Work Text:
1.
Once he’s inside the bus, Dirk throws himself at the front seat, tucks his legs under it and presses his temple into the cold hard glass. The door closes, and the vibration from the window echoes in his skull. There are bright small lights under the bus ceiling, they’re starry blue even through his shades, and all the seats are new, and Dirk can’t feel his legs above the knees, but it’s even better this way.
He should get off the bus as soon as it takes a turn twice. Three streets from the stop. Is it three or two? It’s the building with the giant red sign. Dirk has no idea what’s written on it, but he remembers the pulsating throbbing red, visible even through his eyelids.
“Wait!”, he hears a muffled shout behind the door and it hisses and unwillingly opens again. A tall girl in the puffy purple jacket walks in, dragging another one, scrawny and short, behind, clutching her hand. She chews on a cigarette and her backpack is just as rugged as her messy hair. Dirk looks at her short black nails gripping the back of the seat as she pushes through the aisle and thinks: there's blood on his clothes, they’ve been piled up since Friday, he has to wash them before the stain sticks. Then again, isn't blood quite easy to be removed? He looks at his reflection in the window, and knows the expression he sees way too well. The face of a person about to vomit out everything he’s got today.
Tiny blue flickers over shiny black interior are bright for the second; then they’re gone, but the door is still open and it gets colder every second. Dirk turns away and closes his eyes before he can see himself in the window again; he can't stomach the sight, no more. Someone flops on the seat next to him, the door closes and the bus finally moves.
Dirk barely has any idea where they are now. Everything looks the same through the dirty window. His fingers start to get numb, his lips are chapped and dry, it's freezing inside the bus. The first day is already over and Dirk fucked it up anyway and didn’t control himself near enough. The only thing he still can do is count the streets and go back to his flat that seems bigger and emptier than ever, where there’s a huge scratch on the inside of a bathroom door, right where he hit it with a phone.
“...grabbed me…and he’s…the hand… under the belt,” someone sobs behind him. “I can’t go home I can’t I—”
“You’ll stay at mine, we’re not going home, we’re not,” the voice is muffled and low, and worried, she slightly trips over every “not” and it makes them into short rhetorical questions. “He won’t know, honey, I promise you he won’t, you’re not alone, I’m here, you see me? Look at me hon…”
Dirk presses his forehead into the window and axes off the feeling of the cold hard leather biting into his skin, the thick smell of beer in the air and the phantom hand on his shoulder, gripping him steadily.
Dave tries to fish his phone out of the pocket but it twists and turns, avoiding his fingers as if it's alive. The continuous vibrating doesn’t help either and he mutters some curses under his breath as his earphones and his fingers form a big knot in his pocket, cold and unresponsive. He manages to grip the phone the exact second the call stops. Dave pulls it out with a force, feeling annoyance pooling in his stomach, and accidentally elbows someone next to him. He mutters oh fuck sorry before looking at the screen – it’s John, of course, who else could it be – and briefly eyeing his left.
He sees the way electric blue lights paint a person to his left - his fair skin white, his t-shirt grey, his hair ashen, and the only thing that crosses Dave’s mind like a comet is what the everloving fuck how is he not cold. His hands are lying on the knees, he's wearing cut out gloves. His fingers are lanky and his nails are long, and Dave can see his collarbones above the neckline, thinkingthe dude is wearing a fucking tshirt and shades at the end of march what a showoff, terrified and distracted.
Then his phone comes to life again, sending a vibration through his bones as if they’re hollow, and annoyance stings again, hot and bitter, but John’s voice is sweet and distant, it doesn’t ring in his head when he asks where Dave is. “The last bus I could take”, says Dave shrugging, and hears Childish Gambino playing in the background, and the song is the one for drinking and making out sloppily. “If you fuckers start to kiss or drink before I come there I might as well just come in the morning. Also you can tell KK to scream louder for the people in the back, because that’s just what this whole bus needs.”
John laughs softly in his ear, and someone sobs behind. Dave promises him to be there soon, and to buy something sweet, and puts his phone back in the pit of his pocket where the cold coil of headphones wraps around it immediately. The bus is quiet, and the next stop is his.
“It’s nothing,” says someone, their voice is quiet and low.
“What,” Dave turns left and there’s a slender hand in messy ashen hair, and a pale pink mark on the bridge of his nose, his shades are lowered ever so slightly. This is the face of a person who knows something but never tells you, and Dave blinks slowly at him.
“You said sorry. It’s nothing.”
“I said oh fuck sorry, which is an entirely different thing,” Dave corrects him, moving slightly away not to elbow him again. “You save sorry for old ladies in the queue, and you say I'm sorry when you really are not, to brush it off, but oh fuck sorry is the most sincere way you can say i don't feel good about crashing my elbow into your pliant flesh bro.”
He sees a smile slowly spreading on a narrow face, barely noticeable but distinct enough for Dave, and then the ashed guy's fingers untangle from his hair and pull the shades up again. “How many ways of saying ‘sorry’ you know?”
“The best ones are not safe neither for work nor for any environment having more than two people around,” Dave answers readily, he always takes pleasure in bickering with people he doesn’t know, it’s the only thing he misses about uni. It rolls off his tongue far too easily and he already prepares the next one when the bus stops. They both stand up; the ashen guy’s taller, and he walks out first, briefly looking back. Dave follows.
It’s so cold outside he shivers under his jacket and zips it up hastily, nearly scraping the skin of his neck. The empty backpack is flat and cold against his back, and it reminds Dave that he promised to bring some sweets. He looks around and spots him again – the guy from the bus, he's already walking away, down the street, the direction is opposite Dave’s.
For a brief second Dave watches him – he’s white, tall and fair, like a ghost - but his trainers are ridiculously, outrageously blue and red, it’s something that John would wear with his old pajama pants buying milk at 6 am on Sunday at the local 24/7 store while a completely oblivious teenage girl at the cashier stand flirted with him.
This thought is familiar but not comforting anymore, and Dave finally turns and walks away. There’s something that waits for him too, a small flat and two of his best friends who went off the rails of friendship and committed a fucking suicide under the relationship train, and they won’t let him in without some fucking chocolate, will they.
2.
