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Rustling of bedsheets. The slight bounce of the mattress as weight is lifted off.
Your eyes flutter open at the stimuli. Without your glasses, you can’t see much at all, but you can make out Dirk’s form standing at the foot of the bed, pulling his boxers on.
“Dirk? Where’re’ya goin’?” You mumble, still half asleep. He doesn’t look up or visually indicate that he’s heard you at all.
“I have to go.” His voice is colder than it was just a couple hours ago.
You sit up and rub your eyes. “Where?”
“Places. I have things to do.” You can hear his belt rattling as he fastens it.
“Can’t you stay for a couple more hours? I- I can make some grub, or we can go again, or just shoot the shit, or-” You sit up and rub your eyes before patting around to find your glasses. Dirk pulls on a shirt from the floor that you’re pretty sure is yours and not his. A soft click, followed by a warm glow around his face. He’s lighting a cigarette.
He comes close to you and your nightstand, placing your glasses in your hand and taking his own shades. Smoke floods the air around you, and you try not to cough out of politeness. You can make out the curve of his cheek, and go to cup your hand around it. He swats you away.
“Gee, did I do something? I can make it up to you; you know I want things to be just… swell between us!” You choke back whatever’s rising up your throat.
Dirk looks up at you finally. His amber eyes pierce right through you, the new red shades he’s been particularly attached to recently keeping them more visible than usual. The bags under his eyes have deepened, you notice. Have they been this way? Why are you only noticing now?
He takes the cigarette out from between his lips and exhales a cloud that encases the two of you. “Look, whatever we have now, it’s over. I think it’s long overstayed its welcome in both of our lives. There are better things we could be doing.”
You shift around more, putting your glasses on. “Chap…”
“This didn’t happen. None of this ever happened, as far as I’m concerned.” Dirk steps away and towards the door of the room. You pull yourself out of bed as well, putting on a robe far more extravagant than how you feel right now. You follow him into the hallway, down the curling staircase with an elegant red carpet draped over it. This mansion was far too big for you being here alone most days, but you weren’t above excessive displays of wealth– or at least, you acted like you weren’t.
“What’s all this about? Seriously?” You swallow. You hope the twinge of disappointment in your voice rings through him and convinces him to stay.
He slips his ratty sneakers on, having not bothered to untie the laces when he took them off those few hours ago when he’d arrived. He tosses the cigarette butt on the floor and unhooks the red leather jacket of his from the ornate coat hanger, resembling a skull and various other bones you couldn’t name. The corners of his mouth twitch slightly in disgust as he looks at the stand. You’d gotten used to the nuances of his face, with how little he visibly emoted regularly.
“Do you know what an ultimate self is?” Dirk stares dead at you again as he pulls the coat on. You think for a second– the term sounds familiar, but you can’t place a meaning behind it.
“I can’t say I have, but-”
“Forget it.” He cuts you off. “No point in explaining it now.” His gaze settles on the door. You can’t let him leave.
“Why not one last good shag for the road? For the sake of a proper farewell?” You force a grin on your face.
“I’m already dressed. Isn’t that what we just did?”
“Well, I didn’t know those were the stakes at the time! One last shot?” You widen your fake grin. It’s probably really obvious to him. You can fake it one more time, pretend you’re more into it than you really are. As long as he’s around you at all.
He looks at you like you’re downright dunderheaded– which, in his defense, you are. Of course your fling wouldn’t last. The point of having your hookups in secret was that they didn’t need to have any weight behind them. Two guys who wrestle in the sheets every once in a while, that’s it. It’s your fault for still developing an attachment beyond that. It was just sex, nothing more. You let out a deep sigh.
You think about when you’d dated, years ago. How you were the one always running off, and he was practically begging for your attention. If you didn’t feel sick from agony, maybe you could appreciate the irony of the situation. Maybe Dirk did, with his whole irony schtick, and that’s why he was so committed to disappearing. Maybe if you’d done things differently all those years ago, now that you can understand how he felt back then, you wouldn’t be stuck in your awkward friends-with-benefits limbo. Whatever they say about hindsight.
