DaveJohn drabbles

I didn’t want to be here anymore. The apartment was too quiet with Bro dead, and I didn’t have the money. So I cleaned out the bank account and packed a bag and took my brother’s old motorcycle for a road trip.

It took a few days, but it was worth it. I sent him a simple text. That we’re leaving. He said thank you.

I don’t even go inside. I lift my helmet off and wait. Then he comes outside of his empty house with his own bag, shoving it in the sidesaddles of the bike, grabbing his own helmet after.

“I missed you,” he says.

“Me too.”

John climbs on the back, arms wrapping around my middle. As I start up the bike he asks where we’re going. I tell him I don’t know. He says that okay, and we take off down the road, and then we’re free on the highway.

But John doesn’t let me go. He keeps his arms around me, his fingers spread against my ribs, and he falls asleep with a grip on me. We ride for hours, and he only wakes up when we stop for gas, and we chill on the sidewalk of the gas station for a while to munch on some cheap shit baggies of chips.

Then we’re on the road again. We spend the night in a motel, and John sleeps in my bed. His head rests on my chest, his fingers fidgeting with my shirt, and my own hands card through his soft hair, each swipe a promise to keep him safe.

We’d settle down eventually. But for now, his body behind me on the bike, sleeping against my back, or dozing off on my chest in shitty motel rooms… well, that was enough.





Anyone would think it’s the weirdest relationship. Falling for someone who can’t speak, or falling for someone who can’t see you. It eliminates all speech between the two of them, but sometimes that’s an okay thing.

Dave watches other people stare at them. He’s glad John can’t see them, actually glad he’s blind so that he doesn’t see how many awkward or in awe stares they get. He can’t tell them to back off though, because he has no voice. And that’s why people are confused.

Dave usually knocks his knuckles against things when he wants to say something, and John will reach his hands out and wrap his fingers around Dave’s hands. Dave would sign, and John would feel them, and then he’d reply aloud. Sometimes Dave drew letters in his skin, and sometimes they had special touches that meant different things.

Different touches over the other’s heart were supposed to be sweet and reassuring. Dave would tap John’s head when he didn’t understand something. They had their own language, and there wasn’t much of a barrier as some would think.

Dave comes home from working late in clubs, sometimes so late he’s coming home in early morning. He knows John doesn’t like falling asleep alone, so he usually uses John’s Brailler to leave him notes on the fridge that he looks for every morning. Cute and dorky things. Then he’ll shower, but sometimes the noise will wake John up, and when he opens the door he’ll find a sleepy John in Dave’s shirt with some flannels, leaning tiredly into the blonde’s arms and mumbling about how he missed him.

Dave will draw little hearts in his back and other designs until he coaxes John back into their room. John will roll into bed, taking a deep breath of the scent while Dave finishes changing and slowly climbs in bed, hovering over John’s body and soaking in the sight of him.

John spreads his hand on Dave’s cheek, sightless eyes looking over his shoulder. “Busy night?”

Dave nods, allowing John to feel it.

“No fights, right?”

He smiles, shaking his head. Then he’ll lean down, kissing John’s lips. Soft, loving ones. Then he’ll lie down in the blankets with him, spooning around John’s body, and if John is awake enough he’ll keep his eyes open and listen as Dave signs in his hands or draws against his skin to tell him about his day.

When they leave the house, Dave is John’s eyes, and John is Dave’s voice. He speaks for the blonde, knowing what he’d say, and John can read all of Dave’s body movements, reading on direction as if Dave really was his eyes. But that’s okay, because it makes it all the better, being one person.





Dave isn’t mute, but he doesn’t speak much. You guess the private school setting isn’t his forte. People have tried being his friend, but he just blew them off. You don’t want to be his friend because he’s so quiet and mysterious. You just want to be his friend because you feel like it would be… nice, you guess.

