HOME | DD

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

"John, where exactly are you taking me?"

The black-haired teen beside you chuckles, his grasp on your hand tightening for only a fraction of a second before loosening once more. He dismisses your concern with a wave of his other hand, or at least, you assume he does, the douche. You're blind-folded after all, have been for the past thirty minutes or so, and the only reason you've put up with his shenanigans and haven't demanded to be released is because you trust the prankster. You know that when he says making you go through all of this is "worth it" he means it, though whether this is all some elaborate prank and it'll be "worth it" for him has yet to be determined.

"Just a little farther, [Name], and we'll be there!" John says, and somehow you just know he's sporting a grin that reveals a pearly pair of large buckteeth. The thought makes the corners of your own lips twitch upward, though the action is brief as you suddenly trip over a rather large tree root, stick, whatever it is with one foot, while the other lands in a puddle, the cold water seeping through your shoe into your sock.

You growl in annoyance, your brows knitting together in irritation. "I swear to god John this better be worth it. My sanity at this point depends on it."

John laughs, the sound airy and cheerful despite the fact that your chances of contracting trench foot have now increased thanks to your wet sock. "Oh c'mon [Name] it's not that bad."

"Yes it is, John. A wet sock is the worst thing to have."

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No it's-"

"Obviously you haven't looked up trench foot."

He huffs, and you can tell he's pouting. You wonder exactly why it is so easy for you to tell what expression is on his face just from the tone of his voice. You wonder exactly why it is so easy for you to tell a lot of things about him. From the way he types on Pesterchum, to his expressions, to the slightest twitch of his finger you just.... know. Having been his best friend since you both were in the womb has a lot to do with it, you're sure, but somehow it goes beyond that. Like, at some point, whatever deity that is above pointed at you while you were still inside your mother's womb or maybe even before and said: "I'm going to assign you to John Egbert, and you're going to know him on a level that transcends the cosmos. Go get him tiger."

You shake your head, ridding yourself immediately of that cheesy and frankly disturbing train of thought. This is not a John Green novel, dammit.

"[Name], are you listening to me?"

You raise a brow, because you sure as hell can't look at him since you're still fucking blind-folded.

"Sorry. I was trying to memorize my last will and testament for later. Since, you know, I'm going to get trench foot."

"Dude! You are not going to get trench foot!"

"John. My sock is wet."

"That doesn't mean you're going to get trench foot!"

"John."

"[Name]."

"John."

"[Name]."

"I'm going to get trench foot."

"You are not!"

"Yes, John. I am."

He groans in exasperation, though you can easily tell there's quite a bit of fondness in there as well. Try as you may, you can't help the smile that curls your lips. "Well," he continues, after a brief moment of silence, "even if you did get trench foot it's not like you can die from it! Your foot would just get all deformed and really, really gross."

"Indeed. And then I'll have to get an amputation and a fake foot. Once again, John. Last will and testament."

John sighs and tightens his grip on your hand, turning left, right, then left again, leading you down what you assume to be a path in the forest. It still rather irks you that the big surprise is in the forest that surrounds your small Washington town, as John knows you have and always will be a civilization type of person. That's not to say that you don't appreciate the beauty that nature has to offer, you just prefer admiring it on the television whilst in the comforts of your own home than being right in the middle of it all.

"I thought you said it was just a bit farther."

"It is!"

"John, this is about eight songs worth of farther."

"[Name], dude, seriously. Just be patient! Patience is a virtue!"

Now it is your turn to groan in fond exasperation, and his turn to try and fail to subdue the smile curling at his lips. You open your mouth to retort, but suddenly John yanks on your hand, coming to a complete stop. You turn your head in the direction you know him to be, your eyebrows disappearing into your hairline. "What just happened?" you ask, concern dripping into your voice. "John? Are you oka-"

"Sssh," he whispers, placing a finger on your lips. You are sorely tempted to bite it off. "We're here." He releases your hand and you feel a rush of air wash over your face as he lifts both of his hands to undo the knot of your blindfold. You bite down on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut the moment you feel the piece of cloth leave your face. You don't know why, but you are suddenly terrified of seeing this surprise. What if it's just a prank? you find yourself thinking. What if all this is some elaborate hoax to make you come out like a fool and give him a good laugh? On one hand you'd be pretty fucking pissed that he made you trek out into the forest to do it, when he could have easily filled a bucket with soda or something and rigged it over your bedroom door.

On the other hand.... well, he had built it up to such an extent that you'd started to become pretty excited for it, even though you had been mostly complaining the entire time. You would feel pretty cheated if all this was just a prank. John must have sensed your hesitation, guessed your thoughts, because his hands are suddenly enveloping yours, squeezing them gently.

"Trust me, dude. It's not a prank."

....and that's all you need. Your eyes flutter open, your mouth forming into a little 'o' of surprise. You turn your head left, then right, and then you turn your whole body around in circles.

The soft glow of moonlight falls down from the sky into the tiny clearing you're in, flooding through the sycamores, oaks and pines that surround you on all sides, caressing your cheeks. It is beautiful, yes, and most certainly not a prank, but this is not what truly captures you. It is the fireflies. Millions of them, hovering in the air, appearing to the untrained eye as nothing more than dots of blinking yellow light. They swoop down, rise up, turning in circles around each other as if performing an exotic dance for your entertainment. One even flies towards you, briefly touching the bridge of your nose, before blinking away to join its friends.

"Do you.... like it?"

You turn around, seeing for the first time the nervous anticipation on John's face. His teeth are worrying the tender flesh of his lower lip, his sapphire irises, behind the thick lenses of his glasses, wide and expectant for your answer. His hands are fiddling absently with the bottom hem of his Ghostbusters t-shirt.

"I-I know you're not exactly the nature type and all but I found this the other day with Jane and I thought that you might like it and-"

His stammering is brought to an abrupt halt as your lips graze his. You decide, after pulling away and seeing the ruby flush on his cheeks, that this is your new favorite form of shutting him up. He watches you as you take his hands in yours, positioning them so that the fingers are entwined.

You squeeze gently.

"John? John."

"Y-Yeah?"

"I love it."