It’s the second week of April, and the weather steadily gets warmer. Dirk still doesn’t wear a jacket, and he still takes the same bus home, and the sign on the building is still the ugly pulsating red that greets him every evening. He now remembers the way it used to be, distant and soft, tamed, pinkish, painting Jake’s face all over and making him even younger. It’s not a good memory, it’s not a bad memory, it’s tasteless and borrowed, but it doesn’t go away, and Dirk doesn’t try to replace it. As long as it doesn’t make him sick and angry. He’s got better things to do, to control and remember.
It’s only when Nepeta calls him at fuck o'clock in the morning and asks him to come to Vriska’s DnD party on Friday, when the void purrs and claws at him inside, and Dirk thinks for a second he’s about to throw up, and anger boils in his stomach, but then it’s suddenly alright, he swallows a lump in his throat and barely lifts his head from the pillow to put the phone under his cheek. His voice is low and quiet when he asks her who else is going to come. He’s being a good friend, Dirk tells himself, that’s why he’s asking and not hanging up. Nepeta recites the list of people invited with a sickening enthusiasm in her voice, and Dirk listens till the end, like a polite and friendly person he is, and replies with “I’m sorry, I can't,” and stops feeling like a polite and friendly person he is. He’s not sorry, not even in the slightest. Call me if you do go, she's DMing and the campaign is long this time, Nepeta says with the slightly dimmed enthusiasm in her voice, and hangs up before Dirk does it. Vriska made her do it, it’s quite obvious. Telling “no” to Vriska feels like closing a phishing site, telling “no” to Nepeta feels like turning down your little sister with homework – mighty Vriska The Guilt Tripper always knew all Dirk's buttons.
At least there’s no Jake in the list, and there are only three new people, and Vriska is the best dungeon master if he ever saw one, Dirk thinks, and rolls from his mattress down on the cold hard floor. This apartment is just way too big for him alone now, it sucks out all his energy, he's simply not enough for high ceilings and so much space.
Maybe he should get a cat. Or a roommate.
Dirk jumps into a bus the second before the door is closed, and it’s almost full, just two or three empty seats here and there. The aisle is narrow and there are knees and pockets, elbows and backpacks, and Dirk steps carefully, trying not to touch anybody. He walks to the closest seat, which is still too far, and the bus is being thrown left and right. Dirk falls down onto the seat limply and thinks: i hate a season of family reunions and shitty superhero blockbusters.
When Dirk leans back in his seat, his t-shirt sticks to him, too sweaty for April. When he turns to look at the window, his eyes meet with pair of aviators in front of him, and the face of a person who knows so many ways of saying sorry and perhaps never uses them. He holds a small carton of apple juice with the straw in it. This time he’s not wearing his jacket, and his face is painted over with recognition. The smile on his face is ever so bright, and Dirk asks the the first thing that comes to his mind:
“Family reunion or a shitty superhero blockbuster?”
“Both,” the smile is still there, and Dirk thinks abruptly: there is it, the equivalence of Vriska’s brilliant DMing in smiles, “my dumbass friends dating each other and a fucking romcom slash action that’s so unbelievably bad all the shitty superhero blockbusters lined up and wanked each other off crying happily.” He takes out the straw, crumples up the carton and puts it in his pocket, and his smile fades slowly. “You?”
“Neither,” Dirk shrugs. “Fulfilling my good citizen responsibilities and being bad at it.”
“So you’re late for work,” the guy sums up and Dirk looks all over his sunlit face, fair and soft at the edges, in a futile attempt to guess how old he is. He looks enchantingly unbothered by literally everything in the world, to the same degree Dirk himself was anxious about everything the past months. Familiar feeling, viscous and burning, rises at the back of his throat, but Dirk swallows it back, now it’s easier than ever.
“No offence, bro, but does your place have a strict proanime policy? Are these company property? Asking for a friend,” and he points at Dirk’s shades. It’s not even funny, but Dirk lets out a chuckle and plays along:
“I also own a katana. Several of them, in fact, but they’re prohibited in public transport.”
“They don’t know shit.”
“They don’t know a single ounce of it,” Dirk agrees. It’s a familiar feeling, when someone accidentally comes under your personal limelight and you know you will never see this person again, so you stare shamelessly and forget them the day after, except that Dirk remembers – the first time he saw him. The second one now, he can feel it imprinting as well. They share a comfortable but watchful silence for the rest of the trip. Dirk looks past his shoulder. The day is mellow and bright. The throbbing pain in his hand dims so much he doesn’t register it anymore.
Roxy messages him while he’s at work, and Dirk knows exactly what it’s going to be. Still, he’s a bit surprised that she’s so persistent. It’s only logical she is, he would do the same for her, Dirk reckons, feeling ashamed by the fact that he’s just a tiny bit annoyed by her persistence.
TG: cmon dirk dont be a buzzkill
TG: dont kill the buzz
TG: ur gotta go outside someday u kno that
TT: You’re not gonna drag me.
TG: im not but ur basking ur tiptoes in hot waterr there di stri
TG: its the third campaign ur ignoring
TG: yo check me sleppin
TG: spelling ZZZZZZZZ
TG: if pullin ur ass outside is the thing i need to do to clear out the stockpile of bad stuff weve collected so far
TG: dont u WORRY strider, thats the exact thing im gonna perform
TG: your j problem needs a cute
TG: cure*
TT: Oh my god, Rox.
TT: Why are you so determined to make me go there? Is there some elaborate plan? Are you going to play "Spin the bottle" and lock me in a wardrobe?
TG: u mean u and jakester? nah you knoe hes been avoidin everything
TG: hes at his pops not even around
TG: i miss u sourface
TT: It’s Friday, right.
TG: africative
TG: afrimative*
TG: yes
TT: Okay, I’ll come. I’d like to see you too.
TG: YESSSSSS ill meet u and greet u and tz will go crazy
TG: see ya!! <333333
He misses Roxy too, and it’s not a pleasantry. Dirk doesn't like lying to her, he prefers omitting things so every time he tells Roxy he misses her, he's being sincere. The last time Dirk saw her was a month ago, and he wasn’t in a particularly good shape back then, the realization kicks in. Maybe he was way too engulfed in his own problems for a while. Dirk briefly texts both Vriska and Nepeta, and tells them he’ll be there tomorrow. Both are happy, both aren’t really surprised, and Dirk wonders if Roxy was so sure she’ll be able to convince him.
3.
