Streetlights

Sunday flies by way far too fast for John’s liking, and all too soon it’s time for school again, time for lessons (or rather, time for skipping lessons), time for his friends and time for Dave.

Fuck. Dave. John has been ignoring all thoughts of him that crop up in his mind (of which there are far too many far too often). There are so many fucking questions he needs answered.

He literally rolls out of bed on Monday morning, lying face down on the carpet for several minutes whilst he gathers the energy to haul himself up and away to get dressed.

And that is why he’s late every day.

His phone bleeps once and he reaches for it blearily, which basically consists of him moving his hand around until it clasps around something phone-shaped. He lifts it and sees he has a new text from Tavros and a missed call from Tavros. And an email from Oxfam, the title of which is ‘Ants and taxes’. He’s tempted to open it just because of the title. Maybe they’re starting to tax ants. That would be an interesting move.

Instead, however, he throws his phone down on his bed whilst he throws his clothes on haphazardly and brushes his hair once, attempting to make himself look more presentable by brushing his hair across his face. The more of his face that is covered, the better he looks, right? He might as well just become a professional yeti.

He takes the stairs two at a time downstairs, attempting to wake himself up a little more by forcing himself to do exercise. His body protests, however, and by the time he reaches the bottom he barely has enough energy to drag himself into the kitchen and flop down at the table opposite his ever-cheery cousin.

“How are you this happy in the morning?” John grumbles, letting his head fall onto the table. It’s much more comfortable this way.

“Because I have something to get up for,” Jade says simply, and John frowns into the glass of the table, steaming it up a little with his breath.

“So do I,” John says, looking at his watch through the foggy glass of the table. “School.” He hasn’t even had time to eat breakfast before he’s hauling himself up from the table again and heaving himself out of the door.

Oh, fuck, he’s got to fucking jump fences and streams and shit.

John groans, closing his eyes and turning his head up to the weak autumn sun. He doesn’t want this.
-
He makes it to school on time for the first time in approximately three years. He’s not just on time, he’s five minutes early, so he slopes up the path to school as slowly as he possibly can, Jade’s words echoing in his head.

Jade is right. John has nothing to get up for in the mornings. Sure, he has his friends – he has Tavros – but that’s not enough, not enough to make him want to get up. He’s not sure anything ever will be, if he’s honest, but that’s mainly because having to get up at seven thirty is quite possibly the work of Satan.

“John!” Rose smiles, beckoning him over as he finally saunters into the building, choosing to walk around to the back and the grassy area his little gang (he can’t keep calling them his friends. That makes him sound so…weird. He can’t call them all by name either, because there are too many (too many friends; as if he ever thought he’d be saying that). Maybe he should take Rufioh up on the Sexican offer) usually stay in when they bunk off. John's planning on actually going to some lessons today – he’s got his books and everything.

John nods at them as he makes his way over, flopping down on the grass. Missing the first two lessons can’t hurt, right?

“We’re just discussing what we’re going to do this weekend,” Rufioh informs him. “Sexican meet-up.”

“We’re not the bloody Sexicans,” half the group moans.

“We’ve now got three non-Mexicans anyway,” Equius points out.

“Sexicasians,” Rufioh persists. Rose frowns.

“That sounds like sexy occasions,” she says. Rufioh shrugs.

“You never know,” he says, and Sollux throws some grass at him.

“No one’s going to be having sexy occasions with you,” he says.

“Says you, Virgin Boy,” Rufioh shoots back, and Sollux glowers at him.

“It’s harder for me,” he complains. “That’s unfair.”

“You’re just jealous that I can pull,” Rufioh says dismissively, throwing the grass right back at Sollux.

“Can we be the Virgin Boys?” Sollux says, with a snigger. Equius snorts.

“Yeah, come on, let’s do it,” he says. “Rufioh, you got that gang you so desperately wanted.”

