thoughts off, you come in to the finish, walking off the run.
You barely have a chance to catch your breath before he runs over to you. He’s grinning his nice-guy grin and you have to remember to keep your face very still because you’re never allowed to wear your sunglasses during P.E.
“Whoa! You’ve got quite a nice sprint.” He comments brightly. You nod briefly “Thanks.”
“You ever considered heading out for the track team?” he asks, and you inwardly cringe. He’s seriously going to try and convert you to the land of sweat and jocks. You knew you shouldn’t have tried that hard.
“No. I’m busy with yearbook things.” You respond curtly.
“Oh yeah? What do you work on? Writing, editing?”He pries. You wish you could be a smartass with him because all his questions are starting to feel a little irritating. At the same time you know that you can’t do that because he’s being completely sincere.
“I take photos.” You leave it at that.
“Wow, that’s all you? Well kudos man, that’s stuffs pretty impressive.” He complements you, but you really wish he hadn’t. You want this conversation to end before anyone else notices.
“Thanks.”
“What’s your name?” Oh god no. You know he did not just ask that.
“Strider. Dave Strider.” Why were you such an idiot and give him both your names? It’s basically like asking him to stalk your incredibly ironic Facebook page.
“Oh. Nice to meet you Dave. I’m...”
“I know. You’re Johnathan Egbert. Quite the celeb around these parts.”
“Call me John.”
You can’t bring yourself to answer that.
At first, you absolutely abhor yourself for giving him your name. You try to skip gym class for a few days to try and get him off your back so he’ll forget about you, but every time you head for the door he spots you and calls you over, leaving you no choice but to go to class with him.
You talk about pointless things at first, like classes and sports, but little by little you know you he’s trying to get you out of your shell. You finally let on that you really like photography and that you mix music at home in your spare time. In exchange, he tells you that Nic Cage is his favorite actor, as well as the fact that he actually hates parties and tries to avoid them at all costs.
It was during a particularly boring day of gym class when there was a substitute teacher when he invited you over and that about hit you in the head like a hammer.
“So hey, I’m not doing anything this weekend, you wanna come hang out,” he asks casually, not looking at you. You are speechless mostly because you just didn’t think this was a thing that could happen. You play it off like a joke.
“Well I don’t know Johnathan, I am a proper young lady and I have to make sure that our parents have formally sat down to dinner and had a long discussion about the progress of our relationship,” you croon, fanning yourself sarcastically. He laughs.
“So is that yes or what? I couldn’t tell behind all your bullshit,” he asks again. And you roll your eyes as if to say obviously.
But to be hundred percent freaking honest you are a little bit freaked out because you’re relatively new to this whole “close friends” thing. Especially when the friend in is a majorly popular athlete.
You forget that you were ever even nervous when you pull up to his driveway later that evening. You’re up in his room watching his favorite movies and somehow it’s like you’ve always been like this. You constantly remind him how horrible every single one of his favorite films is. He half-heartedly punches you in the arm and tells you to shut up because you’re missing the plot. You counter with how much you don’t care. Eventually, the movie is forgotten because the two of you are too busy throwing jabs back and forth. That is just fine with you.
It’s already 3 am by the time you decide to sleep. Of course, John is already passed out on the floor next to you, and you pause a second as you look at him. You come to realize that John is really exactly the same as you remember him being in middle school. All awkward and teeth, which he never got corrected apparently. He’s still himself it seems, he’s just been pushed on top of this high pedestal that makes everyone see him as something greater than he actually is. Except you.
You figure he probably doesn’t act like this around any of his other friends. And the fact that you can see this side of him makes you feel pretty darn special.
You shake your head and crawl down on the floor next to him and drift into dreamless sleep.
It hits you like bag of bricks when second semester comes and gym class ends. There is this little part of you that is telling you how ironic it is that the class you hated the most is now the class you wish went on forever. You tell the voice to shut up as you make your way to your photography class, which has filled up the hour.
“Dave!” A familiar voice calls from the opposite direction. You turn your head, shades conveniently blocking your direct line of sight. Johnathan Egbert is running up to you with that dumb grin pasted on his face. The dumb grin that everyone else in the room seems to be enchanted by.
He waves lightly and continues walking with you as you head to the studio. He babbles on about how bummed he is about not having gym class together anymore; you roll your eyes and then tell him you are doing so.
“But hey, anyway, are you busy tomorrow night? I’ve got my first big track meet, and I usually get really bored hanging out with all the other runners,” he admits quietly. It’s almost adorable how bashful he is about the whole thing.
“Huh? Sure thing Egbert. I should probably be there taking photos for the books anyway,” you mumble, and he thanks you while forcefully hugging you. You shove him off you and disappear into the art studio.
That was unexpected.
You push the incident out of your mind easily. It’s normal for bros to hug each other every once and a while right? No shame in that. You convince yourself of this and go about your work teaching first year photography students the key points of developing film correctly. You remember that you will get to take pictures of him at the meet tomorrow and suddenly you realize how much more the photos will mean to you now that you know the face behind them.
