Not Like That

Chapter 1: ==> John: Have A Movie Night

"Dave."

Nothing but the slight static responded. John pouted, strumming his fingers on his desk in the natural piano-playing position they rested in, just in front of his keyboard, then adjusted his mic and more insistently called a louder, "Daaaaaaaave."

Movie night was a best bro institution! It was their thing! Every Friday night for the past year they'd sat up together, picked a great (or shit) movie, and settled in to stream it and chat and laugh and argue over its quality until it was time to drag themselves to bed. Dave wouldn't let the side down! He even set the video-calls to auto-answer because it was set in stone that John would call him then, like clockwork, like gospel. He totally always showed up, he was just in the bathroom or something, he would never leave John hanging!

"Dave!" Nothing. "Dave!"

Wow okay he was taking a long time. But he was clearly there. Clearly.

"DAAAAAAAAVE!"

There was a loud crash, dulled through a wall, which definitely did not sound like someone casually returning to their room. It sounded a lot more like someone storming to it, cursing in a barely audible stream that John couldn't quite make out the contents of, although he was pretty sure some of that was Japanese (he was dimly aware of it from the animes Dave had insisted on subjecting him to) and also pretty sure Dave was about to get a stern talking to about leaving certain bros waiting for him while he did whatever and then being pissy about answering his own computer-

-aaaand that wasn't Dave.

Without meaning to, he shrank in his chair, confronted with a full screen of Dave's doorway, now filled with 6'6" of drowsy looking, angry Texan, a shaggy mop of blonde hair down around his face, larger, pointed shades a little askew where he was scratching irritatedly at one of his sideburns. He was broad at the shoulder, muscular and tan, with a toned torso that pulled in to a tight waist and also the boxers that were the only thing he was wearing. So freckles did go further down than the face, John noted in a desperation not to note anything more intimidating, staring at the dark glass roughly where eyes should be like a deer caught in blacked out headlights.

"Huh." Oh good he was moving over, leaning forward on the desk with gloved hands splayed just in sight, clearly focused intently on the screen with mouth in a tight line. "You Dave's boyfriend?"

"No!" John yelped loudly, then coughed as a single eyebrow swept upwards. "Uh, no, sir, Mister Strider, I'm just his friend-"

"Bro."

"Well, yeah, that too-"

"No. It's Bro. Don't call me Mister Strider, Jesus Christ I'm not that old." Not that old equated to roughly the same age as Dad, John guessed, looking him over closely, which was weird because John had always thought that was pretty old before. Nonetheless he nodded, and the tensed shoulders relaxed a little. "Why the fuck did you wake me up anyway, kid? Davey's out with his girlfriend."

His girlfriend? Dave had a girlfriend? How had this not been something he was told? That was a massive violation of the best bro code and if Dave had actually run off with some hussie when it was movie night John would...would...get totally upset with him and stuff! That would teach him.

"What?"

"Some chick named Teezee or something, I don't even care. But he ain't due back tonight. Staying at her place. Made sure the dude had protection and then told him if any of it was actually needed I'd hang him off the roof." Bro's attention was finally off of John, as he rifled through Dave's stuff until he produced an apple juice and sipped it, pulling a face and setting it back down a moment later. "Shit that's sick. Sorry to break it to you but the little man's got all whipped as fuck. What did you even want? I'll tell him if I remember once I've slept this shit off."