#oh btw middle icon was made by copy-of-a-cheeto!!

[creepling]

NO MORE MR NIETZCHE - CHAPTER ONE

MASTERLIST. next chapter.

request: "could i request reader comforting dwayne hoover after he learns he can’t fly? and maybe a little something where when he starts talking reader gets so happy to hear his voice? thank you!! <3" (- @toastybuggy)

pairing: dwayne hoover x gn!reader

word count: 1.7K

cw: full of fluff, yeey.

You were the neighbour that was always around the Hoover family. When they went on their road trip to California you hadn't seen them in a couple of days. Your parents were never around the house. They were always working long hours. And when they had some free time, they spent it on dinner dates and weekend trips. Ever since you became a teenager you were practically raising yourself. Which meant any free time you had or any time you had to put food in your system you paid a visit to the Hoover family. In a way, your parents took advantage of the Hoover's generosity.

"Hey, honey, your father and I are away tonight. You can have dinner at the Hoover's, yeah?"

"Sweetie, we're away for the weekend. We talked with Mrs Hoover, and she's happy to have you stay with them. Have fun!"

Sometimes they wouldn't even say it to your face. They would pack their bags and leave a note on the fridge, thinking adding a smiley face would make the situation less neglective. If the Hoover family were horrible people, you'd hate it. But you adored them. Yeah, they had their quirks, but their household environment was always more enjoyable than the house you grew up in.

You missed Dwayne the most when you found out they were going to California. Being the same age meant you were automatically paired together and destined to be childhood best friends. When he took his vow of silence nine months ago, you were supportive, but you would be lying if you said you didn't miss hearing his voice. He still expressed his dry humour through writing, but it wasn't the same as hearing it. Surprisingly, his muteness didn't take a toll on your friendship. The thing that made you worry was his behaviour. He told you he wanted to be mute as an act of discipline, but deep down, you knew he did it because he was unhappy. Refusing to speak meant Dwayne could bury his anger towards the world deep within and not cause a fuss. It was that side to him that made you worry. One day he might lose control and completely shut down. The thought of that happening raised concern in your loyalty to him.

On Sunday afternoon, you were taking the garbage out when you noticed the familiar yellow Volkswagen bus parked in the Hoover's driveway. The second you saw it, you rushed to the Hoover front door and knocked eagerly.

"Get the door, Olive!" You heard a familiar voice cry through the walls.

The door opened, and someone half your size tackled you with a hug. You looked down and saw Olive smile ear to ear.

"Hey, pocket rocket. How was Cali?" You said, ruffling her hair.

"Yeah . . . a lot happened," Olive said, a hesitant look on her face. "But I blew away the judges at Little Miss Sunshine!"

"That's great! So did you wi-"

"Are you here to see Dwayne?" Olive interrupted, poking you playfully in the stomach. All you could do was narrow your eyes and hide a smile. Ever since Olive could talk and have thoughts, she had this whole fantasy that you and Dwayne would get married so you could be her sibling-in-law. It was hard to tell if she dreamed this because she looked up to you or if she was an inquisitive child and could tell you've liked Dwayne ever since you were kids. You begged God it was the first option.

Before answering her question, her hand grabbed you by the t-shirt and dragged you to his room. You stumbled behind her, greeting Mr and Mrs Hoover as you entered the house while giving a brief welcome to Frank, the uncle you hadn't met but heard a lot about. The only person you didn't see was Grandpa Ed, which was surprising since he's usually the first to greet you any time you come around.

Olive nudged you to Dwayne's bedroom door. She had a suspicious look on her face as if she knew something that you didn't. You ruffled her hair again before entering Dwayne's room and closing the door.

Something was . . . different. As Dwayne relaxed on his bed, you noticed his room looked different. The bed cot you sleep in for sleepovers is folded out to your right. The room looked like it had just been cleaned, Dwayne's usual clutter items in neat places. The biggest change you noticed was the wall; the Nietzsche tapestry was no longer there. You narrowed your eyes at Dwayne.

"Hey. So . . . how was the road trip?" You asked, suspicions high.

You studied Dwayne's body language, expecting him to do his regular communication and take the notepad and pen out of his pocket and scribble messy words, or read his facial expressions for an answer. Yet, he didn't move at all. All he did was stare at you contently.

His lips began to part.

"It was good."

