Streetlights

“Morning,” a familiar yet unfamiliar voice chirps when John stumbles downstairs the next morning. He looks up blearily to see his grandma sitting at the glass table, with her baking apron on.

“When did you get back?” he asks with a frown.

“Last night,” John’s grandmother says, ignoring Jade, who’s tapping her cutlery against the table. “You were asleep.”

“For once,” Jade puts in, and John throws her a glare. He knows his grandmother disapproves of his ‘rebellious’ lifestyle, so he tends not to mention it in front of her.

“I spoke to your father,” she starts, and John rolls his eyes, making to leave the room. He doesn’t want or need to hear this. “No, listen to me,” his grandma insists, and John stops, heaving a dramatic sigh as he turns around to face her.

“What?” he asks.

“Apparently you’ve been drinking a lot.”

“And?”

“And, John, you know that’s not how we want you to live your life.”

“But it’s how I want to live my life,” John says. “And you’re not around enough to tell me how to live it, to be honest.” He shrugs; harsh, but true. His family aren’t really family, more acquaintances, family friends. He and Jade are a family.

“John,” his grandma says disapprovingly, but John walks out of the room, slinging his bag over his shoulder, stomach grumbling as he walks away from the food. He’s approximately five minutes earlier than he otherwise would be, so he slams the front door and makes to amble down the road to Rose’s house – before he remembers Rose’s mad at him. Great.

Before he can turn back and start heading to school, however, the door of Rose and Dave’s house clicks open, and Rose and Dave walk out. Rose catches sight of John and both of them freeze. Dave doesn’t notice either of them, however, walking over to his car and unlocking it with a click of his key.

John makes to walk away, bowing his head as he breaks eye contact with Rose, but Rose yells his name as he turns his back.

“John!” she shouts, and John swivels back around. Rose’s jogging up the street, and John tries to mask the surprise on his face.

“Rose?” he says tentatively as Rose draws closer.

“Look, I spoke to Dave and I get it, I’m sorry, you didn’t have to tell me anything, I was being a prissy girl, I don’t-“

“It’s fine,” John assures her. “Did…did Dave tell you everything?”

“No, he just told me how stupid I was being,” Rose says, carding a hand through her platinum hair. “Honestly, John, I’m surprised you didn’t slap me; I was being such a little cun-“

“It’s fine,” John says. “Trust me.”

“So we’re cool, right?” Rose looks anxious, biting her lip and frowning. John grins at her.

“Yeah,” he says. Rose’s face clears and she smiles warmly back at John.

“Want a lift?” she says. “You can ride shotgun,”

“How gracious of you,” John says. Rose smirks.

“No,” she says, “I just don’t want to see you giving Dave love-eyes all the time.” John glowers at her.

“I do not give anyone love-eyes, let alone Dave,” he says. Rose raises an eyebrow in the same infuriating way Dave does.

“Sure you don’t,” she says in the same infuriating tone Dave uses, and John wants to punch her in the face. He’s disfigured one Strider sibling, though, so that’s enough.

For now.
-
The ride to school is uneventful; Rose chatters nineteen-to-the-dozen, apparently so relieved that John’s not mad at her that she can’t stop talking. Dave slides John a few sideways glances, but John pretends he doesn’t notice them, sliding a few back himself when he thinks Dave’s not looking.

They all tumble out of the car at school, Rose slamming her door rather enthusiastically as she talks about John's cute maid and how John's cute maid was going out with her on the weekend – John’s not entirely sure what she’s talking about, he’s been too busy focusing on the little looks Dave’s been giving him to concentrate on anything else.

“-she's really interesting, did you know she has a surprising taste for fashion, and gardening, just like your cousin John!-“

“Hey!” Rufioh yells as they draw nearer. “Anyone up for saving me from Sollux?”

“Nah,” John says. “You must have done something to make him want to chuck shit at you every day.”

“I didn’t!” Rufioh protests, dodging another sausage roll from Sollux, who’s taken to throwing food at him again. “Dammit, Sol, do you want to fucking not?”

“I’m doing fine as it is,” Sollux says with a shit-eating grin, ducking swiftly as Rufioh clumsily aims a sausage roll back at him. “Come on, Rufi, that’s not how it works; I chuck shit at you, not the other way around.”

“Fuck you,” Rufioh says, but he sounds amused.

“Hey, I need the toilet,” John says. Five faces turn to stare at him blankly.

“Okay,” Tavros says. “Go.”

“Why are you telling us?” Rufioh asks.

“I don’t give a shit about your urination habits,” Rose says, bemused.

“Why do I need to know that?” Equius asks.

“Er…Sollux, you wanna come with me?” John says. Sollux frowns at him, opening his mouth – presumably to say why the fuck would I want to come and watch you pee, man, are we girls or what – before realising what John wants and snapping his mouth shut.

“Uh, sure,” he says, and the both of them get to their feet.

“Are you going off to fuck?” Rufioh asks suspiciously.

“Are you girls?” Equius asks. Rose gives him a snarky look.

John settles for flipping both of them off as he walks with Sollux to the little alleyway where all the stoner kids hang out at break and lunch.

“So?” Sollux asks, leaning against the wall. “Did you sort shit out with Dave?”

“Kind of,” John says. “How are things looking with you and Tavros?” Sollux’s small smile speaks volumes.

“Yeah,” he says. “I mean, we’re not together or anything, but.” He ducks his head, grinning, and John finds himself smiling as well, which is weird. Because this is the first time he’s felt genuinely happy that Tavros and Sollux are doing well together, and he’s not sure whether it’s to do with him being relatively happy with Dave or him finally letting Tavros go, and Tavros letting him go. Maybe it’s just because he knows Tavros will be happier with Sollux, Tavros deserves Sollux, and Sollux sure as fuck deserves Tavros, if not more. Sollux’s been so good throughout all this; John doesn’t know how he’s managed to cope with Tavros blatantly flirting with John right in front of him. John wouldn’t have managed. John would have flipped.