He doesn’t speak, but you start sitting by him in all the classes you have with him, and during lunch. Eventually, he just starts nodding to you, realizing that you’re not too annoying. Then he starts chuckling when you do stupid things and cracking jokes.

One day, Dave has the tie of his school uniform tied around his forehead, poking at his lunch. Then he says, “I fucked up too much, and CPS sent me off here.”

You try not to react. This is the first time he’s spoken to you. So you say, “Will you go back home when school is over?”

He nods. “I just didn’t want to leave my brother. They think he’s bad. We’re just a little weird is all. He keeps me safe.”

You smile. “You’ll be home soon.”

Dave gets picked on a lot, but the insults seem to not exist. You once ever hear someone yell fag at him in the hallway. You were going to stand up for him, but he didn’t seem to give a shit at all.  

Dave drinks giant half gallons of apple juice in class. He drinks straight from the jug, ignoring the stares it brings him. People call him Satan’s offspring, and a demon, and he just flashes them a rock on sign in response. You like how different he is. You like how calm he is.

He talks to you during lunch only now. Speaks to no one else and never during class. You want to talk to him more though, so you ask if you two can study in his dorm the following week. He shrugs. By then, he’s mumbling things to you during classes, smiling at you in hallways and ruffling your hair when he passes you. People ask you how you did it.

You don’t know. You just sat by him.

When you go to his room to study the next week, he won’t answer his door. You hear a lot of movement then, and Dave’s face is a bit red when he opens the door, and you see something red on his arm as he yanks his sleeves down.

“Forgot you were coming,” he says.

“Everything okay?”

He nods, holding the door open. You go in, dropping your stuff on his desk. You glance at his laptop that’s open, showing that he’s chatting with someone that has some pretty bright orange text.

“That’s my brother,” he says. He responds to the latest message, then closes the laptop and faces you. “Sorry. What are we even studying again, Johnny?”

“Physics.”

“Right. That shit.”

You pause and shift, looking at the sleeve of his shirt again. “I saw it,” you say.

“Everyone does it,” he replies.

“No.”

He shrugs. “I miss home.”

“Show me.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

“Don’t even lie to me. I know you want to show someone. You want someone to know. You don’t want to have to be the one to spit it out. So I’m demanding it. Just give in, Dave.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

Then he pulls his sleeves up, and you gaze down at what he’s done to himself. And you want to yell at him at first. But then you decide that would cause him pain, and you don’t want to add to the ladder of red that’s running up his forearm.

“I’ll watch out for you,” you say.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak.

You wrap your arms around him, your chin on his shoulder. He eventually hugs you back, sighing, and his body is tensed. “Thanks,” he whispers.

When you and Dave are alone, he’s like a cute kitten. Sometimes you’ll skip gym with him, and you both will sit in a changing stall together, whispering stupid jokes to each other while his head rests on your shoulder. Sometimes his hand lies on your leg, and sometimes you’ll draw designs in the back of his hand.

The next month, Dave comes to your dorm room during the night. You’re rubbing your eyes, yawning, and then he’s grabbing your face and kissing you.

Well. Okay.

After some shocked explaining about how he likes you, you decided to fuck it and drag him in your room, and ravish each other on your bed. In the morning, you hold his hand in the hallways. People say things, but they don’t fuck with Dave. They can yell their fags and homos, but they won’t touch you. Won’t touch Dave.

With Dad on business trips out of the country, you go home with Dave for the summer and meet his brother. They make you feel like part of the family, and you learn the Strider ways, and Bro even gives you a proper knight ritual to make you an official Strider.

You spend summer nights in Texas with barely any clothing on from the heat, sprawled on Dave’s bed sheets, and whispering those stupid jokes to each other. One night he rolls over on top of you, sucking on your neck while your hands run over each other’s bodies. Then he mutters in your ear, “Thank you for sitting by me.”

You thank him for speaking to you. Then you let him have you, completely opening your body to him, and slipping out how much you love him when you’re spent. A giant, dorky smile spreads on your face when he echoes your words.