The next day is warm and windy, and a bit rainy, just enough not to be uncomfortable. Dirk takees a bus to Vriska’s after work, he doesn’t even go home first, and he’s still fashionably late. It’s not a problem, though – the only thing he knows about Vriska’s campaigns is that they’re existing outside of the time-space continuum and every second is as good to start as the other one. He gets off the bus and walks to the end of the street unhurriedly.
Vriska’s house is a big ass old haphazard put together by nothing other than fate itself. Vriska proudly calls it Happenstance, other people call it what the fuck is on your fucking ceiling or why is there a fireplace in your bathroom if the day is good and no one has broken anything yet. Vriska claims that there are 8 bedrooms and a sex dungeon; for some reason Dirk is more inclined to believe her than others. She owns an enormous collection of plush spiders, it’s ominously big and is the main reason why Dirk never stays there overnight. He isn’t the type to stay overnight, anyway - at least not anymore.
Dirk stands outside for a minute; the dark blue facade blinks at him owlishly with windows all forms and sizes. There are yellow footprints under one of them on a second floor. Vriska’s mailbox screeches quietly under the gust of wind, and a porthole-like window on the first floor flies open with a punch. Or a kick, there’s nothing to be sure about in Happenstance.
“DIRK STRIDER!”, Terezi yells, half outside the window, her arms are dangling freely, and Dirk rushes forward to catch her in case she falls, without a second thought. She catches him instead, grabbing his neck and sniffing his hair loudly, tangling her glasses in it. “Mhm. You smell cool enough today.”
“How did you know I was outside? Did my sudden appearance heal you in a miraculous way? Don’t bother, I know you're thankful,” Dirk carefully untangles from her arms and steps back, brushing his hair with fingers.
“Your hair smells nice, but your sense of humor still stinks,” she grins at him, putting her glasses back. “Vriska saw you and told me to bring you inside.”
“Not through the window, I hope. Okay, tell her I’m coming.” Dirk steps out of the grown, weather-bitten lawn and onto the tiles around Vriska's porch. Terezi grins and shuts the window with a deafening bang.
The front door is not locked, and when Dirk pushes it and steps inside, Happenstance greets him with a glorious two inches thick oak and fancy clinkers door slapping his ass with a full force.
The corridor is brightly lit, and there is a pile of shoes already piled up on a doormat. They're thoroughly displaced, Vriska just loves doing that, thinks Dirk and sighs. He feels slightly dizzy just by looking at the way all the shoelaces are entangled together.
“It’s a mating season,” there's purring over his ear and Nepeta’s chin lands on his shoulder. “They’re mating and having baby shoes together.”
“I’d prefer my trainers not to mix their top notch genetic material with anything else, thank you,” Dirk leans down to untie them and Nepeta steps back with a laugh. She’s got a new hairband with fuzzy ears attached, they’re big and purple, and they swing when she shakes her head. “Why are all of you guys so determined on touching me today?”
“Because we haven’t got the pleasure to see your glorious ass from that point of view for couple months, Di Stri,” there’s a thump and laugh, and Dirk straightens up. Roxy leans against the wall with a cheesecake poorly drawn on it, she holds a cup with a knitted cover and looks so unbelievably glad to see him that Dirk tells himself he doesn’t deserve anything good in the world if he doesn't hug her right now. She hugs him first, though – she’s always been first at giving affection, and Dirk puts arms around her waist and quietly says “hello, Rox” somewhere over her shoulder. She smells warm like a cat.
“YOU STARE AT EACH OTHER VERY AWKWARDLY. THERE ARE TEARS ROLLING DOWN YOUR CHEEKS,” Vriska rumbles behind door at the end of the corridor. There are people arguing already, and the sound of dice rolling, and papers rustling. “Keep coming late and you miss all the campaigns,” says Roxy with a quirky little smile, releasing him from the hug. Dirk only shrugs. “I’m kind of tired of playing pirates anyway. Also, knowing Vriska, it’s at least thirty three sessions more.” He looks at Nepeta and frowns. “Why aren’t you there, with them?”
“I was killed,” Nepeta makes a face – nasty, but cute nevertheless. “Vriska told me to go greet you and then make myself a new character.”
The door to the living room opens with a squeak and a ruffled black-haired head peeks out. They're wearing glasses and for a brief second Dirk thinks fuck, they brought him here, but the feeling goes away just as fast when they crack the widest smile Dirk has ever seen.
“Roxy! Nepeta! An unknown cool dude! Come here, they have just walked Dave down the plank and there’s a riot coming, we need more people.”
“If you ask me, it’s just a teensy weensy bit suspicious that he got all chummy with Vriska so fast,” mutters Roxy, “also ‘we need more people’ is not exactly how DnD works.” She nudges Dirk wwith her elbow gently nevertheless, and her come on di stri slightly eases off the thick heavy feeling that fills his chest to the brim.
“So you’re telling me I have a fucking time rewind spell but can’t rewind shit? What the fuck is this roleplaying game if I can’t play my role?”
“You rolled natural 1 on wisdom, dude, you cannot even blink until I tell you,” Vriska grins, scribbling something vigorously in a character sheet. “Okay, kid, just for the first time- oh, Dirk!”
The thick heavy feeling envelops Dirk completely for a second – and then slowly dissipates. Dirk feels lightweight and just a bit dizzy, stepping forward.
“So it’s Dirk, huh. I’m Dave. You have a shitton of friends, dude,” the guy from the bus - Dave - says, sipping from his mug. There are more people at the table: the one that peeked out earlier, and Terezi, and some more, Dirk doesn’t know them but they don’t spark an ounce of interest in him. He clears his throat and answers thoughtlessly:
“I have only a few, but my friends have a lot of friends.”
Dave chuckles, taking his character sheet from Vriska and putting the mug back on the table.
“So I’m out of the game already, right? Fine by me.”
They go to the kitchen together, they mix some juice and iced tea and eat banana bread and explore the house. Dave is quite a good cook, Dirk can’t cook for shit. Dave has freckles, Dirk has scars, and they listen to the same music. Dave is chaotic good, Dirk is lawful evil. Of course, Dave doesn’t believe him when Dirk says that. Dirk doesn’t mind. It feels so strange to know his name, it’s not a occasion realm anymore. When Dirk asks Dave who invited him, it turns out that Vriska’s friendship net spreads all the way through Dave's uni. “Karkat's known her,” says Dave, looking sideways, “since they were kids.” Then he opens another door and whistles in amusement. “This whole place is nuts. Shit, is this a fucking fireplace in the bathroom?”
