Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert and you really wish you had been watching where you were going.

You're sprawled out on the ground, on your ass. Your books are scattered around you. Your glasses are askew, but you can still see enough to notice the guy you ran into is also on the ground. He's also on his ass, leaning back on one arm. The other hand is adjusting a pair of aviator sunglasses before running through his blonde hair.

It takes only a second for you to realize who he is. Your mouth falls open slightly as a feeling of dread wells up inside you as you realize you're in deep shit.

"Hey, retard, watch where you're going!" It's not the blonde who's yelling. It's one of the guys standing around him.

His voice snaps you back to your senses. You adjust your glasses, looking down at the floor. You close your mouth and rock forward onto your feet. You scramble to pick up your books and things before the situation can escalate. The others are already saying things, but you ignore them, just trying to abscond as fast as possible. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of them offer a hand to the blonde. He pushes it away and stands on his own, brushing off his pants.

Once all your things are in your hands, you stand. You slowly back away, still looking at the ground.

"Where'd you think you're going?" One of the other football players asks. He steps forward and his large hand lands heavily on your shoulder. You flinch and he pushes you toward the blonde. You stumble and barely manage to avoid falling all over again. You end up standing right in front of him. "Well? Apologize!" The larger boy says, his hand still on your shoulder. He's standing behind you, blocking your escape route.

You look around frantically, searching for a way out. You don't find one. They're surrounding you, snickering and sneering. Your gut clenches. People are passing by with no more than a curious glance. Some of them look at you with pity, but no one bothers to help.

"I said apologize!" He squeezes your shoulder painfully and you wince. Snickers reach your ears. It's not fair! They know you can't speak. They just enjoy tormenting you. You gulp and bite your bottom lip, looking up at the blonde warily.

He still hasn't said anything. In fact, he doesn't have any sort of expression on his face. He's just staring at you. Well, you assume he's staring. You can't really tell with his sunglasses on. The others are laughing and you fidget under the weight of his unseen gaze. You look back at the ground, focusing on your toes, waiting and hoping that they'll let you go.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" More laughter.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself to be hit or thrown to the ground or something. They always do something. Especially if you're alone.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but I must as you to unhand that fellow there."

Your eyes fly open and your head snaps up at the familiar voice. The hand on your shoulder is suddenly gone, the bigger boy backing away as the comforting weight of Jake's arm falls across your shoulders. You look up at him with relief and gratitude plain on your face. But he's not looking at you. He's focused on the group of football players in front of you.

"That's better. Now if you'll excuse us, we have a class to get to." He turns you around and maneuvers you through the crowd, away from those who bully you. Jake's always been there to save you from bullies. You're forever indebted to him for that.

As you walk away, you glance over your shoulder. The others are already walking away, grumbling. But the blonde kid is still standing there, staring at you. You mouth the word "sorry" in his direction. You think you see an eyebrow raise over his sunglasses before you round a corner and he disappears from sight.

"Devil fucking dickens! Do those bulging bafoons ever give up?" His arm is still resting comfortingly and protectively over your shoulders. You don't mind. You appreciate the gesture. "Good thing I saw you there and wasn't a second too late!" You look up at him and give him a toothy smile, showing your appreciation.

He walks you all the way to class and lets you go only after giving you a tight squeeze. Then he trots away to his own class, waving enthusiastically over his shoulder. You wave back, a smile still on your lips. Jake is one of your oldest friends and one of your protectors during school. If it wasn't for him, you'd be picked on a lot more. He's not afraid to get physical when coming to your defense. "Fisticuffs" he calls it.

You hurry into your last class of the day, English, and sit in your usual seat at the front of the room. You set your books down on your desk and sit back, waiting for class to begin. Because of your inability to speak, you're never asked to read aloud in class and you're never called on to answer questions. You allow your mind to wander.

Without meaning to, your mind wanders straight to the blonde football player you knocked over. It had been an accident. You'd rounded a corner too quickly, without paying much attention to where you were going, and ended up running right into him. He's a good head taller than you, so you're surprised he fell too. You must have caught him off guard.

You don't know much about him. You don't even remember his name. You think maybe it starts with a D? You do know that he was new at the beginning of this year, and a senior like you. He strolled into your school, tried out for football, and became the brand new football superstar over night. He hangs out with all the guys who've given you hell for the past three years. Even if that hell mostly takes the form of verbal abuse nowadays.

When you were a freshman, they weren't afraid to push you around and be more violent. Especially after they found out you couldn't speak. All through middle school you were bullied and forced to do others' homework because you couldn't say no. You kept it a secret from your friends. Once you got to high school, they found out and weren't going to have any of it. Together, they've effectively scared off your tormentors for the most part. Now they only attack you verbally and only dare to touch you when you're alone.

You have the strongest friends ever and you've been able to enjoy the past three years because of them.

When the blonde kid merged flawlessly into the football crowd, you thought that would be just another person to hate you. You even feared that maybe some new blood would stir them up into starting trouble again. But whenever they bullied you, he never joined in. He just stood by and stared. Sometimes, if the verbal insults were going on and on, he would just turn around and walk away. More often than not, the others would follow him. You're not sure if he does that to help you or because he's bored. You think it might be the second option.

When the bell rings, you gather up your things and leave the room, hurrying toward your locker. Jade and Karkat are already there, arguing as usual.

"John!" Jade says, waving as you approach. You smile and wave back. Karkat mumbles a greeting before crossing his arms over his chest and looking away.

You shift your books into one arm when you reach your locker. Making eye contact with Jade, you point between her and Karkat, then point your two index fingers at each other, swiping them at each other while doing your best Karkat angry face. You then hold your free hand out to the side, palm up, and wiggle your middle finger, your eyebrows furrowing.

"Why are you arguing?"

She rolls her eyes. "Karkat wants to watch another one of his cheesy and terrible romance movies tonight."

"And she wants to watch another one of her fucking god awful action films!" He says, cutting into the conversation.

Jade puts her hands on her hips. "At least there're interesting to watch!"

"There's no fucking plot!"

You sigh and turn to your locker, doing the combination with practiced ease. Jade and Karkat continue to argue next to you, debating the pros and cons of romance movies verses action movies at a loud volume. There's also a lot of flailing, wild gestures, and cursing. You ignore them both and reach into the depth of your now open locker, pulling out your backpack. You shove the books you need for weekend homework inside, and put the others on the shelf in your locker.

It's not until you're double checking that you realize something's missing. You frown and check again. You have your biology notebook, your english notebook, your history notebook, and even your math notebook. But your personal notebook is missing. The one you used to communicate with your friends.

You sigh heavily. You must have dropped it and left it when you ran into that blonde kid. Crap. You hope they didn't pick it up. There were a lot of personal conversations in there. Nothing bad, but still personal.

You rub your eyes in frustration and sling your backpack onto your back. You follow Jade and Karkat out to the parking lot. You try not to worry about your missing notebook. Today is friday and tonight is your monthly movie night with your friends. You can always get a new notebook. It's time to spend some quality time with quality friends.

In the end, you win the argument and you all end up watching Ghost Rider. There's enough action to keep Jade and Jake pacified. Rose and Kanaya watch in polite silence and Karkat grumbles the entire time.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider and sometimes you really regret listening to your brother.

Try out for the football team, he said. No one's faster than you, he said. Instant coolness, he said. Ironic as fuck, he said.

Yeah, okay, you did it for the irony. You could have been the cool kid even if you hadn't joined up with a team of meatheads for a sport that you don't care about. You could have been the new kid, strange, silent, and mysterious. But no. Somehow your brother convinced you that was too predictable. You needed to do something ironic. And what was more ironic than a Strider joining the league of jocks on a football team?

You swear your brother came in his pants when you told him you made it.

And then he preceded to piss himself from laughing.

Dirk says it'll be awesome. You'll live the stereotypical high school life you see repeated on so many shitty movies and TV shows. You'll be the guy all the girls want and all the dudes want to be. You'll rule the school with your new found instant popularity. You'll get the girl you want. You'll go to parties where kids think it's cool to get drunk off their parents' stash. Then you'll graduate with your usual good grades, move on to college, and leave behind jock life forever.

You might even get crowned prom king. You think your brother would have a heart attack if you did. The whole thing is as ironic as you could possibly get, fitting easily into a role that is the complete opposite of who you are just to fulfill an overused cliche. You didn't even know what a running back was until you got the position. You're still not entirely sure how the game works. You just do what they tell you to. Your brother thinks it's hilarious. You did too. But now you're getting pretty sick of it.

For one thing, you only thought about the games and winning and being celebrated. You had totally forgotten that sports teams practice. You hate practice. You hate wearing all your heavy all gear and running around in the sun hitting other dudes. Everyone else is so much more into than you are. Luckily not only are you fast, but you're able to stop on a fucking dime and go in a different direction. Your speed and agility is unmatched and puts your teammates in awe. Because of this, you're able to slack off during practices. Your coach hates it, and you give him either the silent treatment or some sass, but hey, they need you. He wouldn't dream of putting you on the bench.

The problem is mostly your shades. You can't wear them with your tight ass helmet gripping your head and shit. And there's no way in hell the first people to see your eyes since you left the foster care system are gonna be a bunch of jocks. So you convinced your brother to buy you some colored contacts. They irritate the shit out of your eyes, but you only wear them during practices and games. They make your eyes a dull, boring brown.

And if all that wasn't obnoxious enough, apparently as the new team star, you automatically get a spot in their little clique. It's a clique reserved for jocks, friends of jocks that are deemed cool enough, cheerleaders, and girls deemed hot enough. They're all arrogant, rude, loud, and obnoxious, but you can't escape them. You're not the leader by any means, but you're apparently cool enough that they like to stick around you and follow you everywhere.

The girls of the group are all over you. Everyone wants a piece of the hot new kid. Which would be cool if you actually liked girls. You don't, but that's hardly common knowledge. Instead you just brush them aside and act like an ass. Somehow that just makes them try harder. Maybe one of the reasons the dudes hang around you is to pick up your rejected pile of females.

So you pretty much hate jock life. It's too loud and arrogant. People aren't afraid to come up and talk to you or touch you. You hate being touched randomly like that. After a while of cold stares from behind your shades, they stopped the touching thing. But you'd still rather go back to the life of a stoic, mysterious, cool kid. At least then you had peace and quiet.

But Striders don't quit and you're just as stubborn as your brother, so you know you won't give up. You'll ride out this football thing to the end of the season and then disengage yourself from that crowd. Probably become a loner until you graduate. But you're okay with that. If you stay with the meatheads for too much longer, you know you'll go insane.

Just a couple more months until the end of the season. You can do this.

But as you watch the dorky kid walk away, you start to wonder if it's really worth it.

You've noticed him before. He's in a couple of your classes. He sits at the front while you sit in the back. He's got this messy black hair and skin that seems to have a natural tan, but he's still pretty pale. He wears these square, black rimmed glasses that could be considered hipster glasses if they were just a little bit bigger.

You know his name is John Egbert. And no, that's not because you stalk him or anything. You just pay attention sometimes when the teacher calls roll.

At first he was just another dorky kid in a public school. You noticed that the teachers never called on him in class, even though most of the time he seemed to be paying attention. Whenever he walked by your cliche alone, they would all yell things at him. You assume it's because he's clearly a dork and jocks pick on dorks. You never asked why him specifically. That would mean actually talking to them.

He never says anything in return. When he's with his friends however, they always say something. The tall tan guy with the weird accent is always polite, even though venom drips from his words. The small tan girl who has to be the other guy's sister, always yells back with her sassy don't-take-shit attitude. The short angry looking dude never passes up the opportunity to yell. The others are more quiet, but the looks they send the jocks could kill.

So his silence and over protective possy make him stand out from other dorks, but that's about it. Well that, and his smile.

You rarely get to see it. He's always looking down and avoiding making eye contact with you and your obnoxious group. He's always seemed timid to you. Quiet and timid. But once you were in the cafeteria and saw him in the comfort of his own friends. His smile was dazzling. It was such a drastic difference from the guy you were used to seeing. Your eyes started following him whenever he was around. You stared at him during class.

You were curious, that's all. It's not like you were developing a small crush on the guy. You can't imagine ever liking someone with the last name Egbert.

Then there you were, walking to class with a group of your meathead followers, when John rounds the corner and knocks you both on your asses.

You were totally prepared to brush it off and go about your business. But your "friends" weren't going to have any of that. They took advantage of the fact he was alone to hassle him. You said nothing, as usual. You didn't like to encourage them picking on the kid, but you also knew better than to go against them. So you usually just walked away. But this time you couldn't walk away. With him standing so close, you noticed a few things.

One, he's about a head shorter than you.

Two, his eyes are the brightest color blue you've ever seen.

Three, you were far too fascinated with him nervously chewing his bottom lip.

Luckily your shades hid where your eyes were actually staring. He never said anything and he looked like a trapped animal. You felt bad for him. You should have just walked away and the jocks would have followed you. But you couldn't stop staring at him. You've never been that close before. But then it didn't matter because his tall friend was there, scooping him out of danger and whisking him away.

You watched them go, totally not wishing you could have been the one to save him, when suddenly John turned around and mouthed the word "sorry" to you. It was so unexpected, you couldn't help the small smirk that curved your lips.

You were about to turn around and leave when you noticed it. He had left one of his notebooks in his scramble to get away. Without thinking too much, you pick it up and head to class.

You spend the class thinking about the dark haired dork who knocked you on your ass. After school, you head straight to the parking lot. A few of the guys from your team shout at you, waving and saying things like "see you tonight, man!" It's a friday in the middle of football season, which means you have a game. Tonight is an away game, which means you have to get back to the school earlier than if it was a home game. Then you get to ride on a bus with a bunch of hyped up jocks. Fun.

Rose is already at the truck, waiting for you.

She gives you a nod in greeting and you return it, unlocking your truck. It's nothing fancy, but it's not shit either. Just a simple bright red truck with two front seats, and a space behind them that had two little seats that could barely be called that. Rose slides into the passenger seat and you climb into the driver's seat.

"Have a good day at school?" She asks as you turn the key and the engine rolls over.

"Same as always. Testing my sanity as I deal with a bunch of arrogant douche bags. Seriously, Lalonde, I think I'm a masochist." You say, backing out of the spot and turning your trunk toward the main road.

"My office is always open if you need to talk about your method of self-harm." She says, carefully placing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a small smirk on her lips. When you first showed up, people honestly thought you two were related. Some of them probably still do.

You snort and roll your eyes. "So you can pick apart my brain and pull all your phycological bullshit on me? I don't think so." Sometimes it's nice talking to Rose about issues, but you really have to be in the mood for a feelings jam to allow it.

You've known Rose for a couple of years now. Your brother met her sister in college. Since the two of you didn't have any other family, Roxy always invited you to her parents' home in Washington for the holidays. You always went. You think maybe Dirk felt bad about not being able to provide you with a normal Christmas for the majority of your life. Either way, you both enjoyed yourselves in the Lalonde household. You and Rose got along in a quieter fashion than your louder older siblings. After the holidays when you went back to New York, you and Rose kept in touch through Pesterchum.

Roxy and Rose's mom is some kind of famous scientist. After Dirk graduated and was looking for a place to go, she was asked to take a year long tour in Europe. Roxy was going into grad school and couldn't move back home, and Rose refused to move away from where she'd made friends. Eventually they asked Dirk if he would like to live in their family home and be a guardian for Rose. He didn't say yes until he asked you first. You said you didn't mind, so off to Washington you both went.

So for the first time since you escaped the foster care system, you're living in a house and not an apartment. There's also a girl living with you, so no swords in the fridge.

The house is about a ten minute ride from the school. You and Rose have playful, snippy banter the entire way. You enjoy it. You tend to bottle yourself up during school hours to avoid talking to those who wouldn't understand your sense of humor. When you reach the house, you park next to Dirk's car in the driveway and you both trudge into the house.

Dirk's not in the living room, which usually means he's locked away in the garage, working on his robotics or something. Rose goes straight to her room and you go to yours without another word. You sit at your computer, open up your browser, and start opening up your usual tabs. It only entertains you for so long. Soon your eyes are drifting to your messenger bag that you had left abandoned at your feet.

You pick it up and fish out the notebook you'd picked up earlier. If you weren't already certain that it belonged to John, his name is written in his somewhat messy-but-readable handwriting on the top right corner of the cover. You set the notebook on the desk in front of you, dropping your messenger bag to the floor, and sit back to stare at it. It's a regular school notebook, metal spiral, college-ruled, one hundred sheets, blue. In your mind, John seems to be the kind of guy to label his notebooks with the class subject. This one doesn't have any label other than his name. Perhaps that's why you're drawn to it.

But you're also hesitant. Like peeking at the notebook is an invasion of privacy. It's just a notebook. What could possibly be inside? Probably school related things. But it's the first insight into the strange quiet kid with a killer smile. This is a monumental moment. This shouldn't be taken lightly. This is…this is stupid. It's just a notebook. Open it already.

You lean forward and do just that.

What you find is not at all what you expected. You expected something school related, maybe with some doodles in the margins. Instead you get pages and pages of what seems to be conversations. They're not all on the lines. The words and sentences are written all over, sideways, diagonally across the page, upside down.

John's handwriting is the most prominent, but there's others in there too. Sometimes he's talking with someone else, like writing notes in class. Other times it's just his hand writing, but he's obviously talking to someone else, they're just not writing it down in the same notebook. It's strange. You've never seen him writing notes in the classes you have with him. And your eyes often wander to him.

You flip through the pages, skimming the words on the pages. He's just as much of a dork as you thought he was, but he's a lot more talkative with his words. He writes a lot, about all sorts of things. You wonder why you've never heard him talk like this. You learn a little about what he likes and about the personalities of his friends. You learn that tonight is his movie night with his friends and while you're off playing a sport you hate, he'll be doing that. You learn that he's a crazy Nicolas Cage fan. And that he likes terrible movies.

Part of you feels guilty for the invasion of privacy, but the majority of you doesn't care. You're already sucked into his written world.

The notebook is only halfway full. You've made your decision before you even reach the end of what's written. When you reach the first blank page, you're already reaching for one of the pens on your desk. You pick a red one, because no one else has written in red in his notebook.

You're not sure why, but you want to leave your mark. You want him to know you exist and that you're not some dumb jock who wants to make his life hell. You want to make him smile like his friends do. It's stupid. It's totally stupid and you're not sure why you feel this way, but you do. There's no stopping it. Before you can begin to reconsider, you're already drawing. Too late now.

You draw several doodles of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, your own personal comic characters. You even write the url for your comic blog under one of them. You make fun of his love for Nicolas Cage. You draw a comic on the side of you both in your ironically bad comic style, you being the hero returning his notebook. You have a cape and he has a ridiculously pointy princess hat. You started out with a vague plan, but soon you were just doodling like you would on your own notes. You don't come out of your doodling daze until the page is completely full of your handwriting and drawings.

For a moment you start to panic, thinking that maybe this is a bad idea. Then you push that thought aside. Striders don't do regret. You sign the bottom right corner of the page with your name in as fancy cursive as you can manage. Then, under that, you write your chumhandle in very legible print. You stare at it. It was on a whim. You're not sure if he'll actually get the balls to message you. You don't think he will, but that doesn't stop you from trying.

Before you can think too much about that, you slam the notebook shut and shove it back into your bag.

Back to reality. You have a game to get ready for. Hopefully Dirk went to the grocery store and you can actually eat something before leaving. You get up and head toward the kitchen, leaving all thoughts of John Egbert behind.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and you would be nervous if you weren't, well, a Strider.

Your brother taught you better than to show such weak emotions.

But you suppose you're feeling a little anxious. If you were anyone else, you'd be fidgeting, sweating, stuttering, shifting your weight, and other shit like that. When you get anxious, you don't start moving, you stop. You freeze up, get all stiff. You're currently trying to maintain a Strider swagger without looking like your knees locked up.

You ended up winning the game on Friday. Big surprise. You had managed to keep Egbert off your mind until the bus ride back. Everyone was loud, obnoxious, and hyped up on winning adrenaline. You were still and silent, staring out the window from behind your shades. The colored contacts irritated your eyes, but all your could think about was how John's looked from behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

Saturday passed with a flurry of homework, mixing some beats, sword practice with your brother in the back yard, and watching and analyzing movies with Dirk and Rose. She fits in surprisingly well with you and your bro. She brings a fresh perspective to the conversation. Sometimes you and your bro gang up on her, sometimes they both team up against you, and sometimes you and her ban together to take him down. Sometimes none of you see eye-to-eye. Either way, she can keep up in Strider conversation, she deals with Dirk's bullshit, and she can cook. Who knew having a pseudo-sister could be so awesome?

The only time it isn't awesome is when she's picking your brain apart. You can very rarely hide things from Dirk. He knows you better than you know yourself. He practically raised you your entire life, even if he's only been your guardian for five years. But unless it's important, he doesn't poke his nose in things. If something's bothering you, he doesn't ask you what it is. He knows you'll talk if you want to talk.

Lalonde is the exact opposite. She needs to know. She feeds on it. She always knows when something different happens. Always. You've only lived with her for a few months and yet she knows all your giveaways. And when she gets the scent, she just doesn't give up. She pokes at you and prods and then sits back and waits for you to go to her. She knows something's up, but you're going to avoid telling her about John for as long as possible. You're not even sure what your thoughts on the dork are. And you're sure as hell not going to let her tell you.

Sunday you kept looking at your bag, thinking about the notebook, while you tried to waste hours at the computer. You had to get out of the house. So you took your nice camera, your car keys, and headed out. You drove for at least an hour before stopping at a park that looked decent enough. You wandered through the trees, over the playground equipment, hopped a few streams, all the while taking pictures.

It isn't something you do often. Definitely not something you brag about. Not that your pictures are bad, they're just not something you share with others. Nearly everything about you was given to you by your brother. You both trained with swords together. He taught you how to use the turntables and introduced you to music. He taught you how to master your poker face. You learned how to be cool from him. You picked up irony from him. You got your sense of humor from him. You're not exactly like your brother, but you still share a lot of things in common with him.

Photography is something that is yours and yours alone. It soothes you. It's calming. You can lose yourself in it and not worry about anything else. You can just be in your own little world and leave all thoughts behind. You take pictures to get away for a while, to take a break. Your camera and your pictures are yours, and you're reluctant to share it with anyone else.

You stayed in the park until your memory card was full. When you got home, you felt a lot less on edge and was able to sit around with your brother, watching one of his cheesy anime movies without your mind drifting to a certain notebook that belonged to a certain boy.

But when you woke up this morning, you were anxious. Rose noticed, of course, and asked you what was bothering you. You just shoved an ego waffle in your mouth, slung your bag over your shoulder, and headed out to your truck. She continued to pester you the whole ride. You stayed silent and turned up your music to drown her out.

"You'll come to me when you're ready." She said, a knowing smirk on her face as she slid out of the car when you got to school.

So now here you are, walking down the halls of the school, trying to fill your legs with natural swagger. You think you pull it off for the most part, but you can tell your back is too straight, your shoulders too stiff. You know from observation that John's locker is in the same hallway as yours, just on the other end. So you stop by yours, do your combination with jerking movements, get the books you'll need, and shove them in your messenger bag. The slam of your locker sounds oddly ominous.

Several people try to say hi to you as you make your way down the hallway, but you're ignoring them. You're facing forward. You're pretty sure your walk is normal. Behind your shades, your eyes are on the black haired boy standing in front of an open locker. He doesn't see you approach, and if he does, he doesn't pay you any mind. Why would he notice you? You're just another jock who roams the hallways.

Today you're wearing tight black jeans that you know make you look good, a gray t-shirt with "Coca-cola" written across the front in red, your usual red zip-up hoodie, a pixelated broken record on the back, and your worn-but-loved red converses. It's a simple outfit and you totally didn't spend an extra fifteen minutes trying to pick it out.

You come to a stop behind him. He's rummaging around, trying to fit his backpack into the depths of his metal box. He's one of those kids that carry their books. You just carry around your bag with your stuff in it. A Strider wouldn't be caught dead with books in his arms like a dork.

You shove your hands in the pockets of your hoodie, make sure your poker face is firmly in place, and loudly clear your throat. "Yo, Egbert."

The kid nearly jumps out of his skin. He jumps and spins, his books clutched tightly against his chest. His back is pressed against the locker next to his. When he sees you, his eyes widen. His glasses have fallen down his nose, so he's staring up at you over the tops of them. His mouth is hanging open slightly.

He looks both terrified and utterly shocked.

You realize this is not only the first time you've talk to him, but the first time he's heard your voice. Whenever he's around, your group is too, and you rarely say anything around them.

You're suddenly very aware of your voice, including the subtle Texan accent that's stayed with you after all these years. Trying not to be self-conscious, you smirk a little. "Calm your tits, dude. I'm not here for your lunch money or anything." You try to make light of the situation, but he's still not relaxing. His shock is starting to dissipate, but it's replaced with suspicion. "But seriously, no need to be so fucking terrified, I'm just trying to fulfill my good karma quota for the day."

He closes his mouth and gulps visibly. One hand raises to push his glasses back onto his nose. He's still not saying anything. Dammit. This isn't going as well as you'd hoped.

You sigh and pull your hands from your pockets, only to freeze when he openly flinches. Like you were going to hit him or some shit. You pause with your hands in the air, looking at him with your eyebrows raised. "Dude, chill." You say after a tense moment of silence. "I'm gonna reach for my bag now. Try not to piss yourself." God fuck. You're trying to joke around but from the look on his face, you're coming off as a major douche.

When you move, you do so a little more slowly. Geez, it's like trying not to startle a bunny or something. You look down under the pretense of shuffling through your bag. But you already know exactly where the notebook is. You hope maybe looking away from him will calm him down. You grab the notebook and pull it out. You look back up in time to see his eyes widen again when they see his notebook.

When you lift your head, you toss it a little, shifting your hair. Did you just do a hair flip? Oh god, you ARE a douche. You hold the blue notebook out to him. "You dropped this the other day." You say as a way of explanation. He's staring at it, then looks up to you, then back down at the notebook. He still hasn't reached for it. "Jesus fuck, it's not like I booby-trapped the thing. Give me some credit here." You say, sounding a little more snappy than you meant to.

He winces and quickly reaches out to take the notebook from you, adding it to the pile he's already got in his arms. He's looking at the ground, avoiding eye contact. Yeah, okay, that's cool. This isn't at all like you imagined. You were hoping for at least a thank you or something. You shove your hands back in your pockets, resisting the urge to shift uncomfortably.

"See ya later, Egbert." You say, turning on your heel and walking away. Though your face remains impassive, you spend the next few hours mentally beating yourself up. You blew it. He thinks you're a jock douche. Striders don't do regret, but you're definitely regretting doodling in his notebook. You should have just played it cool and not messed with his stuff.

When you get to biology, the first class you have with him, he stubbornly avoids looking at you, even though you stroll in right before the bell rings and walk right past his desk. You stare at him all though the class, but he never once opens that notebook. You're not sure you want to be around when he does.

==>

Your name is John Egbert and you're kind of in a daze right now.

For one, you heard that new jock kid talk. Like, you heard his voice. You've never heard his voice before. He's always quiet, never says anything, too cool for words. Something like that. But you heard it. And not only did you hear him talk, but he was talking to YOU.

For two, he knows your name. The new blonde kid knows your name. Sure, you're in two classes together, but you never thought he'd know your name! You don't even know his! Which makes you feel a little bad, because the guy brought you back your notebook and you don't even know his name.

Which brings up point number three: he brought back your notebook. He picked it up and held onto it all weekend. Okay, so that wasn't a big deal. He just left it in his bag all weekend. But he went out of his way to give it back to you. Like someone nice would do. Like someone who cared. Like someone who's friends don't pick on you everyday.

You admit, you're more than a little suspicious. This could be another plot to pick on you. Send in the new kid, make you drop your guard, then BAM they'll get you. You're not sure how, but it's possible. Right? Right. Can't trust him. He's one of them. Just because he showed you a little kindness doesn't mean he wants to be friends or anything.

Maybe you're just thinking too much into this. But the fact remains that he spoke to you and he's kind of…normal. Which is weird.

He's not at all what you expected. If he was going to return a notebook, you expected him to just kind of thrust it at you and walk away. But he actually stopped to talk to you. You think he might have been trying to joke around with you, but his comments hit too close to home with the whole bullying thing. You're not sure if he was being genuine or condescending.

But no matter what he said or what he meant or how weird it was, your dad raised you right and you really wish you could have said thank you. Despite being in complete shock and confusion with the whole situation, you probably would have spoke up and thanked him. At least you would have if you could talk. But you can't so you didn't. You couldn't even ask him for his name.

Sometimes being mute can be a real pain in the ass.

Most of the time you don't mind it. You can communicate with your friends and family. Some of them know sign language and the others are so used to reading your body language and the words you write down. You're used to it. You're happy. It's just part of your life. The problem arises when you're trying to talk to someone new. It's always awkward and more often than not they just get frustrated with you. You're certain this new kid will be no different.

It's okay though, because you already have the best friends anyone could ask for.

Currently those friends are gathering at your usual lunch table. Jade's already there when you arrive and she waves enthusiastically at you from across the room. You smile at her as you sit down, putting your bag lunch on the table. You sit across from her, as usual. Out of all your friends, Jade is the most enthusiastic about sign language.

When you were a baby, you got really sick. You had a terrible fever and some kind of infection in your throat. Your dad was scared you were going to die, but he's always been a little dramatic with his worry. You recovered in the end and have lived a healthy life since, but your vocal chords were damaged beyond repair. Maybe if your family had a lot of money they could have found a surgery to help, but that wasn't the case.

So you grew up without a voice. Once your dad realized you'd never be able to talk, he found the next best way for you to communicate: sign language. You learned as you grew and your dad learned with you. Even your older sister, Jane, was eager to learn so she could talk to her little brother. They still talk around you, which is fine. You can still hear. But you can sign back and they can actually understand you. You're forever grateful to your family for being so supportive.

Jade and Jake have lived next door for as long as you can remember. They're cousins, both raised by their grandparents. They were both famous explorers and very eccentric people. Jake was born in England before moving to the United States with his grandparents. You're not sure where Jade was born, but you think it was on an island somewhere. They owned the house next door, but they still loved to travel. They came and went every few months, but when they were home, they spent as much time as possible with you and your sister.

When you were eleven and Jade was ten, her grandpa decided to settle down for a while. Jade stayed with him, while their grandma and Jake continued to travel. They were home schooled for their childhood, and when Jade settled down to stay, she was enrolled in public school with you. Jake continued to be home schooled by his grandma. They didn't settle in to stay until he was sixteen and he started high school. So despite being two years older than you, you're in the same grade.

Jade has practically lived at your house since her and her grandpa settled in. She was eager to learn ASL in order to communicate with you and your family worked hard to teach her.

Rose and Kanaya also know sign. They rarely sign back to you, but at least they understand when you talk to them. Karkat knows a few signs, but he gets too frustrated to learn much more. Jake also knows a few, but he tends to get bored easily and doesn't have the patience to learn. But he's perfectly fine waiting for you to write stuff down and he's very accommodating. You don't mind. You know learning another language can be difficult. You're just happy he puts up with you.

There's also Vriska. She's not exactly one of your best friends, but she's nice enough. She kind of rescued you from being bullied once in eighth grade and now feels like she has to save you whenever she can. She has her own group of friends and doesn't hang out with you really, but she'll greet you in the hallways and in class, usually with a headlock or a playful punch. She's loud and kind of mean to others, but she's cares and she doesn't bully you. So you count her as a friend. She also has no desire to learn sign, but that's okay, because she likes to do the talking anyway.

Your lunch bag is open and you're pulling out your ham and cheese sandwich when Karkat and Jake sit down, Karkat next to Jade and Jake next to you. They're arguing about school lunches, Karkat with his usual anger and Jake with good natured banter. But once they sit down, Jake turns his attention to you.

"Good afternoon, mate. How's your day been?" He asks, already starting on the food on his tray. You're not really sure what it is. Jake always tries the more exotic food the cafeteria offers, while Karkat sticks with the more safe options of pizza or burgers.

You hold up a finger, silently telling him to hold on while you reach for your blue notebook. You made sure to bring it with you to lunch like you always do. You take the pen from the metal spiral, where you shoved it earlier, and open the notebook. You quickly find a page that has a big enough blank space and write: "Same old stuff." You decide not to tell them about the new kid just yet. That's a more lengthy story and it's easier to type on pesterchum than write out. "What is that?" You underline 'that' and turn the notebook toward Jake, pointing at what you just wrote, then at his food.

He leans close, reading it. He smiles and gestures to his tray. "This? Why this is a meal provided by our lovely food services! What else would it be?"

"A tray of slop provided by a bunch of sadistic old women." Karkat grumbles, picking up his pizza and taking a bite.

Jake turns to look at him, shaking his head and making 'tsk' sounds with his tongue. "Now, now, Karkat. They're very nice ladies who care for the students. Where's your sense of adventure, old chap?"

"Eating unrecognizable food isn't adventurous, it's fucking stupid." He says. "I'm getting sick just fucking looking at it. Excuse me while I go vomit."

They fall into their previous argument and this time Jade pipes in. You watch the conversation, content to just listen. You don't really have much to put in anyway. You've never eaten school lunches. You're allergic to peanuts and your dad insists on making all of your food to guarantee you'll never have an incident. But you still have to carry around an EpiPen, just in case.

Your dad worries a lot and can be a little ridiculous, but you love him.

Karkat is going off on one of his long winded rants, his voice getting louder and the tips of his ears turning red. You all watch him. Jade's trying to cut him off. Jake is talking too, but refuses to try to talk over him. You just watch, wondering how big the guy's lungs are. It's then that you realize you can see the football jock table over Karkat's shoulder. They're on the other side of the cafeteria and normally you wouldn't notice them, but with the incident earlier, you're a little curious. As soon as your eyes focus on their table, you realize the blonde kid is staring at you.

Okay, maybe he's not staring at you. He's wearing those silly sunglasses and he could be looking anywhere. Not to mention you're across the room and there's several tables in between you and a bunch of people. There's no way he could or would be looking at you. You're just getting paranoid. Jumping to conclusions. Stop that.

You look down quickly, not that he would notice because he's not looking at you. And even if he is, you don't want his attention. He's just a jock. He's one of them. You don't want to stir up their wrath.

So you busy yourself flipping through your notebook. Karkat's stopped talking momentarily as Rose and Kanaya sit down on the other side of him and Jake. The topic shifts but not by much. Mostly the girls are now adding their opinions. No one's paying attention to you so no one sees when you reach the page in your notebook that's plastered in red. No one sees the way your jaw drops and your eyes widen in disbelief. You definitely did not write any of this.

You pick up your notebook, hiding the contents of the page from your friends while you try to figure this out. There's so much there that your eyes have a hard time focusing at first. There're several brief comics with the same reoccurring characters, two poorly drawn guys. Judging from words written nearby, you guess their names are Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff. You…don't really understand the comics. They're weird and obscure and don't make much sense. One of them is about stairs. You find a website next to one of the comics.

You find another comic on the side of the page with a guy who looks suspiciously like the new kid, sunglasses and a long flowing cape, and you, with a ridiculously pointy hat. It's him returning your notebook and you swooning like a damsel. The damsel comic version of you falls into his arms saying: "Oh, Daaaave! You're so cool and manly!"

And you realize his name is Dave.

Well that's one mystery solved.

The rest of the page has various drawings and notes written next to each doodle. There's a half-person, half-dragon picture that looks suspiciously and hilariously like your biology teacher. It's cutting apart a kid and eating the insides. Despite everything being so strange, you can't help but smile. It's kind of funny, in a weird ridiculous way.

In the bottom right corner you see that he signed his name. It's messy, but you can still read it. Dave Strider. So that was the guy's name. Below that is a weird word. TurntechGodhead. You stare at it for a moment, wondering what it could possibly be. Without realizing it, you look up, your eyes finding the jock table. Dave is still facing the same direction he was in before and now more than ever you feel like he's staring at you.

To test your theory, you hesitantly smile, subtly nodding toward the notebook in your hand. First you think you see his eyebrows rise over the top of his sunglasses, but you're far enough away that you're not sure. Then something crazy happens: he smirks. Well, at least you think he smirks. Just an upturn of one side of his lips. You're amazed, dumbfounded even. Maybe he WAS looking at you. But before you can think too much on it, Rose interrupts you.

"John?" Your eyes snap to her and everyone turns to look at you. "Is anything the matter?"

You shake your head quickly, holding up one hand, making a circle before opening it and splaying your fingers wide, palm towards them. "No! Nothing!"

You quickly flip to a blank page and set your notebook down. You shift in your seat so you're facing Rose, putting both hands in front of you. You make fists with both hands, thumps sticking straight out. You put your knuckles together, thumbs parallel and pointed toward your chest. You then roll your hands forward until your thumbs are facing toward the ceiling and then point at Rose.

"How're you?"

"I'm fine, John. Thank you for asking." One delicate eyebrow goes up and her black painted lips curl into a knowing smirk. "But I'm more curious about you. Has anything happened today?"

Bluh! Curse Rose for being so perceptive!

The rest of lunch is spent with Rose and the others asking what had happened. You deny everything and so they start to guess. Their guesses get more and more far fetched until the conversation takes a tangent into something completely different and nothing to do with you. Only then do you breath a sigh of relief.

You go through the rest of the day in an even more confusing daze than before. In your math class you stubbornly leave your blue notebook closed, feeling Dave's eyes on you the entire time. Or maybe you're just paranoid. During your other classes, however, you can't stop staring at the page he's doodled on. You try to make sense of turntechGodhead, but you can't. Maybe it's a reference to one of those comics you don't really understand.

Jake drives you and Jade home as usual. You babble on and on to Jade and she keeps Jake in the conversation. Even if he understood sign like she does, he wouldn't be able to see while driving. After he pulls into his driveway and you all slide out of his car, Jade waves her goodbyes and bounces into her house. You're about to head across the side yard to your own house when Jake tugs on your arm.

You turn around to look at him, your eyebrows raised in silence questioning. He's looking at you with his brows furrowed and he's frowning slightly. "Now that the others are gone, I must ask. Are you alright, mate?" You nod your head, giving him a reassuring smile. His hand hasn't left your arm. "You know you don't have to hide anything from me, right, old chap? I'm here for whatever you may need."

You give him a small, genuine smile. He honestly looks worried. He lets go of your arm as you shrug off your backpack, digging into it to pull out your notebook and a pen. Dropping your bag to the ground, you open to a random blank page and start writing. "I'm fine, Jake, seriously. Don't let Rose's nonsense get to you. But thanks."

You turn the notebook around to show him. He reads it and then smiles. It's small and soft and full of kindness. "Come here, mate." He grabs your arm and pulls you into a tight hug. It knocks the air out of you, but you don't mind, you just hug him back. Jake never fails to make you smile. He's so nice and caring. All of your friends are. You don't know what you'd do without them.

When he finally lets you go, you pick up your stuff and wave goodbye before scampering over to your house and through the front door. You grab a snack and go to your room to start on your homework. You barely manage to finish before your dad gets home. You go downstairs to greet him and stick around while he cooks dinner. You eat, help with the dishes, and then head back up to your room. With homework done, you turn on your computer to relax on the internet. You pull up your usual tabs, check your email, and log into pesterchum. Karkat's the only one online.

Somehow during your conversation with him, you get him on another rant. Honestly it doesn't take much with him. While he's spamming your chat window with blocks of caps locked gray text, your mind wanders. You start thinking about his chumhandle and how silly it is. You wonder about the origin. How he thought of it. Then you think about your own, and Rose's, and Jade's, and…

It finally occurs to you.

TurntechGodhead.

You freeze, the implications of your new discovery sinking in. He gave you his chumhandle. He wanted to talk to you, otherwise he would have left it with just his name. He was inviting you to friend him. Right? That is, if your assumption is correct.

Your eyes slide to the "Add Chum" button. There was only one way to find out. You click the button and type in his chumhandle with fingers that are shaking slightly. You hesitate before clicking send. Half-hoping and half-fearing that it will go through. You hold your breath and click, almost expecting an error to pop up saying you entered an invalid handle. But it goes through.

It goes through!

Oh god, it went through.

You sit in your seat, fidgeting and not quite paying attention to Karkat anymore. Your leg is shaking and your fingers are tapping restlessly on your desk when a notification pops up saying TurntechGodhead accepted your friend request. Oh god. There's his name, in bright red on your chum list.

What do you do? Would it be weird to say hi? No, he gave you his name. That must be an invitation, right? But is it really a good idea? What if it's a trap? What if this is just another way to get your guard down so they can attack? What if you're just being ridiculous and paranoid? What if he just put it there because why not and didn't mean for you to actually message him? But if that was the case, why would he accept it? But how would he know it's you? What if…what if… you're being stupid.

Fifteen minutes have passed and you've just been staring at his name. You need to just message him. At least now you can thank him for returning your notebook. So you summon all your courage, take a deep breath, click his name, and start typing.

EB: Uh, hi! This is John! You know, from school?

Shit. You sound so stupid. Your leg continues to bounce relentlessly while you wait. You freeze when you see the little bar pop up, saying he's typing. You're nervous, a million unfortunately circumstances flying through your head. Then you get his message.

TG: sup

You breathe a small sigh of relief when he doesn't immediately attack you. Maybe this won't be too bad.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and holy shit John actually messaged you.

You admit, after a while you were kind of losing hope that he'd actually do it. You got home from school and immediately logged into pesterchum. After an hour or so of just sitting around waiting, you decided you couldn't take it anymore. So you left your room and plopped down on the couch in the living room. You logged into pesterchum on your phone. Just in case.

Bro wasn't around. His car wasn't out front when you got home, which meant he was out doing whatever and could be home whenever. Rose went to her room to studiously do her homework. At least you assumed that's what she was doing. You really don't care. You idly flipped through the channels, finding nothing interesting and starting all over. Occasionally and frequently you checked your phone, but still no new messages.

You had seen him during lunch. You watched as he discovered the page you had written all over. You watched various emotions pass over his face. You watched him gesture a lot to his friends. And in the end, you don't think he looked mad or anything. You kind of got your hopes up that he would message you. But he wasn't.

Rose came out of her room to make dinner. Dirk got home right as it was done, bags hanging off his arms. The three of you ate and talked. You and Dirk did so with your mouths full, while Rose politely swallowed before speaking. You asked your Bro where he had been. He avoids the question for nearly ten minutes, just for fun because that's what he does. After a lot of prodding, because you refuse to give up, he finally admitted that he had been shopping. He needed parts for his robotics or something. He announced he was going to lock himself away for the rest of the night to work on his projects and practically disappeared from the room.

You and Rose sat on the couch for a while. You watched some shitty show on TV and Rose quietly read one of her books. There was silence, but it was a comfortable silence. After what felt like forever, but was probably only an hour or so, your phone beeped, telling you that the battery was low.

"Fuck." You muttered, knowing that once your phone started flashing the low battery warning, you only had a few minutes of usability.

Rose lifted her head, one eyebrow raised. She said nothing, but you met her gaze and the question was clearly there. "My battery's dead." You said, gesturing to your phone.

"WIth how frequently you've been looking at it, I don't doubt it." She said, a small smirk curving her black lips. "What has you so anxious?"

You glared at her from behind your shades. "None of your damn business." You said, managing sounding indifferent. You hopped off the couch and headed toward the stairs to go to your room. "Later." You called over your shoulder. You saw her raise a hand in acknowledgment, but her eyes were already back at her book.

In your room you sat down heavily in your desk chair, slouching as you booted up your computer. Still no messages. You sighed and resigned yourself to the fact that he wasn't going to message you.

And then you got a chum request and just about did a flip off the handle.

So here you are, sitting in your chair, back straight and eyes wide as you stare at the blue type in the little box that had popped up on your screen.

EB: uh, hi! this is john! you know, from school?

You're Dave mother-fucking Strider. You don't get nervous and you sure as fuck don't get nervous when a buck-toothed dork messages you.

TG: sup

You are one smooth mother-fucker. But the longer you sit here and stare at your usual short greeting, you start to wonder if you should say something else. Finally you see the little pop-up window say he's typing and you force yourself to relax.

EB: i didn't get a chance to say thanks for returning my notebook
EB: so, uh
EB: thanks!
TG: no prob
TG: like i said working on my good karma
TG: can't be reincarnated as a bug or some shit
TG: that's just not cool
TG: gotta at least make it to tiger status
EB: i think returning my notebook brings you to at least lizard status
TG: fuck yeah
TG: id be a fucking awesome lizard
TG: the kind that lose their tails and shit
TG: the kind thats super fast
TG: bitches cant catch me
TG: and if they do ill just drop my tail
TG: and ollie the fuck outta there
EB: if you rescue a cat from a tree tomorrow you could be bumped up to crocodile status!
EB: then you wouldn't have to worry about bitches trying to catch you
TG: now youre talkin
TG: no one messes with a crocodile
TG: not unless they want their shit fucked up
EB: hehe
TG: did you seriously just hehe at me
TG: seriously
TG: Egbert
TG: im a seriously dangerous crocodile over here
TG: ill gnaw off your face
TG: dont make me do it
TG: cause i will

You realize you're doing that stupid rambling thing you do and abruptly stop. As you sit there, with neither of you typing, you realize that maybe that had been too much. You hold your breath without really realizing it, your fingers tensed over your keyboard.

EB: wow, you're kind of not at all what I expected
TG: what am i then
EB: well…
EB: you're kind of a dork :B

You can't help but crack a small smile, relief washing over you.

TG: oh hell no
TG: hell fucking no
TG: dave strider is the complete opposite of a dork
TG: youre gonna regret those words egbert
TG: youre gonna pay

Suddenly your power flickers and then goes out completely. Your fingers freeze over your keyboard, your eyes widening as you stare at the black monitor of your computer.

"Fuck!" You shout, smashing the keyboard and frantically pressing the power button of your computer. Of course it doesn't work. Your power's fucking out. You dive for your phone, but it's dark and you still have shades on, so you end up just knocking it off your desk. "Shit!"

You dive for it, scrambling to find it on the ground. You shove your shades to the top of your head, opening up pesterchum as quickly as you can. There are a couple of messages waiting for you.

EB: i'm sorry!
EB: please don't

turntechGodhead ceased pestering ectoBiologist

EB: crap

Before you can even begin to form a new message, your phone dies. The screen goes dark, just like the rest of your room. "NO!" You jump to your feet and start to go for your charger before you remember that your power is out and it wouldn't do any good. "Fuckcockshit."

You hadn't meant it. You were just joking around. Now he thought you were a fucking douchebag, just like the rest of the jocks.

"Dave?" You hear Rose's voice, followed by a soft knock at your door. "Are you alright?"

You rip the door open, startling Rose. You can barely see her in the dark hallway. "Where is he?" You say, trying to sound calm but anger is simmering in your voice and you know it.

She doesn't ask who you mean. It's obvious there's only one person you could possibly be talking about. "Probably in his room."

"DIRK!" You shout, pushing past her to stomp down the stairs. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!" You're shouting and stomping like a child and you don't even care. Whatever he's done has ruined everything.

"Calm your tits, little bro. I'm on it." You hear him say loudly as you reach the bottom of the stairs. Rose is right behind you. You hear the door to the garage open and close. You both wait in silence. Then you hear a muffled: "Fuck" before the door opens and closes again. Dirk appears in the living room, flashlight in hand. His pointy shades are perched on the top of his head, like yours. "Okay, so there's a small problem."

"What the fuck did you do?" You ask, doing your best to keep your anger under control. In the light of the flashlight, you see him shrug.

"The project I'm working on overloaded the system and blew a few fuses. It's fixable, but we'll have to wait until tomorrow when I can go get some new ones." He says nonchalantly. Like he hasn't just ruined your one shot at making a good first impression.

Rose sighs. "I'll get some candles."

"What're we supposed to do now? It's only like eight." You say, sighing as well and wishing your phone wasn't dead.

Your brother seems to think about this for a long moment. You know he's at a loss too. His world revolves around technology and the internet and electronics as much as yours does. "I need to invest in a fucking generator."

You raise one eyebrow. "Ya think?"

Rose returns to the living room and carefully picks her way to the coffee table. There she sets down several candles and uses a lighter to light them. The room is filled with a soft, flickering glow. "Seeing as our usual evening activities are no longer possible, what do you boys say to a game of cards?" She says, turning to look at you both. She holds up a deck of cards she must have brought out with the candles.

Dirk cocks one eyebrow. "Poker?"

She smirks. "Of course."

"Fuck yeah. I've got skittles and m&ms around here somewhere. We'll play for those."

So the three of you spend the rest of the night playing poker in the candle light. You manage to calm down and now you're mostly just feeling sorry for yourself. They both end up wiping the floor with you and you end the game without any candy. Rose surprisingly managed to beat Dirk, but he calls shenanigans and demands a rematch. You go to bed while they're still playing.

==>

Your name is John Egbert and you haven't been this nervous to go to school in years.

After you entered high school and your friends found out you were getting bullied, they went into protection mode and you were finally able to enjoy school. True, you weren't always safe, but you were safe enough. And especially now, in your senior year, you rarely had to worry about being beaten up. Verbal abuse you've gotten used to. You only feared physical abuse if you accidentally pissed off your aggressors.

You've effectively pissed off one of your aggressors. He's never bullied you directly, but that didn't mean he couldn't. And he's new, which means he's not used to your protective friends, which means he can and probably will spark the fire that the bullies need in order to get back to their physically beating ways. Just like you feared.

You just had to go calling a jock a dork. Way to go.

He was just being so openly talkative and not at all threatening. It lured you into a false sense of security and you can't believe you were that stupid. After he threatened you and logged off, you panicked and blocked him. You then had shut down your computer and crawled into bed, turning on your tv to watch a comfort movie.

Your alarm came far too early. You expected your morning shower to calm you down, but all it did was wake you up and make the consequences of your actions all too real.

You barely glance at your dad as you grab your lunch off the kitchen counter and shuffle out of the house. Jake and Jade are already waiting for you at his car. He's leaning against the driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest. Jade is standing in front of him and they're talking. You don't know what it's about and you can't bring yourself to care.

When Jake spots you, his face lights up with his usual bright smile and he waves enthusiastically, even though you're only a driveway away. "John! Good morning, dear fellow!"

Jade spins around, giving you a wave but she's rolling her eyes dramatically. "Finally! Come on! We're gonna be late!" She skips around to the passenger's side and slides into her seat. You and Jake exchange an exasperated look, a small smile creeping onto your face.

You were never late to school. In fact, you were always early. Despite dreading going to school and facing the new jock you pissed off, you had still gotten ready in the same amount of time you usually do. Jade is just always eager to leave. Being the social butterfly she is, she has a lot of people she likes to talk to before classes.

You slide into the backseat. On the way to school, both of them attempt to make conversation with you, but you just give them short answers and weak smiles before turning away to look out your window. As the car pulls into the parking lot, Jade twists in her seat to slap at your knee. "Hey John, what's the matter?" She asks, and you know from the way she's staring at you that she won't leave you alone until she gets an answer.

So you lie.

You give her an apologetic smile, point to yourself, then place one of your middle fingers at your forehead and another at your stomach. You stick your tongue out for added effect.

I'm sick.

Her face contorts into an expression of worry and she pats your leg. "I'm sorry. I hope you feel better." She says and you feel guilty about lying to her.

"What? What did I miss?" Jake says, glancing at her, then you in the rearview mirror.

"He's feeling a little sick." Jade explains, turning back around in her seat.

"I see." He says as he pulls into a parking spot. He eyes you curiously in the mirror, but you avoid his gaze.

A feeling of dread slithers down your spine as you slide out of the car and your feet hit the pavement. Jade is already practically skipping away, waving at you both over her shoulder. "See you later!"

You're about to shuffle off after her when you feel a hand on your shoulder, holding you back. You twist your head to see Jake standing there, a very concerned look on his face. "Now that the lady is gone, will you tell me what's really going on, mate?" You bite your bottom lip and look down, idly scuffing the pavement with the toe of your shoe. "John." He says softly.

You sigh and turn around, dropping your backpack from your shoulder. You pull out your notebook and a pen. Leaning back against his car, you open to a blank page, steering clear of the red doodled page, and you start writing. Jake waits patiently. He always waits patiently whenever you have to write something down in order to communicate. No matter how long it takes or how concerned he is.

You write down that you dropped your notebook the other day and that new kid, Dave, returned it to you yesterday. You explain that there was a page where he doodled all over it. For fun, you guess. Leaving his mark or something. You say that he signed his name, and his chumhandle. It must have been just his way of signing, but you thought he wanted to talk to you. Because you're stupid and hopeful. You tell him how you messaged Dave last night and how friendly he seemed. Then you explained your slip. How you called the new football star a dork. And how he threatened you and logged out. You write down that you're not upset or angry with him, but you are a little worried. You're afraid the bullying is going to start again.

When you're done writing, it's nearly a full page. You heave a sigh and hand the notebook over, fidgeting restlessly as Jake reads. You idly click the pen in your hand, then lift it to your lips to chew on it. Your eyes dart around the parking lot, searching for any sign of the tall blonde with sunglasses. You don't see him, but a couple of football players walk by. You flinch at their loud laughter.

You look back to Jake and his face has turned grim. His brows are furrowed and he's frowning. When he finishes reading, he looks up at you. "Where is the page he defiled?"

You take the notebook away from him and flip through the pages until you find the one covered in Dave's bright red pen. You hand the notebook back to Jake and watch as he looks it over. You're chewing on your bottom lip as you watch the displeasure spread across his features.

"I don't think you should associate with this young man anymore." He says firmly, looking up at you. His eyes are hard and you know that's the look he gets when he's being protective. You nod and he gives your notebook back. You shove it and your pen back into your bag before picking it up and putting it back on.

"Fear not, old chap. I won't let anything happen to you." He says, his arm falling over your shoulders and pulling you to his side. His arm is a familiar weight and he's warm. Already you feel your body relaxing. You hadn't realized how tense you've been. You lay your head on his shoulder for a moment in silent thanks. He practically hums with purpose and satisfaction. You both make your way into the school.

He walks you to your locker, and then to your first class. All the while he keeps his eyes out for any aggressors and you keep your eyes on the floor. You don't see any of them. When you walk into biology, the first class you have with Dave, you keep your eyes down and sit in your usual seat at the front of the room. Luckily he always sits in the back of the room. You do your best to pay attention, but you can feel his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

You pack up early and you're out of your seat the moment the bell rings. It's not even done echoing by the time you're out of the classroom. You decide to bypass your locker and go straight to your next class. Screw having the right books. You make it about halfway there before he catches up with you.

"Yo! Egbert, slow the fuck down." He grabs your arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. You try to pull away, but his grip tightens. "Seriously, jesus flipping christ, just…just stop for a moment." You spin around with more force than necessary, ripping your arm from his grip. You start backing away but his hands land on both your shoulders, keeping you in place. You flinch. "Okay, look at me." You don't. You stare at the floor. "Hey, my eyes are up here." You look up at the ceiling, carefully keeping your gaze away from his shades.

"Excuse me, but I must ask you to unhand him." The familiar voice is falsely polite and dripping in venom. Your eyes go wide and your head whips around, finding Jake standing next to you. He lays a hand on Dave's wrist, blunt nails digging into pale skin.

"Ow, fuck! Yeah, yeah, shit, don't get your panties in a twist." He pulls his hands back like he's been burned, holding them up in front of him defensively. He's looking at Jake and though his face is mostly blank, you can see his lips twitch in irritation.

"I assure you, my panties are untwisted." Jake says, stepping between you and Dave. You sigh inwardly. Jake didn't always have the best comebacks. But his size and determination and willingness to jump into a fight intimidated most. Unfortunately Dave isn't backing down.

"Okay, Mr. Panties, we were just talking." He says calmly, but the irritation is also seeping into his voice.

"Well then talk. Don't mind me." Jake crosses his arms over his chest, standing firm. You shift your weight and peek around his arm. Dave doesn't look happy.

"It's none of your business."

"John is my business."

"You two fucking or something?"

You start and feel heat rush to your face. You shake your head violently from your spot behind him. No! How could he think that! Jake is one of your best friends! Besides, you're pretty sure you're not a homosexual. And even if you were, you've never felt attracted to Jake in a way that was more than bros. You look up at Jake. His lips are pursed together and you can see faint color tinting his cheeks beneath his tan.

"Of course not! It is the gentlemanly thing to protect one's friends." He says defiantly, though you think his voice wavers slightly. You can't blame him. That question was embarrassing.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say Dave visibly relaxed. "Then will you please step aside so I can talk to Egbert man-on-man?" Exasperation is clear in his voice. His hands have been shoved in his pockets and he slouches slightly. The picture of cool calm.

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Is he seriously always this stubborn?" He asks, tilting his head slightly to look at you. At least you assume he is. He points his shades at you anyway. You shrink back slightly and give a little shrug.

"I suggest you leave him alone." Jake says, shifting to further block Dave's view of you.

"Why don't you let the guy speak for himself?"

You wince and Jake stiffens. "John." He says, and his voice is deathly calm. You know it's taking everything he has not to launch himself at the blonde. "We're leaving."

He turns on his heel and drapes his arm over your shoulder protectively. You let him lead you away, resisting the urge to look back. You stop by your locker to change books.

"Can you believe him? What an insensitive, arrogant bastard." Jake says as you close your locker. You don't point out that it sounded like Dave really didn't know that you physically couldn't speak for yourself. There was no sense of mocking in his words, just frustration. You don't point it out because Jake needs to vent and in all honesty, the offhanded question hurt more than you'd like to admit.

You still don't know what Dave was trying to say, but you really don't want to. It was probably just another threat. Before Jake walks away, you tug on his sleeve and give him a small smile. He knows you're thanking him and he grins in response.

"No problem, mate. That's what I'm here for." He pats your hand and trots off to his own class. You don't know what you'd do without your friends.

You go through your next few classes and lunch dreading your math class, when you'd have to face Dave again. Or at least share a room with him again. When you walk into class, you find a folded piece of paper on your usual desk. The word "EGBERT" is written on it. You tense, having a bad feeling you know exactly who the note is from. A quick glance around the room confirms that Dave is already there, sitting in the back.

You sit down and settle your books before finally opening the note. There's only one word written inside.

"Sorry."

Just when you think you've figured him out, Dave surprises you again. You spend the rest of the class trying to understand the enigma that is the new football star, while trying to avoid his shaded gaze. You fail at both.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert and avoiding Dave is a lot harder than you anticipated.

Getting away from him on Monday was easy. And he doesn't approach you at all on Tuesday. He does, however, stare at you whenever you pass in the hallways, in class, and across the lunch room. Even though his face is near expressionless, you get the feeling he's waiting. Like he expects you to say something now that he's apologized. Even if that apology was via note on your desk.

You suppose it's your turn to say something. The problem is that you don't want to. Dave is unpredictable and you don't understand his motives and all of that intimidates you. Plus Jake said to stay away from him. And though you know Jake can be a little over dramatic, you trust him. So you don't approach the new football star. You avoid eye contact, which is hard when he's always staring at you. Well, you think he is. Sometimes it's hard to tell with his sunglasses.

By Wednesday, you can tell he's getting frustrated.

Whenever you pass in the hall, his jaw is clenched tight. In class you can feel his glare burning a hole in your back. He passes your locker more times than necessary, like he's trying to get you to say something. Frankly it's starting to make you nervous. You've never been in a situation like this before. And the worst part is that you don't even know what Dave wants.

He's a football star. He's popular. He's even super attractive. Not that you think so, because you're totally straight, but you've overheard girls talking about how hot Dave is. But he never flirts openly with anyone. He refuses all dates the girls propose, popular or not. He doesn't make an effort to chase after anyone, whether they're girls or his friends.

So why does he bother chasing you? Why does he want to talk to you so much? You're just some kid who can't even speak. You find it hard to believe he would want anything to do with you, unless it's to have someone to jerk around for his own amusement.

So there lies the real reason you're avoiding Dave. You can't believe someone like him would honestly want to have anything to do with someone like you, and thus you believe he has to have some kind of hidden motive.

On Thursday Dave shows signs of approaching you.

He waits for you by your locker in the morning and you decide you don't need anything.
He walks toward you in the hallway before you hastily abscond. You're not scared of him, necessarily, you just really, really don't like confrontation. Unless it's online, where you can type quickly and keep up in a conversation, you would just really rather avoid it. It's really hard to have a confrontational conversation with someone who isn't used to the way you have to communicate. They just end up not listening to your side of things.

You suppose you could just unblock Dave from pesterchum and talk to him there, but every time you think about it, you chicken out. What are you supposed to say? You don't know whether you want to tell him to leave you alone or tell him to be nicer if he wants to hang out. But then you feel like you're jumping to conclusions. Who ever said he wanted to hang out with you? Why would he? You're just so confused about what you want to happen and what you fear happening.

So you would rather just avoid Dave, which is getting hard when he's actively seeking you out.

You tell Jake this in the hallway between your first two classes. As soon as he reads the note you wrote to tell him your worries, he puts on his protective face and escorts you to your next class. The rest of the day he's there when your classes end and walks you to your next one. You feel bad because you're sure he's late to his own classes, but you feel a lot safer in his company. You ask him not to tell the others about it and he agrees.

You don't want them to worry. Or cause a scene. Or a riot. Or a war against the football team.

On Friday you have a run-in with the jocks.

You stay after school to help your biology teacher set up for the dissection lab on Monday. When she asked for volunteers, you happily raised your hand. Biology is pretty much your favorite subject ever. It doesn't take long and you head out to the parking lot only about twenty minutes after the get-the-hell-out-of-school-so-we-can-leave-too bell. Jake and Jade had agreed to wait for you.

You pass through the gym hallway just as the football players are leaving the locker room. They must have practice today because they're wearing all their gear. You hesitate for only a fraction of a second before ducking your head and doing your best to hurry past. You should have known you wouldn't go unnoticed.

You also should have noticed your paths were about to cross, but you didn't. You were too busy staring at the floor.

You nearly have a heart attack when you bump into one of them. You leap back immediately. The guy didn't even stumble, but he's still glaring at you like you'd knocked him to the floor.

"Hey, four-eyes, wwatch wwhere you're going." He snaps. One of his buddies looks over his shoulder, eyes falling on you. Gradually they all seem to stop and stare at you. You wilt under their combined gaze.

"Look, it's beaver-boy."

"It's like the kid is just asking for a beating."

"I don't see any of his friends around."

"He must be alone."

"Hey, Eridan, shouldn't someone apologize after running into someone else?"

"Yes, I believve so." He looks at you, his arms crossed over his chest. His helmet dangles from his fingers. "Wwell? I'm wwaiting." He sneers.

You take a tentative step away, wringing your hands in front of you. Your eyes dart around. They're like a solid wall in front of you, and you know if you turn and run they'll just chase you down.

"I'm not hearing him say anything."

"If I don't hear an apology in the next ten seconds, I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." The leader, and the one you originally ran into, says. He shoves his helmet into someone else's hands and steps toward you. You automatically take a step back. He raises his fists and cracks his knuckles. He smirks when you flinch. They look so much bigger with all their padding on.

You glance to the side and your eyes fall on Dave. He's standing there, completely relaxed except for his fists clenched at his sides and his lips pressed into a grim line. You can't tell if he's looking at you or at the other football player. Stupid sunglasses. Why is he even wearing them before practice? You silently plead for him to help, but if past experience is anything to go by, he won't say anything. Especially now that he's frustrated with you.

"I'm not hearing anything." The other guy, Eridan, says, snapping your attention back to him. "I gavve you a chance. Not my fault you can't speak for yourself." He grins when your eyes narrow slightly. It's just not fair that they use that against you!

He swings, but you're prepared. You duck and his fist goes right over your head. But by the time you straighten, his other first is already flying toward you. You raise your arms to cover your face. It would be unfair for your dad to have to buy you new glasses again. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the impact, but it never comes. Instead it goes strangely quiet before Eridan speaks up.

"Strider! Wwhat the fuck do you think you're doing?!" He sputters. You can tell he's angry.

You hesitantly open your eyes, peeking out over your arms. Dave is standing in front of you, Eridan's wrist clutched in his hand. He nods his head towards the door.

"We got practice. I'm not doing extra laps because you made us late." You can't see his face, but his voice is cool and calm, like he totally didn't just save you from getting a black eye.

You look past him to Eridan. The boy is gritting his teeth and his face is bright red. He's practically seething with anger. He finally rips his arm out of Dave's grasp. "Fine. Kid's not wworth it anyway." He grumbles, grabbing his helmet back from his friend and stomping out the nearby door that leads to the football field. You hate that he calls you kid. You're the same age, thank you very much!

Dave stays where he is until everyone else has left. Then he looks over his shoulder and you can just barely make out his eyes beneath those shades. You…kind of wish you knew what color they are. "You're hopeless, you know that?" He says, and you know the irritation in his voice stems from your week of avoiding him.

You bite your bottom lip and nod, looking down at the floor. He sighs and you glance up in time to see him running his hand through his hair. It falls perfectly back into place. Which is so unfair. "Whatever. See ya later, Egbert." He says, turning away from you and walking towards the door.

You feel guilty. You've avoided him all week and he still stuck up for you when his friends tried to beat you up. Making a quick decision, you rush forward, stumbling slightly over your own feet. You latch onto the back of his jersey and tug him backwards to get his attention. He grunts in surprise, but easily catches his balance before turning to look at you. One blonde brow is raised over his sunglasses.

You chew on your lip, unsure what to do now. You open your mouth like you're going to say something, and then realize that's just stupid. You snap your jaw shut. God, you're an idiot. If you're going to open your mouth like a gaping fish, you should at least be mouthing words or something. You don't understand why you're so flustered. It's probably the adrenaline from nearly getting hit in the face.

You mouth the word "Thanks."

He's staring at you and you panic. So you release your grip on his jersey and take a few quick steps backwards. Giving him a small wave, you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, heading for the doors that lead to the parking lot.

Your heart is pounding and it's from the adrenaline. It has to be from the adrenaline. It's totally not because Dave just stood up for you. Nope. Not at all.

When you get to the car, you spend the car ride home convincing Jade and Jake to have a spur of the moment movie marathon with you. They readily agree and your Friday night is spent cuddled up on the couch between two of your best friends and your hands covered in popcorn butter.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider and you're about to do something you never thought you'd do.

You're going to ask Rose for help.

You've known Rose for years and talked to her pretty consistently. She's never failed to provide you with advice and help, but she always did that because of her meddling ways. You never asked for it. You just complained to her and she would talk and blah blah blah you had your advice. As much as you hate it when she picks apart your brain, you have to admit, she's good at pointing you in the right direction. Her advice has never failed you and she has this really obnoxious way of making you understand yourself better.

Which is why you're here, standing outside her door.

And you're not just here because you want advice. No, it's because Rose is actually friends with John, the kid you're trying to… well you don't really know what you're trying to do. You suppose you're also here to figure that out too.

Oh well, better get this over with.

You knock on her door with strong, short, purposeful knocks. Yeah, you're a man on a mission.

"Come in." You hear her say. It's now or never. You push her door open and pause in the doorway.

You've only seen her room a handful of times. Contrary to what one might think, based off of Rose's personality, her room isn't all that neat and orderly. The only thing that's organized and clean is her massive bookshelf. A few clothes, several notebooks, and knitted things litter the floor. The sheets on her bed are a mess, mingled with bags of yarn and knitting needles. Posters of all sorts of tentacle creatures decorate her walls. And the whole thing has an overall theme of purple.

"Dave, to what do I owe this surprise visit?" She asks. She's sitting in her desk chair. Books and papers are spread out all over her desk. Overachiever.

"We need to talk." You say walking into the room.

"Oh?" She says, raising one delicate eyebrow. She slowly spins her chair, eyes following you as you walk over to her bed. "About what?"

"Your favorite subject." You spread your arms wide. "Me." And with that you plop down onto her bed, stretching your legs out in front of you and leaning back on your hands. The picture of nonchalance. It's you. "I've got some feelings and I need a jam. Is your office open?"

A small smile slowly curves her lips as she rests her elbows on the arms of her chair, intertwining her fingers."Of course. I did say it was always open."

You nod. "Now I'm here to hold you to that."

She leans back in her seat, eyeing you over her steeped fingers. Silence stretches between you and you'll be damned if you're the first to break it. "Alright, I'll bite. What's bothering you?"

"A boy." You say simply.

"Oh?" The smile on her black painted lips is one of pure delight. She's not surprised that you're showing interest in a dude. You came out to her a couple of years ago. More like she's surprised you're showing interest in anyone, and then came to talk to her about it. It pisses you off to no end. Before she can say much more, you continue.

"Now before you get yer panties in a bunch, it ain't like that. He's no crush or nothin'."

"Dave, your Texan is showing."

"Yeah, so?"

Her smile widens a fraction. "That only happens when you are either nervous, angry, or upset."

Well, fuck. She's right.

"That aside, there's this boy…" You say, managing to rein in your wayward Texan. You always have a little bit of a southern accent. Despite living in New York for several years, hints of your roots clung to your words. But it never gets really bad unless you're, as Rose pointed out, nervous, angry, or upset.

"Right, a boy. Does this boy have a name?"

"Not right now, he doesn't." You weren't about to let that slip just yet. You wanted to get her opinion on what your deal was before you told her who it was. "Anyway, there's this boy, and I've been watching him for a while."

"Okay…"

"It wasn't really watching him at first. He was just a kid in a couple of my classes and I saw him in the halls sometimes and the douche brigade I hang with sometimes pick on him."

"Mhmm…"

"And I started like, paying attention to him. I don't even know how it started. One day I just realized I was noticing things about him."

"What kind of things?"

"Stupid shit. Like his habits in class, how he walks, the people he hangs out with, what food he eats. No, Rose, wipe that stupid shit-eating grin off your face. I"m not a stalker. I just noticed things."

"Right."

"So then the kid goes and drops his notebook in the hallway and I'm like, good deed for the day right there. I'll return his notebook. But it was Friday and the weekend happened. And during the weekend, I may or may not have doodled on a page of notebook…"

"Leaving your mark?"

"No, shut up, it's nothing like that."

"I see. Continue…"

"At the bottom of the page I may have left my chumhandle."

Her eyebrows go up. "And did he message you?"

"Yeah, after what seemed like forever. Idiot didn't understand it was my chumhandle at first."

You can practically see her brain working. "This was monday, wasn't it? When you were anxiously checking your phone."

"Fuck you, I wasn't anxious." Her stupid shit-eating grin hasn't gone away. You glare at her, but you realize she can't see it behind your shades. So you frown for good measure.

"And then our power went out…" She says slowly, piecing things together. You hate how easily she can do that, but at least it means you don't have to explain it. Her eyes are practically alight with understanding. God, she's probably giving herself a mental pat on the back. "And your conversation was cut short."

You decide to ignore her face and just go on with your story. "Yeah, but I was right in the middle of talking and never got the chance to explain that I was teasing him, not threatening him."

She nods. "So he thinks that you, someone who hangs out with those who occasionally pick on him, threatened him and now he's scared of you?"

"And avoiding the shit outta me."

"And you came to me for advice on how to approach your crush?"

"What? No! He ain't my crush." Oh fuck, your inner Texan was showing again, even if it was only in one word. But judging from the way her lips curled upward, you know she heard it. Fuck. You realize that you like getting advice from her on pesterchum a whole lot better. At least then you don't have to see her all knowing, all smug expression.

"So you just want to be friends with him." She says, pulling her lecture voice. You hate that voice. It means she's about to point out something you don't want to hear, or have been too thick-headed to understand.

"Yes." You say slowly, drawing out the word longer than necessary.

"You have just been noticing mundane things about a boy."

"Yes." You say, warily.

"Whom you've been noticing for a while."

"Yes."

"And you doodled in his notebook."

"Yes."

"Marking your territory."

"Y…es?"

"And you're eager to talk to him."

"Yes."

"And it's unacceptable that he's avoiding you?"

"Yes."

"Is he cute?"

"Yes." Your eyes widen behind your shades. "Wait, fuck, what?"

"Do you really think this is the behavior of someone who just wants a new friend? Would you be this desperate to talk to him if he were just a potential 'bro'?"

"I'm not desperate." You snap.

She quirks one eyebrow and rests her chin on her interlocked fingers. "You came to me for advice."

"Oh fuck, you're right." You flop back onto her bed. The more you think about it, the more it makes sense. You didn't want to believe that you'd like such a dorky kid, but it's kind of endearing. His dark hair that always looks like he just climbed out of bed. His blue eyes and all the emotion you've seen pass through them. His smile that shows too many teeth and yet remains breathtaking.

Well, shit. You've totally got the hots for the guy.

It wasn't supposed to happen. You already planned on going through your senior year with no drama, no dating, no problems. Then when you got to college, you were gonna let loose and finally get some dudes and some dates, because fuck it, it's college. But then you start crushing on this kid without even realizing it, and now it's too late. He's already in your head.

The worst part is you don't even know if he's gay, or bi, or even bi-curious. With your luck, he's probably straight as a flagpole. But you really don't care, you just want to talk to him. Maybe you can convince him to give your man meat a try, maybe you can't. You would settle for friends, if you had to. You just want to have someone to hang with that doesn't make you want to smash your head into a wall. You want him to be your bro. Then maybe his other friends can be your friends. Rose is already there, and you like hanging with her, even if she can be far too perceptive and occasionally snarky. You could eat with them at lunch and go to their stupid movie night.

