You don’t know exactly how to describe it, which isn’t a thing that is new to you.
You’re name is John Egbert.
You have been blind since you were born.
When you were a little younger (a little more angsty) you used to think this was a really awful thing.
There wasn’t a second of your life you didn’t feel tied down by it.
You think it sounds stupid and cliché to think of it this way, but you think that changed the day you met Dave.
You never knew much about Dave, you’d never met him, only heard rumours, and rumours said he was the coolest dude in the world.
When you met him, the first thing he did was hold your hand.
The second thing was he began to trace letters into your palm.
You felt a little insulted. “I’m blind, not deaf,” you had bit at him, and Jade put her hand on your shoulder to warn you she was there, when she leaned into your ear and told you.
You were surprised. You felt like that was something that would have been mentioned in some of the rumours.
You were also very embarrassed, and you’re sure you turned a very red colour (you will not going into the nitty gritty about how you actually do not know what red looks like).
He didn’t say anything (well, duh), and after a very long pause, during which you think you heard Jade whispering to him, he slowly began tracing letters again.
M Y N A M E I S D A V E .
“I know,” you laughed, but you realized that might sound weird. “I mean, I’ve heard about you! That you’re really cool and stuff,” you wondered if he smiled or not, but you’d heard he didn’t do that, “and Jade said she wanted me to meet you and that that was what I was coming here for. Uh, I’m John. John Egbert!”
I K N O W .
You smiled at him, and you heard Jade get up to leave as she patted you on the shoulder.
You “talked” for hours after, and you hung out more, and you hung out even more, and you hang out even more than that!
He still traced his thoughts into the palm of your hand, and sometimes he let you feel his face if he needed to get a certain feeling across, or you asked him nice enough.
A few times, you caught just the slightest upward turn of his lips with your thumb.
O N L Y A R O U N D Y O U .
“Is it because I can’t even see it? Like it never even happened?” You tease.
And that’s when it happened.
You felt his lips part, and your thumb sort of brushed his canine, and gasps of air came from him in a soundless but distinctively laugh-like way, and you think your eyes might have gotten wide behind the glasses Dave got for you to wear.
I R O N Y, he’d called it.
Regardless, you had never experienced anything more perfect than that moment, and without thinking, you let your thumb trace the gentle curves of his upper lip, like you were looking for secrets in it.
But he only stopped, and you felt yourself frown a little.
He breathed out a soft word, his lips knowing how to form it, but his throat unable to string it together.
You think it was “shit.”
“I wont tell or anything, if you’re, uh, worried. That I’ll, like, spread nasty rumours about your poker face cracking, or something,” you assure, hoping he’ll smile again.
He takes your hand, the one that hadn’t been tracing his lips and was now stilled again at the corner, feeling the hard line.
E G B E R T, he starts, and you nod quickly, like you’re assuring him that that is your name.
I ’ M G O I N G T O K I S S Y O U, and you nod again, without even thinking about it.
You feel his lips quirk a little again, and your hand follows him all the way to your mouth until you find yourself thinking that it would find itself more comfortable curled up in his hair (you’ve been told it’s silver blonde, not that you know what that means, but you do know that it is very soft, and a little fluffy sometimes, and you like it a lot, and your hand is more comfortable there, so you let the other join it).
I S T H I S O K A Y ? He traces it against your cheek this time, you’re hands being otherwise occupied, and it’s harder to keep up with, especially when he keeps kissing you.
All you can do is let out a moan you mean to sound reassuring but instead comes out kind of suggestive, which you guess is approving in it’s own way, and he takes it that way too, judging by the tongue in your mouth.
When he breaks apart from you, you can still feel him breathing against your lips, and he’s tracing S O R R Y into your arm over and over again.
“I should try to make you laugh more often,” you let out a breathy, nervous laugh, and he guides one of your hands back to his face to show you he’s smiling, and you use it to guide you to lean forward and give him a little kiss again.
L O V E I S B L I N D , I G U E S S .
“Dork,” you snort into his collarbone.