You figure out that John runs mostly middle-distance, whatever that means, and therefore runs his races closer to the end of the meet. He runs the mile, 800, and the 4X800 relay, all of which are some of the photos you will be expected to take of him.
He waits patiently by your side while you take some quick shots of the sprint and hurdle races closer to the beginning of the meet, and then waves goodbye as he heads to warm up for his 800.
“Good luck,” you call after him before you can stop yourself. He smiles and gives you a “thumbs up” before heading down to the center of the track and you can’t help it that your heart does a little skip in your chest.
Your eyes and your lens are glued to the track during John’s race. His face is grim with concentration as he flies down the track neck and neck with the other four runners. You can feel your heart racing with vicarious excitement for him, though you would never admit it to his face. You snap several good shots of him in motion and John finishes second.
A whole gaggle of girls flock around him when he finishes, no doubt telling him incredibly cool he is. Though you can’t make out what he’s saying from this far away, you can see him laughing it off modestly, and the girls slowly drift away.
“So how I’d do, geek?”
“Shut up, jock.” You reply, but you smile briefly so that John knows you’re only kidding.
You end up attending every home meet after that, even if you don’t have to take pictures. You even went to one away meet because John offered to drive you there. You wouldn’t dare tell him, but watching him run made your hair stand on end. He was powerful on the track, and you can’t help but think that maybe the Egbert charm isn’t just limited to the fangirls.
You’re both sitting up in the bleachers at the last home meet of the season, when his last race is called. He smiles and says. “Well, here goes everything, being the last race of my high school career and all,” he smiles sadly and you pat him on the shoulder.
“You’ll do great. Go get em,” You insist, and he smiles brightly at you and nods. He gets up and heads to the stairs before yelling back.
“Hey Dave!”
“Yeah?”
“You wanna go to prom with me?”
“What?” Words fail you.
“Prom! You Going?”
“Am I?” You force yourself to keep your cool.
“Consider me your date!” He yells back, and he runs down to the track for the last mile of his senior year.
What the hell just happened?
You are standing alone in your room, putting on a solid black suit and dressing for prom because your track star best friend asked you to. Or at least, you think you should call him your best friend. Your heart and your head are at ends with each other and you’ve been dealing with it by just letting things happen.
You really wished you asked for some kind of clarification about all this. Your ever-faithful heart keeps screaming that this is a date and this is way more than “just friends”. The other part of you, the sane part you agree, is your head confirming that you are going as bros. Just as friends. It probably won’t even be the two of you but rather some kind of raging group of popular athletes. Keep your shades on at all times and don’t let your heart get the best of you. Your heart is stupid and doesn’t know jack-shit.
The doorbell rings and you about fall down the stairs. You calmly descend every step, and make your way to the front door, poker face strapped tightly in place.
It’s just John, solo, save for his car and his charming smile. You yell a weak goodbye to your bro and he probably yells something back like, “use protection” or something else to get under your skin.
“Oh wait, here, I got this for you,” John remembers as he sits down next to you in the driver’s seat. He pulls out a white corsage, and puts it in the pocket of your suit.
“Hey, um, thanks man,” you mumble, and oh god you are silently losing your mind.
You drive prom in complete silence. You cannot find words to come out of your mouth. You don’t dare ask the question of whether or not this is a date. Either answer to that question would open to many paths that you are not ready to travel down. John either doesn’t notice your freak out or doesn’t care, because maybe this whole silence is eating him up too.
You both arrive at prom and there is loud music playing and tons of upperclassmen are dancing or standing off to the side talking to each other. Some couples are getting their pictures taken and you are just not able to handle the atmosphere right now.
You swallow back all your doubt and let yourself go. Whatever happens will happen, and that will be the end of that.
The yearbook teacher happens to be supervising the dance, and she hands you a camera and asks you to get some good shots. You nod and you are suddenly a lot more comfortable.
You blend into the crowd of John plus his friends and you keep your mouth shut because you have no idea what any of them are talking about. You notice pretty quick that this is john’s other side, the side that everybody else sees and that is the side that really doesn’t pay much attention to you, you gather.
Of the whole group, there’s really only one person that bugs you, and that’s this girl Vriska. She’s quite pretty, you admit, but rather loud and whiney with her words. She stands so close to John they could be connected, and you could say that it bothers you but everyone else seems cool with it, so you say nothing. She clings to his arm and asks him to dance, and he consents. Somehow, despite all your mental preparation for tonight, you are hurt by this. It stings like a slap in the face and you are glad you are wearing shades because for a second there you’re pretty sure you looked disappointed.
You decide to head out to the back for some air, and you’re sitting out on the balcony with your camera feeling sorry for yourself. You could sit out here all night and sulk, but you think better of it, and opt to go home. Feeling fully rejected, you take the corsage out of your shirt, and think of dropping it over the edge when…
“Dave?”