God fucking dammit, you just realized how lonely you've been in a herd full of meathead jocks.

You hate Rose for doing that. Pulling out all these feelings that you didn't know you had. And now that they're on the surface, you know you won't be able to make them go away. You heave a loud sigh.

"Rose, I think I like someone." You say, your voice steady and serious.

"I believe that's the case, yes."

You prop yourself up on your elbows and level a look at her, going so far as to peer at her over your shades. You keep your expression completely blank and your voice completely flat. "Rose…I think I'm gay."

That gets her to laugh. She throws back her head and laughs louder than you've ever heard her do at school. In public she likes to keep this calm and collected image, much like you. But you know her better than that. She may be able to pick your brain apart, but you can get her to break face and laugh loud and long.

"You don't say." She says, still chuckling as she wipes away tears that had been gathering in her eyes. You're practically grinning, completely and totally proud of yourself for getting her to laugh like that. Yeah, you're just that fucking awesome. "So do I get to know the identity of this boy?"

"You already know him." Your smile falls into a smirk. "John."

Both her eyebrows shoot toward her hairline and her eyes widen. Genuine surprise. You actually surprised her. "John? As in…John Egbert?"

"Yeah, as in Egbert." You quirk an eyebrow over the tops of your shades. "Why? Is that a problem?"

"No, not a problem. I just…. it's surprising is all." She leans back in her chair, lowering her arms to either of the armrests. She doesn't say anything else and she's staring at a spot on the wall, clearly lost in thought. "Yes, that makes a lot of sense…" She mumbles and you realize she's probably piecing together John's behavior with your story.

You give her a moment to absorb everything before you get bored. You clear your throat loudly, interrupting her thought process. "So now that we've got that out of the way. I've got another question." She looks at you and gives you this look that means 'I'm waiting'. You shift your weight a little on your elbows, already feeling one of your arms falling asleep. You totally don't shift because you're uncomfortable or embarrassed. Strider's don't even know the meaning of those words. "So why doesn't John ever talk?"

Her head lowers and she stares at you with an expression that's carefully blank. "What?"

"I mean, is he really that shy? He doesn't seem shy when he's around you guys, but I still rarely see him talk. Does he have some kind of anxiety disorder? Does he have a really embarrassing voice? Or does he speak so low, I never hear him when he talks to you guys?" You stop your ramble when you realize Rose is still giving you this unnerving stare.

"You're serious?" She says flatly.

"Yeah?"

"You honestly don't know?" Now she sounds skeptical.

"No, I don't fucking know, Lalonde." You snap, pushing yourself up so you're sitting once again. You place your hands on her bed, on either side of your legs, and lean forward. "So just tell me already so I can get on with my life."

"John is mute."

You blink. "What?"

"He is mute." She repeats in the same emotionless voice.

"As in…?"

She rolls her eyes. "As in he can't talk."

For once you don't have to put effort into holding your pokerface. You honestly think your brain might have shut down for a moment, leaving your face completely blank. You watch Rose as she watches you. She's searching you for any sign of a reaction and you know that she's completely serious.

And then suddenly all the gears in your head are kicked into motion. Everything makes sense. Why he never says anything. Why he's mouthed 'thanks' to you instead of actually saying it. Why the jocks get such a kick out of telling him to apologize. Holy fuck, they're such douche nuggets for picking on someone for something like that. Your fists curl into the blankets of Rose's bed as you fight back the urge to punch something.

You should have punched Eridan today when he nearly decked John. Should have punched him right in his fucking smug face.

Amidst all your sudden anger and frustration, anger at anyone who ever made fun of John and frustration at yourself for being so fucking blind, something occurs to you. You realize your gaze has shifted to the floor and your head snaps back up as you look at Rose. She's still staring, having been waiting patiently for you to digest everything.

"How do I talk to him?" You ask.

"He can still hear, you know." She says and you can hear it in her voice that she's fighting the urge to roll her eyes.

"No, like how do we talk? How do you talk to him? I know there's pesterchum, but I mean in person?"

She lifts a hand, idly waving it in the air. "There are several methods John uses to communicate with us. Mostly he writes what he wants to say down in a notebook, I presume the same notebook that you doodled in, and shows it to whomever he's talking to."

You nod. So that explains that.

"But that process tends to be slower. He uses it for those who don't understand sign language. For those of us who do know ASL, it's an easer way of talking." She bends her arms and interlocks her fingers again, this time resting them in her lap. "John's family knows ASL, as well as his neighbor, Jade. Kanaya and I learned so we could better understand John. Karkat and Jake have tried and given up in learning it, but they're patient when he has to write things down."

She pauses, giving you a chance to say something, but you don't. You're too busy still trying to digest this whole situation. It isn't at all what you expected. Ever. You never even considered it. Clearly he could hear you, and the teachers, and his friends, so you never thought he was deaf. And…well being a mute without being deaf isn't something that happened often. Or at least you don't think it is. Either way, it never crossed your mind.

"Now I have a question." Rose says, drawing your attention back to her. "With this new development, do you still plan on pursuing John?"

You don't have to think too hard about that.

You abruptly push yourself to your feet and walk towards the door.

"Where are you going?" She asks, twisting her desk chair so she can face you.

You pause in the doorway, not bothering to turn around when you answer. "I donno. Surf the internet. Update my blog. Learn some sign language. The usual stuff."

You hear her chuckling softly as you shut the door behind you.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dave Strider and sign language is a lot harder than you originally anticipated.

Well, it's not that hard. But it is a language. You had expected it to be just like English, only with your hands. Turns out you were wrong. It has its own grammar that's absolutely nothing like English. It uses fewer words, which you suppose makes sense because signing every single word would get really annoying, really fast. And facial expressions are apparently super important. You're not too happy about that. How are you supposed to keep your cool kid pokerface up if you have to emote all the damn time?

You spend Friday night reading over some basic information on ASL, as well as going over the grammatical structure. It makes no sense at first, but you suppose you'll just have to get used to it. You…actually end up reading a lot about it before even getting to the actual signs. What can you say? You're a fucking pro. Strider's don't half-ass shit. Go big or go home. If you're going to do this, you're going to do it RIGHT.

Luckily you don't have a game this Friday. You end up scarfing down your food like a half-starved hyena and hurry back to your room. As you leave, you hear your brother question Rose.

"What the fuck was that about?"

"I believe our little Dave is growing up." She says, and you can hear the smirk in her voice.

"No shit?" Dirk says before chuckling. The low rumble reaches you halfway down the hall. "About damn time."

Fuck them. Fuck both of them. They're going to tease the everliving shit outta you. You just know it.

Back in your room, you push thoughts of your brother and Rose out of your mind and focus on learning the alphabet. It seems like the best place to start. Gotta learn your ABC's, right? And everything you read said that if you don't know a sign, your best bet is to spell the word. So the next two hours are devoted to memorizing and practicing the alphabet. You find a website that has various words to do, starting with short words that get progressively longer and more complicated. You go over the lists multiple times, trying to get faster.

You feel like you're in grade school again.

When you think you've got a pretty good hold on it, you find a website that actually has a video of someone spelling words and you have to guess what it is. Even on the slowest setting, you realize you have a lot to learn. It's a lot easer to spell things than to read someone else's hands. You spentd a while doing this until you just get so bored of reading letters. So you start to look at words in the video dictionary.

You already know from your research that pronouns are essentially pointing, and that the "to be" verb is included in that. You forget the word for it. Dexus? Decis? Dexis? Yeah, that last one you think. Okay, so pointing to say "I" and "you" and "he, she, whatever." That seems easy enough. So you look up a few basic verbs and words, and soon you're just clicking random letters and picking interesting words, trying to mimic the movements.

Okay, now you're just goofing off. But hey, it's your first night trying to learn. You deserve a little fun break, right? You doubt you'll remember any of these random signs in the morning, but at least you're trying.

You go to sleep with images of a black man and an old white lady signing words at you.

The rest of your weekend passes in a similar fashion. Saturday you actually look at beginners stuff for ASL and try to learn the basics, instead of just dicking around in a virtual dictionary. At some point you leave your room to grab a bag of Cheetos and a bottle of apple juice.

Your brother finds you in the kitchen and challenges you to a Call of Duty marathon. Of course you agree, because you never turn down a fucking game marathon. You play online and when you play together, your team fucking beasts everyone. No one can take down the Strider brothers. You take the time between matches to munch on Cheetos and Dirk does the same, sipping on his nasty ass orange soda.

Believe it or not, you actually enjoy spending time with your brother. Sometimes, anyway. But between school, football practice, and his frequent and time consuming work projects, you rarely get time like this anymore. And the fact that you don't get chill time like this with any friends just makes you appreciate it even more.

The next match starts and you wonder if John plays games like this. Would he play them with you? Even if he wasn't good at them, would he try just to humor you? What kind of stuff does he do in his free time, other than shitty movies? Did he like popcorn or chips? Skittles or M&Ms? Coke or Pepsi?

"What the fuck, man? Pay attention!" Dirk snaps.

You blink at the screen. It's telling you that you died. "Whoa, fuck, don't get your thong in a knot. Fucker came out of nowhere."

"He was RIGHT THERE in the open and you just stood there. Now I gotta work twice as hard to hold down this area."

"Calm the fuck down. I'm on my way back."

Both of you end up leaning forward, your elbows resting on your legs as you concentrate fully on the game. When the match ends, with team Strider the victor, you both collapse back onto the couch. You grab for your bottle of apple juice, twisting the top off with practiced ease.

"So what happened back there?" He asks, tilting his head slightly that lets you know that he's looking at you, even though you can't see his eyes behind his stupid, pointy shades.

"What? Nothing happened." You say flatly, lifting the bottle to your lips.

"What's his name?"

You nearly spit apple juice all over your xbox controller. Instead you swallow it down and go into a mild coughing fit. Dirk is just sitting there watching, a knowing smirk on his lips. The smug bastard.

"What?" You finally manage to say when the coughing subsides.

"Rose told me you got yourself a little crush." Goddammit, Rose. Can't keep her snarky mouth shut. You carefully put your apple juice down and pokerface, staring blankly at the tv. Just a couple more minutes before the next match. Which means a couple more minutes before Dirk gets absorbed in the game again. "So you gonna tell me or are we gonna have to do this the hard way?"

You turn your head to face him, your lips downturned slightly. "It's none of your business."

"You are my business, little bro. I didn't take care of your sorry ass for ten years for you to not be my business."

You roll your eyes behind your shades, tilting your head a little bit with the action so he knows you're doing it. "You've only been my guardian for five years."

"Foster care counts, little bro. Don't you dare tell me I didn't take care of you." He says flatly, tilting his head down to stare at you over the top of his pointy shades.

You inwardly flinch and look away, unable to meet his orange eyes. He's right and you know it. And he knows you know it by your silence. After your parents died, the two of you bounced around in the Texan foster case system. You refused to be separated. Dirk wouldn't let them take you away from him. You went through several families and none of them ever felt like home. Dirk was all you had and you were all he had. As soon as he turned eighteen, you got an apartment together and the rest is history.

"Look, I didn't mean to bring up shitty memories. I just wanna know who this kid is that my little bro's pining after." He says with a little more tenderness in his voice than usual.

"I'm not pining." You say. You meant to snap, but it just sounds like you're whining.

"Is he cute?" He asks, and out of the corner of your eye you can see his lips curl back up into a smirk.

"Fucking adorable." You admit, and his smirk widens. You sigh. "Okay, it's nothing right now and I don't want to talk about it like it is. If it becomes a thing, I'll let you know. How about that?"

He's silent for a moment, like he's thinking it over. Finally he nods. "Deal."

The next match starts and both of you turn your attention back to the screen.

Rose makes dinner, as usual, and the three of you decide to watch a movie afterward. You don't really pay much attention. You end up mentally going over the signs you learned earlier that day. At one point you hang your hand off the side of the couch, finger spelling words where no one can see. After the movie you retreat back to your room. You do a refresher crash course on the signs you learned and those you forgot before switching gears to "surf the internet" mode.

Sunday is spent trying to learn more, while also scrambling to finish your neglected homework. All in all, it's uneventful. Despite the fact that you've left pesterchum open all weekend and John never once unblocked you, which has become less of a surprise but remained disappointing, you're feeling pretty good.

By Monday all your good feelings are gone and you're nervous as fuck.

You find yourself leaning against the wall of lockers, John's directly to your right. You're the picture of cool. Or at least the picture of a popular, attractive jock leaning against a wall of metal with a stoic expression. Your messenger bag is hanging off your shoulder, sagging slightly even though you don't really have much of anything in there. Your hands are shoved in the pockets of your favorite red hoodie, which you're wearing because it's your favorite, not because it's familiar and comforting. Because you don't need comfort. You're Dave mother fucking Strider.

You bend one knee, propping the heel of your red converses on the lockers behind you. Your headphones rest around your neck. They're red and white and a little bulky, but hey, those are cool again. Plus they make the sound so much better. Your iPod is shoved into the back pocket of your black skinny jeans. You bob your head a little to the beat you can barely hear coming from your headphones. It's a series of mixes you made that are bold and confident. Two things you are doing an excellent job faking at the moment, but don't really feel.

A lot of people send you curious glances, but you ignore them. You keep your head facing straight ahead, but behind your shades, your eyes are darting around, trying to catch sight of that head of messy black hair. When you spot him, you tense for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. At least you hope you look relaxed. Inside you're anything but relaxed. You're the complete opposite of relaxed. If relaxed was the north pole, you would be the south. No Santa and presents for you. It's all penguins down here. Do penguins even live at the south pole? Even if they didn't and got forced to move there, they would still be more relaxed than you. You would be that tense ass penguin who got eaten by a bear because he wouldn't waddle away because he was so fucking unrelaxed.

Oh shit, John just spotted you.

You know the moment he does because he freezes mid-step and his eyes widen. You tilt your head to the side so you face him and nod your chin upward in a silent greeting. You know he's deciding whether to run or not, but as soon as you acknowledge his existence, he knows he can't run. You watch as he forces himself to walk toward his locker, and also toward you. He's staring at the floor and his movements are stiff.

"Sup?" You say when he stops in front of his locker. He glances up at you, giving you a small, uncertain smile, before going back to doing his combination. This time you're not bothered by the fact that he doesn't say anything. "So look, Egbert, I-"

"John!" You get cut off mid sentence by that all too familiar, annoying british accent. You look up to see Jake pushing his way through the crowd toward John's locker. "Goodness, John! I know we're later than usual, but we are by no means late! I turn around for one blasted second and you already disappear into…" His words fade to silence when he spots you. His back straightens, pushing his shoulders back and his chest out as his face distorts into an expression of distaste. There's no room between you and John, but if there were, you know he would insert himself into it. Instead he stands on the other side of John's locker, glaring at you over the boy's head.

"Hello there, Strider. This is a surprise." He says, his voice even and controlled, even though there's a warning not-so-subtly beneath the words. John glances at him, but you can't see his face and Jake doesn't bother to look. He's just staring right at your shades.

"Sup." You say. You're still leaning against the locker next to John's and your head is turned to the side to stare right back at him. God, can't this dude just leave John alone for like, ten minutes? He's like this big tan, obnoxious cock-block.

"I certainly hope you're not here to harass my good friend John, like so many of your fellow sports enthusiasts." He says, his words thick with warning. Sports enthusiasts? Seriously, what the hell. Just say jocks.

"I'm here to talk with John, if that's what you mean." You say, keeping your voice and your face completely blank. Your fingers curl into fists inside the safety of your pockets.

"And what if John doesn't want to talk with you?" He says and John looks up at him sharply. He shoves his backpack into his locker and grabs a few books, slamming his locker shut. You can't see his face, but from the looks of his body language, he's not too happy with Jake. That gives you confidence.

"Why don't you let John make that decision for himself?" You say and Jake's eyes narrow, his lips twitching downward. John straightens abruptly and turns to face you. His bros are furrowed and his lips are turned down in a small frown. He looks uncertain. He's searching your face, but you know he won't find anything but cool stoicism and his reflection in your shades.

You wait and Jake waits, and eventually John looks down, clutching his books to his chest. Jake's smug grin is about fifty shades of victorious.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, I believe we're going to be late to class." He says, draping his arm around John's shoulders and steering him away. They only go about three steps before you speak up.

"I wasn't done talkin'." Your accent thickens a little bit towards the end, but it's too late to be bothered by that. They pause and turn around just as you nonchalantly push yourself off the lockers and turn to face them. Your hands remain in your pockets as you regard them with a blank stare, your head tilting lazily to the side.

Jake steps toward you, placing himself between you and John. "If you have anything else to say, you can say it to me." He says, placing his hands on his hips. He's staring at you, daring you to say something else. The whole hero act is getting real old, real fast.

John steps to the side so he can see you around Jake. He's giving you this guilty look, glancing at Jake, then you, then the floor. You patiently wait for him to look up again. You're kind of hoping he doesn't. That way you don't have the opportunity to do what you're planning on doing. Unfortunately he does look up and right at you.

Well, it's now or never.

This idea seemed a lot better when you were alone.

You make eye contact with John from behind your shades. You know he can't tell, but you turn your head slightly so he knows you're looking at him. You pull your hands out of your pockets and you might have done that a little too fast, because John flinches just as Jake takes a threatening step toward you.

You immediately hold your hand up, palms out and turn back to Jake. "Dude, calm the fuck down." You say, your annoyance leaking into your voice. The first emotion you've actually shown.

"I suggest you leave, Strider." He says, but you're already ignoring him.

Looking back to John, you subtly take a deep breath. You lower your hands slightly, so they're right in front of your chest. You point at Jake, then raise your hand to the side of your head. You put your thumb to your temple and bend your fingers down together, meanwhile tilting your head toward them slightly. You then put your fingers to the side of your forehead and immediately pull your hand back, bending your fingers toward your palm, leaving your thumb and your pinkie finger pointing out. For added effect, you furrow your eyebrows together.

"Why is he stubborn?" At least that's what you were trying to say. You hope you got it right.

John's eyes widen to epic proportions and his mouth hangs open so you can see all his front teeth. He's the perfect picture of surprise. He looks at Jake like he's looking for answers, but Jake is just staring at you in confusion. You're kind of glad he doesn't know how to sign. John looks back to you and then does exactly what you were hoping he'd do.

Very tentatively, he shifts his books into the crook of his elbow to free up both his hands. He points at Jake and then holds his left hand flat, palm facing the other. He holds out the first two fingers of his right hand, spread wide and palm toward you. He taps the tips of them against his left palm, then flips his hand so the back is facing you and taps his palm again. Then he raises his right hand to his chin, completely flat, and moves it away, bending at the elbow.

John's staring at you, searching for any sign that you understand. And holy shit, you do. You know that first sign because it means "means," which is a useful sign to know when you're trying to ask what something means. The other is the sign for "good," which is very common.

"He means well."

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. John just signed something to you and you understood him. Okay, now's not the time to freak out. You need to make a cool getaway before you fuck this up.

You sign visibly and look down, shaking your head. You then look up at him again, shrug and put your left hand in your pocket. With your right, your point to your eyes and move your hand away, then quickly bring it back slightly to make an "L," bending your wrist to point your finger out.

"See ya later." You shove your hand back into your hoodie pocket and saunter away like you're hot shit and you own these halls. And right now, that's exactly how you feel. You did it. Holy fuck, you did it. You signed to John and then got out of there like a cool mother fucker before you could embarrass yourself.

You're so proud of yourself, you feel like doing a fist pump in the air.

But of course you don't, because that just wouldn't be cool.

==>

Your name is John Egbert and… you're not really sure what just happened.

Well, you KNOW what just happened. You just can't believe it did.

Dave Strider. New kid. This year's football star. King of popularity. Master of cool. Number one doable guy in the school (uh, those aren't your words). Renown for not giving a shit about anything or anybody. The same guy who's been kind of bouncing back and forth between being nice and threatening you (even though you've kind of forgiven him for that, maybe it was a misunderstanding). The one who you decided to have nothing to do with because of his unpredictability. Just. Signed. To you.

He SIGNED to you.

With real ASL.

And even though it was kind of hesitant and awkward, it was correct ASL. With right grammar and everything.

Well… you were definitely right. He's completely unpredictable.

After he leaves, you just kinda stand there, staring after him. If you weren't already mute, you'd be speechless. Jake asks what just happened and you kind of wave him off. How are you supposed to answer him when you don't even know? You numbly walk to your first class and Jake trails behind, babbling about something. You're not really listening. You think your brain might be broken.

Your first class is spent in an equally mind numbed state. You're glad the teachers don't call on you. It gives you an opportunity to think. You go over everything you know about Dave, which isn't really a lot, but you come to the conclusion that he had to have known ASL before he met you. As strangely nice a thought as it is, there's no way he would have learned it for you. You don't even know him! But… he's never used it before, so many it's a possibility? No, no, no, Dave Strider wouldn't learn to sign just to talk to you.

By the end of first period, your head hurts. You're kind of too wrapped up in your own thoughts and just go through the motions of school, and you kind of forget you have second period with Dave. That is, until you're sitting in your usual seat and he comes strolling into the room. Usually you avoid looking at him, but today he has your attention. You glance up at him and he gives you an upward nod.

You really hope the warmth in your cheeks isn't noticeable. But judging from the way the corners of his lips twitch, it totally is.

You stew in your own embarrassment, completely grateful that Dave sits at the back of the room. But then the teacher comes in and announces it's a lab day and you immediately perk up. You totally forgot about that! Today is frog direction day! You've been looking forward to this since the beginning of the year!

Your teacher tells you to get into pairs and that she's actually letting you pick your own partners this time. You were kind of hoping she'd assign partners. People other than your friends rarely like to work with you because, you know, you can't talk. There's a lot of shuffling as people move around the room and you remain where you are. The guy in the seat next to you gets up and moves, leaving you alone at one of those black two person tables that seem to be standard in science rooms.

You have this feeling you know who's going to be your partner, and you're not sure whether you're excited about it or dreading it. And, sure enough, Dave Strider takes the seat next to you. You kind of saw this coming, but you can't help but be a little surprised. And excited. And extremely nervous.

He bends one knee and props it against the table, tilting the chair backwards on two legs. He crosses his arms over his chest. "Sup."

Oh geez, is that really how he always greets people? That's so lame.

You nod your head, glancing at him sideways. Okay, so he kind of intimidates you. And you're really not sure what to think about this morning. But he's not saying anything and you get the feeling that he's waiting for you to do it. So you muster up a little bit of courage and turn sideways in your seat, so you're facing him. He turns his head to look at you more directly, one eyebrow raised over his stupid sunglasses. Seriously, who wears those inside?

You shift a little so your hands are in front of you and wait a moment, just so you know you have his attention. Nothing's more awkward than signing to someone who isn't paying attention. You point at him, then bring all your fingers together and tap your temple with them. Then you finish by signing the letters "A", "S", "L", making small circular motions with each letter. You end by pointing at him again. All the while you keep your eyebrows up in question and you sign a little slowly, because you're not completely sure he'll understand you.

"Do you know ASL?"

When you're done, you drop your hands to your lap and wait. He's just staring at you and you search his face for any sign that he understood. You actually hold your breath a little when he starts moving. He points to himself, then holds his left hand flat, palm up. His right hand makes a motion like it's picking something off his left hand and he bring it to his temple. He ends by pointing at himself.

"I'm learning."

You release your pent up breath and end up smiling. The corners of his lips twitch upward in response. Before you can say much more, the teacher is talking again. She tells you that one partner should get the supplies and paper while the other should get a frog. You tap Dave on the shoulder to get his attention and point toward the table with the supplies.

He nods as you stand. "Guess I'll go get frog." He says, standing and heading for where the teacher is hovering over a bucket.

You return with a worksheet packet that you're both supposed to fill out, and a pack of supplies that include pins, a couple different scalps and knives, and a pokey flat thing that doesn't have a blade. You sit in your seat and set the stuff on the table. You pull out a pen write your name and Dave's on the top of your worksheet.

Dave returns and sets down a tray with a frog sprawled out on it. "I'd like to introduce you to our lovechild: Frogger. Frogger, this is your daddy, John." You want to focus on the fact that he said lovechild, but all you can think about is how terribly cliche that name is. You just stare at him, your eyebrows raised. He can easily read your expression. "Hey, don't diss the name, Egbert. Frogger is an awesome game."

You hold up your hand, making sure you have his attention. You spell the word, "Cliche."

He holds up his hand. "Whoa, hold yer horses. I said I'm learning. Slow that down to noob speed."

You roll your eyes and spell the word again, making a point to go agonizingly slow. He's kind of leaning forward slightly, watching your hand intently. It's…cute. In a totally straight way. When you're done, and he finally gets it, he leans back and snorts. "It's not cliche. It's ironic." You roll your eyes again and wave your hand. Whatever. "You just don't understand the fine details of irony. Not my fault you're an uneducated dork. Point is, his name's Frogger. Now let's cut this sucker open."

He picks up the scalpel and stares down at the frog for a minute before he glances at you. You're sitting on the edge of your seat, watching intently. You bite your lip a little, idly gnawing on it.

"Want the honors?" He says and you're more than a little surprised when he holds the scalpel out to you. You immediately brighten and grab the utensil, as well as the pins. Glancing at the worksheet instructions, you cut down the center of the frog's chest and pin back the flaps of skin, revealing the insides. You realize Dave's leaning over the tray next to you. "Whoa, gross." He says, but there's no trace of actually disgust in his voice. In fact, he sounds almost fascinated.

You grab your notebook and open it to a random page. You take your pen and begin writing.

"Do you not like dead things?" You inch the notebook toward him so he can read it.

He shakes his head. "Nah, man, dead things are cool. I got a collection of dead things in jars at home."

You give him a curious look and write down: "Seriously?"

He smirks. "Yeah, seriously."

You smile. "Gross."

He chuckles and it sounds nice. You've never heard him chuckle before. He actually looks approachable when he's smiling. Even if it's a tiny, barely there smile. "So since you seem to know what you're doing, how about you do the cutting and I do the writing?" He says, taking the worksheet and placing it in front of him, getting out his own pen.

"You sure?"

"'Course, dude. You're practically bouncing in excitement over there. I know I'm a douche, but how could I possibly take away a kid's dream of cutting into an animal?"

You just roll your eyes and get to work. The entire time Dave makes commentary that's actually kind of funny and not that obnoxious. You occasionally write stuff down and ask him questions, but for the most part you just let him do his thing. It's nice. Usually when you're stuck with partners, they get really quiet because you can't talk with them and then it's just awkward. But Dave has no issues with just talking your ear off with little from you other than a raised brow, curious stare, or roll of the eyes.

Whenever you come across something that's an answer to a question, you tap the worksheet to let him know. He then reads the question and you point out the answer, moving around organs or cutting them out. He stays silent long enough to write down the answer before he's talking again.

You actually find out some stuff about him. He's not unfamiliar with a blade. Apparently him and his brother practice sword fighting, which is really cool! He likes to collect dead things and he lets it slip that he likes photography. He prefers birds over amphibians, specifically crows. You're surprised by how much he talks, even if a lot of it is rambling and commentary. He's always been so quiet whenever you saw him. He makes you laugh more than a few times.

At the end of the worksheet it says you get bonus points if you can remove the brain still attached to the spinal chord. You do your best, but you just can't get it out of the skull. Dave gives it a shot, but his luck isn't much better. You both end up just making a huge mess of your frog and the mess of flesh and organs left on your tray is completely unrecognizable when you're done. You both end up laughing at this.

Well, Dave chuckles and you do your wheezy, breathy laugh.

You still have a few more minutes before the end of class and your lab is done, so you risk asking a question that's been bothering you. You write it down and then scoot the notebook toward Dave. He's fiddling with frog organs and you have to tap his shoulder to get his attention. He looks at you and you gesture toward the notebook.

"Why're you learning ASL?"

He frowns a little bit, his brow furrowing slightly, and he looks back at the frog bits. He pokes them around the tray and for a moment you don't think he's going to answer. "Because it's ironic. I'm a master of a lot of random skills and knowledge." You can't help but feel a little disappointed. You deflate a little in your seat. "And maybe to talk to you or some shit." He mumbles.

You look up sharply, but he's still staring at the frog organs. You know you didn't hear wrong. He definitely said that. Warmth spreads through your chest. You quickly write down your next question.

"Why do you want to talk to me?"

He glances at it before looking away. You lean forward a little, trying to get him to look at you, but he won't. "I donno, you're interesting." He mumbles.

The warmth from your chest rushes to your cheeks. Dave Strider just said you were interesting. And he sounded genuine about it. You scribble the next question with hands that are totally not shaking, okay?!

"Dave…are you saying you want to be friends? :B"

He looks at it, and then finally looks at you. He's got one blonde eyebrow raised and looks completely skeptical. You suddenly feel self-conscious and fidget a little in your seat. Maybe you were just jumping to conclusions…

"Did you seriously just write down an emoticon in person? Seriously, Egbert?" It's a combination of relief and Dave's tone of disbelief that makes you smile. You know all your teeth are showing, but you've long gotten used to the fact that your smiles do that. He sighs and shakes his head. "Well the answer to your question is yeah, something like that. I suppose I could give you the honor of being friends with me."

You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. He sways in his seat and chuckles. You realize that's the first time you've touched Dave. You didn't even think twice about it. You just shoved him playfully like you would do with any of your friends. Maybe being friends with Dave wouldn't really be all that strange.

You're not really sure how your other friends will feel about this. You know Jake won't like it. But Dave seems like a nice guy and he started learning another language for you. You're going to follow your gut here and give him a chance.

"Wanna eat lunch with us?" You push your notebook toward him.

"Thought you'd never ask." He stands and picks up the disection tray. "Now lets go bury our poor Frogger."

You both end up standing by the trashcan while Dave gives a dramatic and cliche speech about how Frogger was the best frog who ever hopped. Meanwhile you sniffle and dab your eyes with your sleeve. You think your fake cry is very believable. You should be an actor. Dave dumps Frogger's remains and you both sign a cross over your chests and slump away like upset parents. You're both laughing by the time you get back to your table.

You're still snickering when you leave the classroom. When you go your separate ways, you wave enthusiastically and Dave just raises his hand over his shoulder, but you see him smirking.

You're suddenly very excited for lunch.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert and everything goes better than expected.

Well, sort of.

That first lunch with Dave is pretty much a train wreck. You wait for Dave at your locker before heading to the cafeteria. By the time you get there, all your friends are already sitting around the table. The second Jake sees him, he stands and declares very loudly that he has approximately five seconds to get away from you. You grab Dave's arm and try to wave Jake down. You sign rapidly to Jade, who understands ASL the best, and she translates for you. You tell them that Dave is cool and you invited him to lunch. Dave then adds that you two bonded by cutting open your child and burying him in biology. To which you then have to explain that it had been dissection day.

With the introductions and explanations out of the way, you sit in your usual seat next to Jake. Dave takes the seat on the other side of you. Jake spends the entire lunch fuming and sending piercing glares at Dave, all the while trying to monopolize your attention. Jade does her best to be nice, but behind her sunny smile, you can see the silent warning she's giving Dave. Karkat isn't so subtle. He goes on a long rambling rant with too many curses and far too many metaphors. When he's done, Dave looks at you with a questioning raised eyebrow.

"What he's trying to say is if you hurt John, we'll hurt you." Jade says cheerily, her green eyes glinting.

Kanaya manages to engage Dave in conversation with neutral topics and doesn't show an ounce of hostility. That's Kanaya for you. Always the mediator. Rose just watches everything with an amused upturn of her black-painted lips.

"So, Dave, may I ask where you are from?" Kanaya asks. You turn your head to listen, insanely curious. You don't know much about the new football cool kid, but you want to. You want to a lot. Jake is talking next to you, but his words are lost as you focus on Dave's.

"Texas, darling, born and raised." He drawls in a thick southern accent. The change is so sudden that it's startling. You'd noticed that he had some sort of inflection to his words. Not enough to be a full accent, but enough that it hinted at one. He smirks and goes back to his usual hinted-at-but-not-really accent. "Lived there until I was thirteen, then moved to New York when my bro went to college. Moved here when Lalonde needed a babysitter."

You blink in confusion and so does Kanaya. You both make eye contact and she looks as baffled as you feel. You both simultaneously turn to look at Rose. That amused smirk is still on her lips, despite being stared at by everyone at the table. She finally speaks up when no one says anything.

"Oh, did I forget to mention that Dave and his brother are living with me?" She says slowly, feigning innocence. There's an explosion of gasps and exclamations from everyone.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Karkat.

"Oh dear, why didn't you say anything?" Kanaya.

"Roooose! These are things you're supposed to share!" Jade.

"Devil fucking dickens, Lalonde! It would have been nice to know!" Jake.

And, of course, silence and a look of jaw-dropped confusion from you.

Your head snaps back to Dave. He's looking at all of your dumbfounded faces. He looks more surprised than confused. "Holy shit, she didn't tell you guys?"

Rose shrugs. "The timing never seemed right."

"Bullshit." Dave accuses, a small frown turning the corners of his lips.

"Perhaps I did think it would be more amusing this way." She's practically grinning at him and, judging from the tightness around his shades, he's glaring at her.

"Rose?" Kanaya says gently, drawing her attention away from Dave. "Care to explain?" She prompts.

"Remember how I said my mother would be away traveling Europe for the next year or so?" She pauses while everyone nods. "Well she decided I needed some sort of guardian in her absence. My sister is busy with college, so she asked her friend, Dirk Strider, to move out here and live in our house to keep an eye on me. He agreed and, being Dave's legal guardian, Dave came with him."

"Why didn't you tell us?!" Jade whines. Rose just shrugs, sipping at her bottled tea.

Your notebook is already out and you grab your pen, quickly scribbling a question down before turning it toward Rose. "So you knew Dave already?"

She reads it and nods. "Dave and his brother have been family friends for several years now. They used to visit nearly every holiday."

Things go a little smoother after that.

With Rose in agreement with you that Dave isn't actually a bad person, just misguided and ridiculous, your friends are more accepting. They're still a little wary, but definitely more accepting. Except for Jake. But you didn't exactly expect him to jump on the Dave's-a-cool-guy bandwagon right away.

Dave eats lunch with you and your friends everyday over the next two weeks. Other than Jake, Dave gets along with everyone. Well, him and Karkat get into a lot of arguments, but you think they both enjoy it. Like their friendship is based on a mutual love to poke fun at each other. That's okay, you guess. As long as they're friends. But Dave spends more time with you than anyone else. Which you can't say you dislike.

He's taken the seat next to you in biology as his own and you often spend the class period passing notes. The same happens in your math class, but he takes the desk behind you and pokes the back of your neck with the point of the triangular folded note until you take it. You actually really like talking to Dave. Conversation with him flows naturally and he never fails to make you laugh. Even when you're laughing at him and not his jokes, because the cool kid is actually kind of a huge dork. You talk after school and on weekends on pesterchum. On days he has football practice, you quickly do your homework and wait around for him to get online.

On Friday, you have your movie night with your friends. Dave can't come because he has a game. You do your best to have fun, but you're more excited when you get home around midnight and see that Dave's online. You end up talking until you're both practically falling asleep at your keyboards.

Jake isn't happy with how much time you're spending with Dave. Or rather, how much you're talking to him, because you haven't really spent time with him outside of class and lunch. Jake makes a point to tell you at least once a day that he doesn't approve of Dave. To which you usually just roll your eyes and pat him on the shoulder. You think he's just worried Dave will replace him as your best friend. Which is silly. You tell him this one day, assuring him that Dave could never take his place as your friend. He smiles, but there's a sadness in it that you don't understand. But Jake's always been mysterious like this. You know he'll tell you what's bothering him eventually.

He also makes a point to remind you that Dave is a jock, a football player, and a member of the social group that tormented you for years. But of course you KNOW this. How could you forget when stupid football takes away the time you get to talk to him?

At one point you get fed up with Jake's nagging and snap at him that Dave isn't going to hurt you. And by snap at him, you really just write it out very angrily and thrust it in his face. He then reminds you that Dave may not hurt you, but his jock friends might.

You…kind of forgot about them. After that, you start to take notice. The jock table glares at yours during lunch. They glare at you in the hallways. But none of them ever approach you. You can feel their hate but they don't act on it. You also notice Dave's been spending less time with them. Obviously he doesn't hang out with them at lunch, but he also doesn't walk with them in the halls between classes anymore. He acknowledges them when they greet him, but he doesn't go out of his way to be with them. Sometimes they follow him, but now he'll shoo them away when they get too clingy. The jocks aren't happy, but you think the girls may be every more so. Like you stole the school's hottest new dude all for yourself.

Which you guess you kind of did.

But it's not like you want to date him or anything! You just want to be his friend, and he seems to really want to be yours. He's learning sign language for you! Your broship will be legendary.

The girls can just get over it! They're just jealous of your glorious budding bromance.

On the Friday at the end of the second week of your friendship with Dave, he doesn't have a football game and can finally join your movie night. You're super excited. You keep your notebook with you like always, but in the comfort of your friends, you can sign more often. Dave's been getting better, but you still have to sign super slow. And even then he'll ask you to sign it again and stare at your hands with a look of concentration that's almost laughable. In fact, you have laughed at it. Several times. He never gets discouraged. You think Rose might be helping him practice.

While you spend the night on the couch mushed between Jade and Dave, snickering at Dave's snide comments and hitting him whenever he insults Nicholas Cage, Jake spends the night sitting a little ways from everyone else. He looks sad and mopey and you feel bad. After the movie is over, you write in your notebook. You notice Dave's watching over your shoulder, but think nothing of it. When you're done, you get up and show it to Jake.

"You've been looking sad lately. Wanna go do something tomorrow? Just you and me. We haven't had best friend time in a while."

Jake's face instantly lights up and he pulls you into a tight hug, patting your back. You smile and return the hug. It's nice to see him smiling again.

On Saturday, you're not really sure what you're going to do, but Jake assures you that he has plans. So you get up and dressed, tuck a small notepad and pen into one of the pockets of your cargo shorts, and hurry across the side yard to his front door. You knock once before it opens and Jake is standing there grinning at you, your hand still poised for the second knock.

"John, my good man! Are you ready for a rousing day of shenanigans and adventures?" He asks with a lot of Jake-like enthusiasm. You lower your hand to your side and nod, returning his infectious grin. "Well come on then!" He says, closing his door behind him. "The day awaits!"

You settle yourself into the passenger seat of his car and he drives to your first unknown destination. After about twenty minutes of driving, you realize where you're going. Your face lights up and you turn to look at him. He cuts off mid-sentence (he's been rambling on and on about these new guns him and Jade are looking into) when he realizes you're staring at him. When he glances sideways at you, you mouth: "Hiking?"

He grins and laughs, turning back to the road. "Why yes, good chap! While I commend your detective skills, I must say I am a little disappointed you ruined the surprise. Next time humor me a little and pretend to be surprised when I take you out for a romantic date." He reaches over and ruffles your hair. It's such a familiar and comforting gesture that you laugh. A real laugh. Not a giggle or a snicker or a chuckle or a silent laugh. But a real, hearty laugh that shakes your whole body.

In all honesty, you hate your laugh. Because your vocal chords are weak and underdeveloped and essentially just broken, you can't really make any real sound that sounds, well, human. When you laugh uncontrollably, your throat makes these wheezing, choking sounds mixed in with tiny bursts of this raspy notes that you think are your vocal chords trying to do something and failing. If you were deaf, you probably wouldn't mind. But you're not and you can very clearing hear how strange and ugly your laugh is. You were made fun of as a kid for it. So you try to keep it mostly as chuckles and giggles, which just sound like sharp bursts of air.

But when you're around your close friends, you don't care as much. They've never made fun of you for your laugh and they draw it out of you so easily.

You reach over and playfully shove Jake, rolling your eyes for dramatic effect. This isn't the first time he's called your bro time a date. It's almost like an inside joke now. He smiles and chuckles, but it sounds off. You let it pass. He's been acting a little weird lately, but hopefully by the end of the night you can figure out why.

He parks the car and you both hop out. You stretch your arms high above your head, hearing your back pop as you breathe in the smell of nature. It's a beautifully clear day, with the sun shining bright and an edge of chill in the wind. It's almost fall and soon the leaves will change color. You'll have to get Jake to bring you back here when that happens, before they all fall off. Maybe you can make it a group adventure. Maybe you can even invite Dave. Would he even like hiking? You make a mental note to ask him sometime.

Jake pulls out a small, square, cloth cooler from the backseat and slings the long strap over his shoulder. You look at him curiously and he beams. "I thought we could have a picnic on the trail." You smile, letting him know that you like this idea.

He leads the way and you follow close behind. You go alone your usual trails, climbing higher and higher until you're at the peak of a ridge that overlooks a small lake. Jake hasn't said much and, duh, you haven't either. It's really hard to write while you're walking and plus you'd have to walk super slow. But you're both content in the silence.

Hiking in the woods like this has always been Jake's natural habitat. He traveled a lot with his grandma. They went all over the world and he learned how to survive in the wilderness. No one makes you feel safer in the woods than Jake. He enjoys the pleasant silence of the forest and you enjoy the fact that there's no pressure to carry on a conversation. You can both simply enjoy each other's company.

You stop and perch on a rock to eat. He's packed you a ham and cheese sandwich and a tomato sandwich for himself, avoiding any peanut butter that would leave you both with life threatening allergic reactions. You munch on chips, drink some water, and continue your hike while idly eating an apple.

He occasionally points out a bird, deer, or bunny. You point out trees you think look cool. He hops from rock to rock to log and you try to follow. When you slip and nearly land in the mud, he's there to catch you. You grin at him as he helps you back to your feet, his hands lingering. You brush him off because seriously, you're not that fragile. He doesn't need to worry so much.

You take a few more steps down the path before you realize he's not following. When you turn to look at him, he's staring at you, a strange expression on his face. You point to yourself and then sign the letters for "O-K". Then you make a gesture to urge him to continue walking. That seems to snap him out of it because he shakes his head, smiles, and follows after you.

It's late afternoon by the time you get back to the car. Once inside, the silent spell the forest had you under breaks and Jake continues talking. While he drives back into town, he talks about school and his classes and how most of them are useless in real life. You have your notebook out and occasionally ask questions or make comments, passing it to Jake so he can hold it above the steering wheel while he reads it.

He asks if you want to go play laser tag. You eagerly nod, then scribble in your notebook and pass it to him.

"If I win, will you tell me what's been bothering you?"

He stares at it for a long moment before passing it back to you. "What makes you think something's been bothering me?" He asks, but his voice is strained and tense and you know you're right.

You write quickly and pass it back. "You've been acting weird for like a week. You know you can tell me anything, right? You're my best friend! :B"

Jake sighs, chuckling softly. "You know me far too well, old chap. Fine, if you can best me at laser tag, I'll tell you."

You both know he'll tell you anyway.

And he didn't even make fun of the fact that you wrote down a smilie face. HA! Take that, Dave!

Of course Jake kicks your ass at laser tag. The guy has like, perfect aim with a gun and you're just running around shooting haphazardly anything that's glowing the opposite color. Jake just comes out of nowhere, shoots you, then laughs and melts into the darkness. You play four games total.

The smug bastard gets almost five times as many points as you.

Before he can say anything, you put your hand on his face and push him away. He laughs and even that sounds smug. You trudge back to the car and he practically skips behind you. You're not really upset. You kind of expected this to happen, but that doesn't mean you'll let him have his moment of gloating without you looking sour about it.

Once you're in the car, you write down in your notebook and pass it to him. "Wanna go see a movie?"

His face lights up. "You took the words right out of my mouth!" Which is funny because you can't take his words because you're mute. Actually it's not really that funny. But you both end up grinning anyway. But that's probably just because you're both just having fun.

Unlike Dave, Jake is a really awesome movie buddy. He appreciates a fine cinematic feature when he sees one. Unfortunately there aren't any new movies out with any of your favorite actors, but you both settle on some action flick with a lot of guns and explosions. It's not entirely your thing, but Jake is happy. And if he's happy, you're happy. You spend the movie hunched over the bucket of popcorn between you. Your head is tilted close to his as he makes comments and you laugh and nod and enjoy time with one of your oldest friends. Occasionally you'll scribble down a comment or two of your own, which he reads in the light from the screen.

If you were watching a movie with Dave, he'd be making fun of everything that came on screen. He'd find all the loopholes and tear them apart while you tried desperately to defend the movie, even if you agreed with half of his points. Well…maybe Dave wasn't a terrible movie buddy. He did make you laugh a lot and arguing with him was kind of fun. You really wouldn't mind going to see a movie with Dave. Speaking of Dave, you haven't talked to him all day and you kind of miss it. You wonder what he's up to. If he wants to talk to you too. As much as you want to get out your phone and text him, you resist. This is Jake time and besides, you're in a movie theater. Rude.

Your conversation with Jake slows as you both get absorbed in the movie. Well, he's absorbed. You're kind of distracted with thoughts of Dave. You think about the past week and all the time you've spent with him, and your conversations, and the way he rambles, and the stupid way he tosses his head to get the hair out of his eyes, and the stupid sunglasses he wears, and the way he looks super tense when he's about to sign something, and the way you can sometimes get him to smile an actual smile and not a smirk, and the way that sometimes he'll drop the bullshit and say what he means, even when he ends up just mumbling. You wonder what color his eyes are. You wonder if he's learned any new signs. Is he practicing now? You want to see his eyes when he signs. You want to see his whole face. You bet he's actually super expressive and just hides behind those sunglasses to keep anyone from getting inside. You want to go inside. You want to know the real Dave. You want to know the dork behind the jock facade. You want to be the only one able to make the cool kid smile. You want Dave to spend more time with you and not those jock assholes or the popular girls.

Oh god, when did you get so desperate to monopolize his time? You need to back off before you scare him away. You guess it's just been a while since you made a new friend.

You're so wrapped up in your own thoughts, you jump when Jake's hand touches yours in the popcorn bucket. You immediately pull your hand away and let him have at the popcorn before you reach in again.

When the movie ends, Jake is strangely quiet. He's quiet at you shuffle out of the theater and in the parking lot on the way to the car. His head is down and he's staring at his shoes like they're the most interesting thing in the world. You watch him curiously. You know it's only a matter of time before he finally talks to you.

He's quiet the entire ride home, but unlike earlier during your hike, the silence is tense and awkward. You can tell he's thinking hard about whatever it is that's bothering him, and you wish you could say something to make him feel better, but you can't. You can't say anything and it's too dark outside for him to read your notes while driving. You're essentially useless while your best friend is struggling and you hate it.

When he pulls into his driveway, he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, but makes no move to get out of the car. You slowly unbuckle yours and sit there quietly, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands grip the steering wheel, flexing and relaxing and making the leather creak as he stares at the garage door through the windshield. You wait.

"John…" He finally says, speaking slowly, like he's still not sure what to say or how to phrase it. "I… have something I've been meaning to tell you." You nod, and you doubt he saw it with how intently he's staring out the windshield, but he continues anyway. "It's…not easy to say…and I'm not quite sure how…"

You can tell he's struggling and starting to panic, so you shift in your seat and reach out to put your hand on his shoulder. He jumps and turns to look at you. His face is illuminated by the garage lights and you can see how wide his eyes are. You give him a small, reassuring smile and he relaxes. He faces forward again before continuing.

"I suppose I'll just out and say it. John, I…I…" You squeeze his shoulder gently and you can see him sort of deflate, folding in on himself. "I…may not just fancy women." He sounds almost disappointed with himself and you wonder if that's all he had to say, but you wait and he doesn't say anything else.

You know the meaning of his words and you're a little shocked. Surprised, even. But you're more happy that he trusts you enough to tell you. When the silence goes on long enough that you realize he's waiting for your reaction, you let go of his shoulder in order to grab your notebook. You write and pass it to him. He holds it up at an angle in order to read in the illumination of the garage lights.

"So you're a bisexual?"

His lips twitch into a small smile and he passes the notebook back without looking at you. "Yes, that sums it up, I suppose." He still sounds a little sad.

You quickly write something else and give it back. "There's nothing wrong with that! You're still Jake and you're still my best friend."

When he reads it, he takes a deep breath and sighs. "There…may be more…" He says slowly, glancing sideways at you. You make a rolling hand gesture, urging him to continue. He sighs again and scratches the back of his neck. "No, there's nothing more. How about we go inside and play this new video game Jade bought. It's a zombie game and I must say, it's quite fun."

He looks at you, but you level a glare his way. You reach out and click the lock button. The doors are already locked, but it makes the noise anyway which is all you really wanted. Just to make a point. You cross your arms over your chest and sit back, waiting.

"John, I really don't think-" He starts, but you already know he's just going to make up some stupid excuse.

You snatch your notebook and write another question down before thrusting it in his face. "Do you have a crush on someone? Is that why you've been acting weird?"

His eyes go wide and he sputters. "What? Uh, maybe, perhaps, but I don't see-" You give him your sternest of looks. "Yes." He says, sounding utterly defeated. His shoulder hunch and he lowers his head, but you're feeling pretty good about getting him to admit defeat. You write down something else.

"You can tell me. I promise not to tell anyone else."

He glances at it before looking away. He's still gripping his steering wheel, like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. "There lies the problem, mate." He says softly, then continues with his words short and hesitant. "I might…fancy… you?"

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. And you just stare at him as they do.

Jake…has a crush…on you…Jake has a crush on you. JAKE has a crush on you. Jake has a crush on YOU. Jake has a CRUSH on you. No matter how you say it, the meaning remains the same and you…well, you're having a hard time processing it.

Jake's always been your friend, ever since you were kids. He wasn't around a lot when you were young, but you always looked forward to his visits. And when he announced he was going to stay in the states and attend your school, you were ecstatic. Jake has always protected you. Your lack of speech has never bothered him. He's patient with you. He shares many of the same interests. Sometimes he's overbearing and overly enthused, but it's never been obnoxious. You've always been close, from when you were kids and you would run around and throw mud at Jade and Jane, to now when you spend awesome bro days together.

He's Jake. He's your childhood friend and neighbor. He's always been there for you. You don't know what you would do without him. You never want to lose him. But you just…don't see him as anything more than a close friend.

You end up staring at him, trying to wrap your brain around this new bit of information. You think your mouth might be hanging open. Finally he turns to face you. He looks you over, searching your face. You can feel your mouth opening and closing, gaping like a fish as you wish you could say something. He lifts a hand away from the steering wheel and reaches out toward you. When his fingertips brush against your cheek, you flinch back. The pain in his green eyes is what snaps you back to reality.

You hastily scramble for your notebook, trying to steady your pen but your hand is shaking. When did that even start? You barely write anything down before his hand is covering yours. Your head snaps up and he's smiling at you sadly.

"Don't bother, mate." He says softly. So softly you can barely make out his words. "We both know what you're going to write." He takes the keys out of the ignition and opens his door, slipping out of the car. You scramble to follow him, grabbing your notebook and pen before practically throwing yourself out of the car. He passes by you on his way to his door and you grab his arm. When he looks at you, you can see the way the light is reflecting off the moisture in his eyes. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. "Go get some sleep, mate. I'll see you bright and early on Monday."

He gently pulls his arm from your grip and turns his back on you. You're left standing alone in his driveway long after he disappears into the house. Your hand is curled into a fist at your side and you clench your teeth. Your body is shaking from a mix of adrenaline, fear, guilt, and shame. Fear that you've lost your closest friend. Guilt that you can't accept his feelings. Shame that you didn't realize you were hurting him.

But most of all, you feel an overwhelming sense of self-loathing because you can't…fucking…TALK.

If you could speak, you could have told Jake how you feel. You could have told him that he's your best friend and you don't want to lose him. You could have told him you don't feel that way about him, but you accept him as he is. You could have cushioned the blow. You could have let him down easy. You could have assured him that you still want to be friends. You could have done so much, but instead you were left staring with your mouth open and he wouldn't even hear what you had to say.

That was the first time Jake's ever not waited for you to write your words down.

Your best friend is hurting and it's all your fault and there's nothing you can say.

You flee back to your own house, hurrying up the stairs and to your room before your dad can stop you. You haven't eaten dinner and you're starving, but you don't think you can stomach food right now. You throw your notebook across the room and collapse on your bed, curling around your pillow as silent tears run down your cheeks.

Your notebook lands with the last page open, the words Jake refused to read facing the ceiling.

"I'm sorry."

==>

Your name is Dave Strider and you're a man on a mission.

Your mission? To win the heart of one John Egbert. Your obstacle? That giant English oaf that's always hanging around him.

Seriously, you're not stupid. You're used to noticing subtle giveaways. Especially when the guy you like is involved. And let's face it, Jake isn't exactly subtle with his affections. Not to mention he sends you death glares essentially every time you're around. His whole "John is mine" attitude is louder than those houses that set up like a million and five christmas lights and run their electric bill to the heavens just to get people to stop and stare at their house like it's some kind of tribal shrine to the holidays. But surprisingly, John doesn't seem to have noticed. Well, he's noticed Jake's drastic change in behavior, but he just writes it off. He's even apologized to you several times, saying that Jake is just being overly protective.

You were okay with how things were going. They were going smoothly. There was a little rough patch after the second day of eating lunch with them. Your "friends" got on your case before football practice. Something about you hanging out with a bunch of losers. You weren't really listening all that closely. You laid it down for them. You are Dave motherfucking Strider and you do what you want. It's ironic. You don't give a shit what they think. If they don't like it, they can suck it. It's probably the most vocal you've ever been around them, and you didn't even say much. Whether it was a mix of shock, respect for your cool don't-give-a-shit attitude, fear, or whatever else, they left you alone after that. They still tried to hang around you like they used to, but now you weren't afraid to tell them to fuck off when you were going to hang out with John. They glared at you across the lunch room and were obviously not happy about the new cool kid hanging with a bunch of losers, but as you stated before, they can suck it.

One of those losers is adorable with an overbite, glasses, and soul shocking blue eyes.

You were integrating into their friend group nicely. Karkat is fun as hell to piss off. You already get along with Rose. Jade warmed up to you pretty quickly. Kanaya is, well, Kanaya. And Jake just hates you, but you don't really care.

Though John doesn't seem to realize it, Jake's hatred of you stems from more than just his overprotective nature. He knows you like John. It's hard to explain how, but he just knows how you feel toward the little dork, just like you know he feels the same. It's just a weird phenomenon that happens when you like someone. You gain the miraculous ability to know when someone else has their eyes on your prey.

And you and Jake both have your eyes on the same prize.

The only difference is Jake's known him forever, but has a firm friend status. And you're basically a stranger, but you have the added element of being something new and exciting. You don't even know if John swings your way, but you're sure as hell going to try. And apparently so is Jake.

You were cool with just ignoring Jake and slowly creeping your way into being a solid part of John's daily life. That is, until two days ago. Being invited to their movie night was a big step and one you were more than happy to take. Jake was off pouting and you were pretty smug in your seat next to Egbert. Then John went and asked Jake to spend Saturday alone with him. You know this because you watched over his shoulder while he wrote it. And Saturday was spent pacing the house and trying to keep yourself busy, meanwhile constantly checking pesterchum for John to log on. He never did. And you had to stew in the knowledge that your crush was spending the entire day with a close friend who also wanted to get in his pants.

That was the first day since you started talking that you didn't.

And you're not happy, nor are you going to sit by while Jake makes his move.

You spent the entire night trying to come up with a solution and, after a long chat with Rose in which you pulled out all the information about Jake that you could, you have formulated a plan of attack. Rose is pretty amused and thinks it's cute that you're jealous, but fuck her. You're not cute. And jealousy sucks. Jake English sucks. He must be eliminated.

So you, being a rational young man, filled to the brim with hormones that can't be tamed, and trained to fight for what you want, not to mention stubborn genes that run in the family, have decided that you need to get rid of the obstacle in your way.

Sunday morning, you wake feeling like you're about to go into battle. You shower, get dressed, and head down the stairs. You find Rose in the kitchen, eating a sandwich and reading a book.

"You're eating a sandwich for breakfast?" You ask as you brush past her on the way to the pantry. Your voice is still gruff from sleep. You never feel fully awake until you've eaten.

"It's twelve-thirty in the afternoon." She says and you glance over to see her staring at you with one delicate eyebrow raised over the edge of her book.

You make some kind of grunting noise and shrug your shoulders, pulling a box of lucky charms out of the pantry. "Like I said, breakfast."

She eyes you as you pour a large portion into a bowl and stuff the box back in the pantry. Her lip curls and her nose wrinkles. "I don't see how you can eat that." Rose isn't a fan of sugary cereal.

You retrieve the milk and dump some in. When you're done, you look up, pausing with the milk still hovering over your bowl. You stare at her with the most serious expression you can muster. "They're magically delicious." You deadpan.

Her face relaxes into a small smile. "Is your favorite shape the rainbows?" She asks sweetly.

"You know it, honey. All us gays like shit with rainbows in 'em." You let a little lisp creep into your voice.

"Is that a fact?"

"There are a few exceptions." You glance over your shoulder at her as you put the milk back in the fridge. You give her a pointed look and her lips curve higher as her smile shows teeth.

She finishes her sandwich and puts her plate in the sink. "Good, I wouldn't want to be obligated to like rainbows." You snort a laugh as she leaves the kitchen.

You feel much better once you're finished shoving your face with cereal. With the dishes in the sink and your belly full, you go find your brother. It's not that hard. He only really goes into his bedroom to sleep. And he programs in the office only on weekdays. So if he's not in the living room, he's probably in the garage. Sure enough, when you open the door, you find him hunched over his workbench, earbuds in his ears as he bobs his head to the beat. His hands are flying over bits of metal and tools and other shit that you don't really care about. You know better than to disturb him when he's working. So you close the door and head back to the living room, deciding to wait it out.

Nothing good is on TV and John still has yet to log into pesterchum, the little asshat, so you're left bored and antsy. Dirk finally enters the room about thirty minutes after you've started up the xbox, which is also about three hours since you first peeked into the garage. He goes to the kitchen to wash off his hands and then flings himself onto the couch next to you.

"Co-op?" He asks, already grabbing for the second controller.

"Sure. Nazi zombies?"

"Sure."

You start up a new game of Nazi zombies.

It's been a while since you and your bro had a strife, but the feeling of adrenaline and nervousness is the same. On the outside you're cool, calm, and collected, slouching on the couch with the game controller in hand. On the inside you're a little more scrambled. You know it's up to you to make the first move and ease into this conversation, but the timing has to be right and your delivery has to be well planned.

You wait until you're halfway through the first round before saying anything. "Hey bro?"

"Yeah?"

"You dating anyone right now?" You ask offhandedly, like it was just a random thought that came to mind.

"Nope."

You expected this answer. Dirk hasn't really dated anyone in years. He saw a few people in his teen years, and a few more in New York, when he was in college. But it was nothing too serious. When you asked him about it, in your young naivety, he told you it was because he had priorities. You realize now that it was because he needed to take care of you. You still feel a little guilty about that sometimes. Maybe you'll make up for it now.

You're quiet for a moment as the two of you go through a few more easy levels. You're both really good at this game, having stored away hours upon hours playing it. You usually have a competition to see who can get the most head shots.

"Got your eye on anyone?" You ask as you keep one wayward zombie alive so you can switch weapons and stock up before the next wave.

"Not really."

"Why?"

He snorts a short, humorless laugh. "We just moved to a new state and my job is to build shit in the garage and write computer programs. It's not exactly the best way to meet people."

"What's your type?" You ask like it's a boring question, but honestly you're very curious. Over the years you've seen him with various types of people. There didn't seem to be a pattern.

"Don't have one." He says simply, shrugging.

"Dudes or chicks?"

"Don't discriminate." Figures. There had been both males and female among the group of people he'd 'dated'. But this is good news for you.

You kill the stumbling zombie and let the next wave begin. When he's preoccupied keeping a horde from breaking down the barriers he's watching, you drop the bombshell. "I know someone."

He laughs this time, but never misses a beat in blasting zombie heads. "I'm not interested in high schoolers, kid."

Yeah, you figured he'd say that. And you can't exactly blame him. Good thing you're prepared.

"He's nineteen. Started high school late cause he was traveling with his grandma." You continue like he hadn't said anything. "Tall. Dark hair. Green eyes. Glasses. Cheerful. English accent."

You glance at him as you talk, trying to judge his reaction. His eyebrow twitches at the last part. You have to admit, English accents are pretty cool. But Jake already annoys the shit outta you, so it ruins the effect.

He's quiet for a long time and you look back to the screen and your game. The ball's in his court now. All you can do is wait. And while you wait, you go through another seven levels of zombies. You rack up the head shots and hold your ground against the undead mob, until finally he says something.

"What're you getting at, kid?" He asks. He sounds curious. That's a good sign.

You wait a moment before answering. You decide honesty is the best policy here. "John's best friend is obnoxious and all up in my face and I can't get my Strider swag on when he's always standing in the way."

He digests this for a few seconds. "John's the kid you like?" You nod. And even though you're both looking at the TV screen, you know he sees. "And Jake likes this kid too?" You nod again. "And you want me to seduce this guy to get him out of the way of your wooing?"

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant, but you clench your jaw. It sounds like a ridiculous plan when he says it aloud. "Something like that."

He turns away from the game to look at you. He doesn't pause, of course, because pausing is cheating. But there's only a few zombies left in this wave, so it's no big deal. You'll take care of them. He regards you silently and you resist the urge to meet his shaded gaze. "You realize that plan is ridiculous, stupid, and doomed to fail, right?"

You press your lips tight and nod curtly. You feel the warmth of embarrassment spreading across your cheeks. Hopefully your shades will hide it.

"You gonna show me a picture or something?"

You quickly dig in your pocket for your phone, opening up your pictures while you run your character around to lead the last zombie of the wave on a fruitless chase. You open up a picture you took the other day at lunch. The picture is of John. The dork's making a face and has stick pretzel tusks sticking out from his bottom lip. Jake is clearly visible next to him, laughing at John's antics. You weren't happy that he was in the picture, but now you're grateful.

You hold up your phone to show your brother. "The one being an idiot is John. The other guy is Jake."

"Cute." He comments with a smirk and you know he's referring to John being an idiot and you taking a picture of it like a sap. He then takes the phone from you and looks at the picture closer. You watch his face, searching for the subtle gives of a Strider.

Dirk reaches up and lowers his glasses to the tip of his nose, looking over the top of them at your phone. It's surprising, but it gives you a better look at him and a better judge of his reaction. Several emotions flash over his face. Curiosity, confusion, surprise, and then, strangely enough, you think you see a flicker of recognition. Then again, you could just be seeing what you want to see.

He pushes his shades back up to cover his eyes and clears his throat. He passes you back your phone and you shove it in your pocket. He sighs loudly, dramatically. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm feeling generous. I suppose I could help you out, little bro." He says, completely chill. But you can tell he's hiding something from you. You don't push it though. You're just fucking ecstatic that he agreed.

"Cool."

You get to level thirty-three before dying. He gets the most head shots, but you don't even care. All you can think about John and how you need to take more "ironic" photos of him.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're not really sure what you're doing.

You didn't even go to football games when you were in high school. And never in college. Despite being the one who encouraged Dave to join the football team "for the irony," you hadn't gone to one of his games yet. Not that you're a bad brother or guardian. You just don't do the whole… crowds thing. Especially when it's a bunch of high schoolers who haven't discovered that teenage popularity will get them no where in life.

Dave understood. He didn't even want to be at his own games.

But tonight is different. Tonight is the night you fulfilled your duty as an older brother, and also to appease your own curiosity.

This past week has been rough for Dave. Not that he said anything. You just know. You raised the damn kid. You know when he's upset. You're not sure exactly what's wrong, but you know something's amiss.

He's been moody all week. You know that this past weekend John spent a lot of time with Jake. You expect something happened and that's what's been bothering Dave. But you don't think Dave knows what it is, exactly, that happened.

You got him to talk about it a little yesterday. He let it slip that John and Jake have been acting weird, and it's all that "buck-toothed, dumb-accented idiot" Jake's fault.

When you asked Rose about it later, she said that Jake finally told John he liked him. And John didn't take it very well. How she found out, you don't really know. But Rose has always had her ways. You trust her sources.

So it's Friday night, Dave has a home game, and you decided it was time to step up to the plate and do your little bro a favor.

Also, you want to learn more about this Jake kid.

You admit, Dave's plan was lame, doomed to fail, and poorly thought out. He wanted to curve Jake's attentions so he could have John all to himself. There was no guarantee John would swing his way. There was no guarantee Jake would even be into an older, attractive, rich, smart blonde like you. There was no guarantee you'd be into a high school senior, no matter how legal he was. There was no guarantee you'd hit it off. No guarantee his plan would work. Even less of a guarantee that you'd go along with such a stupid plan…

Lucky for him, you're willing to give this plan a try.

You could say it was because you feel the need to protect your little brother and his happiness, even if it means distracting some blundering idiot from your little bro's crush.

You could say it was because you were sexually deprived and frustrated and this English kid was one hot piece of ass.

You could say it was because you were bored.

But you weren't willing to just throw your weight around to seduce a man away from your brother's crush. You may be sexually deprived, but you weren't desperate. And just because you were bored didn't mean you were the kind of guy to go fuck with other's emotions.

You can be a smart-ass, a self-assured asshole, and an indifferent son of a bitch… but you're not a jerk for no reason.

There was only one reason you were willing to give this plan a shot, and one reason only: short shorts.

Okay, maybe not just short shorts. But close enough.

You've seen this Jake guy before, and he'd just happen to be wearing short shorts. That's not exactly an image that leaves you easily. Those shorts were heavenly…

But that's beside the point.

The point is you've met the guy before. Once. And he made an impression you're not likely to forget. The shorts were only part of that impression.

A couple of years ago, when you and Dave were still living in New York, you had to go to a robotics convention. Well, you didn't HAVE to, but as one of the new leading minds in the robotic's field, you felt obligated to go. Plus, you needed to get your own name and work out there.

At this point in time, you were still struggling to support Dave. You had gotten a full ride scholarship at nineteen, after your auto-responder gained some recognition in the year you took off after high school. So you packed it up and moved to New York. You didn't have to worry about college and you managed to get some loans for everything else. Two years later you had already made extreme progress. With the university funding your projects, there was little you had to worry about.

One of your only friends and certainly your best, Roxy, helped you through it all. She was a genius with computer programming. She could hack anything. You got several games for free through her. She also let you and Dave into her family. Her mom and little sister lived in Washington and they invited you and your bro to their home for the holidays. For once you could actually provide Dave with something resembling a family.

Roxy was the best one night stand you've ever had. Not so much for the sex, but because you got a great friend out of it.

So two years after you started college, you were making enough money to stop getting loans and start paying them back. But you still had a ways to go before you could provide Dave the lifestyle he deserved. He never complained about anything. He knew you were doing your best for him. He chose to go with your broke ass when you turned eighteen instead of staying in the foster care system. He never blamed you for anything, but you still feel like you owe so much to him.

So at twenty-one, you and Roxy attended a robotics convention. Roxy wasn't all that enthused, but her new roommate, an old friend from Washington, had a family friend visiting and couldn't entertain her. You appeased her, and stopped her whining, by promising to take her to a nearby anime convention that was being held the same weekend.

And you promised to get her some alcohol.

Despite being a genius, you don't exactly like the attention that comes with the territory. You like being able to walk around anonymous. So you use the name Di-Stri and don't make any personal appearances. You do show up, of course, but you never show your face. You get there early to set up the displays of your accomplishments. That year you featured Squarewave, a fully functional robot capable of participating in rap battles. And, of course, your Auto-Responder. Sure, there were plenty of auto-responders out there, but yours had the added element of your own personality. Or at least that of your younger self. And was somewhat self aware. And he was set up in a pair of shades. He never failed to entertain. Those were your biggest accomplishments, but you also put your lesser accomplishments on display.

You paid a couple of people to stand by your booth and talk up your accomplishments so you could walk around and look at everything else. At one point, Roxy wandered off on her own. You hovered near your booth, listening to everything people had to say, from the big shots to the enthusiasts.

No one looked at you twice. Some kid who gelled his blonde up, wore pointy shades, and had on a pair of black skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with a hat on it. You didn't exactly fit the bill of a computer genius.

Jake English first caught your eye because of his loud, enthusiastic voice, but kept it with his outfit. Turns out he was dressed for the anime convention nearby. He was planning on going there next and he was dressed as a male Lara Croft. Hence: the short shorts.

Of course, at the time, you didn't know his name was Jake English.

You first heard him when he tried loudly, and pathetically, to beat Squarewave in a rap battle. Now Squarewave was built to be easy. You have always won against him. But Dave and Roxy have assured you that he's more on par with regular people. You originally built him because Dave was starting to mix his own beats on your old turn tables and started writing raps. You wanted to help him practice. So you built and programmed Squarewave. Dave loved it, but he wasn't about to keep the robot to himself. He encouraged you to share what you had made. Plus, it only took Dave about a year to get good enough to beat Squarewave every time. You couldn't have his ego getting too high, so you built a tougher opponent, Sawtooth, a year later.

You don't always like going back to your southern roots, but Jake…bless his heart.

He was an idiot.

You wanted to give him a gold star for trying, but Squarewave beat him into the ground in that rap battle. You don't think Jake had ever tried rapping in his life.

You learned later that this was a correct guess. You approached him, drawn to the short shorts but also out of an overwhelming sense of pity for the kid. You offered him a fist bump and told him he sucked. He laughed, bumped your fist, and said he's never rapped in his life. You told him you could tell. He laughed again and said he just wanted to give it a shot, no one else was adventurous to try. Or they were just smart enough to know when they're beat, you responded. Perhaps, he said, but at least he made this metal contraption look good! He loves this new robotisist, Di-Stri. Robotisist isn't a word, you said, but what's so great about this Di-Stri? Everything! Was his enthusiastic response.

He proceeded to grab your arm and drag you around your own booth, pointing out the various things you had made, planned, and programmed. A lot of his facts were spotty. Most of his terminology was completely wrong. However, he made up for it with enthusiasm. He praised this mysterious Di-Stri for being so smart and so young. He told you rumors about yourself, some you hadn't even heard.

He admitted that he had dabbled in the art of robotics once or twice. He tried to make a robotic bunny for a friend of his. It didn't go over well. It needed a better power source. That's how he found Di-Stri. He had written pages and pages of research and findings on sufficient, independent power sources. Di-Stri was his inspiration. Eventually he managed to complete the bunny, even if it wasn't everything he had hoped for.

He explained what he did. You explained what he did wrong. You know a lot about robots, he said. You shrug, I dabble, you responded. He held out his hand, my name's Jake, he said. You shook his hand, which was tanned and callused and firm. Dirk, you said, and you may have even smiled.

You walked around together for a while, chatting about your surroundings and also other things. You learned he traveled a lot with his grandma, but he finally settled down to go to high school. He was seventeen. A pity. He loved the outdoors and guns, both real and in video games. He was a huge movie nerd. Lara Croft was a hero of his, hence the outfit. He tried to bring real guns, for the authenticity, but they wouldn't let him. Duh. He was born and raised in England before his parents died and he went to stay with his grandparents, along with his younger cousin. He was kind of an idiot. But adorable nonetheless. After talking to him, you were just as drawn to his green eyes and bucktoothed grin as you were to his ass in those shorts.

You told him you were going to college and the legal guardian of your younger brother. You told him you were from Texas, as was apparent by your slight accent. You tried to hide it because living in New York with a southern accent wasn't exactly the best thing. He said he liked your accent and you shouldn't bother with what others say. You told him you loved horses and puppets, both were interests most guys like you don't have. He was intrigued and not at all weirded out. You told him you mix beats and occasionally draw. Your sense of humor was dry, blunt, and sarcastic, but he laughed anyway.

A few hours passed far too quickly. Eventually he had to excuse himself, he had an anime convention to go to. Once he was gone, you went in search of Roxy. She had found the bar. You're not even sure how she was able to sucker some poor sap into buying a drink for her. You didn't want to know.

After packing up your things, you both headed on over to the anime convention. You kept your eyes peeled for the familiar rump in those skin tight shorts. You kept your ears alert for that loud, obnoxious laugh. You didn't find him. You didn't even know his last name. You never saw him again.

Or at least, you hadn't until Dave showed you a picture of him on his phone.

In the few seconds you looked at his phone, several things clicked. The mute kid Dave has his eyes on looks a lot like Roxy's roommate, Jane. Jane and Roxy are from this area, so it's entirely possible John and Jane are related. That would explain how he's friends with Rose. Jake, your long lost Lara Croft, is best friends and in love with this John kid. Rose told you Jake's family were old friends with the Egberts. Which means Jake and Jane were friends. And Jane's old family friend who visited her two years ago was Jake. The Jake you met.

You had connections all this time and you had no idea.

You're extremely disappointed with yourself.

So now you're willing to give Dave's plan a shot, if only to get a second chance at Jake English.

You can't believe how expensive it is to get into a high school football game. Seriously, it's just high school. You find a seat at the top of the bleachers on the home side, making sure to sit on the opposite end from the student section. Too loud over there. Plus Dave told you John's group were the type to stay away from that screaming bunch. You believe it. Rose is in that group.

You had offered to give her a ride, but she politely declined. She was going to go with Kanaya. You're pretty sure there's something going on between her and this Kanaya, but you're not quite sure yet. Rose is harder to read than Dave. Not that Dave's hard to read. You know him like the back of your hand.