Dirk realizes he has nowhere to put his hands, and shoves them into his tight pockets. “It’s Happenstance. Things just happen here.”
“Does she really have a sex dungeon, though?” Dave asks, his eyes gleaming. Dirk doesn’t have the guts to disappoint him. Besides, he isn’t sure himself. “I believe she does. I also believe she’ll hang us alive if we find it, and it won’t be for roleplaying purposes.”
Then they get back to the living room with everyone else, and Roxy is playing too, she sits on the coffee table because she’s in prison and when Vriska announces she was bitten by rats to death, Dirk is surprised when Dave reaches out and gives Roxy a slight pinch at her side. When they laugh together, their voices ring under the ceiling and everybody at the table looks at them. Tips of Dirk’s fingers itch.
Dirk makes a conscious decision to stop following everything that happens in the game and just drifts away listening. He hasn’t been in the company that big since last year and they don’t seem to mind him being silent anyway. It’s only when Dave asks Vriska how often they all come together, Dirk snaps out of it.
“Wanna come again?” Vriska grins, and Dave says “sure” like it’s the most certain thing in the world.
Dirk doesn’t ask how old he is, but Dave asks him for his contacts and Dirk gives him all his social media accounts, and there’s a thought, uncertain and hazy: he still has no clue what Dave thinks about his existence.
4.
They still see each other on the bus from time to time just because apparently their everyday routes are so tangled it’s a fucking Disney movie. Dirk wonders how come they’ve never met before but never asks.
They message each other often, but never discuss anything even loosely resembling personal stuff. Dave tells Dirk about university, Dirk tells Dave about work. Dirk tells him stories of his – their – friends, even a couple of words about Jake, but Dave doesn’t really speak about his own friends or his family. Instead he sends Dirk photos – a lot of them, most of them are crappy but some are breathtaking, and Dirk even saves them. Dave never sends any photos of himself, though, not even once, but they exchange music at an alarming song per message ratio.
Dave’s schedule appears to be somewhat chaotic and Dirk never knows when he’ll be online again. Sometimes Dave messages him in the middle of the night, rambling about strawberry jellies he's dropped in a coffee. Sometimes he’s absent for a day or two, and then he’s short-spoken and seems down. Dirk isn’t sure at which point he’s allowed to use the “aren’t we friends” card to make him talk about it, he isn’t even sure what cards he has at hand, isn’t sure why he wants Dave to speak at all.
Their interests are somewhat similar but different enough to produce lengthy discussions and evaluate each other on them. Dirk is good at evaluating things, he’s consistent, true-blue, close-knit, even-keeled, texts sent to resubmit, feeling of being unfulfilled, unskilled, fuck it, don’t send it. Instead he asks Dave for his home address and sends him a pack of scratch-off shiny golden stars with top 40 entries from the urbandictionary written inside because he suspects Dave might like it. The same evening Dave sends him the first selfie ever, a somewhat blurry photo of himself with a strugglebus sticker on his cheek. The next day they meet at Vriska’s again, and Dave is the one who opens the door for him.
“It will slap you hard if you don’t hold it right,” Dirk warns him. Dave chuckles, reaches up and presses his hand to Dirk’s neck firmly, while holding the door with one hand. When he removes his palm, it’s another sticker, slightly to the left. “You may want to scratch it, don’t hold yourself”, Dave says before letting go of the door and vanishing in the living room.
Dirk scratches it off in the nearest bathroom and laughs until his throat hurts and eyes are wet, then looks at himself in the mirror: the dudebro star shaped golden sticker shimmers in the cold dim light. It doesn’t seem ironic anymore, it could simply be the most cringeworthy moment in his life, Dirk thinks, and Dave played along with it, it’s unbelievable, he just can’t be real.
The campaign is going full speed ahead and Dirk feels good thinking he could chime in every second he wants but still doesn’t. It gives him a slight feeling of being in charge, the one he lacked so badly the past few months. Dave isn’t playing either, for his own reasons, he never bothers to explain, and Dirk doesn’t ask him. They usually sit on a couch together with Roxy and presumably dead people, mocking their sudden departure and drinking whatever is there in Vriska's kitchen. She didn’t like them not participating at first, but then got used to them commenting things, it feels like a football match now, she says grinning, and does she fucking hate football but this kind of it – this is decent, it’s allowed in Happenstance, so make yourself some wild pepper tea you fuckers and proceed with whatever you call that.
“It’s basically a podcast”, says Roxy once, sipping something bright blue, it smells like sparkles and berries. “A true crime podcast. More blood, less sense, hella gay." Dirk nods and everyone laughs so Dirk misses the chance to steal a glance at Dave, to see if he nodded too. When he does, there’s just a smile, and Dirk realizes: it's the equivalence of Matt Mercer's DMing in smiles, sorry, Vriska, your trophy belongs to the antic now.
When Dirk comes home that day, the flat seems bigger than ever and Dirk doesn’t even go past the hall, he drops himself on the floor and takes out his phone. Dave has texted him something and Dirk would give himself some time to speculate what could it be a month earlier, but not now, not really; he just taps at the screen now. He got used to all Dave’s patterns and thoughts by now, he basically has all kinds of flowcharts about him in his head. It bothers him, slightly but ceaselessly, and thinking about it is the next step of admitting so he just doesn’t and reads the messages instead.
TG: you know it was kinda okay at first
TG: i even thought that nothing changed i mean what the fuck is a relationship if not just a bit twisted friendship with a pinch of fuckery stuff and you can also walk naked
TG: it was normal and then boom it suddenly isnt a fucking meteor is at your fireplace and your whole house is a fireplace too burn motherfucker
TG: at least i wish it was sudden but oh no apparently because my friends are decent people it couldnt be that fast
TG: it was okay and then every day it became a bit less okay until were in now and its not even remotely okay
TG: now you see im not a jealous type im cool with fucking everything but they seem like different people now
TG: you were eating a cheeseburger and its filet o fish now
TG: fuck im hungry
TG: i dont understand how am i supposed to feel about this they always had someone else on the side i didnt even know who and now theres a fucking loop of them locked into each other
TG: theyre entirely different people i just dont understand now
TG: theres no way to make everything alright again i shouldnt be there clouding their view on fucking happiness
TG: its like the whole get back to normal thing is behind a huge ass lab door protected with password and im a test monkey with half of my brain removed trying to find a code
TG: they changed and i didnt thats what makes it fucked up all of it
Dirk’s mind is finishing the picture so fast it even scares him a bit. Dave’s friends, a wizard and a monk in game, matching sweaters in reality, two cans of soda, affectionate hands and ruffled heads. Dirk never talked to them, just watched a bit between his own turns. He remembers Dave chatting with Roxy while looking sideways, remembers them leaving Vriska's house together and Dave who was alway the last to leave.
