Work Text:
When you’re thirteen, you realize it’s started to hurt.
That’s a little bit of a problem.
You lose count of the number of messages you send when he’s offline, praying for his icon to show up. He’s wrapped himself up in your brain like some kind of fucking moth that crawled into your ears while you were asleep and made its cocoon there, set up shop, sup my name is John Egbert and I am here to stay. Deal with it.
You have never actually met this boy in real life and you know he thinks you’re a dork and maybe that’s one of the things you love about him because he’s not afraid to tell you that and he’s not afraid to be a jerk and you kind of really benefit from having someone like that in your life. Not that you will ever consciously admit that to yourself, nope.
But you are way too laid back for this crush shit, you are Dave Strider and your voice is cracking and you are shooting up in inches and outgrowing your old clothes by the week and you defy hormones and infatuation and weird feelings that mess up confused kid relationships and basically anything to do with growing up normally. You’re not fucking normal. You’re the shit.
You defy being in love with this stupid boy who makes good grades and has buck teeth and really sparkly blue eyes and a smile that could light up Houston in a blackout. You do not want to sniff his hair and hold his hand and kiss his cheek and take him to an ice cream place and share a vanilla milkshake in the height of Texan summer.
You defy being gay, too.
You have better things to do than succumb to that sissy shit.
~0~
When you’re fourteen you see his icon pop up on Pesterchum and you think, I am going to do it. I am going to fucking nail this and we’re going to ride into the sunset on ponies, waving handkerchiefs to the family who’s back at the train station crying. Or something.
You think, there is no fucking way John is 100% straight. He totally gets boners for Nic Cage.
You think, I am way better than Nic Cage.
You think, I would be the best boyfriend.
You think, I have gained way too much weight from eating ice cream over this. So not cool. It’s like the worst fucking rom com in the world. Shit doesn’t have to work like that in real life. You just. Ride into the sunset on ponies.
You think, what the fuck am I doing.
You think, maybe this is not a good idea.
You think, Washington is supposedly less homophobic than Texas but uh. Most dudes flip the fuck out when their best bro suddenly confesses homo love to them. Suddenly all the fake flirting seems less fake.
You think, I will just tell him I am gay and then see how he reacts.
TG: sup
EB: hey, dave!
TG: plz tell me you are doing something interesting because i am bored as fuck and need something to entertain me
TG: seriously the internet has run out of things to entertain me with
TG: how is that possible
EB: no creepy porn?
TG: most of the stuff thats been showing up in my suggestions scars me for life just from the thumbnails
TG: i mean i guess it could be worse
EB: dave.
EB: your house is covered in smuppets.
EB: i am pretty sure nothing pornographic can scar you for life.
TG: dude its all like
TG: lesbians tying each other up
TG: i dont understand
TG: what is the internet trying to tell me
EB: haha, oh man.
EB: you are so gay.
You stare at the screen for a few seconds.
Consider typing “yep biggest homo on the planet you caught me”.
And then you abscond.
~0~
When you’re sixteen, you have pretty well avoided the subject of crushes with John because he’s always off talking about Liv Tyler or his platonic bro love for Matthew Mcconaughey or whatever the fuck and you just continue being your aloof self. Fuck emotions. He tosses around “i am not a homosexual” like a catchphrase and you just thank your lucky stars you didn’t confess two years ago because worse than having John not love you back is not having John at all.
Two years of orthodontia have curbed his buck teeth a little but his hair is still messy as ever, it sticks up in spikes on his head no matter how much he tries to wet and comb it down, so he has that permanent just-rolled-out-of-bed rumpled look. You’re too tall and skinny with sharp elbows and phantom abs and pale skin because you burn if you stay out too long in the sun you never ever tan. You try to carry yourself so it looks natural, like you were born for this, but the truth is you don’t fit right in your body and your chest opens and aches like you’re standing on the edge of some huge fucking gap just getting ready to fall into the abyss and let air rush past you and just fall forever stomach swooping heart pounding lungs screaming
and it FUCKING HURTS.
You’re waiting for this to disappear for your hormones to calm down or WHATEVER because it’s not funny it’s not fun it’s not ok it just burns constantly in the back of your throat and you wrap up tightly in a blanket and pretend it’s John’s arms around you and you can almost feel him nuzzling your neck stroking your hair laughing softly
“dave, calm down, it’s okay.”
“dave, relax.”
“dave, of course i love you. shh, you’re being ridiculous.”
and it hurts so much.