No not this again this is exactly what you don’t want right now. John’s standing there with Vriska at his hip and he is looking at you with this really sad and kinda confused look.
No you can’t do this right now.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“Never better,” you insist, clearing your throat and shoving the flower back into your pocket.
“Actually, I’m kinda feeling sick, I’m gonna head home,” you lie, and you brush past him back inside and to the front entrance.
“Do you want a ride home? It’s nothing really,” he asks, and it almost sounds like he’s pleading but you just play the cool kid.
“Nah, I wouldn’t want you to miss all the fun,” you smirk slightly, and you turn away and don’t look back.
Stupid jock.
Your name is Dave Strider and you have locked yourself in your room after thoroughly ditching prom. You have also been crying your eyes out ever since you shut the fucking door. Your knuckles are bruised from smashing your fist into the wall because you can’t believe how you’re acting. You are literally no better than a freaking girl after watching Titanic alone in her room after her boyfriend broke up with her.
You admit that is pretty much how you feel right now.
You silently curse John and also his weird girlfriend because you are alone and it’s almost midnight and who cares? You feel cheated and also somewhat played for a fool. You are also mad at yourself because it probably wasn’t John’s fault at all but this was all a misunderstanding and all those implications were just in your head. You stare listlessly at the flower on your nightstand. After all the times you swore to yourself you would crush it, tear to pieces, or burn it, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
You roll over to fall asleep when there’s a loud banging at the front door. It jolts you awake and your first instinct is to grab the katana on the wall. You wait a moment, and then assume the person went away, because who seriously goes up to people’s houses at midnight anyway?
The knocking starts again, louder.
You sluggishly get out of bed against your better judgment. The whites of your eyes are almost as red as the irises from crying, and your hair askew every which way, and you are incredibly tired.
You open the door to a crying John.
Your first thought is that Vriska kicked him out or dumped him or some lame shit like that, and you are tempted to slam the door in his face because that would be getting what he deserves.
But he latches his arms around you and you can feel his body shaking. You sigh and close the door behind the two of you, not saying anything. You lead him into your room, making sure he doesn’t wake your brother.
“D-Dave I’m really sorry.”
“What for?” You whisper. He pulls away and sits upright, incredulous.
“What do you mean what for? I treated you like shit tonight,” he argues, taking off his glasses to clean them.
“It’s nothing personal. I get it, Vriska’s a hot babe and you should totally go for that choice…” he cuts off your shameless lie.
“No! It’s not like that! Really! I mean, I know she likes me, but I don’t have feelings for her like that. She’s like a sister. I was only spending time with her to be nice and then you…”
“I’m just fine,” you shrug.
“You don’t have to lie. I know I can be a jerk…”
“Everyone is once and while,” you say nonchalantly. Suddenly you are conscious of the fact that John is staring at you without his glasses on and you can see the deep blue of his eyes. His face is so poised and careful, like he’s afraid to open his mouth to say anything else that might hurt you.
“Can you even see like that?” You ask, and John doesn’t say anything at first.
“Tonight was a date.” He says sadly.
“Come again?”
“I meant it, as a date, not as friends.” He confirms. His voice is very quiet and scared. You are still, finding that then it did mean everything your heart said it meant and now you’re kind of afraid too.
You can’t find the words you want to say to him.
Very warily, you inch closer to him on your bed. You know you are a lesser man for using this instead of words but…
You ever so softly kiss him, and then back away. Looking directly into his eyes to see what emotion was lost there.
He stares back, bewildered by it all. Then the eyes lighten up, and the smile comes back to his face, and he kisses you back, with enthusiasm as he wraps his arms around you. All the unspoken things pass between your lips like silent vows. The two of you connect and the passion runs through the two of you like a live wire, lighting up your heart. He pulls back and puts your hand on his chest, and you do the same, and in one giant cheesy moment, you both laugh and realize this is why you must be meant for each other.
The week after prom is finals, but when you both finish and successfully graduate from high school, you celebrate by the two of you going out for dinner and a movie. You pay for dinner and he pays for the movie.
To you it feels like nothing has changed. He’ll be attending the same college as you in the fall; he got a major sport scholarship to run there, while you will mostly be relying on financial aid. The two of you seem like the way you had before, friends who still hung out together to watch crappy movies and bicker over pointless things like whose turn it is to pay for pizza. John even came to your senior showcase where the art department had put lots of your best prints on display, including one you had taken of him at a meet.
There are the new things too. Like the over-use of pet names and kissing in closets when you were certain no one else was around. Then it turns out bro was totally home and he showers you with gay jokes to no end. He does however send his blessing, more or less.
And there are moments just like this, walking home from the theater down a side street with not too many people and you can hold hands and no one will notice.
“You’re such a geek,” He teases.
“Yeah, whatever. Stupid jock.”