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It’s the first day of school in a new town for you, John Egbert, and you have already succeeded in making an enemy. It had started like all your first days at new schools usually did: the teacher droning out an introduction to the class, an award-winning prank from yours truly, and a good amount of laughter from the droll horde of fellow classmates. You sit next to the one who laughs the most, and the simple formula to breaking the ice and making new friends is complete, no real repercussions, aside from the occasional upset prankee you avoid easily. Except today, apparently.
“Hey, it’s Richard, right? Can I call you Dick?” you ask, dragged along behind your very own personal bully. His fingers clench tighter in your shirt collar, the fabric rough against your skin. “You’re right; we’re so close now the more informal ‘Cock’ is definitely what we should go with.”
His hand grips the back of your neck and slams you against the lockers, and the sledgehammer that most people call his fist connects with your gut, the air in your lungs whooshing out. You giggle weakly, the sound dripping out from between your lips.
“Rough stuff, I like it!”
He pounds you again before continuing his sojourn down the hallway, his motions abrupt and terse with ill-concealed anger.
“You think you’re funny, huh?” His voice grates out.
“Uh, no, I’m hilarious. Did you see how hard that girl in the back laughed?” You sure did. She’s the one you sat next to after your perfectly executed Triple Water Balloon Surprise made a splash all over Cock’s sweater. Ah, the things you do for entertainment.
“Shut up!” He throws you against the lockers again, this time opening up what you assume is his before slapping the door closed. You listen to him storming off before you relax your shoulders and bring your forearms up to grip at your elbows. You sigh.
“So much for a good first impression,” you mumble to yourself. Maybe it’d be different if you could make friends like most people do. Maybe, starting tomorrow, you’ll swear off pranks entirely and start to enter into the phase of growi—oh hey, there’s someone else in here.
You turn to your right as much as you can in the cramped locker space in order to get a better look at the boy standing next to you. He’s taller than you by a few inches, which makes him tall enough that his blond hair brushes the top of the locker with every movement he makes, which explains why he’s slouching his shoulders and trying to make himself smaller in the tiny space. He’s wearing these weird, pointy shades you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in some anime and a red and white shirt with a broken record on it. The volume of the earphones plugging his ears is low enough that you can’t hear any sound coming from them.
“Sup,” he says, tipping his head back a little before remembering the roof of the locker. He settles for jerking his chin up slightly, the movement small enough not to bump his head.
“Oh, uh, hey,” you respond lamely. “I’m John.”
“Dave.”
“So, you come here often?” you smile, hoping to ease out of the awkward bubble permeating the locker. You really do meet people in weird ways. Dave smirks.
“Nah, only on a biweekly schedule. I’m guessing it’ll be even less now that he’s got some fresh blood.” Dave plucks one of his earphones out and hands it to you. “The janitor won’t be around for another hour, so I got these sick beats to keep me company most days.” You stuff the earphone in your ear, and as the music begins to flood through, you think this is how friends are made.
--
It’s now your second month of school in a new town for you, John Egbert, and you have already succeeded in making a friend. It’s Tuesday morning, and you’re on the front steps of the school looking around for the guy you may or may not describe to your older sister Jane as ‘tall, cool, and handsome’. You catch sight of Dave ignoring the students around him, hands stuffed in his pockets and sunlight glinting off his sugar-gold hair. You mean, glinting off his sunglasses. Yeah.
He notices you, his perfect lips tilting up into a perfect smirk as he makes his way up the steps until he’s standing right in front of you. He’s switched his old pointy anime shades for the totally cool aviators you got for him, their shape accenting the lines of his face even better than their predecessor. They are also better at hiding the gentle dusting of freckles across the bridge of Dave’s nose that you pretend to not know exist.
“Sup,” he greets, leaning against the railing and crossing his long legs at the ankle.
“Hey Dave! Are you ready for another thrilling day in the public school system?” Dave snorts, and you find it ridiculously charming. God, but you have it bad.
“Oh yeah bro, you know it. Nothing gets me more hot and bothered than the thought of learning shit for the betterment of my future. Like, goddamn, I think I may have the vapors. Better catch me bro, I am all ready to be caught from all the swooning I’m gonna be doing.” Dave flops over onto you, the back of his left hand pressed to his forehead as he swoons for his education.
Gee, that sounds weird.
You laugh at him, and he grins up at you, waggling his eyebrows. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to kiss a dork that’s waggling his eyebrows at you more than at this very moment.
The bell rings, disrupting the swoonfest currently taking place on your lap, and you groan.