TG: are u here
TG: dude blink twice if ur abducted
TT: Where are you?
TG: at the bus stop
TG: also wtf
TT: I thought maybe you need a company more than advice.
TG: uh okay you know what
TG: fuck it
TG: maybe
TG: i am
TT: Don’t go anywhere.
Dirk gets up so fast he’s dizzy for a second, shoves the phone inside his back pocket and looks around for keys. There’s a burning, acidic feeling inside, and Dirk shushes it down, splashes it with a fucking bucket of liquid nitrogen, he’s doing that for the past few weeks, pretending he doesn’t understand what it means, pretending that it's only Dave here who needs something.
You did it once.
You did it once, Dirk, you pathetic sack of shit, and you ruined the life of another person doing it, and you’re going to do the same.
“He doesn’t even like me that way,” tells Dirk loudly to himself as he ties up his shoelaces and straightens up. The darkness of his flat swallows his words, goes still for a moment and doesn’t react.
But you like him. You do. That’s all it takes.
When Dirk is outside, the cold fresh air slaps him across his hot, wet face as he runs down the street.
5.
They sit on Dirk's mattress cross-legged and eat stiff marshmallows from Dirk’s cupboard. Dave doesn’t make any comments on his lack of bed and proper food, he just eats a handful at once and talks until the sky is pink and orange. Dirk stretches out his legs, he feels rigid in his clothes and Dave is probably tired too, he thinks, rubbing his neck. Dave falls silent, leaning back to the wall and watching the ceiling glowing gold. The whole room is sunlit now and Dirk is suddenly aware of all the empty space around him, its existence is sharp and kicking, it’s like he never perceived it before, not for real.
“You know, I had a crush on him,” Dave says flatly. “KK, I mean. It’s not like it messes up the whole situation, except that it does.” He blinks slowly, rubs his eyes and brushes back hair with his fingers. “Even if I don’t have it now.”
“A crush,” says Dirk slowly. The word is grainy and bitter on his tongue, and he would prefer not to talk about it, but he has no reason to refuse. “Does he know?”
Dave slides down the wall and curls on Dirk’s blanket. “No, it's way worse, bro,” he answers after a couple of seconds, his voice is muffled as he tries to make himself comfortable. “John knows.”
“It’s a bit too intense for just three people involved,” Dirk slumps down too, ignoring the dull, throbbing ache inside, kicking his ribs meticulously. He lies down on his thin pillow, just a bit away. He can see Dave’s hair painted peach and has to stop himself from reaching further, but then Dave presses his back into Dirk’s cold and stiff legs. His warmness seeps through Dirk's body, making him sleepy in an instant. “Maybe you need to be by yourself for a while,” Dirk says, and in an instant he’s at his own throat again, spitting fire and venom. Dave doesn’t notice. “I should go home,” he mumbles. “How much are your fucking bills, dude? The flat is hella big and you only occupy one room. Don’t you want to get a cat at least?”
“Roxy asks me every other week,” Dirk chuckles and closes his eyes. Dave fidgets with his blanket for a while, then stands up, wobbly on a mattress. “Okay, do you have a couch or something like that? I won’t have the chance to sleep in such okay of a flat for a while more, also I assume that your walls have seen things worse”. His voice wavers just a tiny bit, and Dirk sits up on the bed to look at him. “The other room," he croaks. "There’s a bathroom down the hall, you can take my t-shirt, the microwave is not working,” and instead of all these things the one that he really wants to say is “Don’t worry”.
“Don’t worry,” says Dave instead of him. “You don’t even have to make me breakfast, honey, just tell me there’s no one who will shoot my balls off with a shotgun as soon as they come home in the evening.” It’s obviously not a question, so Dirk doesn’t answer, but Dave is looking at him, waiting for something, and the only thing that comes to mind is “good night.”
So Dirk mumbles just that, and Dave smiles.
“Sleep tight,” he says quietly, grabs the blanket and shuts the door.
When Dirk opens his eyes, it’s getting dark. His mouth feels like a dumpster and all his limbs are numb.
He had a dream, he thinks, unsure and hazy, there was a high-rise apartment, just like his own, dark roads, pink and red light, people. The room is submerged in a soft semi-darkness, it’s dusky and quiet, and Dirk lies there for a bit longer before he remembers: Dave. He’s probably still here. Dirk scrambles himself off the mattress, his legs aren’t cooperating – and stumbles out of the room.
He finds a made couch in the other room and Dave in the kitchen. He's sitting on the short round chair, spinning slowly, and texting someone. His eyes are gleaming in a soft blue light, and Dirk wonders who is he talking to. Dave seems particularly disturbed with the conversation, so Dirk steps forward and clears his throat.
“Good, I've started to feel lonely all by myself,” Dave puts his phone on a counter, screen down, and stands up from the chair. He’s still in his own clothes, and looks like he could use a couple more hours of sleep. “What a pretty morning face and a wonderful evening.”
“Did you sleep well?” is the best thing Dirk manages to come up with, while brushing his messy hair with fingers. Dave makes a face that’s neither an approval nor the opposite of it. “Would be better if I didn’t hallucinate like I’ve ingested the whole evidence stash of the local drug police department. And now I need to go before they find me.”
He shoves his phone down the pocket and stands up. “But really, I need to go home. My brother is being all sorts of pleasant today.”
“Is he worried?” Dirk raises his eyebrows and Dave laughs silently. “You can put it like that, if you pretend hard enough.”
He isn’t going anywhere, though, and it seems like he’s waiting for something again. They look at each other for the whole three or four seconds, before Dave finally steps forward and hugs him, his arms are quick and weigh nothing. “Thanks,” he mutters and pulls away the very second Dirk slowly raises his own arm. “See you later, I guess.”
