Little Miss Misfit (Dave X Reader)

Quirky and quiet; those were the words Dave Strider used to tell him that his feelings were just illusions. Those were the reasons why you sat alone at lunch, sat in the back of the class, and spoke to no one. If Dave even so much as talked to you all of that would be ruined. Dave talks to no one, only listens to the glorifying whispers of his fellow students. The coolest kid in school didn't talk to just anybody, he barely looked at anyone who wasn't a blonde babe in daisy dukes. He felt that you were special, so special that nobody deserved to even look at you, although nobody really did anyways.

You were so out of place in this world, like an apple in a bushel of bananas. With your head always down in a book, people thought you were going to grow to be an old cat lady. But Dave saw something inside of you. He'd dated girls before, all ending in inevitable heartbreak (for the ladies, of course), but what he saw in you was indescribable. It was like you didn't even know it was there. But he knew. Yes, Dave Strider saw your potential, what you could be if people saw what you were, even if you didn't see it yourself.

-

Your books clutched to your chest, you swivelled past the bodies of countless adolescences, almost wanting to puke from the lack of antiperspirant. It was Tuesday, a light chill in the air, the signs of Fall becoming more apparent. On Tuesdays you went out for lunch, but not to the popular bakery or the grocery store close to the school; you had a special place to not only eat, but express yourself. Walking out the front doors of the school, while everyone else headed north, you went south, taking a sharp turn when you reached the end of the street. You swore you heard something behind you, but you forced yourself onward, believing it to be auditory illusions.

Marching up a hill, you caught a glimpse of your favorite sight. There, perched against a tree, rested your cello and binder of music sheets. A smile stretched along your face, something you rarely did. Only in the presence of music did you feel truly happy. Music was made to make you feel something that nothing else could, to captivate and motivate, to trigger your passions! Now the only thing music did was talk about sex, drugs, pretty girls and their butts. It was a shame, society was doing so well.

After eating your magnificent sandwich, you sat on a tree stump, taking a look at the forest behind you. Nature always reminded you that there was something beautiful to the world. You grabbed your cello and bow and set up your music on the ground. Your parents hated the sound of your cello, saying that it was too loud, suggesting you play acoustic guitar instead. Violins were so common, it was time for someone to enjoy not having the lead. Which was what you did best.

Your string class was preparing for the Halloween concert, and thanks to Danny Elfman, strings were known for giving off that horror-movie atmosphere. In fact, you were doing a few pieces from some Tim Burton films. You flipped the pages in your binder to 'Kidnap the Sandy Claws', your fingers ready at the strings. Counting the four-by-four under your breath, you waited for your part.

Snap.

You froze, a shadow glaring above you. Slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes met by red orbs. You recognized him from school, but his name eluded you. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was one of the few people who acknowledged your presence. Staring at you, he sat down on the grassy floor, head in his hands. Finally, after several minutes of silent staring, you found the courage to speak. "Um, excuse me?"

He didn't respond, didn't move. He stared at your cello like it was an ancient artifact. He was waiting for you to play, you realised. You placed your fingers into position and played a G note. He perked up, his blonde hair swishing as he did. You played a B. He stood up, walking behind you. He grabbed your hair and pushed it to your other shoulder, adjusting your bangs before he sat back down. As confused as you were, you figured the only way to get rid of this guy was to abide by his wishes.

It started softly, drawing out every note. It was a piece you had written yourself, with the help of your cello teacher, of course. You decided to call it, 'Little Miss Misfit'. You knew what people thought of you, you weren't stupid. It expressed the feelings you tried so hard to hide. Your parents, like a typical teenager would say, didn't understand you. They didn't understand your passions, and why you weren't a straight-A student like mommy and daddy. They once threatened to give away your cello. You felt so angry you packed up your stuff and ran away. They found you in the park playing music, and gave a half-hearted apology that you had to forgive.

Your fingers moved faster up and down the instrument, the sound getting stronger as you pushed the bow back and forth. The boy now stood, singing. You heard him rapping in the halls before, but this was beautiful. He stood beside you, his eyes closed and mouth spewing out something that could not be described. He knew the words to your song, was this guy stalker of the year or what? "Oh, little miss misfit, it's okay, you can cry," He sang, his hand on your shoulder, "Feelings can't hurt you, there's no need to be shy..." He looked down at you, red eyes half-lidded, a spark shining in them. "Oh, little miss misfit, it's their loss," That wasn't the lyric, he was starting to make his own.

He moved around you, his focus on nothing else, "That they can't see what I see in you," tilting his head, he gave a small smile, "Hey, little miss misfit, give me a chance, would you please?" He took the bow out of your hands, time standing still, "Maybe, just maybe, I can make you see what I see..."

You spoke not a word, too shocked to pick up the heavy instrument that was now crushing your foot. This boy, this stranger, didn't need his voice to make you feel something. You forgot all about his creepy stalking. He didn't even know you, yet, it was like you had known each other forever. You noticed his dark glasses were in his pocket. He had gotten so many detentions for ignoring that rule. So, why now?

Pushing himself off the ground, he stuck out his hand to you.

"Hi, I'm Dave, nice to meet you."