The Ace Thing, Chapter One (Homestuck fic)

[nobrandhero]

Title: The Ace Thing
Fandom: Homestuck
Rating: T
Pairing(s): John Egbert/Bro Strider
Warnings: age difference (but both characters are legal adults), tiny bit of underage drinking

Summary: The worst part isn't that he's fifteen years younger than you, or that he's a sex-repulsed asexual, or even that he's your little bro's best friend. No, the worst part is, despite this list of reasons why he's a completely unsuitable and incompatible romantic partner for you, you're still planning to pursue John Egbert like a complete dumbass. At least he's legal.

Read on Dreamwidth under the cut, or over on AO3.

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You first learn about the existence of John Egbert when your thirteen-year-old brother announces that his Internet friend is staying in your apartment for the next week. You grunt in reply, not really paying attention as you splice and edit the footage for your newest film. "What're you telling me for?"

Dave crosses his arms and leans against your desk, trying and failing to demand your attention. "We gotta talk before he gets here."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. While he's visiting, don't leave your puppets lying goddamn everywhere."

You finally look away from your monitor and fix him with your most unimpressed stare. "Why the fuck?"

"He thinks they're lame." He shrugs. "Yeah, I know, he's a dork; cut him some slack and pretend we give a shit about class for a week." He straightens, then hesitates. "Also, don't fucking attack him if he gets up for the bathroom in the middle of the night." He's halfway to the door before he stops again. "Actually, just plain don't attack him."

You shake your head once he's left the room. Your little bro really needs some cooler friends.

You mostly forget about your upcoming visitor until someone knocks at the door late the next morning. As soon as Dave answers, a scrawny little brown kid tackles him in a tight but awkward hug. Dave pats him on the back and tries to coolly detangle himself but his friend's grip holds tight.

"Hey Egbert," Dave says. "I see you're checking to make sure I am in fact a physical being and not a projected hologram. Bad news is, you still don't know if I'm real or if we improved holograms a metric fuckton when you turned your back. I might be a message from Princess Leia. Help me, Obi-Wan, I'm getting the life squeezed out of me."

Dave's friend snickers and gives him a light shove as they break apart. "Oh my god, you fucking ramble even in person."

"Ramble? Dude, I grace you with the privilege of hearing my mad ironic speeches and you say I ramble?"

You stop flashstepping long enough to cross your arms and lean a shoulder against the wall as you watch them. "Sounds like he's got you pegged to me, bro."

Your unexpected guest starts a little when he catches sight of you. "Hey. You're Dave's big brother, right? I'm John." His front teeth are atrociously oversized in his small mouth as he grins up at you.

You just give him your usual nod.

He has a worn out Ghostbusters backpack and a T-shirt that would match if it wasn't a Japanese rip-off. His glasses are thick rectangles, making his blue eyes bug out. He has messy black hair and he's a tiny thing in both width and height, but he's not the starved kind of skinny, more the "has too much energy and a fast metabolism because he's a fucking thirteen-year-old boy" kind of skinny. His arms make Dave's lean muscles look like a bodybuilder's by comparison.

You're not sure what his ethnicity is. Presumably there's a little European in him with a name like "Egbert," but otherwise he looks like his heritage could come from any combination of Asian countries. Maybe a little Korean, some Pakistani, a quarter Filipino... or maybe you're a completely off-base racist fuck and he's one hundred percent Cuban. In the end, the important thing is, you don't care.

He waits a few seconds as if expecting you to say something, then falters. "Uh, thanks for letting me stay here and shit."

You shrug. "Yeah, go wild. Just don't do anything that'll get the cops called." You head for the futon for some quality ironic TV and leave them to whatever dumb shit brats do to keep themselves occupied this generation.

To your chagrin, that dumb shit involves snooping around your apartment. Once John's belongings are stored in Dave's room, they're back in the living room being noisy shitheads as Dave pretends to be a fancyass tour guide.

"And through that door is the infamous Strider kitchen, where many an unsuspecting porno was shot," Dave says, waving his arm in the kitchen's direction. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I remind you once again to keep your limbs inside the goddamn ride whenever you open the fridge or I can't held be responsible if you fuck shit up?"

John snorts. "Dude, shut up. I get it."

"And over yonder is the bathroom for all your friendly urine, shit, vomit, and bright green diarrhea-related needs."

"Gross, bro!"

John's awed by your movie collection when they get to examining the shelves, but you don't think he appreciates it for its proper ironic glory. Actually, he seems to genuinely like most of that shit. You almost worry Dave might bully the poor brat, as easy of a target as he is, but it turns out John is a blunt little fucker who can stand up for himself just fine.