He pushes past Dirk, fumbles with his shoes by the door, goes silent for a second, then asks loudly:
“Are you going to open the door and kiss me goodbye?”
Dirk shakes his head – everything still feels hazy and unreal – and walks to the door. When he opens it, Dave looks at him – his lips are chapped and eyes are tired – and says quietly:
“It feels like I should and shouldn’t be here at the same time. Like there’s a timeline where I never went here and you know it and try to decide which one is better.”
They stand way too close, and Dirk briefly thinks: this boy, he knows. He knows everything. And oh my god, he has no idea. No fucking clue. One in that goddamn hall completely owns the ass of another, and Dirk isn’t picking sides. He’s fucking blind when it comes to actually choose his own.
“Sorry, can’t kiss you goodbye, sweetheart, my morning breath is unsurvivable,” Dirk answers instead. When he closes the door, Dave smiles again. Dirk doesn’t return it.
6.
The third session of the campaign is coming, and Dirk wakes up on Friday feeling like he's slept too much. He lies there and looks at the ceiling for some time, then finds his phone. It’s 4 am, and he has got a headache and three messages already. The longer he looks at the screen, the more distinct and concentrated is pain in his temples, ringing inside his skull like an old phone in a vibration mode.
He might as well just ignore it, Dirk thinks, knowing that he can’t. The best he can do is to leave it on read, and Dirk is achingly aware he isn’t able to do this even, because he still holds himself responsible for everything.
GT: Hey dirk.
GT: I suggest you might want to talk albeit the topic is still unpleasant for both.
GT: There’s no blame.
GT: It’s still a complication for me to be around you but it's still possible for us to be on good terms methinks.
GT: We happened to share a good fellowship and i miss you as my friend.
GT: I reckon we can make amends in some way so why dont we discuss it in a more civilized way sometime?
Jake’s been offline for a good hour by now, and Dirk stares at the screen for a few minutes. His short sentences seem like they’re cut in the middle, like he was rushing, or awkward, or just didn’t know what to say. Screw it, Dirk mutters to himself, he’s still got at least two more hours of sleep. He’ll answer later, when his head is clear enough.
After half an hour of twisting and turning Dirk kicks the blanket off, swears profoundly and gets up. He brushes his teeth meticulously until he spits blood, splashes his face with cold water and wipes it with his t-shirt hanging from the racket.
Dirk opens the window, and it’s barely started to brighten up outside, the air is still a bit cold, it’s that crispy coldness you sometimes feel in the spring morning that tells you: it's not summer yet, you funny man without a jacket, have a runny nose for a week. He leans over a windowsill and hangs half outside his window until his head hurts a bit less and he’s shivering, then closes it and slumps back on his unmade bed.
TT: Hello. Sure, why not.
He can’t bring himself to write anything else and just scrolls this short pathetic mockery of a dialogue back and forth for a while. There’s unease in every single word, that kind of it people have when they realize they don’t have a way with that particular person anymore. Dirk can’t bring himself to feel anything distinct enough about this, it’s a burning coil of shame and worry and self-hatred he's abandoned all hope to untangle. It gets better, it’s the only thing that he tells himself. The only person standing there, in the middle of the problem, is him, Dirk Strider, and he, coincidentally, is the only person he still has to deal with.
He was, at least, and now there’s another one, and when Dirk opens his messages, it feels like every movement of his fingers pulls a string tied to his guts.
TG: whatcha doin
TG: i cant sleep
TG: sleep is lava
TG: so im chilling 8000 ft above sea level sipping my apple crisp w extra maple syrup
TG: im not in the mood for playing games guess the whole server gotta mourn till tomorrow at least
TG: this and the fact terezi ditched me over doing some dumb shit with vriska
TG: shes still mad i caught them making out in the bedroom can you believe it
TT: What did you do in her bedroom?
TG: you wont believe me
TG: i stayed overnight the first time because it was kinda late to go home anyway and going home sucks balls its not a phase mom
TG: vriska told me i can land it anywhere i want shes got plenty and i said oi can i take some plush dudes of yours to bed
TG: she went fucking fluorescent like a night club stamp under the blacklight and told me to go and take the biggest one girl just wants her spideys to be appreciated
TG: i went to brush my teeth and wash my face after the struggle of being so damn awesome for the whole day
TG: and went to look for the biggest one just to make it hug me with all its plushy squishy tickly paws
TG: so i checked the first floor then stepped inside the bedroom and its the fucking full moon and terezi is going on vriska like gwen fucking stefany on spiderman
TG: i bet all three of us thought fuck me for entirely different reasons each
TT: It’s Gwen Stacy.
TT: Also fuck you.
TT: The burden of knowledge is way too heavy.
TG: i know dude i just cant be only one keeping that damn heavens from falling
TG: anyway i took the plushy bastard and quietly tiptoed out
TG: they didnt end me in my sleep but tz still a fucking salt mountain about it like a whole red sea i swear
TG: i mean if she caught me making out with someone i wouldnt even blink
TG: why arent u asleep anyway
TT: Hell if I know, I just woke up for no reason at all. I mean, listening to your stories makes up for it.
They exchange a few more messages before the sun is up, Dirk is sitting with his laptop in the kitchen, half-dressed, and Dave asks him if he’s going to be at the Happenstance today. Sure, Dirk answers, and he is entirely aware that Dave is the main source of his own enthusiasm. The whole don’t do it machine is already set up and running inside his head, it messes up everything Dirk has with Dave, and for a second he even considers talking to him about it. Yeah, that would be the right thing to do, take the phone right now and write listen Dave please don’t get me wrong but I think we shouldn’t hang out together because I kinda fancy you and that means I will hurt you, one way or another. Then the second of doubt passes and Dirk thinks bitterly wow, yeah, why aren’t you sparing Roxy then?
The answer is simple, it's so easy, really, but what the fuck is a relationship if not just a bit twisted friendship with a pinch of fuckery stuff, says Dave in his head, and Dirk tells him, quietly and honestly, like letting out a secret: a relationship is constant waiting, a constant struggle and a long run to prove something. You see the clouds and everyone tells you it’s going to be a nice day outside, but clouds are the only thing that is on an extended forecast. This sounds shitty even for an internal monologue, so Dirk cuts himself off and opens the third chat. He still has some time before he has to leave.
