You're Dirk Strider, you're seventeen years old, and this is the first summer that you're going to spend without your best friend.

Roxy and you have spent virtually every day together since you were kids, since your older brother and her mom have been best friends since high school. Maybe it's genetic? You don't fucking know.

You and she both live on the coast of California, in a relatively small town. You've lived here most of your life. Your older brother Dave told you that when you were born the two of you lived in Texas, but damn if you remember it. The way he tells it, when you were a toddler he wrote some (purposefully stupid) movie, supposedly for the irony, and it broke big. Really big.

Before that, though, the four of you had lived in this apartment the size of a fucking matchbox together because neither Dave or Rose could afford to live on their own with kids to take care of. Rose got pregnant her sophomore year of college (you and Roxy swear that it was Dave who did it, because that's really the only feasible explanation for the two of you) and had to drop out, and Dave never wanted to go to university but basically didn't have any direction for his life besides, so for a while they were both pretty lost.

Maybe Dave's life would have been much easier if he hadn't had to take care of you. You never got the full details on what happened with that, now you think of it. You know there was some big argument and Dave left and took you (a kicking, screaming one year old at the time) with him. Maybe he didn't feel he had a choice, but you know having you was a challenge he'd never seen coming.

You vaguely remember the few years of the four of you living together. Roxy and you had shared cribs, food and everything in between while Rose and Dave survived on ramen and whatever shitty job they had going at the time. Dave never managed to keep his (more like never managed to keep his smart fucking mouth shut long enough to keep from getting fired). One of the scariest nights you can remember is listening to Rose and Dave have a major screaming match over the situation while Roxy cried into your shoulder.

Those weren't good times, but you and Dave were really close because he was almost all you had and you'd clung to him (literally and figuratively) day and night. The worst idea was of not having Dave around any more. You'd grown utterly dependent on him and on his presence to soothe you.

Things started changing, though. Rose wrote day and night on her shitty computer, and they weren't stories either you or Roxy understood when you asked her to tell you them. There were lots of big words and confusing metaphors and eventually the two of you got bored of asking. Dave wrote too, but his were funny. Dumb, but funny, and one of the few things that could get a big, genuine smile out of your big brother was when you laughed at his dumb jokes. A few months later, you'd been told to kiss Rose and Roxy goodbye and pack your things.

After that, the two of you moved to California and suddenly your big brother was in constant high demand where before people hadn't known that he even existed. Dave Strider became more of a big name and less of a big brother. It's not like he didn't try to make sure you had a semi-stable childhood- after he struck gold in Hollywood, he started sending you more money each week than you could ever possibly need. It was his version of making an effort.

For a while you mostly took care of yourself as you grew up, as you found babysitters incredibly patronizing and it didn't take you long to scare them off. Dave would call after each one left, increasingly exasperated, and you'd tell him about whatever ridiculous shit you pulled to get them to go away and he'd do his best to be suitably reproachful instead of proud. It's one of your proudest memories.

Soon, though, Rose and Roxy had moved out to California from New York and you weren't alone any more. The two of you spent virtually every second together, the only people that could really understand each other. That's how you've always thought of Roxy and probably always will.

Without her it would have been kind of a lonely way to grow up, and the thought of her not being around was always a discomforting one.

How the fuck did you even get onto this train of thought.

Oh- right. You're currently sitting on your front porch, setting the vacationers settling in next door with a vaguely intimidating and completely blank stare. Next door is Rose and Roxy's place, but they're away this summer- Rose is doing her book tour and didn't trust her daughter home alone, but they're letting one of Roxy's friends stay in their place while they're away. She'd been excited, told you that you were "rlly going 2 like him" and- yeah, that sounds like a setup. Damn if you're falling for it.

You take the time to evaluate them, which is probably just your snarky bullshit way of saying you're judging them. By some small mercy it's just two people, not some peppy nuclear family. There's an older woman with this huge fucking devilbeast of a white dog following after her, and some guy who looks to be your age. Then he's looking right back at you, catching you completely off guard, and for some reason you can't begin to fathom you almost smile. Almost.

That's unnerving for you, so you get up, almost tripping over the step (fucking smooth, he better not have seen that) and going back inside. You pause, running a hand through your blonde hair before you strip down quickly, throwing your clothes aside. It's been a long time since you had any reservations about going around your house without clothes on, seeing as nobody's ever there but you anyway. Besides, if anyone did see it, they'd have nothing to complain about. Your body is fucking god-like.

It doesn't take you long to grab your board shorts- they're too big for you, still, but they hang nicely on your hips. Not too low, not too high, pretty much perfect. You're all about showing off, really- but people typically admire you from a distance.