“I am not being associated with the Virgin Boys!” Rufioh exclaims. “People will start thinking I’m a-“

“None of us believe you when you say you’re not, anyway,” Tavros says, and Rufioh lunges for his brother.

“Break it up, girls,” Equius says bossily, but Rose shakes her head with a grin at the two brothers struggling on the ground.

“Tenner on Rufioh,” she offers.

“Nah, Tavros’s got agility on his side,” Sollux says thoughtfully. “Rufioh’s like a lumbering, constipated elephant.”

“When was the last time you saw a constipated elephant?” John wants to know. Sollux nods at the scuffle going on in front of them.

“Right there,” he says.

“-off me,” they hear Tavros yell, the rest of his sentence muffled by his brother.

“Never,” Rufioh hisses, but Tavros’s had enough because suddenly Rufioh’s the one on his back, and Tavros’s on top of him, pinning his wrists to the floor and sitting back on his thighs so he can’t struggle.

“I forgot that Tavros works out,” Rose curses under her breath, handing a grinning Sollux a tenner. Rufioh yelps and shouts for mercy, and Tavros slaps him once in the face before rolling off him and almost onto Sollux.

“You gained me a tenner, bro,” Sollux says. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Tavros says, but John’s still enraptured by his arms. He’s not really sure why; they’re nothing special, really, just a little more muscular than normal. He always wears clothes that enhance his body, though; John’s stared at Tavros’s legs in his skinny jeans enough times for him have learnt that lesson by now. Tavros notices him staring and blushes a little, throwing him a furtive glance as John snaps his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He can’t deny that he’s still attracted to Tavros, no matter what’s best for Tavros.

“I’m going to go,” he mumbles, standing up abruptly and almost taking Rose’s eye out with his bag. Rose makes a noise of annoyance but before anyone can say anything to try and convince him to stay or ask him why he’s going, John walks away. He can feel Tavros’s eyes on him, though, so he turns into the building as soon as he can to get away from the gaze that’s burning a hole through him.

He still doesn’t know his way around the school, so he wanders the empty corridors for a while, until the bell goes and students start spilling out of classrooms into the corridors he’s walking up and down aimlessly.

“Hey,” he asks a passing Year Seven, since he figures she won’t punch him in the face. She looks more frightened that he’s going to punch her in the face, so he reckons he’s safe. “Where’s X1?” She points down the corridor and runs away as fast as she can, so John simply walks down the corridor, asking more people as he goes (mostly Year Sevens. He hopes he doesn’t come across as a paedophile). He makes his way there eventually, ten minutes too late for Music, where his lesson has already begun.

“You must be John,” his teacher (Mr Megido, according to his timetable) says. “We’re just doing some composition this lesson, because I can’t be bothered to teach.” He grins at John, and John grins back. He likes him.

“Do you have any guitars?” John asks. Mr Megido nods, pointing at a cupboard in the corner.

“Should be some in there,” he says. “Watch out, most have five strings. I think Tavros and Equius took the last ones with six strings.” John’s heart sinks. Even here, he can’t get away from Tavros.

He gets a guitar out of the cupboard – a nice Strat that looks like it’s seen better days but still feels comfortable and homely in his hands – and ambles off towards the corridor leading off from the classroom, where all the practice rooms seem to be (either that or there’s a very loud, very tuneless band going on).

No practice room is empty – John soon spots Tavros, Sollux, Equius and Rufioh in one and ducks past the door, hoping none of them saw him – and John’s despairing when he reaches the end of the corridor. If this next practice room isn’t free, he’s going to have to join the Sexicans (he’s not going to admit he just used that seriously) in theirs.

John’s heart jumps when he peers in through the window, thinking it’s free as he can’t see anyone, but just as he starts pushing open the door he spots Dave sitting in a corner.

Dave. Of fucking course.

It’s too late now, though, because he’s already started opening the door and he’ll look cowardly if he doesn’t step inside. With a heavy heart (and a heavier sigh), he does so.