A chat pops up on your screen as you tap your fingers against your lips and try to decide what to do to combat your John Feelings this time.
EB: dave, i need some advice.
TG: shoot
EB: okay.
EB: i’m only going to you because rose will try to psychoanalyze me, and also jade will just get really squeeful and overly excited.
EB: which i am not in the mood for oh my god.
EB: so yeah.
TG: yeah all right
TG: everything okay
TG: i mean you arent bleeding out or something right
TG: well i dont see why jade would get all squeeful and overly excited about that so scratch it
TG: whats going on
EB: okay.
EB: so i think i like someone.
EB: in a more than friends way.
EB: only the problem is i have been friends with him for a while and i don’t want to screw stuff up?
TG: him
EB: . . .
EB: fuck.
TG: so its a dude
EB: do not fucking make any gay jokes.
TG: what happened to not being a homosexual
EB: apparently i am slightly more homosexual than i thought?
EB: i don’t know.
EB: i just really like this guy.
EB: a lot.
EB: and i don’t know what to do.
You can feel it. Hope. Hope blossoming in your chest, a brightly colored flower expanding, carrying you far away from the pit you’re leaning over. Who else could he possibly be talking about – relax. Play it cool, Dave. Play it cool. Don’t freak him out. Don’t scare him off. Just chill. You can get through this.
You let out a long breath and type your response, willing your fingers not to shake.
Your heart is pounding so fast that you think you might keel over before you get it out.
TG: well youd better tell me who the fuck he is
TG: do i know him
TG: dunno how you expect me to give you stellar romance advice when i dont even know who youre trying to woo
EB: i’m afraid it’ll upset you!
Oh man.
Relax.
You bite down on your lower lip, apparently turning into John Egbert himself as you try not to let your mouth twitch. Chill. Don’t act like this is affecting you. Don’t act like for the first time in over three years, you’re not confused or upset or hurt. You clutch the folds of the blanket tighter around you, closing your eyes. You’re floating. Fucking crow wings sprouting on your back. New heights. Sunshine, dancing dust motes.
You love him you love him you love him and
maybe
maybe
p r o b a b l y
he loves you back -
EB: dave?
TG: nah
TG: pretty sure ill be chill with whatever
TG: just spit it out dude
TG: then let me work my strider charm
EB: uh.
EB: karkat vantas.
The sun melts your feathers together.
Searing pain.
You hit the ground hard.
Bones crunch.
TG: oh
That’s pretty much all there is to say on the matter.
~0~
John and Karkat get together when you’re seventeen.
You are sort of convinced you’re going to love him for the rest of your life because this is ridiculous, you’ve tried to go after other guys (and even like two or three girls), you’ve had kisses and nuzzles and even some sloppy makeouts and you still go back to the widening hole in your chest.
There are days when you can forget it and John can just be your best friend, but those days are few and far between now and you’re seriously starting to wonder if it hurts more to be his friend or if it would hurt more to just stop talking to him entirely. You have wasted way too much time on this stupid boy
but then he smiles at you and his eyes light up and the aching in you eases a little and you think you’re okay.
John has this bad habit of mentioning Karkat at inopportune moments, slipping him into casual conversation like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like his boyfriend is a cute little snake that can slither between the cracks in your relationship and he doesn’t fucking realize that hey that cute little snake is poisonous and is sinking its fangs into your skin and holding on tight
you’re convulsing with the pain of it and your blood is turning to ice and burning all at once and he doesn’t see it scorch trails through you, all the way through every artery and vein and tiny capillary
keep your poker face, Dave.
Sometimes you think maybe John does know, that maybe John does it on purpose, that maybe John is spiteful and vindictive and wants to give you a daily reminder of just how much he doesn’t want you. But then you think, you wouldn’t really love him if he was like that, right?
(please
john
please stop
you’re so stupid please)
And then you think, obviously you have no control over whether or not you love him.
Welp.
You actually tend to be very collected when it comes to subjects that aren’t John.
Really.
(you don’t really need his reminders anyway your heart is a reminder in itself it doesn’t pulse right its beats sound like i-don’t-want-you over and over and over again)
(someone just cut it out of you)
~0~
Karkat Vantas is actually a great boyfriend.
It makes you want to smash bricks into windows and rob jewelry stores and then get shot by police.