You have no desire to encounter those two out the front again, so you go out through the back door. It's probably reckless to leave the house unlocked, especially during vacation season, but you don't really give a fuck. The only thing you care about in there is your laptop; you're currently learning how to program artificial intelligence with the help of your best friend. Sometimes you swear Roxy is going through it slowly for your benefit, because you're smart but Roxy is on a whole other level. That said, she's usually drunk, so you kind of have an edge.

You're deep in thought as you jog through the sand towards the water, waiting for the moment when your feet meet warm water. The smell of sea salt and sand is intoxicating, and you breathe it in, closing your eyes. These are the only moments of serenity that you get.

You slowly wade into the water, getting deeper and deeper until it's up to your shoulders, and you swim out still further. Away from the common places the tourists hang out, a little too deep for them to dare to go.

As you were growing up, most of your time was spent in the water, this ocean so close to your home. You feel safer in it than anywhere else in the world, and your proudest achievement is the fact that you can hold your breath for four and a half minutes (last time you checked).

Gracefully, you dive underwater, closing your eyes for a moment and just enjoying the feeling before you open them. The sea salt no longer stings, you're so used to it, and you're far enough out that you're surrounded by fish and coral. You dive down further, searching through things you've admittedly seen a thousand times before for any possible change. You're always looking for change, waiting for it even when it's extremely unlikely.

The tide is a little strong today, and you'd swim out to the rocks a little further away but you know if you knock your head on those, you're done. It's happened to people before; cocky tourists who aren't used to this water and basically have no idea what the fuck they're doing. Maybe another day you can do that.

You come back up for air, running a hand through your slick, blonde hair slowly and push it back. Years of exposure to salty water have left it looking kind of ridiculous in its natural state, but also pretty cool, you think. Right now it's smooth, though, and it reminds you of your bro's.

You keep thinking about him today and it's definitely time to stop that. Irritated with yourself, you begin swimming back to shore, occasionally diving under to let the tide direct you while you watch the underwater world go by; a world that is ultimately every kind of preferable to this one.

Once you reach the shore, you start walking along the beach, hoping nobody is looking after you. You're going to your favourite place in the world- totally secluded, because nobody knows it's there but you. And most people can't navigate the rocks that are in the way of getting to it- it takes a fair bit of experience with that kind of thing.

This is your place. It's sort of like a private beach, not far from a small cave which you have idly explored once or twice. It doesn't go very far, but you've slept there once or twice. The tide doesn't go up that far, and so you can light a fire and sleep soundly. You've always been so much more comfortable sleeping outdoors than indoors- it's like you feel trapped. Your thoughts and your feelings are limited to this small room in this small house whereas there's something so much bigger right outside your door. Something that can take all of you with barely any effort at all.

Lost in your thoughts, as ever, you lie down on the sand and bask in the warmth of the sun. You're drifting off into a lazy sleep, slowly, when something jolts you right back awake.

Another boy is looking down at you and you recognize after staring at him blearily for a moment that it's the same one from before. Holy shit. You scramble to your feet, glaring at him with your eyes blazing. What the fuck.

It doesn't phase him for a second. "Good afternoon!" he says, his expression and his voice as warm and friendly as anyone's could possibly be. The accent is out of place in California- out of place in America, even. There's something faintly British in it, though you have a sneaking suspicion that it might be faked. "I hope I didn't scare you too much there, chap. I saw you coming around this way and thought it looked pretty darn exciting."

You stare at him, taking him in partly in irritation and partly in genuine curiosity; there's an almost childlike naivety in him, the kind that you never got to have. Part of you resents him for that- a pretty huge part, actually, but it's not really his fault. You let out an almost imperceptible sigh, your fists uncurling at your sides as you stare at him, asking the first question that pops into your head. "How the fuck did you get over those rocks, man? Shit can be deadly if you've never done it before."

He just shrugs, the smile never fading from his face. "We used to live on an island where there was a whole fucking lot of the bloody things, all over the place. Getting over them is hardly a challenge at all."

Alright, so you're faintly impressed. The dude actually knows what he's doing, and you raise an eyebrow, taking him in. He does have that same overexposed to sun look going on, though you think that might be his natural skin tone. Your tan is much lighter. His hair is dark, wavy and messy, like he's never bothered to brush it before in his life, and he has these eyes hidden behind thick, black square framed glasses.

These bright green, penetrating eyes, looking straight into yours and carrying this feeling of total sincerity and warmth. They're so unlike your own, golden orange and completely frozen. There hasn't been emotion in the way you looked at anyone or anything for a long time.

