This highschool-AU fic includes: Fluff; Slight Angst; Bittersweet Ending; Umbrellas; Minor Religious Guilt; Implied/Referenced Homophobia; Undefined Relationship
The first time you met Dave was when you were 17. Well, you knew he existed; you’d gone to school with him since he moved to your town, but you were in vastly different social circles.
You actually talked to him for the first time on the 26 of August. It was raining hard, and water was pelting down on your hoodie and soaking you to the bone. As always, you had forgotten an umbrella.
“Hey! Dude! Get over here! You’re gonna freeze to death or something.” Dave was dressed in an old red raincoat, holding a bright orange-and-yellow striped umbrella. His jeans were a bright blue, barely muted by the clouds and rain, and his shoes were ratty and worn, but still so red that they nearly burned your eyes off.
He was the definition of annoying.
Yet, when he offered you a spot under his umbrella, you took it. You tried to tell yourself that the only reason you did it was because you didn’t want to get hypothermia. Which was true. You will admit though, that maybe, something about all that too-bright color was intriguing.
He’d made a stupid joke about your shoes, a pair of ratty old Doc Martens, and you had responded by calling him a million different names of varying rudeness. He had laughed like you made a joke that was worth finding funny.
It rained all week, and you forgot your umbrella all week too. And Dave, you found out, just so happened to live only a block away. He never forgot his umbrella.
Going to the winter dance with a group of five is possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. It only took half an hour before two of your friends broke off, and no matter how much Sollux complained about it when Aradia asked him to dance, he ditched you all the same.
Dave stumbles on you standing alone at the punch bowl, looking the worst you’ve ever seen him. He lets out a breath and waves to you then grabs two cups of punch. He walks them over to a girl with long dark hair standing a little ways away, but she just turns away and storms off with a glare.
It doesn’t take very long after that before he’s back over by the snacks with an extra cup in hand. He slides down the wall to join you sitting on the floor. His head falls against the paneling with a hollow thump.
“Hey,” He says, obviously exhausted, “What’s up with you? Or do you just like spending your time sitting here like a loser?”
“You can’t talk when you just got stood up,” You answer him sharply.
“Dude. That’s so cold. You’re so mean to me. I’m truly wounded right now.” He’s smiling at you tiredly.
“Who was she?” You really don’t know why you ask, but something makes you want to know.
“Jade. We’ve been friends for years, man. She’d been crushing on me since we were like thirteen. Turns out that when she asked to go to the dance, she didn’t mean as friends. Ha. Who’d have known?”
You settle on saying, “I’m sorry,” and rest a hand against his shoulder. He startles and opens his mouth to say something, but seems to decide against it. His hand finds yours against his shoulder and rests over it for just a little too long.
You hide away there until the dance ends and the PE coach kicks you out. He’s half asleep against your shoulder by then.
Over spring break Dave takes it upon himself to teach you how to skateboard. He buys you a cheap Walmart skateboard that you have to duct-tape back together within the first hour of using it.
To get him back you make him watch bad rom-coms with you every night, including all of your personal favorites. He laughs at all the wrong parts and makes fun of them to all hell and back. You glare at him, and then you hit him on the back of the head with the DVD case.
You drag him to Easter church, and he grumbles the whole way about having to wear a suit. He doesn’t even know how to tie a tie, and you have to do it for him. It’s not like you can just skip church - not when your dad is the pastor, and your brother runs the youth group.
The cross around your neck hangs heavy and silent and judgmental when you stare at Dave for just a little too long while everyone is paying attention to the little kids during the egg hunt. A leaf falls directly into his hair, and you pick it out quietly.
His eyes fall on yours. You swallow. Your throat feels thick. His hand grazes yours, and you pretend to ignore it. You will not hold his hand here. Not with your dad close enough to glance over and see, not with half the town gathered right there. There are already enough rumors.
That summer is spent with you and Dave making the most of it. You get a bad job at the gas station, and he shows up every few hours just to bug you until you get off work. You stay up too late and never wake up earlier than ten.
