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“Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can’t help falling in love with you.”
Dirk laid his tablet pen down on his desk and pushed his rolling chair away from his computer. He cracked his knuckles, taking one last look at his artwork before he stood up. Truthfully he wasn’t that good at drawing, but if he wanted to get better he had to practice. He hadn’t intended to practice all night, however, and the bright L.A. sunshine had been streaming in his window for hours.
He wanted to keep working on it, honestly. But his wrist was aching, and he could hardly keep his eyes open. It was coffee time.
Dirk exited his room, stepping into the red-carpeted hallway of his brother (technically his biological father)'s house. It was more of a mansion, actually, and it was decorated to his tastes too. Lots of natural light and lots of useless props from his terrible movies. Dirk’s bare feet traversed around piles of his brother’s junk, though the hallway and thumped down two flights of stairs down the white marble covered the first floor and shuffled into the kitchen.
The cupboards were black, which contrasted the white floor, and also made it hard to find the mugs. Which were also black. Stupid Dave and his stupid hipster aesthetic. Dirk pawed around, squinting in the sunlight, until he found one, and padded over to the coffee maker.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw that the pot was empty. There was no way his Bro had finished off all twelve cups the maker made. No, he must not have made coffee, to begin with.
Where the hell was Dave? He had to be up already, the blinds were open. If he wasn’t in the kitchen that basically left two other places, the living room, and Dave’s office, but he was never in the office unless he was working on a script. Either way, he needed to be found.
Dirk almost tripped on his feet as he strode back through the doorway. Grumbling, he climbed back up the stairs, stopping on the second floor and hanging a right to get to the house’s living room. There was his brother, sitting in an overstuffed faux leather chair, his feet up on the coffee table and on the phone.
On the phone? Really? Dirk scowled.
“Dave, where’s the coffee?”
Dirk’s bro looked up at him, put his finger to his lips and waved him away. That was the classic signal for ‘fuck off, I’m busy.’ He’d been doing the very same since Dirk was a kid.
Dirk folded his arms, curling his lip in disgust as he left the room. What a goddamn jerk. Couldn’t even make his only little brother a pot of coffee.
Dirk descended the steps for the second time that morning. The frown on his face might as well have been etched in stone. He slunk back into the kitchen and promptly ran out of steam, slumping onto one of the benches at the kitchens breakfast nook. Dirk put his head into the crook of his elbow, his fingers still curled around his mug. God. He was exhausted. Dirk tried to reason with himself to just go back up to his room and go to bed. Just take a nap and start the day later. It was sort of the principal of the thing though. He’d look like an idiot. What grown man couldn’t stay up all night?
The kitchen door opened and shut.
“Hey, quit pouting.”
“I’m not pouting,” Dirk whined into his arm.
“Uh, you kind of are,” Dave teased, passing by him on his way to grab himself his own cup.
“Shut up,” Dirk rolled his eyes. “Who was on the phone?”
“My uncle Derek. He invited us to Thanksgiving in Texas,” Dave replied, fishing his favorite chipped mug out of the cupboard. Dirk could hear the fridge door pop open, and something pour, probably juice. His brother took a noisy first sip before refilling what he drank and shutting the refrigerator.
“I guess that could be fun. I haven’t seen him or the rest of the family in forever,” Dirk lifted his head just in time to watch as his brother slid into the breakfast nook across from him.
“Yeah. He said you were welcome to bring your boyfriend too, but I told him you didn’t have one. We all know you couldn’t get a date to save your life,” He snickered.
“I can fucking so get a date!” Dirk argued.
“Your cousin taking you to prom doesn’t count.”
Dirks fists balled. “I can so get a date that isn’t Roxy.”
“Doubt it.”
“Fuck you. I’m going to Starbucks.”
“Let’s make a bet. If you can get a date to bring to Thanksgiving I’ll buy you a Keurig for your room. You know, that single cup coffee maker? But if you can’t then I get to pick the outfit you wear to dinner. “
That was stupid. Dave made a lot of money, he could buy Dirk a personal coffee maker any time he wanted. Dirk knew that his brother would pick something absolutely ridiculous for him too. Something utterly stupid, like a sailor suit or a Cookie Monster onesie. He stood up, glaring daggers down at his smirking brother. This was stupid. Dirk knew that.