According to water filter commercials, your self-hatred is about on par with the amount of unrecycled plastic in the world. As in, it could wrap around the earth about a hundred times with room to spare. You just want Vantas to mutilate John’s heart. Hack it up, flatten it, stomp it under his boots, scuff the remains against the sidewalk. You want him to fucking crush John. And then you want John to come cry on your shoulder so you can stroke his hair and hold the little pieces of him together and make soothing noises and patch him up good as new only this time make him love you the way he should.
You suck.
You are selfish as fuck and you want it to be enough that he’s happy but it’s fucking not because you have felt like this for too long and the pain is almost part of your identity now, fuck, you are Dave Strider and you rap and you wear shades and you can handle fucking anything life throws at you and you haven’t been truly happy since you were thirteen and realized you were in love with your best friend.
This isn’t healthy.
There’s one night John crashes at your place, and once you’re sure he’s asleep – he’s a damn heavy sleeper, nothing’s going to wake him up – you slide into the empty space next to him and wrap an arm around his soft stomach and think about what it would be like to sleep like this every night, wrapped up in him and the blankets with his scent and the feel of his body. The idea gives you such a rare sense of peace that you’re sort of worried you actually will fall asleep and then he’ll wake up before you and wonder what the hell you’re doing. Once you’re satisfied that you’re the most horrible fucking excuse for a best friend on the face of the earth, you get up and go lie down on the couch. Where you’re supposed to be.
You’re not even jealous of the sex, not really, although God knows they’re having it. It’s just the little moments, the spaces of time people don’t realize exist until you want them and they’re snatched away. Karkat and John are both pretty casual about public displays of affection – they save the passionate make outs for closed doors but all bets are off when it comes to shit like fumbling for each other’s hands under the table and kissing foreheads and noses and cheeks and patting hair and laughing softly at inside jokes and just being fucking cute.
They’re so content with each other, so comfortable in each other’s arms, you’ve lost count of the number of “sups” that have been answered with “oh nothing, just snuggling with karkat and watching movies. he’s tearing up over the romantic confessions. so lame.” You don’t even have the energy to hate the guy anymore, he’s making John happy and if you’re reading the look in his eyes right, his feelings are just about as intense as yours. He relaxes when John touches him, some of the ever-present tension fading from his shoulders. He smiles more often. He whispers in John’s ears and looks overly pleased with himself when his cheeks go red. He is a textbook case of Madly In Love.
They are actually soul mates.
You keep opening your mouth to say something, anything, but it’s all guarded irony and sarcasm and witty comments and feigned narcissism so they won’t be able to tell how deep the self-loathing penetrates. You seriously consider telling Rose about your issues. You think, at least, that she would be a good sister and not mock you. You think she probably already knows. But then you think, that means actually explaining this all and she will realize what a pathetic excuse for a human being you are and you’re not sure you can handle that.
(and that voice nags in the back of your head, made worse because you know it’s true
you would be the fucking worst for him
you would cling and hurt him and act like a jackass and never be open and never feel safe and be paranoid and rude and stupid and worthless and you’d feel lonely whenever he wasn’t near you and you’d self-destruct
and destroy both of you in the process
you’re fucked up, strider
you are so broken
you are so
broken)
The desire for the feelings to go away is more like a faraway fantasy than a real hope.
Was it at thirteen or somewhere along the road that “love” turned into dependency?
Because you want to find the exact moment you dove into that black hole and let it swallow you, and then you want to hack it to bits.
Pause, rewind, undo.
Take back all the years you’ve wasted on this shit.
~0~
When they get engaged at twenty-three, it feels sort of inevitable, so the sensation of claws repeatedly scraping your chest and gouging out your heart doesn’t come. What does is an overwhelming sense of apathy (“you’ll be my best man, right?” “yeah sure whatever” and John mistakes it for you being your normal self).
They have a party and of course you go, and everyone gets buzzed-but-not-quite-drunk, aside from an old aunt who gets completely fucking trashed, and you don’t drink a drop because who knows what sort of shit you’ll start spouting? Everyone is happy happy joy joy and you are trying not to carry around a storm cloud with you because Jesus Christ, the last thing you need is to fuck this up.
You think you’ve hit your capacity for hurt and that this can’t get any worse, which is good because you’ve held your shit together through the worst, good job, Dave, good job.
At least until John plops down next to you and says, “I am about to beat every ironic thing you’ve ever done ever.”
You fold your arms, prop the chair up on two legs. “Oh really?”
“Yeah.”
“You just fucking try, Egbert.”