So you drove alone and took your seat. You sit with your back against the chain link fence at the top of the bleachers and your hands in the pockets of your black skinny jeans. It's a little chilly, at least for someone born and raised in Texas, so you chose to go with your favorite orange and white hoodie, white t-shirt on underneath, sporting an orange hat. It's ironic, or some shit.

Really it's just stupid and you enjoy doing or wearing stupid things because they go against social convention. It's not what people expect and it always throws them for a loop. It's a defensive mechanism you came up with in your teen years. If you go by others' expectations, then you open yourself up to their ridicule if you go against that. If you defy others' expectations from the start, they never know what to expect. If you do it with calm indifference, they think you have self-confidence. They think you don't give a shit and suddenly you're cool.

You took this defensive mechanism and called it irony.

You've been living by this method for years. Doing what you wanted and openly liking what you wanted to, covering it with the guise of irony. You've been teaching Dave this irony bit for years and it's served him well. Your own little way of protecting your little bro.

Someday he'll get it.

As the bleachers and the surrounding areas begin to fill up, you keep an eye out for your prey. Normally searching for someone at night with your shades on would be difficult, but with all the bright ass lights shining every direction, you're kind of thankful for your tinted protection.

You spot Rose first. You were actually surprised she agreed to go. You didn't think Rose would ever be caught dead at a sporting event. But there she is, in all her black and purple glory. Attendance? Yes. School spirit? No. She even has a book tucked under her arm. You're fairly certain the only reason she agreed to go was so the others would as well. Dave wouldn't admit it, but you know having John at one of his games would mean a lot to him.

So he convinced them all to go to his game and then nonchalantly let it slip that Jake will be there. You told him you might stop by. You know he knows that you're here.

You watch as Rose finds a seat on the first row of bleachers. A taller girl with dark hair sits next to her. The girl is wearing green lipstick. No wonder Rose has a thing for her. The two are a match made in freaky heaven. Rose glances around and, of course, you catch her observant eye. You tip your chin up in a silent and subtle greeting. Even at a distance you think you can see the corner of her lip turn upward as she gives you the barest of nods.

The band takes the field for pre game, playing the national anthem and the fight song to welcome the team to the field. Still no sign of the rest of Dave's friends. The game's about to start when they finally appear.

You want to say you heard his laugh or his voice and that's what drew you to look at him. But in reality, you had been watching Rose like a hawk and anyone who came near her.

You already knew what to expect of John. You saw the picture on Dave's phone. He's kind of short, messy black hair, glasses, and an outfit that just screams dork. But the kid's smiling and half turned as he walks and signs rapidly to the girl next to him, and you guess you can see why your little bro is attracted to him.

He's with a girl with long dark hair and big circular glasses. You can just tell by looking that she must be Jake's cousin. The family resemblance is strong. You can't see from this distance, but you're willing to bet her eyes are a stunning green. She's signing to the John kid before turning and yelling at some grumpy looking dude in a baggy sweatshirt. The two start arguing, over what you don't know and don't care. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Jake.

It's been two years since you last saw him. He's grown taller and broader. His skin has lost some of the tan he once had, but not much. His dark hair swoops back from his forehead. It looks stylish, but you're willing to bet it does that naturally. Despite the chilly autumn evening, he's wearing just cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and a green button-up that's currently unbuttoned with sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

You're Dirk mother fucking Strider, young genius and indifferent smart ass. You're an idol to your brother because nothing shakes you. Nothing. You're calm, cool, and collected twenty-four seven. And your heart totally did not just skip a beat when you laid eyes on Jake English.

They all sit down next to Rose and the girl whom you assume is Kanaya, and you relax your ass into the hard metal bleacher seat. Time for some people watching.

For the most part, you watch them for the first half of the game. Though, being the proud older brother you are, you do spare some time to actually watch the game, but only when Dave is on the field. Yeah, so you convinced him to join the football team because or irony or some shit. It was partially a joke and partially because you wanted to assure he wouldn't be picked on in his new school. You weren't sure if he'd go along with it, but Dave rarely turns down a challenge. Especially if you issue it.

You never doubted he'd be good, but as you watch him easily outrun everyone, you feel a fresh wave of pride. Yeah, that's your brother out there. The brother you raised. He's hot shit and everyone knows it.

In the time you spend watching Dave's little friend group, you learn a few things. Jake's cousin and the grumpy dude argue a lot, but it's never really heated. Something there? Maybe. Rose and Kanaya sit fairly close and talk frequently, but you notice a few times when Kanaya's attention is drawn elsewhere, at a group of louder students. One of whom is in a wheel chair and another is a girl with a streak of blue hair. John makes an effort to talk to his friends, between signing at some of them and writing down in a notebook for others. He always writes things down for Jake and you get the feeling the guy doesn't know sign language, despite supposedly liking the little mute. But for the most part, the kid is transfixed on the game. Especially when Dave is on the field.

You watch as Jake tries to get John's attention and frequently loses when Dave gets on the field. When they're not actively talking, there's an awkwardness between them that you can't describe, but you can see plain as day. Perhaps it's in the way Jake hunches slightly when John's not looking, or the way John has a little too much tension in his shoulders when he looks at Jake. It's awkward, and you're sure everyone knows and is ignoring it.

You wait until halftime to make your move.

You wonder if he's even going to remember you.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you're not really sure what you're doing.

You've never been a fan of American football. Not that you're completely opposed to watching a game or two. But you're strictly against supporting this routy high school sport, especially when the members of such a team have spent years tormenting your best mate.

You sure hope he's still your best mate…

What're you worrying about? This is John! He wouldn't let something like you professing your love get in the way of your friendship…right?

This whole past week had been terribly awkward. You tried to act as if nothing was wrong, but every time John flinched away from you or looked at you with those wide, pitying eyes…it was hard to pretend everything was alright.

You know everyone noticed the tension between you two. It was hard to miss. For the first few days, you kept your distance. You weren't completely sure how John was taking the news of your little…major…crush on him. But John made a point to let you know that he didn't care. Not with his words, per say, but with his actions. He didn't avoid you and he even sought you out when you were being cowardly.

That proved two things to you: John still wanted to be friends and wasn't afraid of your attraction to men, specifically him. And being friends was halfway to being together. And best mates was even better.

You already have an advantage over the competition, and you don't plan on giving that up just because of a minor set back.

Unfortunately, the competition took a swing before you could fully recover. He somehow managed to convince all of your friends to watch him play football, and you sure as hell weren't going to allow John to go without you. So now you're stuck supporting those who have made your mate's life a living hell. John, however, doesn't seem to mind.

For the first half of the game, you've tried and failed to keep John's attention. But every time that blasted Strider took the field, he also took John's attention. One hundred percent. Nothing you said got through to him and you've had to watch him grin at the young man you consider to be the enemy.

He came out of nowhere. He interrupted your life and stuck his head into John's business. Now all of a sudden, they're close. Far too close for your liking. Sure, John will say they're just friends. Dave's a cool guy. He assures you he won't take your best friend's status. Unfortunately, it isn't the best friend status you're worried about. It's the coveted spot at John's side. As his boyfriend.

You're not even sure John likes men. You've spent years trying to feel out that possibility. But on the chance that he can be persuaded to like men, you're not about to let Strider slip past you.

He never fooled you for a moment. You were always suspicious of him. First, that he was part of a cruel joke the jocks were going to play based on a fake friendship with John. But when that proved false, you realized what he was really trying to do: steal your John.

You were happy taking things slowly, but now you realize you have to go for it if you're ever going to get anywhere. You can't just sit idly by.

If the pieces aren't going to fall into place, you need to place them yourself.

Easier said than done.

By halftime, you were feeling more than a little irritated. John hops up and declares that he's going to get snacks. You immediately offer to go with him and so do Jade and Karkat. Now that you're standing, you take this opportunity to playfully bump into John and even throw an arm around his shoulders. But once you round the bleachers and he catches sight of the football team going to the locker rooms, he sprints away from your grip and into the crowd.

You should have known it wasn't all about snacks.

You catch up to him just in time to see him waving enthusiastically to Dave. The bane of your current existence doesn't have that much of a reaction when he sees him, but it's a lot for him. If he were anyone else, he would have lit up.

You don't want to watch this. You tell your friends you're going back to your seats and to grab you some popcorn.

But you don't go back to your seat. You go past the bleachers and find an empty spot along the chain link fence that keeps the track and field separated from the audience. The top of the fence has some sort of padded tubing on it to cover the jagged edges. You rest your crossed arms on this and bend over to rest your chin on your arms.

Sigh.

The marching band takes to the field, but you barely pay attention. Mostly you just stare into space, lost in your thoughts.

Sigh.

Life was so much easier when you traveled with your grandma and there were no blue-eyed beauties to distract you. Romance is a tangled web you've found yourself in. It complicates everything. Yet you can't bring yourself to let him go. You can't give up. You can't! None of the heroes in your adventure and action movies gave up!

If only you could whisk John away into a world traveling adventure and leave the devilish allures of that blasted Strider behind.

Sigh.

You feel something bounce off the back of your head. You shake your head, convinced you had imagined it. You realize the band is no longer on the field. Huh. When did that happen?

Something hits your head again and you're certain you didn't imagine it. You run a hand through your hair. Something hits you again. You stand up straight and look around. No one seems to be looking at you. Just as you're turning your head, something bounces off your cheek. You flinch and blink rapidly in surprise. Looking down, you notice several pieces of popcorn at your feet.

Hope fills your chest, but when you look up to where your friends should be sitting, John is no where in sight. Neither are Karkat or Jade.

Curious.

This time the popcorn hits your forehead. You slap a hand to the abused spot and look up. After a brief search, your eyes settle on a young man. He's standing on the bleachers, leaning against the chain link fence that lines the edges of the metal seats. He's looking right at you. He's also holding a box of popcorn.

You turn back around and face the field. You don't know this chap and you're in no mood to make friends with strangers, so it's best to ignore him. He probably mistook you for someone else.

Suddenly there's a presence beside you. You glance sideways in time to see the same young man leaning back against the fence. Goodness gracious, he's fast! He doesn't even look at you, he's turned like he's observing the crowd. You awkwardly shuffle a step away and look back to the field.

"Sup?"

Your gaze snaps back to him and, sure enough, he's looking at you.

Good golly! His eyes are orange!

You stare at each other for several moments before he repeats: "Sup?"

You realize your mouth is hanging open and hurry to shut it. "You were throwing popcorn at me?" You say, more of an accusatory statement than a question.

"Yes."

You wait, but he doesn't say anything else. He just eats some popcorn.

"Well that's hardly appropriate behavior for strangers."

"I was going to throw peanuts."

"I'm allergic to peanuts."

"Good thing I went with popcorn then." He holds out the box. "Popcorn?"

You shake your head. "No thanks. My friends are bringing me some."

He looks around, making a show of looking for your friends. Even though it was unlikely that he'd be able to spot them. He looks back to you. "You don't have any right now. Popcorn?"

You sigh and take a handful of the offered popcorn. "Do I know you?" You ask, though you're certain you've never seen him before. He just shrugs, chewing more popcorn. "Aren't you a little old for a high school football game?" The man looks to be at least collage age.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Aren't you a little old to be a high schooler?"

His comeback catches you off guard. You stare at him for a moment before chuckling. "I suppose so."

At the sound of your laugh, you notice his lips twitch upward. It's the first change in expression you've seen from him. But it soon falls back to a blank face. He reminds you of someone…

"I'm here because my brother's on the team." He says.

"Really? Who?"

"Does it matter?"

You pause, thrown off by his indifferent attitude. "Well…yes, I daresay it does! You approach me, after throwing food at me might I add, and when I try to make friendly conversation, you brush me off!"

"I offered you food, too."

"After imposing your presence and popcorn on me!" You snap, turning to face him. "Do I even know you?"

He just kind of stares at you, and then his eyes slowly travel down to your feet before coming back up to meet your eyes. You feel slightly violated. "You tell me."

You throw your hands into the air and sigh loudly. "I'm positively certain I've never seen you before in my life! I have the memory of an elephant, let me tell you!"

He shrugs and throws a piece of popcorn into the air, catching it in his mouth. "Suit yourself."

You roll your eyes and turn back to the fence, resting your arms on it once again and hunching over. "If you don't mind, I'm not really in the mood for a good natured chat with a stranger." Not to mention you're really not in the mood for his obnoxious nonchalance.

"Girl problems?" He says. You sigh and rest your chin on your arms again. Perhaps if you ignore him, he'll go away. There's a long pause and you think that he's growing bored of you. Sadly, you're wrong. "Boy problems?"

You freeze for a moment, just a moment, before you remember how to breathe. Hopefully he didn't notice.

"Yeah, I thought so."

Damn.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him shaking his head. "I understand. High school romance. Hormones running wild. Sexualities undiscovered." He pauses to eat some more popcorn, but he still doesn't go away. "Want to know what I think?"

"No." You say.

"I think you need to forget high school boys." You jump when you suddenly hear his voice right next to your ear. "I think you need a man."

You slap a hand to your ear and whip your head around to look at him, but he's already leaning back against the fence again. You gap at him for a moment in silence. He's not even looking at you. He's observing the crowd. You wonder if you imagined it. Your eyes narrow. "Thank you, but you don't understand."

He looks at you sideways and once again you're caught off guard by his orange eyes. "I understand that someone isn't appreciating that fine ass of yours."

You hesitate for a moment before chuckling, but it sounds strained and nervous. You lower your hand back to the fence. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hitting on me!"

"Is it working?"

You blink. "What?"

"I can try some pick up lines. Did it hurt?"

"Huh?"

"You're supposed to say: 'did what hurt?'"

"Why?"

"So I can say: 'when you fell from heaven'. Maybe I should just use some one-liners."

"I don't think-"

"If I could rearrange the alphabet, I'd put U and I together."

"You should just-"

"Is it hot out here, or is it just you?"

"Excuse me, I-"

"Do you have a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants."

"Will you-"

"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

"-Stop!"

Finally he stops, but you wait a moment just to make sure. He just stares at you, one eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his lips. "Are you quite finished?" You say.

"One more." He says, lifting one finger for emphasis.

You roll your eyes. "Fiiiiine."

"Do you have any raisins?" He asks.

"What?" You say when you realize he's waiting for your response.

"Do you have any raisins?" He repeats.

"Uh, no?" You say, unsure. You don't really know where he's going with this.

"Well, then how about a date?" His lips quirk upward just a fraction more.

You sigh and roll your eyes again. "No. No dates. I'm not interested, thank you. Now please leave me alone."

"Why not?"

"Pardon?"

"Why aren't you interested?" He turns and mirrors your position against the fence, leaning forward on his forearms. The popcorn box hangs loosely in his grip. His head is turned so he can look at you. You avoid his gaze by staring at the track.

"Because!" You say, frowning. "Because there's someone else…"

"He doesn't like you back." He says easily, like it's no big deal that your heart is cracked and close to shattering.

"You don't know that." You say defensively.

"No. But you do." You tilt your head to glare at him and this time he sighs, turning his head to look at the ground. "It's written all over your face, dude. You're not exactly hard to read."

"Just a minor bump in the road." You say. "A good adventurer doesn't let a little scratch stop him from adventuring!" You hit the fence top with your fist for good measure and stand up straight. "Besides, I don't even know you!"

He tilts his head to look at you, his smirk back in place. It's oddly familiar… "You could get to know me."

"I think I'll pass, if you don't mind." You turn and start to walk away. You've had enough with this nosey stranger. You're not in the mood to talk, let alone be flirted with! Your heartbreak is still fresh. You don't need to put up with this pushy man!

"I do mind. How about that date?" He says. You don't turn around, but you can tell by the sound of his voice that he's following you.

"We do not have a date! Nor will we ever have one! I refuse to be sweet talked by a silver tongued curr!" You walk around the back of the bleachers, aiming for the concessions stand in hopes of reuniting with your friends. There aren't as many people around, which you assume to mean halftime is almost over.

"Strong words for a man who turned his back to the enemy." His voice is a low hum, but it's loud in your ear. It's the only warning you get before his arms wrap around your waist and spin you around. He then hugs you, both around around your waist, leaving your arms awkwardly flailing because you refuse to hug him back.

"What are you doing?! OH! Did you just grab my ass? Unhand me!" You demand, putting your hands to his shoulders and giving him a push, but he just clings tighter. He's taller than you and his head is next to yours. His lips are near your ear. You can feel his breath. He stays silent for a moment longer and you give his shoulders another slight experimental shove. He doesn't budge.

He chuckles and the sound is low and sends shivers down your spine. "Until we meet again." He purrs into your ear before giving your earlobe a light nibble and his hand gropes your ass again.

And then suddenly he's gone. One moment he was tight against you, and the next you're watching his back as he walks away, idly eating popcorn. Your eyes take him in for the first time. When he's a good distance away, definitely out of earshot, he stops and half-turns. You freeze when he looks directly at you. He raises his hand to his ear, his pinky and thumb outstretched in the universal sign for 'phone.'

He mouths two words: call me. He winks and turns around, walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

No! No, your heart most certainly DID NOT just flutter even in the slightest!

It was merely aquiver with irritation! Yes. Yes, that must be what it is.

Right, then. You were going to find your friends.

Turns out there aren't still in line at the concession stand. It also turns out that the third quarter of the game has started. You make your way past screaming, cheering students and back to your seat. Sure enough, all your friends are back on the bleacher bench you had claimed earlier. John looks up when he sees you and waves you over with enthusiasm.

Your heart is instantly lighter. One look at his bright smile and…yes. THAT'S what a heart flutter feels like.

You sit down and he hands you a box of popcorn. Instead of dwelling on thoughts of a certain, obnoxious blonde stranger, you chat with John and Jade. Between the two of them, they tell you about the group of people they ran into in line: Vriska and her new boy toy, some boy in a wheel chair named Tavros. You never were fond of Vriska, she's a rough girl, rude and prone to violence. But she's stood up for John on more than one occasion, and therefore you've decided that she's not so bad.

Dave's on field, but John is still talking to you. You're quite happy about this until Dave steps off the field. He grabs some water and turns his back to the game, obviously scanning the crowd. You only know it's him because John has reminded you every ten minutes of Dave's number. That, and the name "STRIDER" is on his back.

John jumps up and starts waving at him with both hands. He's still holding his box of popcorn and popcorn rains down on you. You sigh and take out your phone, eager to find out how much time you have left here. You're surprised to see you have an unread text. You unlock your phone to find a message from a number that doesn't have a name, but a symbol.

From: <3 I lost my phone number. Can I have yours? Oh wait, I already do. I'll talk to you later about organizing that date. Later.

You feel your face blanch and your heart sink. How did he? When did he…? When he groped your bottom! He must have gotten your phone without you noticing! Stealthy handed scoundrel! And he didn't even have the courtesy of putting his name in your phone, just some silly text heart.

"What's that?" Jade asks, leaning over to view your phone.

"Nothing!" You quickly shut off the phone and shove it back into your pocket. You spy Rose eyeing you curiously, with that knowing smile of hers. No, there's no possible way she knows.

You'll change the name in your phone to something else later.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're not really sure what you're doing.

Okay, well you know what you're doing. You're playing football. But you're not really paying attention. You're just going through the motions. Line up, move a little. Get the ball, run. Avoid people, run some more. Run until you're hit, you pass, or you reach the end. You don't usually get hit, but when you do, you're up again in no time. If your bro taught you anything over the years of strifing, it was how to take a hit.

You don't really pay attention anyway during these games, but tonight is different. Tonight is the first time John is watching you play.

And possibly your brother.

You're totally not nervous. You're Dave mother fucking Strider.

You totally don't almost fumble the ball in the first quarter. Or almost trip over your own feet in the second.

You do much better in the second half, after seeing John during halftime. You only saw him briefly, while you and your teammates were walking to the locker room. You zoned out during the coach's halftime speech, instead thinking of John and his bright ass smile.

While taking a break on the sidelines during the third quarter, you finally spot him in the crowd. He waves to you and you raise one hand in greeting before turning back to the game.

You feel great knowing that he's there watching you. Seeing how utterly awesome you are. Cheering for you. Only you. Because you know he's not cheering for anyone else, not even the team. Just you.

This past week had been awful. The tension between John and Jake could have been split in half with even the shittiest of swords. Rose told you Jake had told John of his crush…and that John hadn't exactly fallen head over heels for him. Which was good news and bad news for you. And more bad news, but also hopeful news.

Good news: John didn't have a crush on Jake and isn't dating him.

Bad news: They're still friends, even painfully awkward friends, so feelings could still develop.

More bad news: John probably doesn't swing for your team.

Hopeful news: He doesn't seem opposed to Jake's liking for sausage, so there's still hope you can draft him for your team.

In other words: it's been a very stressful week, and all you've been doing is standing on the sidelines, watching.

That's when you decided you were done spectating. So you asked John and the gang to come out and watch your game. Your goal was to impress John…but it also means a lot to you that he actually showed up, despite his understandable hatred of your teammates.

You, of course, won the game. Your school had been on a winning streak ever since you showed up and gave them a piece of godly Srider ass.

Afterwards, you hurry to change out of your uniform, but not before sending John a text. Or at least, you were going to. But when you get to your phone, you see an awaiting message from him telling you that they'll meet you at your car. You nearly crack a smile before you remember the company you're in. These jock dumb-nuts have an expectation of you and you don't really want to shatter their image of you. So the cool Strider doesn't smile.

Instead you just get undressed and redressed in silence. The locker room stinks. It's hot and musty and full of sweaty dude. Not even the good kind of sweaty dude. You get out of your pads and your sweaty gross clothes. No one actually uses the showers. Too much work when you're all just going to go home and shower in the comfort and privacy of your own bathrooms. So after a quick towel off, you pull on a pair of black skinny jeans, a red t-shirt, and your red converses. You give yourself a good dose of deodorant, hoping it'll mask the stench of sports. You throw on your hoodie, pack your bag, and head for the door. Several people shout goodbyes to you. You just raise a hand in acknowledgement and keep walking.

You pause in the fresh air to breathe a sigh of relief. The night air is a little cold, but after being in that locker room, it's not unwelcome. You head out for the parking lot.

People stare at you as you pass. Whispers start up in your wake. A few brave souls risk calling out a greeting or a "good game, Strider!" You ignore them all, only giving a slight nod to those who speak to you directly.

As you reach the exit of the stadium, you stop, realizing you forgot something. Your sunglasses. You shrug the bag off your shoulder and dig through it, pulling out your shades. You sling your bag back over your shoulder and hesitate before putting your shades on. You suppose you don't really need them. You're still wearing your colored contacts. They're itchy and annoying as fuck and you can't wait to take them out…but John will be able to see your face without seeing your creepy, weird-ass red eyes…

You hang your shades on the collar of your t-shirt. They're visible, but you're not wearing them.

Your heart totally isn't pounding as you walk across the parking lot. And your hands are in fists in your pockets because you're a little chilled, not because you're nervous.

Striders don't get nervous.

You're not as exposed as you feel. Just breathe, Strider. Focus on that poker face you spent years perfecting. Just because you aren't wearing shades doesn't mean you can't keep up that cool kid look. You run your fingers through your hair out of habit, only to realize your hair is sweaty and is probably now sticking up at odd angles. Shit. You spend a moment frantically trying to put it back in place.

You spot John, Rose, Kanaya, Jake, Jade, and Karkat waiting by your car and…fuck.

You fight the urge to put your sunglasses on. This was such a terrible idea. Fuck! You're an idiot.

John is the first to notice you and shit, it's too late to put your shades on now. As you come to a stop in front of them, John lifts his hands to his face, using his pointer fingers and thumbs to frame the outer corners of his eyes. You don't need a sign language dictionary to know he's signing "glasses." He gives you this curious, questioning look. You know what he's getting at.

"Yeah, sometimes I don't wear my shades, Egbert." You say. "In case you haven't noticed, it's dark outside."

He gives you an unamused look and rolls his eyes. He points at you and then pinches his nose, his fingers splayed wide.

"You stink." He waves his free hand in the air, letting you know he means you smell bad.

"That is called Ode de Strider, fragrance of the gods. Chicks and dudes alike are falling over each other trying to get a whiff. Should bottle and sell this shit. Get rich quick. And here I am, letting you smell for free. Go ahead, Egbert, give me a sniff." You raise an arm and take a step toward him. He holds up both hands to keep you away. "Smell the gods, John." You say, very seriously, leveling him a look that you hope is ten times more effective without your shades.

After a brief hesitation, he smiles and chuckles, waving you off. You shrug. "Suit yourself."

You and your friends exchange some small talk, mostly in the form of them congratulating you and you rambling about one thing or another. It's like word vomit. But it makes John laugh, so whatever. Several times you watch him staring at you with this wide eyed look. You think it's because he can see your face. You really hope it's not because he thinks your face is weird. You hope it's because he likes your face.

You sure as hell hope John likes your face.

Strangely enough, Jake seems a little distracted. He's not all up in your grill trying to steal John's attention like he usually is. You don't really know why, and you don't really care. You just use this to your advantage, slinging an arm around John's shoulders. Despite his protests that you stink, he doesn't seem to really mind.

He uses hand gestures to make fun of your hair. You use your arm on his shoulders to put him in a headlock and ruffle his hair. He laughs and wheezes and even though his laugh isn't melodic or beautiful, it's music to your ears.

After standing around for about twenty minutes, you all go your separate ways. John, Jade, and Karkat go home with Jake. Rose, obviously, is going home with you and you offered to give Kanaya a ride. You wanted to give John a ride, too, but it wouldn't make sense, seeing as Jake lives next door. Maybe next time, you think. Maybe sometime you'll get to see his house, and even his room.

You make idle chit chat with Rose and Kanaya. Most of it consists of you and Rose making friendly jabs at each other. Occasionally you take a stab at Kanaya, knowing she's easy to throw off if you embarrass her enough, but Rose was there to defend her. You drop her off at her house and drive back to Rose's house.

Dirk's car is in the driveway. You feel a little deflated. When you asked if he was going to your game, he just shrugged and said maybe. You suppose he didn't really go. Which means your plan to have him seduce Jake might be a bust after all. Your brother is hard to read. And after he agreed to give your plan a shot, he hasn't said anything else about it. So you're not really sure if he meant it or not.

He's sitting on the couch flipping through the channels on the TV when you get inside. Rose excuses herself to her room and you toss your bag to the floor and plop down on the couch next to your bro.

"You smell terrible." He says.

"Gee, thanks, bro." You kick off your shoes. You don't think you smell THAT bad. "I WAS kind of running around under a shit ton of padding under a million and five florescent lights for a couple hours."

"I know. I saw." He says.

You look at him in surprise, but he's still staring at the TV. You don't think he's actually paying attention to the channels. "You were there?"

"Yup." He says. Your chest feels lighter. You don't want to admit it, but it means a great deal to you that your brother came to one of your games. "Came to see that English kid."

"Oh." Your shoulders sag a little.

"Talked to him during halftime. Was sitting at the top of the bleachers for the rest of it. You did good kid." He says casually, but you can hear the hint of pride in his voice.

You crack a small smile. "Thanks, bro."

He ruffles your hair, causing it to stick up at odd angles. "Don't get sappy on me now. Go shower, kid."

"Whatever." You roll your eyes and stand, but you're still smiling. You get halfway up the stairs before you remember something. You walk back down and pause at the bottom. "So how'd it go with Jake?"

You can see his shoulders lift and fall over the back of the couch. "Got his number. Gave him mine."

Your eyebrows shoot upward. "He actually took your number?"

"Didn't have a choice." You hear the smile in his voice.

"Snuck it into his phone, huh?"

"Yup."

"Romance at its finest."

"Damn straight."

After your shower, which was long and hot, you get back to your room to find a text waiting for you from John.

John: You did great today! Get your butt on pesterchum when you're done cleaning off that stink :B

You smile and type back a response.

Dave: embrace my man musk John. embrace it.

You spend the next few hours talking to John, and you go to bed feeling better than you have in weeks.

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you're not really sure what you're doing.

You lay there in your bed, breathing hard, heart hammering in your chest, and a horrified expression on your face.

It had been a great night. You had more fun at the football game than you thought you would. Dave was amazing! You didn't realize how FAST he is! He should have gone out for track instead. You don't really understand the rules of football, but you enjoyed yourself anyway. You spent most of your time admiring Dave.

And then…after the game…you saw Dave without his sunglasses. You've never seen him without those silly things! He wears them all day during school and even when he was watching movies with you and your friends. You don't know why he wasn't wearing them…but you're glad he wasn't.

Dave is…Dave is… really attractive.

Not that YOU think he's attractive! You just…understand why everyone thinks he is. You understand why the girls are obsessed with him. His blonde hair was messy and sweaty and stick up every which way, but he still managed to make it look good. And without his shades, you could see his face as a whole. He has a nice face with attractive angles…not that you noticed!

What you DID notice was that he has freckles that dust his cheek bones and the bridge of his nose. You never noticed before. And his eyes! His eyes are warm brown and framed with pale blonde lashes. You were fascinated and you think he caught you staring a few times.

It was just so…amazing! You got to see ALL of his facial expressions! It was so much better than when he had those silly sunglasses blocking half his face.

As soon as you got home, you texted him to get on pesterchum because you haven't really gotten the chance to talk to him today, with football and all. And you just…you WANT to talk to him. You really do. And conversation is so much easier on pesterchum, where your inability to speak doesn't get in the way. You can talk to him like a normal person on the computer.

You waited for what seems like forever before he gets online, and when he does, you got this weird feeling in your chest. When his red words pop up on your screen, you couldn't help but smile. Before you knew it, several hours have passes. You didn't notice until you're nearly falling asleep at your computer. You said your goodbyes. Everything was normal. Everything was fine. Nothing was weird.

You crawled into bed, turned off the lights, and fell asleep.

And then you had a dream.

You had a dream about Dave.

Dave Strider.

You had a dream about Dave's lips on your lips. About his hands on your body, and your hands on his body. You dreamt of his mouth, his voice, his eyes…only his eyes weren't brown like you know they are. They were red.

You wake with wet pants, your private regions aching, and feeling highly disoriented.

It doesn't take you long to realize that you've had your first wet dream in years.

And it was about Dave.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're beginning to realize that you have no idea how to flirt.

Sure, you consider yourself a smooth mother fucker. And yeah, a lot of other people think that too. But that's only because you put yourself out there as a cool, silent mystery. They don't know you, but they assume you're cool. You believed it too. You believed there was no one you couldn't woo, no one you couldn't win over. Who in their right mind could resist you? You're Dirk fucking Strider.

It's been a week since you gave Jake your number. A week since you stole his. A week since you've been bothering him through texts. A week of making him flustered and angry. And although you find his flustered self more than a little adorable, a moment of self reflection has revealed a truth to you. A horrid, undeniable truth: you can't flirt to save your life.

You had flings in college, but those weren't invested relationships. In those instances, the pick up line "nice shoes, let's fuck," was perfectly acceptable and worked. You never really had a real relationship with anyone in high school because you were too worried about Dave. And those relationships you did have were meaningless and were formed in a state of teenage rebellion and struggle for independence.

You're beginning to realize that you have no experience when it comes to getting someone to actually like you. You've taken it for granted. You're so used to People falling at your feet. But Jake isn't falling so easily…and you kind of like that about him? Unfortunately, you don't know how to convince him you're something more than a mondo douche.

Your life has led you down a very secluded path. You were forced to grow up quickly. You learned not to trust people. There was only you and Dave. In college, you made a couple of friends. Mainly Roxy. So then there was you, Dave, and Roxy. And even then, Roxy was the only one you could really open yourself up to. You couldn't do that with Dave. You needed to be strong for him. Things would have been so much easier if you could have just loved Roxy as more than a friend, but you couldn't. You can't. And now you suffer by being socially inept.

She would get a kick out of this if you told her.

Good thing you haven't.

You're not ready to admit to anyone else that you fail at life.

Because you can't bring yourself to open up to Jake, you resort to pick up lines and pushy, sarcastic witty comebacks with no substance. At first, it was fun. You like making him flustered. You text him throughout the day, using pick up lines and insisting on dates. He does his best to tell you off, but it just encourages you. When he deliberately ignores you, you call him out on it and pester him until he responds. There have been a couple of instances where you have actually talked about something substantial, but those moments are rare. Usually the most substance you get is slipping in details about yourself into your comebacks and pulling some from him.

It occurred to you last night, when you were laying awake in bed and scrolling through your conversation with Jake…that you, Dirk Strider, are a douche. An egotistical, pushy douche. And you realized, when reading through his responses, that he might actually be very irritated with you.

Your plan backfired because you don't actually know how to talk to people.

Shit.

You're a shit.

You're an antisocial, introverted little shit.

Ugh. You're so used to being around people who understand the way you function that you didn't realize how annoying you are.

You've tried to open up. You really have. But you haven't done this in ages. Your defense mechanisms kick in. You're self-programed not to show weakness. To always be in control.

You're just glad Dave somehow managed to get some social skills and friends. You're glad he's not as fucked up as you are. At least you did something right.

It had become your habit to text a pickup line every morning. However, you woke this morning with the determination to give Jake some space. So no pick up line. No nothing. You can be an adult about this. You're going to go about your day as you normally would, before you started pursuing that green eyed idiot.

Turns out it's harder than you thought. You begin your day with a healthy breakfast of fruit loops and orange juice. Dave and Rose have already left for school, leaving you alone in the house. It's okay. You're usually alone, and this is how you like it. You check your email and your websites. That takes several hours. You have a lot of websites to check. Plus your tendency to get sidetracked doesn't help. Tumblr is an addictive thing. One episode of My Little Pony later, you're ready to work.

You start with some programming that's been giving you some trouble. Roxy helped you get over some of the major bumps, but now it's up to you go finish it up and smooth it out. That takes a little longer than expected. Mostly because you find yourself glancing at your phone every ten minutes. Several times you reach for it, only to remind yourself of your determination and put it back down.

You take a break for lunch only to determine there's no food in the house. So, being the adult you are today, you decide to go grocery shopping. To keep temptation at bay, you toss your phone in the back seat and leave it there for the entirety of your trip. Shopping doesn't bother you. You've had to do it for yourself and Dave ever since you turned eighteen. The only difference is now you can afford better stuff. Not necessarily healthier stuff. Just better. Name brand pop tarts and apple juice. Only the best for your little bro.

You don't check your phone until you get home and all the groceries are put away. It's only then that you realize the space in your pocket is oddly empty and your phone is back in your car. When you check it, you have an unread text. Your chest tenses for a second before you realize it's from Dave. You sigh and open the text.

From Dave: hey bro movie night at our place tonight with the usual gang

Well, that's going to make being an adult a little harder. But…you get to see Jake in person, and bugging him in person is a lot more gratifying than through text.

To Dave: No making out on the couch. I sit there.

It doesn't take long for Dave to text you back. He must be on his lunch break. He texts slower in class.

From Dave: i should be saying that to you. jakes gonna be there. you crashing?
To Dave: What makes you think I would want to crash your little teenage party?
From Dave: so is that a yes?
To DaveProbably.

Your phone buzzes again, and when you look, you're surprised to see not Dave's name, but Jake's. For a moment, you just kind of stare at your phone, probably looking like a idiot. When you open the text, you're almost afraid of what you'll find.

From Jake: No pick up line today? Devilfucking dickens does that mean im finally rid of your incessant nonsense?

Jake texted you first. That's never happened. You're suddenly very proud of yourself for refraining from texting him this morning.

To Jake: Miss me, sugar?
From Jake: Not even in the slightest!
To Jake: I beg to differ, sweet cheeks.
From Jake: Beg all you want it wont make it true!
To Jake: How's lunch?
From Jake: How did you know im eating lunch?
To Jake: I'm magic.
From Jake: I don't believe that.
To Jake: It's true. Why don't I show you sometime?
From Jake: Enough of your nonsense! How did you know?
To Jake: I guessed. It's one o'clock. Odds are you would be eating, just ate, or are getting ready to eat.
From Jake: Oh.
To Jake: So how about that Date? You, me, and a movie?
From Jake: I have never promised you a date. And i dont plan to. Besides i have plans with friends tonight.
To Jake: Cool. I'll see you at my place. Say around six? Seven? Actually, let's make it five. We can do dinner.
From Jake: Listen here you deafened mongrel. I am busy. I will not be seeing you this evening.
To Jake: Won't you?
From Jake: What are you getting at?
To Jake: I'd say there's a fairly good chance you will see me this evening.
From Jake: Now you're just spouting nonsense.
To Jake: Suit yourself.
From Jake: I will! And i wont be seeing you!
To Jake: It'll be a surprise then.
From Jake: For one you dont know my friends. For two you cant just show up to someones movie night uninvited.
To Jake: I can if I live there.
From Jake: What are you talking about?
To Jake: If it's my money buying the popcorn, I have every right to sit in my living room and watch a movie.
From Jake: I dont think i understand. Are you implying you live at roses house?
To Jake: I'm not just implying it, I'm saying it.
From Jake: Thats utter baloney!
To Jake: Language, Jake.
From Jake: I demand you explain yourself.
To Jake: I never told you my name, did I?
From Jake: No you havent. And might i say its been rather bothersome. You refused even when i gave you mine.
To Jake: Dirk.
From Jake: What?
To Jake: That's my name.
From Jake: Dirk?
To Jake: Yes. Dave's my little brother.
From Jake: YOU'RE A STRIDER?!
To Jake: I am THE Strider.
From Jake: YOURE the one living in roses home while her mothers away?!
To Jake: See you tonight.

He doesn't respond, and you let him have his retreat. You're going to see him tonight anyway. And you know he won't back out of movie night. He wouldn't leave John alone with Dave. Even if there will be other friends there with them. You had been hesitant to tell Jake your name. At first it was because you were afraid he'd hate you immediately for being related to Dave, his rival. Then it became a game and you enjoyed watching him squirm with curiosity. And a little of it was probably because you were worried he wouldn't remember you from two years ago. He already didn't remember your face, which was a little disheartening. You recognized his right away. You were hoping your name would jog his memory, but apparently not.

Memory of an elephant, your ass.

You return to your computer to find an email from your manager. A huge order had just come in from one of your biggest clients for one of your newest bits of robotic technology. And they needed several of them and a customized AI program within the next few days. Well, shit. There goes your weekend. And a lot of your plans for movie night.

You sigh, feeling your shoulders sag as your body deflates. Being an adult blows.

A couple hours later, you're locked away in the garage, sitting at your workbench. Your headphones are on, the big kind that cover your ears and block everything out, and your iPod is blaring your sick beats playlist. Mostly it consists of your own mixes and several more of Dave's. Plus a few things you found online, like My Little Pony remixes. Ironic stuff like that. You think you hear a car pull up and the front door open and slam shut. A glance at your watch tells you it's probably Dave and Rose getting home from school. You keep working, hunched over a table littered with scraps of metal, wires, nuts, bolts, tools, and who knows what else. Your shit's a mess.

Your music reaches a lull just in time for you to hear the door to the garage open. You wait, but you don't hear it close. Dave's learned not to disturb you when you're working. The fact that the door hasn't closed yet means he's standing in the open doorway, waiting to see if you'll acknowledge him. Your bench sits you with your back to the door. You're tempted to ignore him, but then you remember his friends, and Jake, are coming over. You lift one side of your headphones up and put it behind your ear then wave your hand in the air to indicate you can hear him.

"Sup, little bro?" You say, hands going back to work.

"Everyone's coming over around five." He says. You nod and he continues. "We were thinking we could order pizza or something. That cool?"

"I suppose you want me to pay for it." You say flatly.

"No, I was planning on selling my body for a slice of pizza." You can practically hear him roll his eyes.

"You wouldn't even get enough for pepperoni."

"Gee, thanks, bro." It's quiet for a moment, save for the sound of metal on metal and the echo of your music in the room. "Jake was really distracted today." He says offhandedly.

"Was he?" You say, managing to sound distracted and bored despite your immediate interest.

"He didn't even care when I put my arm around John. No savage British snarls or anything. I noticed he was texting for a bit before hand. What'd you say to shake the unshakable English?"

You shrug. "Just told him my name."

"He didn't know your name?" Dave sounds skeptical. "You've been talking for a week."

You level a look at him over your shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Your shades are tucked into the front of your shirt, so he gets the full extent of your expression. "Dude, Jake hates you. I wasn't about to get lumped into the Strider hating."

Dave's arms are crossed over his chest, and he's leaning against the doorframe. Despite his shades, he manages to give you a look right back. "So, what? You were going to charm him with your sparkling personality first?"

"Something like that."

He snorts. "How's that going?"

You twist sideways, putting a hand on the bench behind you to lean on. "You tell me. You're the one who said he was distracted."

"Probably from horror after realizing he has to see you again."

You grab a small block of wood you had sitting around and chuck it at the door. Dave lets out a small yelp and jumps behind the door, shutting it just in time for the wood block to bounce off and clatter to the floor. "Get outta here, ya little shit." You say, letting your accent through in mock seriousness.

You hear Dave snicker on the other side of the door before it cracks open again. His head pops back in. "About that pizza..."

You wave him off and turn back to your work. You put your headphone back over your ear to let him know the conversation is over. You didn't say no, so he can count on being fed later.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you are most certainly not nervous about tonight.

You're just going to have a normal movie night at the Lalonde household. Your movie nights have been held there in the past. This time won't be any different. Except for the obnoxious Dave Strider once again participating in your friend activities.

That, and the man who has been incessantly bothersome for the past week will be there.

You're still in a state of shock. You've gotten over the initial realization and moved on to being extremely disappointed in yourself for not realizing it sooner. They even look the same. Same blonde hair. Same egotistical approach to life. He even said he was at the football game to see his brother play! Goodness gracious, you're an idiot.

You're not sure how knowing his name before now could have possibly helped, but at least you would have been more prepared for tonight. Or at least tried your best to change the location of tonight's movie viewing.

You really have nothing to worry about. There's simply no possible way the elder Strider would hit on you in front of a group of your friends. You just have to be normal, casual, and act as if you don't know him. In fact, you practically don't! All you know is the little that he's let slip in your conversations and the fact that he's creative with pick up lines.

Sure, you've learned that he loves orange soda (and you're fairly certain it's just because orange is his favorite color). He thinks puppets are cool (eccentric, maybe, but most certainly not cool). Horses are "rad" (okay, you can get behind that statement, what adventure is complete without the image of a hero on a horse?). He claims to own several swords of high quality (you can appreciate a fondness for weapons, even though you prefer guns). He plays video games (who doesn't?). And, though a fan of hats, hats mess up his hair (what man is that concerned with his hair?).

You know that much, but that's not enough to judge the character of a man. Right? Right! He might as well be a stranger to you. A stranger who will not stop texting you, no matter how hard you try to shake him. At least, that's how it was until today. You've barely gotten a word out of him, save for when he revealed his name. Even then, you had to be the one to text him first…Actually, you're not quite sure why you texted him first. Jumping Jehoshaphat! The darn rapscallion has you in the habit of talking to him! He snuck that one right by you and now you're checking your phone every ten minutes!

No! You most certainly are not checking your phone. In fact, you're putting it away, deep within the confines of your cargo shorts, where you won't even feel it if it vibrates. Now that you're free of Dirk Strider's texting enchantment, you can go back to your business. What were you doing?

"Jaaaaaaake! Helloooo!"

You blink in surprise as a hand starts waving in front of your face. You tilt your head to see Jade leaning across the center console of your car. Right. You were on your way to the dreaded Lalonde-Strider movie night. Luckily your car has just been idling in your driveway and you haven't actually gotten on the road yet.

"You in there?"

"Hmmm? Oh, right! Yes! Sorry, I seemed to have zoned out for a moment there." You say, running your hand through your hair and laughing. You hope she hasn't noticed anything.

"What's wrong with you lately?" She asks, eyeing you curiously. So much for her not noticing.

"I don't know what you mean." You say, trying your best to sound casual. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, but before she can say anything further, the door to the backseat opens and John slides in, shutting the door behind him. You twist in your seat. "Hello there, mate. I trust you have a small stash of movies with you?"

John smiles brightly and pats his backpack. You both know the stash he has is anything but small.

"Well then, shall we?" You throw the car into reverse and back out of the driveway, doing your best to ignore your cousin glaring at you from the passenger seat. It's very difficult. Her eyes are practically crackling with the intenseness of her stare.

You know the way to Rose's house. You've been there plenty of times before. You are, however, driving a little slower than normal. You're not exactly in a hurry to reach your destination. If only you had more people to pick up. But no. Kanaya already offered to pick up Karkat. With any luck, they'll already be there. The more friends that surround you, the more comfortable you'll be.

Turns out lady luck is on your side, if only a little. Kanaya's car is in parked in the street outside the Lalonde house. You park behind her, and the three of you exit the vehicle. You let John take the lead, which he does happily. He practically skips to the front door. You're too busy worrying to be bothered by John's enthusiasm. You're almost to the front door when Jade prods your side, causing you to jump.

"What's wrong, Jake?" She whispers.

You rub your wounded side and do your best to bring a convincing smile to your face. "Why, nothing at all, dear cousin." Judging by the way she's still looking at you, you'd guess your smile wasn't all that convincing.

"Jaaaaaake." Her voice is low and flat. You know that look. That's the determined no-nonsense look she inherited from your grandmother. You know very well that this battle is lost.

"I'll tell you about it later." You whisper back, glancing at John. He's already ringing the doorbell. "When we get home, okay?"

Jade eyes you for a moment longer, then she nods. "Alright." You know she won't forget. Drat.

The door opens and instead of Rose, Dave stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "Sup." He says. "What's the password?"

John rolls his eyes and signs something. Jade snickers. Dave cocks an eyebrow and smirks. "Whoa now, watch your language, Egbert." He steps aside to let you all in. Jade gives him a cheery greeting and you give him a curt nod, which he returns.

You're not sure what John said. You've never been very good at learning sign language. You have little patience for language, even if it's for John. It's never hampered your ability to communicate, and it never bothered you. Not until now. Somehow Dave's been able to pick it up quite quickly. He at least knows more than you. Your rival may have that slight advantage, but you're not about to give up or let him get away with it. You're still the best friend. You two don't need signs or words to be best friends. You never have.

You all shuffle to the living room. Rose and Kanaya are on the couch, and Karkat is on one of the plush chairs. They all look up when you walk in. John immediately settles himself on the couch next to Rose and begins emptying the contents of his backpack on the coffee table, signing at her with one hand. She responds in kind. Jade sits on the armrest next to him, watching over his shoulder. You take the other plush chair, next to the couch and across the coffee table from Karkat's. Dave hovers behind the couch.

"What piece of cinematic shit have you brought for us tonight?" Karkat asks, earning himself a face and a stuck out tongue from John. He continues organizing the movies so they're all visible before making a wide gesture toward them. Everyone leans forward to look the dvd boxes over, while Jade looks back at Dave.

"Did you order pizza?"

Dave pulls his phone from his pocket and checks the time. "I told bro to order pizza at five." You check your own watch. It's five thirty. Dave glances over his shoulder.

"He doesn't like being disturbed." Rose says, idly looking over a dvd box. You don't know what movie it is and you don't really care.

"No shit, Lalonde. He's my brother, not yours." Dave turns on his heel and stomps down a hallway, disappearing from sight. You know Rose well enough to know the slight smirk on her lips is from issuing a challenge. And Dave took the bait.

"Bro!" Dave's voice carries loudly down the hall. You hear him banging on a door. "Hey, Dirk! It's five thirty and I'm starving!" You hear a door open and by now you've all turned toward the hallway, listening. You think you hear a voice respond, but it's not loud enough to make out the words. "Hurry up, or I'll dump Cal in bacon grease." There's some shuffling and the door is slammed right before you hear a muffled thud.

Dave reappears and stops when he realizes you're all staring at him. Everyone except Rose. She's picked up a second movie box. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. "He'll be out in a second."

You all sit in silence for a moment before Rose holds up a movie. "How about this one?" That sparks a debate that lasts thirty minutes. Most of it consists of Karkat refusing any movie suggested, John defending every movie he brought, Kanaya mediating, and Rose and Jade discussing genre choices. You stay silent. You don't care about the movie choice. Your focus is down that hallway where the mysterious elder Strider is.

You're so in tuned to your surroundings that you practically jump when a door slams open. You thinks others might have jumped too, but a quick glance is all they spare before they continue their conversation.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to disturb me when I'm working." The voice is the only warning you get before a blonde man steps out of the hallway. Your heart slams against your chest. Oh no. There he is. It's him. It's definitely him. The same guy who's been harassing you for a week.

His blonde hair looks like it might have been styled up at some point, but it's damp with sweat and matted down in some areas. He's wearing black cargo pants and a black wife beater that has a picture of a hat on it. You thought he was kidding when he told you he has shirts with hats on them. The black makes his pale skin stand out in stark contrast. His ridiculous pointed sunglasses are tucked into the neckline of his shirt. His hands are covered in black grease and he's attempting to clean them off with a rag.

You are not staring at his collarbones. Or his shoulders. You do not notice the freckles that dot him there. You definitely don't notice the way his muscles move as he cleans grease off his hands.

Those would be things you surely would not notice about anyone other than John. And the only reason you would possibly consider noticing them would be if that person was harassing you through text and this was the first time you've really had a chance to observe him in person. It's not strange and it means nothing if you notice these things.

Dave turns to face him, crossing his arms over his chest. "I told you five."

"I'm paying for it." He seems to have given up trying to clean his hands because he throws the rag at Dave. "You'll get it when I'm good and ready, you little shit."

Dave flails, knocking the rag out of the air and onto the floor, before glaring at his older brother. At least, you think he's glaring. Dirk glares right back.

"Try not to stain anything, boys." Rose says without even looking at them.

You can't see Dave's face, or see his eyes, but you're certain he rolled them. "Yes, mom."

Dirk nods at the towel on the floor. "You heard mama Rose." He turns to head into the kitchen but as he does, his eyes sweep across the rest of the living room. His startlingly orange gaze skims over the others before settling on you. It's for just a second, but in that second you swear you see his lip twitch upward. You think your heart might have stopped in surprise.

He walks away and Dave throws the rag at the back of his head. Dirk snatches it neatly out of the air and disappears into the kitchen. You stare at the table of movies. Perhaps this won't be so bad. All you have to do is act as if you don't know him. Everything will be fine.

The voices of your friends buzz around you. Dave's joined in on the movie debate, taking Karkat's side. You know he's doing it just to bug John. You can't blame him. John is adorable when he's defending movies. You strain to hear what's happening in the kitchen. You hear the water running for a while. No doubt cleaning his hands. When the water shuts off, there's a brief moment of silence before you hear his voice again.

"Yeah, I want to make an order for delivery. Strider residence. Yup, pizza night again. Cash. Hold on." He reappears in the living room, his phone held up to his ear, but tilted away from his mouth. "What do y'all want?"

"Pepperoni." Dave.

"Cheese." Rose.

"Cheese." Kanaya.

"Pepperoni." Karkat.

"John likes cheese, but meat lovers for me." Jade.

"Meat lovers for me as well." You say. You had been trying to keep your head down, but you look up to find him staring at you.

"Medium cheese, medium pepperoni, and a medium meat lovers." He doesn't break eye contact as he finishes the order. Is it just you, or did he say 'meat lovers' with some suggestion in his voice? No one else seems to notice. Maybe it's just you. "Yeah. Okay." He hangs up and tucks his phone back in his pocket. "Pizza will be here in thirty." He stares at you for a moment longer before finally breaking eye contact. He heads toward the stairs, his back to you. "Yo, Dave. I'm gonna shower. Call me when the pizza gets here."

Dave waves his hand over his shoulder, but doesn't break from the movie debate. You watch Dirk go before turning back to your friends. That wasn't so bad, right? You can handle this. Though perhaps it might be better if you avoid looking at him from now on.

After the movie debate is settled, John scoops his dvds back into his bag, leaving the chosen one on the table. While you wait for food, Dave suggests video games. He has an xbox and four controllers. You end up playing Halo, and by god are you terrible. You've never really gotten the hang of these silly new first person games. Every round you trade off controllers. You don't feel quite so bad about your playing ability whenever Kanaya takes up the controller. Rose is surprisingly good. When she's questioned about it, she just shrugs and, with a little smirk, says she's been living with the Striders. Dave kicks everyone's ass and isn't afraid to gloat about it, though Jade does give him a run for his money and beats him a couple of times. John tries and is fairly decent. Certainly better than you. Karkat is alright, but mostly he's just loud.

It's your turn to play when the doorbell rings. "DIRK! PIZZA!" Dave calls loudly, refusing to move his eyes from the screen. A few seconds later you hear footsteps on the stairs, but you keep your eyes on the game. No need to look anyway! It's just the elder Strider. You try not to listen to his voice as he pays for the pizza.

The round ends and Dave lets out a triumphant holler and Karkat curses. "HA! Take that, Egbert!" Dave playfully shoves John, who shoves him right back. "Hand over your controllers, losers."

"Fuck you, Strider!" Karkat says as he passes his controller to Jade. She practically snatches it from his hands.

"You wish, Vantas." Dave returns. Karkat just flips him off and turns to Jade.

"If you manage to somehow kick ass again, I'll give you my pudding cups for a week."

Jade grins and you catch the determined glint in her eyes. "Deal!"

You and John pass over your controllers to Rose and Kanaya. You would have been more irritated with the closeness of John and Dave and the playful pushes, but you focus your eyes on the round stats and refuse to look away.

"Damn, English, you suck." Your head snaps up to see Dirk standing behind the couch, looking at the tv screen. "Not even a single kill." He shakes his head and moves toward the kitchen, pizza boxes in his arms.

"It's not my fault!" You say defensively, subconsciously puffing out your chest. "It's hard!"

Dirk pauses and glances over his shoulder. "Is it now?" Dave snickers, and you swear you see Rose smile. Even Jade cracks a grin. Your chest deflates and you're suddenly glad you're not prone to blushing. Dirk smirks. "Supper's ready, y'all." He calls, leaning heavily on a southern accent.

You all move toward the kitchen, and you let the others go first. The pizza boxes are laid out on the counter, and next to them is a pile of paper plates. Dave, Karkat, and John dive for the pizza, shoving each other out of the way. Kanaya picks up a paper plate and raises an eyebrow at Rose.

Rose shrugs, a small smile on her face. "The Striders don't like to do dishes."

You reach for your pizza at the same time Dirk does. You pull your hand back quickly at look up at him in alarm, but his eyes are on his food. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, English." He says. He smirks at you for a second before turning and walking away. As he does, you get a whiff of his shampoo. Or maybe it's his body wash. Either way he smells nice.

Of course you mean that as in you wouldn't mind using that shampoo because you think the scent is pleasant.

Everyone hovers around the kitchen table, some sitting and some standing. You're not quite sure what they're talking about. You think it has something to do with school. Or maybe Karkat? He looks a little flustered. But then again, when does he not? You eat your food, trying your best not to look at the older man standing across the room, leaning back against the counter. His hair is still damp from his shower, sticking up at angles that should look ridiculous, but doesn't. He's wearing a plain white t-shirt that fits his chest well and a pair of black skinny jeans that are, well, tighter than you like pants yourself. It looks fine on him though. His pointed sunglasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt, and he's not wearing shoes.

Why is that even something you notice? A man is allowed to not wear shoes or socks in his own home. Especially when he just showered. It's just something comfortable. It's totally casual and normal, and you don't at all find it attractive to see him as such. You keep your eyes on your friends, determined not to meet the gaze you can feel burning your skin.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You nearly jump out of your skin and your pizza lands on the floor. You look down and then back up to find all of your friends staring at you. You pull out your phone and wave it in the air, chuckling good-naturedly. "Forgot my phone was on vibrate." You explain.

"Damn, English. Didn't know you were such a klutz." Dave says, and everyone laughs. You fight down the heat that's rising to your face.

You glare at the young Strider. "I'd like to see how you react to a sudden vibration in your pants, Strider!"

There's a moment of silence before everyone breaks out in laughter. It takes you several moments more to realize why. And just a second longer to analyze what you had just said. Well…ugh, you don't even want to make up a curse. You really have to learn to think before you speak. John and Jade have been telling you that for years.

"I'm sure you would, English." Dave says. He leans back in his chair, one arm over the back of it, and waggles his eyebrows at you over his sunglasses. "But you're not my type." This earns another round of snickers.

You roll your eyes and huff a little. "Yes, let's all have a good laugh at my expense." You say, looking around for paper towels. You spot them on the counter next to Dirk. Damn. Suck it up, English. Don't let him intimidate you.

"Think about what you say before it spews from your mouth hole." Karkat says. You glance over at him, then your gaze slides to John. He rubs his closed fist on his chest and mouthing "sorry," repeatedly. Dave just sits there with a smug look that you really do not like.

"Duely noted, Karkat." You step around your mess and walk toward the paper towels. You try not to look at Dirk as you approach. You really don't want to. But it seems inevitable. You glance at him only to find him grinning. The image is striking. You don't recall having seen him smile before, and you definitely haven't even seen Dave smile that wide. You're caught off guard, but only for a moment before you regather your wits.

You look away and reach past him toward the paper towels. He leans toward you just a fraction of an inch. "Come here often?" He says, his voice pitched low and barely above a whisper.

"Unfortunately." You say. You don't look at him, but you think you see his face falter. You get the paper towels and go back to your mess. Jade is staring intently at your fallen slice of pizza. Karkat glares at her.

"Don't tell me you're thinking about eating that." He says.

"It's such a waste…" She says. Your cousin is an odd one.

"You are disgusting."

Jade looks and narrows her eyes at him. "YOU'RE disgusting, fuckass!"

They continue arguing as you clean up your mess and throw the pizza away before getting another slice. As you return to your spot, you feel your phone vibrate again. With a sigh, you pull out your phone and unlock it. You have two texts from Dirk waiting for you.

From Dirk: On a scale of one to America, how free are you tonight?
From Dirk: Oh my god, that was priceless.

You level a glare at the man in question as you put your phone back in your pocket, refusing to respond to his texts. He's not even looking at you. His orange gaze is fixed on Karkat and Jade. He caught you off guard, and you embarrassed yourself. It won't happen again!

After you all eat, you make your way back to the living room. Karkat settles back down into his separate chair, only to have Jade squish herself next to him with an unheated, "Move it, fuckass!" Rose, Kanaya, and John sit on the couch and you hurry to sit in the last available spot, next to John. You think you see Dave frown as he goes to the dvd player, but you can't be sure. Much to your dismay, Dirk sits in the empty chair across the coffee table from Karkat, which puts him close to you, even if he is on a different piece of furniture.

He plops down and stretches his legs out in front of him. He has long legs, which is something you do not notice. His arms sprawl out across the arm rests, his fingers tapping in an unrecognizable rhythm. "So what are we watching?" He asks. You were hoping he wouldn't stay for your movie night.

Dave shrugs as he puts the dvd in and closes the tray. "Some movie John brought." John bounces on the couch next to you.

Dirk cocks an eyebrow. "Does this movie have a name?"

John makes signing motions as Dave responds: "Season of the Witch."

Dirk's face falls. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It is customary for the first movie of the evening to be one staring Nicolas Cage. As requested by John." Rose says, and John nods enthusiastically.

Dirk levels his gaze on John, and very seriously he says, "Nic Cage sucks."

John stops his bouncing and frowns. He signs something really quick. You think he's signing letters, but his fingers move far too quickly for you to tell.

"John says, 'You suck.'" Jade says, translating from across the room. You really don't understand how she learned sign language so well.

You look back to Dirk in time to see his eyes flicker to you and his lips curve upward just a fraction. When he looks back to John, the ghost of a smile is gone. "Fair enough." He shrugs and looks back at the tv. You absolutely do not feel heat rising to your cheeks.

Dave returns to the couch and tosses the remote at Rose. She catches it easily and begins navigating through the menu. Dave sits on the floor and leans back against John's legs. John wiggles and lightly smacks Dave's shoulders and head in protest. He tilts his head back to look up at John. "Calm your tits, Egbert. I'm comfortable. And when a Strider's comfortable, he ain't gonna move." John stops protesting with a defeated sigh, but you can tell he's not really upset. Your brow furrows and you turn to the tv. That could be you sitting between John's legs.

"Kid's right. Striders are stubborn." Dirk says. You glance at him to see that he's texting again. You heave and internal sigh. You can pretty much guess what's about to happen. Sure enough, your phone vibrates. You ignore it and look back to the tv as Rose starts the movie.

For the first thirty minutes, Dirk behaves. Which is to say, he doesn't text you. He does, however, encourage Dave's snarky comments with his own retorts. This is usually how your movie nights go, but instead of one obnoxious Strider, there are now two. And even though they're brothers, and they obviously share the same genes, their voices do sound different. Dirk's voice is slightly deeper, and he speaks slower. Not lazily, just slower, with a slight southern drawl that is masked by his precise enunciation. You certainly are not drawn to Dirk's voice, but you are hyper aware of it.

After the first thirty minutes, you see him take his phone out in your peripheral vision. At first, you only feel your phone buzz every ten minutes or so. Then it becomes more frequent. When he's not actively texting you, he's twitching, his fingers rapping on the arm of the chair and his knee bouncing. Though this is one of the few Nicolas Cage movies you haven't seen, you find it hard to focus when your pocket keeps vibrating incessantly.

When John starts giving you odd looks every time your phone vibrates, you finally give in and check it. You have twelve unread texts from Dirk.

From Dirk: I want to make some bread pudding, can I borrow some of your firm buns?
From Dirk: Are you a parking ticket? Because you have fine written all over you.
From Dirk: Hey baby, did it hurt when you crawled up from hell? You're so hot even Satan would burn up in your hell fires.
From Dirk: Your smile cost more than my parents' wedding rings. And it's brighter too.
From Dirk: Hey, you dropped your name tag… Nevermind, it was just a sugar packet.
From Dirk: Are you a vampire musician? Because my organ is filling up with blood.
From Dirk: If I had a dime for ever time I saw someone as beautiful as you, I'd have ten cents.
From Dirk: I'm like a rubix cube: the more you play with me, the harder I get.
From Dirk: Are you Google? Because you have everything I'm searching for.
From Dirk: If I had a garden, I'd put your two lips and my two lips together.
From Dirk: Is your father a thief? Because he owes me his first born child.
From Dirk: If you were on the dollar menu, you'd be a McGorgeous.
To Dirk: That last one was awful.

You watch for his reaction, and you're pleased when he jumps a little at his own phone vibration. He doesn't look at you, but you can see him responding quickly.

From Dirk: I can do worse.
To Dirk: I don't see how.
From Dirk: Did you just fart? Because you blew me away.
To Dirk: Good golly! I didnt think it could get worse!
From Dirk: If looks could kill, you could bring back the dead.
To Dirk: That one doesnt even make sense.
From Dirk: So I heard you like to travel.
To Dirk: Urm, why yes. Yes i do!
From Dirk: How about you show me a few things from down under?
To Dirk: Im afraid ive never been to australia.
From Dirk: Does this napkin smell like chloroform to you?
To Dirk: What napkin?
From Dirk: Wanna get out of here? I have the extended cuts of all three Lord of the Rings films.
To Dirk: But were already watching a movie.
From Dirk: Sigh.
To Dirk: What?
From Dirk: You're not even trying to make this fun.
To Dirk: I am loads of fun!
From Dirk: If you were loads of fun, you'd let me have my fun.
To Dirk: Fine. Continue.
From Dirk: I'm feeling kind of adventurous tonight. How about you?
To Dirk: Im going to have to say no.
From Dirk: I don't have an invisibility cloak, but can I visit your restricted section tonight?
To Dirk: Was that a harry potter reference?
From Dirk: No.
To Dirk: Im fairly certain it was. Are you a dork mr strider?
From Dirk: No. Shut up.
From Dirk: Are you an elevator? Because I wanna go down on you.
To Dirk: Gadzooks! That was mighty forward.

Your cheeks are definitely not getting warm at that thought. In fact, you're not even thinking about it.

From Dirk: You wanna play house? You can be the door and I'll slam you all night.

That is also something you are not going to think about. Time to redirect the conversation.

To Dirk: Where are you even getting these strider?
From Dirk: My imagination.
To Dirk: Are not.
From Dirk: Are so.
To Dirk: I can see you on google from here.

He looks up at you for the first time since the movie started. You glare at him, but you're not sure he can see it. He turns back to his phone.

From Dirk: So you can.
To Dirk: Aha! I knew you couldnt come up with that many on your own!
From Dirk: Sometimes a man's just gotta google.
To Dirk: So since ive discovered your charade am i to presume that this shameless harassment is over?
From Dirk: Do you want it to be?
To Dirk: YES!

John has glanced at you several times now. You tilt your phone away from him and thank the gods that he's so adorably entranced by Nicolas Cage movies. He doesn't give you his attention for long. He will, however, question you later. You're sure of it.

From Dirk: Okay.
To Dirk: Okay?
From Dirk: Yeah. Okay. I'll stop bothering you.
To Dirk: Capital! Those lines were getting down right annoying.

He doesn't respond right away. When you glance at him, you think he may be frowning. Or at least frowning as much as a Strider can. Then your phone buzzes.

From Dirk: Sorry.

The single word catches you off guard, and you watch as he puts his phone away. You wait, but he doesn't pull it back out again. Did he really just apologize? You honestly didn't think he had it in him. You've told him to stop before and he never has. What could possibly be different now? Perhaps you've really upset him… Nah! There was no way. He's probably just waiting until you've lowered your guard before he starts again.

You start to feel impatient. You shouldn't feel impatient, but you do. After all that, he's just going to stop? That fast? Well, if he's going to be that way about it, then fine! You'll just go about your business watching this movie. Though you fear you've already missed most of the climax.

Your eyes keep wandering back to Dirk, but he doesn't look at you. He's stopped twitching, and instead sits oddly still. You think you can see the downturn of his lips. You feel guilty, though you know you shouldn't. He was the one bothering you, and you told him to stop. You notice your fingers tapping the arm of the couch and holy fucking mackerel! Now YOU'RE the one twitching!

"I want popcorn." You announce, pushing yourself to your feet. "Is anyone else feeling up to some popcorn?" John's hand shoots into the air, followed quickly by Jade's. The rest hold up their hands at a much slower pace. "Excellent. I'll go make some."

You quickly abscond.

In the kitchen, you search through the cabinets only to find dishes. You don't think you've ever made popcorn at Rose's house before. In fact, you've never made any food here.

"Dag nab it! Lalonde! Where do you keep your blasted popcorn?" You shout.

"Have you checked the pantry?" You hear Rose call back.

Of course! The pantry! Standing in the center of the kitchen, you put your hands on your hips and slowly turn in a circle until… "Aha! There you are!" You say to yourself, heading toward the pantry. You open the door and holy cow. The Striders keep their pantry fairly well stocked with junk food. You know this can't be all Rose's. Right now, where could the popcorn be. You stand there for five minutes without seeing it.

"Confound it…" You mutter to yourself, scratching your chin. "If I were popcorn, where would I be?"

"Probably on the top shelf." Suddenly Dirk Strider's voice is in your ear. You jump, only to push yourself back against his chest. You spin around to face him, your mouth slightly agape. How did he sneak up on you?! "Whoa there, calm down. Just reaching for the popcorn." He says as he reaches past you, over your shoulder. This brings him even closer, his chest practically touching yours. His face is so close. Damn, he has a lot of freckles.

He leans back and smirks, the popcorn box dangling from his fingers. He turns and walks across the kitchen to the microwave. It takes you a moment to gather yourself.

"I could have found it myself." You say.

He shrugs, his back to you. "Yeah, but that could have taken days and everyone's hungry now."

"I'm not that hopeless." You cross your arms over your chest.

He glances over his shoulder at you, a smirk on his lips. "And I'm not heartless enough to let everyone starve."

You sigh and join him at the microwave. He's unwrapping the first bag. "Could you get one of the big bowls from the cabinet?" He asks, gesturing to the cabinet's by the fridge.

"Sure." You open the wrong one at first, but the second time you get it right. The bowls are, naturally, on the top shelf. You're not short by any means, but you still have to reach for them. When you finally get ahold of a couple brightly colored plastic bowls, you turn around to find Dirk staring at you. The microwave's on behind him, plate spinning with a bag of unpopped popcorn. "What?"

Without his glasses on, you could see exactly where his eyes were. He lifts his gaze to meet yours. "Nothing." He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

You sigh and set the bowls by the microwave. "I don't understand you, Strider."

He shrugs. "Few do."

"And who would they be?"

He shrugs again. "The Lalondes, probably."

"So Rose could give me a lesson on how to understand you?"

"Maybe, but are you willing to sit through a Rose lecture?"

You make a face. "No, I've had enough Rose lectures in my day."

He nods. Silence stretches between you and the only sound is that of the microwave. When it dings, you almost jump. Almost. He takes out the bag and hands it to you. You dump the contents into a bowl while he unwraps the next one.

"You could talk to me." He says.

"What?"

"You could talk to me to get to know me." He glances sideways at you. "Then maybe you would understand me."

You frown at him, brow furrowing. "And how am I supposed to do that when you only speak in pick-up lines?"

He smirks and puts the next bag in the microwave, hitting the popcorn button. "I have a few more good ones." You glare at him. He holds his hands up defensively. "Just a few more and I swear I'll stop."

You throw your arms up in defeat. "Fiiiiine!"

He leans back against the counter, putting his hands on the counter behind him. "I'd say God bless you, but it looks like he already did."

You lean against the counter next to him. "Shouldn't I have sneezed first?"

He rolls his eyes. "I suppose, if you want to get technical."

"If you're going to do it, shouldn't you do it right?" You tease.

"You could have sneezed for me."

"You should have given me a heads up."

"Fine, next time I will."

You smile and the microwave dings. You repeat the process of emptying out the bag while Dirk puts in a new one. You both then return to your positions leaning against the counter. He holds up two fingers. "Two more."

"Popcorn bags?"

"Pick-up lines. I have two more."

"Alright." You gesture for him to continue.

He rests his hands on the counter behind him and turns to face you. "Your lips look lonely…" He says, his voice pitched lower than before. You turn to look at him. His eyelids are also lowered. He's smoldering at you! "Would they like to meet mine?"

He leans toward you and you lean away. "No. No, I don't think they would."

He leans in a little more. "Kissing is the language of love, so how about a conversation?" You don't lean away. Why aren't you leaning away? You sure as hell are thinking about leaning away. You stare at him like a deer in the headlights. He's so close and, by god, those eyes are orange and fiery.

The microwave dings and you both jump. You quickly grab the bag out, burn your fingers a little in the process, and empty it into another bowl. You clear your throat, unable to make eye contact with him. "I think this will be enough." You say, and your voice is definitely not strained. You return to the kitchen, two bowls in hand. Dirk follows, bringing the third.

There's not much left of the movie, but it's spent in silence. When it's over, Kanaya gets the lights and Dave leaves John's legs to remove the DVD from the player. Once the lights are on, John turns to you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention. He makes a texting motion with his hands, his eyebrows raised. You know what he's asking.

"Don't worry about it, old chum." You say, stretching one arm around his shoulders and pulling him to your side. "Just texting a pest." You laugh it off and he lets it go, looking up at you with a wide smile. Yes, that's what you love. Eyes the color of the ocean. The calm, beautiful ocean. Not the fiery, unpredictable color of orange. You prefer blue all the way.

"So what's next?" Dirk asks, a little too loudly. You avoid looking at him.

Karkat grabs his bag and hefts it onto the coffee table. "Now that John's insufferable movie is over, we can watch something of cinematic value. I brought some movies from my romcom collection to choose from."

Dirk slaps his hands on the arm of his chair and stands. "Nope."

Dave looks up. "Where you going, bro?"

Dirk is already making his way out of the living room. "I've already suffered through another Nic Cage disaster. I'm not about to sit through anything that comes from a romcom collection." He doesn't even turn around as he leaves the room.

"Fuck you too, shitstain." Karkat mutters as he starts to pull movies out of his bag.

Dave just shrugs. "I'm honestly surprised he lasted this long."

The second movie passes in peace. Just you and your friends and an average movie night. No more blonde disruptions, unless you count Dave. Dirk doesn't return. At one point, you think you hear someone in the kitchen, but when you look over the back of the couch, no one's there. Your phone doesn't buzz either. True to his word, he's done with the pick-up lines. At least for now. You're certain he can't keep up the silence for too long.

After the movie, Jade suggests more Halo and left over, room temperature pizza. You play the first round, but give up the controller when it's passed to you again. You keep glancing down the darkened hallway. After nearly beating Dave in a round, which he says was just a fluke, Rose gets up and heads to the kitchen to refill drinks. You follow her, bringing a few more of your friends' cups.

"Rose, may I ask you something?" You ask as she pours some Coke into a cup for Dave.

She looks up at you curiously. "Of course."

"Between just us?"

"You have my word." She sets the Coke down, her interested piqued.

You slam the plastic cups down on the table. "Why is Dirk such an insufferable ass?" She raises an eyebrow and you continue, waving your arms around to try to illustrate your point. "He simply cannot hold a conversation like a normal human being! Every time I think he's about to say something real, he pulls out another pick-up line. It's infuriating and irritating. But whenever he stops, I get even more irritated with him. And then I just get mad at myself for I don't know what and I just want to clobber the everfriggin tar out of him!" You almost knock over a bottle of pepsi and you have to scramble to keep it from spilling. You sigh. "I just don't understand him, Rose. Help?"