“Yeah whatever, Bro. You’re on.”
Dirk slammed the door on his way out of the kitchen, rattling the painting on the wall.
Starbucks was fucking loaded with people. The cheerful red cups of the holidays were here, and people seemed to be out in full force to get them. The line was longer than Dirk had ever seen it, and after standing there a whole five minutes without moving a step, he leaned over to see why.
There was a dark haired boy standing at the counter, digging in his pockets for change. Laying on the counter we’re three crumpled ones, two quarters, a dime and a penny. Dirk’s eyebrows furrowed. What the fuck was this guy trying to pull?
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to like, step out of line if you can’t pay for your drink,” the cashier said loudly, her silicone valley girl accent blurred by the whirling of blenders behind her.
“No I swear, I’ve got it, Er. Just give me a second?” The guy replied, patting his pockets one last time, looking exasperated. His face reddened and he looked about to start sweating.
Well, that explained a lot. And that was also pretty embarrassing.
Dirks irritation reached a fever pitch. Why was it so fucking hard to pay for a cup of coffee? Why was it so fucking hard to acquire a cup of coffee? This guy knew where he was going, and it wasn’t exactly a federal fucking secret that Starbucks cost an arm and a leg. Dirks' nose wrinkled as the guy dig deeper into a pocket he knew was empty.
“Sir,” the cashier said, louder.
Dirk looked down to Dave’s red visa in his hand and then back up at the counter. He was going in.
Despite the anxious feeling in his gut, Dirk stepped out of line and carefully bypassed the line to the front. He just sort of shoved his way in, handing his card to the unimpressed barista and dumbfounding the guy.
“I got it,” Dirk mumbled. The girl behind the counter narrowed her eyes but took the card regardless.
The guy standing next to him didn’t say a word and Dirk didn’t look at him. He just took his card back and retreated to the end of the line once again.
“ Please step aside, Sir ,” the barista hissed, and the line started moving again. Dirk thought the entire ordeal was over with until he was approached while waiting for his drink.
“Hey, uh, don’t mean to bug you!”
Fast approaching on his left was a dark-haired guy his age. He had square, blue-rimmed glasses framing his face, and that stuck out immediately against his green bomber jacket. He was normal looking, the average joe you saw on the street and don’t think twice about.
“I just wanted to say thank you for paying for me,” he grinned, his smile a little lopsided. “We kinda got shuffled out, I didn’t get a chance to stop you.”
Oh. Okay.
“You’re welcome,” Dirk replied, eyeing him. He was pretty cute. For a four eyes. Maybe not something he was interested in to date, but still cute.
“So, anyway, thanks a ton! My names John by the way!”
“Pleasure,” Dirks' eyebrow twitched as he spoke.
“Is there anything I could to do pay it forward to you?”
“Dirk.”
“Right, Is there anything I could do for you, Dirk?” John asked.
Dirk was about to say no. Send this guy packing and go home. He was still grouchy, had things to do, fake boyfriends to find, stuff too- Wait.
“… Actually, you could.”
“I don’t know how you conned me into this.”
“I don’t know how you conned him into this either,” Dave snickered from the front seat of his sedan. John shifted nervously to Dirk’s right.
“What, were you expecting me to invite you over to watch anime and smoke weed?”
John looked perplexed. “Honestly? Yeah.”
“Unluckily for you, I don’t smoke and I never share my anime,” Dirk replied, deadpan. John couldn’t tell he was joking, but he didn’t say anything else.
Dirks' head jerked forward as the car skidded to a stop. Outside the tinted windows, Dirk knew his great aunt and uncles quaint little suburban home hadn’t changed. The shutters were still painted a dark shade of green, and the porch banisters were still white. There would be fresh red mulch in the flowerbeds, and the sidewalk would be swept clean. His Aunt Rose would already be there, her New York license plate bold on the back of her car. It would be the exact same as it had been his entire life. Dirk bounced down out of the car, careful of the street, and turned to take it all in.