“I had the biggest crush on you when we were like fourteen.”
The chair slams down on all fours. You stare at him, although he can’t see quite how pointed because even after all this time you still wear the shades. “What?”
“No no, don’t worry! I don’t anymore. I got over it a while ago. Don’t worry about me offending your manly sensibilities or anything.” John rolls his eyes. “Oh my god, I had it so bad for a while, though. And I was freaking out because wow, gay. We were pretty stupid as teens, weren’t we?”
You resolve to take up smoking.
“Yeah, we were. I think all teens are, though. Huh. You had a thing for me. Weird.”
“I had all the things for you, Dave. All of them. Haha, I think I still remember some godawful tunes I composed on piano about my angsty soul feelings.”
John no please god stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it
“And now I’m gonna be your best man. I can see the irony. Don’t think it makes up for all of the irony I’ve schooled your ass with over the years, though.”
“It totally does.”
“I’m really happy for you, man.”
There’s no way you’re drinking in this company but when you get home you are going to drain the whole fucking liquor cabinet.
“I’m happy for me too.” John smiles. “I think I might literally be the happiest guy alive.”
“Be right back, gotta piss.”
“Thanks for sharing.”
You hold it together until you get into the bathroom, then bolt into a stall and throw up, swearing the whole time to blame it on alcohol you never consumed.
The door opens. Shit.
Wait what the fuck is Jade doing in the men’s room.
“Are you seriously so drunk you can’t read the signs?”
"Dave.”
“Because I just puked and even I am not that drunk.”
“Dave, we need to talk.”
“The breakup speech? Last I checked, we weren’t dating.”
“Dave you are going to fucking listen to me or I’m going to get Rose to therapy you.”
You lean against the wall. “In the middle of the men’s room? Sure. This is a great place for a heart to heart. The urinals might shed tears.”
You’re not prepared for it when she steps forward and shoves you. “You are literally the most frustrating person I have ever met. And I have dealt with Karkat like a million times.”
Then she takes your arm and steers you out. You meekly follow.
She drags you to some big ol’ empty room. By empty you mean empty – there’s nothing there save a few plastic chairs. Rose isn’t there, which is good. You were a little worried this was going to turn into a Dave Get Over Yourself intervention. Which it still might, Jade is enough personality for about seventeen people.
“Okay,” she says. “First of all, you need a hug.”
You’d been bracing yourself for her to hit you, so you’re unprepared again when she wraps her arms around you and pulls you close. She’s half a head shorter than you and you realize belatedly that it’s been at least two years since you properly hugged someone and you’re holding her without giving your body proper consent because you need someone close to you and you are in a fuck ton of pain right now actual literal physical pain and it doesn’t stop why won’t it just fucking stop you just want it to fucking stop and you seriously appreciate Jade.
“Second of all, I’m sorry that John is a huge tactless idiot. It gets way worse when he’s buzzed. He’s my brother and I love him but seriously.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“No. Shut up. We are so far past you being Mr. I Am Too Cool For Emotions.”
“You’re kinda scaring me, Harley.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t mean to flip the fuck out. I should probably just go home.”
“Dave…” She still hasn’t let go of you. Her head rests against your shoulder, hair tickling your chin. It’s soft. “I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself.”
“Doing what?”
“The whole John thing! You’re just torturing yourself and it’s really upsetting to me, okay? I want to snuggle you and then punch you for being stupid and make it all go away.”
“I’m fine.”
“Please. Do you know when the last time I saw you smile was? Because I don’t remember.”
“Don’t do that – if I say I’m fine then can’t you just fucking take me at my word and leave it alone?”
“No.” She pauses. “I am actually scared for you, Dave.”
“What the fuck? I’m okay. Nothing to be scared about.”
“You are sooo not okay. You haven’t been okay for ages! And you won’t reach out to any of us, and it’s infuriating because it’s like, okay, I get why you’re not talking to John about it, but Rose and I both want you to be happy, and you’re just sitting around refusing to be happy, and I – ugh.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“I thought I was doing a pretty good job of hiding it” – shit your voice just broke abscond Dave abscond.
“You are, from people who haven’t known you over half your life.”
“Right. I. Fuck. Does John know?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Okay.”
“What can I do to make it better?” She hugs you tighter. “This is happening. They’re going to get married and probably adopt babies together or something and raise a big happy family. There's nothing you can do to change that.”
“Uh, nothing really makes it better. I’ll do a better job at acting normal, I guess.”
