Blues - Chapter Five

You’re really beginning to like this clown guy, but you’re also very sure there’s a serial killer just waiting to start stabbing underneath that chill as fuck exterior. However, being the epitome of cool that you are, you’re not worried about such an unlikely turn of events in the near future. Most pertinently you are quite subdued by Gamzee’s potent stash, and though Bro would smother you in smuppet ass if he knew you were partaking in the most ‘righteous of buds’ with a co-worker and their juggalo best friend, you just can’t seem to give a fuck.

You’re currently listening to the story of how Karkat and John met, but to be perfectly honest you’re not really listening, and instead your attention is on the aforementioned nerdy manager. It came as quite a surprise that he was actually going to show up and hang out with you and these two, and at first you were unsure whether that was a good thing.

Now, however, you’re incredibly glad he did attend, since you’ve never seen a more hilarious and dorky sight like this before: Egbert’s got a horrible look of shame on his face as he tries to hide his blush. Karkat’s doing the same, and you can tell that, on some terrible level (likely to do with poor movie tastes) these two are identical. With the entirely un-ironic phallic bong in hand, you lean forward, your hidden eyes boring into his visage which is growing rapidly more uncomfortable.

Irony ninja skills set in as you lean ever closer to him, breathing in his scent and taking in all that he has to offer. Frankly his nervous fidgeting and increasing blush are adorable, and you find yourself wishing to become even closer, but quickly discard the absurd notion as you hand the bong away, suddenly wishing for some mental clarity to think through what you’re doing. However, as quickly as you’re regretting your actions, you hear how Karkat macked on this nerd and worse yet, as everyone laughs and guffaws with unbridled delight, John goes to tell you how Gamzee and Tavros did something, but you can take no more.

“No more stories or I’m gonna piss myself, Egbert!” You beg, your sides hurting from laughter. This is so uncool, but something about this guy is forcing your façade to crack and reveal your true self. You hate it, but you love it too; it’s liberating and terrifying, but you’re too stoned to care at this point. Now half laying in his lap, you watch as Gamzee fails to get back into his chair, only to bring the confounded seat crashing down onto himself, eliciting a random honk. “What the fuck, why did no one tell me fuckin’ juggalos exist!?” You feel tears welling at the corners of your hidden eyes, but none of it matters as you watch the scene above you.

The tired, unhappy spectre of a manager that you met at work has been replaced by a vibrant, delighted young man who can’t help but laugh and smile. You almost smile at the sight, but thankfully retain some dignity as a Strider. The laughter between the four of you dies down and you’re left staring up at John, silently wondering what brings on his downplayed, miserable attitude during most days. However, before you can ask, John’s on his feet blurting something about having to pee. With that, he’s out the door and scurrying down the hall.

You’re left looking to your side at the still seated Karkat who’s left staring at the door. “That stupid fuck,” he snaps before receiving a pat on the head by the juggalo, though he shirks away from the hand with an angered movement of his hand, “What’re you waiting for you stoned fuck? I’m not goin’ after him! I wasn’t the one rubbing his bulge with my head!” You frown slightly, but he only shrugs, “I am a master of this shit and I say you go after the fleeing damsel with cock in hand!” You groan, not really wanting to be that guy, but also very curious as to what the hell just happened. Before you yourself actually go to stand, you feel arms loop through your armpits and haul you to your feet like a ragdoll.

“I got your back, motherfucker,” says Gamzee as he places you on the ground, a decidedly unsettling grin on his face as he blankly looks at you. Deciding to just ignore the weird look he’s giving you, and move to the exit. You know you’ll sober up soon enough and when that happens, he’ll go back to being an unsettling clown, instead of your saviour.

Stepping around the couch, you exit the living room and find yourself once more in Karkat’s kitchen. Pots and pans covered in days old food are crowded into the corner of the counter, stale bread sits out, still in its bag, empty milk jugs are strewn nearby on the floor, and you’re pretty sure the fridge door’s dent was the product of either Gamzee or Karkat punching it. Resolving to find John, you head down the hallway to your right and toward where you suspect the washroom and bedrooms are.