Rose just looks at you for a moment with her unreadable violet eyes and one hand on her hip. "Why do you want to understand him, Jake?" She finally says.

You sigh and throw your arms up again. "I don't know, Rose! He seems like an interesting fellow at times, but I find it hard to ignore his dadblasted ego."

She regards you carefully. "Have you tried having a conversation with him?"

Yes! No…well, sort of."

"Perhaps you should." She finishes filling up two cups of water, one for her and one for Kanaya, before picking up all three and heading back toward the living room. But she stops in the doorway and looks over her shoulder. "He's really not as much of an ass as he would like people to believe." She says, giving you a small smile. She nods down the hallway. "He's probably in his work room. Down the hall, to the left." And then you're alone in the kitchen.

You look down at the cups on the table. "Perhaps I should…"

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and Dave Strider is between your legs.

Wow, okay, not like that. You mean, he's SITTING between your legs. On the floor. While you sit on the couch. Really, he's more between your calves and your knees. That's not so strange.

It's not that hard to ignore him during the first movie of your movie night. It's a Nic Cage movie. You don't care how distracting Dave is. Nic Cage wins. End of story.

Of course, that doesn't mean he doesn't try. Halfway through the movie he's picking at your leg hair. You swat at his head. He ignores you and continues to twist strands of your hair together into mini-dreads. You kick his side with the inside of your foot. He shakes with silent laughter. You sigh loudly in defeat and flick his ear.

Jake's phone also does a significant job of getting your attention. Every few minutes you can feel it vibrate in his pocket and through the couch. Who would be texting him so frequently? All of his closest friends are here. You give him a few looks, silently asking him if he's going to answer it. But he doesn't. Not until you're sure he's received at least ten texts.

When he finally looks at his phone, you watch curiously and sneakily, because you're a stealth ninja, as a variety of expressions pass over his face. He looks annoyed and irritated, but once he starts texting back, he's smiling like he's amused. You spare him a few looks every once in a while. The movie begs for your attention, but you're insanely curious as to who Jake is texting. It could be someone from one of his classes, bugging him for answers. It could be one of his friends that you don't really know. The ones that say hi to him in the hall. The ones from classes past. It could be your older sister. You know they're still friends and keep in touch, despite her going to college across the country in New York.

You can see Dave's brother texting too, but that doesn't really surprise you. He didn't seem so thrilled to be watching this movie anyway. He's probably bored. Why he's still here, you don't really know. In fact, you don't really know anything about him except for the vague details that Dave lets slip. You don't really know much about Dave's life.

And just like that, your mind is back to Dave. Ugh! Nic Cage! Movie! You're watching it!

You get entranced by the movie once again. The only thing that can tear you out of it is the mention of popcorn. When Jake asks, your hand shoots into the air so fast, you think you almost dislocate it. He comes back with the delicious, salty, buttery goodness. You shovel it into your face, occasionally fighting Dave for rights to the bowl.

You notice that Jake doesn't text for the rest of the movie. Which, judging from how quickly he was texting before, is strange. He also looks a little tense. Maybe it wasn't a good conversation? Or a conversation gone sour? He was smiling for a while.

After the movie, Dave moves away from you in order to fetch the DVD out of the player. You take this opportunity to turn to Jake. You tap his shoulder to get his attention and make a texting motion with your hands. Luckily that sign is easy to understand and Jake readily knows what you mean.

"Don't worry about it, old chum." He says, stretching an arm around your shoulders and pulling you to his side. "Just texting a pest." He laughs, and you smile. You must have been right. It must have been someone from one of his classes or something.

Despite Jake's recent confession to you about his feelings, this doesn't feel awkward. The awkwardness mostly faded after the first week. In this moment, with Jake's arm playful wrapped around your shoulders, you realize that things don't have to change. Things can be like they were. Your friendship doesn't have to change. You don't have to feel uncomfortable around him. Jake is your friend. He's always been your friend. And he always will be your friend.

The second movie is one from Karkat's collection. You want to say that you paid full attention to it and valued it as a film in respect to your fellow movie lover friend. But you didn't. You spend most of the movie with your mind wandering.

Dave has stopped dreading your leg hair, thank the gods. That shit was a little painful. As usual, Dave spends a lot of the movie debating the logistics of the film and the characters. He likes picking on Karkat, which, you have to admit, is pretty funny. Despite how much they argue, you know they both enjoy that part of their friendship. You once even got Karkat to admit that Dave wasn't that bad. You consider it a victory.

"I'm just saying that they've known each other for three days. How can she possibly love him that much?" Dave says, gesturing to the tv.

"Not everyone's pulsating blood organ is as tough and tasteless as yours, Strider." Karkat spits back.

"Hey now, my heart's a living, beating, love machine." He says. "I just don't see how they can meet, and be willing to throw themselves at each other so instantly. Like, hello, you have great hair and I haven't gotten laid in a while, I think I love you, let's have babies, do you like babies? Too bad! We're having four. Peter, Jack, Mary, and Sam. Peter will go on to earn a PhD, Jack will invent something awesome, Mary will be the next J.K. Rowling, and Sam will be Sam no matter what gender our child identifies as. We'll grow old together and die in wooden hover chairs at a log cabin we've built ourselves. What's that? We've only known each other for three days? That's okay! I already have our lives planned out. You're allergic to peanuts? Oh no! Peanut butter is my favorite! It's okay, baby, I'll kick the habit for you."

"Dave." Rose says flatly, nudging his leg with her foot. He snaps out of his ramble, which had slowly died away into a mumble.

"What?" He says, tilting his head to look back at her.

"You're mumbling again." She says.

"Gotten entertain myself somehow. This movie blows."

"Shut your protein chute, fuckass!" Karkat snaps, his eyes blazing defensive fury.

Dave levels him a look. "What. The fuck. Is a protein chute?"

Karkat rolls his eyes and looks back to the movie. You and Jade snicker.

"So you're saying that you've never felt feelings for someone after a short amount of time?" Kanaya asks, her legs crossed and her foot bouncing idly.

Dave tilts his head back. You're pretty sure he's glaring. "Not after three days." He says. There's a defensive edge to his words. "Rose." He says, drawing her name out like a warning.

Rose raises her eyebrows and keeps her expression carefully innocent. "I didn't tell her any details."

"Someone call the authorities. Dave heartless Strider has feelings." Karkat says dryly, throwing his hands up in mock celebration.

"Oooooo, Dave, who is she?" Jade asks, her eyes narrowing in on Dave.

Dave flicks piece of popcorn at her. "None of your business, Harley."

There's a strange tightness in your chest and a lump in your throat that makes it hard to swallow your popcorn. It's strange and unfamiliar. Is this what heartburn feels like? Are you having heartburn?

"Do you know anything, Rose?" Jade throws popcorn back at Dave and turns her attention to Rose.

You listen eagerly, even as you fight down the weird burning in your chest. You tap a fist against your chest. Maybe you choked on come kernels and didn't realize it.

Rose delicately eats some popcorn of her own and smiles. "I know a lot of things. Most of them I'm sworn to secrecy about."

"Awww, Roooose!" Jade whines.

The conversation drops and your heartburn slowly fades. You're happy that the topic doesn't come back up.

When the movie is over, Jade suggests more Halo. You're not super great at Halo, but you're getting better. Sometimes you play with Dave online, but you prefer Super Smash Bros. Rose nearly beats Dave at one point, and his reaction is hilarious. He gets really defensive and a little red in the face. You chuckle silently and nudge him with your knee so he can see your smile. He just shoves you with his shoulder, but you can see him smiling too.

When Jake leaves to help Rose with drink refills, Dave is quick to take his seat. He plops down practically on top of you. You grunt and shove him off of you. He chuckles and easily goes down into the open spot on the couch.

"Ouch, so harsh. Why no love, Egbert?"

You point at him and then hold your hands on your stomach, moving them outward as you puff out your cheeks. "You're fat."

Dave's brows furrow over the top of his shades. "I don't know that sign, but if I had to guess, you just called me fat."

You grin and stick your tongue out, laughing silently.

"You wound me, Egbert." He says, putting a hand to his heart. He tosses his head back. "Ugh, right to the self-esteem!" He looks back up at you. "Do you know how hard it is to keep my lady-like figure?"

You lift your right hand and spell quickly.

"Whoa, whoa, gotta slow that spelling shit down. Newbie, remember?" Dave says, interrupting you. But he adjusts himself so he can see you more clearly and though you can't see his eyes, you're willing to bet he's concentrating. It's cute how much he pays attention when you begin signing. He wouldn't look at some girl like this if she was just talking.

There's that weird burning. Ugh. What is WRONG with you?

You sigh loudly, roll your eyes, and start over, slower this time. When you're done spelling, you lift a crooked pointer finger to the edge of your lips, the other fingers down, and wiggle it there for a second. Then point your pinky at the corner of your lips, palm extended, and flip it around to make a "J," ending with the back of your hand facing out. Closed fist with thumb extended, you place the thumb under your chin and move it out. You lift one hand, index and middle finger extended. Without stopping the motion, you crook those two fingers and bring that hand down on the fist of your other.

"Doritos and apple juice isn't that hard, Dave."

Dave makes a face. "I'd like to see you try it."

"Can we start the next round already?" Jade says. She already has a controller in her hand and she's ready to go.

"I agree. As thrilling as it is to watch you two talk about your diets and weights, I would like to get a turn to play again." Kanaya says, tapping the arm of the couch impatiently. "I believe I am finally getting the hang of this game."

This round is Dave, Jade, Karkat, and you. Dave starts out the round by seeking out Karkat and taking the first kill.

"Goddammit, Strider!"

Dave laughs.

"Don't worry, Karkat. I got this." Jade says. She's sitting on the arm of Karkat's chair, leaning forward. Her eyes are fixated on the screen and her tongue is sticking out from between her lips.

"I'm coming for you next, Harley."

"Bring it, cool kid!"

You do your best to get a good vantage point, but Dave sees you on his way to find Jade and fires several shots right to the back of your head.

"Boom. Head shot." He says, smirking smugly.

You turn and glare at him while you wait to respawn.

Dave and Jade find each other and exchange a few shots before diving behind cover. Jade is practically standing now.

"It would seem Dave will once again kill everyone and take victory for himself." Kanaya rests an elbow on the arm of the couch and leans her cheek against her fist. "But I would like a chance to play this game against players who are not Dave. Might I suggest distracting him physically so kills can be made in game?"

"That's cheating!" Dave says.

Kanaya shrugs, a smirk on her lips. "It's just a game, Strider."

"Distract him, John!" Jade yells. You look away from the tv to give her a questioning look. "Just do it!"

Never one to disobey Jade, you stick your hands, controller and all, in front of Dave's face. He just leans away from you and continues to stalk Jade.

"John! Help me!" She's definitely standing now.

You lean into him, shoving your shoulder against his. He shoves you off. You lay your arms over his, clank your controller on his, and hit his shoulder with your own.

"Don't think so, Egbert." He hasn't once looked away from the screen. Was that a challenge you heard? You think it was.

You hop into his lap as best you can. It's pretty easy. He's leaning so far over the arm of the couch and leaving his lap exposed. He freezes a little when you sit on him, but recovers quickly.

"Oh shit, and you're calling me a fat ass?" He tries to buck his hips to get you off, but you're persistent. "You need to lay off the cake, bro."

He's practically laying over the arm of the couch. You twist around and lean over and bite the closest thing to you: his shoulder. Specifically the top of his shoulder. He jerks, then freezes and that seemed to work so you do it again. There's a lot of screaming and Dave goes down by a well aimed headshot by Jade. You finally get off his lap, laughing as you do so. He accuses you of cheating, to which you just laugh. He doesn't really recover for the rest of the round. Jade ends up winning, if only by a single point. She whoops and cheers, and then makes sure Karkat knows he now owes her his pudding cups for the next week.

Rose returns. When she sits down, you look at her with a questioning look and sign Jake's name. "He went to the bathroom." She says, taking the controller from you. Karkat passes his to Kanaya. Jade and Dave keep theirs. He has payback to deal out, he says. You turn to Rose. With one hand on your stomach, you hold up your other in a fist, thumb out, palm down. You scoop your hand upward until your thumb is pointing up. You then make a "T," putting your thumb between your index and middle finger in a fist. You stake it in the air next to you.

"Another bathroom?"

"Upstairs." She says, taking a sip of her water. "Second door on the right."

You stand and step around Dave's legs. He tries to trip you and you stumble. Asshole. You swat half-heartedly at his head. Once upstairs, it doesn't take long to find the bathroom. It's the only room without a closed door. You've been to Rose's house before, but you don't think you've ever been upstairs.

While you're peeing, your genius brain has the best idea ever.

Dave is busy with Halo. He's defending his title with a highly competitive Jade. You doubt he would notice your absence. You're already upstairs. This is the perfect time to prove to Dave that you're the pranking master!

By the time your pants are zipped, you're convinced that now is the time. No going back. He's doubted your pranking skills for too long!

You don't flush the toilet, not yet. That would give your cover away. You open the door. The coast is clear. You rummage around in the bathroom for what you need. You're in luck. In one of the cupboards under the sink, you find a bucket full of cleaning supplies. You carefully empty out the bucket, trying not to make too much noise, and exit the bathroom. You close the door quietly behind you and, with the bucket tucked under your arm, you begin your search for Dave's room.

First you open the door closest to the stairs. Before the door is even fully open, you're hit with the purple color scheme and you immediately know this is Rose's room. You don't peek for long, feeling like you're abusing a close friend's privacy, but you do notice that it's messier than you would expect from Rose. You close the door as quietly as you opened it and move on.

The next door you open leads to a big room that's fairly empty. The bed has an orange comforter and, from you can see, pool ball sheets. Other than a pile of stuffed animals that are brightly colored and… kinda phallic, and a couple of dolls, there's not much there. You realize this must be the master bedroom, which means it's probably Dave's brother's. You expected more…personalization though. It's oddly empty. The hall light spills into the room and something catches you eye. A creepy looking puppet with creepy wide, blue eyes stares at you with a big lipped grin. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end. You can't close that door fast enough.

There's only one door left, so you know it has to be Dave's. You hesitate only a second before opening the door, holding your breath as you do so. You're about to see where Dave lives. Where he spends his time. His personality. His inner sanctum. His man cave. Curiosity nearly eats you alive before you can even open the door.

With the door finally open, you grope along the wall until you find the light switch. And then you just kind of stand there, trying to take it all in.

It's a decent sized room. His bed is in the corner, sheets looking like he just rolled out of it. They're covered in hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. Like those on playing cards. The walls are covered in various kinds of posters, of things you don't recognize. Several swords hang on the walls. Whether they're real or decorative, you don't know. Dave has said he knows how to sword fight, but you're not completely sure you believe him. His computer sits on a simple desk across the room from his bed. All around, on nearly every flat surface, is mixing equipment. At least, you're pretty sure that's what it is. Turn tables here, weird boards with lots of buttons and light there. Black power chords choke the floor, running this way and that. Running across the open space of the room, above head height, are strings, on which hang pictures. You remember Dave once told you that he made the closet into a makeshift darkroom. You look and, sure enough, there's a dark curtain blocking it off.

You step into the room to get a better look at things. You step up to the line of pictures running across the string. There are scenery shots and other pictures you can only describe as hipster. But amongst them are ridiculous pictures of Dave himself. Ha! Dave takes selfies! What a dork! You pluck one off the string of Dave leaning against a door frame, camera in hand, pointed at a mirror. You snicker silently to yourself. He's such a dork. Look at that smirk. You tuck the picture into your pocket, your pranksters gambit buzzing happily. This could come in handy.

You turn around and find yourself face to face with a bookshelf. On this shelf are various things floating in liquid in jars. They look like dead things in jars. You make a face. You were almost positive he was joking about that. Ew, Dave. Ew.

You hear a shout from downstairs and you jump. Listening closely, you realize it's just Karkat. You assume they're still playing, but it reminds you that you're on a mission.

You hurry back to the bathroom, treading lightly, and put the plastic bucket in the sink. You turn on the bathroom fan to mask the sound of running water as you fill up the bucket. You only fill it halfway and leave the bathroom, silently shutting the door behind you. In the hallway you listen. The sounds of Halo filter up the stairs, including Dave and Jade's voices.

You quickly return to Dave's room. Once inside, you set the bucket down and go grab Dave's desk chair, moving it to the door. You make sure the door is at the right angle to hold the bucket, but still open enough to allow you to slip out. You grab the bucket and place it just right atop the door, so that the door is in the middle of the bucket and the bucket leans ever so slightly against the top of the frame.

You step down from the chair and look up at your work. Perfect. Dave won't see it coming.

You roll the chair back to the desk, but hesitate. His computer screen beckons and your pranksters gambit tingles. Taking a quick look around, you sit yourself in the chair and scoot up to the desk. You wiggle the mouse until the screen comes back to life.

Password protected.

Damn.

You sit back in the chair, making a face at the log in screen. You look around. There's a drawing tablet on the desk, several notebooks, a few scattered photos, empty Doritos bags, and empty apple juice bottles. You idly pick up a notebook. It's titled: Mad Rhymes. You flip through it. There's a lot of writing that's in the format of poetry or song lyrics, but upon reading a few lines, you realize these must be the raps that Dave's talked about. There are a lot of lines crossed out and rewritten. You flip through it, trying to get clues.

You pick up another notebook titled: Rap Jams. It's pretty much the same as the first. There are a few more you shuffle through until you get to one without a title written on the front. This one is full of doodles. They look very similar to the doodles he drew in your notebook. You recognize the two characters, Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff, from Dave's online comic blog. They reoccur a lot.

Further back in the notebook, his doodles start to take on the likeness of people you know. Eridan and other football players show up. He portrays them in comic relief and you snicker. You flip a few more pages and stop. There are doodles that look like you. A lot of them. Saying ridiculous things. Dressed as a princess again. Dressed as a cheerleader. You and Dave together. You both doing mundane things like drinking coffee, and you both doing outlandish things, like wrestling alligators.

Does he really have nothing better to do than draw you?

Though, you admit, you can't help but feel a little flattered. There are drawings of your other friends as well. Karkat and Jake show up a few times. Usually it's not that flattering. But for the most part, he's just drawing you. You and him. Not him and some girl. Maybe he doesn't actually like anyone right now.

Maybe Dave thinks about you as randomly and frequently as you think about him.

Someone clears their throat and you jump, slamming the notebook shut on the desk. Your head whips around and Dave is there, standing in the doorway. He's leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest. You can't see his eyes, but you know he's staring straight at you.

"Sup?" He says. Your eyes dart upward for just a second. The bucket is still there. He hasn't moved the door yet.

You smile sheepishly and push the chair back, slowly standing.

"Peeping in my room, eh Egbert?" A slow smirk curves his lips. He caught you sneaking in his room. "Going on a panty raid?" He pushes off the doorframe, standing up straight. "I can show you where I keep my underwear."

He steps into the room, pushing the door wider as he does so. The bucket wobbles and falls. The bucket itself hits his shoulder and bounces to the floor. The water crashes down right over his head, drenching him.

You both stand there for a moment, staring at each other. You watch as a water drop slides down his forehead and drips off his nose.

A smile slowly cracks your lips, and once it's started, it won't stop. Soon you're full out grinning, teeth and all.

"Egbert." He says, his voice low and flat. He steps further into the room and slowly shuts the door behind him. His hair is soaked, dripping down his face. His shoulders and torso got most of the water, dripping down his arms. His pants are, for the most part, dry. He's standing in a puddle on the carpet.

You point at him, still grinning. Then you hold one hand up like you're holding a cup, and your other extended index finger swivels downward, starting above the cup and ending below it. Holding your index finger and thumb out, you swipe them past your nose and mouth. Then you hold a hand out, pinky and thumb extended outward, and move the hand back and forth horizontally.

"You look like a drowned rat."

"I'm not completely sure what that means," He says, taking a step toward you. It's slow and deliberate. He's no longer smirking. "But I assume you're making fun of me." He runs a hand through his soaked hair and it sticks up at odd angles. There's the smirk. It's slow and small and predatory. Uh-oh. "Payback time."

He darts forward and you scramble backward, your grin faltering as you trip over the chair. You regain your footing and push it at him. He moves it out of his way and advances. You scramble around his room, trying not to trip over the chords on the floor. He's right behind you. You trip and catch yourself on his bed. You flip over and scoot backwards until your back is against the wall. He's on the bed crawling after you.

You flail your arms at him, mouthing "No, no, no, no. Sorry, sorry, sorry." But you can't quite get your smile to go away. He just looks so ridiculous with his nose dripping and his hair all messed up. His shirt clings to his chest. That part's not really ridiculous. You're not sure what that is, but it's anything but ridiculous.

"You're gonna be sorry, Egbert." He says. He grabs your wrists and passes them into one hand, while his other finds your side. He begins tickling you and your flailing increases tenfold. You start kicking your legs, so he straddles on and sits on it. You get one arm free and hit his shoulder, so he gives up on holding your arms and just uses both hands to tickle your sides.

You're wheezing. Your chest heaves and that ugly breathy, wheezing sound that happens when you laugh too hard escapes your throat. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. You continue to mouth "No, no, stop, stop, dave, oh my god, stop, please." He's relentless.

Flailing doesn't seem to be working, so you change tactics. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and throw your body weight to the side, taking both of you down to the bed. You quickly roll over him, plant your feet on the floor, and make a dash for the door. You grab the door handle, but before you can turn it, a hand lands on your shoulder and spins you around. A solid, warm mass, presses you against the door.

"Not so fast, Egbert." His hands are on your hands, holding them against the door beside your head. And then suddenly you have wet, blond hair in your face. He shakes his head like a wet dog, spraying you with water droplets. You laugh and turn your head to the side as his hair tickles your face.

When he's done, he lifts his head and you turn your to face him and, wow, okay, he's pretty close.

Both of your chests are heaving from laughter and exertion. Every time you both inhale, your bodies touch more. His hips are already pressing yours against the door. His damp hair falls in front of his face, dangling in front of his sunglasses. You can feel his breath, and you're certain he can feel yours.

Memories come flashing back of the dream you had last week. You had done your best to push those thoughts out of your head. That dream had no basis. It was just a fluke. It meant nothing. It was hallow, without warmth. Even when you kissed in your dream, it was empty and without substance. You've never kissed anyone before, how was your subconscious supposed to know how it felt? So yes, okay, it was an out of place sexy dream about your friend, but it was easy to push away because it didn't feel real.

Not like this. This was very real. His body, his warmth, his breath.

Why wasn't he getting off of you? You wish you could speak. Then you could say, joke's over, Dave, get off. But you can't. All you can do is stare back at him. You move a little, trying to push him away. It's not a lot of effort, more like testing the waters. He pushes back, just slightly, and you definitely did NOT mean to make that sound. It was a strange breathy gasp that was too loud with how close you were. You feel your cheeks instantly heat up. You know your mouth is hanging open. You lick your lips and there's movement under his shades. You can't see his eyes, but you know where he's looking.

He leans forward. Why is he leaning forward?! There's no where to go! Your breath dies in your throat and your eyes close.

"John? Dave?"

At the sound of Jade's voice, your eyes snap open and Dave jumps away from you. The look on his face, as far as you can tell without seeing his eyes, is one of surprise, alarm, and guilt. You're pretty sure it mirrors your own.

"Where are you guys?" You can hear her coming up the stairs. "Dave, you can't run away just when I start beating you!"

You spin around and open the door, practically falling out into the hallway. You look up to see a surprised Jade standing at the top of the stairs. You straighten your glasses and try to get the blush off your face.

Dave steps out into the hallway after you and shuts his door.

Jade looks back and forth between you, looking disheveled, and Dave, looking very wet. "What happened to you guys?"

Dave picks at the wet shirt that's sticking to his chest. "John thought it would be funny to put a bucket of water above my door and then rummage through my panty drawer."

You shake your head vigorously and point to Dave, then make tickling gestures at your sides.

"You got what you deserved, Egbert." Dave says. You make a face at him, tongue and all.

Jade looks skeptical, but she shakes her head. She puts her hands on her hips. "Well if you boys are done, can we get back to our game?"

You both follow her back downstairs and reexplain the story to everyone else. Dave doesn't change his shirt. When asked about it, he just says he's trying a new style. You know it's because he forgot about it in his haste to leave his room. You find it hard to make eye contact with him for the rest of the night.

In your mind, the sound of your glasses clanking together replays over, and over.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you can't believe you're doing this.

But it's too late. You've already knocked.

You wait, but there's no answer. So you knock again. Still no answer. You're not about to go sulking away with your tail between your legs. You slowly turn the doorknob and push the door open. You stick your head in the room and look around.

This was not how you expected an office to look.

There are posters covering the walls. Posters of regular horses, centaurs, horse anamorphs, and cartoon horses. Posters of actors. Maps. Movie posters. My little pony posters. Robot pictures. All sizes, big and small. They cover the walls haphazardly, overlapping in some places, tilted at an angle in others.

There are several tables and all of them are covered in stuff. The floor is covered in stuff. Metal parts and wires and nuts and bolts. Graph paper and notebooks. Hand tools and power tools. Metal contraptions and things you can't even begin to identify. They cover nearly every available space. including the floor. Several colorful crates are around the room, holding more bits and pieces.

Against one wall is a desk. On the desk is an expensive looking computer. This desk is also covered with wires and tools. Dirk sits at a well cushioned chair in front of the desk, his fingers fly across the keyboard. Giant headphones cover his ears.

You open the door a little wider and knock again. "Yoo hoo, Strider? Can you hear me?" His fingers don't stop and he doesn't look up, so you take a step into the room, closing the door behind you. You take a few cautious steps toward him. "Strider? Hellooooo?" Still nothing. You put your hands on your hips and press your lips together in annoyance. Just how loud is he listening to his music? "Cheese and fucking crackers, DIRK."

His fingers finally stop moving. He lifts his hands to remove his headphones as he turns around. "God dammit, Dave. How many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt me." When he sees you, his words die off into silence. He stares at you for a moment. His sunglasses are tucked into the front of his shirt, so you can clearly see the surprise in his eyes. "English?" He twists his chair around to face you and leans back, resting his headphones around his neck. "What're you doing here?"

You realize now that you're standing in the middle of his office and you hadn't thought about what you were going to say. You stand there, eyes wide, opening and closing your mouth like a floundering fish. God damn fiddlesticks, you don't need him to make a fool of you. You do that well enough on your own.

"Well, the second movie of our night is over." You say, swinging your arms back and forth idly. You look around, unable to meet his eyes for long. "Boy you missed one humdinger of a cinematic film. Karkat keeps only the best in his collection." You sound so awkward. Buck up, English! Don't let this man scare you!

"I can only imagine." Dirk says. "But what are you doing here. Isn't this your friend movie night?"

"Well, yes, but the movies are over and Jade has instigated another Halo tournament. And as you saw, I'm not very good at those games."

"Yeah, I saw. Can you at least shoot a real gun?" He asks.

"Damn straight I can! I'd like to see you find someone better." You say, putting your hands on your hips proudly.

Dirk smirks. It's a knowing smirk and you don't really know how that could be possible. "I'd like to see that sometime." He tilts his head slightly. His expression is back to curious. "So was there anything you needed from me?"

"You cross your arms over your chest and shake your head, trying to look nonchalant. "Not exactly." You find a poster to stare at. "Just wondering what you were up to."

He smirks. "Miss me already, English?"

You frown. "No, that's not what I said. I-"

"Couldn't stay to stay away." He waggles his eyebrows and you sigh, throwing your arms up.

"Will you stop being obnoxious for five minutes? I was just wondering what you were doing."

He gestures to the computer screen, which shows a program that you don't recognize. "Just catching up on some work."

You look at the screen, trying to make sense of what you see. Your curiosity is piqued. You hadn't really thought about this man actually doing work. He's just been the obnoxious person on the phone, sending you never-ending pick up lines. You never stopped to wonder what he does to make money.

"Work?" You ask. "What do you do?"

"Well right now I'm working on some programming." He says, looking at the screen himself.

"What kind of programming?"

"This is mostly AI stuff. Robotic programming." He says, tapping a few keys on the keyboard.

You perk up. "Robots? Cool!"

You grab an empty crate and sit on it next to Dirk's desk. He raises an eyebrow. "You into robots?" He asks with that strange little knowing smirk. You don't know what to make of it, so you ignore it.

"Of course! I dabbled a bit in robotics myself. I think I did quite well for not having any formal education on the matter. Could never quite figure out a proper power cell, though…"

You spend the next hour talking to him. Really talking. He doesn't use a single pick-up line and he only refers to your ass twice. He doesn't give you specifics on the project he's working on, but he does say it's for clients who want customizations on his already existing program. You ask about the programming software he's using. He says it's one his friend made, and that it works better than any other on the market.

You ask about other things he does. Nearly everything with robotics, he says. And you just think that's really cool! You wish you had the patience or the gift with such things. He's really knowledgable on the subject. You keep asking questions and he keeps providing answers. You're a little surprised he can talk like a normal person.

Imagine that. Dirk Strider is a person, not a pick-up line robot.

You ask about the posters around his room. He shrugs and says they're just things he's interested in. You say that he must really like horses. Duh, he says, horses are the shit. You ask about the little girl's show, My Little Pony. He glares at you and sticks a screwdriver in your face. Rainbow Dash is the shit and no one can say otherwise, he says. You laugh and bat the screwdriver away. You call him a dork, he calls you tasteless.

You ask about the few posters of robots on the wall. You recognize them as Di-Stri original creations. He smiles another strange, secret smile and says yeah, he's a big fan. You are too! You love Di-Stri's stuff! That man is genius and mysterious! The only thing that's known about him is that his logo has a pair of pointy, anime shades….Actually, they look a lot like Dirk's. You ask if that's why Dirk wears them. He says it's something like that.

When you leave the Lalonde-Strider household that night, you're feeling a lot better than when you arrived. The evening had a rocky start, but overall, you feel like you've actually gotten to know Dirk a little bit. You're glad you decided to talk to him. He's actually quite an interesting fellow.

You're not all that mad at him anymore.

You say farewell to John and once inside the house, Jade asks why you've been weird all night. You wave her off and head for your room, but she persists. You know she's not going to go away until you tell her. Your cousin is a stubborn one. A no-nonsense kind of gal. You like that about her, but right now it's turned against you.

So you tell her.

You tell her all about Dirk's first interaction with you at the football game. You tell her how he stole your number and bothered you, and how you didn't know who he was. You tell her how today went, finding out who he was and knowing you were going to see him again. Then you explain why you dropped your pizza and how he was texting you throughout the first movie. And finally, you told her about how you took Rose's advice and you visited him in his office and had a pleasant, normal chat.

She listens, flopped on her back on your bed. When you're done, she rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on her elbows. You're standing. You had gotten to pacing during your tale.

"Sooooo what're you going to do now?" She asks.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you going to keep talking to him?"

"I don't see why I shouldn't."

"Well, he was basically stalking you and bothering you and making you feel uncomfortable."

"Well, yes. But it wasn't all that bad. He was just having fun. Besides, I think we're past that now." You don't know why you're defending him. You were really annoyed with him earlier this week! He was a pushy, arrogant ass. Even if he's shown signs of stopping that nonsense, that doesn't change what he's done…still, you're not really upset with him at the moment.

Jade smiles. "So you didn't mind that he was texting you."

You cross your arms over your chest. "I didn't mind having someone to talk to."

"Doesn't sound like it was a very constructive conversation." You don't like her tone. She's hinting at something and you just don't like it.

"It was entertaining."

"I thought you said it was annoying."

"Yes, that too."

"Sounds to me like you liked it."

You flop down on the edge of your bed next to her. "Yeah, but what do you know."

"I know you." She says. "And I know you don't take shit from people who bother you." She pushes herself into a sitting position. "Which tells me that he's not really bothering you. Which tells me that you don't mind him bugging you."

"That's nonsense!" You snap.

"You said it bothered you when he stopped bugging you."

"I did not!"

"You implied it."

"Who asked you!"

"Jake and Dirk, sitting in a tree." She starts to sing.

"Jade!" You grab for her, but she jumps off your bed.

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" She darts out the door.

"Get out of here!" You slam your door after her, but her laughter trickles in through the cracks. You huff and sigh and decide it's time to get ready for bed.

You just think Dirk is an interesting person. That's all. And there's something oddly familiar about him. Something you can't quite put your finger on.

It's probably nothing.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and you keep reminding yourself that you're as chill as a penguin.

Dave Antarctica Strider. That's your name. And as king of the arctic, you never feel nervous. Never. The ice that floods through your veins keeps you cool. Chill and cool. Smooth as a glacier and sharp as an icicle. Definitely not nervous about the fact that three days ago you almost fucked everything up by almost kissing John.

Holy shit, you almost kissed John.

You just about fucked everything up. The look in his eyes when you jumped apart. He looked so terrified and betrayed and shocked, like you had just held a knife to his throat or something. Fucking shit dick. You're an idiot. John couldn't even look at you the rest of the night.

You were honestly surprised he messaged you on Saturday. Luckily you were able to tear yourself away from stewing in your own self-pity to answer him. Unfortunately, you being you, you rambled and rambled, spewing red word vomit all over your screen. It wouldn't stop. You were afraid of silence.

By Sunday you were having normal conversation.

But talking online and through text is completely different than seeing each other in person. And neither of you has mentioned Friday. Talked about the movies, yes. Talked about Halo, yes. Talked about his stupid prank, yes. Talked about how he never flushed the toilet and pissed Dirk off, yes. Talked about the almost kiss? No. You don't want to talk about it.

Did you want to kiss him? Yes. Hell yes. Hell fucking yes. His stupid, heart stopping smile. His breathy, wheezing laugh. His stupid, cliche prank. The way he felt against you. He was so close. His smile was so brilliant. His eyes drew you in. You could feel his ragged breath on your lips. You didn't even realize you were leaning in until you heard Jade's voice.

You don't even want to think about what would have happened if Jade hadn't been there.

You would have kissed him. He probably would have freaked out. You probably would have ruined your new friendship. And destroyed all chances of possibly getting a date out of him. You would have been right back to where you started: friendless, alone, miserable.

Shut up, Dave. Don't think about it. You didn't kiss him. You can still take your time. Woo him slowly, cautiously.

"David." Rose says, snapping her fingers in front of your face. You get a flash of purple nail polish and pale fingers in your vision.

You blink behind your shades and turn to look at her. "What?"

"I asked if you finished your essay for English." She says, adjusting her bangs so they laid perfectly across her forehead.

You stopped walking in the middle of the parking lot, only to be honked at by a car, reminding you that you probably shouldn't stop where cars drive. You walk quickly to catch up to Rose. "Shit, that paper was due today?!"

"Careful, David, keep your voice down or people will hear your voice." She whispers loudly, leaning in close for added effect.

You snort and shove her away with one hand. "Shut up, my name's not David." She steps away chuckling, returning your personal space to you. "But seriously, that was due today?"

One of her delicately shaped eyebrows goes up. "I reminded you on Friday."

You groan and rub your temples with two fingers each. The motion disrupts your shades, but your eyes are closed. "I forgot."

"I see that." She says. You open your eyes to see her black lips smirking.

"What are the odds that I can write the whole thing by the end of the day?" You ask.

She idly taps a chin with one finger. "I'd say it's very unlikely."

You sigh. "Great."

As you step over the curb onto the sidewalk, heading toward the front doors, Rose falters. It's subtle. She barely breaks her stride. But there's just a second of hesitation, of her body going stiff. You doubt anyone else would have noticed. But even from the corner of your eye, you noticed. Living with your brother, you've learned to notice these things.

You tilt your head to see her better. She's staring straight ahead, her head held high, but you know that just means she's avoiding looking at whatever startled her. From the safety of your shades, you look around. It doesn't take you long to find it.

To your right, beyond the front doors and in the tree lined front courtyard of your school where students tend to gather before hours, stands Kanaya. Next to her is another girl who you've never met, but know by association: Vriska. You've been with John when she's waved and shouted at him from a distance. Or when she passes him and ruffles his hair. You don't like it when she does that. But you've also heard of her because she's Kanaya's friend.

They're having a very animated conversation. Vriska's hands are on her hips and she's oozing confidence. Kanaya holds her books at her side, smiling and gesturing with her free hand. As you watch, Vriska laughs and lightly hits Kanaya's shoulder with her fist. Kanaya just laughs, holding her hand up to cover her mouth.

You glance at Rose. Her smirk is gone and her eyes are very fixed on the door ahead. Her left hand is on her messenger bag, hanging at her left side. Her right hand is holding onto the strap that lays across her front. You can see the fingers of both hands are curled into the fabric. She's tense, and Rose is never tense.

Your messenger bag hangs on your right side, so the two of you can't walk too close without bumping together. You take a step back and around to her right side. You throw an arm around her shoulders and hug her to you, practically hanging on her. Your positioning effectively blocks her view of Kanaya.

She stiffens again, and turns to look at you. She's giving you a skeptical look, her quirked lips and raised eyebrow silently asking you what you're doing.

"Sooooo, Rosy, Rosalynn, Rosadine, Rosaline, Rosy, Rosy, Rosy, what are the odds of me convincing you to write my paper for me?" You ask, putting more animation in your words than you normally do at school.

Her lips twitch upward. "Also very unlikely."

You lean your weight into her, making you both stumble sideways. "Roooooose." You whine. "We're practically siblingsssss." You draw out your words to make your whining complete.

She chuckles, regaining her balance. She hasn't made an effort to remove you from her side, so you stay. "In that case, as your sister, I must do what I think is best for you and force you to deal with your own consequences."

"Ugh, you're the worst sister ever." You whine.

"Then consider my refusal to write your paper for you as a feat of sibling spite just to see you suffer."

You chuckle, standing up straight and shaking her shoulders with your arm. "Way to sound more like a Strider."

She laughs and you smirk. You can tell other people are staring. You're rarely this openly affectionate, even with your friends, and especially at school. The closest you get is with John. You have a reputation to uphold. But right now, you don't give a shit. Let them stare. Let them start rumors. Who gives a fuck. You just made Rose smile, and at the moment, that's all you really care about.

"I should look into changing my name." She says. She's no longer tense. If anything, she almost relaxes into you. Using you subtly for support. You're okay with that.

"Whoa now, let's not get too carried away. There's a lot more to being a Strider than that."

She rolls her eyes. "Like a poor diet, lack of social skills, combat scars, and periodic shows of 'irony'?"

"Yes. Exactly." You both walk through the front doors and into the hallways. You still don't let her go and she doesn't push you off. You're going to walk her to her locker and that's that. "Soooo seriously, what did you do your paper on? I need some ideas here. Help a brother out."

She spends the rest of your walk telling you about her paper topic and giving you ideas for yours. It's actually pretty helpful. You know you won't get it done before your last class, but at least you have a vague idea of what to write for tonight.

You drop Rose off at her locker and the smile she gives you as you walk away expresses the gratitude she won't say aloud.

You're feeling pretty good.

That is, until you see John waiting for you at your locker. And then you remember Friday.

John sees you coming and waves, grinning his stupid, too-bright grin. It's infectious. You smile your small, barely-there Strider smile and lift a hand in greeting. As you do your locker combination, he scribbles on his notebook. You open your locker just as he holds up his notebook.

"What took you so long?"

You open your messenger bag and shove some books inside. "I walked Rose to her locker." You glance sideways at him. He's tilted his head, asking you why with his eyes and twisted lips. "She was feeling a little off, so I wanted to cheer her up. Seemed to work." You step back and slam your locker. "No one can resist the Strider charm. Ain't that right, Egbert." You drape your arm over his shoulders and start off down the hallway.

John rolls his eyes and shoves you, but not far enough to make you let go. You're just taking everyone under your wing today.

You go through your first class just waiting for your second. In biology, you start a doodle war with John. During Lunch, Jake sits himself between you and John. You're annoyed, but the looks he sends your way aren't as vicious as they used to be. Dare you say Jake English is getting used to you?

You watch Rose carefully. She seems to be back to normal. Kanaya is at the table and their usual dynamic seems to be restored. However, halfway through lunch, Kanaya excuses herself. You watch as she goes across the cafeteria to sit with Vriska. You look at Rose to find her looking at you. You raise an eyebrow, but she just shrugs, looking down at her lunch.

While John and Jake are in a heated discussion about the new movies in theaters, you pull out your phone and text under the table.

To Rose: wanna skip english with me?

You watch and wait as Rose feels her phone vibrate and pulls it out. She looks up through her lashes, giving you a look, before texting back.

From Rose: And why, pray tell, would I do that when I've actually done my essay?
To Rose: because class is dumb and I'm cool so come hang with me
From Rose: Is that all you have?
To Rose: thats all i need so you in?

She looks at her phone, but then sets it down in her lap. Her elbow is on the table and her chin in her palm. She's looking at the others, but you know she's really thinking. She glances over her shoulder at Vriska's table, then down at her phone again.

From Rose: Fine, but I want you to know that I'm not rewarding you for not doing your essay
To Rose: understood
To Rose: meet me at my locker before class

In your Math class, while your teacher is going over the answers to the homework. You write a note to John.

"yo egbert did you do the homework?" You take your time folding the paper into a perfect little triangle "football." Look at you representing your sport. You lean forward and, when the teacher isn't looking, lightly scratch the back of John's neck with a pokey corner.

He quickly snatches it. He was waiting, and you know it. This is your ritual. He opens it and scribbles a note back. He holds the sloppily folded triangle over his shoulder for you to take. "Of course, didn't you?"

The teacher calls on you and you give your answer. Luckily, it's right, and she doesn't spend too much time focused on you. You write back to John. "yeah remembered to do it last minute. but i forgot to do my english paper"

He scribbles back quickly. He's a good enough student that teachers often think he's just doing work or taking notes. He's mostly ignored. He passes the note back. "daaaaaave! that sucks! D: what're you going to do? can you turn it in late?"

"probably ive done it before. im gonna skip anyway" The teacher is standing right in front of John's desk. You rest your elbow on your desk and your chin in your open palm, while idly scratching John's neck with the paper. You know he can't take it just yet, so you take this opportunity to trace patterns across his skin. Up, down, around, left, right. You move the paper through his hair. It looked so soft. You move the paper deeper into his hair, letting your fingers brush across some of it. Huh, feels like hair. But it's John's hair. So it's special.

He takes the note and you can almost feel him roll his eyes. When he passes the note back, he gives you a look out of the corner of his eyes. You just smirk and take the note. "skipping isn't always the answer, dave"

"rose is doing it"
"you convinced ROSE to skip?"
"yup im a fucking miracle worker"
"how did she even agree to that?"
"shes not feeling so hot today so ima work my strider magic to lift her spirits. you jealous?"
"pffff pf pf pfffffsh! no!"
"you can come too"
"I donno… I don't really skip"
"neither does rose. come on egbert class is bad dave is good"
"will we get caught?"
"not if youre with me. i can show you the world egbert. shining shimmering awesome. yo egbert when did you last let your heart decide? "
"did you just almost quote Aladdin?"
"fuck no dave strider doesn't almost quote disney"
"pffff suuuuuure, cool kid. can you hear me snorting up here? i'm laughing at you, Dave."
"i dont want to hear any of your sass are you in or not?"

It takes John a while to respond. You can tell by the way he's tapping his desk that he's thinking. You just sit back and wait. When the paper is finally passed back to you, you practically tear it open.

"…fine, but only because you quoted Aladdin."
"i did not quote aladin"
"it's spelled Aladdin, and yes you did. i know my movies, Dave."
"it was ironic"
"it was dorky"
"i wouldn't expect you to understand"
"maybe i wont skip…"
"is that a threat?"
"maaaaaaaybe…….."
"you drive a hard bargin"
"so did you quote Aladdin?"
"yeah i guess"
"unironically?"
"yeah okay fine but that doesnt leave this room."
"i won't say a word."
"ooooh egberts got jokes now."
";B"

When class is over, you pack up your bag and head for the door. You throw and arm over John's shoulders and pull him to your side. You lean down to whisper in his ear. He freezes a little bit when you get close, but it's too late to give him his personal space back. "Meet me at my locker before your last class." As you straighten up, you ruffle his hair. He swats your hand away and you laugh. "Later, Egbert."

You see him roll his eyes and give you a half-assed wave. You walk backwards away from him. "Hey, no sass." You say, pointing at him with your best stern expression.

He lifts his free hand, the one that isn't holding his books, to his face and digs his fingers into the skin of his cheek, pulling his bottom eyelid down. He sticks his tongue out from between his teeth, curling his lips back so you can see them.

You take a threatening step toward him, stomping on the hallway tiles. He jumps, releases his cheek, and stumbles away. You watch long enough to see him look back at you, a grin on his face. You snort, shove your hands in your pockets, and spin around to head to your next class. Fuck, he's cute. Why didn't you kiss him again? Oh, right, ruining friendship. Got it.

You're used to people staring at you. You're also used to ignoring them. So you pay no mind to those watching you and your interactions with John.

You make it to your next class and take your seat in the back. Pulling out your phone, you text under your desk.

To Rose: john is joining us in our hooligan shenanigans
From Rose: Making me the third wheel?
To Rose: just figured you could use a little more dork in your life
From Rose: I have you, dear David, what more could I need?
To Rose: ha ha ha youre hilarious
From Rose: I try ;)

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you can't believe you're doing this.

You've never skipped a class, except because of sickness or doctor's appointments. You've never intentionally skipped a class. So why are you starting now?

Dave. Dave is why. You think it would be fun to hang out with Dave and Rose. If you don't skip with them, you know you're going to spend your last class wishing you did and wondering what they're doing. So you might as well go with them. Plus Rose may need you! Dave said she was feeling bad. Rose is one of your oldest friends, and you didn't even notice. You feel a little bad about that.

Also…there's the little problem that is Friday. After you went home on Friday, and you replayed that moment in Dave's bedroom over, and over again. You realized that you could have been wrong. You had thought he was leaning in to, like, kiss you or something… And then you realized that's stupid. Why would Dave want to kiss you? And why would you expect that he wanted to kiss you just because he got in your personal space? You guys were wrestling and he was chasing and tickling you as payback for your wicked ass prank. That takes a lot of energy. He probably just got tired of holding you there against the door and started to relax a little. You guys were close anyway, from him shaking his wet hair in your face. It's no wonder your glasses clanked together.

You were stupid and jumping to conclusions. You were irrational. You're just not used to anyone besides Jade getting in your face. Even Jake keeps a respectful distance. You got into trouble in middle school for the same thing. Jade was always sitting close to you and pulling you into hugs and putting her face right next to yours. You thought she liked you. And you kind of started to like her. You knew her since you were both little, she was a close friend, she learned sign language to talk to you, she was nice and pretty and fun to be around.

And somewhere along the line, you realized that you guys were just friends. You refuse to go around thinking that Dave wanted to kiss you just because he took your bromanship to a new close level. Besides, Dave has never given you reason to think he likes guys. Sure, he doesn't really show interest in girls, but he doesn't really show interest in anyone. You can't blame him. The way everyone hangs on him is just pathetic and dumb. They're not worthy of his time. They're not worthy of him.

And that night, when you were realizing that you were being stupid, you realized that things were going to get super awkward unless you did something about it. You couldn't make eye contact with him the rest of the time you spent at Rose's house, and that was your first mistake. You didn't want Dave to feel like you were avoiding him, like he overstepped some line. You wanted him to know that everything was okay, nothing was weird, and that you're totally okay with this new level of your friendship.

So on Saturday, you messaged him on Pesterchum as soon as he came online. You may or may not have waited an hour or two. At first, Dave seemed a little strange, but you kept the conversation going like normal. Eventually, he stopped his excessive rambles fell back to his normal flow of ordinary rambles. By the end of Sunday, conversation was a-okay once again. And seeing each other today in person hasn't been too weird. You were a little nervous at first, but from the moment you saw him in the hallway this morning, it all just left you. You felt even more assured that you had just been over thinking things and nothing was weird between you. Dave was just Dave. He hadn't meant to kiss you. You guys were back to your bromanship.

You can't really explain the twisting feeling in your gut at that thought. At first it feels like disappointment. But you think it may just be indigestion.

You wondered, in your debate whether to skip or not, if Dave would think you were avoiding him if you decided not to skip. You don't want him to think that. And Rose may need you. And you just want to hang out with them. So you, John Egbert, are going to skip for the first time ever.

You really hope you don't get caught. You don't want your dad finding out.

You spend your next class just thinking about it. When you leave class, you look around the hallway like you're an undercover spy on a mission. You keep an eye out for teachers and administrators. You may be walking more carefully than normal. Sneaking.ff At your locker, you do your combination like you're cracking a safe, slow and deliberate. You keep look out while you put your books away and grab your backpack, making sure your notebook is inside.

"Hi John!"

You nearly shit yourself and jump out of your skin. At the same time. You had been on such high alert, that Jade's voice right next to you was terrifying. You jump, slam your locker, and spin round. You lean against your locker, breathing hard and clutching your backpack to your chest.

"Whoa, calm down, cowboy!" She says, giving you a look that shows her amusement and also her confusion.

You sigh and rub your closed fist on your chest in small circles. "Sorry."

"Why're you go jumpy?" She asks, leaning against the locker next to you. You just shake your head and wave her off. She frowns, narrowing her eyes. She pokes you in the chest, and then holds up a hand, fingers slightly curled and palm down. She brings her other hand in a closed fist upward into the open palm of her hovering hand. She then holds up one finger, curling her other index finger and touching it to the upward finger, pulling it away. She points to herself and then lays both hands out flat, palm up, moving them back and forth. She looks at you with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes, and lips pursed.

"What are you hiding from me?"

You wave her off again.

"Jonathan Egbert. Are you being bullied and not telling me?" She keeps her voice down low, but there's venom in it that you recognize as the fury she turns on anyone who picks on you. You shake your head quickly, holding up your hands defensively. "What then?"

You look around, chewing your bottom lip. No teachers in sight. Not like it would matter anyway. They don't understand sign language.

You point to yourself and hold up a fist, putting two fingers on one side of it, and moving them over your fist to the other side. You make two C shapes with your hands, holding them together at your index finger and thumbs, then move them out and around to connect at your pinky fingers. You make two closed fists with your thumb up and bring them together, then you spell Dave and Rose's names.

"I'm skipping class with Dave and Rose."

She repeats the signs for skipping class, and then touches your fingers to her temple, bringing her hand down to her side, bending her three middle fingers to her palm, leaning her thumb and pinky extended. She looks at you like she's surprised, but not necessarily disappointed. That's good, you guess.

"Skipping class? Why?"

You shrug and repeat the sign for why, and then put your thumb under your chin, moving it out.

"Why not?"

She holds a palm out flat, facing upward, and points her other index finger down into her palm. She signs Dave's name and then plants her extended pinky finger on her temple, moving it out and up in one stiff motion.

"Was this Dave's idea?"

You make a face, bitting your bottom lip. You hold both hands out in front of you, flam palms facing up. You move your hands up and down slowly.

"Maaaaaybe…" Jade crosses her arms over her chest. The look she gives you is knowing and amused. You don't know why she's looking at you like that! You hold up both hands, flat and palm up, and move them back and form. "What?"

She slowly spells Dave's name. You don't like the sass with which she does this. Is she implying something? Sure, she found you guys both looking disheveled coming out of Dave's room, but you explained it to her! Pranks and tickle wars! Nothing else! Ugh! Jade! She seems to read all these thoughts in your expression because she gives you this smug little grin.

You quickly spell Rose's name and hold your closed fists out in front of you, only your index fingers extended, you bring them together, then apart, then together again. "Rose is doing it too!"

She stares at you long and hard. People move around you, going to lockers, going to classes, but you don't notice them. Jade steps away from the locker to get in your face, leaning in. She's doing something with her eyebrows. Some kind of eyebrow dance? It's like she's trying to pierce your mind with her eyes alone. With the help of her eyebrows. You start to wilt under her gaze, leaning back and shrinking. Finally, FINALLY, she blinks and steps back.

She signs O-K and points at herself. She then does the same sign you just did, with her index fingers pointed out, bumping them together.

"Okay, me too!"

You tilt your head to the side, looking at her curiously. You slowly point at her, then extend both hands, palms up, with your fingers curled slightly you pull them toward your chest. You hold up a fist, moving two extended fingers to connect with the top of your extended fist. You then lift your right hand, touching a finger to your right shoulder, moving it in a big sweeping gesture to your left shoulder.

"You want to join us?"

She lifts a fist, nodding it as she nods her head, a big smile on her face.

"Yes!"

You return her smile and sign a simple O-K. You hope Dave doesn't mind. But Jade is one of your closest, best friends. Plus there's no way you could convince her otherwise now. Jade is fun. Surely Dave and Rose won't care.

You look around, no teachers. Not that it matters, everyone is still in the hallway between classes. You swing your backpack over one shoulder and look back at Jade, nodding down the hallway in a silent "come on" gesture. She grabs your arm and practically skips next to you as you both walk to Dave's locker.

You stop walking, waving her to a stop. She looks at you curiously, tilting her head to the side. You sign at her one-handed.

"No, no, no! Move like a secret agent!"

She smiles, and nods, giving you a wink. Her smile fades and she hunches over, moving with wide, sneaking steps. She's still holding onto your arm, so you join her. You end up doing a walk very similar to the witches' walk in Hocus Pocus, looking around in much the same way. You tell her that, and she makes a point to look more witch-like.

Several times you stand against walls and lockers, looking around corners sneakily. Jade even convinces you to try a secret agent roll when you got to a point where there were fewer people. You did it, because why not. Jade laughs, saying you always sucked at doing summersaults. You ask if she could do better. She does. She pulls off a graceful roll, even with a skirt. You tell her she sucks. She laughs and you continue your witch walk to Dave's locker.

Rose and Dave are waiting for you when you arrive. Dave is leaning against his locker, hands in his pockets. He always looks so calm and collected. You wonder if he practices poses in front of the mirror. Oh wait! He does! You've still got a stolen picture of him posing in a very similar way to prove it. What a dork. You're still saving that picture for a rainy day. It's just sitting on your nightstand, waiting. Its pranking potential greets you every morning. It's not weird that you have Dave's picture by your bedside. It's for future pranks! The future!

Rose is standing in front of him, her arms crossed lightly over her chest. They both look up as you approach and you and Jade wave.

"Hey guys!" Jade says. You continue your creeping walk until you reach them.

"What are you doing?" Dave asks flatly. Rose watches you with amusement.

Once you're close enough, Jade looks around, crouches, and leans in close to them. "We're sneaking. John told me about the plan. I want in."

You roll your eyes, and Rose chuckles. Dave raises his eyebrows over his shades. "Way to look suspicious, Harley."

She straightens and sighs, making a face at Dave. "Just trying to have some fun with it, cool kid."

"So what exactly is our plan of action?" Rose asks.

You all look at Dave. He just shrugs. "I just figured we'd go."

"Yeah, but where?" Jade asks. You're back to looking around. The hallway crowd is starting to thin as people filter into their classes.

"I got a spot in mind." He says.

You wave your hand a little until they all look at you. You hold up both your fists, nodding them forward. You point at your right shoulder and make a sweeping motion to your left shoulder. Then you point both index fingers at the ground and lift them up and over, pointing elsewhere.

"Can we go?" You look around again, and they do the same.

Dave pushes off the locker. "Yeah, let's make like a nice rack and bounce." He starts walking and you all fall into step with him. You make a face at his comment.

"Let's make like a tree and leave." Jade says.

"Let's make like horse shit and hit the trail." Dave responds.

"Let's make like a banana and split." Jade.

"Let's make like a fetus and head out." Dave.

"Let's make like a drummer and beat it." Jade.

"Let's make like a teenage boy and beat it." Dave.

"Gross!" Jade says, lightly shoving Dave. "Let's make like Jesus and get the hell outta here."

He chuckles. "Nice." He holds up a fist and she bumps it.

You and Rose walk a step behind them, rolling your eyes and chuckling softly amongst yourselves.

"I hear you snickering back there." Dave says, looking over his shoulder.

"What ever do you mean, Dave?" Rose asks innocently.

You point at him and put your thumb to your ear, index and middle fingers extended and the others curled slightly, wiggling your fingers slightly. Then you hold both hands out, palms out, moving them side to side. Then you just wave him off.

"You're hearing things."

Dave leads you through the hallway, out through the courtyard, and into another building. He leads you down that hallway, past the locker rooms, past the gym, and out a door. The door led to the side of the school past the gym. The only thing there were the trees of the wooded area that bordered the school on one side and a worn path along the outside wall of the school. Gym classes took this path out to the tennis courts. The cross country team ran on it to get to other paths. You don't know of anyone else who uses it.

The entire way, you were looking over your shoulder. You just really didn't want to get caught. Your dad would not like to get a call from the school saying you skipped. It got to the point that Dave snapped at you for looking too suspicious, Jade told you to stop being a big baby, and Rose assured you that as long as you looked like you belonged, no one would question it.

Once outside, Dave started down the slight hill and into the woods. Jade was right behind him, romping through the woods like an excited puppy. You and Rose exchange looks and you both shrug, following them a little more slowly.

"So where're we going?" Jade asks, hoping over a few fallen branches and pushing through bushes. She doesn't seem to notice the thorn bushes that grab at her skirt. She's also wearing tall socks, so maybe she really can't feel them. You and Rose move more carefully. Both of you have exposed legs, with your shorts and Rose's skirt, and you don't want to get itchy leg scratches. Dave, with his skinny jeans, just walks with his normal fluid grace, ignoring all the bumps and turns of nature.

"You'll see." Is all he says. It takes just a few more minutes before Dave stops walking. Jade takes a few more steps before she realizes that Dave stopped. You nearly run into his back. "Here we are, kids."

You're not sure what you were expecting. What kind of place would Dave lead you to? A big tree, apparently. The skinny trees and bushes break to make room for a bigger tree, with a thick trunk and thick, low-lying branches. You look around, but you can't see anything but trees. This place is completely secluded, yet looks a little out of place. But by looking out of place, it almost feels like you stepped out of reality, and into your own little world.

Dave starts walking toward the tree. It only takes a second before Jade is following. "Whoa! Cool!" She says, she walks around the tree, one hand on it's bark and stepping over thick roots and that jut out from the ground. "How did you find this place?"

Dave shrugs, dropping his messenger bag to the ground at the base of the trunk. He reaches up, grabs hold of a branch, and pulls himself up, using his feet on the trunk for some leverage. "I used to come here to get away from the meat-heads that followed me everywhere." He stands on the branch and reaches for the next one. "You know, before I started hanging out with you guys." He mumbles.

Rose starts toward the tree and you're right behind her. You hold up both fists, nodding them forward once. You then hold up both hands, index and middle fingers extended with your thumb between them, and move your hands in a rotating forward circle. Then you hold up one hand flat, palm facing sideways. With your other hand, you touch your index finger and thumb together, other fingers splayed out, and act like you're picking something up next to your other hand. Then you point to your right shoulder, making a sweeping motion to the left shoulder.

"Can people find us?"

Dave doesn't see you, as he's busy climbing, and neither does Rose, because she's in front of you. But Jade sees. "John wants to know if people can find us here?" She says, looking up at Dave.

He settles in a nook between two branches sprouting out in opposite directions. He leans back against one, while his leg props up on the other branch. His other foot hangs down, idly swinging. He shrugs again. "Never been caught before. The cross country paths don't pass by here, and no one really goes wandering off the paths. Don't be a wuss, Egbert."

You make a face at him. He just smirks. Rose settles down at the base of the tree, leaning against the trunk. She bends her knees and tucks her feet next to her. She reaches into her bag and pulls out a ball of purple yarn, two needles, and what looks like the beginning of a scarf. Jade circles the tree a few more times before settling atop one of the bigger roots, next to Rose. She leans against the trunk, her legs stretched out in front of her.

You go to the same branch that Dave used and pull yourself up. It's a lot harder than he made it seem. Sure, you're no stranger to climbing trees, but he did it with basically no effort. You struggle a bit, feet scraping the trunk, before you're able to throw yourself onto your stomach on the branch. You hear Dave laughing above you. You look up at him over your shoulder, glaring slightly.

You hold up both hands flat, palm facing you. You slap one hand's finger tips on the other, like a slamming door, and immediately point upward. You then make a hole with your index finger and thumb, leaning your other fingers splayed wide. You hold the hole up to your ass, sticking your tongue out at him, teeth and all.

"Shut up, asshole."

He make an "L" shape with his index fingers and thumbs, pointing them at each other, then waves them out, moving them further apart. He's still smirking.

"Language."

You roll your eyes and push yourself into a sitting position, swinging your legs over the edge of the branch. You hook your legs on the branch and swing down, hanging upside-down near Rose. You make faces at her until she laughs, holding a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound. You think you heard Dave make a sound, like a gasp or something. You smile up at him, and he's frowning. He says be careful, he doesn't want to clean up your head guts if you fall. Jade flips over the root she's laying on. Her hands on the ground, laying upside down, she makes faces back at you until you're laughing so hard you have to pull yourself back up before you fall.

Jade lays back down, her hands resting across her middle and her eyes closed. Rose continues to knit, humming softly to herself. You look up at Dave, asking him if he wants to see a magic trick. He looks skeptical. You just grin and lean down, asking Rose to pass you up your backpack, which you had left on the ground. Once you have it, you gesture Dave to come down to your branch. He does so with far too much grace. He practically oozes down to your branch, moving like liquid. How does he even do that?

You sit facing each other, straddling the branch. You pull out a deck of cards and shuffle. First you show him just a few basic card tricks. Then you pull a coin out from behind his ear. He calls you cliche and you swing your leg, kicking his shin. You show him a few more basic tricks that you've mastered over the years. It's the most you can do with what you have on hand.

"Never knew you liked magic tricks." He comments. You shrug, signing as best you can with cards in your hand, that you picked up the hobby when you were thirteen.

"You should see the pointy hat and glasses-with-nose-attachment he usually wears." Jade comments, not even opening her eyes.

Dave snorts a laugh and looks at you, one eyebrow over his sunglasses. "Really?"

You tell him to shut up, your hat and glasses-nose-combo are cool. They're classics. You don't know anything, Dave. You kick his shin again, but this time he just kicks you back. This starts a kicking war with your dangling legs. Soon you add in slaps. Slap fight.

Rose sets aside her knitting and asks if you guys want to play a card game. Jade perks up, lifting her head, asking what game. Rose suggests poker. Strange, you never pegged Rose for a poker player. You and Dave climb down to join them. Rose ends up winning a lot, Dave complains a lot, and Jade gives it her best shot. You're not very good at winning, but you do an excellent job of calling everyone's bluffs. Especially Dave. He's not too happy about that.

You play several other games until you and Jade check your phone at the same time. It's a text from Jake, wondering where you are. One look with Jade tells you that she got the same one. You check the time and holy cow! It's ten minutes after class ended. Oops. You all pack up your things and begin your trek back through the woods. You walk next to Dave, shoving him lightly. He shoves you back. You call him a butt. He grabs you around the shoulders and rubs the knuckles of his other hand in your hair. You struggle to get away with wheezing laughter.

Jade says you guys are cute. Rose asks if you would like some privacy. You both jump away from each other and glare at them both. They just giggle.

Once you're back inside the school, you say goodbye to Rose and Dave. Dave makes a texting motion and points to himself.

"Text me."

You nod and give him a thumbs up before turning and hurrying to catch up with Jade.

Jake asks you two where you've been, sounding a little disgruntled. You and Jade share a smile and shrug. Jake pesters you the entire way home, demanding and begging to know where you were and what you were up to. You and Jade keep your silence. You both decided, in that one shared smile, to keep it a secret. A secret between Jade, Rose, Dave, and you. Your secret tree spot.

When you get home, you have a text on your phone from Dave, asking you if Dave time was cooler than class time. You say you're not sure, class time could have been pretty interesting. He goes on a ramble about how he's cooler than penguins. You let him blow up your phone, going to the kitchen for a snack before heading up to your room. Only then do you tell him to shut up and get on pesterchum.

You talk to him all night, with a break for dinner. Your homework takes forever to do with him distracting you, but you don't care. You like talking to Dave. Friday is a thing of the past. Just a weird moment in your broship. It didn't change anything. And you didn't want it to change anything. You're perfectly fine with how things are.

You feel the twisting in your gut again. Ugh, maybe you're getting sick.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you are so fucking excited.

You've spent the last week helping your dad bake cupcakes. Normally, you make a point NOT to bake. You're sick of sweets. You burned out on that shit YEARS ago. But this is the one time of the year you help bake cake. For Christmas you help bake cookies, but those are more tolerable than cake. Every flavor, every color, all baked nice and pristine in their own little orange and black cupcake wrappers. Your fingers have several little burns and are dried out from sporting layers, upon layers of frosting and surviving many, many hand washes.

If you never smell frosting again in your life, it will be too soon. You've had to do more work since Jane went to college. She actually likes baking, and would take the blunt of the work. With her gone, you're expected to pick up the slack. But it'll all be worth it. All this Betty Crocker torture will be worth it in the end.

Because today is halloween.

And halloween is a trickster's paradise.

Every family has their traditions. For halloween, you and you dad have very sacred traditions. These traditions include frightening children and throwing cupcakes at people. There was one year when you threw whole cakes, but you both quickly realized that it was a lot more baking and full cakes are harder to throw. Cupcakes get more distance and more accuracy.

This year halloween falls on a Thursday. When you get home from school, you throw your backpack into the corner and go to the kitchen. Your dad's adding finishing touches to the cupcakes. Sprinkles. Who needs sprinkles on a cake that's being thrown? It's all about presentation, he reminds you.

Cupcakes line the dining room table, the kitchen island, and all the counters. They've even started to spill out onto the coffee table. Some are even stacked, if their frosting has dried and solidified. Hundreds of cupcakes. You guys could throw one hell of a bake sale. But nope. You're going to throw them at innocent passerby instead.

God you love your dad.

For the past few days, you've been ordering take out or eating at Jade and Jake's. There's simply no room in your kitchen to cook dinner. Tonight you order pizza, half pepperoni, half pepperoni and mushroom. Bluh! Your dad can have his side of the pizza. And because it's a special occasion, you get garlic parmesan breadsticks too.

At a quarter to five, you're already in costume as a scarecrow. By six, your dad is dressed in his costume. It's very rare that you see your dad in anything other than his usual gentlemanly attire. Halloween is one of those rare occasions. He's wearing the same thing you are: worn blue jeans and a blue plaid button up, along with cowboy boots and a straw hat to top it off. Once it gets closer to dark, you'll both stick your sleeves and pant legs with straw.

The pizza arrives and you both eat it sitting on the couch, watching ghostbusters while you wait.

After his first slice, your dad grabs and napkin and neatly wipes the grease from his fingers. He turns slightly in his spot, so he's partially facing you. You turn to look at him, knowing this to mean he's about to sign to you.

He holds up both his index fingers and taps them together one way, then rotates his wrists and taps them together another way. He then holds up one index finger, extending his arm, and pulling his hand toward him, finger pointed upward. He raises his eyebrows at you in question.

"Are any of your friends coming?"

You shake your head, putting your plate down on your plate. You sign a "J," ending it with your pinky pointing at your front teeth. It's Jade's name sign, a sign you gave her to mean her name so you wouldn't have to always spell her name out. You made it up when you were kids and you were picking on her big front teeth. The name stuck, even though her teeth aren't that big anymore. You hold a hand up, letting it hang limp. With your other hand, you use your middle finger to flick the wrist a couple of times. You then hold and arm out in front of you like a big scoop, and wave your other hand inside it. You end with both hands held out to the side, fingers bent, and move them inward.

"Jade has her pumpkin chorus."

You sigh a "J" again, but this time end the "J" with your index and thumb also extended, parallel to each other and held up by your eye like glasses. That was Jake's name sign. It wasn't very creative, but whatever. You were like, seven or eight or something. You hold up a fist, and put your other hand next to it, all four fingers extended and together, thumb bent inward in the "B" sign. You wiggle the "B" next to your wrist. You hold a hand flat, poking your other index finger into your palm. You then make two fists, rotating one around the other and ending with bumping the top of it.

"Jake's busy this year."

You make a fist, extending your index and middle finger, twisting them together and tapping them once on your cheek, under your eye. Not creative at all. Rose's name sign was just the sign for Rose. But whatever, it was easy. You then spread both the fingers and put your thumb between them to make a "K." You tap the "K" twice on the corner of your mouth. It was a generic name sign, Tapping someone's initial somewhere on the body. But it grew to have more meaning once Kanaya started wearing distinctive black lipstick.

You hold your hand out, parallel to the floor, fingers extended, and lift it up, so they're pointing to the ceiling, and wiggle your hand down. You point your index finger up, extend your arm, and pull it toward you. You point to the side, at the invisible Rose and Kanaya, and point between them. You point at both your eyes, then point outward. You take those two fingers, bend them, and stab them at the side of your neck. Then your take both hands, fingers splayed outward, connect them at the palm, one pointing to the side and one pointing up, and wiggle the one that's pointing up.

"Rose and Kanaya never come. They watch vampire movies."

Your dad pushes his open palm at you. He then holds one hand out, palm facing himself, while the other hand scoops behind up, coming up like he's holding something. He then takes his two index fingers and taps them together again. His eyebrows go up again.

"And your new friend?"

You spell out Dave's name to remind your dad what it is, then you shrug. You sign busy again, wiggling at "B" behind your wrist, then you hold both fists out with thumbs extended upward, bringing your hands together. You then put your thumb to your forehead, bringing your hand down with thumb and index finger extended like a gun, landing it atop your other hand in the same position.

"He's busy with his brother."

You dad snatches the air in front of his face, leaning forward a little as he does so. Then he forms circles with his thumbs and index fingers, leaving the other fingers splayed wide, he moves them up and down next to each other. He then points to you and himself.

"Guess it's just you and me."

You smile and nod, and he smiles back.

After you finish eating, you pull out your phone. You're a little surprised you don't have a message waiting for you from Dave. Usually he's all about texting you as soon as you leave his presence. And today you pretty much ran out of school. But he did say he had stuff he was going to do today with his brother. Still, you try not to be disappointed that he hasn't tried to contact you.

You fail miserably.

To Dave: are you suuuuuure you don't want to join in on our halloween shenanigans?

It takes less than a minute for him to text you back.

From Dave: hate to say no but i gotta pass bro and me got some brotherly shenanigans of our own planned
To Dave: boooooo
From Dave: are you dressed as a ghost? youre dressed as a ghost arent you. now i understand the irony of having the most cliche costume in all of hallo-existence but i know youre not doing it for the irony the irony gods weep john they weep
To Dave: i'm not dressed as a ghost! geez give me more credit than that.
From Dave: are you a ghost buster?
To Dave: …
From Dave: john
To Dave: …………
From Dave: you are arent you
To Dave: no, but that would be super cool
From Dave: i have no words for you
To Dave: i'm sure you have plenty
From Dave: you right but dirk and me are about to get this show on the road
To Dave: yeah, us too
From Dave: online later?
To Dave: yeah :B

You're a little saddened by how quickly he cut the conversation off, but you guess you can't blame him. He has plans just like you do. Speaking of which, it's about time you and your dad start setting up.

By seven, you're in position. For several weeks now, your yard had been decorated in anticipation for this day. Fake spider webs covered your front porch and the tree in the center of your yard, complete with fake spiders. Hay bales stood in the yard next to the tree. Several pumpkins, carved with cliche scary faces stood next to the door and in the yard. Several scarecrows stood around the yard, all different sizes, all fairly lifelike, all held up with a post through their back. They all wore the same thing you and your dad did. Half of them wore glasses, scattered between the ones without glasses. The scarecrows formed a semi circle around the tree, covering most of your yard. There were two posts without scarecrows, and that's where you and your dad stand. You both stand limp, heads and shoulders sagging, arms hanging at your sides. With the hay stuffed in your clothes, and all the scarecrows' faces cast in shadow, added to the general darkness, it was nearly impossible to tell you both apart from the lifeless ones.

Next to each scarecrow was a hay bale. On each of these hay bales was a pumpkin, lit by a candle inside, and an open box. Each box was filled with cupcakes.

On the hay bale next to the tree, stood a big metal bucket. Candy of all sorts overflowed from the bucket. And none of the fun-sized stuff either. It was full sized candy bars and bags of skittles and there were even king sizes in there. Candy mega load in that bucket. Across the front of the bucket was the simple word "CANDY." The pumpkin next to the bucket had an arrow carved out of it, glowing by the internal candle light to further lure people in.

Your family has lived in this house for your entire life. And your dad has been doing stuff like this for as long as you could remember. Everyone in the neighborhood and the surrounding neighborhoods knew about the Egbert tradition. Good, quality candy. Big sizes. Take as much as you want. Handfuls even. Your dad never cared if a single child took half the bucket. He never cared about the age of trick-or-treaters. A lot of suburban parents got mad at high schoolers that still trick-or-treated. Your dad didn't. He welcomed them. He welcomed everyone. Anyone was welcome to have as much candy as they could carry…IF they dared to get it.

Anyone who knew about your house, knew that you had to be cautious. Anyone reaching for the bucket was a target for flying cupcakes. And your dad had excellent aim. Your aim was mediocre, but quickly improving.