Your eyes strained with bewilderment after hearing his voice—a mix of happiness and shock brewing in the pit of your stomach. You didn't know how to react, so you froze on the spot.

"You just . . . talked. You're talking-" Your words fumbled out your mouth.

"That's right," Dwayne said as if the last nine months didn't happen.

Then you remembered the change of his room, the absence of that freakish philosopher he loved. How he's sitting there, saying words. You now knew what the difference was.

"So, what about flight academy. Did- Did you get in? That's why you're talking?" Your words sounded frantic, trying to make sense of the situation. Dwayne, however, was acting calm and unbothered.

"No, I didn't get in. Turns out I'm colourblind. So . . . yeah," Dwayne furrowed his brows, the sound of his voice sounding alien in the perception of himself.

Your confusion dialled back after he confessed. Sadness pinged your side. You slowly walked towards Dwayne and sat next to him on the bed. You knew that you couldn't be a pilot if you're colourblind, you don't know where you found that out, but you knew. You never brought it up to Dwayne; you guessed he knew all these things from his extensive research. Seeing him crushed by reality and how he expressed it on his sullen face gave you the urge to hug him, but you kept your arms to your sides.

"That sucks," was all you could say, looking at Dwayne with a sympathetic gaze. "You wanted that so bad."

He nodded his head, letting out a stressed sigh. He confessed how he found out, how his grandpa passed away during the road trip, how Olive never won Little Miss Sunshine and how the family are banned from attending pageants in California. You chuckled at the last remark, as did Dwayne, but everything else he said took you back and made you think. That's a lot to go through in just a weekend.

You wanted to hug him so bad. He looked like he needed a hug. His shoulder grazed on yours, and you nudged it slightly, getting his attention. When he looked at you, a smile gradually appeared on your face.

"It's good to hear you talk again," you conceded, "I missed your voice."

Your words turned your cheeks scarlet, surprised by your vulnerability. Usually, your words were never sentimental; you were always reticent with how you expressed yourself. Dwayne was an exception, as it was hard to hold back your words of adoration for him. That was because you genuinely adored him. He was the one person in your life that you deeply cared about. You would do anything for him.

"It's good to talk again," He admitted, nodding his head.

Before long, you couldn't hold yourself back. Your arms lifted from your sides and immersed Dwayne in a hug. His body grew stiff, then eventually eased into you. He placed his hands behind your back in an awkward manner. It didn't bother you how inept he acted. You were just content with getting the chance to hold him. Dwayne might have pushed you off and deprived himself of your affection if you had attempted this on any other day throughout your friendship.

Nevertheless, the road trip with his family made a change in him. It taught him that it is okay to accept people's endearments and return the favour. That's how you grow bonds. And Dwayne was finished with pushing people away. He realised at that moment as he held you he would be distraught if you weren't in his life.

"You're the coolest person I've ever met," Dwayne professed, his chin resting on your shoulder. "I always wanted to tell you that."

You smiled like a fool, your arms growing tighter around him. "Even cooler than Nietzsche?"

Dwayne leaned out of your embrace slightly to look you dead in the eyes. "You are way cooler than Nietzsche."

The two of you confided in a full-hearted laugh. As he looked at you, Dwayne eventually noticed how flushed your cheeks were, wondering if his complexion showed his demure just as it did on you. He ruffled your hair which initiated a play fight, which was something you usually had the upper-hand in. You gave a mocking shocked expression which had Dwayne attempting to conceal a smile. You poked your fingers into Dwayne's sides that you knew were sensitive, causing him to squirm and jerk you away. As you both mucked around and filled the room with laughs and yelps, you crash-landed beside each other on the bed once you grew out of breath. You stared at the grainy, off-white ceiling as your chest rise and fell.

Dwayne gazed at you with this newfound glory as you stared obliviously, the construction of your facial features looking different in his stimulated perception. He had thoughts about you for years that he kept buried within him, refusing to confide in them due to his nihilism. However, he couldn't deny it anymore as his appeal intensified. You were gorgeous.

Dwayne followed your gaze, hoping the grooves in the plastered ceiling would distract him from what he was about to do next. He reached his hand towards you, finding your fingers and trailing his touch into the palm of your hand. As he laced your fingers into his own, your eyes enlightened. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you failed miserably at concealing a grin.

You gently squeezed his hand, giving him mind to your enjoyment. Even if it shaped you into a sheepish, flushed up mess.