You take several quick steps towards him, far quicker than you’re used to, but not quicker than you’d seen him move in the past. You push yourself against the front door, keeping him from opening it.
“What are you doing?” He’s trying not to laugh at you. Dirk Strider is holding back a laugh, and it’s at your expense. You wish you could punch yourself.
“I- I don’t want you to leave yet. Not without a proper explanation.”
“You’re trapping me.”
“Well, I…” Your mouth is dry. You are trapping him. “That’s not the phrasing I would use…” It absolutely is.
“Why can’t you accept this? Why are you so stuck on me? That bullshit from canon was years ago. We can’t keep doing this. You know that, you have to.” He’s staring right into you again. You used to wish for him to show you under his glasses, but now you’re missing the more opaque shades. The color of his glasses make the orange in his eyes pop even more, shifting towards a more red hue. Almost like what your best guess of what Dave’s eyes would look like, although you’ve never seen his.
At once, Dirk lunges towards you, shoving you away from the door. You’re larger than him, but he still manages to push you to the ground. He’s on top of you, tugging at your hair. You squeeze his shoulder and try to pat your way up to his hair. His rough hands find their way down, wrapping around your throat. You tug and squeeze harder in response.
It’s nothing like the fights you stage for TV. There is no respect for each other, hidden away for the audience. You’re raw, trying to tear each other open and yourselves apart. Ripping back the pieces of yourselves that you’d left in each other.
Your vision begins to cloud. You see his face wince harder as you dig your nails into his skin.
His grip loosens, and he collapses next to you, only to pop back up on his feet a second later. He must have been biting his lip- you can see blood beginning to pool. You take a second on the ground to catch your breath.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He shouts. “Why can’t you let go? I did! Look at me, I’m doing great!” The thought of his sunken-in eyes and how strongly he smelled of smoke when he arrives doesn’t escape you, but you’re too winded to say anything back.
You push yourself into sitting up. He’s put on some muscle recently, but he is still stronger than he looks. He continues.
“I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in fucking forever and I don’t need you anymore! See? I can accept it! Why can’t you?” You can’t remember the last time you heard him actually shout, but his voice echoes across the whole house. “Fuck you!” He pulls the door open and slams it shut behind him.
You scramble to your feet to run after him. You don’t bother closing the door behind you, and the fact that you forgot shoes is immediately apparent as the driveway pavement digs into your feet. You try to shout, but your voice is hoarse. A strained “come back” is all that comes out, and you doubt he even heard it.
Dirk notices that you ran after him and swivels around. “I’m not going back in there! I’m never setting foot in your garish fucking mansion ever again! Just- leave me alone!” He turns around again before you can try and form a response. He floats into the air, and he’s gone.
You stare up into the sky, but don’t follow. Something is seriously wrong with him. Maybe it has to do with his whole “ultimate self” deal, or maybe you’re paranoid over what could be nothing. Maybe rejection is finally sinking in– heartbreak, if you will.
You wish he’d come back. Tell you he went too far, and that he was going to stay. Just for a minute longer. Even if he just wanted sex, even if he didn’t see you for you. At one point, he was the only person who truly saw who you were. It felt like now he saw you the same way everyone else did– the bonehead with a nice ass– but you wanted to cling to what was. You don’t know what happened to him. You don’t know what happened to both of you, really.
Was this growing up? Being an adult? Losing the most important people to you, because they could all move on while you babbled about how things used to be? You look around at the mansion around you. How you’d built a lavish lifestyle for yourself, designed around the idea of being a gentleman, but you couldn’t amount to anything worthwhile with it. The only thing you’d managed to do since ascending to godhood was force yourself into an image you hated, because it was easier than trying to be authentic. You knew people would accept the idea of an attractive numbskull, and you didn’t even really have to push yourself that hard to fit into it. Maybe it was foolish to wish that Dirk of all people could see through it. Maybe you’d put the mask on for him in the first place.
You swallow your spit– your throat still raw from his hands– and force yourself to get up. It was time to grow up.