Streetlights

John leaves early on Sunday morning, waving goodbye to a slightly bemused Tavros as he heads off down the street. He’s not in the mood for hanging around and pretending to be fine with Tavros, not when he knows what Tavros doesn’t, not when he’s just done whatever to Dave, not now.

He mulls it over as he ambles down the road, kicking pebbles as he goes. What has he done to Dave? What happens now? They haven’t…broken up, right, because they were never together. Technically, John can do whatever he wants, because he’s not like, tied down or anything.

Except, that little voice in the back of his head says, you were as good as tied down. John scowls, shoving the thought away as far as he possibly can, focusing on kicking this particular pebble as far as he can down the road. He wasn’t tied down, alright, him and Dave weren’t officially anything at all, so he’s not done anything at all.

So why does he feel so guilty, so frustrated, so wound up and so shit about it?

The next thought that shoves its way to the forefront of his mind makes him feel so suddenly sick that he almost has to sit down, pushing it back as far as he possibly can to the dark corners of his consciousness.

No.

Dave lied to him. Dave made John feel guilty for no particular reason through his lies, and John’s not up for dealing with that. Sure, Dave has problems – but fuck, John does too! It’s not all about fucking Dave and his shitty-ass life. It’s about John and his shitty life too.

He ends up at the bridge without even realising, unsure how he got there, a handful of pebbles in his hand, chucking them one by one at the waterfall and watching them fall gracefully into the churning, foamy water underneath. He’s so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t realise there’s someone next to him until they speak.

“I guess Dave told you,” the person says, and John nearly keels over, almost falling off the bridge before regaining his balance, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Shit.

“Jesus, Sol, wanna give me cardiac arrest?” he says shakily, clutching his chest. Sollux grins, staring out at the waterfall.

“If it makes you forgive Dave, sure,” he says. “He’s pretty fucking torn up about it, y’know. Been crying to me all night.” Dave? Crying? As if.

“Sure,” John snorts, and he’s not sure why he’s being so cold-hearted about it when the fact that Dave’s been crying makes his heart tug a little, the ice covering it melt a little.

“I’m serious,” Sollux says, turning to look at John earnestly. “He’s in pieces, man. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” John says. “He lied to me.”

“Would you rather you’d found out for yourself?” Sollux says. “Imagine how that would have felt. Not only had he lied to you, but he’d kept it from you.”

“He did keep it from me,” John growls, hurling another pebble as far across the water as he can. This one actually touches the waterfall, propelled down by the hefty force of the water.

“Come on, John,” Sollux sighs. “You’re being irrational.” John grits his teeth, flinging another pebble out across the water. He might be being irrational, but since when has Dave been rational? John’s just taking a leaf out of Dave’s book; that’s all.

“What happened with you two, then?” John asks, after a few moments. Sollux sighs again, raking a hand through his spiky hair. John wonders idly if it’s soft to the touch.

“It was a couple of years ago, now,” he says. “I used to come to the bridge a lot with my dad; we’d fish here. Yeah, I know,” he says with a wry smile as John snorts a little. “Not exactly a prime fishing spot, right? We never caught anything, just broke a load of rods. Still, it was father/son time and we never got any of that.” He shrugs, and John sobers up – he understands how that feels. Sometimes he wishes he had a proper father, someone he could look up to and idolise and aspire and strive to be like, but he doesn’t. And sometimes, that sucks.

“My Dad and I stopped fishing when I was about ten, when his work started demanding more from him. I still went to the bridge every Saturday, though, and just sat there staring at the waterfall. It’s oddly calming, don’t you think? One day, however, there was a stranger standing on the bridge, arms spread as if he was about to jump. I asked him what he was doing, and he said he was thinking. I asked him what he was thinking about, and he said death. We didn’t exchange any more words. I just sat next to him on the bridge for a couple of hours. And then I went home.”

“Why didn’t you try and discourage him from jumping?” John asks. That would be the logical thing to do, right?

“Oh, I knew he wasn’t going to jump,” Sollux says.

“How?”

“Gut instinct. Some people have the courage, others don’t. He didn’t.”

“So what happened then?” John asks. He’s oddly intrigued by this story; maybe because it’s Dave’s past, maybe because it’s Sollux’s, but either way it’s interesting enough for him to want to hear more.

“I still went every Saturday. Except now there was this boy every Saturday, standing in the same position on the bridge. And I’d sit next to him, say nothing, and then leave after a couple of hours. I never saw him around at school – I kept myself to myself before Sollux and Rufioh showed up, bringing me and Equius together as well – so I knew nothing about him. He was just that stranger at the bridge. But one Saturday I went to the bridge, and he wasn’t standing on it. He was sitting down, staring at the waterfall across from the bridge. I sat down next to him, expecting another silent day, but he spoke to me. He asked me what my name was. I was surprised, but I told him. He told me his name was Dave, and that he liked my hair. He asked if he could touch it.” Sollux’s lips hitch into a small smile. “I said yeah, and he grinned at me, reaching up to stroke it. I closed my eyes - ‘cause it’s nice when someone touches your hair, y’know? – and he told me to open them again. I asked why, confused, and he told me I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.”

“They are pretty,” John agrees thoughtfully - similar to Tavros' – and Sollux blushes slightly. John wonders what Dave's eyes look like.