Wait. Shit. You left your glasses at home before you came down here and there's absolutely no way for you to cover your own eyes, which often inspire something between fascination- like you're a fucking attraction at the zoo just for having an unusual eye color- and fear. Dave used to jokingly call you his little devilchild; hence why you had begun religiously wearing your shades, except when you were swimming, of course.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, his brow creasing as he chews on his bottom lip a little anxiously. Of course he would have noticed you practically having a fucking panic attack over not having your shades. Ugh.

You shake your head slowly, just looking down at your feet and attempting to be as subtle about it as possible. Though he's already seen your eyes, it's possible the blatant strangeness of them hasn't registered with him and with any luck, he'll think you're just shy and avoiding eye contact for that reason. "Nah. Just a little disoriented, man, I was sleeping when you came crashing through here."

"I did try to be quiet!" he protests, and you can't help but let out a huff of laughter- and immediately hate yourself for it. This guy is no different to any other person who comes here over the summer. In two months he'll be gone.

You take a deep breath, still not looking at him. It's probably easier not to look at his face right now, anyway. "Next time you should try a little harder." You keep your tone as flat as possible, heading back towards the rocks to go back home.

There's one thing you weren't expecting, and that's the smack to your bare shoulder, hard but not too painful. You turn around, your expression utterly bemused and you aren't even trying to hide your eyes any more. Is this guy seriously trying to start something? Fuck. He's that kind of tourist.

"Don't be so frigging rude, man," he says, the smile faded from his face, which almost makes you feel guilty. Almost. "I don't even know your name and you're already running off!"

"Why does it matter?" you ask, genuinely curious. It's not like you're planning on having any kind of ongoing association with the guy. You're hardly best bros just because he's a fucking (attractive) weirdo who followed you here. And that Roxy invited him. That's not anything to you.

"Because that's the proper way that first meetings such as this are done! It's like you've never seen a movie before," he says, his eyes lighting up as he says it. Playing this out as a pure Hollywood scene apparently appeals far more to him than it does to you.

"My brother makes movies, so I think I've seen a few of them," you say, and there's an unidentifiable tone to your voice. You're sure your dissent is clear.

If anything, though, he just gets more excited and his glasses slip down his nose. He pushes them back up, a blinding grin spreading quickly over his face. "Wow, you aren't joking, are you? Who is he, what did he do? Am I going to get to meet him? I do hope I don't make a fool out of myself, haha."

The urge to roll your eyes is violently strong, but you ignore it. For now. "Somehow I doubt he's going to be around. But he did all the Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff movies. Or moives, depending on how you look at it." You indicate the tattoo on your shoulder- one you got for purely ironic purposes, though your brother's approval of it was hardly a downside.

His reaction is nothing less than you expected, and it's like all your suspicions have been confirmed- this guy is a shameless fanboy. His jaw actually fucking drops, and he stares at you, his eyes wide. "I- Your brother is Dave Strider? He's so-" Whatever he was going to say, he cuts himself off, and his cheeks slowly turn pink. "Golly, I'm making such a fool of myself. This is just rather exciting, I admire him quite a lot."

"That's just because you don't know him," you say, keeping your tone flat so he can't tell if that was supposed to be a joke. Honestly, you don't even know.

He frowns a little, and you notice he has these ridiculous buck teeth which are currently digging into his bottom lip. You want to deter any further questions about yourself or about Dave, and you silently wave goodbye to him before turning to go back over to the rocks and head home. But the boy being out of sight doesn't mean he's out of mind, and though you try to stop it your mind is occupied by him for the rest of the day.

The next few days are an exercise in how to avoid somebody who's far too close to you for comfort whilst also being painfully curious about them (but doing nothing to satisfy said curiosity).

The new guy next door is fairly persistent in becoming friends with you, and damn if you know why that is, because you've hardly been friendly towards him. It's not like he's being invasive- he doesn't come to your house or anything, but several times you go to climb over the rocks to your closed-off beach and he's there. It's impossible to tell how long he's going to wait, but you always abscond as fast as you possibly can.

Never have you taken such great pains to not be around someone, although… Well. Sometimes it feels like it's more from force of habit than anything else, from rejecting human contact for so long that it's something of a shock when it's offered. Nevertheless, you draw the curtains in your room and stay in there all day, occasionally wondering what it's like outside in the bright sunlight but not venturing out. Besides, you don't hold any real objection to just hanging around your house- less chance of running into other annoying passers-by, especially during tourist season.

After a week, you think you've probably gotten the message through his thick skull, and it's safe to leave again. It's a particularly hot day, roughly a hundred degrees in your room, and if you don't go swimming you think you might actually die. The air conditioner is functioning but you still feel gross and hot and sticky. You cannot deal with it any more. You have lost the ability you only really had a tenuous grasp on in the first place.