Now you both were fair. If a young child approached the bucket of candy, you were lenient. If the parent of that child looked a little too smug, you would aim for their back as they left. An older child was made more of a target. The neighborhood kids loved your house. It was a game to them. Could they make it to the bucket and away in time? Parents usually waited on the sidewalk as the kids stalked the bucket, trying to figure out which scarecrows were real.

Sometimes your dad missed on purpose, just to give them some fun. Sometimes he hit them, but never hard. They're kids, you know?

Now the middle schoolers and high schoolers, they were a different matter. Anyone over the age of twelve was made an important target. It was a challenge to them because your dad didn't hold back. He's pegged many of your classmates with frosting over the years. You've made a point to aim for the head if they've bullied you. Usually your dad would notice and hit them twice with wicked speed.

Before Jane left for college, she was also among the army of scarecrows. No one ever knew how many of you there would be. Sometimes Jane would decide to go to a friend's house instead. One time you were sick and watched woefully from your bedroom window. All in all, you keep your neighbors guessing.

The first year Jane spent at college, she called the day of halloween and wished us luck. It was times like this when you really missed your sister. She would make the cupcakes cream filled. Those really made their mark. There was even one year when Jane suggested you all wear mustaches. You even put mustaches on the scarecrows.

As it gets darker, more people come out. Soon the streets are swarming with kids of all ages and parents in tow. You make several kids laugh, missing them on purpose. You take down an older kid dressed as the Hulk, hitting him right in the chest. He said that Hulk was angry. So your dad hit him again. He laughed, grabbed more candy, and ran. You bombarded a group of cocky middle schoolers who were making a game of seeing who could do it without getting hit.

When your cupcake boxes got low on ammo, you would wait until the crowd thinned and there was barely anyone in sight, then you and your dad would hurry up and switch the nearly empty boxes with a full one.

You really, really, fucking love halloween.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and if you didn't have years of training dodging flying puppet ass, you'd have a face full of sugary cake jizz right now.

As it stands, there's another cupcake projectile flying for your face. You duck, dropping like it's hot straight down to the sidewalk. Holy shit, Jade wasn't fucking kidding. The Egbert yard was like a battle zone. Not only did the scarecrows and hay bales ring of children of the corn bullshit, there's fallen cake all over the yard and sidewalk. Which you're pretty sure is a crime. Waste not delicious dessert.

You had no idea that THIS was the Egbert tradition John was talking about. He mentioned his dad liked to prank trick-or-treaters with flying cake, but this was ridiculous.

You leave your candy bag, a bright orange plastic bag with "trick-or-treat" written across it in black font, on the sidewalk and slowly stand. You saw one scarecrow move, but Jade told you there were two, John and his dad. You didn't know the location of the second one yet. You took a step forward. No movement. Okay, gotta be quick.

Luckily Striders are the essence of quick.

You sprint toward the bucket of candy. You keep the first moving scarecrow in your peripheral vision, and keep an eye out for other movement. Aaaaaand, there it is. Holy fucking shit, he moves fast. You drop your weight and momentum to your feet, sliding the rest of the way to the bucket and barely dodging the cupcake as it sails over your head. There's already another one on it's way from the first scarecrow. As you stand, you jump to the side. That one was poorly aimed and easy to avoid.

You shove your hand in the bucket. Jackpot. The Egberts left king-sized candy bars. Fucking score. You grab a handful while keeping an eye on the two Egberts. Now that you know where they are, dodging is easy. You back up slowly, jumping, ducking, and sidestepping the flying cupcakes. They try, and they're quick with their rapid fire, but you're faster. When you feel the sidewalk under your feet, you raise your candy hand in victory and give a dramatic bow, barely avoiding a final cupcake from the second scarecrow.

"Yo, John, can you abandon your post for a minute?" You say, bending down to pick up your candy bag and putting your prize inside. You watch as the first scarecrow steps forward, then looks at the second. The second nods and John comes running across the yard at you.

He grabs your arm and tugs you away from the yard. His dad is still in place, ready to ambush anyone who thinks no one is there just because there's an empty post. John drags you past his driveway, around his dad's car, and to the side yard he shares with Jade's house. You look. Jade is still in her yard, conducting her pumpkin chorus.

Yes, and you do mean pumpkin chorus.

John looks up at you, a big grin on his face. He's got on worn blue jeans, a blue plaid shirt, cowboy boots, and a fucking straw hat. His clothes are even stuffed with bits of hay. He's fucking adorable.

He spells your last name then makes an "L" shape, touching it briefly to his forehead before bring his hand down into a fist and touching it to his other fist. He does this a few times, then reaches out and picks at your shirt. He holds up both hands, palm up, and shades them, making a face at you.

You hold up a hand. "Whoa, wait up." You repeat his sign of lifting the "L" to his forehead before closing it down on his fist. "What is this?" He rolls his eyes and huffs dramatically. "Shut your sassy mouth, Egbert. I'm still learning."

He spells out the word, making a point to do so very slowly and dramatically.

"What is the Strider tradition?"

"We trick-or-treat. Always have, always will." You say, trying not to puff out your chest when John snickers. You hold and finger up to his face. "You have no room to laugh, Egbert. You guys throw cake at people. Wasting cake is a crime."

He just rolls his eyes again and pushes your finger away. He spells at you, and you know what he's spelling before he even finishes. He also gives you an amused but disbelieving look.

"Ninjas?"

"Ninjas are awesome. Striders are always ninjas."

Ever since you were kids, you and Dirk dressed up as ninjas on halloween and trick-or-treated. The only thing that's changed over the years is that your costumes have gotten better. You're both decked out in completely black outfits. Black shoes, black skinny jeans, a black shirt with long sleeves, a swatch of fabric tied around your waist, black gloves. Two katanas are sheathed on your back, crossed. Their straps cross over your chest. you have sais strapped to the outside of your thighs, Ninja stars are on your belt. All of your straps and holsters are red. Dirks are all orange.

One year you went as ninja turtles. That was a pretty sweet year.

All of your weapons are also real, no matter how shitty, but you're not about to tell all the kids and parents that are out that you're carrying real swords.

You and Dirk were so pumped for today. It was your first halloween in a new place. And a real neighborhood. Halloween in New York sucked. Nothing like the suburbs. Of course you get more dirty looks from suburban moms, but whatever.

You asked Rose if she wanted to join you, but she and Kanaya elected to stay at home, pass out candy, and watch vampire movies. That kind of ruined the second half of Strider tradition. After you got your haul of candy, you'd both sit on your couch gorging yourselves on your sweets and watched The Thing. You always watched it on mute, adding your own dialogue and narration.

It was one of your favorite nights of the year. Just you and your bro. Strider bonding, all that jazz.

You hadn't really expected to wander into John's neighborhood. You realized it was a distinct possibility, seeing as you had to live fairly close to go to the same high school, but you'd never been to his house, so you didn't know where he lived. You were kind of, very much, hoping to run into him, but you were more focused on your trick-or-treating.

You and Dirk are very methodical, going up and down every side of every street, leaving no cul de sac unvisited. If you saw a mob of children, or even older kids, you've run to join them at the doorbell, making it look like you were chaperones. You commented on everyone's decorations. You fist bumped kids with cool costumes. And occasionally, at least once every three streets, you and Dirk had a sword strife in the middle of the street. It wasn't super violent, and neither of you were trying to win. Just trying to put on a good performance for all the kids watching.

Eventually you came across a house that peeked both your interests. The yard was completely covered in pumpkins. Each pumpkin had a different face or design carved into it, and they were all lit internally, though you doubt it was from candles. They were arranged in circles, all facing the center of the yard where a girl stood. The girl wore a black dress with long flowing sleeves, black and white stripped socks, and red shoes. On her head was the stereotypical pointy witch hat, and at her feet stood a bucket of candy.

As you watched, she waved a baton in the air, conducting the music that could be heard down the street. The pumpkins lit up in different colors in time with the music, and each part seemed to be coming from a different section. It took you a moment to realize the music was coming from individual speakers in individual pumpkins. The girl seemed to know the music well, because she knew exactly where to point for what parts. Or maybe she was controlling it with her baton? You don't really know. You think the music is some kind of rendition of "Double Double Toil and Trouble."

The girl slowly steps in a circle as she conducts, moving with the music. It's not until she's fully facing the sidewalk where you and Dirk stand that you recognize her.

"Jade?!" You say loud enough for her to hear over the music.

She looks up and smiles when she sees you, but she doesn't stop conducting. "Hi Dave! Hi Dave's brother!" She waves with her free hand before going back to conducting.

"What IS this?" You ask. You carefully navigate the yard of pumpkins until you're standing next to her in the center. The details on the pumpkin faces are amazing. Each one is different from the last.

"This is my pumpkin chorus!" She says proudly. "I do this every year! But with a different song, of course."

"Of course," You say, still a little in shock. "Wouldn't walk to bore to masses. Where do you even get all these pumpkins?"

"My backyard! We have a huge garden, though we mostly grow pumpkins. I don't know why. It was my grandparents' idea. I just use most of the pumpkins and they don't mind." She hasn't once missed a beat in her conducting. She knows exactly where to point and when. Or maybe she's controlling it? You don't really know how she set this all up. "Jake and I carved them with our grandparents' help!"

"Speaking of tall, dark, and goofy," Dirk had followed you to where Jade stood and now he was right next to you. "Where is Jake?"

Jade made a face of concentration and looked around. "Well he doesn't usually stick around for the performance all night. Usually he stops by John's for a little bit, but he spends most of the night trick-or-treating before we have a movie marathon at John's house."

"So English is running AWOL. Any idea where he goes?" Dirk asks.

Jade shrugs. "Usually he sticks to our neighborhood, but I don't know if he has any sort of strategy. I think he just wants to dress up and run around." She takes a step toward your brother and leans in, looking at him sideways. "This year he's going as a boy Laura Croft." Jade gives your brother a wink and an eyebrow waggle, and you swear you see him stiffen a little. Jade laughs and straightens. "If you wanna find him, just listen for his voice. His voice is usually very loud and carries."

Dirk hikes his candy bag over his shoulder. "Yeah, thanks." He looks at you and nods toward the street. "You coming, or you gonna stick around here?"

"Nah, I think I'll stay here. Don't wanna third-wheel it on your manhunt."

Dirk lightly shoves your shoulder as he walks away. "I've got my phone if you need me." He calls over his shoulder.

You wave him off. In Strider language this means good luck with your manhunt, bro, go get that English ass. He salutes you. Which loosely translates into yeah, and good luck with yours, go find a bush and make out in it. Or something like that.

"So what're you guys supposed to be? Ninjas?" Jade asks.

"Duh, Strider bro ninjas. Same as every year."

"You guys do the same costume every year?"

"We upgrade it."

Jade grins. "That's so cuuuuuute."

You frown and push at her shoulder. She laughs and stumbles a little, but doesn't stop her conducting. "Yeah, whatever, shut up." You hike your bag over your shoulder, mindful of the katana handle that's sticking up, and put your other hand on your hip. "So where's the little Egbert? You guys are neighbors, right?"

"Yup!" Jade says nodding. She then nods in the direction of one of her neighbors. "That's John's house."

You look over at it, but the road curves and the cars in her driveway and the Egberts' driveway block your view of the yard. "So what's this Egbert tradition that I've heard pretty much nothing about?"

Jade tilts her head to the side, looking like a curious dog. "He hasn't told you?"

You shrug. "Not in details. He said his dad likes to put the trick in trick-or-treat and throws cake at people or something."

Jade giggles. "That's putting it lightly!"

"So full me in. Give me the deets."

"Why don't you go see for yourself?" She says, grinning slyly. "But here's a warning: two scarecrows will throw cake. Be wary. It's probably a battleground over there by now."

"Well that's not ominous." You say. You turn and start making your way through the pumpkins. "I'll see you later, Jade."

"Bye, Dave! Good luck!"

You didn't realize just how extreme the Egberts' set up was until you got there. But you got in and out untouched, so you're feeling pretty good about that.

"And because Strider's are ninjas, I was easily able to dodge all your pastry projectiles." You say to John. You throw your bag over your shoulder and put a hand on your hip, looking pretty smug. Yeah, you're smug. So what. "Constant vigilance, Egbert. That's the key. You gotta be quick and alert-"

You don't get to finish because suddenly there's cake being shoved into your face, effectively cutting off your words.

You stumble backwards from the force of him literally shoving at your face. When you fall out of his reach, his hand drops. You drop your candy bag and swat at your face. You still have your shades on, yes you and Dirk still wore your shades despite it being dark outside, so you didn't need to close your eyes in the cake onslaught. So you can see John, his face lit up with a big ass, doofy grin, and his hand covered in incriminating cake bits. When you swat at your face and the cupcake wrapper, along with a big chunk of cake, falls to the ground, he loses it. His arms wrap around his waist and he bends in half, his eyes squeeze shut as he laughs his, adorable, hoarse, wheezy laugh.

"Not funny, Egbert." You say. He looks up at you and you make a point of glaring at him while you attempt to wipe frosting from your cheeks. Apparently that's hilarious, because he starts laughing even harder. Your attempts to wipe off your face are in vain. You get the chunks off, shaking them off onto the ground, but your hands are covered in frosting. You don't want to wipe it off on your outfit, and any further attempts to get it off your face just smears it further, so you're at a stand-still. "Okay, you made your point. So you gonna help me get this off or what?" You ask, standing there with both hands held out, unwilling to have them touch anything.

John finally straightens, wiping tears from his eyes. He nods and grabs your arm, tugging you toward his house.

"Wait, my candy bag. Don't you dare leave that out here for any kid to grab."

He rolls his eyes and grabs your candy bag. He leads you into the house, pointing at you as you pass the scarecrows. You see his dad smile. Inside the house is neat and orderly. A lot neater than Rose's house. And it smells like cake in here. Or maybe there's just cake in your nostrils. There's probably just cake in your nostrils.

"I'm gonna be smelling frosting for weeks." You complain. John's shoulders shake with silence laughter.

John leads you upstairs to what you assume is his bathroom. He grabs a few hand towels and puts them on the counter next to the sink. You turn the water on and start washing off your hands in one of the two sinks in the long counter. John hops up onto the counter next to you, planting his ass and grinning at you cheerfully as his feet swing and bang the cabinets beneath the sinks.

You find it really hard to stay mad at him when he's smiling like that. He's too fucking cute for his own good. You pick up a towel and swat it at him. "Stop fucking grinning like that." He just waves you off and giggles.

You wet the towel and begin the tedious task of cleaning the frosting off your face. It's everywhere. Smeared on both your cheeks, your chin, your nose, and all over your shades. There's even some in your sideburns. Ugh. Gross. You're just happy it's vanilla and therefore white. You would be pissed if some orange frosting colored your face.

It takes a while, but finally you get all the frosting and cake bits off your face and out of your hair. You use the other towel John got for you to dry your face. John watches you the entire time. You try not to look at him, but you do sneak a few glances. You're not sure how he knows, but when you do sneak a glance, his smile widens just a fraction. Smug bastard.

And now you have a problem. Your face is clear of frosting, but your shades are not. You tried to get it off with them still on your face, but it was a lot harder than it looked and you just ended up smearing gunk everywhere. You were going to have to take them off to clean them. And you didn't have your contacts on.

"Hey, Egbert, mind giving a guy some privacy? I gotta take a piss."

John makes a face, his smile suddenly gone in favor of a frown. His eyebrows furrow and he makes a gesture of tapping his glasses and then pointing to yours.

"Yeah, I'll take care of that later. Right now I gotta pee."

He shakes his head and acts like he's grabbing his glasses and makes a motion of taking them off, without really doing so.

"No."

He reaches out for your face and you know he's going for your shades. He has a determined look on his face. You lean back and swat his hands away.

"No."

His frown deepens and he leans forward, grabbing for your shades a little quicker. You grab both his wrists and hold him off. He struggles, and geez, he's a little stronger than you give him credit for, especially when he's wiggling.

"No, goddamn, hands off the merchandise, Egbert."

He relaxes with an overdramatic sigh, but you don't release his wrists. You hold them between you two, you standing and him sitting on the bathroom counter. His head falls to the side and his eyes widen pointedly, his head moving forward ever so slightly. He doesn't need his hands. You know exactly what he's saying.

"Why the fuck not?" Loosely translated, of course.

"No means no, Egbert. Didn't you ever watch any of those sexual harassment videos? Your hands are violating my personal space. Help! I need an adult!"

He starts struggling again, not strongly, but with a point. You know what that means too.

"Shut up, Dave."

"The shades don't come off."

He twists his hand in your grip and points at himself, he then uses to fingers to point at his eyes, moving them out to point at you. He uses both hands to make that "taking off" gesture.

"I've seen you without them."

"That was different."

He splays his hands out, raising his eyebrows and leaning his face forward a little.

"It just was."

He sighs loudly and lets his hands go limp, his head rolling back and around before settling leaning to the side. He looks at you with this big disbelieving look. He waits, and you wait. And it's silence for a while, but you don't say anything and, well, he can't. It's a battle of wills. His head lifts so it's straight again and he just stares at you. He can't sign much with you holding his hands, but he can spell. He spells one word. "Please?" And looks at you with these big blue eyes, all trusting and begging, and you just sigh, dropping your head and shaking it.

You're defeated. You're done. Shot through the heart. He's to blame.

"Okay fine." You say, lifting your head again. He perks up immediately, back straightening and entirely focused on you. You don't let go of him. Not yet. "So when you were over at our place, you saw my brother's eyes right?" He nods. "How they're orange?" He nods again. "He doesn't wear his shades as much as I do because his eyes aren't that weird. I mean, yeah, orange isn't normal, but it's not freaky either."

John just nods again, waiting patiently and listening attentively. You sigh and let go of his hands. They drop to his sides, resting on the counter on either side of him.

You idly rub the back of your neck with one hand, bumping into the handle of a katana you forgot was there. "So basically mine are both not normal and a little freaky." You reach for your shades with your other hand. Now or never, right? You remove them, squinting against the bright florescent bathroom light.

It takes you a second to adjust to the new lighting, but you keep your gaze trained on John's face. His eyes widen and his mouth opens and just kind of hangs like that.

You continue to rub the back of your neck, feeling a little awkward and a lot uncomfortable. "Basically we've got some albino in our genes or something, so it makes us super pale and our eyes weird. I can see fine, my eyes are just super sensitive to light. Dirk's aren't that bad. He's just kind of sensitive to natural light. My eyes hurt when anything's too bright, natural light or florescent light bulbs or whatever."

He's just kind of staring at you, kind of like how he did when you showed up without your shades on after your football game. You really fucking hope it's because your hot as hell and not because your eyes are freaky as fuck.

You turn back to the sink and turn the water back on. You busy yourself with cleaning off your shades. You don't like the silence, especially when he's just staring mindlessly, so you continue to ramble, word vomiting all over John's nice, clean bathroom.

"Usually my eyes make people uncomfortable and they try not to look at me and they flinch away from meeting my eyes, or they just stare and stare and stare like if they do it long enough, my eyes will change color. I once had an some church lady in Texas tell me I had a demon in me and I needed to give myself over to Jesus or some other bullshit. Basically it comes right down to not being normal, and that fucking sucks, so I started wearing my shades all the time. It helped keep the light dimmed, it gives me a massive fucking headache if I'm staring at bright things too long, but it also hid my eyes and people didn't look at me like I was a freak. And then Dirk taught me I could hide behind them, and hide emotions or whatever, and we became instantly cool, like whoa, those kids don't take off their sunglasses, they must be cool because who else don't take off sunglasses. We were like the blues brothers or some shit. We wear our sunglasses at night. So we can, so we can, watch you weave then breathe your story lines."

You're cut off when John suddenly punches your shoulder. You look up at him and he's looking at you, a goofy smile on his face that's telling you to shut up.

"Ow, fuck, Egbert. Use your words." You say, rubbing your shoulder like it hurt. Which it doesn't. You crack a smile, the corners of your lips curving upward.

He rolls his eyes dramatically, then leans forward and taps his finger at the corner of your eye, on your temple. You flinch just a little bit, but he just taps it. He then puts his thumb on his chest, waving his fingers in the air.

"Your eyes are cool."

He's still leaning forward and you're overwhelmed with the urge to kiss him. It would be so easy. If you just leaned forward a little bit you could easily close the distance. You could press your lips to his and finally find out what he tastes like. You bet he tastes like cake. You want to know how he feels. You want to make him breathless from more than just laughing. Without the tint of your shades, he's more beautiful than ever. You want to know what he'd look like under you, over you, pressed against a wall…

He reaches down, and you see his movement when it's too late. He scoops up a glob of wet nasty frosting that hadn't quite made it down the drain yet, and boops your fucking nose with it. Before you can react, he's smeared the rest across your cheek. He hops off the counter and runs out the door. You catch sight of his stupid pranksters grin before he shuts the door behind him.

You're left staring at the closed door, wrestling your urge to chase him down, shove cake in his face, and then kiss it off of him.

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're on a manhunt.

You find Jake a few streets over. It wasn't hard. Jade was right, his voice does carry. And you'd recognize his ass in those shorts everywhere. He was surprised to see you, though he shouldn't have been. You told him you and Dave planned on trick-or-treating. You both travel a few more streets, gathering candy.

You do your best not to stare at him too much. It's really fucking hard. And if you don't stop staring, you're going to be really fucking hard too. You haven't seen that outfit since you first met him years ago, and it's the same outfit that's been haunting your dreams ever since. He looks even better in it now that he's aged up a little more.

You playfully grab his ass once. At a door, with a herd of children in front of you and a woman handing out candy in the front. You snuck a hand around to grope his rump. It wasn't a rough grope, but it was a full handed one. He jumped and looked at you, alarm written all over his face and a blush reddening his cheeks by the second. You just lifted your shades with your free hand and winked.

"Couldn't resist." Is all you said and, with one last squeeze, you removed your hand and promised yourself you wouldn't do that again for the rest of the night. It was really hard to keep that promise, but you did. You didn't want to push his boundaries too much. He was flustered for a while, but eventually, after you didn't make a move on his ass again, he fell back to the usual Jake.

At one point you mentioned your tradition of watching The Thing with Dave, and how Rose had claimed your tv for the rest of the night for her vampire flicks. Jake brightened at that, saying that he, John, and Jade usually watched movies after all their halloween festivities.

Watching The Thing at John's house with them was his idea. How could you say no?

When you returned to John's house, it was late and most trick-or-treaters were already gone. Whatever had been happening in the Egbert front lawn was over, and all that was left was a giant mess. John, Jade, and Dave waiting for you inside. Jake had texted both John and Jade the idea and they had readily agreed. The movie was already set up and waiting when you arrived.

John was sitting on the couch between Jade and Dave. You were very surprised to see Dave with his shades perched on top of his head instead of on his face. When he looked at you, you raised an eyebrow. He just shrugged. You haven't seen your brother remove his shades without his colored contacts in front of anyone besides you in years. That John kid must be one hell of a special kid.

Jake forced Jade to scoot over so he could sit, and you pushed yourself next to him. After a lot of shuffling, complaining, and laughing, the five of you finally got settled. The couch was big enough for you to all sit comfortably, as long as you didn't mind having a leg pressed against someone else's. You did not mind at all having your leg pressed against Jake's. And you highly doubted Dave minded being pressed against John.

You snatched the remote off the coffee table. "Alright, kiddies, sit back and relax, and let the Strider bros take you on an adventure. Feel free to join in if you think you're up to it."

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you're feeling mighty conflicted right about now.

You SHOULD be really upset and concerned over the fact that right now, Dave Strider, your arch enemy and rival in love, is pressed against John Egbert, your childhood friend and long time crush. Yet somehow, you can barely find the energy to focus on that when all you can think about is the heat of Dirk's body next to yours.

You should have known your short shorts were a bad idea. So much of your bare thigh is pressed against him. It was a little uncomfortable at first, but he removed his weapons, so that fixed that. But the heat from him was unbearably distracting. Especially when all it did was remind you of the feeling of his hand on your rump. And the gentle, yet firm squeezes that were issued there.

At one point during the movie, his arm made it to the back of the couch. You couldn't blame him. Your arms were feeling a little pinched being so close to everyone. But now you could also feel his arm at the back of your neck. It would be so simple to lean over just a little and fully relax against his side. Of course that is NOT a thing you're going to do, nor is that a thing you WANT to do.

He and Dave started this mute movie narration thingy without much hesitation. From what he said, they do this every year. And every year the plot changes. After a while, you and Jade make contributions, getting the hang of it fairly quickly. You all pick characters to speak for. Even John joins in. Jade translates for him, because she is the most proficient at sign language.

At one point, you glance sideways at Dirk. He's rather close. Have you mentioned how dashing he looks in that complex ninja outfit? Everything is form fitting and carries an air of danger with him.

He looks at you and smiles, and for one frightfully intimate moment, your eyes meet. He looks away first, back to the screen and back to the story that he's weaving with his brother. But there's still a small smile on his lips and his hand is suddenly running through your hair. You stiffen and he flicks your ear once before letting his hand drop back to the back of the couch.

When the movie's over, Jade suggests that you do another one. John puts Scream into the dvd player and you continue to watch it on mute, making it up as it goes. Dirk's fingers find their way to the back of your neck and alternate between idly playing with your hair and gently massaging your neck. Heat rushes to your face and it refuses to leave. Yet you can't bring yourself to push him away. Nor can you bring yourself to look at him.

By the end of the movie, you're leaning into him, if only a little. You blame him. He relaxed you with his light touches and you just happened to fall in that direction. Plus you're tired. You can't sit up straight.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you can't decide whether you're excited or nervous.

You're excited because Dave's coming over for the first time, but you're also nervous because, well Dave's coming over for the first time. Sure, he's been to your house before, but that was for movie nights. And movie nights are Friday. Today is Saturday, and it is also the first time Dave's sleeping over!

You're not sure why you hadn't thought of it sooner. You like spending time with Dave, but the two of you are rarely alone. Even during classes without your other friends, you don't have him to yourself. The teachers have you both. The only time you really have Dave alone is through texts and on pesterchum. And sure, it's great to be able to talk to him without being hampered by his limited knowledge of ASL, but you don't get to see him. You don't get to hear him. You don't get to punch him when he starts to ramble, or see him smile afterward.

Who are you kidding? You're super fucking excited! You're not even sure why you were so nervous this morning. Your stomach twisted in knots when you woke up, and you washed your hair twice in the shower because you forgot you had done it the first time. But that must have just been gas.

You spend the rest of your morning anticipating the afternoon. Your dad had stocked the kitchen with popcorn, soda, apple juice, and chips. Doritos, as per request by Dave. Despite your dad's desire to cook dinner for Dave, your new friend, you insisted on pizza. You pacified him by telling him that Dave loves cake. He then spent a couple of hours baking and frosting a triple layer chocolate vanilla marble cake from scratch. You set up your xbox, wii, Nintendo 64, and Super Nintendo in the living room, all with their cords lined up neatly. Two controllers sat in front of their respective consoles. Your movie collection sat pretty and pristine in the various shelves around the entertainment center. Your big, flat screen tv stood proudly in the center.

Everything is ready.

You even fluffed the couch pillows. For maximum butt comfort.

Dave arrives exactly five minutes past three. It's so exact that you have suspicions that he had planned it that way to be "fashionably late." Plus you're sure you heard his truck pull into your driveway five minutes ago.

You open the door to find him with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and a rolled up sleeping bag under his arm. He greets you with his usual, "Sup."

You give him a stern look, standing as tall as you could in the doorway. You lift your right fist to your mouth, tapping your thumb on your lips before lifting your left hand. You form a P with the extended index finger of your left hand and the index and thumb of your right hand. Your eyebrows go up. "Password?"

His lips press together, and you are willing to bet he rolled his eyes under those shades. "We gonna do this again, Egbert?"

You repeat the sign. When you're done, you put your hands on your hips and look up at him like there isn't even a height difference. Intimidating, that is you. Keeper of the door. Knower of the passwords.

"John's a dork." He says. You huff, your cheeks puffing a little. "John's gonna lose at Mario Kart." He smiles at your glare. "I'm going to tell John's dad he loves Betty Crocker brand cake if he doesn't let me in."

You put your hand flat under your chin, and move it out, brushing your knuckles along the underside of your chin. "Fuck you." You turn and lead the way into your house.

Dave follows, chuckling. "Language, John. My poor maiden ears can't take such profanity." He strolls into the foyer and takes a look around. You close the door behind him and lead him to the living room. Once there, you step aside and throw your arms up in a typical "ta-daaaa!" fashion. Dave pauses and looks around, you can see that his smile hasn't fully faded. "Dang, Egbert, you sure now how to treat a lady."

You roll your eyes and lightly slap his shoulder when you walk past him. You flop on the couch, twisting in your seat to face him. You hold up the thumb of your left hand and touch it with a swooping motion from your right index finger. You point at him, then grab the air and pull it toward you, palms up and fingers curled. You end with your palms up, hands flat, moving slightly from side to side.

"What do you want to do first?"

He casually drops his sleeping bag to the floor and sets his messenger bag next to the couch before taking the seat beside you. "Well if memory serves, you were taking smack about CoD. I think it's about time I put you in your place."

You spend the next hour playing Call of Duty, and, sure enough, you are put in your place. You aren't that surprised. You aren't bad at it, but Dave is better. You knew that before tonight, but that didn't stop you from boasting over pesterchum. It also doesn't stop you from enjoying the game. Despite getting your ass kicked in pretty much every round, you're having fun. There's no Jade to challenge him and no Karkat to distract him. Just you and Dave.

After that, you both decide that it's time you teamed up instead. You switch to Left4Dead 2 and played on hard mode. It's much easier. On a team, the two of you kick ass. You chose Nick, because he's a classy mother fucker and you can appreciate that. Dave chose Ellis, and you can't help but make fun of both of their accents. Of course it's hard to make fun of something when both your hands are occupied by the controller, but Dave's a good sport and knows when you're mocking him just by your smiles and your silent laughs.

That's one of the reasons you like Dave. He always knows what you mean to say, even if you can't say it. Not even Karkat knows your body language that well, and you've known him longer. In fact, despite Jake's patience to give you time to say what you mean to say, he can't always read you very well. The only ones who can read you better than Dave are Jade and Rose. Jade because you've known her the longest and she's put the most effort into trying until it became habit, and Rose because she's Rose and she notices most things.

He also knows that you never truly mock him for his accent.

In fact, it's pretty much the opposite.

Last week, during biology, the two of you were lab buddies again. Dave was trying to talk to you using only sign. He's been practicing regularly, that much you knew. And he had come so far and learned so much in just a couple months! No doubt Jade and Rose were excellent teachers, not to mention you. His signs were slow and sloppy, and sometimes he messed up the grammar, but you were patient with him like he's always been patent with you.

Halfway through the lab, he was struggling with how to say something about the direction of your crayfish when you stopped him. You pointed at him, then put your thumb under your chin, moving it out. You hooked your index finger and clawed it a little before pointing your index fingers at each other and moving them in a circle. You smiled and pointed to your ear.

"You don't NEED to sign. I can hear."

He made a face, twisting his lips and furrowing his brows. "I know." He said, looking down at the knife in his hand and the shellfish on the dissection tray. "But I want to be able to talk to you in your language…" He mutter, almost too softly for you to hear. The sincerity in his voice warmed your chest and made your heart flutter. Your smile softened and you touched his arm so he would look at you. He looked a little dejected.

You pointed to yourself and then tapped your temple with your fingers. You pointed to yourself and put both your hands flat on your chest, swiping at it. You then took your index fingers and crossed them, then moved them out, uncrossing them.

"I know. And it makes me happy. But…"

You paused, chewing your bottom lip. He watched you expectantly. You slowly pointed at yourself, then used your index finger and thumb to pull away from your chest. You pushed your flat palm toward him. You then made a V with two fingers and swiped them up your neck a few times. You gave him a small, genuine smile.

"I like your voice."

He stared at you for a long moment before his face slowly turned red. He looked away from you and down to Jerry, your crayfish baby. You grinned and leaned over, gently bumping his shoulder with yours. You had meant what you said. You like his voice. It was low and soothing, with just that vague ting of a Texan twang that showed itself more when he was flustered or nervous or angry or upset. You liked his teasing drawl and you liked that you could hear the smile in his voice. You liked that you could hear all his emotions in his voice, even if they rarely showed on his face.

He was flustered the rest of the day, causing his accent to show even more, and you couldn't help but giggle at his expense.

You know he hasn't forgotten what you said, because he's been talking around you and using less sign since. You're okay with that.

Back in the game, Dave saved you from a few boomers, but you made it even when he got snagged by a gross smoker tongue and a not long after got slammed by a hunter. You saved him both times and left Coach to fix him up. When it came to witches, Dave was all for going to kill them. You let him have at it. You preferred to avoid the creepy weepy female zombies. Once Dave thought he was being sneaky, and then she came screaming out of no where to tear up his face. He actually jumped and shouted as his character was knocked to the ground. You saved him then, too, and sat there with a smug grin.

"Shut up, Egbert." He muttered, bandaging himself with his last med kit.

Ha! Joke's on him. You can't shut up because you're always shut up! You lift your right hand off the controller to put your thumb on your nose and wiggle your fingers while you turn to him and stick out your tongue.

He rolls his head like he's rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know, how can you shut up if you can't talk? You can shut up all the same because your stupid face is screaming volumes of noise at my expense." He reaches over and puts a hand in your hair, ruffling it roughly and shoving you to the side. You fall over against the arm of the couch, grin, and kick him in the thigh. Dave points a threatening finger at your face. "I will have none of your shenanigans, Egbert." He points down at your socked foot that's still touching him. "And I will not have your gross nasty feet touching me."

You stick out your tongue and rub your foot up and down the outside of his thigh. You lift your other foot to join it and yeah, take that, Dave. He's got your foot germs all over now.

"That was closer than a- well shit man, that was just straight up close!" Ellis says on the tv, reminding Dave that you saved his ass. You use your feet to poke his thigh.

"My thigh meat does not need tenderizing." He says. You snort, but don't stop. "Don't say I didn't warn you, Egbert." Before you can react, he's dropped his controller and has one of your feet in his grasp. His fingers savagely attack the ticklish bottom. You gasp, thrashing and kicking. His laugh is short lived as he catches your other foot in his side. He grunts and reaches for that foot too. You continue to kick until he's off the couch and in the thin space between the couch and coffee table.

You waste no time diving on top of him to exact your revenge, and the next ten minutes are spent in an all out tickle war. You straddle his hips and attack his sides. He flails under you, gasping and laughing the involuntary, painful laughs of one being tickled. Then his hands find your sides and you leave his alone in order to protect your own. You hold his arms down, and scoot forward to his stomach, pinning his arms at his sides beneath your knees. You smile down at him smugly, reaching for his sides once again, but his hands are now in reach of your feet.

By the time you roll yourself back onto the couch, you're both out of breath and sporting several bruises from flailing limbs hitting the coffee table and the corner of the couch. You lay on the couch, on your side so you can see Dave still on the floor. He's panting just as heavily as you are, holding his elbow in one hand. He hit it pretty hard. His glasses are askew, so you reach down to fix them. He flinches, but you grab them anyway, adjusting them so they sit straight on his face again.

"Thanks." He mutters. You smile your welcome.

Dave's been a little more lenient about you touching his shades ever since halloween, when he revealed his eyes to you. To be honest, his eyes weren't what you expected at all. You'd seen them before, and they were definitely brown. So in the bathroom that night, you were determined to get Dave over this weird obsession he had with his aviators. You didn't understand what he had meant when he said there was something different about his eyes. Not until you saw them.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't surprised. It's hard not to be when you're expecting warm brown eyes and you see a startling shade of red. But your surprise had quickly turned into fascination. You'd never seen someone with red eyes before! Movie characters, cartoon characters, yes, but never a real living person. And never one of your friends. You were transfixed. And during that long moment when you couldn't look away, everything made sense. Why he never took them off, both practical and social reasons. Why he wore contacts when he had to remove them. You understood it, but his reasoning was stupid.

He was worried they'd freak you out? Psh, that's dumb. You thought they were awesome! And they looked so much better than his plain brown eyes. The red just… it fit him. His light blonde hair, the light dusting of freckles, the blonde eyelashes, his nose (probably more delicate than he would have liked), and his pink lips, pressed into a nervous frown. All of it was brought together and eccentuated by those brilliant red eyes.

It was in that moment that you realized how attractive Dave Strider really is, and it's been eating at you ever since.

Even now, when he's out of breath, cheeks slightly pink, and a thin layer of sweat on his skin, he's attractive. And he's on your floor. YOUR floor. Not anyone else's. He chooses to hang out with you rather than ask out any of those girls who follow him around. Any of them would jump at the chance to spend five minutes with him. But no. Those are your five minutes. They're all your minutes. Any one of them would give up lunch for a week to adjust his shades like you do, but no. You're the only one he lets do that.

You did it once at the lunch table, and flicked off a piece of rice that got stuck there when Jade threw food at him. Everyone stared at you like you had grown a second head. You think Dave might have blushed when he realized everyone was staring. He huffed and smacked at your hand as an afterthought, but by then it made no difference. You had already touched the legendary Strider shades. Something NO ONE did. No one besides you. And you like it that way.

"Caw ca! Caw ca!" Ellis says from the tv.

You finish your game of L4D on the couch, while Dave stays on the floor, propping himself up on an elbow to see the tv. Your dad comes home from running errands to find you like that. You sit up on the couch and twist around to greet him. Dave sits up too, and you can see your dad's eyes slide to him.

"Hey, Mr. E." He says when your dad looks at him. One of his eyebrows goes up. "Uh, Mr. Egbert." Dave says, sounding a little more nervous.

"Hello, Dave." Your dad says, smiling. "I've prepared some cake for dessert tonight."

Dave hopped up on the couch beside you. "Whoa, no way! I thought John might have banned it or something."

"He insisted actually. He said you love cake. Though you may have to eat John's slice as well."

"I won't let you down." Dave gave your dad a mock salute.

He chuckled. "So when would you boys like your pizza?"

You turn to Dave and hold out both your hands. You make fists and hold out your thumb and pinky. You move your hands downward, eyebrows raised. "Now?"

Dave nods, "Now."

You turn to your dad and repeat the motion. "I will put in the call. Pepperoni and breadsticks?"

You stick out your tongue and make a vague hand wave in the air. "Duh."

You continue to play games until the pizza arrives. Bypassing the kitchen, the pizza box and breadsticks go straight to the coffee table. You do go into the kitchen, however, to grab drinks. You pour yourself a cup of pepsi, while Dave pours a cup of coke. You then have a very animated argument about which is better. Which is pepsi, duh. Dave can take his coke and go back to the south.

You grab paper plates and napkins and head back out into the living room. You let Dave look through your movies for something to watch while you eat. He chooses Blade Runner, because Harrison Ford. Enough said. You pop it into the dvd player, sit back, and enjoy the movie. The movie is, of course, enjoyed with plenty of Strider snark on the side. You can't watch a movie with Dave any other way. Not that you'd want to.

The large pizza is mostly gone by the time the movie's over, and the breadsticks are wiped out. You go to the dvd player and put the disk back in the case. You set it aside and grab the Mario Kart Wii box, holding it up as you turn to Dave.

His eyebrows go up. "Oh you are so on."

He may kick your butt at Call of Duty, but you are the king of Mario Kart. In every round, every course, you kick HIS butt. Even on the couple that he manages to win, it's only by a second. He gets the most angry on the courses where you end up in last place, only to swoop in and steal first during the homestretch.

He gets frustrated, so you move onto Smash Bros Brawl. On this playing field, you're both pretty evenly matched. He wins some, you win some, and after you go through your usual set of characters, you both decide to just put yourselves on random.

After that, you suggest Mario Party, but Dave declares that Mario Party is only acceptable if it's 2 or 3. So you then switch to the Nintendo 64 and have to sit on the floor and lean against the coffee table for your controllers to be able to reach. You were pretty sure you won. You had more stars and more coins. Then Dave swooped in with his bonus stars and stole the glory. You shove him. He shoves you back. You threaten tickle hands, and he mirrors your position. Then he slaps at your head, so of course the slap fight is on.

You end up knocking over your cup and spilling pepsi all over the floor. You both scramble to the kitchen to get some warm water and towels. Luckily your dad is upstairs and didn't see your spill. You both knead the floor with the towels.

"I feel like a cat." Dave complains.

You put a little more cat-ness into your towel kneading. You try to make your eyes big and move your mouth like you're saying "meow." Of course you're not actually making a sound, but the lip movement is enough to get Dave's attention.

"What's wrong, Egbert?" He smirks like he can't hold it back. "Cat got your tongue?"

You slap his arm and chuckles. He's smiling, something he's been doing more and more since you met him. And something he does the most around you. His cheeks lift with the force of his smile and you can't help but wonder what he would look like without his shades. What did his eyes look like when they smiled? You almost reached for them, but then he was speaking again, tilting his head to look at you.

"I would say your bark is worse than your bite, but…" You scrunched up your face and smacked at him again. This time he caught your wrist. He tsked his tongue and shook his head. "Nu-uh, not so fast."

You did the most logical thing to do in this situation. You leaned forward and bit his shoulder.

"Ow! Jesus fuck!" He yelps. You actually make Dave Strider yelp. It's so satisfying that you have to do it again. You release his shoulder only to attack again. This time you found a better chunk of flesh, on the back of shoulder, behind the collarbone. Dave gasps and you can see him stiffen out of the corner of your eye. He's still holding your wrist, and his fingers tighten. "Jesus mother fucking christ." His voice is strained. Something flutters in your chest. You like throwing Dave off his cool.

You let go of his shoulder, his shirt squeaking uncomfortably on your teeth. You use your free hand to grab his side. He jumps and releases your wrist. Now, with both hands free, you use this opportunity to tackle him to the floor. With your hands on his shoulders to pin him, you use your fingers to tug his shirt further down his shoulder, exposing more skin. You bite him again, closer to the neck in that thick chunk of skin toward the back.

His hands are on your upper arms, his fingers squeezing into your skin. He gasps again, this time through clenched teeth. You can hear the air whistle. "J-John…" His voice is so strained that he nearly chokes on your name. A shiver runs down your spine and warmth fills your chest. You've never heard Dave this far from his "cool kid" persona. It pushes you to do more. You shift your weight so you're further on top of him and bite harder.

"I take it back!" Your teeth clamp down just a hair more. "Owfuckdamn, let go!" His voice is still strained, and you want to bite him again, but it finally occurs to you that you might be hurting him. You let go and sit up, straddling one of his legs. "I take it back." He says, putting a hand over the spot you bit. "Your bite is WAY worse than your bark. Holy balls, dude. You're a fucking piranha."

He sits up a little, propping himself up on an elbow. He continues rubbing the spot, wincing a little. Your smug grin falters a little as guilt starts to leak into your amusement. Maybe you took it a little far.

"Jesus dicks, that stings." He lifts his hand and tilts his head to the side. "How bad is it?"

You lean forward a little, eyeing the mark you made. And holy shit, did you leave a mark! The outline of your teeth is in dark purple on his skin, surrounded by enflamed red. The exact outline will fade, but he'll definitely have a bruise. You make a fist and extend your thumb, putting it under your chin and moving it out. You then hold one hand up horizontally and run your wiggling fingers over it. You make a face, curling your lips away from your teeth in a mild grimace.

"It's not bleeding."

"Good. If you broke the skin I'd have to go get a rabies shot." He grumbles. He put both his elbows on the floor behind him and looks up at you. "Gonna get off me or what? Rides aren't free, Egbert."

You hold one hand up in a C shape, like you're holding something. You pinch the index and thumb of your other hand together, like you're holding something between them, and move it toward your other hand's invisible object. You then point at Dave with both hands, but when you do it, you snap your fingers together and wink, much like Jake would.

"Pinned ya."

It takes Dave a moment to understand what you were saying. When he does, his head lolls back before rolling up again. "Get off me, you dork." He sits up and pushes you off him. "You might as well BE a lion. I'm gonna pack you up and mail you off to Africa. You can go bite zebras or something." He rubs his neck as he stands up. "I'm gonna go pee."

He leaves you to finish cleaning up the mess, but it's basically done anyway. With barely a stain to be seen. Go you. You stand and carry the towels to the laundry room. The entire time you chuckle to yourself, thinking about Dave's reaction. You threw him off so hard! As you leave the laundry room, you twist as you walk, trying to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling in your pants. You reach down to scratch yourself and possibly adjust something, and…oh….

Your freeze, hands on the front of your cargo shorts, a bundle of fabric between your fingers. Your eyes widen and you look around, but you don't see Dave. You look down, feeling a little panicked. It's not noticeable. Honestly, it's not really enough at the moment to be noticeable, even if you were in just your boxers. It can't even be considered a semi… But it's definitely more than it should be, especially after wrestling a bit with one of your best friends. Your male friend.

But as you stand there, your problem goes away, scared by your panic. You take a few deep breaths. It was nothing. You've been through puberty. You know for a fact that shit like that can happen with pretty much no encouragement. Few things are more embarrassing than popping a boner in eighth grade math because a breeze rolled through the window. It was nothing. Calm down.

Dave is waiting for you by the time you return to the living room. He's hunched over his bag and looks up when you enter. "I brought the number one best game ever, as promised." He says, moving to sit on the couch. He's acting normal, and it helps to calm you. You situate yourself on the couch next to him, giving him a look that says, what? He's been talking up some old school NES game that him and his brother used to play a lot. You told him to bring it, but he still hasn't told you the name.

He just sits there, the game held up in his hand, with the plain back facing you. "Are you sure you're ready for this, John? Are you ready for all this glory and perfection? It's okay if you think you can't handle it." You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, waiting. He levels a look at you from behind his shades. "John."

You sigh and cross your wrists, twisting your index and middle fingers together to form Rs. You uncross your wrists and wave the Rs in the air. You make an exasperated face. "I'm ready."

He nods. "Then I have one more question for you." He lowers his chin and actually allows his shades to slide a fraction down his nose. His eyes peer at you from over the top of them, and you're once again caught in a state of fascination. Sure, you've seen them a couple times in the weeks since halloween, but they get to you every time. But more than that, you feel a warm fuzziness inside every time Dave CHOOSES to show you his eyes. Even if it is only for dramatic effect. He holds you with that red gaze and the corners of his lips twitch upward. He twists the game around in his fingers, revealing the title to you. "Are you a bad enough dude to rescue the president?"

Turns out the game is called Bad Dudes. In which, you both pose as street thugs who just may be bad enough to rescue the kidnapped president, who has been taken by the Dragon Ninja. You fight your way through levels of ninjas and vicious dogs. It's hard, like most nes games are, because the game play isn't as fluid as you're used to. But the dialogue and plot make up for pretty much everything. It's a simple side scrolling, 3D environment fighter, and it's hilarious. You don't end up beating it by the time you both decide to quit, but Dave tells you when you defeat the Dragon Ninja, you take the president from the helicopter and he takes you out for pizza. You concede. It is possibly the best game ever. The Striders have it right.

Your dad went to bed not too long ago, but you both help yourselves to cake anyway. Dave cuts himself a huge piece, and you cut yourself a small one. He tells you that he's watching you, and he prefers his cake in his mouth rather than smashed across his face. You just grin, reminded of how he looked with frosting up his nose on halloween. That was possibly the best day of your life.

After cake, you watch another movie. You both decide on some good old fashioned star wars, because Harrison Ford, duh. You pop two bags of popcorn and dump them into a bowl while Dave sets up the dvd player. You snuggle up under a blanket as the movie starts, because movies are always better snuggled up with popcorn. You want the bowl on your lap, but Dave complains that he has trouble reaching it, so you scoot closer. You offer him the blanket and he takes it. So you end up right next to him, both under the blanket, and a popcorn bowl on your laps. Your arms are pressed together uncomfortably and you wiggle against it in complaint. Dave then puts his arm over the back of the couch behind you and that solves that problem.

By the end of the movie, the empty bowl is on the table and you're pressed against Dave's side. You're comfortable and he doesn't complain, so you don't move. You're not sure when his arm moved from the back of the chair to your shoulders, but it's there now.

Bro cuddles, you tell yourself. Bro cuddles. You've cuddled like this with all your friends. With Rose while reading a book. With Jade while you had feelings jams. With Karkat during your secret rom com marathons. And with Jake while you watched scary movies. It's nothing you haven't done before. And it certainly doesn't feel different with Dave. Not at all. You're not hyper aware of his body next to yours, or his breathing, or anytime he moves. Nope. Not at all. Bro cuddles, John. That's all.

He suggests the next star wars movie and you don't object. He gets up to put it in and when he sits back down, he pulls you close to him again and you resume your previous position, a small smile on your face.

After the movie, it's roughly four in the morning and you're both yawning. Still, Dave insists on a shower before bed. "Gotta rinse myself, Egbert. Not gonna bring all the days germs into my bed. A Strider's bed is his sanctuary."

You lay in your own bed while he showers, staring at the ceiling. You're snuggled up under your covers when he enters, his hair dripping as he rubs it with a towel. It sticks up everywhere and you giggle, to which he tells you to shut up. He's not wearing his shades. The only light in your room is the light filtering through your blinds from the street lamps. Still, your eyes are adjusted and you can see the shape of his bare face. He's wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. It's not often you see his legs.

He starts to unroll his sleeping bag and lays it out on your floor. You watch. When he gets close enough to the bed, you reach out and snag his shirt. When he looks at you, you hold out a small notebook you kept on your nightstand. It's open to a page you had written on while he showered. He takes it and squints in the darkness, but he still can't read it. He pulls out his phone and uses the screen to light your words, though he blinks against the sudden light.

"The floor isn't very comfortable. You can sleep in my bed if you want."

You think he reads it more than once before looking at you. You smile and scoot back until you're against the wall, and throw back the blanket. You pat the empty space beside you. He sighs, tosses the notepad on your nightstand, drops the towel to your floor, and crawls into your bed. He doesn't say anything, but then again, you don't either. And you're okay with that. You lay facing each other. You can hear his breath and feel his exhales brush against your cheeks. The only thing touching is your knees, but neither of you move them.

You're not sure when you fell asleep, but as you did, you felt warmth on your hand. You clung to it as you fell into unconsciousness.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you simply cannot sit still.

You're agitated, and that's putting it mildly. You're alone in the house. Your grandparents are gone for the weekend, though you can't remember where. Jade is gone, having an "all girls" sleepover with Rose and Kanaya. And to make matters worse, right now, as you pace a groove into the carpet of your living room, that cursed Dave Strider is next door having a one-on-one sleep over with John. Your John. Every time you sit down to do something, you just imagine the two of them doing something, movies, games, eating, alone. All alone without you to supervise. Who knows what that Strider might try! You're well acquainted with Striders, and you know them to be devious!

Your skin feels itchy all over, and there's a tight ball of anxiety and heat that's burning its way through your chest. You run your fingers through your hair for the hundredth time. It's already sticking up. You can't make it much worse. You scratch your arm until it's raw. You may be grinding your teeth, but you aren't really sure. Your jaw aches from it. You're not paying attention. Your mind is a whirl. You alternate between wanting to fall on the ground and wallow in your spiral of misery, and wanting to go running into the darkness where hopefully the thoughts can't follow. You do neither, because you can't stay still, but you also don't want to go outside and possibly get hit by some car in the street. So you just pace a groove into the carpet.

You were doing so well. Sure, you didn't WANT to give up on John, but you were doing a better job of accepting the fact that he may not like you the way you like him. You were feeling better. You were friendly with him without it being painful. You were even starting to almost enjoy the company of Dave. You were talking a lot with Dirk and you think that may have been helping. His flirtatious advances have cooled somewhat now that you talk with him more frequently, and you think you're getting along smashingly as friends. He's a friend of yours that you don't share with the others. Sure, he's Dave's brother. But he's YOUR friend. He's a brilliant young man with more inner pain than he lets on, and you think he's fascinatingly complex. He gives you attention when you want it, and sometimes when you don't, and you would be lying if you said you didn't like it.

But then John told you he was having a sleepover with Dave and that turned all your progress right back around. Your chest aches at the thought of them together, alone, in his house, in his room. That used to be you. Now it's Dave. Dave could be getting further than you ever did. You thought you had been getting better about this whole John situation, but now you're back to square one, and CONFOUND IT, it hurts.

You want to rip your skin off, it's bothering you too much. And while you're at it, why don't you just rip your chest open and replace your heart with some sort of metal contraption. You could leave school behind and go adventuring like your grandparents did. No need for any of this. No need for relationships and people. You could live alone on an island and have daily adventures alone and unconstricted. You could be free, and maybe you'd be happy.

You glance at the clock and it reads eight. You've been like this for three hours. You haven't even eaten yet. Your stomach won't hold anything down, it's too twisted in knots.

You've been toying with the idea for a while now, but you are finally fed up with yourself. You pull out your phone and text Dirk.

To Dirk: What are you up to tonight mate?
From Dirk: Got the house to myself tonight, so I was thinking a one man gaming spree.
From Dirk: That is, unless you want to come over and save me from my lonesome.
To Dirk: Yes i believe i will do just that
From Dirk: Wait, what? Seriously?
To Dirk: Quite so! you are always insisting that we should spent time together
From Dirk: True.
To Dirk: I will be there momentarily

Before he can reply, you've shoved your phone in your pocket, grabbed your keys, and headed out the door. Your car rumbles to life and you tear out of the driveway with far more noise than necessary. You hope the foolish young men next door heard it.

The drive to Dirk's home is not very eventful. You knock on the door, ring the doorbell twice, and stand there waiting while your foot taps the ground. Dirk answers the door with his eyebrows raised high. His sunglasses are hanging from the collar of his black tank top. There's a white towel with grease smears hanging over his shoulder. "Sup?"

"I am in a sour mood and I demand that you entertain me." You say, though you sound more desperate and pathetic than the demanding and stern tone you were aiming for.

He stares at you for a moment before stepping back and opening the door wider. "Yeah, come in." You do and he closes the door behind you. "So what's brought you running to my arms tonight, English?" He asks, a small smirk on his lips. You know he's trying to make you smile, but you will have none of his shenanigans.

"I was bored." You say, turning away from him and walking further into the house. It's quiet. Dirk follows, wiping his hands on the towel that had previously been slung over his shoulder. His smirk is gone, replaced by a strangely soft look in his eyes.

"Does this have to do with Dave's sleepover at John's place?" He asks softly. Almost too softly. But you heard him all the same.

"Of course not!" You say, standing tall and squaring your shoulders. You put your hands on your hips, daring him to say otherwise. You can tell by the look he gives you that he doesn't buy it. Those orange eyes can see right through you. But he doesn't say anything more on the subject, so you let your hands drop back to your sides. "So…what have you been up to?"

He shrugs. "I was just finishing up on some work."

"What kind of work?" You ask, happy to have some sort of distraction.

"Just some robotic programming."

"May I see?"

He shrugs again. "If you want." He leads you to his office, the one you had been in before with the posters and the tools and nuts and bolts and scraps of metal everywhere. He shows you the small robotic arm he had built. It's attached to a square base and has no skin, revealing all the wires and gears. The hand has five fingers with all the appropriate joints, a wrist, and an elbow. A wire is plugged into the base and ran to his computer. He shows you how he's trying to come up with a minimal code that would suffice to move the hand the way he wants.

You are fascinated. He lets you sit in his chair and play with it. He tries to teach you the basics of programming, hovering behind you and pointing to the screen. But you are no good with that. The two of you move to the floor. He shows you some other robotic basics, handing you the right pieces and tools. Some of it you already know from your own dabbling, but Dirk is a good teacher. He is patient with you, calm and collected. He cracks a few jokes, but when it comes to this passion of his, he is more serious and knowledgeable than you have ever seen him. It is a nice change.

You accidentally cut your thumb on the corner of a sheet of metal. Dirk takes you to the bathroom and washes your fairly deep wound and bandages it. After that, he suggests a movie, but you are in no mood for a movie. Movies make you think of John. So he suggests something else.

And that is how you found yourself on the Lalonde couch with Dirk at your side and My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic on the tv. You can scarcely believe you let Dirk talk you into watching this child's show.

After five episodes, you are hooked.

Dirk offers you a beer halfway through season one. It gets even better after that. With the warmth of cheap beer flooding your system, you are louder and more animated than you have been all day. Dirk's laughs come more easily. His face lights up in ways that you have rarely seen, and he looks at you with unguarded eyes. He's also more touchy, but you don't mind. They're casual touches. A brush of hands, playing with your hair, rubbing your neck or arm. He holds your hand at one point, between you on the couch.

After three beers each, you're not nearly drunk, but you're tipsy enough to decide you need to exert some physical energy. You challenge Dirk to fisty cuffs. Right now. In the back yard. It's dark and the November air has a chill. You should probably be wearing a jacket, but it doesn't bother you. You hold up your fists and try a few real jabs, but Dirk is quick and your vision is slow. Dirk slaps you and dances away, laughing. It turns into a slap fight. Some slaps are hard, others are playful. Dirk is faster than you and lands more blows. It's rough. Your skin stings, but it's numbed by the night and the alcohol.

You get frustrated and tackle him to the ground. You both roll around in the dew that's gathered on the grass, wetting your clothes and letting in more chill. But your bodies are warm and sweating and you feel alive. Truly and completely alive. And Dirk is alive. He's more alive and cheerful than you have ever seen him. He's getting into it just as much as you are and you know then that he also needed to exert himself physically, just to feel better mentally.

You laugh into the night and his voice echoes yours. You're both ALIVE and you want the world to know it. You and Dirk. Dirk and you. Just the two of you alone in this suburban backyard.

You pin Dirk, but then he wraps his leg around you and flips your positions. You throw your weight into your hips and flip him over your head. Rocks bite into your skin as you roll around, but you can't let Dirk win. He's a slippery fellow, and you're both tipsy. But finally you get him in your grasp. He's on his knees and you hold his wrists at his lower back with one hand. His wrists are small enough that they both fit in your larger hands. You use your other hand to push his shoulders down and lean your weight over him. His cheek presses into the grass and dirt, but he laughs. The sound is beautiful and full of mirth.

He says he likes this position, and you hadn't realized until then that your hips are pressed into his rump. And what a fine rump that is. But that is far beside the point. Your grip on his wrists tighten and you push him harder into the ground. You tell him to yield. He struggles, testing your grip. You push him a little with your hips, grinding him down. He yields, his voice rough like he's having trouble breathing.

You release him, sitting back on your heels. He sits up, gasping for air and rubbing his wrists. "Damn, English. Just say the word and we can take that to the bedroom." His voice is still hoarse. He clears his throat, coughing and laughing.

You try to hide your grin, to look serious and dangerous, but he is so disheveled and you find it hilarious. "Watch your mouth, Strider, or I'll have to pin you again."

"Wouldn't want that, now would we?" He says, giving you a sly smile and a wink. When he stands, you see the evidence that he probably would want that. You ignore it as he offers a hand and pulls you to your feet.

Once inside, you both drink water and go to shower. Him in the master bathroom and you in the hall bathroom. You forgot to bring any clothes, so he offers you some of his. His hips are much leaner than yours, so he gives you sweat pants and a loose t-shirt. The shirt is tight on you, but at least the pants are comfortable. He's dressed in pajama pants that sport the spunky Rainbow Dash and a t-shirt with her silhouette that says "20% cooler."

You both fall asleep on the couch during season two, both of your bodies splayed across the couch with your legs entangled in the center, a blanket across both your bodies. It is the first peaceful sleep you've had in days, and completely worth the kink in your neck when you wake up.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you really, really wish you had a voice.

If you had a voice, you would cheer for Dave loud enough that he would surely hear you over the collective voices of the crowd. You would yell for him when he's on the sidelines so he'd turn around and see you standing there. But you don't have a voice. And you can't scream and cheer. So you leave the cheering to Jade and the screaming to Karkat and instead just watch the game with rapt attention.

You think you understand the game now. Or at least enough of it to enjoy it. Though you're certain that you wouldn't enjoy it if Dave wasn't playing. He's fast and it's amazing to watch. And while everyone else is cheering for him too, you know that they don't know him like you do. He's not their friend. He's your friend. And your friend is awesome.

When the buzzer for halftime sounds, and the team gathers at the sideline before heading for the locker rooms, you jump up and lean on the chain link fence in front of you. Jade and Karkat join you. As they walk along the track in front of you, your eyes find Dave. It isn't hard. Your eyes have practically been glued to him this whole game. You hear his name being screeched in high pitched voices, and you turn your head to see three girls not too far away, also leaning over the fence. You frown and turn back to the team.

Dave is looking up at you as he passes. His eyes are brown in the stadium light. The same color you first thought they were. Before you thought his eyes were warm and full of depth. Now they just look dim and empty. They don't even begin to compare to the bright irises beneath. But he's looking at you with those eyes and he lifts his hand in a small wave and you grin, waving back excitedly. You point at him, and then bend your arm at the elbow, lifting your hand to shoulder height. You wave it back and forth at the wrist, lightly drawing your middle finger across your collarbone while keeping your other fingers open and loose. You make a face, grinning with your tongue between your teeth.

"You're awesome!"

Even from a distance you can see the corner of his lip turn up in a smirk.

"Dave! Daaaaaave!" Jade shouts, cupping her hands over her mouth and leaning over the fence. He waves to her.

"I didn't pay money to watch you lose, fuckass! I wanna see blood!" Karkat yells. Dave moves seamlessly from waving at Jade to flipping off Karkat.

After fighting tirelessly through the playoffs, Dave's team finally made it to the championships. For the past few weeks, Dave has been super busy. His practices were every day after school, and after that he was too tired to do anything. He still talked to you every night, but it wasn't nearly as much. There was a game every Friday, and sometimes on a Saturday. But he made a point to see you on the weekends. In fact, the past three weekends have been sleepover weekends! You went to his house once and he came to yours twice.

You're not sure why you were ever nervous about a sleepover with Dave. Sleepovers with Dave were awesome. Food, video games, movies, and just one on one time with Dave. It felt like that was the only time you ever got to see him anymore.

But after this game was over, the season would be done and he would be free all the time.

During halftime, you went with Jade and Karkat to get snacks. Jake had already gone off somewhere, and Dirk was missing, too. Rose and Kanaya stayed to watch your seats. The line as long, as usual, but you would rather wait in it than miss a minute of Dave's game time. He told you once, while mumbling and avoiding looking at you, that he likes knowing that you're there, watching his game. So you like to make sure you're always there.

You each got a box of salty, buttery, delicious popcorn and returned to the bleachers just in time for the second half to start. It's a close game. By halftime it was tied, and the second half begins with new determination. The ball is passed, it moves, people run around, but all you watch is Dave. In his pads and helmet, he looks like everyone else. But he isn't. He isn't like anyone else on that field. When he takes his helmet off, his hair was wet and plastered to his face in some places, and sticking up in others. You want to tease him about it, and maybe you will later.

When Jake and Dirk come back, Dirk takes the seat next to you, Jake on his other side. At one point during the game, while Dave was on the sidelines with his back to you, Dirk leaned over and whispered in your ear. "Looking at his ass in those tight pants?"

You jumped, startled, but of course that made you look. You immediately feel the blush warm your cheeks. You shake your head quickly.

Dirk chuckles and plucks the fabric of your sleeve between two fingers. "You don't need to lie to me, kid. And I know this is Dave's hoodie."

You look at him wide-eyed and shake your head, holding up your hands. You start to sign, but he lifts a hand to stop you, shaking his head slightly.

"I don't know sign." He says. "But you're probably going to say something like 'no, it's not like that, he just left it at my house and it's cold tonight.'"

That's exactly what it is! And you totally do not sound like that. If you had a voice, it wouldn't be that high pitched.

You nod anyway. Last weekend you had spent the night at his place. During the evening, rough housing had accidentally spilled a cup of soda all over your hoodie. The next day when the two of you went out to find some lunch, he had let you borrow one of his hoodies. When you left, you kind of forgot you were wearing it. And you kept forgetting to bring it to school during the week.

And, well, it's early December and it's cold and you thought that wearing his hoodie would show your support! It's a little big for you, the sleeves covering your hands unless you push them back, and it hangs a little low. But it's big and snug and soft and comfortable and doesn't even smell like Dave anymore. Not that you want it to…

"Yeah, well that's his favorite hoodie, and I know he wouldn't let just anyone hold onto it." Dirk looked at you over the top of his sunglasses, a small smile on his lips. You frown, press in your lips together and nervously pick at the end of one of the sleeves.

The hoodie was dark red with a lighter red gear on the front of it. You know it's Dave's favorite, but he hasn't asked for it back yet. Despite the fact that he likes to wear it basically every day. Whenever you mention that you forgot to bring it back to him, he just waves it off and tells you that it's no big deal. You feel like fidgeting under Dirk's gaze, but you manage to hold yourself still, starting down at your lap.

"I also know that he's going to be fucking elating to see you wearing it." He says, and you look up in time to see him wink.

"What're you two going on about?" Jake leans forward, looking around Dirk. He's frowning, his brow furrowed. You know he's not happy to be here. He never was happy about coming to football games, even from the beginning. He doesn't like the sport and he doesn't like supporting those who pick on you. You also think he doesn't like you supporting Dave. But he always came anyway.

Dirk gives you one last knowing look and leans back. You don't know what that knowing look was about! There was no knowing going on! "Don't worry about it, English."

Jake's mouth twists. "Now see here, Strider. I do not want to sit aside as you two canoodle on about who knows what while I'm sitting here in the dark."

Dirk's mouth twitches. "Jealous?"

"You are impossible!" Jake said, throwing his arms in the air. Dirk chuckles and you think they may be talking still, but Dave has taken the field again and you forget everything else.

The game continues without much progress. Your school's team scored, and then the other team scored. It continued like that. It was tied and no one could gain any ground. Right up until the last five minutes. Your legs bounce as you chew your bottom lip. You keep glancing at the clock. The whistle had blown and the play stopped. As they set up the line, Dirk stood. It's so sudden, that you nearly jump.

"Dirk?" Jake says, looking as confused as you feel.

Dirk stepped up to the fence and cupped his hands over his mouth. "YO. LITTLE BRO." His voice isn't shrill or overly loud, but it cuts through the crowd and carries all the same. You look for Dave in his position in the line up. You're certain he couldn't have possibly heard, but his head snaps up, turning toward the bleachers. "STRIDER TRAINING. SEVENTH GRADE."

Your brow furrows. You don't know what that means. But when you look out at the field, after a brief pause, Dave lifts a hand, giving his brother a thumbs up. The crowd cheers with a lot of feminine voices. No doubt they thought the gesture was for the general audience. Dirk sits back down, smirking, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What kind of spurious hijinks are you up to now, Strider?" Jake asks with a slight frown.

Dirk keeps his eyes on the field. "Dave knows what it means."

"Well I certainly don't! Enlighten us, Strider." He says, and you nod as well.

"When Dave was in grade school, he hated riding the bus. Our schools were right next to each other, so I used to walk with him. It was Texas, and it was hot, and the walk wasn't fun. So I turned into a game. Called it Strider training. I taught him the basics of parkour and everyday I chased him to school. He got a head start and he had to outrun me and avoid me. Told him a true Strider would never be caught." Dirk's smirk softened, as well as the lines around his eyes. You could hear the warmth in his voice. "Seventh grade was when he finally outran me. He wasn't faster than me. Still isn't. But he learned to think on his feet and avoid me all the same. Bought him a candy bar after school."

"The shenanigans you Striders think of!" Jake says. You just smile, imagining a small Dave running down the sidewalk and through parks trying to outrun his brother.

You tap Dirk on the shoulder so he'll look at you. He doesn't know sign, but you can still make it easy for him to understand. You hold your thumbs and forefingers up to your face in a square, with a few inches of space between your fingertips. You move your right index finger down and up, like you're clicking the button of a camera. You then bring the square down flat gesturing to him with it.

He raises an eyebrow. "Pictures?" You nod. His smirk returns. "Oh yeah, I can hook you up with all sorts of Dave childhood pics."

You grin. You cannot wait. You bet kid Dave was adorable. You're going to tease him so hard.

The play begins and ends with your team moving a little ways down the field. When they set up again, you watch as the ball is passed to Dave. You hold your breath, your fingers curled into the end of the sleeves of Dave's hoodie. He runs, and runs, and you're on the edge of your seat. Literally. Dave is quick, but this time he's quicker. Whenever someone comes near him, he spins away. He fakes one way and goes another. He once even stopped completely as someone dived for him, then jumped over the body that landed in front of him. No one can touch him and as he crosses the line at the end of the field, there's a brief silence before the bleachers erupt in cheers and screams and the band starts to play.

The last few minutes of the game go quickly enough, but the other team doesn't score. When the final buzzer sounds, your team won. Everywhere around you, people jump to their feet, screaming and cheering. You leap up too, with Jade bouncing at your side. She hugs you and you two jump up and down together. But then the crowd is surging forward. All around you people are hopping the fence and landing on the track below before sprinting towards the field. The team already had their helmets off and were gathering in the center of the field. Dave had already disappeared from sight.

You turn in time to see Jade going over the fence. You don't wait much longer before following her. You hear Karkat yelling at the two of you as you run with the crowd to the field, laughing, but when you look over your shoulder, you see him jumping down after you.

The mob is thick when you get there. People are everywhere, players and fans. You go to where you thought Dave would be, but he's not there. When you turn around, Jade's gone too. You're surrounded by people you don't know, jumping and shouting and hugging. You squeeze through them, looking for Dave. When you spot him, it's from a distance. He's surrounded by a bunch of his teammates, all of them patting his back and talking. A small satisfied smile is on his lips as he talks back to them, but you can't hear what he says.

You see him look to the bleachers, then around the crowd. His gaze sweeps over you at first, but then snaps back. You grin and wave, trying to fight through the crowd to reach him. When he sees you, his smile widens. He says something to his teammates and pushes away from them. The crowd breaks for a second and suddenly Dave's in front of you. You grin and throw yourself at him. He catches you, his arms around your waist, and suddenly you're lifted off your feet and being spun around. You cling to his neck, laughing your terrible, breathy laugh, but you don't care because it's Dave. His shoulder pads make it difficult to hug him around the shoulders, so you just hold onto his neck as he holds you to him.

When your feet are back on the ground, you lean back just far enough that you can see his face. His cheeks are flushed and without his sunglasses, you can see the light dusting of freckles across his nose. His eyes are brown, but bright and you just wish you could see his real eye color. His skin is damp with sweat but you don't care. His hair is darkened and stuck his his head in some places and sticking up in others. His grip on you doesn't loosen right away, and that's okay because you don't mind being hugged by Dave.

You're standing on your toes but Dave is still taller than you, which just isn't fair. Your dad said he didn't hit his growth spurt until he was eighteen, so there's still hope for you. You run the fingers of both hands through Dave's hair, from neck to top, leaving it sticking up and spiky everywhere. You laugh and he's smiling wide enough to show teeth, which is a rare thing for Dave. You look back at his eyes. They haven't left yours. You don't really notice getting closer but suddenly his nose is bumping against yours.

And then he kisses you.

It takes your brain approximately three seconds to register the fact that, yes, those are Dave's lips pressed against your own. You stare at him wide-eyed. His face is so close. His eyes are closed and his blonde lashes rest against his cheek.

It takes you two more seconds to think that, yeah, okay this feels kind of nice. You've never kissed anyone before and you can see why people like it so much. His lips are soft and his body's warm.

And then it takes you about one second to completely freak out.

This is Dave. One of your best friends. Kissing you. He is also a dude. And he's kissing you. In the middle of a crowd. You're kissing your friend. Who is also a boy. You're kissing a boy. Anything you may have been thinking or feeling about the kiss being kind of nice is completely overshadowed by the big flashing sign in your head that prominently reads. I AM NOT GAY.

Your hands push at his shoulders, breaking the kiss abruptly. Your lips feel cold at the sudden absence. You stare at Dave wide-eyed, and he stares at you. You can see the moment he registers your panic, and then he starts to panic, and then you DEFINITELY start to panic. For just a brief moment, the two of you stand frozen, in shock, in panic, in a strange twisting chaos of emotions that rattle around in your head and squeeze your gut. The crowd mass moves around you, twisting and writhing in your pretrial vision. Close but not touching. Nothing's touching you except for Dave.

Then you hear Jade's voice, and it breaks the spell. "Dave! That was an awesome game!"

You twist out of his grasp, turn tail, and run. You hear Jade and Karkat calling for you, but you don't hear Dave's voice. You don't turn around to see his face. You push through the crowd blindly until you stumble free and nearly fall on your face. But you catch your feet under you and then you're running again.

You feel hot. Your cheeks and your chest burn. Only your lips are cold, reminding you of what's no longer there.

You don't know what to think. You can't think. Every time you try to think, there are other thoughts demanding to be heard. It's a loud clammer in your head and you just can't handle it. Your heart is not just pounding fast, but hard enough to rock your ribcage. Your lips are cold and they tingle a bit and all you can see is Dave's face and the panic there, mirroring your own. Your vision blurs slightly as tears well up. You don't THINK you're sad, but maybe you are. Then again, it could just be the adrenaline. You've been told that high doses of adrenaline can make your eyes water. Mostly you just feel overwhelmed.

The others find you sitting on the curb next to Jake's car, your head resting on your drawn up knees, your arms wrapped around them. Jade asks what's wrong, but you just wave her off. Her mouth twists and frowns, but she doesn't say anything else about it, even though you know she wants to. You're grateful that she holds back. Karkat is a little less graceful, and demands to know why you left so fast and why you look like someone ran over a box of puppies. Jade punches him in the arm and that shuts him up fast. Jake is strangely silent. It's out of character for him, but for once you're glad. You don't want to talk about anything right now. And for once, you're happy you can't speak, because it gives you an excuse to stay silent.