“We started meeting every Saturday at the bridge. Every week we’d just talk for a few hours, have a bit of a laugh, and then go home. But one Saturday, just after Tavros and Rufioh moved in, he was standing on the bridge again. This time I was scared. This time he had the courage to jump. So I ran over, begged him not to jump. I told him I needed him, please don’t jump. It took a couple of hours – until it was dark, even – but eventually he got down. And he started crying. I held him as he cried, not asking him what was wrong, not asking what had happened, just…just hugging him. And when it was dark, when I could barely see his face in the weak moonlight, he kissed me. I don’t know what happened, what came over either of us, but we were just…kissing. A lot.” John feels a sharp pang of jealousy stab him right in the chest – why? This is the past, he reminds himself, but it’s more forceful than it would usually be.

“So what went wrong?” he asks. Sollux sighs.

“We went on like that for a few months, meeting every Saturday, kissing and talking a lot, maybe even the odd handjob – what, okay, we were horny teenagers. I’d befriended Sollux, Rufioh and Equius by this point, and we were getting closer and closer, and I was starting to realise that maybe I actually liked Tavros a little bit more than Dave. I felt terrible for feeling like that, though, so I pushed the feelings aside and tried to focus on Dave. But one week he told me he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t do us. I asked why not, confused, wondering what I’d done, but he just shook his head, offering me no explanation. He made to walk away, but I put my hand on his arm and spun him back around, wanting some kind of explanation. I mean, you don’t just dump someone and don’t say why, right? That’s a bit out of order. And he still wouldn’t tell me, but I was insistent, and eventually he yelled that he wasn’t gay.” John snorts.

“Clearly,” he mutters under his breath, but Sollux catches it and grins.

“Exactly what I thought. You don’t kiss a boy for months, give him handjobs, without being at least a little bit gay. So I called bullshit, and coaxed him into sitting down and talking to me. He told me that he wasn’t gay, a little more forcefully than he’d maybe have done otherwise, and I just nodded. No point pushing him to breaking point, right? And we sat there for a while, and then he said he couldn’t be associated with me anymore. I couldn’t speak to him again. I’d kind of expected something like that – see, by that time I’d heard rumours about him starting to step things up a notch and become a relatively vicious bully, but still never seen him in action myself – so I nodded. And then he asked if he could touch my hair. I nodded, surprised, and he smiled sadly at me, reaching up to touch it. I closed my eyes, trying not to cry, and he whispered at me to open them again. I asked why, but obeyed, and he wiped away the tear that fell, telling me I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.”

John’s not really sure why he’s choked up now. Fuck, this isn’t anything to do with him, so why does he care? Why does he suddenly want to travel back in time and give both Dave and Sollux fierce hugs?

“We didn’t speak for ages after that. I was in Year Nine when we broke up, and it wasn’t until this summer that we started talking again. We met at the bridge – I hadn’t been going since we broke up, but I decided to that Saturday – and he spoke to me again. He asked me how I’d been, what had been going on, et cetera. I asked him why he thought it would be fun to get his friends to lock me and my friends in a dark room for hours, beat us up, steal our shit, et cetera. He looked kind of ashamed of himself, but didn’t offer me an explanation. I felt a bit sick; that’s not the Dave I knew, the Dave I loved, so I turned to leave, but he caught my arm, begging me to stay. Reluctantly, I did, swinging my legs over and sitting on the bridge with him, just like the old days. And suddenly he was babbling at me, apologies stumbling over one another as they tumbled from his lips. I listened to them, but I said nothing. I wasn’t sure whether a year’s worth of heartbreak and bullying could be forgiven in words.”

“Can it?” John asks. “Did you forgive him?”

“Yeah,” Sollux says, sighing. “Yeah, I did. We made up. I told him about Tavros, and he grinned at me, telling me that he’s not an idiot, of course he could see that, and it was just like it had been before, just without the kissing and stuff. We spoke for hours, filling each other in on what had happened in the past year, but before I left he asked me if I’d keep this secret, our little friendship. I considered it – I wondered whether I really should, since he’d mistreated me so much over the past year – but I agreed. And since then we’ve been going to each other’s houses – sneakily, of course, made even harder by the fact that I befriended Rose – and meeting here, meeting at school, catching up on each other’s lives and helping with advice.”

“So you’re…like, active friends?” John asks, feeling stupid. Sollux laughs.

“Active friends, what the fuck,” he says, and John scowls. “But yeah, we are. And I know him better than anyone else does. I know how he feels about you, John, no matter what he says to you or to himself.” John says nothing. He’s still simmering about Dave lying to him, but now, in the grand scheme of things, it feels small, irrelevant.

“You should forgive him,” Sollux says. “He’s…he’s really upset about this, John. I’ve never seen him this upset before. Fuck, I’ve never seen him this confused or emotional before; he usually doesn’t give a shit about anyone or anything. Just…at least talk to him, okay?” John considers it for a moment, but nods his agreement. Fine. He can talk to Dave.

“Good,” Sollux says, hopping down off the bridge, his hair ruffled by the wind. “Oh, by the way- he told me to give you this, if I saw you.” He fiddles around in his pocket, fishing out a scrap of paper after a moment and handing it to John, before turning his back and leaving. John frowns at his retreating figure, watching him until he’s swallowed by the trees, before turning back to the waterfall, unfolding the piece of paper.

There, in hastily scribbled red pen, are twelve words.

And it’s good enough to make me want to fall in love.