You play the guitar with him and sing bad covers and he plays all his cheesy hipster vinyls for you. You find a dollar in the gutter, and a couple minutes later you have two lemon-flavored soda waters.
He grins at you, all dimples and crooked teeth. He’s still wearing his stupid red-tinted sunglasses, even though the only nearby light is the neons of signs. You race him back to your house, and sneak in through the back door so you don’t wake your dad up.
You grab a random romance from your stack of DVDs by the door, and Dave raises his eyebrow at you in judgment. You would glare back, but the two of you are already laughing too loudly for it to make a difference.
You wake up back to back, as far apart as your twin-size bed will allow. He takes way too long shaving with the bathroom locked just to annoy you, and you sit right outside the door yelling at him in retaliation.
He spends the next week sleeping at your house, but his brother is home and he’s kind of insane, so you really can’t blame Dave.
When you were a kid, it was all you ever wanted to do to escape this place. Small towns where everyone knew everyone was your worst nightmare, and one you had to live. Now though, now that everyone expects you to get up and leave, you don’t know if you want to.
Sure, it’s hard and everyone here is judging you all the time, but at least they know you. They don’t bother you or have hope that you’ll ever be more than you are, not anymore. If you moved, that wouldn’t be a thing.
Besides, you’ve done too much here to just give up and move on. You’ve grown too attached to it; this place that is your home. It’s all summer rain and chirping cicadas and home. It’s all shimmery and green and the summer is hot beyond belief.
Dave kisses you in the park, in front of the stupid water feature pond. He kisses you late at night, and he still tastes like stale Dr Pepper and take-out pizza. Your dad would kill you if he knew his son was in the park kissing a boy. Your dad doesn’t need to know.
The school year is beyond busy. You spend as much time as you can with Dave. Your band breaks up, after being together for four years. Everyone is going to different states, or at least into the city for college. It all hits you at once, three days before graduation.
You have no plans on what you’re gonna do after this. All your friends are going to different schools, different towns, different places. All of them except Dave. He’s in the same boat as you.
And then he’s not. Dave is moving to New York to go to college with his sister. It hits you like a truck. Those stupid nights in the park, those times away from watchful eyes where you can hold his hand and hug him tight and no one looks at you wrong. They won’t be a thing anymore.
You guess he might not have a problem with leaving this place - not like you do. He doesn’t have home here. He has an awful brother and a prison here, not a boyfriend and a cause.
He’s going to New York, across the country, a thousand miles away. And all you want to do is cry. He blinks at you when you stare at the porch in front of you, the ground at your feet. He came over to your house, three weeks into summer vacation, and told you there, standing on your porch.
The sun was burning hot across your face, even through the small porch overhang. He has on the same shoes he had last August, ratty old red Converse that are falling apart at the seams now more than ever. You look down at your own feet: clad in a pair of plain black socks. One has a hole in the big toe, and the other is worn down on the heel.
Your Doc Martens, standing by the door with new, purple laces. A graduation gift.
“Look, Karkat, I’m sorry. I- I just can’t stay here, ok? My sister just offered to let me come live with her last night, and this place- Karkat I just can’t stay here.” Dave is stumbling over words. He never stumbles over words.
“It’s alright. I get it. Go... do you, I guess,” you say. Dave stares at you. He looks like he might cry, which, in all the months you’ve spent together, is one thing you haven’t seen him do. He turns around and starts to walk off. You feel your throat close up on itself. God you love him.
“I love you.” You know now is not the time to say it. You know it’s too late. You know you cannot force him to stay in the town that hurts him. You also know that he stole your heart when he offered you that umbrella.
He falters on his way off the step. Neither of you have said the L word yet.
“I love you, too,” He whispers, and you can just barely hear it. Later that night, you question whether he actually said it or if you just imagined it.
The next time it rains Dave isn’t there to remind you to take your umbrella, but you never forget, not anymore.