The whole way home you avoid looking at them, but you can feel their eyes on you. You didn't see Rose and Kanaya, but they rode with Dirk, so no doubt they were at his car. You're glad for that, too. Rose would have a field day if she could see you now. You're not sure what you look like, but judging from Jade's reaction, you bet you look just as chaotic and miserable as you feel.

When Jake pulls into his driveway, you jump out of the car, wave goodbye, and head over to your house with hurried, hunched steps. No one follows you. Your house is dark, but there's a light under your dad's door that tells you he's still awake. You head straight to your room, kick off your shoes, and crawl into bed still dressed. When your dad knocks on your door, you pretend to be asleep. You hear the door crack open, pause, and then close.

Then you realize you're still wearing Dave's hoodie.

You sit up abruptly and tear off the hoodie as fast as you can, throwing it across the room like it was about to bite you. You stare at the dark spot where it landed, suddenly feeling guilty. Are you overreacting? You're probably overreacting. Tears start to well up in your eyes again for no reason and you wipe them away, frustrated. Your phone lights up and you take it out of your pocket and throw it across the room too.

You lay back down and bury yourself in your blankets. Maybe if you sleep you'll feel better. You don't want to deal with sorting out your thoughts and emotions right now. You just want to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning, you tell yourself.

You finally find sleep as the first rays of sunlight peek through your blinds, and you still do not feel better.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and you just kissed John Egbert.

You wish you could forget your name and crawl into a hole until everyone forgot you existed.

You stand there, in the middle of a writhing, twisting crowd of faceless people and wordless voices, watching the spot where John's back had disappeared. The mass of the crowd had swallowed him up, hiding him from you. You slowly become aware of someone saying your name.

"Dave? Daaave! You-hoo! Dave!" Jade is standing next to you, her hand waving in front of your face. You slowly turn to look at her. Or maybe it was quickly. You're not really sure. Her face is there, and she's looking at you with concern and confusion.

"Hey, earth to asshole. Come in, asshole." Karkat's voice cuts through the din of voices around you. Your eyes slide over Jade to the boy behind. "What the fuck was that about?"

You look back to the spot where John disappeared and shake your head. "Nothing." Your voice is strange to your own ears. It sounds normal, but your tongue feels thick and useless. Your lips are warm and tingle slightly. It's the only reminder that John was once there.

"That was a great game, Dave!" Jade says, and you think she may have said something like that already.

"Thanks," You hear yourself say.

They continue to talk to you, and others come up to you as well. Teammates, faces that you think you should recognize, and your friends. You're running on autopilot. You feel your warm lips stretch and you know you're smiling. You hear your voice and know you're talking. You return all the courtesies and people laugh so you guess you must be making jokes. But you don't feel it. You don't really feel like you're in your body.

Your body seems completely normal. The motions of conversation are being carried out. Your heartbeat seems normal. Your breathing is calm. The only thing that registers as off is the fact that your stomach feels tight and heavy, like it turned to stone and is threatening to drag you down to the ground.

You're actually pretty surprised how calm you are. You suppose you're just numb.

In your head, you're not sure what you're feeling. Or even what you're thinking. All you see is John's face, and the plain panic written there. You don't even remember how the kiss felt. One moment he was there and in your arms and beautiful and smiling with his arms around your neck and his fingers in your hair. His smile was everything and his eyes drew you in. You didn't mean to. You weren't planning it. You weren't thinking about it. It just happened. He was there in all his dorky, blue eyed perfection. The boy you liked, the boy you wanted, your best friend pressed against you.

He was wearing your favorite hoodie. You let him borrow it last week and let him walk away with it because seeing him in it made your heart flutter. When you saw him wearing it tonight, you couldn't help but smile as your stomach did flips. He was adorable in your hoodie that was just a little too big for him. You wanted to hold him all night.

And you had wanted to kiss him. And then you were.

It took you three seconds to realize that you were actually kissing him and it wasn't a dream.

It took you two seconds for you to realize that he wasn't pulling away and it was real and he was warm and sweet and everything you wanted.

And it took one more second for it all to come crashing down.

Now the only recognizable words running through your head are, I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up I fucked up.

Rose and Kanaya emerge from the crowd. You know Rose instantly knows something is wrong, but she doesn't say anything. You know she'll grill you later, but at least it's not now. You wouldn't even know what to say now. You just feel numb.

You return to the locker room with your teammates. There's a lot of cheering and celebration. Your coach gives a speech that you don't hear. You remove your pads and change clothes with numb fingers. You go to the parking lot, but you don't see John. He's gone. He ran from you. You meet Dirk, Rose, and Kanaya at Dirk's car. He gives you a smile and a fist bump and tells you he's proud of you, and that touches you and tries to warm your heart, but you're too cold.

You don't remember much of the drive home. When you get there, you go straight to the bathroom to shower. You don't want to shower. You just want to sleep. But you're running on autopilot and your body knows, even if you don't care, that you're not getting into bed sweaty and gross.

When you flick on the light and look in the mirror, you don't recognize the person staring back. It's probably because of the contacts. Those aren't your eyes. Those eyes look as hollow and lifeless as you feel. When you take them out and look again, you see you. You see the pain in those red eyes that you feel aching in your chest.

Your shower is long. You stand there until the water runs cold, and then stand there a little longer. You run through the night again, and you have come to the conclusion that you did indeed fuck up. You weren't thinking. You surprised both him and yourself with that kiss. And now you can't take it back. You could probably play it off as a joke. You didn't know what you were doing. You really didn't. But what purpose would that serve? You'd be back to where you started. You could just ignore it all together. That was always an option. Go back to being normal. But no matter what you did, it was John's reaction that worried you.

You fucked up, yes. But the real questions is did you fuck up bad enough to ruin your friendship?

You dreaded the answer.

When you return to your room, you flop down on the bed and stare at your phone. You want to text John. You want to say something, anything. But what? Sorry? Were you sorry? You don't know. How do you start a conversation after suddenly kissing your best friend? Especially when you really wanted to kiss him and you're not sure you can say you didn't. You don't know.

To John: sup

Well that's one way to do it.

Your bed is cold. You wish John was there. At every one of your sleep overs, you slept in the same bed. In the dark of night, the two of you cuddled beneath the blankets. Barely at first, just a bump of the knees and a touch of the hand. By the time you woke up, you were closer, legs entangled, hands holding. His breath warm on your skin, burning where he touched.

Sleep doesn't find you until the sun comes up, and though your lips burn, you still feel numb.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you are currently in a movie coma.

It's roughly six in the evening on Sunday, or at least that's what your clock says. You don't really remember Saturday passing, but it must have because your phone says it's Sunday. You woke up yesterday in the early afternoon. Well, you actually woke up fairly early, but laid in bed wallowing in your own misery until the early afternoon. You then started watching movies and you haven't really stopped. You started with Avatar, losing yourself in those wonderful blue bodies. You then marathoned all the Indian Jones movies, even that new one with the aliens. That movie really had no place in the Indian Jones line up, because aliens? Nonsense! But you watched it anyway.

You paused to eat every once in a while. Mostly you just kept bags of snacks in your room to munch on when your stomach demanded it. Occasionally you'd make a trip to the kitchen to pop some popcorn or to the bathroom to pee. But you weren't really that hungry. Jade brought you dinner at one point, after your grandma had called you down for dinner and you never went. Jade tried to pry some answers from you, but you just keep watching your movie, hoping she'd go away.

She didn't. Of course she didn't. Instead she sat with you and watched the last of the third Indiana Jones movie. Then she asked if you wanted to talk about it, and you said no. So she left.

Sleep came and went. You kind of just fell asleep during movies, woke up to a blue dvd screen, and started the next one. Around five in the morning you started the Mummy movies, including THAT new one with the new actress and the Asian mummies.

You're back to Avatar now. You just can't get enough of this wonderful film. The blue beauties. The ability to live in another world and learn a new culture. The ability to become someone else. Someone new. Someone better. You wish you could go on an adventure like that. A new planet, a new race. Go gallivanting off into the wilderness in a body with super human strength and agility. Leave behind all thoughts of John and Dirk. Maybe you could meet a gorgeous blue babe and feelings would come easily for a change. The Na'vi don't have drama like high school does.

You set your popcorn bowl aside, still half full. Whenever you think about your troubles, you lose your appetite. Your stomach just knots up and it's hard to swallow food. Honestly you're surprised you can even watch movies right now. Movies remind you of John. But movies are your escape, so you just lose yourself in the characters and try not to think about him, or any of them.

In fact, you would like to pretend Friday never happened. And you're dreading Monday, because on Monday you'll have to face Friday all over again.

You hadn't wanted to go to the football game to begin with. You never did. But you did anyway because John wanted to go, and so did your other friends. Dirk was also going to be there, and you liked spending time with Dirk. Despite your first impressions of him, he'd quickly become one of your best friends.

The game had been going on like any other game. You didn't understand it, nor did you want to. American football made no sense! They didn't even use their feet! During halftime you and Dirk went to get popcorn ahead of the others. Because, per usual, you figured the others would wait for Dave to pass and you just really hated to see the way John smiled when Dave looked at him. It twisted your gut in the most unpleasant way.

The two of you got through the line quickly enough and spent the rest of halftime goofing off behind the bleachers, where the crowd was thinner. You were trying to prove to Dirk that you could throw popcorn in the air and catch it in your mouth. You finally got it on your tenth try. Dirk got it on his first. You spent the rest of the time leaning against a fence, leaned in close to whisper about all the young high schoolers milling around. You didn't think much about how he was so close. How you shivered when his breath ghosted over your ear. How you could hear the low rumble of his chuckle when you whispered in his. It kept your mind off John and the bright grin he sent towards the field whenever he watched Dave play.

When your school's team won, it wasn't much of a surprise. They had been on a winning streak for the whole season. Thanks to the one and only Dave Strider. What had been surprising was the flood of people that poured down the bleachers and onto the field. You stood still as they moved and twisted and writhed past you. Dirk stood at your side, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. You could see bits of the orange zip-up hoodie beneath. You had teased him about wearing two jackets. He just looked at your with a firm set mouth and told you he was from Texas and he was cold. You had laughed. You wore a simple pair of jeans and a yellow hoodie with a wispy white design on the front that Jade had gotten you for christmas last year.

After most of the crowd was gone, you looked around to find all your friends missing. Even Rose and Kanaya had gone over the fence. Dirk stepped up to it, put one hand on the top and launched himself over with more grace than you thought was entirely necessary. He landed lightly and looked up at you with that smirk on his face and his arms held out.

"I'll catch ya, princess." He had said, looking far more attractive than he had any right to be while using that patronizing tone in his hoodie, leather jacket, and black skinny jeans.

You had frowned, feeling your cheeks warm slightly as you pushed away thoughts of Dirk being attractive. You did that a lot. It just wasn't a thought you allowed yourself to have. You often told yourself it was more from an appreciation view. Like, you thought he was attractive and wished you were that attractive. Not that you were attracted to him.

"I can do it myself, thank you!" You huffed, though you were not as graceful and you stumbled a little when you landed on the track below. He held your arm to steady you and you didn't shake him off.

The crowd was thick when you reached it. You didn't really WANT to congratulate any of these people. Most of them had used John as a verbal punching bag at least once, and the rest did nothing to stop them. Except for Dave. Despite your own feelings, Dave had been a good friend to John. So you supposed you could grudgingly give him a handshake or something. If only for John and Dirk's sake. You knew Dirk was extremely proud of his brother, even if he had subtle ways of showing it.

You paused on the edge of the crowd, but Dirk took your hand in his and, with a small smirk, tugged you forward into the mass of people. It was hard to move. You could barely turn around without bumping into someone new. But you let Dirk drag you along as he cut through the bodies. Then some girls came squealing through the crowd, aiming for a couple of football players. They cut right between you and Dirk, not noticing you were linked. Dirk's hand was ripped from yours and just like that he was swallowed by the crowd.

You had stopped, going on your toes to try to catch a glimpse of that spiky blonde hair, but to no avail. You called his name, but he must not have heard you. If you stayed still, he would come back for you. You hoped. You turned around in a circle, looking for any sign of your other friends. Rose, Kanaya, Karkat, John, or even Dave.

And that was when you saw it.

Two people moved, and for just a second you could see John and Dave over the shoulders and behind the backs of several high schoolers. They weren't that far away, perhaps ten or twelve feet. But in that crowd, they might have been a mile away. You raised a hand, opened your mouth to call out, but their names died in your throat.

Because they were kissing.

Then the crowd twisted again and the gap closed and they were once again out of sight. But they were still burned into your mind. John in Dave's arms. Pressed close. Lips touching.

It took you roughly three seconds to remember how to breathe.

It took two seconds more to start hyperventilating.

And it took only one second after that for your entire world to be torn apart.

Your gut clenched and your stomach dropped to the ground. Your hand lowered and clutched at your chest, gripping the fabric of your hoodie. Your heart ached, it was on fire, it burned, it hurt. Everything in your chest tightened and you couldn't breathe. No matter how hard you tried you couldn't get enough air. You started to fall, but very quickly fell into someone. They yelled, but you ripped yourself away, staring at them with wide, unseeing eyes. Your legs were shaking and you couldn't remember that starting.

You were torn. Everything was torn. You wanted to run to them, to rip John away from him. To punch him in the face. You wanted to tear him apart for touching your John.

But he wasn't your John. He had already rejected you. You had no right to go barging into their moment. You had quelled your rejection by telling yourself it was because John didn't fancy men. But there was was, kissing Dave. And that hurt. But tears didn't come. Because you weren't sad. You were mad. You were furious. You wanted to rip Dave limb from limb. You wanted to hurt someone, anyone, just so they could feel the pain you felt. You wanted to punch a wall until your fists bled. Maybe then it would take your mind off your heart.

But you couldn't bring yourself to go toward them. You couldn't intrude on that moment. John would hate you. He already said no to you. You would just shame yourself further if you barged in there now. You felt so lost. John didn't need you. He didn't want you.

You couldn't go to them, but you couldn't stand there any longer. You had to do something. Anything to quell this pain. There was only one person you could go to. Only one person who might understand. Dirk. You needed to find Dirk.

You shoved through the crowd like a wild animal, driven mad by grief. All you could think was Dirk. Dirk. Dirk. Dirk. His name pulsed in your mind, pounded in your heart, until it came from your lips. "Dirk!" You called. "Dirk! Dirk!" Your eyes hunted the crowd, searching for any sign of black and orange, blonde hair and stupid, ridiculous, dorky, pointy shades.

"Jake?"

The voice was behind you. You whipped around to see him standing there, in all his confident, cocky glory. "Dirk." You breathed his name and he smirked.

"Miss me, princess?" He said, and you wanted to punch him and kiss him all at the same time.

But you didn't punch him. You kissed him.

He's taller than you, but barely. You grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands and nearly yanked him off his feet when you pulled him towards you. His forehead collided with yours, and his foot stubbed yours, and his nose poked you in the eye, but that didn't matter because you found his lips with your own and you kissed him.

He was warm. He breathed from his nose and the sound was harsh and pleasant. It didn't take him long to kiss you back. His arms wrapped around you, one at your waist and one around your shoulders, his fingers curling into your hair. He turned his head and little more and the kiss gets better, deepens, you felt more of him.

The feeling in your chest loosened. Your torrent of emotions calmed. John could kiss Dave all he wanted, because you could kiss Dirk. Dirk wanted you. Dirk would return your affections, and you wouldn't have to rip yourself apart trying to get him to do so. Dirk was there. Dirk was waiting for you. Dirk was everything in that moment.

But then the moment ended.

When the kiss was broken, some of the feelings came back. The image of John was still fresh in your mind. Dirk looked down at you, his shades askew. He actually looked surprised. Which was a look that was rare for him.

"Well, well, well." He said, all breathless and shocked. It was cute, and you tried to forget everything else and loose yourself in that. "What brought that on?"

You opened your mouth, but what could you have said? You shut it again and tried to smile. "Just thought I'd surprise you for once, mate."

"Color me surprised." You think it was then that he noticed your smile didn't reach your eyes. His mouth twitched down just a fraction and his brows came together. "Is everything alright?" You pressed your lips together and felt them quiver slightly. Your eyes began to water. "Jake?"

You put your forehead on his shoulder and cried. He stroked your hair and rubbed your back and the two of you stood motionless in a fast moving crowd. He waited until your sobs had subsided before saying anything. When he did, his voice was soft but pointed.

"Did something happen with John?"

You nodded and sniffed, smearing your tears on his jacket and your cheek.

"What happened?"

You sniffed again. "Dave." Your voice was watery and blubbery and quivering and you hated yourself for it.

You felt Dirk stiffen, though his hands never stopped moving. The was a long pause before he spoke again, and when he did, you had to strain to hear him. "So it wasn't me you were thinking of." It wasn't a question.

You pushed back far enough to look at him and what you saw made your heart ache because he looked hurt. Dirk Strider looked hurt. And it was you who caused it. It was subtle. A tenseness around his eyes and lips. But his eyes. His eyes looked at you from behind those shades and you could feel the hurt there. "Dirk, mate, I'm sorry, I just…"

He shushed you and pushed your head back to his shoulder. Your fingers curled into the leather of his jacket. "I'm sorry," You repeated, though you weren't sure what you were sorry for. For hurting him? Yes, but you don't know how. Didn't he want to kiss you? Shouldn't he be happy? How did you fuck up this time? Couldn't you do anything right?

Dirk held you like that until the crowd thinned. He dried your face with the sleeves of his hoodie and then he left you there. He turned his back to you with a small, sad smile, and left. You think he said goodbye, but you don't really remember.

You found John at your car, looking exactly like you felt. Perhaps the kiss hadn't gone as planned? Perhaps he had rejected Dave, too. It didn't make you feel any better. You didn't feel much of anything. Or maybe you just felt too much of everything. You went to bed that night thinking of John and Dirk. John and his kiss with Dave, and your kiss with Dirk. And Dirk's back as he walked away from you.

Way to go, English, you managed to fuck up twice. And you're not even sure how you did it.

Dirk hasn't tried to contact you since. When your phone battery died, you didn't charge it. You didn't want to keep looking at it in hopes that he would say something, anything.

You fast forward through the sex scene beneath the tree of life. You don't want to be reminded of how good it felt to kiss Dirk, and how shitty you felt afterward.

Jade brings you dinner again, and sits with you as you watch Laura Croft: Tomb Raider. You can only eat a few bits before you start to feet sick, so you set the food aside. You start to feel tears well up in your eyes again, though you're not entirely sure why. Jade grabs a blanket and curls up with you on your bed. She rests her head on your shoulder and squeezes your hand.

She doesn't say anything until the movie's over. "Wanna talk about it?" She asks again.

You shake your head. "No," You whisper, afraid your voice will crack.

"Will you talk about it later?"

"Maybe."

"Wanna skip school tomorrow and go to the shooting range?"

You feel a fresh wave of tears pricking your eyes. You nod your head, a small smile on your lips. "Yeah."

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you knew what you were getting into when you started to pursue Jake.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Because it did. It hurt like a bitch. This is why you should have just been happy to stay single. Romance led to pain and pain ruined all your productivity. You should have been working on a project this weekend. You had programs and robo parts due next week for clients. Your job paid the bills, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. Instead you've spent the whole weekend watching my little pony and working your way through several pints of Ben and Jerry's.

Your phone buzzes on the couch next to you. One look tells you it's Roxy. You ignore her and keep watching tv. You powered through the seasons of my little pony and now it's time for some Equestria Girls. Your phone stops buzzing only to start again. You sigh, hit the pause button on the tv, and answer your phone.

"What?" You say, letting some annoyance seep through.

"I know you ignored me, Dirk, but I'm going to forgive you because I love you. But do it again and I'll send a virus that'll make the HEYYEYAAEYAAAEYAEYAA video pop up and play every time you press the enter key."

"Love you, too, Rox." You say. "Now what do you want? I'm in the middle of some really important shit."

"Oh yeah? Rose says you're just sitting on your ass watching my little pony and getting fat."

You frown and look around, but you don't see the girl in question. Probably hiding in her room. "It's just a lazy weekend. Dave's been up in his room playing xbox and eating doritos all day."

"So am I right to assume your 'really important shit' is just ponies?"

"Don't diss the ponies. Ponies are awesome."

"I'm not dissing ponies, I'm dissing your fat butt!"

"Are we done here? This movie's hella intense."

There's a brief pause. "Are you watching the Equestria Girls movie?"

"Possibly."

"How is it?"

"Better than expected."

"How's that ice cream?"

"Gone."

"You're gonna get fat and I'm gonna start calling you blubber butt."

"I'm not going to get fat."

"Yes you are, sir tubble bottom."

"What do you want, Roxy?"

"Rose tells me you're moping."

"Rose is a liar."

"Come on, Dirky-poo. Tell mama Roxy aaaaaaall about it."

So you do. You tell her about Friday and about how Jake kissed you. You tell her how it took three seconds for you to realize that yes, holy shit, Jake is kissing you. He kissed you.

How you had two seconds to really take in everything and really feel Jake against you. His warmth, his lips, his hands on your jacket. Two seconds of happiness.

How, afterward, one second was all it took for you to realize what was really going on.

You knew you were taking the risk of being the rebound when you started this. You were prepared for it, or so you thought. But when it came down to it, and you saw the tears in his eyes, and realized that the only reason Jake had kissed you was because he had probably witnessed something between your brother and John. He had only kissed you to make himself feel better. He had only kissed you because he knew you wouldn't push him away. He only kissed you because he couldn't have John.

You were only a rebound. You had thought you were okay with being a rebound, but now you're not so sure.

Yes, you wanted to kiss Jake. You've wanted to do that for a while. You wanted to do more with Jake. You wanted him in your bed. You wanted him under you, over you. You wanted him looking at you because of you. You wanted him to kiss you because it's you. You wanted him to want you because you're you, not because you're there.

It hit you far too suddenly. The realization that the kiss meant different things to the both of you. To you it was heaven. To him it was escape. But still you couldn't push him away. You held him until he stopped crying. You couldn't leave him alone, no matter how much it hurt to hold him.

"I think I'm a masochist." You tell Roxy when you're done explaining Friday.

"Oh, Dirky baby, you knew this might happen." She sounds pitying and you don't want her pity, but you also know this is Roxy, and if you can talk to anyone, it's Roxy.

"I thought it would be…" You pause and wave your hand around, even though you know she can't see it. "I don't know. Different? Like he'd fall in love with me and immediately lose all romantic feelings for John."

"For someone so smart, with a robo-freaky brain, you sure do believe in fairy tales."

"I do not."

"You do believe in fairies! You do! You do!"

"Roxy." You say flatly.

"Sorry, hun. Just trying to lighten the mood. But seriously, you should have know it wasn't going to be that easy. But Jake's just getting over some heartbreak. He'll be better in no time and ready to move on. Look at me! You broke my heart and now I'm all up in trying to woo my roommate."

"I broke your heart and turned you off men." Your lips twitch a little into what may be the ghost of a smile.

"What a demon you are!" You can hear the smile in her voice. "But really, Dirk. Keep some hope. He might come around."

You sigh. "I know. But I don't know if that's what I want."

"Don't you want him? You've been telling me for years now about his ass. Don't you wanna tap dat ass, Dirk?"

"Yes, and no." You sigh again. You're just filled with sighs today, aren't you? "I want him, Roxy. I really do. I want to grab that stupid face of his and kiss him until he's breathless. And that's probably a bad thing. I want him too much to care that it hurts me that I'm a rebound."

"You gotta go for what you want, but you gotta respect yourself too, mr. tubble bottom. Remember RuPaul's words? Do you Dirk? Do you remember the words?"

"Yes, I remember the words."

"If you can't love yourself, then how in the hell you gonna love somebody else! Can I get an amen?" She says dramatically. You smile.

"Amen."

"Good. Now I gotta go. Jane's made us dinner and she's glaring daggers at me cause it's getting cold or something. But you keep me in the loop this time, 'kay? I'm here for you, bubble butt."

"Thanks, Rox."

You hang up and finish the rest of your movie. When it's done, you force yourself to get off the couch and clean up your mess of empty and dripping ice cream containers. It's nearly eight o'clock and you know that neither Rose nor Dave have eaten. You haven't seen either of them for hours. A quick search of the pantry tells you that you still have that mega super bag of pancake mix. Pancakes are one of the only things that you know how to make that tastes good. When Dave was little, he loved pancakes. He used to beg you to make them in the shape of Mickey Mouse's head. You got pretty good at it over the years.

You pull out the bag and start mixing it into a big bowl with water and eggs. A dash of vanilla, a lot of cinnamon, and several chopped up bananas also go into the bowl. Strider special pancakes. You make a lot. Plenty for three and more for leftovers tomorrow morning. There are two trays that the Lalonde kitchen has stashed away just for the occasion of breakfast in bed. Or at least you assume that's what it's for. You suppose it could also be used for the couch, but who the fuck does that?

You load up one tray with a plate of pancakes, a jar of honey, a small bowl of powdered sugar, a small bowl of mixed fruit that you're pretty sure Rose bought, some butter, a fork and a knife, and a glass of orange juice. You load up a second tray with more pancakes, a jug of syrup, plenty of butter, a small bowl of mixed fruit, and a glass of apple juice.

When you knock on Rose's door, she answers with a calm, but worried look. You know she told her sister about your moodiness and basically sent Roxy on you. But you also know it was because she cared. She was as much a little sister to you as Roxy. When she sees the tray of food in your hand, her eyebrows go up. "Breakfast?" She says.

"B for D. Strider specialty." You say, handing her the tray and moving down the hall with Dave's. You pause and look over your shoulder. "Hey." She stops before shutting her door. "Thanks." You smile and she smiles, both small knowing smiles, before she disappears back into her room.

You knock on Dave's door. "Open up, little bro."

"Go away!" He shouts back. He hasn't talked to you about what happened, but from Jake's reaction, you can assume he tried something with John. And from Dave's reaction, you're willing to bet that John didn't respond how he wanted. You've been too wrapped up in your own moping to give a fuck about your brother's, but that didn't mean you hadn't noticed. It was time to stop being a little bitch and be a big brother.

"Dinner!" You yell through the door.

"Not hungry!" Comes the reply.

"Open up the door, you little shit. All you've eaten today are doritoes. You need some real food."

"No I don't!"

"Dave." You say in your sternest tone that brokers no argument. You hear shuffling and huffing and the door swings open.

"What-" The words die in his throat and his eyes widen at the tray in your hands.

You hold it out and basically force him to take it from you. "Now be a good boy and eat your goddamn Mickey Mouse pancakes." You say, turning and walking back down the hall. Before you reach the stairs you turn around. He's still in his doorway, watching you with his lips pressed together and his eyebrows furrowed. He looks confused. He also looks like he might cry. He definitely looks younger than seventeen. Like he's back to being that ten year old who tried not to cry as you cleaned the scuffs on his knees. "And when you're done, I'm gonna watch a movie or something if you want to join me." He just nods and disappears into his room.

You eat alone on the couch, but by the time you're done, Dave has made his way downstairs and plops down on the couch next to you. He doesn't look at you. Just stares at the blank tv.

"What're we gonna watch?" He asks, his voice gruff and thick. You know he's trying to hide his emotions and it's not quite working. But you pretend it is.

"Turtleman?"

His lips twitch. "Hell yes."

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you're not sure how much longer you can do this.

You KNOW Dave wants to talk about Friday, but you don't. You don't want to talk about Friday. What's Friday? You don't even know. Nothing happened on Friday. No football game, and certainly no confusing kiss. Nope, fuck that. Fuck Friday.

It's currently Wednesday and the Friday you wish didn't exist still haunts you. You spent the weekend moping and watching movies. Movie comas, Jake calls them. When you watch movies nonstop and try to forget everything else. You barely ate, and you barely came out of your room. You think your dad may have started to notice, but he hasn't approached you about it. You didn't cry though. You were too emotionally overwhelmed to cry. You kind of felt like you wanted to, but nothing happened. But you did sigh. A lot. A metric fuck-ton of sighs. It was like every exhale was a fucking sigh and you couldn't stop it.

On Monday, you were so nervous you thought you might puke. But you stayed close to your friends and tried not to be alone with Dave and the avoidance plan worked just fine. On Tuesday you still had trouble looking him in the eyes. Or the shades, you guess. Every time you looked at his face, your gut twisted unpleasantly. You know Dave well enough to know when he's nervous, and he was super nervous too. He kept rambling, and his accent was thicker than usual. You used to love his accent. Now it just made you worried and guilty and panicky all in one. But every time the conversation got dangerously close to Friday, you either changed it quickly or ran. One time you actually ran. Granted, the bell had just rung and you had a class to get to, but you still ran.

Jake was acting weird, too. He was having a hard time looking at you and he basically was back to square one when it came to glaring at Dave. You had a bad feeling about that. You had your suspicions about his behavior, a feeling that he might have seen what happened on Friday. He's been acting strange since and that's the only thing you can think of that would make him like this. His smiles were forced and he barely looked at you and he didn't even wait for you to write stuff down before ending a conversation. It wasn't at all like Jake. But you bit your lip and didn't say anything. You wanted to talk to him about it, but that would mean speaking about Friday. And you didn't want to do that.

Today was the worst. Dave was actively trying to catch you alone, which made it all the more harder to avoid him. And then you'd see the hurt look on his face and you just felt guilty. You felt awful and guilty and you just wanted things to go back to normal! You didn't want to hurt Dave, or Jake, or anyone, and all you seemed to be doing was hurting them AND yourself. And you couldn't figure out why.

Although, you probably COULD figure out why, but that would require some soul searching you weren't sure you were completely ready for.

You sighed, yet again, and rolled over on your bed. You've been here since you got home from school, and you've probably rolled over about a hundred times. You were so restless you couldn't even lay still and feel sorry for yourself. You sighed again and grabbed your phone. You had three messages.

From Rose: As I have stated for the past several days, I am available to talk whenever you decide you are ready.

Rose has been making it abundantly clear that she's willing to listen to your problems. You don't want to talk to her about it though. Anymore than you want to talk to anyone else. In fact, you want to talk with her less than anyone else. Because Rose has a way of forcing you to see stuff you don't want to see.

From Jade: jooooooooohn!! talk to meeee! dont make me come over there and kick your butt >:( cause I will!

You know she won't. Jade will complain and threaten all she wants, but unless you make it clear you want her to come kick your butt, your butt will remain thoroughly unkicked.

From Dave: so how about that math homework i cant figure any of this shit out how about some help bro

You groan. It sounds strangely breathy and guttural with your messed up vocal chords. You want to help him with the math homework, like you always do. You want to talk to Dave and make jokes and just…just talk like normal. But you know if you start to talk to him, he'll just find a way to bend the conversation to Friday and then you'll be stuck.

When your dad calls you down for dinner, you're still laying on your bed, but at least you've pulled out your books and started on your homework. You trudge downstairs, feeling your weight flop on every step before you reach the bottom. Your dad's waiting in the dinning room, lasagna on the table. You eat in silence, like most dinners, but you don't bother trying to sign at your dad. He tries to talk to you, but you just nod, shake your head, or shrug.

Afterwards, when you help him with the dishes, he asks if you want to watch a movie. You watched so many movies this past weekend, but you shrug and agree anyway because, well, you're feeling pretty lonely and you guess watching a movie with your dad couldn't hurt. He asks you what you want to watch, but you just shrug. So he picks one of his favorites: The Blues Brothers. You're barely fifteen minutes into the movie, sitting on opposite sides of the couch, when he speaks.

"You know, son, I'm always here for you if you need to talk." He says, with his voice and not his hands. Probably because you haven't really looked at him all night. You're finding it hard to look at most people. You don't want them to see anything your face might give away. You bite your lip and keep your eyes on the screen. "I know I'm old, and you may not want this old man's advice, but I'll help in any way I can."

You wait about five minutes, but he doesn't say anything more. You glance sideways at him, but he's watching the movie. You can see the tension in his neck, the way his fingers tap restlessly on the arm of the couch, and the way his jaw is clenched ever so slightly, pressing his lips together to a firm line. He's worried about you and wants to ask, but he wants you to go to him. You sigh and stand. You're tired of everyone worrying about you. And you're tired of making everyone worry. And this is your dad. Your chest tightens with guilt whenever you make him worry.

So you go grab your notebook from your room and a pen, because you don't want to sign to him. If you're going to ask him for advice, embarrassing advice, you don't want to look him in the eye as you do so. That was the downside to communication by sign. You had to look at the other person. And sometimes, like now, that was something you didn't want to do. ESPECIALLY if you were about to talk to your dad about kissing and…girls and… boys.

When you sat down, you scribbled down what you wanted to say, shook your head, crossed it out, and started again on another page. You could see him watching you out of the corner of your eye, but you didn't look at him as you passed him the notebook.

"I don't really want to talk about it. It's embarrassing… But, uh, dad, what would you do if you thought one of your friends liked you? Like, liked liked you."

He read it silently before passing the notebook back to you. "I suppose that would depend on who liked me and whether I liked them back. Am I to take it that one of your friends has a crush on you?"

You feel the heat immediately surge to your cheeks and you are super glad you watch movies in the dark, because oh god, why did you think it was a good idea to talk to your dad about this?

"I don't know, maybe?"

It didn't take long for him to read it. You saw his eyebrows go up just a little before you looked back to the tv. "Well, do you like this girl?"

How were you supposed to tell your dad it was actually a boy? You waved your hand around in the air vaguely and shrugged. It was pretty clear that it meant you did not know if you liked "her." You scribbled something down anyway.

"I don't know? I like her as a friend and I like to spend time with her, but I've never really thought about liking her until now and I just don't know? It's all confusing and I just want to go back to what it was like before."

"You're going to have to face her sooner or later." Ugh, how did he even know you were avoiding Dave? "I don't know what to tell you, son, other than you're going to have to figure out for yourself how you feel."

You sighed and tossed the notebook on the coffee table, crossing your arms over your chest. You were afraid he was going to say that. You didn't want to figure it out for yourself. You wanted someone else to sort it out for you. Your dad reached over, hooked an arm behind your shoulders, and pulled you to him. You relaxed against his side and let him scratch at your hair, like he did when you were little and had been crying.

"It's okay to be scared, son, but you shouldn't let that get in the way of your happiness."

For the duration of the movie, you allowed yourself to be a little kid again.

When it's over, you grab your notebook and trudge back up to your room. You toss your notebook back in your backpack and collapse face down onto your bed. You wonder what it felt like to scream. If you could scream right now, would it make you feel better? You know people tend to scream out of frustration. You wish you could, too. Instead you pushed yourself off the bed and crawled across the floor to where you had thrown Dave's hoodie that first night. You haven't touched it since.

You grab it and go back to your bed, sitting back against the headboard, the hoodie in your lap. You reach over to your nightstand and grab the picture you have of Dave. It's been there since you stole it from his room. You'd been keeping it for a rainy, prankster day. After Friday, you had knocked it over so it laid facedown, but you hadn't removed it. You hold it in front of you, hands resting atop his hoodie.

You can't help but smile, if only a little. Dave's such a dork. You can't believe he would take such a stereotypical selfie and then keep it. Oh wait, yes you can. Cause it's Dave. And Dave is a dork who likes to do things he deems "ironic." Few people know how big of a dork he is. His female following sure doesn't. But you do. You know Dave, and you like that you know Dave. You wonder if you'll ever get to prank him with this photo. If you stop being friends, you won't get the chance.

Your chest tightens painfully. You don't want to stop being friends with Dave. Dave is the best thing to happen to you in a long time. He's a great friend. Not that you like him better than your other friends, it's just that Dave is new. And…different? You can't really explain it. How you feel about him is just…different than your other friends. You don't even want to think about going back to life without Dave, not after you've gotten so close.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Okay, steady, this'll be easy. Just think. Do you like Dave? You like spending time with him, that much you know. You can't deny that you look forward to talking and being with him one on one. You've been told your face lights up when you see him. He can always make you smile. More than once you've felt a little flutter in your stomach when you're with him. And if you're being completely honest here, you've acknowledged his attractiveness on several occasions.

But did that mean you liked him, or that you just thought of him as a really good friend? And, AND, Dave is a boy. You've never liked boys. You've never considered yourself to be gay, even a little bit. And you know you aren't completely gay, because you still like girls! And you've never liked a boy, so what's so special about Dave?

When Jake told you he liked you, you knew you didn't like him back. You felt guilty about that, because you loved Jake as a friend and you knew you couldn't return his feelings because you just didn't like him that way. You aren't against being gay, you just don't think you are. But if you had been so certain that you couldn't like Jake, why do you feel so conflicted about Dave? Was it because he kissed you instead of just telling you?

Oh god, Dave kissed you. Memories came flooding back. If you were being honest, the kiss was nice. You liked the kiss itself, you just hated the turmoil that came afterward. It was your first kiss. And you never really put much stock into the whole "first kiss" thing, but it was your only kiss. Why couldn't Dave have just told you instead of kissing you and making you feel so conflicted?

Ugh, fuck you, Dave!

For a moment, you're so frustrated that you're angry. You pinch the photo at the top with both hands, and start to move them in opposite directions. But the moment passes and your hands relax. You can't tear up the picture, even though you want to. Dave's smug-ass smirk stares up at you from the glossy photo surface. You frown and put it back on the nightstand, facedown. You bunch up Dave's hoodie and lift an arm to throw it across the room, but you can't do that either.

You huff and pull the hoodie on over your t-shirt. You smooth it down your front and look at your fingers, sticking out from the sleeves. Your vision blurs and suddenly there's a dark spot on the sleeve. It takes you a moment to realize you're crying.

You miss Dave. You miss talking to Dave. You miss seeing him smile and knowing that you caused it. You hate seeing him hurt and knowing it's your fault. You just want to be friends with him again. You need to fix this, but you're worried you'll mess it up more. You just…you just really miss Dave. You miss being best bros.

You're going to have to talk to him.

You sleep in his hoodie that night, and whenever you start to think too much and feel yourself panicking, you just look down at the red sleeves and remind yourself that you need Dave. You're not sure when it happened, but he's become a vital friend of yours and you don't want to lose that.

The next day is harder than you anticipated.

You arrive at school late because Jake woke up late, much to Jade's annoyance. You see Dave in biology, but it's a lecture day and the most you can do is pass notes. You don't want to have this awkward conversation through notes during class. Not when so many people could be watching. He does try to pass you a note at one point, just saying something about the teacher. You respond, but your conversation remains strained and only on topics easily on hand.

Lunch is just as awkward. You don't want to talk to Dave with all your friends around either. Especially Jake. All it would take is a tap on the shoulder, the pass of a note, and you could draw Dave out of the cafeteria to talk. But you don't. Because you're a coward and you don't want to face yourself, let alone him.

You look down at your hands in your lap. Your notebook sits neglected on the table. You haven't written much in it today. You're wearing your favorite light blue hoodie. You thought it might give you comfort today, or at least some little bit of strength. Now, however, you kind of wish you were wearing Dave's hoodie. Though then he'd probably be more insistent about talking.

There's still ten minutes of lunch when you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. Things were getting really tense with your silence, Jake's silence, and Dave's rambling. So you abscond, half hoping and half dreading that Dave might follow. You could have gone to the bathroom in the cafeteria, but you wanted to get away from people. So you go to the one a couple hallways away instead. You pee in peace, with no sign of Dave having followed you. You stare into the mirror and you reflection looks haggard. You haven't been getting much sleep.

As you leave, your backpack strap gets caught on a loose screw on the door frame. You pull it free and start down the hall, trying to adjust your backpack again. You don't see them until it's too late. When you look up, you freeze mid-step. A pack of football players is walking down the hall toward you. There's seven of them, and you're pretty sure most of them are the ones who used to follow Dave around insistently. They're also the ones who used to pick on you.

They're talking and don't seem to notice you, so you stare at the floor and do your best to look invisible. They haven't dared to touch you since you started hanging out with Dave, but now football season is over and Dave isn't with you at the moment. You just hope they'll let you pass.

But as you walk by, a hand reaches out and grabs your upper arm. "Well, well, well, look who we have here, boys." The boy grins down at you with a wide, smug grin that shows too many teeth. He's bigger than you, and his grip is tight as he turns you around.

"It's Strider's little pet." Another boy says, and they all turn to stare with varying looks of amusement. You try to step back, but the first one is still holding your arm. "We were just talking about you." You don't like the way he's smiling at you.

"Where's your master, huh?" Someone else says.

"Looks like he's not here." Says the second one.

The first one shoves you forward and you stumble toward them as they circle you. You look for any way to escape, but they've cut off your exits. The first one crosses his arms over his chest and leers down at you. "Word on the street is Strider's a fag, and you're his little boy toy."

A cold shiver runs through you and you bite your lip hard. You should have known someone would have seen Dave kiss you, but you were too busy freaking out yourself. You hadn't stopped to wonder what if his teammates found out. You don't like the way they're looking at you. You also don't like how they're talking about Dave, but there's not much you can do. You just want to run, but you can't.

"Got nothing to say for yourself?" One of them says, you're not sure who. Several of them snicker. You keep turning around, unwilling to leave your back to any of them for long.

"Why don't you stand up for yourself?" One of them grabs your arm, spins you and throws your weight backward. You stumble and they move out of the way, regrouping.

"My dad says gay's a sin." One of them pushes you from behind and you stumble face first into another's chest. You try to back away quickly, but not before he shoves you. You lose your balance and fall to the ground.

"Maybe we should teach you a lesson." They crowd around you and you scoot back, trying to put distance between them and you. Fear laces it's way up your spin. You haven't had to endure this for months. Your friends have stopped watching over you because the bullies were leaving you alone. And you were always with Dave. But Dave isn't here now. No one's here to protect you.

"You and that fucking Strider. He needs to be knocked down a peg." They step up around you. One steps on your fingers and you bite your lip hard as he grinds his shoe down.

"He needs to learn his place." One of them grabs your backpack, ripping it off your back and throwing your stuff all over the floor.

"We're tired of him hogging all the glory." The foot scrapes off your hand and your knuckles burn.

You see the kick coming and years of torment have you moving on instinct. You roll out of the way, but you know the next one will hit it's mark. So you curl into a tight ball on the floor, covering your head with your arms. Sharp pain blossoms on your side and back as two kicks land. But their laughs are worse. They're laughing and you're mute, not deaf. You can hear them. One kicks your arms, which bump up against your face from the force. You just really hope they don't break your glasses.

As long as you endure it, they'll go away eventually. That's what you've learned from the years of torment and bullying. You remember now why you never go anywhere without your friends. They only get a few more sharp kicks in before you hear a shout cut through their laughter.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM."

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and awww FUCK no.

You followed John to the bathroom in hopes of getting a moment alone with him. He's been avoiding you left and right since Friday, and you just want it to end. Every time he runs from you, it hurts. You just want to tell him… you're not sure what you want to tell him, but you do know this whole thing needs sorting out. You miss him. You miss talking to him and you miss his gorgeous fucking smile. You just want him to smile again and for that smile to be aimed at you.

The past few days have been torture. Pure torture. John avoiding your gaze reminded you of when you first met, and he was certain you meant to harm him. You didn't mean to harm him now, and his worried looks just hurt. You want to take him into your arms. You want him to smile. You want to feel him laugh. You want to feel his chest shake and hear the breathy laughter between his lips. You want to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, his lips. You want to kiss his lips until he's breathless from more than just laughter.

But none of that can happen if he can't even look at you. Or talk to you.

So you followed him, hoping to find him alone for once. What you did not expect to find is John on the floor, being kicked by several of your "teammates." Your hands are curled into tight fists at your sides, your nails biting into your palms. You barely feel it. Your chest is on fire. It coils into a tight, dense ball in your gut. Your eyes narrow and burn. They seriously burn a little. Your muscles are tight and coiled and you're just… angry.

They all turn to look at you, their laughter dying quickly. Some of them look at you with wide eyes and you can smell their fear. Four of them back away, but the three hovering over John stay put. You know their names. Matt, David, and Sean. The one in the center, Matt, smiles at you with this smug ass grin that just pisses you the fuck off.

"Strider, nice of you to join us."

"I said get the fuck away from him." You repeat, and David flinches at your voice. You stride forward, and it's all you can do not to run. David takes a step backward, but the other two stand their ground. John's on the ground, still curled up, but you can see him looking at you from under his arm. His eyes are wide and you just want to wrap yourself around him, but you have other douchebags to deal with at the moment.

"We were just having some fun with your boy toy, hope you don't mind." Matt says, and you give him a sharp look that you know he can't see. You're half tempted to just take off your shades so they can see just how mad you really are.

No. You're not mad. You're furious.

"Sarah saw you guys after the game on Friday," He says, standing there with his hands on his hips with all the confidence of the world on his shoulders. "Said she saw you guys k-"

He doesn't get a chance to finish because your fist has connected sharply with his jaw. He goes stumbling backward, tripping over John's foot. Sean and David have backed away and the hallway is eerily silent as Matt catches himself and looks at you with fury in his eyes.

"You hit me." He says, holding a hand to his mouth. There's a spot of blood where his lip was split. You just stare him down, hovering over John. For once you don't have words. You're too angry for words.

He comes at you, but you're ready. He swings and you duck, grabbing his arm as it sails over your shoulder and using his weight to throw him into the wall. He comes at you again and it's easy. You've been sparing with Dirk for years now. It's all instinct. Though you throw more weight into your punches and kicks for revenge sake.

Sean comes at you from behind and grabs you around the neck. You grab his arm in both your hands and throw yourself forward, flinging him over you and onto his back. David also joins in the fight, but the others run. Three against one isn't fair, but you hold your own. One of them lands a punch that throws your head to the side and causes your shades to go flying. When you look back at them, they freeze. You take the time that they spend panicking over your eyes to land a good few swings and knock at least two of them flat.

You don't even hear the bell ring for the end of lunch, nor do you hear the teacher's yelling at you. It's all a blur. You're just suddenly torn away from Matt just as he's jerked to his feet by another teacher. You can tell you're being reprimanded, but the words are lost on you. Coming down from your haze, there's only one thing on your mind: John.

You spot him standing next to the principal, his notebook in hand. His stuff is still scattered around the hallway. The balding man nods to John and looks to the other teachers. There's one holding each of you by the arm. "Take those three to my office. Strider, you go to the nurse's office. I want to see you before you go home today." He led the way to the main office, the bloodied jocks and teachers in tow.

You shrugged the gym teacher off your arm. "I can get there on my own." You say, more sullen than you intended. As they leave, you squat down to start picking up John's stuff, but as you reach for the first book, you see that there's blood on your hands. John puts a hand on your shoulder and when you look up, he gives you a worried smile. You watch silently as he picked up his stuff and shoves it into his backpack.

When he's done, he comes back to you and gingerly grabs your arm, helping you to your feet. Then he turns you to face him and gently slides your shades back onto your face. You can't help but smirk. "Thanks, Egbert." He grimaces and you realize you can taste iron in your mouth. You frown. "My mouth is bleeding, isn't it?"

He gives you a small, worried smile and nods. You sigh, but he takes your hand, despite the blood smears on your knuckles, and leads you down the hallway after the others. You manage to avoid most of the between class crowd, but not all of it. People stop and stare, wide eyed and open mouthed, but you ignore them and just let John guide you to the nurses office.

As it turns out, today is one of the days the nurse isn't on duty. School budget cuts only allow her to be at school two or three days a week. But the office is open. The "office" is more of a room. A room with a desk and a counter and cupboards and two beds with curtains between them to give some semblance of privacy.

John leads you to the closest bed, throwing back the curtain and making you sit. He closes the door, drops his backpack by the desk, and starts rummaging around. You stand and walk over to the counter and the sink.

John glares at you when he sees you're up, but you just hold up your hands. "Gonna wash my hands." You say and he reluctantly nods, returning to his search. You make the mistake of looking in the mirror on the wall. "Holy shit, I'm a fucking mess."

There's a cut over one eyebrow that you hadn't realized was there. Blood was seeping out and crusting into your eyebrow. The eye below the cut is already starting to swell. You know it's too high to be a full black eye, but it's gonna be close. Your nose is bleeding, but it's not broken. Your lip is split, probably from your own teeth, and dribbling a line of red down your chin. Your hair is messed up, too, and your shirt and hoodie disheveled. In short, you're a hot mess.

You wash your hands and cup them under the water, bringing it to your mouth. You swish and spit, but before you can clean up anymore, John's ushering you back to the bed. He brings the nurse's stool with him and sits in front of you. You flinch a little when he reaches for your shades, but he smiles this cute little smile of encouragement as he removes them.

You squint against the sudden light, but sit in silence as he cleans you up. He wipes the blood from your chin and gives you some paper towels for your nose. He cleans the cut above your eyes, and you wince a little when it stings. But he wipes your eyebrow clean and puts some stuff on your cut along with a bandaid. He shows you the bandaid before he puts it on. It's Power Rangers, to which you smile and mutter a soft, "Fuck yes." He chuckles softly as he puts it on your skin.

Then he leans back and looks you over. His eyes sweep over your face before meeting yours, and there he freezes. But you know it's not because of your eyes. Or rather, because he's seeing your eyes and seeing you, but not because they're freaky. He's made it abundantly clear that he likes your eyes. He gives you a shaky smile and looks down. He starts to shoot away on the stool, but you put out a hand to stop him.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out, holding his arm with one hand and paper towels to your nose with the other. Your voice is a little nasally. Jesus dick, you bet you look gross. Way to pick an attractive time to do this, Strider.

He looks at you, wide-eyed, and shakes his head. He puts his thumb under his chin, moving it outward, then points at you with the whole palm of his hand. He then moves his arm, causing you to let go. Your own hand falls to your lap. He makes two fists, his thumbs sticking out. His right arm goes across his body, pointing his extended thumb into his left side. He puts his other fist on the other, thumb up, and drives the bottom thumb into his side.

"It's not your fault."

He then holds one fist up with the back of his hand toward you. He puts two fingers of his other hand on the back of his fist, shaped like a V. He then moves both hands back toward him. He gives you a small smile.

"You saved me."

You shake your head. "No, I mean I'm sorry for… everything. Friday." You look away from him, down at your lap, and lift your free hand and awkwardly rub the back of your neck, like you could maybe rub the awkwardness from his conversation. "If I hadn't…done that… then you wouldn't be avoiding me, and they wouldn't have… I should have been there. I'm sorry I wasn't there." You're mumbling now, but you also realize something you've completely neglected. You look back up at him sharply, your hand falling to your side. He jumps a little. "Holy shit, John, are you okay?" You look him over, but he doesn't seem to have any visible injuries. "Are you okay?" You ask, your voice softer.

He waves his hand, as if waving off your worry. He holds out one finger, straight up, and twists his hand so the back of it is facing you. He then spells something fast, too fast, and you have to put up a hand to stop him.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up, slow down, I still only know my abc's at a medium speed."

He rolls his eyes and does it again, ending by making a circle with his thumb and forefinger and using both hands to indicate spots over his chest, ribs, sides, and back.

"Only bruises."

But then you notice the raw scrapes on his knuckles. You snatch his hand with your free one and hold it out for you to see. His knuckles aren't bleeding, but they're red and scrapped and raw. You rub your thumb over his fingers, gently and softly. You frown. "I'm going to kill them." You say darkly, but it comes out nasally and very unthreatening.

John shakes his head and takes his hand away, putting it on your shoulder. You look at him, and his eyes are so blue without your shades on, and you can see that he doesn't want that. He doesn't need words to tell you that you've already done enough.

You sigh. "Yeah, fine, whatever." You remove the paper towel from your nose. "How's it look? Gross, right? Give it to me straight, Egbert. Are we talking Frankenstein gross, or the Thing gross, or just mildly ogreish?" John's shoulders shake slightly with a silent chuckle and he makes a face, scrunching up his nose and curling his lip and sticking out his tongue. "That bad, huh? At least it matches my eyes." You say, your lips curling into a small smirk.

John smiles and it's the smile you've been desperate to see. His shoulder's shake a little as he takes the bloody paper towel from you. He stands, throws the paper towel away, and goes to get a new one, wetting it a little in the sink. He comes back, sits down, and takes your chin in his hand. Your breath hitches slightly and you really hope he didn't notice. His fingers are gentle, holding you softly but firmly as he cleans the blood off your nose and upper lip.

You watch him. He's so close. His eyes fully concentrated on the task at hand. You love the way his lips press together, the tip of his tongue peeking out. One of your hands rests at your side, fingers curling into the sheets of the bed.

When he's done, John smiles again, leaning back to look at you. He tosses the wet paper towel in the trash and wipes his hands together in a cliche, and dramatic fashion. Your nose is wet though, so you rub it with your hand, trying to dry it.

"Thanks, Dr. E." You say, smirking. "Or is it Nurse Egbert? Should I greet you with a little, helloooooo nurse, from now on?"

He lightly smacks your arm and you missed that. You missed that a lot.

"Hey, look, John." You try to look him in the eyes, but at the mention of his first name, his smile is gone and you can see the wariness on his face. You know that look. He knows what's coming and he's about to run. Again. You reach out and grab the sleeve of his blue hoodie just as he starts to scoot away. He freezes. "Don't run, okay? Just…listen."

He's looking at you with those big blue eyes and worried eyebrows and he's biting his bottom lip. You search his face, determined to not look away even though you really want to. You feel naked without your shades. They're sitting on the bed beside you, right where John left them, it would be so easy to just grab them and slide them on. But you don't. Because you want John to see your face. You want him to see how torn up you are. Maybe it'll be enough for him to actually listen.

You stare at him for a long moment. "Well? Will you listen?"

He chews on his lip, hunches his shoulders, as if he might sink down into the depths of his light blue hoodie. But he nods and your grip on his sleeve loosens. You let go of him and put your hands on either side of you, on the bed. You shoot to the edge, eyes never leaving his. HIs, on the other hand, are trying to look anywhere but your face.

You sigh, and in the silence, the sound is loud enough to get him to look at you. "Okay, look, John." Didn't you just say that? Way to start this off by repeating yourself. "About Friday…" He tenses and for a second you think he's going to run anyway, but he doesn't. Your fingers grip the sheets, and you force yourself to relax. Breathe, Strider. Breathe. You can do this. "I'm…I'm not sorry I kissed you. But I am sorry I surprised you with it."

You pause, watching for John's reaction. He's still tense, but at least he's looking at you now. His hands are in his lap, fingers intertwined and picking at one another as they fidget. Is it just you, or are the lights in here really bright? You really fucking wish you had your shades on. This would be so much easier if you could hide behind your shades. Plus you think you're getting a headache from these florescent bulbs.

"I should have given you a warning or something. Like a, heads up, Strider's about to get his mack on." He doesn't look up, or smile, or laugh. You clear your throat. You're nervous, but you're not likely to get any less nervous, so you better just say it.

"John, I like you."

John sucks in a sharp breath and looks at you like a deer in the headlights. You're pretty sure he's about to bolt, and if he doesn't you might. You can hear the blood pounding in your ears and your face feels warm. Fuck. You really hope he can't see you blush. That would not be cool. And you are definitely trying to be cool right now.

Then John's flailing. His hands are moving too fast for you to understand what he's saying, but his eyes say it all: panic. Your hands shoot forward and grab his. He freezes and you hold his hands together in front of him, between the two of you, enveloped in your own hands. He stares at you, panicked, and you stare back, determined and also mildly panicked.

"Okay, no, stop." You say, a little harsher than you intended. He flinches and you continue a little more gently. Your voice is barely a whisper. "John, I really do like you..." You squeeze his hands just a little, just enough to be comforting. "Just...think about it, okay?"

He's looking at your hands, a blush across his cheeks. You reach toward him with one hand and he flinches, but you keep going anyway. You hold him behind the neck, moving your fingers gently through his hair. It's soft and his skin is hot. He looks at you sharply, his eyes wide and confused. You smile and pull him towards you, slowly, gently.

And you press your lips to his forehead in a light kiss that lasts only a second. You want to kiss his cheeks, too. And his nose. And his lips. But you don't, because you know you can't.

For a moment, neither of you move. You don't want the moment to end. You can hear his ragged breathing. It matches the speed of your rapid pulse. "Just think about it." You say again, a whisper this time. And fuck, could you sound any more pathetic? At least your voice isn't nasally anymore.

You don't want him to think about it. You want him to kiss you back. But you know that if you push him, he'll just push back. You're not stupid. You know this has little to do with your surprise kiss and more to do with your gender. It's not easy accepting sexuality. You've been down that road. Lucky for you, your brother didn't give two shits. But you doubt John would have it that easy. He grew up in a normal suburban home with a doting father and faithful friends. No doubt he grew up thinking he'd meet a nice girl, get married, have kids, and live in a similar suburban home. And here you are, throwing a wrench into that plan. Who the fuck do you think you are?

You're Dave motherfucking Strider, and you're just a teenage boy with a massive crush on your best friend.

And you really, really hope he's willing to give you a shot.

You let him go and stand, grabbing your shades and slipping them back onto your nose. The light dims and your eyes instantly feel better, but you know you're going to have a headache later. Not only from your eye irritation, but from the throbbing cut on your forehead. John's staring up at you and you just wish he'd say something. But no, no you really don't. Because you're afraid of what he might say. Well, sign, as the case may be.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I left my bag in the cafeteria and Rose is probably looking through my stuff trying to find something to blackmail me with. Or Karkat. That little shit better not touch my stuff." You walk towards the door. You stop with your hand on the doorknob and look back at him. He's twisted around in his seat, watching you. "And I may not see you in math, or after school. I have a date with the principal and I'd hate to disappoint a lady. A balding middle aged lady. Maybe I'll pick up some flowers on the way. Doubt that'll lessen my detention sentence. Detention on a first date? Little kinky, don'tcha think? Maybe I'll get of easy if I say I was just protecting milady from a few brutish curs. Just playing my role as your knight in shining armor."

John smiles. It's small, and a little shaky, but it's a smile. A genuine smile. He picks up a box of bandaids he has nearby and throws it at you. You duck and it clatters against the wall behind you. You turn your duck into a sweeping bow. Looking up at him from over your shades, you give him a wink.

"Wish me luck, milady." And then you leave.

Outside the door, you pause. Your legs are shaking and your heart has yet to calm down. You take a few deep breaths, letting them out slowly as you roll your shoulders. You force yourself to relax. That wasn't so bad. He didn't reject you straight away, so that was a start.

You're fine. You got this. It's done and over with now. Nothing to do but wait and see what happens. You're cool. You're so cool, you're ice-fucking-cold. Like a penguin. You're a cold-ass motherfucking penguin, with a killer headache and an aching, but hopeful, heart.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you love Roxy, but sometimes you want to strangle her.

Her plane came in on Friday morning, just one week after Jake kissed you, and it took her only two days to take control. And you're not sure if it's for the better.

She arrived with her roommate, Jane. You've heard a lot about Jane, and as of the past two weeks, you've been talking to her more on your own through pesterchum. She's a pretty cool girl, and she mellows Roxy out in the best of ways. You've even seen her a few times on Skype when the two of them insist on a video chat. But you didn't know that Jane was actually John's older sister.

You really should have seen it coming. Roxy had said that Jane was an old friend from back home, and you were currently living where her "back home" was, and John and Rose were friends, why not their older sisters? Not to mention the girl looks like an older, curvier, female version of John. You think it was the last name that threw you off.

Roxy calls her Jane Crocker, due to some strange family relation to the Betty Crocker corporation. She said once that Jane could inherit the whole thing if she wanted. She even followed Roxy to New York to attend a nearby culinary school. They've lived together for a year now and you've never heard Roxy refer to her as an Egbert. You've been calling her Miss Crocker for just as long and she's never corrected you. She must really like the nickname.

You suppose it really is a small world after all.

You picked them both up at the airport and took them out for lunch before dropping Jane off at her house and driving Roxy back to yours. It took her just until Jane's door shut for her to ask you about Jake. Earlier that week you told her the whole story about last Friday. Nothing had really changed since then. You tired to have a conversation with him several times, about school and your work and ponies, but in the end it just fell flat. You wanted to keep bothering him, just like you did in the beginning of this whole fiasco, but something was stopping you.

You were stopping you.

You still weren't sure how you felt about everything, but whenever you picked up your phone with the intend to bother him with stupid pick up lines and suggesting half-teasing texts, you stopped. He had just been reminded that John had rejected him, and he still wasn't over John. You couldn't blame him for that. You wanted to wait the right amount of time so you wouldn't be just a rebound. But you didn't know how long that was.

In the beginning, you were all for this plan of stealing Jake's heart and making him yours. Now you're beginning to realize that it's going to be much harder than that. Because you have enough self-respect to want Jake to want you for you. Not because you're there.

It's a hard thing to remember though, when all you can think about is how much you miss him and how much you want him. How his green eyes light up when they watch you work and how his his frown is just as cute as his smile. And especially when you think of him in those Laura Croft shorts from so long ago.

If you told him that the two of you met before, would that improve your chances of being more than a rebound? You don't even know what his impressions of you are from that day. Probably not that significant if he can't even remember you. He certainly made a lasting impression on you. He doesn't even know you're Di-Stri. You've been debating whether or not to tell him that, too. Would that impress him enough? Would it matter? It's been so long since you've cared to impress someone. Impressing had always come easy, but you're not sure you've ever cared this much about making someone like you.

For once in your life, you don't really know what to do, and you fucking hate it.

You've always been good at figuring out problems and puzzles, but with Jake, you're stumbling around in the dark, flailing and fumbling and failing.

Your moods have been so back and forth. One moment you're certain that yes, being a rebound doesn't bother you. Then you think about being with Jake and knowing he's just thinking about John and your mood goes sour. You want him to like you and you want him to be with you and you want him to kiss you, but when he does, you're not happy. You finally got a taste of it, and it wasn't right. You want more than just his body or his attention. You want his heart, too.

You're selfish enough that you want everything, because you know you want to give him everything in return.

That's right, your name is Dirk fucking Strider, and you're head over heels for a boy who is confusing as fuck.

You were hoping Roxy being home for winter break would be a nice distraction. But you were wrong. Because Roxy has a habit of taking matters into her own hands.

"Won't this be awesome?" Roxy sat in the passenger seat of your car.

"No." You reply.

"Aww, Dirky-poo, lighten up!" She leans over the center console and pokes at your cheek. "It'll be fun, everyone together and what not."

You frown, lightly slapping her hand away. You don't say anything. You're currently pouting and you know it. Roxy twists around in her seat to face Dave, Rose, and Kanaya in the back.

"What about you guys? You're feeling the excitement, right?"

You glance in the rearview mirror. Rose and Dave are near mirror images of each other, leaning an elbow against the doors and resting their chins in their palms. Kanaya sits between them. Rose lifts her head and there's a small smirk on her lips.

"It will certainly be interesting." She says.

"I have never played paintball before." Kanaya says. "Rose assures me that it is fun. I certainly hope it does not disappoint my expectations."

Dave doesn't say anything. He's been quiet and mopey for more than a week now. Ever since that football game. You're worried about him, but you haven't asked. You know he'll come to you if and when he wants to. When Roxy had purposed that everyone go paint balling, you had been expecting a little more excitement out of him. And you think there is some excitement there, but it's a little drowned out by apprehension.

When you pull into the parking lot, you quickly spot Jake's car, and everyone standing outside it. They're all there. Jake, John, Jade, Jane, and Karkat. There aren't any open spots near them, so you have to drive past. Jane and Jade wave cheerfully, and Roxy returns it. But it's Jake's reaction you look for. He watches your car go by with an expression that you can't quite place.

As soon as the car pulls to a spot, Roxy's door is open and she's jumping out. You retrieve your paint balling gear from the trunk and go to meet the others. Roxy skips ahead, her gun slung over her shoulder and her mask hanging from her other hand. The rest of you walk at a normal pace.

When your two groups come together, you stand a little behind the rest, watching. Roxy, Jane, and Jade carry most of the conversation. Rose, Kanaya, and Karkat seem to be smiling. John's smile is a little strained, and he keeps sending these nervous glances toward Dave, who is an expressionless mask behind his shades. Jake is standing on the opposite side of the group, to the back, much like you are.

When did you all become a giant clusterfuck of awkward?

As Roxy and Jade lead the way to the building's entrance, you make your way to Jake's side. "Sup?"

He jumps and looks at you with wide eyes. "Dirk! By golly, you need to stop moving so silently!" He voice wavers slightly and his laugh is nervous. "You'll give me a heart attack."

"Yeah, wouldn't want to go around surprising people, now would I?" The edge in your voice is a little sharper than you intended. He winces and looks at the ground, and you immediately regret it. You want to make peace with him, not ostracize him. You sigh, lifting a hand to idly scratch your nose and adjust your shades. "So it looks like I'm finally gonna get to see you in action."

He looks back up at you, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about 'finally,' Strider?"

You smirk. "You've made several claims that you're good with a gun. Today's the day you prove that. If you can."

His confusion clears up instantly, and he's smirking, too. "You may best me that those shoot-em-up games, but this is my territory, Strider. By the end of the day, you'll be covered in green paint!"

"Big talk for a man with small guns." He has two paintball pistols in a holster around his waist.

"That big gun will do you no good if you don't have the aim to back it up." Jake says, pointing at the gun on your back.

"Who says I don't have aim?"

"You did! Mr. Ninjas-and-swords."

"You can't shoot what you can't see." You look at him over the top of your shades and wink, smirking with all your playful confidence. Jake looked away quickly, but not before you saw the tinge of pink on his cheeks.

"We'll see about that." He mumbles.

You throw an arm around his shoulders, and you can feel him tense. Your chest tightens with it, because you two were past this. You never much cared about barging into his personal space before, but he had just started acting like he liked it, or at least didn't mind it. To see him flinch now hurt you more than you could say. "I'd watch out for Roxy, if I were you." You say, leaning in and pointing to your friend in question. "She's a wicked shot. Best I've ever seen. Quickest shot in the whole wild west." You layer your accent on thick, because you know he'll be amused by it.

Your Texan twang normally isn't that obvious. It's there, but it's not loud. It is, however, thicker than Dave's. Dave didn't spend as long in Texas as you did. But although your accent is usually fairly tamed, it takes only a second for you to flip the switch from sultry southern undertones to cowboy hick from the ghettos of the wild west.

Jake snorts and you can feel him start to relax. "Jade can take her out with her eyes closed."

"Does that mean your eyes will be on me?" You ask, and you're close enough to see the color on his cheeks.

"If you're as much a threat as you pretend to be, you bet I will be keeping an eye on you." He says, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

"Make sure you keep an eye on my good side."

He rolls his eyes. "And which side is that?"

You smile, giving his shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. "All of them."

He turns his head to look at you only once you've moved a step away. "You're a cocky son of a gun, Strider." He gives you a confident smirk and adjusts his belt and holster. "I hope you know I'm going to have to knock that ego of yours down a peg or two."

Your smirk widens into a grin and you give him another wink. "You can peg me any day, English."

His confidence falters and he frowns. "Enough of that, Strider! I will have the last laugh on the battlefield." His voice is hard, but his blush is all the more prominent.

"We'll see." You reach the doors and hold it open, standing aside so he can go through. "I'm a Texan, born and raised. Guns are in my blood."

Despite your boasting, guns are not in your blood. Put a sword in your hand, and you'll best everyone in the room. Guns are a different matter. You're not bad, exactly. You can still hold your own in paintball and laser tag, but you're not as good as some. "Some," in this case, refers to Jake, Roxy, and Jade. You're willing to bet even Rose is better with a gun than you. And though you're not sure you believe it, Rose has told you that Kanaya has a viciously competitive streak and you shouldn't count her out.

There is one thing you have that still keeps you in the game: your speed. Your speed and reflexes are better than any of your friends, or any of Dave's friends. And you know Dave is in the same boat. The Strider brothers may be out of their element with guns, but you're quicker on your feet than most.

Flash step, quick draw. Strider Bros: ninja cowboys of the wild, wild west.

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and Roxy is like the big sister you never had, right down to forcing you into situations you don't want to be in.

Like this paintball thing.

Normally, you love paintball. And you would fucking love to go paint balling with Dirk and Roxy and Rose and John and Jade and everyone. Today, however, is not a normal type of day.

On Thursday you told John about your massive crush. You didn't see him later that day. And on Friday he continued to avoid you, though he looked at you more. The look was nervous but at least it was something. You didn't see him after school, due to your two weeks of detention. You're just lucky it wasn't more. You got off a little easier because apparently John had pleaded your case of rescue. Saturday you hadn't heard from him at all, nor did you try to contact him. You told him to think about it, and he hasn't tried to tell you what he thinks. You're not looking to push him. You're afraid of what he might say.

And Roxy came home this weekend, so you were hoping that would be a good distraction. Your brother met Roxy in college and became close friends. She was at your apartment often. She used to help you with your homework, and played video games with you when Dirk was too busy for either of you. But she really became family when she first brought you and Dirk home with her for Thanksgiving, and again for Christmas. That's when you met Rose, and despite her ability to be obnoxious and meddling, she quickly became one of your closest friends. One of your only friends. And ever since then, you and Dirk haven't been quite so alone.

Unfortunately Roxy had been in town for barely two days before she put together this whole paint balling thing. Which meant you had to face John and act normal around all your friends.

When you first arrived, John only looked at you when he thought you weren't paying attention. Too bad he always has your attention.

The place Roxy had found was an indoor paint balling place not too far from where you all lived. There's a place that's closer, but it's an outdoor place that shuts down during the winter. And, being December, it's fucking cold and there's an inch or so of snow on the ground and fuck all that. So she found this place. Once everyone was paid for, and equipment and paint was rented and purchased, you all made your way to the indoor arena. Roxy had called ahead for a three hour reservation, so you had the whole place to yourselves.

And damn, was it a big place. The huge arena was a long rectangular area, with a vaulted ceiling. There were four lines of pillars down the length of the building. The rest of the area was filled with inflated canvas shapes, squares, triangles, and cylinders. There were walls of wooden logs set around at different angles. And on either side of the arena stood a wooden fort.

When you're all on the field, geared up and ready to go, Roxy takes charge. "Alright, ladies and gents," She says, standing with one hand on her hip and the other on her gun, propping it against her shoulder. "It's time to split into teams. Let's start out like we arrived: the blondes and Kanaya vs the others and the loud one."

"I have a name." Karkat says, living up to his nickname.

"You're going down, Lalonde!" Jade says, hiking up her gun.

"Bring it on!"

You look to John. You and your brother had left your shades with your coats. The lights in the building are bright, and sting your eyes, but your paintball mask has tinted lenses. John is watching you, but when you look, his gaze snaps to Roxy. But his eyes slowly look back to you, and you smile. It doesn't take him long to smile back. It's shy and small, but it's there.

Your gun is resting on your shoulder, similar to Roxy's stance. In fact, you, Rose, and Dirk are all mirroring her stance. Intimidating the enemy. Kanaya's holding hers with both hands down at her waist. You would think she's holding a chainsaw or something. Using the hand that's propping up your gun, you extend your fingers out. Your other hand, fingers out and straight, come up to hit the other hand. You then point at John, then at your ass.

"Gonna kick your ass."

John's smile gets a little wider. He puts his free hand to his face and pulls down his cheek under his eye with one finger. He sticks out his tongue between his teeth. It's adorable, and it's very John, and you grin.

Each team moves to their own designated fort and the game begins. You're not the best when it comes to guns, despite being from Texas. Swords suit you better. But you're quick. Your brother made sure of that.

Roxy stays in the fort, setting up camp by a window and ready to snipe anyone who comes close. Rose goes to the far right, positioning herself behind a wall of logs, giving herself a good clear shot of anyone making their way toward Roxy. Camping and waiting is fine for the Lalonde girls, but you and your brother like a more forward approach. And apparently so does Kanaya. Kanaya is out for blood, much to your surprise. The plan is for her to basically charge down the center, while you and Dirk hang out on the sides a little ahead of her.

Roxy had set up her own rules before hand. Because there are so few of you, five to a team, one hit didn't take you out. Five did. Five shots and then the bench. With everyone responsible for their own honesty.

The first shot you take to the chest is lime green. You heard Jade's laughter and a shout of, "Gotta be faster than that, cool kid!" And after that, you're a little more cautious. Your formation brakes down once you get into their territory and becomes every man for himself. You have your back to an inflatable square, kneeling on the ground, when a ball of paint splatters on the canvas next to you. You jump, swinging your gun around, just in time to see John disappear behind a pillar.

You smile, quickly getting to your feet and sprinting for more cover. You move between obstacles, keeping an eye on the pillar and moving in a wide circle. The pillars are big and square, each side wide enough to easily hide someone. You see John peek around one corner, and when he disappears, you run over on light feet and press yourself to the opposite side before he can peek around the other corner.

You creep around the pole to an adjacent side, and slowly peek around the corner. John doesn't notice because he's too busy peeking around the other corner and his back is to you. So you slide up next to him, your gun down at your side opposite of him, and start breathing heavily and deeply. The sound whistles loudly through your mask.

"John," You say, making your voice go as low as it possibly can. John jumps and whirls and you can see his wide eyes through his mask's lenses. He's pressed against the concrete of the pillar and clutching his gun to his chest. "I am your father." You say with the best Darth Vader voice you can muster.