Stalking down the short hall you find two doors adorned with strange signs marking them as either Gamzee’s or Karkat’s “Respite Block,” whatever the hell that meant. On the opposite side of the hall you found a single door which was currently closed. Deciding to merely wait him out, you lean casually against the wall, arms crossed over your chest in the epitome of casual cool.

You hear a faucet turn on and your eyes narrow as you try to think what the hell you’re going to say: ‘Oh, sorry for using your junk as a pillow, I’m just really stoned and thought it would be fun,’ or perhaps ‘My bad bro, you just seem like an adorkable fucker and I was all over that like fat on ass’ might work, too. You’re far too out of it right now, and all this serious business with your boss isn’t really ideal. Besides, isn’t this really more Karkat or Jade’s problem?

Though before you can go and fetch one of the aforementioned co-workers, the door across from you opens and a bleary eyed John stands before you, peering up at you with confusion evident in his visage. His blue eyes, bloodshot and tired looking, seem to lighten for a moment, and he worries his lower lip with his overbite for a long moment as he stares you, clearly confused. “Something up, Dave?” He asks you after a long moment.

“Listen here bro,” you say with the same monotone voice you always use, “I’m going to explain this shit with pictures, since I frankly don’t give two shits for my job.” You place a hand on his shoulder and guide him back into the washroom and place him in front of the mirror. Stooping down the five inches you have on him, you point to the bags under his eyes and explain: “You’re a year younger than me and yet you have this going on. Not cool, dude.”

He eyes himself, an annoyed frown creasing his face. You’re sure it’s difficult for him to seem intimidating at work, what with the likeness of a kicked puppy played out on his face all day, and you only barely resist a smirk. “Dave I’m a manager, I have to work a lot to make sure the store’s doing well,” he explains with a huff of annoyance, “Can we go back now? Karkat gets his panties in a knot if you leave him alone for too long.”

Now you’re the one with the frown on your face as you hear him speak; he’s irritated and short with you. Broke as all hell and a total nobody again you may be, but you’re not going to stand for this. “Listen bro, I know you don’t know me, but I’m pretty much the coolest dude around. Like, legit I’m so cool Antarctica is telling me to heat the fuck up because I’m making it look bad,” your exhaustive metaphor gets a smirk on his lips, and you can feel yourself winning, so you continue. Flourishing a hand, you place it dramatically against your forehead, and still in the same bored tonality you keep going: “It’s such an injustice. I was some serious hot Shit; Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff the Movie was on its way to shit on your brain in a theatre near you, my DJing was paying all sorts of bills, and now look at me. Chillin’ in some washroom with your ass waiting until you don’t pay attention long enough for me to get me some.”

Achieving your desired goal, Egbert’s now laughing in spite of himself, his hand covering his mouth as he snickers at your lame speech of how hard your life is. Rolling his eyes, he shoves you playfully away, “Oh is that how it is? Getting into the boss’s pants to make life easier?” He laughs a bit harder, offering a sudden snort, which you grin at how lame but surprisingly adorable it was, “You’re a heartbreaker, Strider!”

You lean down further and decide to make things a level of weird only Bro can normally achieve. Whispering in his ear, you make sure to expel as much hot breath as possible: “Can’t it both?” You say deviously as you slowly place your hand on his far shoulder. Looking left into the mirror, his face heats up significantly with a bright blush of embarrassment, and you can’t help but remark at how easily flustered he is. It must be a product of being overtired all the time, you surmise, but you think it’s cool he’s so open with his feelings.

He shoves you out the door, “Not funny!” He whines pathetically at you, and it’s quite clear to both of you that you’ll never have a proper employee-boss relationship, and that you’ll just be fucking with each other as much as possible. As you feel your grin fade and Egbert recovers from his laughing fit, he looks down the hall, “Think we should go back?”