There’s nothing unusual about her messages, just a bunch of cat pics and couple of links he asked her about, so Dirk just types in quick thanks and then writes out everything he wanted to say. He feels guilty just typing it, the guilt is seeping through him, and it’s the only feeling he deserves and the only one he's left with eventually. Still, he can’t stop himself from being selfish this time.
TT: Hey.
TT: I guess you’re sleeping.
TT: That’s good, I just wanted to talk, but the active participation in dialogue may actually turn out worse, so. Thank you for sleeping and being so cooperative.
TT: What would I do without you.
TT: The point is, I feel like shit.
TT: I don’t fit in with this stuff, Rox. I’m tired of people glorifying me and thinking I’m actually a decent person when they don’t know anything.
TT: But I know. I remember everything that happened with Jake.
TT: I fucked up badly, and things happen, of course, but when this exact kind of thing happens, it’s always outright bad and every person involved or watching would prefer it not happening at all. There are no sides. You recall it with a single feeling of “oh my god how can someone fuck up so many times in a row”.
TT: The thing is, I’m still here. I've moved on from Jake but I doubt I moved on with all that stuff in my head that makes me do that.
TT: I won’t like the outcome. He won’t like the outcome. No one will like it.
TT: So why do I think there even an option?
TT: I guess I just needed a reminder in the form different from my usual non-verbal conversations with myself.
TT: Thank you, Rox. Good night.
She'll read it later and freak out, thinks Dirk wearily. Poor Roxy. She’s been suffering from him, with him, through everything that happened to him. He made her life shitty as well, it seems just as sure as that he's fucked up with Dave. It’s different this time, he still can fix at least some of it, it’s just the collateral damage, a vicarious trauma, but the overall result is worth it, it has to be worth it.
7.
Today it’s peach green tea and cheese balls at Happenstance, and the sofa in the living room which dips readily under their butts. When Dirk walks inside, Dave isn’t there yet – but Roxy is. He carefully sits beside her, and she’s smiling, that kind of smile that twists everything inside Dirk, the loving one.
“Did you read the messages?” he asks warily, and she blinks at him. “You mean if I made Jake message you? If it’s the case, you bet I am. The whole problem exists because you didn’t talk to each other! I told him so, and said he should be the one to talk to you this time.”
Dirk inhales, then lets out all the air, slowly, closes and opens his eyes again. Roxy watches him with the slight anguish painted on her face, and it quickly drifts into an amusement when Dirk grabs her and pulls her into a tight hug.
“You’re right,” he mutters. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate everything you do for me.”
She pats his back enthusiastically. “I love you too, Strider, just don’t forget to spare some love for yourself, alright?”.
“Yeah,” Dirk breathes out absentmindedly, and it feels like he’s burning inside with all the guilt in the world. When Roxy turns to talk to Nepeta, he takes the moment and quickly deletes everything he texted her in the morning.
Dave arrives much later than usual, he briefly salutes his friends at the table and slides right between Dirk and Roxy to take his rightful place like nothing happened. He’s all tousled and pink and hot from running. “Been doing my evening routine, check this fit out,” he says, putting his pale lanky leg on a coffee table. He's wearing short red socks, and his other leg, one that’s closer to Dirk, has a fresh dark bruise blooming just above the knee.
Dirk frowns the second he sees it. “What’s that?” Before the whole don’t do it machine springs to action, Dirk reaches out. Dave stiffens when Dirk touches the bruise, lightly, careful not to press on it, then exhales loudly and shrugs. “A trip and a fall. Life is not only about being successful, that’s your lesson for today, mon ami.”
Dirk watches his eyes, but they’re unchanging, unwavering, and the next second they’re interrupted by Vriska asking loudly if everyone is finished sorting out their personal problems. Dave glances at Dirk quickly, Dirk returns it, and the feeling they’re thinking the same thing is one of the most pleasant things he has ever experienced.
They play until it’s dark, everyone is confused by time travelling, and Nepeta is under the sleeping curse and asleep on Roxy’s lap shortly after. Dave and Dirk try to be quieter, but no one at the table hears them this way, and Dave finally whispers the podcast is interrupted by sleeping felines, as loud as he can, and carefully untangles himself from the mess of limbs their couch becomes every time. Dirk follows him. “Let’s take her to the bedroom,” Dave vaguely gestures in the air, and his intonation is more of a question than a proposition, but Roxy shoos them away. Vriska raises her hand to slap on the table, but Terezi swiftly catches it, gently knocks the table instead and announces under her breath that today's session is over.
John and Karkat leave first, as alway. Dirk hears them asking Dave if he wants to crash at their place today, then, after seemingly receiving a no, leaving and closing the door. Dave bursts inside the kitchen shortly after, takes someone else’s cup standing on the counter and empties it in one fell swoop, then grimaces. “Why is it so hot in here? Also I’m sure peach tea doesn’t taste like that.” He seems annoyed, and Dirk snorts. “Let’s go outside. Have you seen her backyard yet?”
“What’s in her backyard?” Dave asks, sniffing the cup suspiciously. “Pretty much nothing. You know, backyards. A grill, an inflatable pool, swings. Fucking spiders, real ones this time, cosplay stuff, secret entrances. What’s on yours?”
Dave’s face changes for a moment, and this time Dirk is sure he’s not imagining it – lips pressed together and a frown – and answers reluctantly: “I never go there.” Then he puts the cup back and turns to the door. “Let’s go swinging and cosplaying and entering entrances, or else I feel like I'm going to die from heat here and you will be the one to explain it to everyone.” Dirk follows him to the door, glaring between his shoulders, trying to discern the reason behind his mood swing.
It’s fresh and warm outside, and they both trip over the steps. Dave is back to his usual self in an instant, telling Dirk he looks like a cryptid in moonlight, and Dirk asks if it’s a compliment. “Nothing but compliments for my dudebro. Can we ride that thing?” He points at the swings, and Dirk shrugs. “If there are no spiders on it.” Dave kicks off his shoes and climbs the wide seat, the determined look on his face is softened by a moonlight.
The swing screeches quietly, but that’s not an annoying screech, it’s a gentle and comforting one, and there are no spiders around. They sit side to side, Dirk throws his head back slightly and looks at the sky. Dave looks above as well, and there are two small moons reflected in his eyes. He taps Dirk’s shoulder lightly and points to the brightly lit Happenstance behind them. “Check if Terezi is looking.”