“Have you ever thought this might be depression or something like that? I mean, I am not jokingly pretending to be Rose here, I’m asking because in love or not, being this miserable can’t be good.”
“And how would you know anything about my exact level of misery?”
“Dave.”
“What.”
“Ten years.”
“You’ve known forever, haven’t you?”
“Pretty much, yep.”
You close your eyes. “Did you know when he had the crush on me?”
“Nope, he kept his secret super well hidden. I would have told you. But…” Her arms finally unwrap from you so she can stroke her fingers through your hair. “It would have all turned out the same. Like this, I mean, with you two not together. It wouldn’t have been a good match.”
“I know.”
“I think that’s what’s driving me crazy about it! I mean, the time you’ve spent pining over him is probably about twenty times as long as a real relationship would last.”
“I know.”
“But you’re still pining over him.”
“Yeah, well, the heart wants what the heart wants. I solemnly swear not to become an alcoholic over this. Can I go now?”
“I hate seeing you this unhappy over something that should be making everyone happy.”
“Whatever.”
“You’ll come talk to me if you’re overwhelmed. That’s not a request.”
“Whatever, Harley.”
You appreciate her all the same.
~0~
You don’t see a therapist because you are steeped so far in denial about your level of sanity that you might as well be in Death Valley. The Death Valley of denial. Send a post card. Having fun out here, guys, having a blast. Fucking tearing shit up. It’s great.
You cry on their wedding night.
It’s the first time you’ve shed tears since you were five and scraped your knee and Bro told you that brave people don’t pull that shit. You should get all of the fucking awards for being so stoic. Everyone has a breaking point.
You are happy for them, in your own way, it’s awesome to see John so excited and stressing over every little thing and trying so hard to get his hair to lie flat (and ultimately failing) and helping him fix his tux and watching them walk down the aisle and you need to get rid of this storm cloud once and for all because you’re not going to be the creepy moody uncle, you are going to be the cool uncle that everybody wishes they had.
(there’s no way they’re not adopting kids
another reason you two would never work
you could never deal with children
if you repeat your incompatibilities under your breath -)
You muster up all of the convincing smiles and hugs and hair ruffles. You are not going to fuck this up, no way. You think you even fool your omniscient sister and Jade. You don’t mope. You really don’t – you keep firmly planted in the moment when they kiss and when there is really good cake at the reception and when there is dancing and when Karkat grudgingly tells you that you’ve grown on him and you give back a grudging “Ditto” and you watch the perfect day unfold and you really are
happy for them
because fuck you are not spending all of this time feeling sorry for yourself nope nope nope you would be a shitty excuse for a Strider if that was the case.
But when you get home and change into pajamas and adrenaline wears off and you’re alone again, thinking about John and Karkat making passionate love on a beach or something, you bury your face in your pillow and the tears come. You think about calling Jade, she’d probably be expecting it, but it’s her brother’s special day and also you think maybe you really just need to sob for a little while and get some of the saltwater block out of your throat.
So you do.
You fall asleep with tear tracks burned into your face and red-rimmed eyes and messy hair and you’re sort of regretting the promise not to become an alcoholic. But you manage it. You fall asleep.
~0~
You dream of kissing John and he’s all tongue and teeth and silliness and your hands are wrapped in his hair and you bite his lip and then you kiss down his jaw and his neck and his collarbones and his chest and you are just kissing him like you’ve never been allowed to and he is sighing and gasping and trembling slightly and once or twice even letting out a quiet moan that he cuts off halfway through like he’s embarrassed
his hands are tracing patterns on your back his fingernails scoring thin red lines he’s touching you like you’ve wanted him to for so long like dumb teenagers experimenting man you should have done that you should have been all hey john we should try kissing just once see how it feels
you’re so sick but it’s okay because he’s here and he’s making it better and you love him and you whisper it IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou because you’re not allowed to say it and you want to oh god you want to IloveyouIloveyou
i dont care if this wont work john i love you
i love you
oh god i love you
i just had to tell you once
and he loves you too and he says it and it’s good it’s safe it’s right for once it’s right and it’s okay and you can just thaw out relax kiss him kiss him keep kissing him and holding him close and snuggling don’t let go or he’ll fade away
~0~
When you wake up, you reach blindly for him before you realize it’s a dream.
The bed is still empty.
Ha.
Hahaha.
Welp.
You curl up on your side and come up with tired empty rhymes until sleep finally lets you stop feeling again.