You shrug your shoulders, secretly eager to be both free of Karkat’s angry temperament and to have some one on one time with your bro boss. “We don’t have to; we could snoop through Karkitty’s shit while he’s too baked to stop us, you know,” you offer casually, motioning to his room with a lazy thumb jerked in the general direction. He studies the half closed door for a moment, then looks back to you, before a mischievous smirk grows on his face and you push yourself off the wall, “Attaboy, Egderp.”

He cocks his brows at your nickname for him, but only rolls his eyes, stuffing his hands in his work pants’ pockets, “Egderp, really? You’re supposed to be a cool kid, and that was crap. You can do so much better.” You scoff indignantly at his lack of faith in your undeniable badassery and slide the door to Karkat’s room open, stepping to the side to allow John in, “Oh what a gentleman, I’m swooning already, Strider.” His voice is thick with sarcasm, and you make a mental note of his sass.

However you quickly forget about your grand retaliation scheme which you hadn’t even quite thought up yet when you notice Karkat’s room. The entire far wall was covered in bookcases, all filled to the brim with movies; Bluray, DVD, and VHS were all collected and organised with precision. Slowly stepping around his filthy bed and momentarily ignoring the compromising picture of John and he on his dresser, you peer at the movies. “They’re all… romcoms and chick flicks…?” You look back at John, who’s tearing up with a hand clamped over his mouth as he shudders with laughter, “You knew this and didn’t tell me!?” You deadpan, aghast.

He nods, before releasing his hand and bellowing a nerdy laugh as he slaps his thigh, “Oh I had to see your face when you saw Karkat’s movie collection, Dave! I’ve seen it hundreds of times but… Oh man, the look on your face!” He continues his noisy guffaw, stumbling back onto Karkat’s bed, his face flushed as he become breathless from the hilarity of you looking so shocked and appalled.

“Man I knew he was a weird kid but this is too much…” You say, totally dumbfounded at the wall of terrible movies, “This is as bad as Jake… then again that idiot just likes everything…” You make a futile gesture at the wall of crap and look back to John, who’s seated on the edge of Karkat’s bed, “Let me guess, you have some collection of shit movies at home, don’t you?” He only looks away bashfully, shrugging, “Oh god, you’re all just a bunch of hopeless dweebs, aren’t you?”

You stumble over to him, feigning a fainting spell, before dramatically falling backward onto the double sized bed, once more placing the back of your hand on your forehead. John looks back at you, grinning as he goes to say something, but blinks as you hear a phone vibrate. He removes the device from his pocket and frowns at the screen. Sitting up, you lean over, “Sup bro?” you question him, but he ignores you for a moment, deflating considerably.

“It’s… nothing, what were you saying?” He looks back at you, a forced smile on his face, and the look of fatigue on his face. You don’t respond to his obvious lie, and instead stare him down with an impassive gaze concealed by your black aviators. He shifts uncomfortably, looking away from you, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. It’s nothing personal, just my dad is…” He trails off, looking back down at his phone’s blackened screen.

You shift closer, slinging an arm around his shoulders. You can feel how tense and uncomfortable he is, but you suspect that’s not from your touching him. You know about John’s father being sick, but it’d be unfair of you to bring that up, and you’d rather not be that guy who just knows things. Terezi’s bad enough for that, and you’re pretty sure that chalk eating chick has one foot in the insane asylum as it is. “Talk it out, bro,” you offer casually, and he looks over at you skeptically. “Nothing leaves this terrible room; I swear it on my shades,” you tap your right lens with your finger nail, and Egbert seems to take that as a solemn Strider vow. Which it is, of course; you’d never risk your shades.