When you get down to the beach and take your first step into the water, nothing has ever felt so good. Today you don't climb the rocks- you decide to swim over. The water is calm enough that you can do that without any concern that you might do yourself a serious injury, by some small mercy.

By the time you notice him lying on the sand, it's too late and you're getting out of the water. You curse inwardly and hope that maybe you can be quiet enough to get the hell out before- oh, fuck, too late.

"Hey," he says a little timidly, and it's vaguely amusing to you that even in a situation as awkward as this, he's still as friendly as ever.

There's only one way to play this. Striders don't lose their cool, and you'll be damned if you're going to let that proudest family tradition down today. "Hey," you say, lying down on the soft, white sand- even better than you remembered it- and closing your eyes. "Not killing your privacy or anything here, am I?"

"Actually, I was, um. I was waiting for you."

You sit up, letting out a soft huff of derisive laughter. "That's not fucking weird at all."

"Hush your smart mouth for a second, Strider. I just wanted to apologize for any possible indiscretion on my part. I'm rather inexperienced in social things and such and it wouldn't be the first time I made a terribly embarrassing blunder, you see." He's talking fast, all of it coming out in a rush that you think anybody other than you probably wouldn't be able to interpret. "I may have reacted the way I did because- well, I quite admire your brother! He's an impressive man. But I find you more interesting. Everything about Dave Strider is public record, but you're quite the mystery. And so I've come to the decision that knowing more about you would probably be a pretty wonderful thing if you wouldn't object to it." Finally he stops for breath, his eyes anxious and trained on yours as he fidgets nervously.

You aren't quite sure what to say to all that. It's weird that he should have taken such an interest in you, considering he doesn't know a damn thing. But he seems so earnest and genuinely fucking harmless that you can't really bring yourself to say no, and there's also the fact that you're pretty interested in him too and you probably won't be satisfied until you find out more. You shrug. "Sure, why the hell not. Consider me your open book."

"Wonderful!" He reaches out to clap his hand to your shoulder, that same grin back in place. You've never met anyone so open and genuine in the way they smile before. It reaches all the way to his eyes, transfixes you in a way that is giving you cause for concern. "I'm Jake."

"Dirk," you reply, and it's barely more than a mumble. You have to look away from him for a minute, trying to make sense of your heart beating a little faster in your chest, and why having a face to put to this name makes you weirdly happy. It's all so confusing. "So. Where are you from?"

"Well, I'm sure I've told you we used to live on an island? Yes? So it's been quite the challenge to find somewhere that can measure up after that! We haven't really been staying in one place all too long." When Jake talks he's over-expressive, and he talks with his hands. You watch them carefully, like they'll say so much more than his words could. "It's a little exhausting to be perfectly honest with you. But we'll find somewhere soon."

There's a pause while you consider that, fit it in with what little you already know about him. You suppose it works. "Huh. I've lived here all my life. I have no idea what that would be like."

"I can tell," Jake says. "You climb over those rocks there like they're nothing more than pebbles." He drums his fingers on his knee for a moment, chewing his lip again, and you find yourself committing that to memory. Memorizing parts of Jake, his reactions, and trying to convince yourself it isn't weird as shit. "You must be really sick of people like me by now."

"Sure," you say, because there's no point in lying to the guy and that's not really the way you do things anyway. "But for the record, you seem a hell of a lot less obnoxious, which is why I'm not kicking your ass for tailing me right now."

He snorts, seeming exponentially relieved by that all the same. "Like you could."

"It's fuckin' adorable how delusional you are."

Jake jumps up, raising his fists and looking at you with this expression of sheer glee and excitement on his face. "Alright, Strider! Prove it. Take me down."

"You're not serious." On closer observation, though, it seems like he is. You wonder if you'll ever figure out what the hell is up with this guy. "Isn't it a little early in our relationship to be rolling around in the sand half-naked together?" You indicate your bare torso and his, which you… had not noticed yet, but hot damn. Apparently fucking around on some island has done him some pretty great favours.

He blushes this brilliant crimson and shakes his head virulently. "I'm not about to let you distract me with innuendo, good sir. I'm determined."

Normally you'd just humour the guy. Take him up on his challenge, have him beat and pinned down underneath you within seconds. But the very thought of that is a little… overwhelming and somehow you think it probably wouldn't be a good idea.

You search for an excuse and find nothing. Improvisation time. "Not feeling it today, man. Some other time." Fucking masterful work there, Dirk.

Jake probably notices that your cheeks have gone a little pink and that you're visibly flustered. It's hard to tell. He just gives you this huge smile, and- shit, the inside of your head is getting so sappy but you've never seen anyone smile like that. Ever. It's like he's never been hurt by anything in the world, it's so open and warm and you're irresistibly drawn to him.

That's not a good sign.