When he smiles, you can see John's teeth through the grate of his mask. He punches your shoulder, and you stumble a step, laughing. The moment is golden, if only for a moment. Then Karkat's voice cut through your moment.

"John! No fraternizing with the enemy!" Your head snaps up at the sound and you spin, putting your back to the pillar next to John. You find his sister, Jane, in their fort, not too far away. Her gun is aimed at you. So you grab John's arm and yank him in front of you.

"Sorry, bro. Gonna use you as a meat shield." You say, hunching down behind John. "Don't worry, we're too close for me to shoot you."

You're pretty sure you can hear him rolling his eyes.

"Kindly release my brother so I can shoot you!" She calls, her gun still focused on you.

John then breaks into a run, ripping himself from your grip. The move is so sudden that you're left standing surprised and very vulnerable. When he's a good distance away, He spins, tripping a little on his feet but landing with his back on an inflatable canvas, picks up his gun, aims, and shoots.

The paintball that explodes on your chest is John's royal blue, not Jane's sky blue. You look down at it and touch it with your fingers. You can hear Jane's laughter. Then you look up and smile. "OOoooh, now you're in for it, Egbert."

You can tell from the slight shaking that John's laughing, too, but as soon as you take a step forward, he scrambles away, diving for cover.

Lighter blue paint splatters next to you and you hear Jane's frustrated shout out of, "Phooey!" Before you chase after John.

You realize that there are five people on each team, but for the rest of that one game, you and John just focus on each other. And either you guys make it into a corner by yourselves, or everyone else just leaves you alone. He gets two more shots on you, and you get three on him, adding to the two he took from Kanaya.

When the first game's over and you all meet in the middle, you stand next to John. "The force is strong with this one." You say, breathing heavily, using a deep voice, and holding a hand out dramatically to point at him. He chuckles and pushes you with his hip. You remove your mask, laughing softly as you run your fingers through your hair. He watches you, his cheeks pink from exhilaration and laughter.

He lifts his thumb and forefinger to his forehead in a clear "L" and sticks his tongue out at you. You shove his shoulder. "Yeah right, Egbert. You're the loser."

He's a loser, and you're a loser who's head over heels for him.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you are in your element!

And boy howdy, do you feel alive!

When Jane told you of Roxy's idea, you weren't sure how keen you were to it. Not that you were against paint balling. You love paint balling! You just weren't sure how you felt about being with both John and Dirk. Especially after what you did on Friday.

You feel… you feel bad about Friday. Guilty, though you're not sure why. You enjoyed the kiss, and you thought Dirk did, too. It's been a little over a week and you're still not sure why Dirk is upset with you. You've heard little from him, and that little has been strained. Though you haven't been much help. Dirk's reaction to your kiss has had you feeling awkward around him, even through text.

Perhaps you presumed too much? He did flirt with you a lot, and his touches have always been insistent. But perhaps that's just how he is, and he doesn't actually have any interest in you? If that's the case, then you sure did make a fool of yourself. But you don't think that's the case. It seemed fairly clear to you that Dirk was interested. So why didn't he enjoy the kiss?

You enjoyed it. And that may be where a lot of your confusion stems from. You enjoyed Dirk's kiss far more than you thought you might. When you thought of just that kiss, it seemed clear where your alliances should lie. But then you thought about doing the same thing with John, as you have for years, and suddenly your head's all muddled again.

And it certainly didn't help that whenever you thought of the kiss, your stomach flipped and flopped. You remember the look on Dirk's face when he realized it had been about John. You remember his back to you. He hadn't walked away with his usual strut and chin held high. His shoulders had been slumped and his back hunched, and you swear he had been dragging his feet. You hadn't meant to hurt Dirk, and yet you had. And you don't know how to fix it. And you certainly don't want to face him.

But you couldn't rightly say no when all your best mates were going out for a rousing day of paintball, now could you?

You had been nervous all morning, and almost ran several stop signs on the drive over. When you saw Dirk, your heart had started hammering in your chest and your palms began to sweat and you were just about ready to flee. But then he came up to you and made conversation as if none of it had ever happened. You were nervous, and it was a little uncomfortable, but he seemed to be back to his old self. And when he touched you, you only blushed a little.

Once your coats were off and your gear was on and your guns were fitted snugly in your hands, you felt better. As you took up your starting positions, you felt in control. And as the game began, you felt alive. You may not be any good with handling emotions, and you may have made a mess of all your personal relationships, and you may not even understand yourself, but with a gun in hand you feel at home. If there's one thing you're good at, it's this.

Your team reigns victorious for the first game. A brief inspection tells you that you took a shot from Kanaya and two from Roxy. Dirk was right, the woman is a devil with a wicked shot. Especially long shots. A hell of an eye on that one. You underestimated her this time, but you will be prepared in the future.

You check Jade, and she has accumulated three shots herself: one red, one green, and one purple. "Ha! It seems we are tied." You say, crossing your arms over your chest as your cousin hikes her gun up on her shoulder.

"Don't think so, Jake." She says, pointing. "You got four. There's one on your back."

You turn in a circle, trying to see the spot on your back. "Dagnabit! I had forgotten about that one!" The shot had been fired after you had crossed the middle line. It had hit right above your left shoulder blade. You had barely felt it with the adrenaline of the hunt coursing through your veins, and you hadn't caught a glimpse of who had shot it. "Who got me?"

"Yo." Dirk says and you feel a finger slide across your shoulder blade. You turn and Dirk is holding up his index finger, which has a thin coating of orange paint. "That would be me." He says with an infuriatingly smug grin. You look him over and realize that you hadn't gotten him once. You hadn't even seen him on the field! He wipes the paint off on the front of your shirt. "Me: one. You: zero."

You bat his hand away. "I demand a rematch!" You say loudly. The others have gathered by then and everyone turns to look at you. "Same teams!"

"I'm game." Roxy says, standing with her feet apart, a hand on her hip, and the other holding her gun over her shoulders. It's a powerful stance, and she has the skill to back it up. "That was just a warm up. Now it's time to show you kiddies how it's done." She holds up one finger, spins it around, snaps, and points back to their fort. "Team Awesome, let's go!"

The others start walking to their own sides, but you hang back for a moment. You draw your pistols and point one at him, smirking with all the confidence of someone with great aim. "You're going down, Strider!"

His gun hangs loosely at his side as he rolls his eyes. His mask has tinted shades, but at the moment his amber irises are exposed and visible. Visible enough that when he looks straight at you, something flips in your stomach. But it's not an uncomfortable flip. It's kind of pleasant actually. "I'll go down with you any time, English." And there's something about the look in his eyes and the way his lips tilt upward that makes your smile falter and your cheeks warm.

Damn him! Damn him for always being able to turn your words around and catch you off guard! Damn him for making you feel all topsy turvy inside! Damn him for making you think of such distracting things while you need to be focusing!

And damn him for making you remember last Friday.

"Keep an eye on me if you can," He says as he puts his hand on your mask, which had been resting atop your head, and pulls it down over your face. You catch sight of his smile as he turns around and as he walks away, it's with that familiar Dirk Strider strut. You don't bother staying to watch the gentle sway of his hips. You have a game to win.

As soon as the whistle blows, you're off hunting. You move slower this game, creeping from object to object, kneeling to look around corners. You're so intent on finding Dirk that you almost get shot by Kanaya. She came charging around a corner and you barely had time to dive for cover. A few of her paint balls splatter on the other side of the canvas block. You can feel it vibrate against your back where you press to the other side. But then you hear the sound of another gun and a whoop from Karkat and you know she's been distracted.

That's when you spot a glimpse of blonde hair, spiked up and styled and you know it's Dirk. You're not sure whether or not he's seen you, but you rush to a nearby pillar anyway. It's not long before you have him in your sights. You see him through a gap between several inflatable objects. He has his back to a log wall and is looking off in the opposite direction. You couldn't ask for a better shot.

You kneel down and hold your right gun out, resting your hand on your left wrist for support. Your left gun hung loosely in your hand while the right one aimed. You pull the trigger and dark green paint splatters across his arm and shoulder.

His head whips around and you grin, though you know he can't see it under your mask. You stand and spin your guns around your fingers, only to snap them up in your grip again. You've practiced that move enough times in the mirror to get it right. You then hold up the right one to the mouth of your mask, as if to blow off the steam that wasn't there. You gave him a wink, too, out of habit, even though you knew he wouldn't be able to see.

He's standing at an angle, facing you sideways. He lifts his arm straight out and points at you, then points his thumb at the ground.

And then purple paint splatters on a nearby object and when you look up, Dirk's gone. "Ballocks!" You curse, your voice muffled by the mask. Rose has seen you, so you need to move. You're barely behind a pillar when pain and paint splatter on your hip. You spin and bring up your guns, but your target is gone. You look down and the paint is orange.

There's a blur to your right and you look just in time to see Dirk holding up his gun. You dive out of the way just as you hear the sound of his paint balls firing. You roll and come up in a kneel, both your guns up and pointing in the direction you last saw Dirk. Paint splatters on your back and another hits the log wall next to you. Orange.

"Can't hit what you can't see, English." His voice calls out. Though slightly muffled from his mask, you can hear his smug amusement.

He may be quick, but he's not a very good shot. You need to keep moving. You run through the obstacles, not staying in one place for too long. Orange paint splatters around you, but doesn't hit. Based on where they're coming from, you think you know where Dirk is. You run around a log wall, behind a pillar and jump out in a dive, shooting with both guns, in the best action shot possible. You hit him twice before you hit the ground and scramble for cover before he can recover.

You manage to shoot him two more times and are on your way in for the final kill when you get reckless. At some point Karkat joined you in the chase, and with backup, you felt invincible. You hadn't realized how far into enemy territory you were until he steps into the open and you raise your guns, only to be shot in the side and back by Rose and Roxy. Before you can recover, Dirk shoots you in the chest.

"MOTHER FUCK." You hear Karkat's curse and know he's out too. It was an ambush and you fell right into it!

"Aww yeah!" Roxy calls out from her spot in the fort. She stands in the window, leaning out slightly. "Don't, drop, dat Dirk-a-Dirk!" She sings loudly, moving her hand up and down to the silent bass.

"Ayyy!" You hear another voice shout somewhere and you're pretty sure it's Dave.

"Don't drop dat Dirk-a-Dirk!" Roxy continues until a lime green paint splat hits the outside of the fort and she squeaks and ducks back in.

For the next round, you divide up into different teams. This time you and Dirk are together and you're actually pleasantly surprised by how well you work together. You move around the field together with your backs together and you even get close enough to take out Roxy.

The hours fly by and before you know it, it's over. You're covered in paint and sore from bruises, but you feel great. You needed this. It's not until you're all on your way out that you feel awkward and conflicted again. All your confidence from the battlefield is gone. Roxy is next to Dirk, clinging to his arm, and you can't help but feel a little…mad? Defensive? Protective? Then you see Dave next to John and you get the same feeling.

It's only then that you realize you hadn't really thought of John much the entire time you spent paint balling. You thought of him on your team, yes, and where he was and if he needed help. And when on opposing teams, you didn't mind seeking him out to tag him. But you thought of him no more than your other friends. Dirk had held most of your attention. Finding Dirk, shooting Dirk, having his back against yours. Impressing him. But if that's the case, why do you feel the same constricting ache about both of them?

When you reach your cars, Dirk gives you a glance and a slight wave before walking off with Roxy still clinging to his arm. You don't understand him. He confuses the living daylights out of you!

But then again, you confuse the living daylights out of you, too.

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and today is something you really needed.

The whole past week has been strained and stressful, but Dave had a way of making everything seem like it was back to normal. He had a way of always making you laugh, even when you were nervous to be around him.

Neither of you had very good aim, but you held your own and worked well together. During one of the games you played, when the two of you were on the same team, you were moving forward together, on opposite sides of the field. You kept each other in sight, so when one of you saw something, you could sign it to the other. It gave you an advantage and made ambushing the others really easy because you could communicate silently on the field.

Only Dave had the patience to work with you like that. Jade was all about finding her own shots, and Rose had her own strategies too. And Jane was too focused in trying to handle her own gun to bother trying to work with someone. But you and Dave stuck together and though you didn't always win, you had fun.

When you were leaving and walking across the parking lot, Dave was bragging to Rose about how he got more shots than she did. He put an arm around your shoulders and said that even you were a better shot than her. You elbowed him in the side and he laughed, complaining that you had hit a bruise. You probably had. You were all covered in new forming bruises.

For just those few hours, it was easy to forget about last Friday and this past Thursday and just go back to the way things were. But you couldn't forget forever.

When it came time for you to go to your separate cars, he tapped your shoulder. When you looked at him, he tapped his index finger on his temple. The smile he gave you was apologetic, almost sad. He was reminding you to think. Think about what he said. Then he walked away.

The thing is, you haven't really stopped thinking about what he said. You're sitting in your bed, trying to do homework, and it won't stop playing in your head. Over and over. Like a chant, or a prayer, or a spell.

Dave… likes… you. Dave likes you. Dave likes you. Dave likes you. Dave likes you. No matter how many times you say it, the meaning remains the same and you… well, you're having a hard time processing it.

It's no longer a suspicion. It's a fact. He told you. You could no longer ignore it, no longer run from it. It's just kind of there. In the open. For you to look at. And think about.

You also thought about him standing up for you. A lot. He's sort up stood up for you before. He used to turn and walk away so the jocks would follow him. He's told them to stop so he could get to practice. But they haven't really bothered you since the two of you became friends. But the look in Dave's face when he found you on the ground. It was pure fury. And he shouted. You've never heard Dave raise his voice before. Not like that. Not in anger.

Something swelled in your chest when you watched him fight for you. Every time he took a hit, you cringed. But every time he landed one, you felt a wave of pride. You usually feel guilty when your friends have to fight your battles for you. But there was something about Dave literally fighting for you that made you pause…like, maybe he is your knight in shining armor.

The sudden knock on your door makes you jump. Your dad pokes his head in. "John? Your sister and I are making dessert. Do you want some?"

You make a face and shake your head. You love your sister's cooking, and even sometimes her baking. But she always insists on making Better Crocker brand stuff and you want none of that. You do feel a little guilty, though. You haven't spent much time with your sister since she's been back. Maybe the two of you can hang out tomorrow after school or something.

Your dad steps a little further into your room. "I don't recognize that sweatshirt, son. Is it new?"

You're confused for a moment, until you look down. You're wearing Dave's hoodie. Again. It's become a habit lately. You never wear it in public, but you do when you're alone in your room. Especially if you're feeling down and confused. Like now. It's just so big and comfy and offers more comfort than you'd like to admit. You don't want to tell your dad that though.

You look back at him, fighting the blush you're feeling. You just nod. He looks at you oddly for a second, but then seems to shrug it off. "It looks good. Let me know if you change your mind about dessert." He says before leaving your room and shutting the door behind him.

You sigh, burying your face in two sleeve covered hands. Okay, calm down. You can do this. Just… think about Dave, and then pretend you're Rose and think about what you thought about.

Dave. Where do you even start? The beginning, you suppose. He's never been mean to you. He was very persistent about befriending you. He sought you out. He learned sign language for you. Only a few of your older friends have done that. He always makes you laugh. He cares about you. He trusts you.

You trust him.

You pick up the picture of Dave from your nightstand and just, kind of hold it in your lap. Staring at it. You remember this night. It was a lot of fun. You pranked him so good! The look on his face when the bucket of water fell on him was hilarious. And then he had chased you around the room and you had a tickle fight and then he pressed you up against the door… oh geez, you had almost forgotten about that. You feel your face warm at the memory. He was so close, his body so warm against yours.

And then the dream you had that one night.

You squirm where you sit and pluck up the front collar of the hoodie, hiding half your face in it, right up to your nose. No one is there to see, but you're still embarrassed. That dream… you had just passed it off as a strange happenstance and forgot about it. But now, you're not so sure. Maybe it did mean something? That dream had been…nice.

And so was the kiss…UGH! No! You aren't thinking about that right now.

You like one-on-one time with Dave. You like having him all to yourself. You like wrestling with him and sitting close on the couch, his arm around your shoulders and sharing a blanket. You like that at the end of the night, you share a bed and you can feel his warmth and his breath as he falls asleep. You miss having sleepovers with Dave. You've only had a few, but you want more. You want more time with Dave.

Okay, so you like spending time with Dave and talking to Dave and you suppose now that you think about it, you like that he always treats you like you're special. But do you like Dave? You have a great broship, but could you be romantic with him?

You think of his closeness, the times you've cuddled, his smile, the was his forehead crinkles when he's focusing on signing. Yes. Yes, you kind of could see yourself being romantic with him. It wouldn't be that far of a step from where you are, you guess. But…could you be…you know, physical? With a boy?

You make a strangled airy grunt that almost passes as a groan. You pull up the hood of Dave's hoodie over your head and flop down on your back. Your chin, nose, and mouth are still tucked inside the pulled up collar. One hand holds the collar there while the other holds Dave's picture above your head.

It's both easy and hard to admit to yourself that you've already recognized Dave's attractiveness. You've known that for a while. There's a reason girls fawn over him and boys idolize him. But you always just assumed your recognition of his looks was more in a "my friend is super attractive and everyone is jealous and even me a little bit because I wish I was that attractive" kind of way. You look at Dave's picture and try to see him in…another kind of way.

The sharpness of his features, the curve of his nose, the angle of his jaw. You can't see his freckles in the picture, but you know they're there, under his shades. He's attractive and mysterious and cool with his sunglasses on. But with them off…he's so much more. You can see his expression and his eyes. All his insecurities and all the things he hides are in his red, strange, and beautiful eyes. Framed by his blonde lashes and accenting his freckles. The way his hair falls when it's messy, and the way it always seems to go back into place. His lips, thin and pink and sometimes chapped, always in a straight indifferent line unless he has something to smirk about. That infuriating smirk that is just so Dave. And, sometimes, he smiles. And it's usually for you.

Your body's hot, but you don't unbury yourself from the hoodie. In fact, you just want to crawl under your blankets and hide forever. You throw your arms over your face and let your legs flail in a mini-tantrum. You kick your books and papers and hear them crumple, but you don't care. A thud tells you that your backpack has fallen to the floor, but you pay it no mind.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuckuuuuugh! Ergh! Ugh! Dammit! Fuckfuckfuck!"

Your name is John Egbert, and you have just admitted to yourself that you probably really kind of do like Dave Strider in a crush sort of way.

And it scares the ever-living shit out of you.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and maybe if you just don't move, nothing will hurt.

You try laying completely still, but no. Your head is still pulsing with so much force, you think your skull might crack. Your eyes feel like they're trying to retreat inside your head, burning their way back into your brain. You can't even think. If you try and think about something, the thought is just amplified and bounces around your head like a ringing bell. Thinking hurts and moving hurts and opening your eyes hurts, so there's nothing to distract you from your headache.

No, that's not necessarily true, now is it? Your rolling nausea is doing a fairly good job at distracting you from your head. It comes in waves though, and once it recedes, you're back to just feeling like there's a dwarf mining for gems behind your eye sockets.

There's a sharper pounding pulsing in your ears, and it takes you a moment to realize that it's actually a knock at your door. Instead of answering with words, you make a loud groaning sound that is muffled significantly by the purple pillow you have pressed against your face.

"Rooosey, how ya feeling?" Roxy's voice is soft and concerned and you silently thank her for having enough foresight to keep her volume down.

In response, you groan again, only this time adding a little more misery.

She clicks her tongue and you can hear her moving through your room. "I brought you some drugs and water."

"This is your fault." You grumble, your mouth feels dry and your tongue thick.

She clicks her tongue again. "Gurly, I told you to drink more water. If you wanna keep up with big sis, you're gonna have to stay hydrated."

You know this. And you realize that yes, you had failed to stay hydrated. But at the time, you hadn't quite cared. Now you care and you very much regret your inebriated decisions. You've drank with Roxy before, but never more than a few glasses of wine or a few martinis. Rarely was it enough to actually push you over the edge of tipsy into the land of drunk. Last night, however, you had gotten a little too enthused with your sister-sister bonding and dived straight into the land of drunk, stopping only just before falling into the sea of wasted. The result of poor planning, lack of hydration, and an empty stomach is your splitting headache, rolling stomach, and general hangover.

"Give me a spell to make this go away." You demand, keeping the pillow firmly on your face.

"No spells. Just drugs." You hear her set the cup down on your nightstand. "Maaagic drugs. Come on, Rosey, take 'em. Take the drugs!" You feel her weight dip the edge of your mattress and then suddenly your bed is shaking as she jumps up and down, chanting. "Take the drugs! Take the drugs! Take the drugs!"

"Ugh! Fine! Stop!" She stops jumping and you slowly move the pillow away from your face, replacing it with your arm instead. You squint against the light in your room, using your arm's shadow to lessen the glare. "Why is my room so bright?"

"That's called the sun. It usually hangs around the house this time of day."

You glare at her. It's not hard. You're already squinting. She's sitting on the edge of your bed, holding out three tylenol tablets. You force yourself to sit up, pausing for a moment when the world spins in a hurricane of pain. You take the pills offered, chug the entire cup of water, and lay back down.

"I would like to be alone with my misery, if you please." You say, putting the pillow back over your face.

She pats your leg. "Just make sure to drink a bunch of water and eat something, if you're feeling up to it."

It takes a few hours for the tylenol to take full effect. When your headache subsides, you get up and shuffle to the kitchen. No one's around. You drink a full glass of water, then fill it up again. You make a sandwich and force yourself to eat it. You bring a bag of carrots upstairs with you to munch on.

Once back in your room, you stand in the center and stare at your computer. The harsh artificial light the screen emits would probably just bring your headache back. Reading colored text on a white background would definitely be no good. Plus, you don't want to risk Kanaya messaging you. You sigh and go to your bed, curling up against the headboard in a nest of blankets, yarn, and pillows. There might be a few articles of clothing in it as well.

That's where Dave finds you a couple hours later, with a great leather tome open on your lap. He knocks loudly and calls through the door. "Rose! Is it safe in there? Can I come in?"

You sigh, delicately placing your knitted bookmark between the pages before closing the book. "Yes, Dave. Come in."

He throws your door open, strides in, and throws it closed. You try not to cringe at the loud sound. "Jesus, Rose, try cleaning your room sometime." He says as he makes his way carefully through the maze of stuff on your floor. Books in fallen piles, clothes haphazardly strewn, and completed and half completed yarn creations. "It looks like some titans came rampaging through here."

You know he's referring to that new anime he and Dirk have been watching, but you don't feel like indulging him at the moment. "What do you want, Dave?" You ask bluntly.

He flops down on your bed, with his feet on the ground and laying on his back across the foot of your mattress. "I don't know what to do, Rose. Pick my brain and tell me what to do."

You sigh, lifting one hand to rub circles on your temple. "Okay, just tell me what is going on."

He folds his arms beneath his head and stares at the ceiling. He's wearing the sweater you knitted him for christmas. "I kissed John at my last football game."

"I know."

"You know?" He rolls his head to the side to look at you.

You give him a small smug smile. You do enjoy catching him off guard. "You kissed him in the open, Dave. Although crowd mentality did shield you from many eyes, there are those who witnessed you macking on our dear, clueless John."

"So…you saw?"

"I saw."

He actually blushes a little beneath his shades and looks back at the ceiling. "Yeah, so I did that. And at school I told him how I felt."

That surprises you, but you don't let it show. You put a few of the pieces together and come to the conclusion that it must have happened around the same time Dave valiantly saved John from a bully beating. Anger still coiled in your belly when you thought of it. One of you should have been there. One of you is always there to stop them. But your protective instincts had gone soft from the months of Dave being attached to his hip. You still regret not being able to drive your own fist into the face of one of John's attackers. "How did that go?"

Dave's mouth twists into a frown. "Badly. But I told him to think about it."

You wait to see if he would say more. He doesn't. As always, you are going to have to hold Dave's hand and walk him through this. "And did he think about it?" You sound more exasperated than curious.

You like to think of yourself as calm and collected and an overall good listener. You enjoy analyzing the actions and feelings of others. You like knowing all these things because you enjoy understanding people. Understanding people is the foundation of creating characters. But right now, you feel less like humoring Dave, and more like getting back to your reading. Unfortunately, you had promised him that you would always be there to hear him talk. And you do find Dave's brain fascinating. He's one of the most complex people you know. But right now, you're feeling less curious and sympathetic, and more annoyed and irritable. You blame the hangover.

Dave shrugs. "He hasn't talked to me about it yet, if that's what you mean."

"So you are upset that you haven't heard his answer yet?"

He purses his lips and nods.

"But he hasn't said that he's not opposed to the idea?"

"Well, no…"

"Did you ask him to think about it before or after our paint ball excursion?"

"Before…"

"He seemed fairly normal. Nervous, yes, but normal."

"Well, yeah, I guess."

"That seems a good sign."

"Yeah, maybe…"

He lapses back into silence and you can almost feel your headache coming back. You lean your head back against your headboard and make a mental note to take more tylenol. "Dave, what do you want from me?"

"What do I do, Rose?"

"There's nothing you can do."

"What?"

Your brows furrow and your eye twitches. "There is nothing you can do, Dave." You say, just a little too sharply.

When you look back at him, he's propped up on his elbows staring at you from beneath his shades. His eyebrows have disappeared into the hair that falls across his forehead. Perhaps you said that a little too loud as well. But you can't find it in you to expel the effort needed to remedy the situation. So you push forward heedlessly.

"There is nothing you can do. You've kissed him. You've told him you like him. Here's an idea. Perhaps you leave him alone and give him the space to think about it, just as you asked. Has it occurred to you that perhaps he's doing just that? Thinking? And, here's a guess, that's why he hasn't contacted you. We all know John is as oblivious as a brick wall and he will need time to come to conclusions concerning anything that doesn't fit into his preconceived notions of how his life will go. So no, Dave. There is nothing you can do."

Dave is staring at you still, although now his mouth has dropped open. You sigh again and lean your head back, closing your eyes and rubbing your eyes with both hands. "Look, Dave. He's going to need time. He was fairly normal and smiling and not avoiding you while we were playing paintball. So don't worry too much about it. If you push him, you'll just push him away. Be patient and he'll come to you."

There's a long silence, in which you don't bother opening your eyes. Maybe, if you stay like this long enough, he'll just go away. You have no such luck.

"Rose."

Just don't answer him.

"Rose."

"What." You snap. You hadn't meant to snap.

"Is something wrong?"

You finally lower your hands and glare at him through narrowed eyes. "No, Dave. There is absolutely nothing wrong. You have your problems with John, and Dirk has his problems with Jake. But my only problem is with alcohol. I am perfectly right as rain, not that you would have noticed. Don't worry yourself, I will always be the perfectly content one in this misfit family, ready to put the pieces back together from your broken and confusing relationships. Maybe someday you will all be able to see past your own little realities, but until then, yes, I am fine, Dave. Perfectly fine."

You hadn't realized you had been shouting until you were done. You're fairly certain you can see Dave's molars now. You wait, but he doesn't say anything. You're half expecting Roxy to burst through the door. But she doesn't. And Dave is still staring at you. You absentmindedly fix your hair, pushing back a strand that had fallen in front of your eyes and adjust your headband. "Close your mouth, Dave. It's unattractive."

His mouth snaps shut. "Rose…"

"Look, I'm sorry. I took Roxy up on her sister-bonding-drinking-night last night, and I'm feeling rather disgusting today. I'm very hung over and short on patience."

"Did something happen?"

"No." You say a little too quickly. You glance toward your nightstand where your phone sits, untouched all day. Dave sees your glance.

"Did you drunk text anyone?" He asks slowly, almost like he's approaching a wild animal.

"No." You snap.

You did. After you were well into the wilds of drunk land, your phone was in your hand and you were already texting Kanaya before you realized what you were doing. You don't remember much of what you said, and Roxy had taken your phone from you before your conversation was finished. But you're pretty sure you were making Kanaya mad. And you're pretty sure your drunken sarcasm did not help. You're pretty sure you confronted her about Vriska, but you're not completely certain. That may have just been part of your intoxicated nightmare.

Kanaya is your best friend. You have many good friends, but Kanaya is your closest. You realized you had a crush on her about six months ago. And after that, you realized that she had been pining after you for more than a year. And you felt awful that you hadn't noticed until it was possibly too late. After the school year started, you noticed her rekindling her old friendship with Vriska. You've known Kanaya for a long time, and you've shared so many secrets. So you know that they had an odd, one-sided relationship during middle school. And now they were talking again and hanging out outside of school hours.

You feared the worst.

You may be a wonderful help to your friends in realizing their true emotions, and you may see and understand the paths people must take to fully fulfill their relationship potentials, but you are completely hopeless when it comes to yourself. You're too focused on others to see yourself. And you realized your feelings too late. Now it seemed Kanaya has refocused her romantic intentions elsewhere.

You have tried to make your interest known, but you're not too sure how to make it any clearer. And, unlike what everyone may think, you are quite nervous.

And you think you blew it last night. You're fairly certain you confronted Kanaya about Vriska, and your texts had an overwhelming amount of passive aggressive sarcasm. That's what you remember, or think you remember. You've been too nervous to actually check your phone to see. Even more, you're afraid of what she might have said this morning. Or worse. What if she hasn't said anything at all.

It was irritating that while everyone was moping about their own problems, and while they were all coming to you for help, the one person you can't help is yourself. And no one pays close enough attention to notice that you need it.

"That book is super creepy."

You blink and look at Dave in mild confusion. "What?"

He nods toward your lap. "That book. It has one of those creepy tentacle creatures you love so much."

You look down at the book that sat forgotten in your lap. You absently traced the imprint in the leather. "It's a collection of Cthulhu tales. Deluxe edition. It was one of my gifts from Roxy this year."

"Yeah, I know. And it's super creepy. Just like all the posters on your walls." He made a show of looking around your room, even though he's perfectly aware of what your posters look like already. "I don't know how you sleep in here."

You look around and smile. A mere twitch of the lips. "The horror terrors watch over me at night and devour bad dreams and enemies." Your Mom told you that one night when your own posters were starting to scare you in the dark. You were eight, and you still remember it to this day. Now your posters comfort you.

"Like I said. Creepy." He looks back at you and smiles. "So what's in that book?"

"Stories."

"Why don't you read me one?"

Your small smile widens just a fraction. You know what he's doing, and you appreciate it. Dave may not always immediatly see when you're upset, but he usually figures it out. This time you sort of slapped him in the face with it, but still, it didn't scare him away. Instead he's trying to make you feel better, in his own way.

"Sure, Dave." You say, fondness replacing the exasperation in your voice. He crawls up into your nest and you read him a couple stories. As expected with Dave, he doesn't hold back the commentary. And he does manage to make you laugh. Although your own romantic woes still weigh heavily on your mind, and the looming obligation of apologizing to Kanaya makes you want to retch, Dave manages to take your mind off it. For now, at least.

You never had a brother. It's always been you and Roxy and Mom, for as long as you can remember. And when Dave first came to visit with Dirk, he left as just a friend. Now, a few years later, Dave is more than a friend. Kanaya may be your best friend. And Karkat and Jake are your good friends. And John and Jade are your close childhood friends. But Dave is different. Dave is like your brother. Only he's better than a brother, because he's your friend, too.

==>

Your name is Roxy Lalonde, and you are hella tired of these mopey ass bitches.

When you came home for winter break, you expected to have some rad times with your family. Because yes, Dave is like your brother from another mother. And Dirk is like your bro from another hoe.

You had planned on spending the days with Rose, talking it up about your favorite books and about your new D&D characters (because as much as your sister likes to pretend she's all professional and cool, she's totes a creative writing nerd so it wasn't that hard to get her into D&D). The two of you were going to go to the mall like sisters do and all that other bonding shit.

You had planned on spending your evenings with Dave, kicking his ass at his favorite video games and then teaming up to kick the collective ass of a bunch of whiney teenagers and preteens online. Dirk is pretty awesome with games too, but he can be a total buzz kill when he he has to "work" and "be productive." So video game time had always been your precious bonding time with Dave.

And then you had planned on spending your nights staying up late, eating ice cream, doing your nails, and gossiping about sex and your love lives with your bdff (best dude friend forever), Dirk. You had a righteous color picked out for him and everything. You were going to do his fingernails this ballin' ass burn orange color, and do his toes a hot mama pink. And you know he's been stressing about this whole Jake situation, so you were planning on helping him through that, too. Because that's what besties are for.

And that was pretty much how the first few days of your stay went. You thought your paintball extravaganza was just what everyone needed. You and Jane got to spend time with all your friends and family, and all the little lovesick angsty puppies got to be forced into a game of fun with their crushes. You had a blast. And you kicked everyone's ass. It was a great day!

And then Christmas came and went with your usual Lalonde-Strider shenanigans. Before you went to college, it was just you and Mom and Rose. Holidays were always super tense with Rose's preteen hormone ridden passive aggressive war with Mom. Mom either didn't get it, or was answering with complete and utter love and devotion just to annoy her. Rose tried it on you a couple of times, but you were having none of that shit! From then on, her little war was just focused on Mom.

Then you started bringing Dirk and Dave home for holidays. Mom pretty much adopted them under her wing immediately. They've never called her anything but Mom. Ever since then, they were basically family. Rose got a new friend to annoy, who didn't seem to be too upset about Rose's antics. And she got a new older brother to pester. And holidays got a lot more exciting.

The morning started with Dirk nailing Dave with phallic puppets until he reached the tree. He almost made it without getting hit this year. But a red one with a penis nose hit him square in the face right when he thought he won. You and Rose had gotten up earlier than them, as usual, and sat in the kitchen drinking peppermint tea, stirred with a candy cane, and talking about your favorite fan fiction until the boys got up.

This year Rose had knitted you all sweaters and matching hats. The sweaters were oversized for each of you, so they fit loosely and it was like being bundled up in a big snugly hug. They also each had pockets to store things such as your phone and your 3DS.

Dave's sweater was white, grey, and red, with a broken record on the front. He also got a matching hat with earflaps and chords hanging down from them. You think the broken record is funny. It's like his normal record shirts, only broken. Because he won't stop talking, like a broken record. Dirk's is charcoal and black, with orange highlights and an orange hat on the front. He also got a matching winter hat with a baseball cap embroidered on the front. He has a small hat collection that he refuses to wear because it would mess up his hair. You and Rose think it's hilarious.

Your sweater is various shades of pink and white, with a solid pink cat on the front. Only the cat has four eyes. When you asked Rose about it, she just smiled and shrugged and said that a mutant cat seemed like the perfect thing for you. You couldn't agree more. One of your fav original characters has a cat. You're gonna have to make it a mutant cat now. Your matching hat has ear flaps to cover your own ears and cat ears on the top. Basically, you got the best sweater.

Rose made one for herself, too, so she could match. Hers is dark purple and light violet mixed together, with a black angry looking octopus on the front. Her purple hat has tentacles.

She also got Dave a preserved two-headed iguana; you got several cat sweaters for the various cats you and Jane have back in New York as well as a book set that neither of you would let the boys see; and Dirk got a My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic box and two really awesome centaur posters and a book on centaurs.

Dirk got Dave new turn tables, tricking them out himself, and some expensive film for his cameras. He also got him a couple of games he's been wanting. Dave got Dirk some awesome new headphones, black with orange highlights; a new work mix that he did himself; a new toolkit that was huge and orange and on wheels and filled with so many shiny new tools all with black and orange leather grips; and a hand drawn card in crayon of the two of them holding hands in the Sweet Bro & Hella Jeff style he does. It read "Merry Christmas, Bro." He does one for each of you every year. It's ironic, he says. You think it's super adorbs.

You got Dirk and Dave each a cliche and totally ironic "I love New York" sweatshirt and a preorder for the new xbox. For Rose, you got a kitten. Or rather, the promise of a kitten. One of your cats just gave birth a month or so ago, and you promised Rose she could have her pick. You would also provide all the necessary pet supplies. In purple. You even got her kitten a little cat tuxedo. But you haven't told her about that yet. It's a surprise. Cause you're an awesome sister.

Christmas day was spent watching Christmas movies, old and new, playing your new video games, and skyping Mom. Mom was spending Christmas in Italy this year. Just one of the many stops of her European lecture tour. You talked for several hours, with the laptop on the coffee table and the four of you curled up on the couch. Once she was caught up with everyone, she had to go. Afterwards the four of you played poker. Rose and Dirk are the best at it, but even you can beat Dave. He gets so frustrated and turns red. Too bad for him, his "poker" face doesn't work when playing poker with this family.

After Christmas, everything went downhill fast. Dirk started spending more and more time in his office or in the garage. "Working," he says, but you know he's just "working" to avoid looking at his phone, which has been empty of Jake messages since paintball. You know Dirk well enough to know when he's practicing his own little form of escapism. He's moping, and trying to distract himself, and you are so done with mopers.

So thats how you find yourself outside the office door, pounding on the wood with your fist and ignoring the "do not disturb while working" rule. "Diiiirk! Dirk! I know you're in there!" You can hear the faint sounds of his music leaking through his headphones. You shout a little louder, just to make sure he can hear you. "Dirk!"

Sure enough, the door is thrown open with a little too much force and there's Dirk, standing all imposing in the doorway. He's wearing his comfy, oversized Rose sweater and a pair of his usual black skinny jeans. He's barefoot, which tells you he's been here most of the day. His silly pointy shades are tucked into the collar of his sweater, so you get to see his orange eyes in all their pretty glory as they glare daggers at you. You're totally unfazed.

"What." He says.

"Dirk! There you are!" You say with a bright grin. You try to step past him into the room, but he's right in the way and doesn't budge. Okay, so much for that. You're gonna have to talk him up before he'll let you into his man cave. "I haven't seen you all day!"

"I've been working."

"Working on what, hmm?" You try going up on your toes to see over his shoulder, but he's still too tall. Damn his tall, muscled shoulders. With the little patches of freckles. Dirk is one handsome man. Complete and utter perfect boyfriend material. You made a checklist once. Too bad he has a preference for the D, and you've found that boobs are totally where it's at.

"Work." His glare is still there, and you should probably address it before he pops a blood vessel or something.

"Oooo no need to be so cold, bro." You fake a shiver. Even though you wouldn't be shivering. Because you're wearing your totally awesome and badass mutant cat sweater. Best sweater.

He finally blinks and sighs, running his hand through his hair. You normally pick on him for that. With all the product he puts in his hair, you're surprised he can even touch it without cutting himself. But today his hair is a little limp and, dare you say, natural? Just another sign that he's locked himself away all day. "What do you want, Roxy?"

You poke him in the chest and jesus, you think you may have bruised your finger. "You need to relax, dude. You're on vacation."

His hand returns to the door and you sense he's about to flee. "You are on vacation. I am not. I have to work to pay the bills."

"Yeah, but you're working too much."

He huffs and rolls his eyes. "Says you. When do you ever work longer than an hour or two?"

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning your weight to one hip. That's right. You're busting out the mom stance. And the mom voice. "Dirk, you haven't eaten today."

"Yes, I have." He's defensive.

"And what was that?"

He shrugs and avoids eye contact. "I don't know. Cereal and coffee."

"Dirk, it's eight at night and I know you haven't left this room since you ate breakfast. You're barefoot, your coffee mug is still on the desk back there, and you haven't even styled your hair."

He frowns. "What do my feet have to do with it?"

This time you sigh and roll your eyes. "Dirk, you can't work without having socks and shoes on. Being fully dressed makes you feel more inclined to be 'productive' or whatever. You're throwing all your time into working but what you're really doing is avoiding talking to Jake."

His frown deepens. "It's not about that."

"Yes, it is. And we both know it."

He glares at you and you glare back. You're not going to back down from this one. You puff out your chest and tap your foot and hold your ground and will your pink eyes to devour his soul. You know you're right, and you will not let him get away with this anymore. He hasn't eaten much of anything since Christmas, and you don't think he's showered much either. He's stopped caring about pretty much anything that isn't his robots and he's not even paying attention to anyone else in the house.

He finally looks away, which gives you leave to speak again.

"Look, Dirk. I know you're sad and all, but starving yourself isn't the answer. It's downright unhealthy."

"I'm not starving myself." He mumbles. "I just…forget that I haven't eaten."

"Jake is a hottie with a body, and we all know it. But you just gotta give him space, bro. No one can resist your biceps for long. He'll be running to your pecs and grabbin your gluts in no time."

He gives you a look that's about seventy-five percent exasperation, and twenty-five percent fond amusement. At least it's something. But you know Dirk, and you know that just making him feel guilty about himself isn't going to fix this. He'll just lapse into a state of self-loathing. Now that you've made him realize his own state, it was time to bust out the big guns.

"And I am this much," you hold your arms out as wide as they can go, "Done with all the depressive shit in this house. Do you know how done that is, Dirk? Do you? Do you know how much done I am?"

"Completely?"

You throw your hands in the air. "One hundred fucking percent. I am one hundred fucking percent done with all this down-on-life angst. I'm drowning in it, Dirk. Rose and Dave are teenagers. I almost expect that of them. But you're an adult, Dirk. I need you to be my life preserver. Keep me afloat. Or rather, be my water noodle. Be my noodle, Dirk."

His brow furrows. "What are you talking about, Roxy?"

You roll your eyes dramatically and collapse against the doorframe. "You really need to pay better attention to your surroundings. When you get mopey, you miss everything. Let me catch you up to speed." You hold up one finger. "Dave kissed John and told him he's got the hots for his bod, and the adorbs little thing didn't say a word. Ha! Get it? But no really, he didn't know what to say. So Dave told him to think about it. And they haven't talked all vacay except for at my paintball eleganza extravaganza."

"Eleganza extravaganza?"

"Did you see me? I was elegant as fuck. Anyway, shut up. I'm still explaining you a thing. So Dave's got the little boy blues and is in basically the same boat as you, but you've been too preoccupied to notice that he's right there beside you." You hold up another finger. "Now you may thing my baby sis has all her shit together, but have you seen her room? Her shit is everywhere. She's a fragile little baby and you haven't been taking care of her. She's been angstin' and pining after this chick, who's been angstin' and pining after another chick. Now last night we got drunk, sister bonding stuff, but I'm sure you didn't notice that either. Anyway, she got drunk and texted this chick and I'm pretty sure she got some damage done before I could get her phone away from her. I had to wrestle her. We knocked over the table and spilled some wine and she bit me."

You hold up a third finger and poke him in the chest with all three with every word. For emphasis. "And thirdly, you're here being a big grown up baby not noticing any of it. Wah-wah, the boy you like may just like you back, but you can't focus on that because you're too busy being you and seeing the negative side. How can you expect him to see past John if you can't see past John?" He blinks and you can tell by his expression that something clicks. You nod. "Yeah? Put that in your pipe and smoke it, hot shot."

You hold up a fourth finger. "And finally, me. I've got my own problems. You know I've got my own problems. But you know what? I'm dealing with them. Like an adult. And instead of worrying about my girl problems concerning my roommate who probably doesn't like the V and this hella cute girl in my D&D group who may or may not be getting her flirt on with me, you know what I'm doing? I'm trying to enjoy the company of my family. But you're making it super difficult."

Dirk's lips are pursed tight and the look in his eyes is about three parts guilty, one part pity, and two parts self-loathing. "Roxy, I…"

You cover his mouth with your four fingers. "No. You listen here, bub. Because I'm the adult in this family, I'm gonna do the adult thing. Get your shoes on and be at the front door in five minutes. Or else."

You leave him standing in the doorway, looking confused and confounded. You don't care. You've had enough of their shit. All of them. You march yourself to the stairs and cup your hands around your mouth. "DAVE! ROSE!" It takes a moment, but they both poke their heads out of their rooms.

"What?!" Dave shouts back. Rose remains quiet, but you can see her irritated stare.

"Get a jacket and your shoes. By the door, five minutes."

"Why?" Dave asks.

"We're going out."

"Where?"

"Five minutes!"

In five minutes, they've all gathered. All of you are wearing your new sweaters. Dave looks at Dirk with eyebrows raised, and Dirk just shrugs, his hands buried in his pockets. Rose is eyeing you curiously.

You throw open the door. "Alright, kiddies, march! To the car!" You say, spinning Dirk's keys on one finger. Your own car is back in New York, so you'll just have to use his.

"That's my car." Dirk says when you join them in the driveway after locking up the house. It's snowing lightly and there's a good few inches of old snow on the ground. You know it'll just rain tomorrow and the snow will turn to slush. Good ol' Washington. The air is cold, so you waste no time unlocking the car and sliding into the driver's seat.

"Not today." You tell him. "I'm the adult, remember?" You give him a smile and a wink as you crank the engine, and he huffs before going around to the passenger's side. Rose and Dave slide into the backseat.

"Where are we going?" Rose asks as you pull out of the driveway.

You throw the car in drive and start off down the road. "I'm taking you all out for ice-cream."

There's a moment of surprised silence before Rose speaks again. "It's below freezing and snowing outside." She states, like you had no idea what the weather was like.

"It's never too cold for ice cream." You reply.

"We haven't eaten dinner yet." Dave adds.

"The thing about being an adult is that you can decide that if you want dessert before dinner, you can have your dessert before dinner." You twist in your seat to give Dave a wink.

"What are you trying to prove, Roxy?" Dirk asks, eyeing you from the passenger's seat. It's dark, so he still hasn't bothered putting his shades back on. Dave has his on anyway.

"Look, the three of you are being whiney, heartbroken weenies. But the thing is, none of you have actually gotten your hearts broken." You turn out onto the main street and head toward your favorite ice cream place. Many flavors, all homemade, and always open. "You're all just afraid of getting your hearts broken. And because you're afraid, you're not doing anything to stop your hearts from being broken. If you really want to snag your man," You glance in the rearview mirror at Rose and give her a small smile. "Or your woman, you've got to do something instead of just moping around doing nothing."

The ice cream place is ten minutes down the road, and the rest of that time is spent in silence. You glance around the car at stoplights, only to find that everyone is staring blankly out their windows. Deep in thought, you hope. When you pull into the parking lot and turn the car off, you pause before getting out. You twist around in your seat so you can see everyone.

"Now, look, I know none of you are good about communicating. Let's face it, only I am. But that's not the point. The point is, if you don't want to lose them forever, you've got to talk to them. Suck it up, and go talk to them, okay? Now, big sis Roxy is going to buy you all ice cream to mend those aching hearts, then we're going to go home, order pizza, play poker, and watch a movie. I'll even make you some hot choclety milk."

You hold up a finger and point at all their faces individuals. Just to let them know you're super for serious. "And no one, I repeat, NO ONE is allowed to go mope by themselves. And tomorrow we're going to do some real family bonding. And you know what we're going to do the next day? We're going to go to New York."

That got them all to sputter and look at you with wide-eyed alarm. Even Dirk. They speak all at the same time.

"What? Dave shouts.

"Why?" Rose asks.

"Roxy." Dirk says it like a question.

You hold up a hand and wait for them to be silent. "I already talked to Mom about it, and she's gonna spot me the money for the tickets. She thinks it's a great idea and so do I. You all need to get out of the house and away from your problems for a while. So we, the four of us, are going to go celebrate New Years in good ol' New York and you're going to spend the rest of your vacay in my neck of the woods."

Dirk presses his lips together, and you can see his hands are clenched into fists, but he doesn't argue.

"We always spend New Years together." Rose says, trying to sound logical, but you can sense her dismay.

"I've never spent New Years with them." Dave doesn't hide his dismay so well.

"Well now you can spend New Years with me and each other. Get your minds out of your problems for a while. Breathe a little. When you come back, you'll be refreshed and ready to tackle your crushes to the ground, and hopefully, your beds." You wink and they all groan.

By the time you've fed them all ice cream and you're back at the house, you can tell the idea is starting to grow on them. You're gonna get all your family bonding, and they're going to get over themselves.

And, because you are the most adult adult you know, you treat yourself to a couple glasses of wine with dinner.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you're in quite a pickle.

For the second time in the past few months, you're preparing yourself for a very uncomfortable talk with John. And much like the first time, you're practically shaking in your shoes.

Your pickle began the first time you spoke with John. The first time hadn't gone over as well as you'd hoped. You professed your long time feelings for him and you were prompting shot down. However, you had resolved to never give up. You refused to let that scoundrel, Dave Strider, come between you and the boy of your dreams. You were so concrete in your determination. You were going to win John's love and ride away into the sunset with him. Just like a movie. He would like that.

But now, as much as it pains you to admit, you're not so sure that you would like that.

Every time you start to think that way, you have to remind yourself of how much you like John. You remind yourself of his smile and how that made you feel. You remind yourself of your fantasies with him, romantic, domestic, and otherwise. You remind yourself of the first time you realized you liked him, on his thirteenth birthday when you stayed up late watching movies and eating cake and he fell asleep with his head on your lap. You remind yourself of all the times you've cuddled together, and laughed together, and were just…together.

You tried to talk to Jade about this, but all she did was bring up Dirk. How was Dirk? How did you feel about Dirk? You weren't trying to talk about Dirk! Your feelings about Dirk were just as muddled and confused as your feelings about John, and you could only tackle one at a time!

She was the one who encouraged you to profess your feelings to John in the first place. Though she hadn't known it was John. You've never told anyone about your feelings for John. You just told Jade about how you liked someone and there was another man moving in and complicating the situation. Jade had told you to go for it and let your feelings be known. So you did. And that didn't quite work out, but at least you tried.

Sometimes Jade has good advice, and sometimes she's just frustrating.

So you went to Jane. Jane's been your friend as long as John has. She's only a year older than you, and the two of you were fast friends. She's always been a down-to-earth lass, with a good head on her shoulders and pretty besides. Though pretty as she may be, you've never felt more for her than a friend. It made for quite a mess a few years back, when you were fifteen and she was sixteen. You had just realized that you liked John, and then Jane came to you with her own crush. She had asked you out on a date, but you hadn't realized it was a date until the end of the night when she tried to kiss you. You had a very uncomfortable talk then, which resulted in Jane crying and avoiding you for months.

But that was four years ago, and the two of you are better now. Now you're close friends and you can usually count on her to be bluntly, even brutally, honest with you.

So you told her, without using her brother's name, about your problem.

"Jake," She had said, cutting you off when your ramble had started to circle. She was in the middle of baking christmas cookies and you were sitting on the counter. Her dad and John were out shopping. "You know I care about you, so please understand when I say that you are sometimes the dumbest person I know."

"Does that mean you'll help me?" You asked.

She had been rolling out dough to cut into shapes, but she stopped that in order to lean one hip against the counter. She wiped her flour covered hands off on her red, Crocker corp. apron. "What exactly do you want me to do, Jake?" She asked, her voice full of unsighed sighs and tiresome frustration.

"I value your advice, Jane."

She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a look at you that was far too much like an exasperated mother. "Jake, has it ever occurred to you that if you like someone, you shouldn't have to remind yourself that you do?"

That advice had hit hard, and muddled your thoughts even more.

"It's completely normal to fall out of love with someone when your feelings aren't returned. It's called moving on and it's healthy. Trust me." She continued, and you couldn't meet her eyes. Your gut twisted in guilt.

You had changed the subject and listened to her stories about school in New York while you helped her frost cookies.

Christmas came and went and you were still dwelling on her advice. You thought about it until your head ached and you couldn't sleep. A couple days after christmas, you could no longer take it. Your heart and your head were at war, and you weren't even sure what they were fighting over. Something had to be done. You needed to solve this pickle of a situation.

And that's how you found yourself on the way to an arcade with John, on yet another bro date. He was happy to get out of the house, complaining of all the sweets that Jane was baking. You know he's not quite a fan of sweets, but his house smells like frosting and you think it's delightful.

You pull into the parking lot and put your car in park. As soon as the engine is cut off, John's hand is on the door. Your hands are shaking slightly in their restlessness and your nervousness, so you grip the steering wheel to ground yourself. You use it to hold you in place, to prevent yourself from running. "John. Wait."

He stops with the door half open. He looks at you curiously, both eyebrows raised. He's twisted in his seat, with one leg already hanging out of the car.

"I need to…" Your voice fails you. You clear your throat and start again. "Can we talk?"

His look changes to wary curiosity. He's already on the defense. He remembers what happened last time you wanted to talk. So you look at him and smile, trying to reassure him that it will be okay, even though your insides are in a knot. He slowly turns back forward and shuts the door. He takes out his notebook, the small one he keeps in his pocket, and pen and scribbles on his lap before holding it out to show you.

"what's up?" He's sitting with his back straight and you can see the tension around his jaw. His smile is tight.

You take a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. When you speak, you're surprised that you feel as calm as you sound. "John, is there any chance that you'll return my feelings for you?"

That surprises him. You expect that he expected something like this when you asked to talk, but you're channeling your inner frustrated, blunt Jane. His mouth opens slightly before closing, like he was actually trying to say something for a moment. You watch him from the driver's seat, your hands still clutching at the wheel. You watch the emotions pass over his face. He's never been good at hiding his emotions. You bite the inside of your cheek and wait. He looks away from you, down at his notebook. He writes something, scribbles it out, hesitates, and writes something again.

He holds it out for you, and you read the words you knew you would see. "i'm sorry, jake." When you look up from his notebook, he's watching you, his eyes wide and watery and bright in the afternoon light. The hand that isn't holding his notebook is in a fist, rubbing small circles on his chest. You know that's the sign for sorry.

He bites his lip and you know he's worried, so you smile. It's a small smile. "It's okay, mate."

And after you say it, you realize it's true. It is okay. It hurts to hear him say it, even though you had prepared yourself for it. It hurts and it's like a punch to the gut that leaves you out of breath. But it's okay. You don't have to pine after him when you know he'll never be yours. You'll be okay.

With that realization, your whole body relaxes. Your hands slip from the steering wheel, down to your lap. You slouch in your seat. You hadn't realized how straight you had been sitting. Your cheek hurts from where you had been biting it. You poke at it with your tongue, trying to gather the courage to say what else needs to be said. You're proud of yourself for coming this far. Now you just have to go that one step further.

John writes something else and shows you. "you're still my best friend."

That makes you smile in earnest. "You, too, mate." You reach over and grasp his shoulder, shaking it slightly. "Nothing can get in the way of our broship."

He smiles and writes something down. "ready for me to kick your butt at some games?"

You laugh. "We'll see about that!" You suppose you'll just tell him later.

The arcade is busy and most of the occupants are children, but you expected that. You and John manage to have a fun time anyway. You make a point to play every game in the building. Including the ones that are just coin tossers for tickets and good old packman. You play on a team for the shooting games, but you carry most of the weight. You stand at an angle to the game, your plastic gun held up like you would a real gun. John always dies first, despite your attempts to keep him alive.

You play the racing games, too. You have a tendency to win the car races, but John wins the ones with the motorcycles. You're much better with an actual wheel, as opposed to straddling a fake motorbike and leaning dangerously to each side just to turn.

John also kicks your butt on the air hockey tables and the blasted dance machines. Your feet overstep the floor buttons and your legs get twisted up, and John picks the fast songs, which doesn't help. You simply have no sense of rhythm. After nearly falling off the machine platform, you lean back against the rail behind the platform, breathing hard.

"Alright! Alright! I concede! Consider my rump thoroughly kicked."

John turns to face you, his hands on his hips and a wide grin on his lips. He's laughing and it's breathy, but it's still a comforting, familiar sound. You take a moment to acknowledge that he's adorable and perfect, and also to register that it no longer makes your heart beat speed up or your breath catch. It gives you confidence. You need to tell him.

"I bet Dave would give you a run for your money." You say, looking at the machine screen. It's flashing a big F in your face, as if you hadn't known that you failed. "This blasted machine is probably something he's good at." You look at John. He's biting his lip and his hands have dropped to his sides. He's staring at his screen, too. His says B+. "John, I wish you the best of luck with the young Strider." It hurts to say, and it's barely above a whisper. For a moment, you're not sure whether he heard you over the sounds the dance machine is making, or the general humdrum of the arcade.

You don't look at him. You're not sure you can. But then his small notebook is being shoved into your line of sight. You blink as your eyes readjust.

"is it really that obvious?"

You look over at John and you're surprised by how worried he looks. You throw back your head and laugh, and it feels good to laugh. "For someone who knows you as well as I do, mate, yes, I'd say your mutual affections are obvious."

He stiffens and his face turns bright red. It's a drastic contrast to his eyes. He leans over, bracing his notebook against his thigh as he scribbles furiously.

"you know about Dave, too?"

You roll your eyes. "Strider isn't exactly subtle."

His lips twist into a half-frown and searches your face, then he writes again. "I think I like him, too, Jake. I don't know what to do. help?" He chews on his lip and watches you with worry in his eyes.

You shrug your shoulders, for once feeling like the older, wiser friend. You don't get that feeling a lot. "Seems to me it's pretty obvious, old chap. If you like the fellow, you like the fellow. No use trying to fight it."

John sighs and his shoulders slump. He looks at the machine and then back to you, tilting his head towards it. You're not exactly good at this dancing contraption, but you've caught your breath and your heartbeat has slowed, so maybe you are ready for another round. You sigh and push off from the bar behind the machine. Taking your starting position at the middle of your platform, you make a show of stretching your arms. "Sure, mate, but only because you insist."

John sets his notebook and pen on the machine and chooses another fast paced song. It's in Japanese, you think, and its happy and bubbly and a little anime girl dances in the background of your screen while the words "miss" and "poor" pop up on your screen. It makes you think of Dirk. He probably knows this song. It might even relate to one of those animes he watches.

You bet Dirk would also kick your posterior at this dance game. You bet he would be graceful and elegant as he played. Maybe he'd even sing the words. You've never heard Dirk sing, but you bet he's good at that, too. You're suddenly very curious to hear his singing voice. With his mild Texan twang that just accentuates his deep, lazy yet articulate speech. You'd probably lose to him because you'd be too busy watching him.

You haven't talked to him in a while, and you miss him. But you promised yourself that you'd tackle only one problem at a time. This problem seems to be relatively solved. Which made you nervous, because you aren't exactly sure what to do about Dirk.

When the song is over, you made a D and John made a B+ again. He snatches his notebook while you catch your breath, then he holds it out to you. A new page with just one sentence.

"so what about Dave's brother?"

Your cheeks warm and you look at John in surprised alarm. How in the dickens did he know what you were thinking? He's grinning at you, and you don't appreciate that smug look in his eyes. "What about him?" You lean back against the bar behind the dance platform, but your hand slips and you stumble backwards, barely catching yourself before you fall to the floor.

John laughs and writes something else down while he hops off the machine. "I think he likes you."

You turn away before he can see your blush. You straighten and brush imaginary dirt off your pants, trying to ignore the fact that you had almost fallen. "You are imagining things, old chap."

You hear John's breathy snort and he holds his notebook out again. "I'm mute, Jake. not blind."

When you look at him, he's giving you a knowing, smug look. One eyebrow up and his lips in a small smile. "There is nothing going on between me and Dirk!" You insist. He gives you a pointed look, tilting his chin down and looking at you over the top of his glasses. "There isn't!" You repeat. He crosses his arms and taps one foot on the ground.

You snatch his notebook from him, and his smug look turns quickly into one of surprise. He grabs for it, but you're taller than him, and you hold it over his head.

"Dirk is a frustrating man. A friend, no doubt, but a frustration and there is nothing going on between us!"

John steps back and holds up both hands. He makes little creatures with his fingers, putting his ring and middle fingers to his thumbs and holding up his index and pinky fingers as ears. The then bumps their noses and mouths together and twists them while making a kissing, puckered face with his lips. He also adds dramatic kissing sounds and looks at you with wide innocent eyes.

You are fairly certain your face may be on fire. "I do not want to kiss him!"

You instantly think back to the football game, where you had kissed him. You had kissed him because of an emotional overload, but you had enjoyed it none the less. You enjoyed his breathless and pleasantly surprised expression even more. It's hard for you to pick out details from that night. Your vision was blurry from tears and it was hard to think of much besides John. But you think of Dirk, and imagine kissing him again. While wrestling in his backyard. Pinning him to the ground. Kissing that obnoxiously smug grin off his face. You wonder what kinds of sounds he would make…

John is still making kissing sounds. You shove his shoulder and he stumbles away, laughing. You cover your face with his notebook.

"I do not want to kiss Dirk." You mumble again, trying to convince yourself as much as John.

You know it's a lie.

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you've never dated anyone.

You're a complete dating noob. And as a dating noob, you have no idea how to actually start dating. You always thought you'd meet a nice girl, fall in love, wait until she gave hints that she liked you back, then you'd ask her to dinner and a movie and kiss her on the doorstep after asking her to be your girlfriend.

But, as it turns out, the person you like is a boy, he's one of your best friends, and he's already told you that he likes you. Not to mention he's going to be in New York for the rest of winter break. So you like him, but there's no wondering if he likes you back. He's been very clear about that. You could ask him to dinner and a movie, but do guys do that? You do that with him anyway, as friends. How do you make it clear that it's a date? And he's out of state, so you wouldn't be able to actually go on the date for a couple weeks. AND he's the one with a car. So he would be taking you out to dinner and a movie.

And the worst part? You can't even surprise him with your first kiss, because he's already done that, too.

You're very quickly realizing that nothing is going to go like you planned. You had always expected it to go a certain way, you had been planning on it going a certain way, and now that it's not possible anymore, you don't know what to do.

The one thing you do know for sure is that Jake was right. You do like Dave, and you can't see why you should be fighting it. It's not what you expected. You never thought you'd end up liking a guy. But then Dave strode (hehe, pun totally intended) into your life and changed all that.

You're just not sure how to tell Dave. It's super embarrassing, and you've been trying to wait for the right time, but nothing seems right. And when a good opportunity comes up, you very quickly chicken out. Ugh, how do people do this?

You want to ask your friends for advice, but you know that they'll just tell you to do it already. And that's no help.

Jake was surprisingly a good help. You didn't want to talk to him about Dave. You were nervous about Jake's reaction to you liking Dave. You didn't want to insult him by rejecting him, and then dating another guy. You were afraid you were going to lose a friend.

But Jake solved that problem for you by telling you it was alright. It was exactly what you needed to hear to put your mind at ease, and you think he knew that. From what he said, it was obvious to him that you have feelings for Dave. Which you think is dumb because you didn't even know until recently! But anyway, you have a sneaking suspicion that Jake knew he had to tell you it was okay, for his own peace of mind as well as yours.

You also have a sneaking suspicion that he really does like Dave's brother, no matter what he says. It's very rare that you see Jake get so flustered. You picked on him for the rest of the time you spent in the arcade. He ignored you for most of it (it's not hard to ignore you when you can't talk), but his face stayed an almost permanent shade of red.

Your phone lights up with another text from Dave.

You're sitting on the couch, playing animal crossing on your new 3DS. It's not necessarily cold in your house, but you're wearing one of your blue hoodies anyway. The collar of it is pulled up over the bridge of your nose. Your entire house smells like frosting at the moment and it's making you feel sick.

Jane's been on a baking spree lately. She normally bakes a lot during winter break. She puts together baskets of goodies for neighbors and friends and family friends and your dad's coworkers. But this time she was going a little overboard. She was miffed at Roxy for going back to New York early, leaving her to take a plane by herself. It wasn't so bad yesterday, when Jane was making pumpkin bread and banana bread and poppyseed bread. And the day before that was sugar cookies and gingerbread cookies and snicker doodles and Russian teacakes (your dad's favorite). But today she's back to cupcakes, and it just smells like frosting and sugar.

You're curled up in the corner of your couch, kneels pulled up tight to your chest and sweatshirt pulled down over them for maximum comfort. You set your DS aside and pick up your phone. Dave sent you a picture. Again. This time it's of him standing outside some coffee stop window, one arm extended to take the selfie and the other hand holding a coffee cup. He's bundled up tight. You can see a red hoodie poking out from underneath his black leather jacket. He's wearing the hat Rose knitted him for christmas, and a yellow and black stripped scarf that he said she made for him a few years ago. When you first saw it, you said it looked like a hufflepuff scarf. He didn't even try to deny it. Dave is a hufflepuff.

The caption on the picture says: "roxy got us hot choclety milk"

You stare at the picture for a good, long while. His face is pale and his nose is very red. His sunglasses take up most of his face, the rest hidden by the hat and scarf. You're glad that your hoodie is covering your smile. You hold your phone out as far as you can, and snap a picture of yourself, bundled up in your sweatshirt on the couch, holding up your DS in your other hand.

You give it the caption: "just running my town :B"

You set your phone on the fabric of your hoodie, where it stretches from your knees to your face. You continue to play your game, but you're keeping a close eye on your phone. It takes him an uncharacteristically long time to respond. When he does, you nearly drop your DS in your attempt to grab your phone. As it stands, you do drop your stylus.

From Dave: dude are you cold
To Dave: no, it smells like frosting in my house
From Dave: sounds delicious
To Dave: it's gross!
From Dave: you have a twisted sense of whats gross
To Dave: you have a twisted sense of what's delicious! you look cold
From Dave: dude its cold as hell up here
From Dave: under the assumption that hell is a frozen wasteland and not a lava pit
To Dave: you're all snuggled up, you wimpy hufflepuff
From Dave: hey now whatd i say about dissing my house
To Dave: gryffindors can say whatever they want! :B
From Dave: spoken like a true slytherin
To Dave: i am not a slytherin!
From Dave: yeah youre right i wouldnt lump you into a house with dirk and rose
To Dave: thank you :B

He doesn't respond immediately so you go back to your game, though it takes you a moment to find your fallen stylus. After paintball, and after the whole Dave-kiss-and-confess thing, you hadn't talked to him much. You really hated it. Because you wanted to talk to him, but you weren't sure how awkward it would be. And then once you realized that, yeah, okay, you kinda like Dave, it became more awkward! And then enough time passed that you weren't sure how to even start talking to him again.

He broke the silence first when he texted you that he was going to New York for a week or so and wouldn't be able to attend your New Years festivities. As nervous as you were about seeing him at New Years, you were really disappointed that he wasn't going to be there. You were hoping that maybe you'd gather the courage to tell him then.

But as much as it sucked that he was away, the two of you fell back into daily conversation after that. You don't think Dave knew how to break the silence either, so he just started sending you selfies. Him in the airport. Him looming over Rose while she slept on the plane, pointing at her drool. And a bunch of him in random places around New York. Your favorite, though, was a picture Rose had taken of Dave covered in kittens, looking very uncomfortable.

You responded to most of his pictures with ones of your own, but not always. You haven't left the house much, and you felt like your pictures were just getting repetitive. But you talked to him a lot, and that was what mattered. Unfortunately, you had yet to find the right time to tell him how you felt. You wanted to get it over with, but part of you wanted to wait until he got back and do it in person.

Your phone buzzes.

From Dave: so when do the festivities begin

You glance at the clock. It's almost six.

To Dave: in two hours
From Dave: wish i could be there
To Dave: me too, but you get to experience new years in new york!
From Dave: yeah i guess
From Dave: the streets are mega crowded
From Dave: i feel like im going to punch someone every time i pick up my phone
To Dave: wow it's that crowded already?
From Dave: dude timezones its nine here
To Dave: oh right! you're going to have new years before me
From Dave: im a time traveller ill let you know what next year is like

"John!" Your dad calls from the kitchen. "Dinner's ready!"

To Dave: hey I gotta go eat dinner, I'll text you later
From Dave: later egbert

You ate dinner with your dad and Jane. She stopped baking long enough to eat, and gave up the oven long enough for dad to cook. After dinner, you helped your dad do the dishes and then the three of you helped finish off the frosting and decorations on her cupcakes. Then you cleaned up the mess and set out snacks (chips, and cheez-its, and popcorn, ect.) and several two liter bottles of soda on the table. Jane organized her cupcakes and cookies as well.

Jade and Jake are a few minutes early. Not that you mind. They live next door. Karkat and Kanaya arrive together about ten minutes after eight. Karkat and Kanaya are more your friends than Jane's, but she's known Jade and Jake for as long as you have, so it's not too awkward. You start the night by suggesting some Mario Kart. Only four people can play at a time, so after each race, third and fourth place have to switch with those who sat out.

After a while, your phone buzzes again, but you're in the middle of a race so you don't look at it right away. You're pretty sure it's Dave, but he can wait. Because you're in tenth place and on the third lap and it's time for your signature move of going from the bottom to the top in the last five seconds. With the help from a bullet bill and a nicely timed blue shell, you come in second place. Controllers are switched quickly, while you're still doing your mild victory dance, taunting Jade. The next race begins and you realize that if you keep winning, like you know you can, you're not going to get a chance to text Dave back. So instead of trying to win, you let yourself get a poor, but not terrible seventh place.

You hand your controller over to Kanaya and sit back against the couch, pulling out your phone. You have a picture waiting for you. It's dark, and there are lights and people everywhere, but you can very clearly make out the bright glowing ball.

From Dave: happy new year from the future
To Dave: what's the future like?
From Dave: in the future im even cooler and youre still a dork
To Dave: pfff whatever dave
From Dave: i got a better answer
From Dave: ask me again
From Dave: hey dude i said ask me again
From Dave: i got one hell of an answer here bro
From Dave: its burning a hole in my mind
From Dave: the best set o words youll ever find
From Dave: with these words im gonna bind
From Dave: you to my soul with these sick rhymes
From Dave: fires and fires sick word burning fires
From Dave: gonna roast you right up
From Dave: and youre gonna suck
From Dave: it egbert
To Dave: did you just rap at me?
From Dave: what
To Dave: you did, you just rapped at me through text
From Dave: what are you talking about john
From Dave: john
From Dave: if you leave me hanging im gonna rap again
From Dave: earth to egbert
From Dave: hope you like serbert
To Dave: omg no stop
From Dave: whats the deal bro leaving me hanging
To Dave: sorry dave! we're playing mario kart and i can't let karkat win
From Dave: oh why didnt you just say so
From Dave: kick that kids ass for me
To Dave: will do! :B
From Dave: so you gonna ask me or not
To Dave: ask you what?
From Dave: jesus egbert actually read my texts
From Dave: i told you to ask me what the future was like again
From Dave: i got a better answer
To Dave: oh, right, what's the future like?
From Dave: kinda lonely i miss you john
To Dave: wow dave
To Dave: you are a huge dork :B
To Dave: but… i miss you too
To Dave: come home soon, okay?
From Dave: as soon as roxy lets us
From Dave: so you winning at the mk
To Dave: totally, but im sitting a few rounds out
From Dave: why
To Dave: to talk to you
From Dave: im swooning
To Dave: hey dave
From Dave: sup
To Dave: when you get back… wanna go see a movie or something?
From Dave: sure
From Dave: which movie
To Dave: uh, i donno, i'll see what's playing

You make a face, mentally cursing yourself as you shove your phone into your hoodie pocket. Jane hands you her controller and you take it from her. She makes eye contact with you, her lips twisted into a small frown. She signs "OK" and looks at you with both eyebrows up. You give her a smile you hope is reassuring and turn back to your game.

You were so close to asking him out. You did manage to ask him if he wanted to see a movie. But you chickened out before you could make it clear that you meant it as a date. You didn't even manage to bring up dinner. Ugh! You are such a weenie.

After little over an hour of Mario Kart, Jane suggests you cut off the game system and play Apples to Apples. Jade tells her to can her apples, and brings out a deck of Cards Against Humanity. During the game, a lot of the snacks make it to to the living room. There's a lot of laughing, and the game is super fun, especially with your friends. But you keep checking your phone. Dave still hasn't texted you back. And you're still beating yourself up over the fact that you're a wimp.

Jake makes eye contact with you at one point, and gives you a worried look. You smile and shake your head. This is one of those rare times when you're glad you can't talk. It gives you a really good reason not to explain yourself, and people usually don't push you. You can wallow in self-loathing in peace and quiet. As long as you keep playing, and keep smiling, and occasionally poke fun at your friends, they won't push you with questions.

Come midnight, you still haven't heard from Dave. You all dress up with party hats and with a noise maker in each hand. You turn on the news and count down to midnight. You welcome the new year with cheers and loud noises. When most of your friends are distracted, you snap a quick picture of yourself, with the hat on your head, a noise maker in your mouth, and another in your free hand. You send it to Dave with the caption: happy new year, dave!

He takes five minutes to respond.

From Dave: nice getup egbert
To Dave: it's called being festive, dave
From Dave: actually i think its called being cute as fuck

You just kind of, stare at your phone. Is it just you, or is it really hot in here? Nope, it's just you. You practically run to the bathroom, shutting the door with perhaps a little more force than necessary. You lean against it and slowly slide to the floor. Oh god, you're a wreck. All he did was call you cute, and yet your cheeks are on fire and you're pretty sure your heart might just hammer its way out of your chest. If your rapid pulse doesn't bust a blood vessel first.

To Dave: i uh

You didn't know what else to type, so you sent it anyway. If anything, to tell Dave that you weren't ignoring him. To let him know to give you a moment to form a real text. You can do this. It's not hard. It's just Dave. Yet your fingers are frozen over your phone. What are you even supposed to say?

When your phone vibrates, you jump and nearly throw it across the room in surprise.

From Dave: sorry

That one word tears at your heart. Your fingers are already moving to type a reply.

To Dave: no, it's fine!
To Dave: it just, uh, took me by surprise
From Dave: yeah sorry about that
From Dave: didn't mean to give you a heart attack or anything
From Dave: but i meant what i said
To Dave: hey dave, wanna go to dinner and a movie when you get back?
From Dave: you already asked me that
To Dave: no, i mean as a…date?