He looks up at the ceiling for a moment, “I’m not sure why I’m even telling you this, but… My dad is sick; his kidneys are completely shot. He can barely eat, he’s skinny and weak, he pukes up blood, and he’s just dying in front of my eyes…” He trails off, and you can feel him trembling, though you keep your arm where it is for now, not risking to panic him by going hug-mode on him just yet.

He looks over at you for a moment, and your breath catches in your throat as you see the look of complete and utter hopelessness on his face, “I was really young when it happened, but I remember when my mom died… I can’t relive that, not now.” He eyes you for a moment, a deep and probing stare, and you instantly feel uncomfortable as he searches you for something you cannot discern, “You asked me why I work so much? I do so that I can make extra money to help him stay alive. It’s selfish and I’m just keeping him in pain, but I…” He can’t seem to finish the words, but you don’t mind, you firm up your grim, moving your hand from his shoulder to his arm, and holding him there as he steadies himself, his breathing shaky and unstable as he fights back tears.

“It’s okay dude, I didn’t mean to make you sad or anything,” you say as sincerely as you can, and you’re surprised by the amount of regret that actually surfaces in your words. He looks over at you, and shakes his head, silently absolving you of any crime. Slowly he leans his head to the side and on your shoulder. You let him, and make no mention of it.

He breaths out another shaky breath, “It’s okay Dave… Thanks for listening, really… I just don’t want to lose him, y’know? I don’t know what I’d do if he died… I’d be all alone in the world.” His voice cracks as he thinks of burying his father, and you can tell that he’s thought of this far too often for someone so young. With his head on your shoulder, you resist the urge to comb your fingers through his hair, even though you really do want to. It’s something you think your mother did when you were sad as a child, but you’re not entirely sure.

Settling to merely keep your arm around him, you hold him there as he calms down and after a moment he removes himself from your side hug and stands, “Alright, enough of this moping around,” he says, taking another deep breath and wiping at his eyes with his thumb, “Now that I’ve successfully been a giant girl and you’ve made fun of Karkat’s movies, what now? If I know Karkat and Gamzee, they’ll be either asleep or doing something much worse if they’re stilling going at it in there.”

He gives a thoughtful hum as you stand and crack your back, “I don’t know about you, man, but I’m not ready to call it a night. I’d go for a movie and some AJ right about now, but all we have here or romcoms and I’m not on that shit.” John snickers at your poo-pooing of Karkat’s movie selection, and then falls silent, worrying his lower lip as he thinks. You’re beginning to think that’s a nervous habit, but you’re not about to stop him. It’s endearing as fuck, if you do say so yourself. And you do say so, because it is.

“Well I suppose Jane’s at dad’s tonight, and I haven’t really been in my apartment for a while. We could watch something there!” Egbert chirps positively, and though you initially like the idea, you quickly remember your previous theory; someone like John Egbert probably has terrible taste in movies. It couldn’t be as bad as – “I know! We could watch Con Air,” – and there it is, a shit movie suggested.

You groan, not letting your hatred of that movie go unnoticed, and your receive a great big childish frown from John, “How am I not surprised your suggested that piece of motion picture shit? That’s doing shit a disservice; I bet the fecal board of America’s gonna be up my ass bein’ all “yo bitch don’t compare us to that trash movie or we’re gonna cut you.”” You sigh even more dramatically, rubbing your eyes under your glasses, though you’re careful not to let John see your mysterious eyes. Not yet, at least. “But, in the spirit of being a bro, I’ll oblige your shit movie. Lead the way.” At the sight of Egbert’s triumphant grin and little fist pump, you realise you really couldn’t have ever said no to the guy.

~*~

You’re still Dave Strider and you’re very glad to have reached John’s apartment. You didn’t realise how fucking sore your feet were from work, and after walking all that distance between Karkat and John’s place, you’re about ready to kick your feet up in a very relaxed and cool looking manner; image is a big part of the things you do, and you love it.