Nostalgia hit him like a truck. Despite Dirks anxiety, his depression, and his other neuroses, the people here still loved him, just the same as his older brother.
The car door slamming shut brought Dirk out of his trance. John walked around the car, coming to join him as Dave hit the lock button on the fob.
“So like,” John muttered, “is there anything I should know before I go in?”
“Yeah, kinda,” Dirk replied. “My grandpa’s basically deaf, so look right at him when you talk. My grandma likes to hug. Bro and his sister bicker, but don’t worry about it. I think that’s it.”
“And this is your uncle's house?” John double checked.
“Yup. Grandpa’s brother.”
“Okay. Got it,” John grinned.
“Are you jackasses coming, or what?” Dave shouted from the porch, the door open and the warmth from the house wafting out.
Texas Thanksgiving was done up in a way L.A. city could never. The entire meal was homemade, John observed. Even the pie crusts were from scratch, and the more John listened, he realized Dirks uncle had actually gone out and shot the turkey, they hadn’t bought it from the store. Nothing here was organic, or gluten free or any other buzzword companies used to sell a product. This was regular down-home cooking.
They sat down together, and Dirk’s aunt said grace. They held hands and everything.
Dirk sat on the end of the table. That way he had space on one side, to avoid feeling closed in. John sat next to him, with Dave on John’s other side. Across from them sat Dave’s sister, and her daughter Roxy.
Dirk knew his cousin, and he knew she talked a mile a minute, and he was relieved that John got along with her well. So well, Dirk noticed his aunt’s eyebrow raise in silent surprise.
Grandpa Strider spoke in a thick southern accent that matched his brothers, except he tended to shout more often than not. His conversation with his grandson about college rose in volume until Grandma hushed them in favor of offering John another glass of sweet tea.
After dinner there was football. Football in the yard, football on TV, football promotional pop cans and bags of chips. While the rest of the family left the room in favor of the ball game, Dave lingered in the kitchen with his mother, helping her clean up. Dirk stayed too, and by extension so did John.
The porcelain chink-chink of plate on plate made talking sort of null, especially over the water. Dave scraped the plate, Grandma washed, Dirk dried, John put things away. They were done in no time, and with the sink shut off, Grandma Strider shed her apron finally.
“I’m just elated y’all made it,” she smiled. “I know how busy you get, Davey.”
“I’m glad we made it too, Ma. Feels like a coon's age since we’ve been back for a holiday,” Dave returned.
Dirk turned then, motioning for John to follow. His uncle was probably passed out in front of the TV by now, it would be easy to steal the remote.
“Dirk, where you goin’ off to, son?”
“Oh, just, the living room?” Dirk turned again, facing his grandmother but he had a hard time with making eye contact.
“You don’t gotta sneak off now, it’s alright,” she said firmly.
“What?” Dirk deadpanned. His grandmother laughed.
“I haven’t seen you so much as touch that boy since you got here. I might be old, and a Christian, but I believe in equality.”
“Oh. Well, thanks, grandma. I appreciate it,” Dirk muttered, shifting awkwardly.
“You can kiss him, it won’t gross us out or nothin’,” the older woman smiled.
“Oh. Okay,” Dirk frowned, throwing John a look. His ‘boyfriend’ snickered.
“Yeah, Dirk, what’s with you tonight?” John mocked.
“Go on then! Before you get your beau in a tizzy,” Grandma Strider slapped him on the back in a friendly, ‘go get him’ sort of way. Dirk tensed, and he froze in place.
“Yeah Dirk, go on,” Dave teased, sneering.
“Don’t you like me anymore?” John said.
No, Dirk didn’t like him. John was nice and he got along good with strangers, and. And? Dirk had no idea about anything else. He barely knew him! This all had to be a front. There was no way he was so great with people. No, Dirk didn’t like him and the longer they stood there, the more Dirk hated him.
This was not happening. Dave was not winning this bet, but Dirk was not about to kiss John either. Sure, it was just a kiss but. But. It just didn’t feel right, kissing someone he wasn’t really dating. John was basically a stranger.