“What?” Dirk turns back, but there’s no one, only the door to the back room, opened widely, thee one they left through. “Why her?”
“Can’t give her a pleasure of being avenged,” the answer is in a short whisper, before Dave leans in and kisses him.
There’s silence, a dead weight, it’s deafening, nothing except for a frantic heartbeat and Dave’s breath on his face. His lips are chapped and warm, and he tastes like peach tea with vodka and sugar. One of his hands is on Dirk’s knee, and every place where Dave touches him feels so warm and alive that Dirk can feel his throat tighten. Dave pulls back, and a smile is still on his lips, and Dirk could kiss it away before it falters, it’s a brief thought and the easiest thing to do, something he would do in any other situation with him, Dave and kisses included, in every other universe, timeline, circumstances, stars aligned. Dirk Strider of this universe doesn’t have such an option. This thought is bitter and liberating at the same time.
A little frown appears between Dave’s eyebrows; there's a white, thin scar on his forehead. The face Dirk wants to touch and smooth his worries away. Instead he says quietly:
“It’s not a good idea”.
“What?” Dave’s smile falters, like someone switched off the light. It hurts to see and it hurts more to be the reason for it so Dirk continues:
“I can’t do this. You have no idea what's going to happen.”
“What the actual fuck, dude,” Dave breathes out, then moves away, looking him with wide eyes. “That was some romcom bullshit." He inhales sharply. "I’m actually amazed by your ability to make it look like it was and wasn’t a dick move at the same time. What’s happening?”
Dirk sighs. The fresh air suddenly seems cold. “You don't know a thing. Do you really want me to speak about this? I’m not used to it.”
Dave’s eyebrows jump up, and he draws his legs closer and hugs the knees. His red socks are wet from walking through the grass. “Well, maybe it's time to step up your game and tell me things, that’s exactly why we’re talking to each other." He shakes his head, seemingly trying to comprehend Dirk's words. "Let’s go, bro, I’m ready for a fucking 150 slides PowerPoint presentation.” He doesn’t look angry at him, yet – or maybe it’s just moonlight making him softer, younger, there’s no way to know for sure, Dirk thinks. This should have happened long ago.
He closes his eyes for a second and when he speaks, his voice is steady.
“I tend to control people, Dave. I make them do what I need. It's even worse with people I like,” he slightly trips on this one, taken aback by what some other day could be a confession, but Dave doesn’t move an inch, he only listens, looking at him, leaning closer to him. “I'm intense, I'm everywhere, and if I can't know everything and control things that happen, I hurt myself and people around. You don't want it for yourself.”
He takes a pause to even his breath, and Dave is still silent, so Dirk continues. “If I assume that something is wrong, I will ask you until you say yes, Dirk, you fucked up. And even if you don't say it the first time, I'll ask again later, on and on, because nothing is alright when it's with me. I strive to have control over everything but at the end I come to the inability to have it. And I will hate it.”'
His throat burns when he finishes, it’s roughly three times more he's ever said to Roxy. It’s still surprisingly hard every time. When Dave sighs and stands up, Dirk thinks abruptly that he’ll soak his feet completely, before Dave starts speaking.
“Okay, you know what?” Dave makes three steps to the left, to the right, his arms are locked. “Everything you said, just every fucking thing – it’s just some selfish pile of crap. You know, an essay on how to be a tragic hero. Not the part on how you feel, but that one when you claim you know better.” He stops and this time he’s definitely mad, at least a bit – his hands are shaking slightly, gripping his forearms, and he’s short on breath. “Stop pulling your anime shit with me. Maybe it’ll come as a surprise for you, but other people can feel insecure too. You are just a self-centered bastard for thinking you're the worst person out there. Others share their worries with people they have around, you know? Who care about them and stuff.” He drops back on his seat and this time he doesn’t look at Dirk’s face.
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Dirk’s voice is soft, and that makes Dave perk up with anger again. “I can’t give you what you want. It'll be a disappointment, for you and me both.”
“Okay, smartass,” Dave spits out, and he’s on his feet again. Dirk stands up too, and Dave is fiery and angry when he pokes at Dirk's chest with his finger. “Of course, you know better than me what I’m talking about, what I want, it's like we're the same person, huh? Except for, we fucking aren’t, so shut up and let me finish.” He takes a pause to catch his breath, and Dirk suddenly wants to hug him, it’s unexpectedly painful to see him distressed, but he’s the reason, and that’s why Dirk doesn’t move an inch. Dave takes a deep breath and says in calmer way, looking at Dirk’s face:
“I don’t care if you have a villain complex the size of fucking Jupiter and blame yourself for everything that happens. It’s too late, anyway. Your arm is shoulder deep in my ass, mate, and the only thing left to do is just move your hand left and right like we're at a puppet show”.
“Dave, it’s—“
“Shut the fuck up, I’m not finished,” Dave cuts him off, all fired up. “The thing is. You might be fucking surprised but you need two people to make that work. And I’m fucking telling you, I’m willing to be the Player Two. I’m fucking Luigi, Lawliet, Chris Cole, you name it. I’m ready to tell you exactly where you fucked up so you don't need to tell yourself every time.”
“Dave—” Dirk steps closer to him, and Dave raises his hands to his chest. “Another word on how you know better and I’ll end you, I swear.”
Dirk reaches slowly and touches Dave's wet cheek. Dave doesn’t move away, he leans in instead and Dirk doesn’t stop himself from hugging him this time. Dirk lets himself do unthinkable things one after another; this time, he tangles his fingers in Dave's hair and mutters:
“Who the fuck is Chris Cole?”
Dave rolls his eyes and gives in to the hug. “Holy fuck, can’t believe I kissed you, can I ask for the refund? Also your first lesson on fuck-ups for today: you still haven’t said sorry”.
“You save sorry for old ladies in the queue,” says Dirk slowly, with his heart in his throat. “I’d rather say oh fuck sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you”.
Did I?
“Didn't it just fix everything in an instant?” Dave mutters somewhere into his t-shirt. This is funny, Dirk thinks and then laughs, he really does this time. “It did not”
“Good, it shouldn’t have, or I’d suspect you made this shit up.”
Dirk only strokes Dave's back as an answer, swallows a lump in his throat and thinks: it’ll be easier to get used to than he thought, he’ll like it, he will.