“What’s the matter, bro? I thought you were all excited for your education or some shit. Don’t tell me that you’re actually just like the rest of us. Think of the children. Actually, don’t think of the children. That’s creepy. You think about kids a lot, bro? ‘Cause if you ever wanna talk about fucked up shit like that I’m pretty sure that’s what the counselors are for. Then again, it’s probably best that the common public doesn’t know about the child porn ring in your basement.”
A solid punch in the arm gets Dave to shut up as the pair of you trudge along with your fellow students to your respective first period classes, and you stand in the doorway of eleventh grade English to watch Dave’s retreating back a lot longer than you should.
Today’s prank goes off without a hitch (glue on every other desk—priceless), and you find yourself only half paying attention to your teacher about Gatsby and his obsession with the idea of green flashers in swimming pools or whatever. Instead, your mind drifts to what has been its favorite topic of late: Dave Strider.
You picture him sitting in U.S. History, as bored as you are, doodling within the margins of his complex notes on the Civil War. He’s thinking about you too, about your dorky smile or predicting what your lips would feel like on his (you’re almost certain Dave’s kisses would be a little dry and sweet, so sweet). He looks apathetic to the rest of the world, of course. It wouldn’t be Dave if he was outright and sincere about anything off the bat. He has to dodge and deny at least twice before he can reveal some semblance of the truth through the spoken word; it’s a sort of culture cue that you’ve come to associate with Striders in general, but mostly with Dave since you don’t see his brother as often as you hear about him.
The bell vomits out sound, dictating a switch in classrooms for the callous army of teenagers occupying the school, and you pack up your backpack and enter the rushing current of the bustling hallway, forging your way through the mess of bodies to your locker.
Dave is already there, waiting for you to show up so you can walk to ceramics together. The sight of his lanky form leaning against your locker is a familiar one, and you sigh to yourself, clambering through the stream of students to meet him. He smiles that one smile, the little one that you’ve only seen him wear around you, and you can’t. You just can’t take it anymore.
Leaning heavily on the heat of the moment (what moment, exactly, isn’t clear, just that it’s not this one, as this moment isn’t particularly romantic or unusual) you tilt your head up and press your lips to Dave’s. And his lips are soft and warm and sweet, so sweet, like cinnamon and sugar.
He pulls back suddenly, and you hope against hope that the warmth in your face is a sudden bout of sunburn that must be a consequence of kissing blond-haired pretty boys. His eyebrows rise above opaque lenses to ask a silent question, and you think that maybe sudden bouts of sunburn are a common occurrence in high school hallways as Dave’s face rivals yours as far as coloring goes. A tiny smile grips at the corner of his mouth before it blooms across his face, wide and brilliant, and neither of you register the tardy bell ringing through the halls.
--
It’s now your third month of school in a new town for you, John Egbert, and you have already succeeded in getting a boyfriend. You and Dave decided to play hooky today, going so far as to drive to the next town over to avoid being caught. A bored-looking movie teller sells you two tickets, her bubblegum snapping in farewell as the pair of you step inside the air conditioned building of movie magic. Dave buys a tub of popcorn and a soda and you both shuffle into the dark theater marked with the number fourteen.
The theater is completely empty since apparently noon on a Wednesday isn’t a popular movie time, so Dave chooses a spot in the very back and center, directly underneath the projector, and clips his sunglasses in the front of his shirt. His smile is warm as he offers you the popcorn.
“I promise I didn’t cut a hole in the bottom so you can feel up my dick,” Dave smirks, waggling his eyebrows. “But I would be totally up for it if that’s something you want.” Your face scrunches up in disgust.
“Eww! Gross Dave, worst boyfriend!” You playfully slug his arm as he continues to laugh, bringing his face close to yours and kissing your cheek tenderly.
“Nah, you love me,” Dave assures smugly, slinging his arm around your shoulders and grabbing a handful of popcorn. You continue to grumble a few minutes longer before rubbing your buttery fingers over his shades. It’s now Dave’s turn to grumble, and you snigger into Dave’s and your soda.
“You little shit.” Dave’s words lack bite, and you kiss him for it, grinning against his mouth when he returns your kisses with fervor. The previews have started playing by the time you open your eyes, but you don’t see much of anything other than your boyfriend’s face framed on one side in gentle blue light. He’s a little breathless, but then again, so are you.
You nose along his jaw, feeling the blush on his face rather than seeing it as you press a selection of tiny kisses on the freckles you know are there, and Dave retaliates by cradling your face in one hand before capturing your lips again.
“Not that I don’t love macking on you constantly, but we’re gonna miss the movie if we keep going on like this,” Dave whispers against your lips while the pad of his thumb strokes along your cheekbone.
“I’m okay with that,” you breathe back, meeting his eyes in the dark. You feel Dave’s lips stretch into a smile, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never been happier.