Dirk couldn’t kiss a stranger, could he?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were staring at him now. This was unpleasant. This was less than ideal, shit fuck. This was wrong, all of it. Every thought, every idea, every notion about this was wrong. His brain was wracking and screaming at the same time, all while his face was stone slate blank.
“Dirk-“ Grandma Strider started.
“CouldyouexcuseJohnandIforamoment?” Dirk blurted so quickly he was almost incomprehensible. He reached out and grabbed John by the wrist, walking out of the room as quickly as his feet could carry him. John let Dirk tow him, following down the tiny hallway to the guest room in the house. They were only ten paces from the kitchen. It was a struggle not to slam the door.
“What the literal fuck are you doing?” Dirk hissed, quiet because the walls were thin.
“Playing along! Just like you told me to!” John exclaimed.
“Keep it down, would you?! Like you really want to fucking kiss me, sure,” Dirk’s lip peaked back in a snarl. “This is fake, act like it.”
“Maybe I do want to kiss you, did you ever think of that?” John retorted.
“That’s not funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” John’s tone was as plain as day.
“Yes, you are. Fucking smirking like a cat that got the goddamn cream, the good shit that you put in your fancy goddamn coffee. Fucking. Stop.” Dirk growled. “We hardly know each other.”
“I’m not kidding, and I’m not joking,” John said firmly.
Emotion hit Dirk like a stun gun. Surprise, fear, and uncertainty all rolled into a neat little wad of bile that rose in his stomach. He felt like throwing up. His mouth fell open and the crease of anger in his brow fell away in favor of the astonishment etching its way in.
This couldn’t be happening. There was no way he’d actually just said that. The percentage of a fucking stranger having feelings for him was less than one. Less than point zero, zero, zero, zero, repeating with a one rounding out after an infinity. A stranger having feelings for him, Dirk Strider. Dirk had taken statistics in college, this was a near improbability. “What?”
“You know something?” John began, and Dirk knew he was in for it. “I had originally planned to prank you. Like, plastic wrap the toilets, rearrange the furniture, change the doorbell so it played the entire script to Bee Movie, that kind of stuff but. I didn’t. I like your family. And I like you. A lot, actually. So stop freaking out. Alright? This whole thing is kind of an awesome prank anyway, tricking them. But, like, after all this is over, I sort of want to see you again.”
Dirk felt like his mouth was full of cotton.
“You good? You look like you just sort of short-circuited,” the other man inquired.
Short circuit was an understatement. More like a full blown power outage.
“'m fine. Just, like, how?” Dirk blinked, unsure how to articulate anything else.
“How what?” John asked.
Dirk shook his head. He couldn’t form his ideas into words well enough to speak them. How had John come to this conclusion? How had he just, decided to fess up like this? How, how anything.
“Look, just stop worrying, okay? Just stop thinking, and just do what your guts telling you,” John grinned, way too wide with way too white of teeth.
Go with his gut? His gut? What did that even mean?
“It means don’t think, just do,” John said. Dirk hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud.
Don’t think. Just do.
Don’t think.
Just do.
Don’t
Think
Before Dirk knew what came over him he was seizing the sides of John’s face in his hands and smashing his lips against his own. Dirk had locked lips with boyfriends before but never had it felt like this. So different. Personal, with an impersonal acquaintance. He smelled too human, too real, and his skin made the blond’s fingertips sear.
John’s lips were warm and wet, and he tasted like warm pumpkin pie and Diet Pepsi. Sweet, almost. John took a moment to kiss back, his fingers freezing on Dirk’s forearm before he relaxed. His hands instead went to Dirk’s hips, his fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt.
When they separated, both boys were out of breath.
“So you can kiss,” John laughed lightly. Dirk pulled him close again, this time kissing teasing pecks into the corner of his mouth.
“Better than you can,” Dirk grinned. John beamed, pulling Dirk tighter to him.
“Let’s go back out there and be the best fake boyfriends ever, cool?”
“Cool.”