I Love You | Stridercest

6

Authors note: hey guys, I know I only update this fic like once in a blue moon but I'm back! And I think I'm back for good. I recently got back into homestuck, hence stridercest, and I have greatly improved in my writing in my opinion (lmao) and I'm ready to be active again :). Please keep in mind that the first half of this is an old draft and I just continued where I left off. Thanks!

Dave

Walking home, I kept my hands in my pockets. I ignored Dirk every time he tried to initiate any conversation with me whatsoever. He cleared his throat.

"I, uh," he scratched his head. "I'm sorry. Again."

I let out a slight scoff. I kept walking. As soon as we get into the apartment, I walk into Bro's room, him trailing awkwardly behind me, and nudge a sleeping Jake on the shoulder. He put an arm up defensively, his other one rubbing his eyes.

"Huh- what?" He mumbled, confused.

"Hey," I said, sternly. "Get the fuck out of my house." I heard Bro chuckle quietly behind me, which only fueled my rage. Jake quickly looked at Bro, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Get the fuck out of my house," I repeated. "Get OUT." At that point, tears were beginning to well up and spill out. I wiped them from under my shades. Jake hesitated another moment, but quickly got out of the bed and pulled on his shirt.

On his way out the door, he snuck a glance at Bro, who avoided eye contact. He walked out, and I slammed the door behind him. Bro flinched. This wasn't like his usual assertive self- he was usually the dominant one, but this time he knew that he had made a grave mistake. I brushed past him and walked back to my own room, slamming the door again.

The next few weeks were hell for me. I relapsed, constantly, because I didn't care what Bro thought of me anymore. But then I started caring, and I began to think maybe that I wasn't enough for him anymore. So I started vomiting up everything I ate, examining myself in the mirror, and realizing how ugly the scars on my body were. The cycle continued.

You would think avoiding someone in your own house would be hard, but somehow, I managed. I ignored every call to dinner, every apology, every attempt at eye contact. I knew I was hurting him. I also knew that he deserved it.

I was sitting on the couch watching "The Notebook"- ironically, of course- when all of a sudden Bro just stood in front of the TV and didn't move. He took off his shades and locked eyes with me, who was sitting still under a blanket with exactly five skittles in my hand (my sweets intake for the week). I couldn't read the look on his face, but I couldn't help getting distracted by his burning orange eyes for a split second. The moment didn't last. I cleared my throat.

"Hey, could you, uh, get out of my way?" I asked quietly, yet impatiently.

Bro sighed and crossed his arms, shifting his weight. "You're so small."

"Yeah, I fucking get it, I'm tiny." I frowned. That's why you think it's okay to fuck me over- because I can't do anything about it, I thought.

"No-" he started. He stopped. He turned around and turned off the TV quickly with his gloved hand and walked over to me slowly, peering into what seemed like the depths of my soul with every step.

"I was watching that." He didn't seem to hear me.

Finally, he kneeled down in front of me and just looked at me. "You don't think I know what you've been doing?" He said, quietly, in a voice I had never heard him use before.

What the fuck? I looked at him quizzically. "What do you mean?" I asked, annoyed. I shoved the skittles into my mouth to disprove anything he was about to say. I also chewed slowly to avoid conversation.

"You just... don't eat. I mean, at first I thought you just didn't want to eat dinner with me and you were getting food when I went to bed, but I started watching and you just... don't eat."

Dave shrugged. "I really have no idea what you're trying to tell me." He stared him dead in the eyes, desperately hoping that he would just drop the question, stop pretending like he cared so that Dave could just go back to ignoring him. But he made it impossible.

Bro didn't break eye contact. An awkward silence passed, filled with both just staring at each other aggressively. "Why are your eyes so empty?" He asked. That made Dave look away, not wanting him to pay attention to the little clues that gave away that he wasn't okay. "Can you please just-" Dave looked at him again. "Please just leave me alone."

"I fucked up, Dave, and I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." Dave was silent. Bro took it as a signal to fill the air with more words. "You don't think that as each day passes, and I look at what you've become, I don't hate myself either? You think I don't care?" Dave balled up his fists. "Shut up," he said quietly. Bro kept going. "You don't fucking eat," Bro started talking faster. "You keep cutting yourself, you don't sleep, and you never sleep. The walls in this apartment are thin, Dave, it's not like I can't hear you crying every night." "Shut up," Dave said again, louder. "I can't keep watching you do this to yourself-" Dave interrupted him. "I told you to shut up!" He yelled, standing up.

Tears spilled over his cheeks and hit the carpet.