The apartment building before you is another forgettable sight in your neighbourhood; squat, four or five story buildings dot the landscape, breaking up blocks of houses and duplexes. This one is just as boring, and as John allows you into the main lobby, you make a casual note of the empty ‘Hope for the Hopeless’ jar on a nearby counter. Touching. Your boss makes a casual glance at it before looking away with a guilty whine, which you meet with an impassive, hidden stare. After a moment, he fishes out a few bills and tosses them into the jar. Good deed of the day done, you suppose, and with that, you continue on your way.

An small, dirty elevator takes you up four stories, and in the rumbling of the noisy lift you can hear John humming a song under his breath. Thankful for your hidden eyes, you eye him closely as he does so, and supress a smirk; you’re not sure how anyone so lame ever got to be a manager; the General Manager must be a total idiot. You’ve never actually meant the big honcho, seeing as you’ve had one shift, but you know his name is Eridan and he’s a fucking twat.

The doors part and you follow a narrow hallway adorned with walls and carpet both varying shades of grey before arriving at one of the many nondescript doors. You make a mental note of the number 413 plastered on the door as John unlocks it and pushes it in, ushering you in: “It’s not much, but it’s home,” he says awkwardly, evidently very uncomfortable with your prolonged silence. Having not realised you had fallen so silent as you watched him, you offer him a smile, but in reality it’s just an inflection of the corners of your mouth with no sincere happiness behind it.

The entrance into John’s apartment leads into a small hallway that opens up to the kitchen on the left and a bedroom to the right. The kitchen, dining room (such as it could be called) and living room were simply one large shared space, and given the rough look of the appliances and walls, you’re surprised at how homey it feels. Posters of simply terrible movies adorn the walls, three bookcases of movies and games are against the wall perpendicular to the far wall where the TV is, the couch, in reality a futon, is covered in open movie and game cases, and the coffee table before it has bags of chips and the like piled on it.

Eyeing all the terrible posters, you find John staring at you as you take in the sights, and you can’t help but laugh a little, and it forces his brows to knit in frustration at you making light of his tastes; “Dude, really? Con Air? National Treasure? Avatar? Your tastes, bro… You need a movie intervention; this is a cry for help.” As you defame the movies you first see on the wall, his mouth falls agape and he storms over to the Con Air poster.

“Dave Strider you cannot tell me that Con Air is not an excellent movie! Nic Cage’s acting was sublime! Whenever I watch it and he gives that bunny to that little girl I cry! It’s so moving and deep; i-it’s a reflection on how corrupt our society is and—“ You shush him with a finger on his lips, a disturbingly vivid grin on your face, and he merely looks up at you with wide azure eyes. Removing your finger from in front of his mouth, he snarls at you, though you can only find it cute – hold that thought; he is not cute. That would be a ridiculous thought to entertain.

You slowly stride over to his futon before slumping into a seated position, “Alright Egderp, movie me!” You motion toward the TV and he just stands there, arms crossed, fuming quietly. You peer at him behind your glasses, “Fine, we can cuddle. Just keep your hands above the danger zone,” you gesture toward your crotch, and he lets out another stifled gasp of shock and annoyance. “Cat got your tongue?” You wink slyly, even though he can’t see it.

“You are such a loser, Dave,” he laughs brightly, and you feel the tension you didn’t realise you had relax. Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, John laughing is something you really do enjoy; he looks so worn out and every time he’s happy, it seems to all fade away for a moment. “Well, since you’re too busy being a cliché Texan, we’ll watch what I want to watch,” you look at him, clearly worried as he flashes you a devilish grin.

John plops himself down on the far end of the futon, bringing his feet up and procures a remote from the coffee table in front of you both before simply turning on the Bluray player and TV. The title menu for Con Air appears and you groan loudly, “You had this playing before? You are so uncool,” you drawl, dreading the horrible movie that any man with taste would hate.