“What do you want?” Dave says coldly, and John’s a little taken aback. Okay, he wasn’t exactly expecting a warm welcome, but Dave’s not been…like this for the past few days. He’s been different; not better, but…different.

“To see whether this practice room was free,” John says. Dave narrows his eyes.

“Well, it’s fucking not. Fuck off.”

“What’s got into you?” John snaps.

“What’s got into you?” Dave snaps right back. “If you don’t leave right now, you’ll get a fist to the face.”

“You’re so fucking demented,” John mutters, but he still doesn’t leave. The sassy side of him is telling him to stay, to face Dave, to take what he’s going to give him.

“And you’re a fucking bitch,” Dave hisses, setting down the guitar he’d been strumming and standing up, face level with John’s, eyes blazing. “Didn’t I tell you to leave? This room’s taken.”

“I can see that,” John fires back, but he still stands his ground. He’s going to get himself killed.

“I’m warning you,” Dave hisses, and it makes something jolt in John’s veins.

“Yeah?” John counters. “Go on then.” He drops the guitar, spreading his palms and making himself vulnerable.

He regrets it about three milliseconds later when he’s being slammed into the wall by Dave, held by his collar and he could faintly see Dave's eyes through his sunglasses as they bore into his own.

“You want to fucking try it?” Dave whispers dangerously, and John feels the same thrill run through him. It’s scaring him; what the fuck is wrong with him? “Yeah, I thought so. Not as cocky now, are you?” He releases his grip on John’s shirt, and John rubs the back of his neck where it was digging in.

He doesn’t say anything to Dave, just picks up his guitar and makes to leave.

“John,” Dave says, and John turns around automatically at the sound of his name, forgetting what Dave’s just done to him.

He’s not met with a fist to the face, though, or a fist to the stomach. It’s much, much worse than that.

Dave’s lips are crashing onto his, his tongue tangling with John’s, and John’s letting him, John’s actually kissing back –

He breaks away when he realises that, shoving Dave with all his might. Dave doesn’t even stumble (John does), simply leaning back with an unfathomable look in his eyes.

Neither of them say anything, staring at each other for a good few moments, before John leaves, heart hammering against his chest.

He doesn’t want Dave. His body is telling him he doesn’t want Dave, his mind is telling him he doesn’t want Dave, his heart is telling him he doesn’t want Dave, so what is going on? Why did he kiss Dave back? What was Dave doing, kissing him in the first place?

Tavros's standing outside the practice room, face white.

“I saw,” he says, and John blanches too.

“No, it’s not- it’s not what it looked like-“ he says, and Tavros shakes his head.

“You kissed him.”

“He kissed me! I shoved him away!” He had kissed Dave, though, for a few seconds. For a few seconds, he’d loved that contact.

“You kissed him.” Tavros’s voice is trembling, like he’s going to cry. But they broke it off last night; what’s he doing? He’s meant to be going for Sollux, going for his stars instead of his streetlight.

“I-“

“Did you want it?” John thinks about it. Did he?

No, comes the resounding answer from every fibre of his body. No, he didn’t.

“No,” he says honestly, looking Tavros directly in the eye. Tavros stares at him for a few moments before slumping, relaxing, clearly believing John.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I know I shouldn’t…I know we…Sollux…but…” he trails off, unable to articulate what he’s feeling, but John knows. John understands.

“Stars,” John reminds him gently, stepping forwards and brushing a stray strand of hair out of his warm brown eyes.

“What if I want the streetlight?” Tavros says quietly. John shakes his head.

“Stars,” he repeats. It breaks his heart, and he doesn’t really know why, because he hasn’t even known Tavros that long, but Tavros deserves Sollux. Tavros deserves more than John. He only wants John because John’s all he can see.

At opposite ends of the corridor, a blonde-haired boy and a black-haired boy watch John and Tavros embrace, John stroking Tavros’s hair to soothe him. At opposite ends of the corridor, a blonde-haired boy and a black-haired boy turn away, not wanting to see any more.