“That’s good,” John says, and he actually means it. “I’m so happy for you guys. You’re good for each other.”

“So are you and Dave,” Sollux says. “I would never have pegged you guys for the types, though.” John sighs.

“Yeah,” he says. “I would never have put us down for it either. Fuck, I hated Dave when I first came here.” He can’t even remember the moment it changed. He doesn’t know if it has changed – he still fucking hates Dave, still wants to punch him in the face, just kind of wants to kiss him and fuck him and whisper filthy words into his ear at the same time now. He’s not sure what to think about that.

“He helps, though,” John says after a moment. “With all the shit going on in my life.” Sollux raises his head again and smiles at John, the kind of knowing smile that John hates.

“Well,” he says. “Maybe you’ll be able to help him too.” And he doesn’t explain what he means, doesn’t say a word, just smirks at John, pushes himself off the wall and walks back to the Sexicans-plus-Rose-and-Equius (whatever, like anyone knows John’s calling them that now), swinging his hips rather more sassily than necessary.

John stares after him, thoughts running in and out of his mind so fast they’re barely making sense anymore.

What did he mean?
-
John doesn’t go home that night either. He doesn’t want to see his grandma, because he knows he’ll just get another lecture if he does, so he wanders the streets before remembering that the bridge exists and heading over there. It’s dusk by that time, though, because it’s starting to get darker and colder earlier, and by the time he actually reaches the bridge it’s actually dark. It gives him a perfect view of the night sky, though, of the twinkling specks of light studding the sky and the moon which is bathing him in silvery light. John swings himself onto the edge of the bridge, dangling his legs over the water and staring up at the sky. He really does feel so calm here, so detached from the world, so lonesome but in the best way possible.

Except apparently he’s not alone, because someone’s swinging their legs over the bridge next to him, gazing up at the same stars and the same moon that he’s staring at.

“Calming, isn’t it?” the person says, and John realises it’s Dave. “Sollux told me you spoke to him.”

“Since when were you friends with Sollux?” John demands. Dave’s wry smile is almost audible.

“I wouldn’t say friends,” he says carefully. “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” John thinks it does, but he’s not in the mood to push it. He doesn’t want to fight, not here, not when he feels okay and content and relatively happy.

“You know what else I love about the stars?” Dave says thoughtfully.

“There’s more?” John says sarcastically, and Dave swats at him playfully.

“Yeah, you little shit,” he says. “Look at the moon.”

“I’m looking,” John says.

“How many other people do you think are looking at the moon right now?”

“Probably thousands,” John shrugs. “Why?”

“Right. There are thousands of us looking at the same thing, all connected through one common chunk of rock in outer space that’s shining down on us, illuminating half the world right now. Now look at the stars.”

“Yeah,” John says, shifting his gaze so he’s gazing at the glimmering dots in the jet-black of the sky. “What about them?”

“How many other people do you think are looking at the stars right now?”

“Probably thousands,” John repeats. “Why?”

“Because every single person sees the stars differently. Every single one of us can see different stars, or is drawn to certain constellations, or doesn’t see the stars at all. Some people can see the stars, but aren’t looking at them – some people are looking at them, but can’t see them. Some people can see shooting stars. Some people can see stars we can’t. We can see stars some others can’t. Some people are only looking at the bright stars, ignoring the fainter ones in the distance. Some people are only looking at the fainter ones in the distance, not acknowledging the bright ones. And some people are simply staring at the moon, the close, safe, secure moon.”

“And some people,” John says. “Some people are looking at the streetlights.” Dave huffs out a laugh, but it’s a thoughtful laugh rather than one that’s making fun of what John’s just said.

“Sollux told me you said that I help you,” Dave says after a few moments of silence. John’s suddenly glad it’s dark, as it hides both his scowl and his blush; both of which Dave can probably guess he’s sporting anyway, but whatever. Innocent until proven guilty.

“Twat,” John mutters.

“You help me too,” Dave says. “More than you realise.”

“Why?” John asks. “How?” Dave doesn’t reply, instead rummaging around in his coat pocket for something which he hands to John – a piece of paper.

“Here,” he says.

“What’s this?” John asks.

“Read it,” Dave says, so John unfolds it and holds it in as much moonlight as he can, squinting to make out the words.

This is my note.

Goodbye.

“What is this?” John asks, reading the words over and over again. It kind of looks like…but it can’t be-

“A suicide note,” Dave says. John inhales sharply. “The night I found you on the street, and we went to the bridge together. I was planning to throw myself off it.”

“Jesus,” John whispers, staring at the paper in the darkness. It feels suddenly heavy in his hands. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“I’m glad I didn’t, too,” Dave says. “It’s just a struggle being alive sometimes, y’know? But I’m starting to find things a little more…enjoyable.” He shrugs.

“Please,” John says. “Don’t…don’t do it.” Dave could throw himself off right now, John realises with a jolt, and John wouldn’t be able to anything about it. Fuck.

“Here,” Dave says, taking the scrap of paper back off John. John watches as he crumples it into a ball before throwing it, the paper arching gracefully through the air before plummeting into darkness the moonlight can’t penetrate.

“I’ve thrown away the streetlights, and I’ve thrown away the moon,” Dave says, gazing into the darkness below them. “All I’ve got left for me is the stars.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” John asks. He’s not in the mood for astrophysical metaphors.

“It means I’m going to live.”