He doesn’t seem to care though as he practically cuddles into the couch, “You’re going to love this movie. Or you can go home!” He huffs indignantly, and you decide that Nic Cage and John are vastly superior to Bro and Jake. Then again, only by a sliver… The movie begins and you’ve quickly checked out of hotel-shit-film faster than an Englishman booking it to teatime. On the screen before you, Cage is doing that annoying thing where he’s always got a frown on; it’s like he’s always bearing down to take a giant shit, really. “Oh, oh!” John says about ten minutes in, poking you eagerly, “Watch this part!”

Frankly you’re having a great deal of trouble just seeing the screen, let alone actually watching the movie, and even though the sun had set some time ago and darkness had engulfed the landscape, you’re not entirely comfortable with removing your glasses. Deciding to just go with it, somewhat confident that he won’t see your strange eyes, you remove your aviators and tuck an arm of your beloved eyewear into the crook of your shirt.

You instinctively squint at the nonexistent brightness, however you feel yourself no longer straining your eyes through the dark glass. John looks over at you for a moment, before looking back, a small smile on his face. “Hey, Dave,” he begins, though you keep looking forward, “Do you think it’s selfish of me to be enjoying this movie when… Nevermind,” he shakes his head.

Slinging your arm over the back of the faux-futon, you face him, confident he can’t see your eyes. He avoids your gaze, and you merely take in his likeness. Curled up into the corner of the couch he looks so small, so… afraid? He seems to be flinching away from your stare, and you try to relax your demeanor. “C’mon dude, that’s not a fair argument to make against yourself,” you say calmly, and he stiffens from discomfort, “Jade and Karkat told me about the stuff with your dad, and the guy sounds like a badass.” He refuses to look at you, but a small, sad smile grows on his face. “I think a guy like that would feel incredibly guilty knowing that he was causing you this much pain. You deserve to be happy, bro.”

He remains silent for a moment before impulsively wiping at his eyes and nodding, “Maybe you’re right, maybe…” With that, he falls silent and you return your attention to the movie at hand, regardless of how mind numbingly terrible it is. You decide you’ll tough out one shitty movie for John and to avoid your brother, but as the time passes on and the film drags on, you casually look to your right, only to find your boss slumped against the arm of the couch, snoring lightly.

Rising silently in the dark room, you step over to his still form, retrieving the discarded remote and over the course of a minute turn down the volume to nothing, thereby not waking him due to the abrupt silence. You’re quite good at these things after having Terezi fall asleep in your room many times, much to your brother’s sadistic delight. You distinctly recall a certain Christmas wherein you found a few smuppets holding red chalk hanging from your ceiling above your bed. There were so many signals all you could do was scream and cut them down.

After having effectively muted the tv, you stand in front of John and shut it off, thus blocking any flash of light as best as a skinny fucker like you can achieve. With that done, you slink off to his room, stifling more laughter at his lame bed sheets which were covered with ghost-slime… things. You’re pretty sure you remember them from Ghostbusters, but you make a point to not watch crap unless you have to, so you’re not sure. Deciding to not snoop, you carefully remove the lame quilt. And by carefully you mean you tug it off the bed, sending his pillow cascading to the floor and wrenching out half his sheets.

Making your way back to the other room, you fold the thick sheet in half and place it over his slumbering body. Cuddled into his sheets, you can’t help but notice how fucking adorable this guy is. Really, it’s like someone took a baby deer, gave it a bottle and a blanky, and just let it do its thing. It’s so cute, in fact, that before you realise your cool kid façade has utterly failed you, you’ve removed his glasses, set them on the table, and are now pressing your lips to his cheekbone.

You’re not really sure why you gave John a goodnight kiss, but frankly you don’t care, because afterward he pulls the comforter tighter, a small smile growing on his face. Stifling an entirely un-ironic ‘aww,’ you tiptoe to the door and let yourself out, leaving your boss snuggled up into the corner of his futon in the most ridiculously adorable position you’re sure you’ll ever see him in.