John leans over the back of the futon, narrowing his eyes at the TV. "Why are you watching My Little Pony?"

You glance at him without turning your head. "I am studying the latest generation of fine equine art, as any true scholar of irony would."

He laughs. "That's stupid."

"Why? Because it's for girls?" you say, just waiting for him to bite at the bait so you can tear down his sexist ass.

"No," he says. "Because it's predictable as shit. I've never seen this episode before, but I can tell you already that those little puffballs are going to turn out to be bad and the pink horse is trying to stop them, but she won't explain herself so her friends assume she's out of her mind."

Your mouth twitches but you refuse to frown. That is exactly the direction this episode heads and you're pretty sure he's not lying about not seeing it before. Well, you only watch the non-Rainbow Dash-focused episodes ironically anyway -- as far as anyone else knows, even the Rainbow Dash episodes are enjoyed ironically.

Dave catches John's shoulder and leads him back towards his room. "That's just part of the irony, dude. You'd never get it," he says, as if he's old enough to get it.

After a couple days, you find you mostly don't like John. He's loud and all emotion and his taste is absolute shit. He also has a habit of laughing at anything cool you do when he's around, the little brat. But as much as he and Dave trade insults and jabs, they seem to actually enjoy each other's company, so you just leave them to it and only come out of your work room when they're asleep or to feed them.

Your apartment has been an obstacle course since the day you moved in, but you've always been the sole crafter of said obstacles. Lately there's not a door left open a crack without a bucket sitting at the top, nor a soda bottle unshaken. More than once, John's popped out from behind furniture to try tossing a pie your direction that you swiftly slice in two. (You have no idea where the hell he gets the damn things. Point to him on that.) These pranks are so weak that even Dave can avoid them; they might as well be a non-issue to you. They're still annoying.

You wake early one morning to find every cup in the apartment sitting upright on the floor less than a foot apart, filled to the brim with water. For a flashstep master such as yourself, it's barely an effort to zip through the mess, but you don't like being provoked. You snatch two of the nearest cups and flashstep to Dave's room without spilling a drop.

Both boys are curled on the floor on top of sleeping bags, sound asleep. You dump a glass of water over each of their heads and flashstep out again before either can let out an indignant squawk, let alone spot their tormentor.

The next time you see him, John gives you a nod, his eyes lit with newfound respect. You don't return it.

After he leaves, you don't see John again for the next five years. You still spot the kid's blue text on Dave's computer screen often enough, so you know they're still friends, but he's out of your hair and mostly out of your mind save for the rare occasions that Dave asks you for plane fare to Washington.

Dave's half a month from starting his first semester at college -- he won't tell you what he's majoring in and you haven't asked anyway. He chose some local private school, expensive with a decent reputation, so he's not planning to move out just yet. You can afford to pay for student housing, but neither of you are keen on boxing up his shit any sooner than you have to. Besides, you both agree that supervised housing is no place for a Strider.

Like last time he brought his friend up to you directly, he waits until you're absorbed in work at the computer before he knocks at the doorframe and slips in to see you. "Hey, John's staying here for a week while he waits on his dorm to get its damn act together."

You're not really surprised John's chosen a school in Houston. You nod. "Starting when?"

"Today."

You still don't take your eyes off the monitor, not that he can see. "I gotta clean again?"

He shrugs. "Nah, place looks fine, just don't throw any smuppets around."

"No promises."

He flips you off and you return the gesture.

You do nothing to prepare for whenever the hell your newest moocher's gonna show up; he's Dave's guest anyway, so you give even fewer shits about going out of your way for him. Just your luck, though, there's a knock at the door when Dave's busy.

"Dave! Door!" you shout from the couch even though you just heard the bathroom door lock.

"Get it yourself, you lazy asshole!" comes the muffled answer. "I'm taking a shit!"

You roll your eyes but get to your feet all the same. He'll just owe you. He always regrets owing you.

You take your time getting to the door and throw it open. A young man stands before you, completely unrecognizable from the brat you met five years ago. If it weren't for the suitcase at his side, you'd assume the kid was lost.

He's taller than you expected -- not taller than you, but probably not more than an inch shorter than Dave -- and he's put some meat on his bones since you last saw him. His skin's lighter, as if he's taken to the indoors more and more over the years, but it's still a rich brown that complements his bright blue eyes.

He kind of looks like a young version of your old boyfriend, with a little less muscle and a sweeter face.

"Hi, Mr. Strider!" he says with a grin. Even his giant buckteeth have turned charming instead of awkward with age.

Oh, fuck you. He grew up hot.

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