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Rain Storms

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John Egbert was fucking gorgeous when he played the piano.

Dave could only see his back from where he sat behind the other boy, and hardly even that after the two of them had turned off every light in the room aside from the small lamp above the piano because of the rain outside. But even that back, barely outlined in the light of the lamp and the occasional streak of lightning outside, was beautiful. It was John and it was wonderful.

And Dave sat, elbows propped up on his knees and face in his hands as he listened to what John was playing. To the melody that only really seemed to be enhanced by the way the rain hit the windows and the roof. To the way the thunder came out just at the right times to make his flesh raise and his heart beat faster. Listened and stared at what he could see of his best friend and wished he wasn’t such a coward.

The rain beat endlessly against the side of John’s house just as Dave’s heart beat in his chest while the other boy played. He loved the contrast of the soft melody within the storm. Loved the contrast of how he liked to imagine John smiling at him ever so sweetly even with both of their hearts beating so loud anyone in the next room might have heard them.

It was this line of thought that made Dave drop his gaze to the floor instead of John’s back, ashamed to look at him for how he loved him. Ashamed to listen to his beautiful talent and think of what it would be like to kiss those fingers of his one by one until John was flushed all over and asking him to stop because it was embarrassing. Because the John in Dave’s imagination would have wanted Dave to kiss somewhere other than his wonderful hands.

The melody of the song picked up and Dave lifted his gaze again, staring and biting the inside of his cheek and thinking to himself. He wondered what would happen if he admitted to John that he loved him as he did. Wondered what expressions would cross that derpy face of his and wondered what kind of things John would tell him. Of course John would tell him that he wasn’t gay. That it was gross to think of Dave in any way other than his very best friend.

John trusted him, he realized. John trusted him with his wonderful song, and without the protection of Dave’s cowardice and John’s own ignorance, Dave was sure he would wash John away. So he sat there in John’s little room, eyes finding the middle of his best friend’s back again and reminding himself that it was no use telling him that he loved him if John was just going to say no.

Reminding himself that John wouldn’t want him no matter how hard and fast his heart beat against his chest.