It takes him sixty, very long, and very slow seconds to respond.

From Dave: for real
To Dave: yeah for real
From Dave: does this mean
From Dave: you know
From Dave: you better not be fucking with me egbert
From Dave: i swear to god if this is one of your pranks
To Dave: no dave, i mean it!
From Dave: okay
From Dave: cool

You frown. That wasn't exactly the reaction you were expecting. You were hoping for a little more…enthusiasm. Maybe he just doesn't get it. You try again.

To Dave: dave, im asking you out on a date
From Dave: yeah i got that
To Dave: which means i thought about it
From Dave: i figured as much
To Dave: and i like you

You wait for a response, but get none. You wait two minutes. Still nothing. Why isn't he saying anything? You chewed on your lip, restlessly tapping your fingers on your phone. When it vibrates, your heart skips a beat, but it's only Rose.

From Rose: John, I don't mean to be rude, but what did you do to Dave?
To Rose: uh, what do you mean?
From Rose: I'm not sure if you're aware of our time difference right now, but it's currently 3am.
From Rose: When I questioned Dave about the light, he said he was texting you. Then, without warning, he violently rolled over and shouted into his pillow. He doesn't seem to be shouting words, but he is shouting and it is very loud and some of us are trying to sleep.
To Rose: i'm sorry, rose!
From Rose: I threw a shoe at him, and he seems to have calmed down. But now he's just lying very still. I fear you may have killed him.
From Rose: If I may ask, what did you do?
To Rose: i, uh, asked him out on a date?
From Rose: Ah, that would explain it. Goodnight, John.
To Rose: night rose

To Dave: dave, rose said you started screaming, are you okay?
From Dave: rose is a dirty ass liar
To Dave: so is that a yes?
From Dave: yes
From Dave: hell fucking yes
From Dave: you got yourself a date egbert

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're having a hard time understanding what you're looking at it.

Well, you understand it, but you can't really believe it.

Roxy's impromptu trip to New York was just what you needed. You hate to admit that you were moping, but you were moping. You were moping and wallowing in your own self-pity and self-loathing. With every day that passed without word from Jake, you hated yourself a little more for fucking everything up. And every time you thought that maybe you should just message him first, you reminded yourself that you didn't want to be a rebound. It was a spiraling downward cycle, and you were very quickly losing control.

You threw yourself into your work, because work was easier than dealing with your life. Numbers made sense to you. Robots made sense. They were easy and straight forward. Mechanics did what you needed them to do, and if it didn't work, you just had to go back and fix what was broken. People don't fix that easily. People are a lot harder. Emotions are a lot harder.

You hadn't stopped eating on purpose, you just kind of forgot that you hadn't eaten. Time slipped away from you. You worked until you couldn't stay awake any longer, hoping that if you were exhausted, nightmares wouldn't plague you. It didn't always work. More often than not, you woke up exhausted. Life was slipping away from you. You stopped paying attention to your family, blood related or otherwise. You hadn't paid attention to Dave's problems, even though you promised yourself when you were eighteen that you would always be there for him, like a proper brother and guardian. You hadn't even noticed Rose's distress.

But Roxy was right. You were being a whiney ass mother fucker. Even when you had the chance to be happy, you made a mess of it. Jake showed interest in you, and you shut him down because it wasn't what you thought it would be. You were acting heartbroken before your heart even had the chance to break. If you were being real with yourself, you would guess it came from your inherent need to believe that you can never be truly happy. You doubt everything that has the slightest chance of making you happy. You don't think you're worth it.

Which is one of the reasons why Roxy is such a great friend. She saw you drowning in your self-made sea of despair and pulled you out by force. You, and Dave, and Rose. The first step to getting over a problem is admitting that you have a problem. And Roxy made you admit you have a problem. And your problem is with yourself, not Jake.

New York hadn't changed much since you'd been gone. It was a breath of fresh, cold air. It cleared your head and gave you a new outlook. When you came back, that fresh, clear outlook dimmed a little, but didn't go away completely.

Dave and Rose went back to school, and you went back to work, but actually made time to do chores, and run errands, and play video games.

Despite feeling better, you still hesitated before texting Jake. You weren't sure how to start. It had been weeks. Should you message him before school? Wait a few days for him to get back into the swing of things? You eventually decided to message him on Tuesday, the second day after school started again and the third day since you'd been home. You typed up what seemed like a thousand texts before you decided on one.

To Jake: If I were an enzyme, I'd be DNA helicase so I could unzip your genes.

You texted him during school hours, so you could use that as an excuse for why he wouldn't text back quickly. Even so, you were nervous. You checked your phone every ten minutes, and kept it resting on your lap or right next to your hand, because sometimes you didn't feel it vibrate in your pocket. You were in the grocery store when he finally texted you back.

From Jake: Oh for frigs flipping sake strider! I thought we were up and done with this confangled malarkey!
From Jake: Despite the occasional ripsnorting humdinger you come up with i can't abide by your cockeyed view of greeting people!

You think you may have forgotten how to breath for a second, but then it all came back as you threw your head back and laughed. Right there, in the breakfast isle.

To Jake: I'm pretty sure that sometimes you don't even know what you're saying.
From Jake: What a load strider! Of course im familiar with my own vocabulary.
To Jake: To answer your question that wasn't really a question, we are past the pick-up line thing.
From Jake: Then why continue on with that old shtick?
To Jake: Haven't talked to you in a while, bro. Didn't know where else to start.
From Jake: So you start by rekindling the pick up line farce?
To Jake: Julie Andrews once told me that the very beginning is a very nice place to start.
From Jake: Good heavens! Did dirk strider just make a sound of music reference?
To Jake: Take it or leave it.
From Jake: By golly, ill take it! And ill forgive the earlier buffoonery.
To Jake: So what's up, bro?

Since then, the two of you have started talking again. By the end of the week, you were talking near as much as you used to. You caught up on the happenings of each other's lives, while carefully tiptoeing around the subject of the two of you. You told him all about New York, which then led into a conversation about when you used to live there. He told you about his own New Years and Christmas, which led to a conversation about his holidays spent while traveling in other countries.

It's been two weeks since then, and all seems to have fallen back into the normal pace of things. You and Jake haven't taken a step forward, but you've recovered the ground you almost lost. Rose seems cheerier than usual, and when you made a quip about her reeling in that lady friend of hers, she just smiled, told you she had irons on the fire, and went back to reading her book.

Dave has been doing better than either of you. The first weekend after school started back up, he had his first date with John. It took him three outfits and thirty minutes to decide on his usual getup. You and Rose sat on the couch while he paced the living room, checking his phone for the time. You both made faces at him, eyebrows up and smirking. When he headed for the door, you threw a condom at him. It hit the back of his head and when he picked it up and glared, you and Rose pointed at each other.

He's gone on two more dates since then. One every weekend. That's not to say they haven't seen eachother more than that. He goes to John's house after school, and sometimes John comes here. And they still hang out at their friend movie nights. You haven't asked Jake how he feels about this, mostly because you don't want to bring it up. But he seemed fine last week at movie night, which has near permanently been moved here so you can attend, too. Not that you couldn't go to John's home, but it would be weird. They're Dave and Rose's friends, not yours. The only one who's yours is Jake.

You aren't really happy with your situation, but you're content for now. That is, until you get an email.

As Di-Stri, you get a lot of fanmail. You have a twitter account for your fans to follow and an official website that Roxy helped you code. You're mostly a freelance worker. Companies mostly pay you for plans and your inventions, but occasionally you'll have a part that you don't give the blueprint out for. Something they have to order specifically from you. Your technology is top of the line and state of the art, and all of that pays the bills.

You're known far and wide in the mechanic and robotic worlds, but no one knows your face. Your logo is a pair of pointy shades with red eyes, and that's all anyone knows about you. They don't even know your real name. Though if someone knew you and knew you worked in robotics, they could probably piece together that Di-Stri stands for Dirk Strider. Jake, of course, doesn't really piece things together very well.

You prefer the anonymity of your job. You've had the idea of selling puppets, too. And that way you could run two businesses with no one being able to connect the two. You already had a college fund for Dave, but a little more never hurt.

One of the features of your website is the ability to email you. It's not your main email, of course. It's one you created solely for this purpose. And you're glad you did. The amount of emails you get weekly is astounding. You have to set aside time to go through them. A lot are just fans telling you how much they love your work. Then there are those who are actually asking for orders or at least to start a business conversation. Then there are those who ask for advice. And there are even the few who ask you about yourself and what you look like. You don't answer them all, but you do read them all.

You were shifting through your influx of emails when you came across one with a familiar email address. It's from the same guy who's emailed you often in the past for robotic advice. Only this time, it made you pause.

Greetings Di-Stri,

Although I'd hate to clog up your inbox with nonsensical personal requests and prattlings, I do hope you'll forgive me just this once. You've always given me sound advice in the past, even if I had trouble wrapping my melon around the confounded mathematics of robotic contraptions. You seem like a down to earth fellow, and you see, I was hoping I could ask you for some personal advice. There is this fellow. He came on a tinge strong at first, and I rebuffed his advances. And at the time I happened to fancy someone else. Now that someone else is gone, but I fear I may have botched up my chances with this man. It still seems as though he's interested, however every time I try to advance, he parries and takes a step back. I suppose what I'm trying to ask, is how should I go about convincing him to give me a chance again? I fear I may truly have a bit of a crush on him. I've been told I'm hopeless in terms of romance, but my friends don't seem to fully grasp my predicament. Perhaps you have more worldly knowledge than me that you're willing to share?

-J

He emailed you frequently in the past, and you thought nothing of it. There were a lot of people who emailed you for advice on robotics and mechanics. What kind of power source to use, what kind of materials you prefer, what kind of techniques do you use. You answered him just as you answered the others who genuinely wanted advice and weren't trying to pry into your work. You only recognize him because he was almost a penpal with how often he emailed you. But those had stopped roughly a year and a half ago. Maybe two years. You basically forgot about him.

He also stuck out due to his syntax and word choice, but you never thought much of it. But now that you know Jake, it seems more than a little suspicious. The simple "J" he usually signs with is suddenly a huge clue, with flashing lights and buzzers.

And if your suspicion is correct…then he's talking about you.

You click reply and your fingers hover over the keyboard as you think of what to say.

Sup,

Nah, man, it's cool. I can bestow upon you some rad Di-Stri nuggets of wisdom. That dude sounds like a total nutcase. You sure this guy is worth your time?

-Di-Stri

You send the email, and continue to peruse your inbox, keeping a close eye on the inbox total. When the number goes up one, you fly to the top of the page and, sure enough, you have an email back from maybe-Jake. Your heart hammers in your chest as you open the email.

He is indeed a complete "nutcase." The man can't go a few days without using some cheeky one-liner. He's fully forward and demanding, but flinches from me when I try to do the same. He pushes my buttons and gets me all up in a tissy for no reason other than to watch me squirm. But he's grown on me. He's a total hassle and I don't understand him one bit, but I've grown fond of him. I fear I may have made a mess of things, however.

-J

It takes you a moment to remember how to breathe. It sure sounds like you. And if you're right, and it is Jake and he is talking about you… You crack your knuckles out of nervousness, but your fingers still shake when you type your reply. You type up what feels like fifty different reposes and end up deleting them all before you settle on one.

Gonna be honest, bro. If you like this dude and he's being difficult, you should probably just tell him. It's entirely possible that he's just as confused as you are. If you just put yourself out there plain and simple, the two of you can get over this whole middle school dance shit.

-Di-Stri

You click send, and regret it as soon as it sends. Was that too forward? Did it sound too much like you? Would he notice? Doubt tickles the edgiest of your mind. If you're right, and you are talking to Jake, you're basically manipulating him into coming to you, instead of being the bigger man yourself and going to him. You just gave him advice that you can't even follow yourself. He's right about you. You push him and push him, until he takes a step forward, then you just dance back.

Your inbox pings and you realize you've just been sitting there, staring at your screen without really seeing it.

You're absolutely right! I shall go right up to him, look him in his arrogant face, and tell him how I feel! Enough of his frivolous tap dancing around the metaphorical bush! Thank you, Di-Stri. An outside perspective was just the push I needed!

-J

You give your screen a small, grim smile. Your perspective wasn't as outside as he thought.

Good luck, man.

-Di-Stri

Your gut twists uncomfortably. Either you just gave a stranger the advice and push he needed to snag himself a boyfriend, or you just convinced Jake to come over and confront you. You're not so sure having forewarning to Jake's actions is such a good thing. It's only likely to make you more nervous. And if it turns out Di-Stri's penpal isn't Jake, well, then you're just going to be nervous for nothing.

You don't have much time to brood about it, however, because it's not much later before there's a knock at your door. You hear it very faintly through the music blasting through your sweet new headphones that Dave got you for Christmas. Normally you'd at least put on a show of being irritated at the intrusion, but at the moment, you don't mind a distraction. You lift your headphones off your ears and rest them around your neck. You can still hear the music loud and clear, but it's no longer deafening you.

You lean back in your chair and turn to half face the door, your arms on the armrests. "Come in." You were expecting Rose, but it's Dave who pokes his head through the cracked door. You raise an eyebrow. "Sup, little bro?"

He looks around, no doubt trying to access how busy you are and if you have any object that could be thrown at him. You're not exactly the most pleasant person when interrupted. "Not much, just chillin', you know…"

What you know is that he was supposed to be on his fourth date tonight. You glance at the clock. It's well past midnight. Huh. You didn't even notice it had gotten so late. No wonder he was home. John's dad doesn't like him staying out late. "Shouldn't you be on a date or something?"

The tinge of a blush creeps out from beneath his shades and his lips press tight into a thin line. His brow wrinkles. It was his fourth official date and he still blushed like a school girl. "Yeah, just got home…"

He was still standing in the doorway, half in the room and half ready to flee. "How'd it go?" You ask, trying to figure out what he wanted. Whatever it was, he was going to need some prompting.

"Good…"

You sigh, rubbing with bridge of your nose with two fingers. Your shades are tucked into the collar of your shirt. "What's on your mind, Dave?"

His eyes are hidden by his shades, but you can tell by the twitch of his head that he's looking everywhere but at you. "Can we talk?"

That doesn't sound good. You turn your chair to face him more fully. "Yeah, come in and shut the door. Unless you want Rose poking her nose in." You're joking, but there is some truth to your advice. He steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. You nod toward an upside-down crate. The same crate that Jake sits on whenever he visits your work room.

Dave grabs the crate and moves it closer to the wall so when he sits down he can lean back. He stretches his legs out in front of him and crosses his arms over his chest. You can tell from the angle of his head that he's staring at his feet.

You wait several minutes, but he doesn't say anything. He just sits there and chews on his lip. He's been doing that more frequently lately. You think it's a habit he picked up from John. Finally you speak. "So what went wrong?"

He looks up at that, confusion on his face. "Nothing went wrong."

"Then why're you in here looking like you just got dumped?"

He sighs and fidgets, uncrossing his arms and picking at his fingers in his lap. "It's not that. Everything's going fine. Great, actually." He's mumbling.

Your brow furrowed. "Then why are you…" Your eyes widen and your eyebrows shoot up toward your hairline. You tense in your seat, your fingers digging into the armrests. "Oh fuck, are you here for 'the talk'?"

You knew this day would come. You knew that from the moment your parents died and you vowed to one day take Dave under your wing and be his guardian. You just were kinda hoping you'd have more time to prepare.

Dave's brows disappear into his hair and his mouth drops open. He looks horrified. "Jesus christ, bro, NO."

You sigh and slump in your chair. "Oh thank god." You lean your head into one open palm and rub your temples. "What'd you need then?" Your accent is a little thicker than usual, drawn out by your surprise. You make a note to reign that back in.

"Okay, so, like, John and I have been on four dates now." He picks at a loose thread on his hoodie. You nod, encouraging him to continue. "I was going to talk to Rose about this, but I'm already gettin' so much shit from her and what the fuck does she know about this anyway? I already can't go to the bathroom without her standing there, waiting for me to get out with her eyebrows all raised and smirkin' like no body's business. If she thinks she's gonna get the deets on what's goin' down with me and John to use in her wizard porn fan fiction, she's got another thin' comin'. Get off mah Dick, Rose. I ain't no body's gay inspiration. Fuck that."

"Dave." You say, cutting him off. "Your Texas is showing. Get to the point."

He glares at you, but he does what you say. It takes him a moment though. You can tell from the way his adam's apple bobs and the way his mouth twists that he's trying to get his accent under control. Your accent shows up more readily than his, and your speech always has some flavors of the south no matter what you do. But Dave is different. For the most part you could never tell he was born and raised in Texas. There are only a few words that give him away. But when he's nervous or frustrated or mad, the twang comes back at full force.

"How do I know if we're dating?"

You blink. "What?"

He frowns and repeats: "How do I know if we're dating?"

You tilt your head to the side and search his shades. "You've gone on four dates." You state, though it sounds a little like a question.

"Yeah." He admits. "But I mean…" He waves his hands around in the air, like he's trying to grasp something. "I mean dating like, dating. How do I know when we go from dating to dating."

"You're asking when he becomes your boyfriend." You say, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket. "Yes." He says grudgingly. "Stop smiling." He snaps.

"I'm not smiling." You say, grinning.

He practically jumps to his feet. "Okay, I'm leaving."

You wave a hand at him. "No, come on, man, sit down." He does. "Have you talked to John?"

"No…"

"Maybe he already considers you his boyfriend? The kid's never dated anyone, right? He probably thinks dating IS dating."

"Yeah, well, he's never said it." Dave says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Have you kissed?"

He blushes a dark shade of red. "Yes."

"Made out?"

He turns his face toward the floor. Hair falls in front of his shades, but it doesn't hide his blush. You reckon he's the same shade as his hoodie. "Yes."

"He probably considers you dating then."

"Maybe…"

He doesn't say anything more, and you sigh again. You want to help your brother, but he's not giving you much to work with. And as much as you hate to admit it, you're kind of annoyed with him. He's going on dates and making out with his little boy toy, and yet he complains that he's not sure whether to call John his boyfriend. Meanwhile you're finding it hard to even ask Jake out.

Apparently Striders have a knack for finding the smallest things to get in the way of happiness. You don't want your brother to turn out like you.

"Dude, just talk to him."

Dave frowns. "And say what? Hey man, I know we've been dating, but are we dating? Can I call you my boyfriend?"

"Yes."

He blinks. "What?"

"Yes, that's exactly what you say. He's already said he likes you, Dave. You don't got much to lose." His mouth twists and frowns. "If you're worried about embarrassing yourself, just ask him out again, but make it clear that you're asking him to be your boyfriend and not just on another date."

This time when his lips twist, it's more in thought than in embarrassed frustration. "I suppose that could work..."

There's a hiccup in your music as the playlist ends and starts over again. It brings your attention back to your computer screen. The maybe-Jake still hasn't emailed you back. You doubt he will. Your last email was a conversation ender. "Look, kid, your boy toy is into movies and cliche romance shit right?"

"Yeah…" He says, drawing out the word and eyeing you warily. "How'd you know that?"

"You. You talk about the kid more than you realize. Even before you were dating." You twist back to look at him. "Do some kind of big, ironically romantic gesture to ask him out. Go big or go home. Strider's don't half ass shit."

"That's hella dumb, bro." He says, sighing an angsty teenage defeated sigh. He hunches his shoulders and slouches against the wall. "What am I suppose to do that won't make me look like an idiot?"

"Maybe that's the point." You say, tapping your fingers on the arm of your chair. "Maybe you need to do something he'll appreciate, even if it makes you look like an idiot. That's love, dude."

"What am I supposed to do? Dress up like a rag-tag grungy convict fresh from prison with gross nasty hair lookin' for a bunny to put in a box?" He sits up straight. "That's it." He practically jumps up and runs to the door. He's already gone before he pokes his head back in. "Thanks, bro. Shit's gonna be fucking beautiful." You smile and wave a hand at him, turning back to your computer as he shuts the door.

Hopefully he'll figure his shit out. And meanwhile, you probably should figure your shit out, too.

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and you think you might have a boyfriend.

You stand in your doorway and wave as Dave drives away in his truck. He just dropped you off after your fourth official date, and you can't stop grinning. You do make sure to tone your grin down a little bit before you go inside though. You haven't told your dad that you're dating Dave yet.

Not that you think he'd be opposed to it, you just know that as soon as you do, he'll be a little weirder about the two of you spending time together. Instead of "hanging out" with Dave and a lenient home time of midnight, it would be a date and he'd want to have a strict time of eleven or ten. And he'll want to have fatherly talks with Dave. And that would be super embarrassing. You're not ready for that yet.

Also, you have no doubts that he'll be weirder about letting Dave spend the night or letting you spend the night at Dave's. As it stands, you get to have sleepovers and sleep in each other's beds and cuddle and it's not weird. If your dad knew you were dating, he probably wouldn't even let Dave sleep in your room.

And you really like cuddling with Dave. And… kissing Dave... before you sleep. And again when you wake up. You don't even mind the morning breath.

At first, you were really nervous about kissing Dave. He already kissed you, so you were kind of hoping he'd take the lead again. That way you wouldn't have to. But he didn't. It took you three dates to get fed up with him and go for it yourself.

The first date was the first weekend after school started again, and the first weekend since he got back. You were nervous all week, and kept stealing shy glances at him during school. If you're not mistaken, he was pretty tense, too. On that first date, you went to dinner and a movie, just as planned. Dave drove. It was awkward at first, but you quickly lapsed back into your usual, day to day interactions. During the movie he held your hand. You also held hands the entire drive home. It was difficult to talk while holding hands, but it was fine. Dave couldn't really see what you were saying in the dark while he was driving anyway. He rambled though, about the movie. But that was okay too. You didn't mind at all.

He walked you to your doorstep and you hugged, and you waited for him to kiss you but he didn't.

The second date you went to lunch and the zoo. Dave liked the bird house and the penguins. Halfway through the day, while walking around, Dave poked at your hand until you took his. It was a little more difficult to sign with one hand, but you managed. And when Dave didn't understand a sign, and you repeated it enough, you would drop his hand to sign properly. When you were done, you'd take his hand again.

When he dropped you off, he didn't walk you to the door because it was still early evening and your dad was home. But you hesitated before getting out of his car, hoping he'd kiss you. He didn't.

For the third date you went to dinner and iceskating. It was your idea, and Dave agreed even though it turns out he's horrible at it. He said if Texans were meant to ice-skate, it would snow more often. You reminded him that he lived in New York for four years. He told you to shut up.

He spent the entire first few laps around the rink clinging to the side and shuffling his feet inch by slow inch. Meanwhile you skated next to him and backward, trying to encourage him to move his feet and let go of the wall. He understood the gist of what you were saying, though he wasn't spending much time looking at your hands. He was too busy staring at the ice. He snapped at you, and rambled a lot, and you're pretty sure some of those metaphors got away from him and he was just saying words to comfort himself.

His accent was also leaking out and you thought it was adorable. You really like Dave's voice. It's warm and deep and lazy and languid. It's soothing and light and try as he might, he can't hide things from you with his voice. His voice gives away every emotion his sunglasses hide. And every time his accent shines through, your heart does this little flutter thing. It means he's nervous and vulnerable and it gives you a glimpse of his childhood and you just want to pull him into your arms and never let go.

So when his accent started to become a thick drawl, you skated in front of him, gently took his hands in yours, and disconnected him from the wall. You pulled him away from it with a smile that said trust me. But you could see his wide his eyes were beneath his shades. You came to a stop and tried to let go of his hands, but he clutched at you, his balance wavering. So you slowly guided his hands to your waist so he could cling there. His fingers grasped tightly at your hoodie. Then you took his face in your hands and pulled him toward you for a kiss.

Your hands were cold, and his face was cold, but somehow his skin felt hot to the touch. His lips were chapped and rough from the dry chilled air, and his nose was like ice against your cheek. Your glasses clanked together, bringing back the memory of when he had nearly kissed you in his room before Jade had interrupted. It felt like a lifetime ago. You heard his breath hitch when you kissed him, and your own breath was loud as you exhaled through your nose against his cheek. But you think he may have been holding his breath. You could feel his fingers digging into your waist.

Then he lost his balance and toppled over backwards, dragging you down on top of him. For a moment you were a tangle of bodies and limbs, fighting to disengage and struggle back to your feet on the ice. You were laughing the whole hime, unable to stop the breathy, crackly whine that escaped your throat. Dave's face was red, and when you finally helped him to his feet and dragged him back to the wall, you kissed his cheek and his skin was hot.

Afterwards, you kissed in his car in the parking lot, hidden from passerby's by shadows. He drove you home, holding your hand the whole way. And you made out again in your driveway. By the time you got out of the car, you were breathless and he was speechless.

That was Friday, and on Saturday you had a movie night with your friends and a sleepover with Dave afterward. You slept at his house, cuddled with him under his blankets. The pillow smelled like him. The blankets smelled like him. He was warm against you and his lips were wet against your own. You're not sure how long you kissed, but you do know that you kissed until you were too tired to kiss anymore. You fell asleep with your legs intertwined and your arms lazily clutching at each other's shirts.

For your fourth date, you went to the arcade and mini golf and bowling. As much as you love movies, you almost like these activity dates more. In a dark theater, it's more difficult to talk to him. But while moving around a room of video games, and while bowling, and while mini golfing, it's easy to face him and sign what you mean to say. He's gotten remarkably better at ASL. He gets most of what you say, or at least the gist of what you say. It takes him longer to respond, but that's okay. When he gets frustrated that he doesn't know a sign, he just speaks. You don't mind. You like his voice. But it is endearing to see him trying to speak to you with your language.

As you watch his car drive off, you can still feel the warm tingle on your lips from his kisses. You can still feel his fingers running through your hair, holding and tugging in his eagerness to kiss you. You're not sure why you ever thought admitting your feelings for Dave was a bad idea. If you could go back in time, you'd force yourself to do it sooner. You're convinced that there are very few things that are better than kissing Dave.

You unlock your door and step into your house, locking it behind you. Your dad is already in bed, but he left the hall light on. You poke your head into his room to tell him you're home before scurrying off to your room. Once you're in your room, with the door safely shut behind you, you flop onto your bed, grab your pillow and hold it over your face as you have a small flail attack. When you remove the pillow, you find yourself grinning at the ceiling, so wide that your cheeks hurt.

You like Dave. You like Dave a lot. You can't believe that Dave likes you back. Dave, the cool kid. Dave, the football star. Dave, Mr. Popular. Dave Strider. From the beginning he shunned the other "cool" kids and sought you out. He learned sign language for you. And most importantly, he waited for you. He waited until you could come to grips with the fact that, yes, you like him too. Sometimes the intensity of which you like him scares you, but then you just think of the way he looks at you and it just makes you smile.

Your school life hasn't changed much the past few weeks. You exchange more glances, knowing looks and smiles. You don't hold hands though, and you haven't kissed on campus. No one's mentioned the kiss at the football game since Dave beat up his teammates, but you can feel their looks and hear their hushed whispers.

It doesn't bother you too much that you and Dave are low on the PDA. You just figure it's easier. Like, give the kids at your school less fuel to bully you with. Not that you think they'd have the guts to bully Dave. It also keeps your friends off your back. You know they know, but you ignore their little looks and they don't make a huge deal of it.

So for the most part, school is the same. Occasionally in the cafeteria, you and Dave will lock pinkies under the table. And sometimes you'll bump arms and exchange smiles in the hallway. But other than that, you just do things outside of school. Like on dates and when he comes over to work on homework. It's kind of nice. Like your own little secret that no one else is allowed to intrude on.

Like secret boyfriends.

You're pretty sure that after four dates and sleepovers and make outs that Dave would be considered your boyfriend. That's how it works, right? You've never used the word aloud, though. Just to yourself. In your head. You whisper it in your mind and immediately turn into a smiling puddle of goo.

Dave is your boyfriend. Dave is your boyfriend. Dave is your boyfriend. Dave is your boyfriend. Dave is your boyfriend. No matter how you say it, it's still hard to believe.

The next day, your dad insists on having father-son time. You can't really deny him. You've been spending a lot of time "hanging out" with friends lately. Aka, spending time with Dave. So you spend the day running errands with your dad, trying new banana bread and poppyseed bread recipes, cooking dinner, and having a movie marathon. You text Dave when you can, but your dad insists for the most part that you keep your phone put away.

Sunday is spent doing all the homework that you put off the whole weekend. You stay logged into pesterchum to talk with Dave, but he seems pretty busy. When you ask what he's up to, he just says homework. When you push it and say that he usually doesn't have that much homework, he just tells you that he has a lot of irons on the fire. You're not sure what he means but you let it slide, if a little begrudgingly.

On Monday, you wake to a text from Dave.

From Dave: check your email

You frown at the screen, your face still half buried in your pillow. You still have five minutes before you really need to get out of bed. And those are five minutes that you fully plan on spending in bed. Curiosity is nagging you, though, so you don't wait until you get up to check your email on your computer. Instead you pull it up on your phone. Sure enough, you have an email from Dave. Which is strange, because what would Dave send you by email that he couldn't just text you?

When you open it, there's only a link. When you click it, it takes you to a video. From just the still shot, you can see it's Dave. The video is named, "How Do I Live."

You shut off your phone and you're out of bed so fast that your vision blurs and you have to lean against the edge of your bed for a second to keep from passing out. When your vision clears, you hurry to your desk chair and turn on your computer. It takes the machine five minutes to start up, and that's five minutes too slow. You tap your foot and fingers impatiently as you wait, and start your browser too early, so you have to wait even longer for it to fully load.

You pull up the video and full screen it. Your heart is pounding with anticipation. You're not sure what you're expecting, but you're certain that what you're expecting can't possibly be what it is. There's no way Dave would make a music video. Not to your favorite song from Con Air. He tells you to shut your face every time you try to quote it, and nearly lunges for the stop button every time you try to play it. He wouldn't…

But he did.

The video is just of him, standing in his room with "How Do I Live" playing. But it's more than that. It's a remix. It's the actual song's music, mixed in a way that you know he did himself. It's not more upbeat, but it does have more electronic qualities to it. And underneath the emotional voice of Leann Rimes is a male voice. It takes you a moment to realize it's Dave's voice. Dave is singing and mixed it with the original song. His mouth isn't moving, so you know he mixed the song separately.

And he's signing it. He's SIGNING, and he's SINGING. He's singing and he's signing. He's signing and he's singing. He's doing the song in both his language and yours.

And he's not wearing his shades. They're perched atop his head, leaving his eyes fully exposed.

You can't really comprehend what you're watching the first time through. So when it ends, you start it over. His voice fills your ears as you watch his hands move. You've never heard him sing. You didn't even know he could. Let along harmonize with Leann Rimes. And the way he signs… You've never seen him do something like that. His hands move fluidly, gracefully, like a dance.

You play the video two more times before you realize that he asks a question at the end. He signs it as the song is fading.

"John, will you be my boyfriend?"

You replay it a few more times, just to see that. You don't even care that you already basically considered him your boyfriend. You're so overwhelmed that you're finding it hard to function.

You don't realize that it's almost time to leave until your dad knocks on your door. You throw on clothes, shove your books haphazardly into your backpack, and brush your teeth in record time. You run a comb through your hair once, then decide it's a lost cause and it looks no worse than normal anyway. You have no time for breakfast, but you make sure to snag your bagged lunch from the kitchen before leaving. Your shoes are still untied when you rush out the door and practically throw yourself into the backseat of Jake's car.

Jade chastises you for being late, and Jake just laughs. You do your best to apologize while also trying to tie your shoes. Your hands are shaking. You shove your lunch into your backpack and stare impatiently out the window, tapping your fingers on your bouncing leg. You keep glancing at the clock. You're running late. Your really hope you have time to see Dave before class.

Jade's twisted around in the passenger seat, staring at you. "What's the rush?" She asks.

You point at yourself, then hook your index finger and claw the air in front of you. You point at your eyes with two fingers and move them out. Then you spell Dave's name.

"I need to find Dave."

"Oooo, what'd he do? Is he in trouble? Trouble in lovers' paradise?" Jade leans over the center console to get closer.

Jake glances in the rearview mirror as he drives. "What'd he say?"

"He says he needs to see Dave." Jade says, wiggling her eyebrows.

You frown and hold out one hand, palm up, and bring your other hand down on top of it, fingers extended and together. You point at her.

"Stop that."

She doesn't. "I can't, John." She points at her eyebrows. "These babies are out of control. So tell me, what'd he do? Is he in trouble?"

You shake your head, trying to will your blush away. You know it's not working.

"No? Hmmm, could it be you want to profess your love in front of the whole school?"

She's teasing, you know, but it makes your blush fiercer. You point at her, then grip the air, palms up and fingers curled, and pull your hands toward your chest. Then you put all your fingers together and tap your temple. You then touch your forehead with your three middle fingers, and pull them into a fist, your pinky and thumb extended. You then touch your fingers to your lips and sharply move your hands out flat, like you're smoldering something. You repeat the fingers to your forehead, then to a fist sign. The entire time you glare at her.

"You wanna know why? Shut up is why."

As soon as Jake pulls into the parking lot, you're looking for Dave. You spot his truck, but he's not in it. You can't find Rose either. Jake barely has time to put his car in park and shut off the engine before you've thrown open the door and hopped down to the pavement. You hike your backpack up onto one shoulder as you fast walk toward the front door.

"John! Wait up!" Jade calls as she runs up to you.

"Hold your horses, mate! Where's the fire?" Jake says as he comes up on your other side.

You look around, but you can't find him in the pre-school crowd. You absently sign his name on the hand closest to Jade, because you know she'll be able to read it.

"There he is!" She says, pointing.

Your head whips around and follows her finger. Dave is standing near the bottom of the steps leading up to the front doors. He's leaning with his back against a concrete pillar, his messenger bag hanging off one shoulder. His hands are in his pockets and his head is turned away from you as he talks to Rose and Kanaya.

Your feet stop moving for a moment, and both Jade and Jake take a few more steps before they realize that you've stopped. They look back at you, but you only have eyes for Dave. As you watch, Rose points over his shoulder and he turns. It's all in slow motion, at least to you. He turns, his hair moves, then you're staring at his sunglasses, but you know he's looking at you. Even from a distance you can see the way his lips twitch into a nervous smile. It's only then that you realize he's standing stiff, his shoulders tense.

Will you be my boyfriend? The question echoes in your head and there's only one answer.

Your backpack slides from your shoulder and hits the ground, but you're already running. You hear Jade and Jake shouting, but you're already gone. You run across a patch of grass, weaving between students. You hop up into a planter and run across the dead flower bed before hoping back down to the pavement on the other side. A mob of students is in your way, but you shove through them and suddenly Dave is in front of you.

His messenger bag is on the ground by the pillar but he's in front of you. He's there and he's beautiful and he's yours. You throw your arms around him, using his body to stop you. He stumbles a few steps before he catches your momentum, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"Dude, you're running like a-"

You don't give him time to launch into a metaphor. You grab the back of his head and pull him down to your level, capturing his lips in a frantic but firm kiss. He's stiff and surprised at first, but then he relaxes, his arms tightening around you and his head tilting to better capture your lips with his.

You think you heard a collective gasp before the buzz of whispers starts up, but you don't care. You don't care that you're kissing Dave in front of the school while students hurry to get inside to their lockers and classrooms. You don't care because Dave is your boyfriend and you'll kiss him if you want.

He breaks the kiss, but doesn't move away. Instead he rests his forehead against yours, his back still hunched from having to bend over. You hadn't realized you had gone up on your toes, but you had. This close, you can see right through his sunglasses, and you know he's looking back and forth between your eyes.

"So you saw the video?" He asks, his voice breathless and faint. You nod, knocking your head against his and clanking your glasses together. "And…?"

You grin, wide enough that your cheeks touch the bottom of your glasses. He smiles back, wide enough that you can see his teeth. He usually doesn't smile like that where people can see, but even though you're surrounded by people, your expressions are just for each other.

You kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands and pressing your lips to his. You do it slower, sweeter, taking the time to really feel the curve of his mouth. You can taste the mint of his toothpaste and Dave. He just tastes like Dave. Your hands move upward and you shift his shades off his nose and push them up to the top of his head. It pushes his hair is different directions, but he doesn't stop you. Instead he tilts his head more, taking your bottom lip between his, nibbling and sucking gently.

You hear a loud wolf whistle and several cat calls, and you know it's Jade and Karkat. You think Rose may have been the one whistling. You hear several camera shutter sounds, but you can't tell if it's your friends taking pictures or others. You can't bring yourself to care. Let them take pictures. Dave is yours. He's sweet and handsome and yours, and you want everyone to know it.

You laugh against his lips, just a couple breathy puffs of air. His arms and hands shift as he bends down a little further. His hands grab the back of your thighs and then suddenly he's lifting you, guiding your legs around his waist. You gasp, but follow his lead, locking your ankles behind his back.

You can't kiss him at the moment, because you're too busy laughing. But that doesn't stop him from trying. He kisses your lips, your chin, your nose, your cheeks. Dotting your face with quick pecks and tickle and make you giggle more. When you open your eyes, he's looking at you. His gaze is red and warm and framed by soft pale lashes and all for you.

You know the sunlight must hurt his eyes, but he's looking at you anyway, squinting against the glare. You press your forehead to his to give his eyes some shade. You can't seem to stop smiling. You're not sure you want to.

You press your lips to his and mouth the words: "I love you."

At first you're not sure he understood, but then he whispers. "I love you too, man."

The bell rings and the sound is loud and shrill and makes you both jump.

"As sweet as this was to witness, I believe it's time to get to class." You hear Rose say. You both turn to your friends. She's holding Dave's bag, and Jade is holding yours.

Dave reluctantly sets you down and you reluctantly let go. He shifts his sunglasses back to his nose.

Jake clears his throat. "Jade, Karkat, I believe you both owe me money."

"Oh, and me as well." Rose says, a devilish smile on her lips. She catches your glare and shrugs. "We were just curious how long it would take before you declared your affections to the public."

"You bet on us." Dave says dryly as he takes his bag from her.

"Don't be mad. I'll take you out for ice cream with the money you made me."

"Just a friendly wager, mate." Jake says as he counts the money Jade handed over.

"You could've waited a few more days, ass wipe." Karkat grumbles as he digs through his wallet.

You slide your hand into Dave's and give it a small squeeze. When he looks at you, you smile. He huffs and shrugs and points at Rose. "I demand a triple scoop cone."

"Of rainbow swirl?" She asks innocently, a small smile on her lips.

Dave flips her off as your shoulders shake with silent laughter. You hike your backpack onto your shoulder and tug him toward the front doors. You hate being late for class. Dave follows without protest and kisses your forehead before you part ways. You watch him go, feeling a fluttering in your chest and warmth where his lips touched.

Your name is John Egbert, and you have a boyfriend.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you have tried to ask Dirk out three times so far.

You lost your nerve every time before you could follow through. And it's really starting to frustrate you. You were not made for such things. You were made for waiting. You can be a very patient man when you want to be. You waited for John for years. You were very much willing to wait for Dirk, to stand by and plan and imagine all the possibilities for a grand romantic gesture that would positively sweep him off his feet and knock his socks off. But lately you've witnessed a lot of the romantic entanglement between John and the young Strider, and honestly they look so happy. You want a little of that happiness for yourself.

Not to mention you feel as though Dirk may be slipping away from you. You simply cannot allow him to get away! Unfortunately, your nerves weren't made for this. You don't like confrontation of any kind. It took all you had to confront John first about your feelings, and then again when you told him it was okay for him to like Dave.

You blathered your problems to Jane until she snapped. You felt positively horrid afterward. You just cannot control yourself. When something is bothering you, it is simply all you can think about and you tend to prattle on and on to your friends with little regard to how obnoxious you must sound. Poor Jane is one of your oldest and dearest friends, and she's so far removed from the situation at hand, what with her being in New York and college and all that. So you went to her first. And you very quickly lost her patience.

She told you to just ask the blasted man out and stop whimpering like a yellow-bellied nitwit.

You suppose you deserved that. By happenstance, you were also wearing your yellow sweatshirt. You suppose it was fitting. Dirk would have enjoyed the irony.

Jade was even worse! As soon as you started trying to explain your situation, she started singing that blasted "in a tree" song and would not stop. You didn't even get to ask for proper advice before you were too frustrated with her and stormed from the room with a huff.

The most you got out of her was, "Oh my god, Jake, just kiss him already."

You didn't want to ask John for advice. It was clear from your time at the arcade that he supported your affections for Dirk, but that wasn't something you were willing to talk about with him. Like you and Jane, it would probably be a few years before you would feel right asking him for romantic advice.

You have other friends, but none so close. Rose worked wonders with advice, but she was too close to Dirk. And you had a feeling that neither Karkat or Kanaya would suffer you.

So you went to the only other person from whom you've ever asked advice: your role model and robotic genius, Di-Stri. You have admired his work for years, and you went to him frequently for advice when you were doing your own mechanic tinkering. You like to think that you formed a type of bond with the faceless man. He seemed nice enough through emails. Not full of ego like you imagine most celebrities are. You hadn't talked with him in quite some time, though. You haven't tinkered much with robotics in the past year or two. And you haven't emailed him in just as long.

But you didn't know where else to turn. You spent nearly an hour fumbling over your keyboard before you thought you had drafted up an email that you thought was fitting. It was nearly as long as you spent fumbling over your phone before responding to Dirk's first pick-up line of the year. As much as you tried to sound offended, your chest had fluttered when you received that text from him. And you could not resist smiling over his childish antics. Antics that had once annoyed you, but now they were just so incredibly Dirk.

From Di-Stri's first reply, when he asked if "this guy" was worth it, you immediately felt up-in-arms and were quick to defend him. Yes, Dirk was a pain. And though he was four years older than you, he acted like a child and indeed went about this whole thing with "middle-school" shenanigans. But he is likely just as confused as you are! You haven't exactly been great about this whole courtship thing either. First you rebuffed him completely, and then suddenly you turned. No wonder he was confused and cautious. He just didn't want to get hurt.

And although Di-Stri hadn't said much, it was exactly the push you needed to come to several realizations: Dirk was probably in the same boat you were, you needed to take the reins and be the man you always wished you could be, and you needed to do it quickly before you lost Dirk for good.

You weren't going to make the mistake of waiting too long. Not again.

The first time you tried to ask him out was the very next day. You asked him if he had plans for the rest of the weekend. He said he had some work projects to catch up on. When he asked you why, you panicked and claimed you were just making conversation.

The second time you tried to ask him out was later that week. You started by asking him if he knew of any good movies that were out. He said no, and you started to ramble about the cinematic excellence of the second Hobbit movie. By the time you were done, you had lost any nerve you had.

The third time you tried to ask him out was the most pathetic yet. It was the next week, and you were trying to gather your courage to ask him out for Valentines Day. You started by bringing up the subject, then mentioning that John was telling you of his plans with Dave. Which led you to mention that Rose and Kanaya may be planning something as well. And then you rambled about how Karkat always wants to do something for Valentines, being the secret romantic that he is, but he never has anyone to do it with and you think he should just ask Jade, because you doubt she'd say no. And you finished off your ramble by saying how you've never done anything for Valentines and you're starting to think it may be a bit of a cliche.

Dirk waited in silence, and when you were done, he waited a little while longer. When you didn't say anything, he told you that he, too, never really celebrated Valentines Day and then the conversation dropped.

You are starting to believe that you're doomed to live out your days alone. You might as well move to a deserted island and live your days in adventure and spend your nights dreaming of blue women.

Valentines Day has arrived, and it seems as though everything and everyone is mocking you for your failure. Every paper heart taped to the walls appears to be laughing at you. The flowers that you see students giving other students fills your nostrils with the sickeningly sweet smell of what you couldn't accomplish. Every chocolate exchanged and every kiss you witnessed in the halls was just a tribute to what you're missing out on. Even the candy grams that are delivered in your first class, be them anonymous or otherwise, prove others to be braver than you.

Although you are present during your first few classes, your mind is playing through some of your favorite movies. Avatar, Tomb Raider, Indiana Jones. All of those heroes and heroines were brave. You can be brave too. You can swoop Dirk off his feet and ride off into the sunset with him. You are going to woo him, and by George, he will not have a choice in the matter!

When the lunch bell rings, you gather your things, shove them in your bag and hurry to find Dave. You find him right before he and John enter the cafeteria, hand in hand. Ever since their very public display of affection in front of the school, they have been much more open with their relationship. Part of you aches to see them together, but mostly you are happy for them. You haven't seen John this happy in years.

You tap Dave on the shoulder, and he pauses, turning to face you. "Afternoon, Dave, my good man. May I, um, have a word?"

The young Strider seems to look you up and down, though it is hard to tell with those blasted shades of his. He finally shrugs. "Yeah, don't see why not." He then turns to John, who's watching you curiously from his side. "Meet you inside?"

John gives you both a curious, wary look, but he nods and lets go of Dave's hand. With a final wave to you both, he disappears into the cafeteria. Dave shoves both hands into his pockets and turns to face you fully. You can't help but notice the way he squares his shoulders and puffs out his chest. And you realize that he's probably anticipating some sort of remark about their relationship. You have been meaning to give him a warning not to hurt John, but now isn't the time for that.

"Sup?" He asks, and somehow that one word question is much more obnoxious when he says it than when Dirk says it.

"I need a favor of you, Strider." You say, squaring your shoulders to mirror his posture.

His eyebrows raise over the rims of his sunglasses. "What does the all mighty Jake English need of me?" He asks, and you resent that playful mockery. This is not the time for such things! You are a man on a mission.

You hold your chin high and use your best I-am-older-than-you voice. "I need you to give John and Jade a ride home after school."

His smirk falters and his shoulder slump in confusion. He tilts his head to the side, as if seeing you from another angle might help him understand. "Okay, but where're you going?"

You puff out your chest, raise your chin, and try to mimic an adventurer, hero pose. "I am going to woo your brother." You spin on your heel and strut away, but not before you see his jaw drop. You leave the school from a side door and walk purposefully to the parking lot. No one tries to stop you. You throw your backpack into the passengers seat and start up the engine, throwing it quickly into reverse. You want to get out of the parking lot before anyone notices you're leaving.

First stop, your house. Second stop, the grocery store. Third stop, Dirk's house.

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're beginning to think that the maybe-Jake isn't really Jake after all.

It's been almost two weeks since he emailed you, and just as long has passed without any move from Jake. There have been a few times when you thought he was getting ready to ask you out, but he never followed through. The first time you thought that maybe he just got nervous. The second time got you thinking. And after the third time, you've resigned yourself to the possibility that it's all in your head. That he hasn't almost asked you out, and you're just seeing what you want to see.

You're just reading too much into the situation and you really just need to do it yourself.

But that's easier said than done.

So that's how you find yourself alone, once again, on Valentines Day. You never really had much use for the holiday. It's not even a real holiday. It's just a day that couples use as an excuse to flaunt their relationships in front of those who aren't fortunate enough to have someone. Singles awareness day, some call it. And you've found that it's very true. Either you're happy or your not. And today, you're not.

You've never really been in a stable relationship, let alone one that lasted more than a month. You've always had other things on your mind. Like keeping Dave in school, and bills, and your own school, and work, and food. For the past few years, you and Roxy have spent Valentines Day together, watching movies and eating ice cream in your pajamas. But this year you're alone. Dave has a date with his new boyfriend, and you're fairly certain that Rose has a date as well.

As you sit in the garage at your work bench, you wonder if it's too late to ask Jake out for dinner. A glance at the clock tells you it's only noon. If you texted him, he'd get it around two-thirty. But if you're going to be a man about this, you should probably call him instead of text him. He gets home around three, so you could call him then. Would that be enough notice? Hey, Jake, wanna have dinner in three hours? Happy Valentines Day.

You get too fixed on this train of thought and end up screwing in a screw just a little too tight. When your screwdriver starts stripping the screw, you realize what you're doing and stop. You glare at it in frustration and get to work loosening it.

You've finished with most of your projects for work. Today you're just tinkering. You had an idea two weeks ago. In a dream you made a hover board. When you woke up, you started to sketch it out. After a lot of math and numbers, which Roxy helped you with, you think you have a good basis for hovering technology. You just have to build the hover engine, on a small scale first, and test it and tinker with it. That's what you're working on now.

It's good to get back to just messing with parts. Metal and bolts. Tools and nails. The smell of grease. This is what your hands were made for. You were an inventor, and sometimes you got too caught up in the day-to-day flow of your work that you forget that. But here you feel at home. At peace. Your mind and emotions and personal life may be a mess, but your hands know what to do and your brain is already piecing the engine together while your heart chokes itself thinking about Jake.

To ask him to dinner, or not to ask him to dinner. That is the question. The question that's got your insides running in circles.

You're not sure how long you thought about it, but it must have been a while, because over the pounding pulse of your music, you hear someone knocking sharply on the door. Dave and Rose must be home. Your guess is that Dave is either wanting advice for his date or wants to know what outfit he should wear. The kid takes longer to get ready than Rose and Roxy combined.

You're sitting at your work bench, your back to the door. Your work table is sizable and takes up the majority of the garage wall. A wooden bench, smooth and worn and comfortable, sits in front of it. The garage is messier than your work room. Your work room has wires and tools and scraps and all the small projects you work on. The garage holds all your real projects. Your large toolboxes. Both stand almost as tall as you, with wheels and drawers and cabinets. One is your old set, inherited from your dad. The other is orange and all the tools had orange leather grips. Dave got you that one for christmas.

Your robots are stored here too. Squarewave and Sawtooth, their finished versions and all their beta forms. You have your big tools, like your soldering irons and your metal cutters. Heaps of metal, scraps and sheets and strips. Wires and ribbons, nuts and bolts, nails and screws. Power tools, extension cords, power strips. You even had a space heater set up across the room, pointing at your work bench. It was still a little chilly and the garage didn't have natural heating. The space heater did wonders though. It's so potent that if you moved it any closer, you'd soon be smoldering like blacktop in the middle of a Texan July noonday sun.

Your shit is everywhere, but it's organized chaos. You doubt anyone would be able to find anything, if they even knew what to look for. But you knew ever nook and cranny of this garage and you could find the smallest screw size in just a matter of seconds. This is your workspace, and as such, you make a point to know it well.

Instead of risking getting the chord of your nice new headphones caught up in something and damaged, you plugged your iPod into some portable speakers. Your new work mix, a collection of songs done by both you and Dave, is blasting and echoing around the garage. You like your music loud. You like to be able to feel it while you work. The vibrations in your hands and the beat in your chest.

When you hear the knock, however, cutting through the driving bass, you reach over and turn it down a few notches. Dave knows you don't like to be disturbed, but you'll at least turn your music down so he can hear you yelling at him.

"What?" You call out over your music. You wait, and after a moment, the door opens. You hear the door close, but he still doesn't say anything. You finish tightening up a bolt. You're almost done with the box that's going to hold your hover engine. Lightweight but durable. That's the key. You set down your tools with a little more force than necessary, just to get your point across, and sigh loudly. "Dave, you know the fucking rule. Don't disturb me when I'm working."

You throw one leg over the bench and, straddling it, you turn to face your brother.

But it's not your brother.

It's Jake.

Jake is standing in the middle of your garage looking awkward as hell but fucking gorgeous in black slacks, polished black shoes, and a dark green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair even looks like he tried to comb it. He's also holding a small bouquet of flowers, orange and yellow and red. His other hand is behind his back.

Your words die in your throat, fading into a pitiful whine that you're fairly certain he didn't hear over the beat of your music. You're also pretty sure your mouth is hanging open. It takes you a moment of gawking to realize that your shades aren't on your face. They're sitting on your work table and Jake can see just how wide and shocked your eyes are. He, no doubt, also sees the way you look him up and down, lick your lips nervously, and try to swallow past the lump in your throat. You just know your adams apple is bobbing in a way that's akin to some stupid old cartoon.

"J-Jake?" Aw shit no. You did not just fucking stutter. You did. You just fucking stuttered. Like a fucking school girl. From a fucking anime. You are not going to go into that. It will be a cold day in hell when you tell Jake about your doki doki or anything like that. You snap your mouth shut hard enough to make your jaw ache. You clear your throat loudly and try again. "Jake?" There you go. Much more manly.

He had been watching you and your reaction, but now he's looking everywhere and anywhere but your eyes. The floor, your shoes, his shoes, your work table, the wall, even back at the door. He's also chewing his bottom lip with that slight overbite and you suddenly really wish that could be you nibbling on his lip.

"Uh, greetings, mate!" He says, an equal mix of cheery and nervous.

"What're you doing here?" You ask, voice carefully level. Your eyes slide from his face to the flowers he's holding. You have a feeling you already know why he's here. Your chest tightens as your heart decides to go overtime and you can barely hear your music over the sound of your own blood pulsing in your ears.

Jake follows your gaze down to the flowers he's holding. He laughs a nervous little laugh and lifts his hand a little, like he's seeing them for the first time. "Oh these? Heh, well, you see…" He lifts his other hand, the one behind his back, and you can see he's holding a cliche red heart box that no doubt has chocolates inside. He shifts the box to the crook of his other arm and uses his freed hand to tug on the collar of his shirt. It's not tight. He has the first few buttons undone, giving you just enough of a chest V to make you want to see more. You can easily assume it's a nervous gesture.

He starts again. "You see, old chap, I've come to, uh, ask you…nay, take you. Yes. I've come to take you out for valentines day." His sentence started weak, but by the end he was filled with determined bravo and his chest puffed out in a show of it. It was adorable. You wanted to smile, but you were having a hard time processing it.

Three words kept flashing in your mind: DOES NOT COMPUTE.

"Me?" As soon as you say it, you cringe. Me? That's all you can say? Of course you! He's here, isn't he?

Jake closes the distance between you with a few powerful, determined steps. Once he's standing next to your bench, he shoves the flowers and the box of chocolates at you. You stare at them like you've never seen flora before.

When you don't take them right away, he shrugs and his arms slacken a little to his sides. "I understand that flowers and chocolate and normally gifts for the ladies, and we are both men. But I will never let it be said that Jake English didn't woo you properly." He says it with such bravo, but when you look up at him, he gives you a shaky little smile. "And I thought you might enjoy the irony of it?" He says softly, a little uncertain.

That makes you smile. Your lips finally upturn at the corners and you take the flowers and chocolates from him. You swear you hear a small sigh of relief as you do.

"Totally ironic." You say, sniffing the flowers. They smelled, well, like flowers. But they were made all the sweeter by the fact that Jake got them for you. And he was right. It was ironic. "Dave and Rose will be jealous." You set the flowers and the box of chocolates on your word table, pushing your project aside to make room.

You're not sure what to do with your hands after that, so you just kind of fidget with them in your lap, forearms resting on your legs. Jake doesn't seem to know what to do either. He's tugging on his collar again, and picking at his rolled up sleeves. You're still sitting with one leg on either side of your bench. You nod at the space in front of you. "You can sit."

It takes him no time at all to do exactly that. He sits with his back to your table and his feet facing the door, like he's ready to bolt at any second. He doesn't say anything, just picks at the the buttons on his shirt. Even your music can't take away the awkwardness of the silence.

"So…dinner?" You say, trying to prompt more out of him about this date. You assume it's a date. All he said was he's here to take you out for valentines day. You assume that means dinner.

He jumps a little and he looks at you, like he forgot you were there. Then he looks down and his brow furrows. When he looks back at you, he's frowning. "You are a frustrating fellow, you know that, Strider?"

His voice is harsh with frustration. You blink in surprise. "What?"

He throws his arms in the air. "You come at me like a lion stalking its prey. You flirt with me and attempt to woo me in a brash, forward way. But when I try to reciprocate, you run away." His voice is accusing. He's glaring at you now. "What am I supposed to make of that, Strider? Hm?"

Your lips press together into a frown. Your brow furrows and you look down at your hands. You can't run from him anymore. You take a deep breath, and when you exhale, you apologize. "I'm sorry."

He blinks, his anger gone. "What was that?"

"I'm sorry." You say a little louder, looking up at him.

He looks at you warily. "Not going to defend yourself?"

You shake your head. "Nope. I was a dick."

"Well…" He crosses his arms over his chest. "Yes, you were."

You shrug. "I just… I didn't want to be a replacement for John. I wanted you to like me for me." You give him a small smirk. "I'm selfish that way."

Jake cringes. "That's over."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is it?"

"Yes." He says, and its the most confident word he's said since he arrived. His arms drop to his sides and he throws a leg over the bench, turning so he's facing you, mirroring your position. "I like you, Dirk. And that is why I am here to take you out for valentines day and you will have no say in the matter. You are not running from me this time."

He's leaning forward, his hands on the bench between you. The intensity of his gaze has you shrinking back. You've been fighting for his attention for so long, you never stopped to wonder what it would be like once you got it. You can't say you're disappointed. You're even a little turned on. And you know it's not just the fact that he's wearing a button down shirt. The way he's looking at you and the tone of his voice has got your blood heading south.

"Okay." You say because you can't think of anything else.

He waits for more, but when you don't say anything else, he nods. "Good. Now that that's settled, on to other business."

One eyebrow goes up. "Other business?"

He scoots forward on the bench until his knees bump into yours and there's only a diamond of space between you. "I'm wooing you, Strider." He says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Your heart starts to hammer against your ribcage as he leans forward and puts his hands over yours on the bench, in the space between you.

You look down at your hands, admiring the way his tanned skin stood out in dark contrast compared to your own, pale as milk. A few freckles dotted your knuckles it doesn't escape you how he idly rubs over them with his thumb. You also realize that you have grease smears on your hands, but Jake doesn't seem to mind.

You're suddenly aware of how dingy you appear compared to him. He's dressed sharp, you're dressed for work. You have your black cargo pants on and orange converses. A black tank top that easily hides any grease marks. Your hair is probably a mess, and you no doubt smell like motor oil.

But none of that stops Jake from leaning in closer and closer, until you can feel his breath on your skin. You're frozen, unable to move. If you move, you might break the spell. You're still finding it hard to believe that Jake is here, in front of you, demanding a date from you and setting himself up for a kiss.

Your lips are dry. Your tongue darts out to wet them and you don't miss how Jake's eyes flicker down to watch. "How're you gonna go about wooin' little ol' me?" You hope it sounds like you let your accent through on purpose. Even though you know you didn't.

His gaze meets yours and he's close enough that your vision crosses and it looks like he has one eye. He leans back a fraction and he has two eyes again. A small smile is playing on his lips. "Normally, a gentleman will save the kiss for after the date, but I'm not so certain I want to wait that long."

Your lips twitch into a small smile. "Well, I'm no lady, so you might as well kiss me now."

And he does.

Or at least he tries.

Unlike at the football game, when he threw himself at you with reckless abandon and kissed you like his life depended on it, this time he closes his eyes and leans forward, but stops just short of actually kissing you. You wait only a second before leaning forward that extra half an inch.

He seems almost startled at first, but that's okay, because you're freaking out a little too. The kiss is slow and sweet. You press your lips together. You lean back just a heartbeat before tilting your head and leaning in again. It's a steady, slow movement. Forward, kissing, lips grasping, feeling, moving together. Backward, just far enough to readjust, just far enough to come back, never really breaking contact. You don't know how long the kiss lasts, and you don't care. You don't want it to stop. One of his hands clutches at yours, but the other lifts to cup your cheek. You lean into it, tilting your face and creating more contact for your lips. Your nose is pressed to his cheek and you can hear your breath whistling against his skin. His own breath his hot on yours.

When he finally pulls away, you're reluctant to let him go. You lean forward enough that it's noticeable. He chuckles and you probably would have blushed if your face wasn't already flushed from the kiss. His hand remains on your face, cupping your jaw as his thumb lightly runs across your cheek. You close your eyes briefly, taking a breath to steady yourself.

"I've always been fond of your freckles." He says, and you open your eyes to see him smiling. All of your blood had been pumping south, but the way he looks at you makes it beat back to your heart.

There's a war raging in your body between your boner and your heart, and you kinda hope both of them win.

"Soo… Dinner?" You say again.

That breaks his trance and he lets go of your face, using that hand to slap his thigh. "Right! Dinner!" He seems a lot less nervous and a lot more excited, which, in turn, makes you less nervous. "Will you accompany me to dinner, Mr. Strider?"

You tilt your head, raise an eyebrow, and smirk. "I thought you were demanding that I accompany you?"

"I am, but I might as well pretend to be a gentleman and ask."

You snort a small laugh, which turns into a full bodied laugh that bubbles uncontrollably up your throat. You wipe the gathered moisture from the corner of your eye. "Damn straight, I'll go with you. Took you long enough to ask."

He rubs the back of his neck. "It took a push and a shove from an old friend." He looks around with a smile that you suppose is supposed to be hiding a secret, but you already know who that old friend is: you.

As you both sit there and stew in your happiness, you think about what you'll need to do. You'll need a shower, a good long shower if you're going to be properly prepared for this. You'll need time to iron your clothes because like hell you're going to let English outshine you. Strider's look sharp. It's a rule. Then you'll have to allow time to style your hair. You should probably get started soon if you hope to be done in time for dinner. What time is it, anyway? You glance at the clock and realize that it's only two o'clock. Jake must have skipped out of school early.

You turn to ask him about this, but the question dies as soon as you see where he's looking. His brow is furrowed and his lips twisted as he stares across the garage to where Squarewave and Sawtooth stand. He lifts a finger to point. "Are those…?"

You look over your shoulder, but you already know what he's looking at. Busted. "Yes." You say simply.

When you look back at him, he's already scanning the rest of the garage. You watch him closely. You see him pause at each of your projects you have stored around the room and hanging from the walls. His gaze finally lands at the table next to you, where your Di-Stri logo is pinned up on the wall. "You…" He whispers, his head turning toward you, but his gaze lost.

You shrug. "Me."

He moves his mouth for a second, but nothing comes out. He tries again. "You're Di-Stri?!"

You hold up one hand. "Dirk Strider." You hold up the other hand. "Di-Stri." You let both hands drop. "It's not that hard to figure out."

He sputters for a second, his eyes wide. "You told me to ask you out!" He accuses.

You shrug again, a small apologetic smile on your lips. "I was too much of a coward to do it myself." You can at least be a man and admit it.

Jake runs a hand through his hair, pausing to grip at it. There goes any work his combing might have done. "That means I've talked to you all those years ago. You. You're the one who used to give me advice on robotics."

You're actually enjoying this a little. "We've met before, too. Two years ago."

You can almost see the wheels turning in his head. His eyes flicker back and forth, seeing everything and nothing as he searches his memory. When he finds it, the hand that was in his hair suddenly comes slamming down on the bench between you. You jump. "YOU WERE THERE!" He shouts. His fingers is pointing at you, his mouth a gape. "At the convention! The, uh, blasted what was it, the robotics convention! I met a young fellow there with glasses like Di-Stri's logo!"

You smirk. "And I met a handsome seventeen year old whose ass looked great in his Lara Croft shorts."

Jake's face turned a bright shade of red. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" He sounded a little hurt.

You shrug and lean forward, running your hand through his hair, trying to make it lay flat again. His hair isn't too soft, and wasn't too coarse, but it's perfect nonetheless. You're feeling a little flustered just touching him. But you aren't going to let that show. You are Dirk Strider. You're too cool for that shit. "I wanted you to remember me on your own."

His brow furrowed. "Why didn't you tell me you are Di-Stri?" He definitely sounded hurt.

Your hand slid from his hair and your fingers ran along his brow, smoothing it out by force. "I'm not in the habit of telling people about my work life. I like the anonymity for a reason." You run your fingers through his hair again until your hand cups the back of his neck. You pull him forward and bump your forehead against his. "And I wanted you to fall for Dirk Strider, not Di-Stri."

"You are a very frustrating man, Dirk Strider." Jake sighs.

You smile. "But you're 'fond' of me anyway."

You can feel his forehead crease against your own. "Now you see here, Strider. If this is going to work, there can be no more lies or hiding things or-"

You don't let him finish. You tug his forward abruptly and push your lips forcefully against his own. He grunts, but doesn't pull away. Instead he bites your bottom lip to show his frustration. You take his into your mouth and nibble on it, and his breath hitches. Your tongue slides out to feel his lips and you feel his body tense even as he sighs and opens his mouth to you.

It doesn't take long for your kiss to get heated. As soon as your tongue meets his, he's grabbing at you. One hand grabs at your shoulder, sliding over to grasp the back of your head to hold you firmly against him. The other lands on your thigh, squeezing. One of your hands is still at his neck, the other grips at the front of his shirt, keeping him close.

He's warm, and he tastes like toothpaste and Jake, and he smells like subtle deodorant and Jake. It's intoxicating. You've tried to imagine what this would be like so many times, but nothing has ever come close. The closest you ever got was when you wrestled in your backyard, and he pinned you to the ground and you wanted him to kiss you like he is now.

Jake bites your bottom lip again and a whine escapes your throat before you can control yourself. His grip on you tightens. His fingers digging into your thigh. His other hand slides down to your hip and suddenly his hands are on your ass and he's lifting you, dragging you forward until your legs are draped over his and you're straddling him as he straddles the bench. Your kiss breaks and you gasp as your bodies press closer. Jesus dick it's been so long since you've done this.

One of his arms slides around your waist, while the other returns to your thigh, near your hip, fingers bruising the skin even through your clothes. His mouth trails down to your jaw and he presses firm kisses to your neck. A low moan sounds in your throat, but then he bites down and it turns into a high pitched whine. You sound so pathetic, but you don't care. Jake is holding you. Jake is kissing you. Jake is biting you and you fucking love it. You know he's going to leave marks and the thought of it just turns you on more.

Jake bites again at the tender skin beneath your ear and you make that shameful sound, rolling your hips forward. His breath hitches and this time he's the one who moans. It's low and deep and almost a growl and it sends shivers down your spine. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth and you rock forward again, rolling your whole body against him. He sucks beneath your jaw, and you cling to his shoulders, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He bites where your neck meets shoulder, and you rut against him again and again. He's moving with you now. You can feel his hard on through the fabric of both your pants. It presses against yours when you roll your hips just right. He bites your collarbone.

"Ffffuuuuck, Jake." You half moan, half whine. He releases your flesh, but keeps his mouth pressed against the curve of your neck. He's panting, but you swear you can feel him smiling. You grab his head with both hands and tilt it back, pressing your lips to his in a forceful kiss that wavers on the edge of desperate.

All you hear is your breath and his, the pounding of blood in your ears, and the background pulse of your music. You're not aware of the knocking at your door, nor do you hear it open. You do, however, hear Dave's loud screech.

"Jesus FUCK!"

You and Jake snap away from each other and turn like deer in headlights to see Dave's horrified expression. His mouth is hanging open and he's leaning back against the doorframe like he nearly fell, one hand gripping the doorknob tightly. His other hand is dramatically covering his shades.

Welp, there goes your boner.

"I am going to be scarred for LIFE. JESUSHOOLAHOOPINGDICK, bro! Put a fucking sock on the door or something!"

You glance at Jake, but he's staring at Dave with absolute frozen horrified embarrassment. You twist around, grab a block of wood off your desk, turn and hurl it at the door. You miss on purpose, but Dave still ducks. "Don't disturb me while I'm fucking working!"

"Work? Yeah, I can see how busy you are. Busy getting busAY!" He pelvic thrusts at the open air. You grab a screwdriver this time and chuck it at him. He slams the door and the screwdriver bounces to the floor. You can hear him laughing down the hall.

You sigh and rest your forehead on Jake's shoulder. "Sorry about Dave. He's a little shit."

Jake's back to being stiff and nervous, but he makes no move to push you off his lap. Instead he wraps his arms around you and rubs your back, leaning his head against yours. "It's quite alright, mate." He clears his throat. "As, um, fantastic as that was, we should probably…get ready to go?"

"It's only like, two-thirty. How early are we eating?" Your voice is muffled as you nuzzle into the curve of his neck.

"You've told me on several occasions that it takes you several hours to get ready."

You chuckle softly. "Too true." You slide your arms around his neck and lick your way up the side of his neck to gently suck on his earlobe. "We could just stay in and I could eat you." You practically purr as you run your lips along the shell of his ear.

"Oh, um, that d-does sound…" He stammers. Then his arms are on your shoulders and he's pushing you back. "Absolutely not! I am wooing you and we are going out on a proper date! I insist!"

As predicted, it takes you several hours to get ready. You want to look your best. When you're showed and your hair is blow dried and styled, you choose your outfit and iron it. You go with black slacks, black shoes, a bright orange button down shirt that Roxy says brings out your eyes, and a black vest to go over it. Jake waits in the living room, occupying himself with your TV. When you step out, you watch smugly as his jaw drops and his eyes rake over you.

You like to think the two of you make a stunning pair, in orange and green. You're taller than him by a few inches, strong and lean. He's broader than you with an ass to die for. He insists you take his arm as he walks you out to his car, just as he insists on driving. He opens your door for you and when you let go of his arm, you just can't resist reaching out and squeezing his ass. He jumps and glares, and you just smirk.

As it turns out, after a lot of driving and disappointment, everywhere is packed and Jake failed to make any sort of reservation. The two of you end up at Taco Bell and that's fine with you, because you're just happy to be out with Jake and let's face it, it's ironic. You're the snazziest guys up in that joint. Afterwards you go find a red box and rent a few movies. You end up back at home, on the couch, with your shoes kicked of and your shirts untucked, cuddled up under a blanket. You both fall asleep watching ironman 3.

You wake up in the middle of the night, covered in condoms with various sayings on the wrappers. "Have Fun," "Be Safe," "Work," "Busy," "Adventure." You don't know whether it was Rose or Dave, but your guess is both. You make a mental note to get them both back as you drag a sleepy Jake upstairs to your bed.

Chapter Text

==>

Your name is Dirk Strider, and you're dating a high schooler.

Granted, he's nineteen and completely legal. Also, he's fucking gorgeous. You've been dating for almost three months, and for the first time in years, you are genuinely happy.

But as happy as you are, you can't believe you agreed to this.

You are twenty-three years old. You graduated high school, and you've graduated college. You've been the legal guardian of your brother for five years, and you've been raising him for much longer than that. You're a grown ass adult. You have a grown ass job. You pay goddamn bills. Well, Mom Lalonde pays the bills, but you buy the groceries. You have a fucking college fund for your little brother.

You are a man. A grown ass man. And while you look hot as fuck in a suit, you cannot believe you agreed to wear one to a fucking high school prom.

It's been years since you were in high school. It wasn't exactly a good experience for you. You were hoping around from foster home to foster home, trying to deal with your own depression and raging puberty hormones, while still trying to take care of your brother. You had a few flings, experimented a little, but you refused to get attached to anyone. Your brother needed you. He was the most important.

Plus everyone had a tendency to annoy the ever living shit out of you. You didn't like being around people. Not for any longer than it took to satisfy your hormonal needs. You much preferred your technology and your tinkering. Even though people seemed to flock to you and idolize you, you really didn't know how to socialize. Somehow your silence was taken for coolness. That was how you first got the idea to teach the whole "irony" thing to Dave as a shield.

Basically, high school sucked.

You didn't even go to your own high school prom. But you agreed to go to Jake's. You blame those eyes of his. When he turns those emerald beauties at you, all glinting and framed by short, dark lashes, with his adorable thick brows all furrowed, you just can't say no.

Actually, that's a lie. You can say no. You can say no very easily, in fact. And you do so, if only to make him flustered. You also are very good at saying no even when he pulls out the quivering bottom lip. After that, he usually whines a lot, pleads a little. And when none of that works, he flips it all around and demands. That is usually when you give him what he wants. One, because pouting Jake is possibly one of the most adorable and most amusing things you've ever seen. And two, because demanding Jake has a way of getting your panties in a bunch. And you mean that in the best possible way.

This time, you were very stubbornly against it. There was no way in hell you were going to go to a high school prom.

But then he said it would mean a lot to him. And that was it. You were done. You were going to take Jake English to the fucking prom. And be a fucking man about it.

"Ow, fuck." You hiss, sucking in air. You shake your hand to the side and put your pricked finger in your mouth.

Jake laughs. "What's the matter, Strider? Beaten by a rose?" He takes your hand in both of his and pulls your finger out of your mouth. He turns it this way and that, examining it. "Barely a scratch and not a drop of blood." He brings your finger to his lips and kisses it. "Better?" He asks, looking at you over the top of his glasses.

You definitely do not feel heat rising to your cheeks. "No." Your tone is begrudging as you return to your task of attempting to pin a boutonniere to Jake's suit jacket. "Roses can be dangerous." You finally manage to pin the damn thing and you straighten out his jacket with a small smirk of triumph. "Why do we have to wear these things?"

Jake manages to pin the single rose to your jacket in record time. "Don't be sour, mate. You look dashing."

"Lookin' pretty fine yourself, English." You step forward and wrap your arms around his back, linking your fingers and pulling him close. "You look good in a suit." His hands came to rest on your chest, being trapped by your arms. You rest your forehead against his. "I prefer the short shorts though." You say, your voice a low purr and your eyes half lidded.

"Strider." He whispers back, weakly slapping at your chest. "Behave yourself. My grandparents are present."

"Am I ever anything less than the perfect southern gentleman?" You ask, stepping back and letting him go. He gives you a look as he straights out his sleeves and fiddles with his cufflinks. They're in the shape of little green skulls and were a present from his grandma.

"Jake! Dirk! Hurry up!" You hear Jade call from the back of the house.

"Frigs friggin sake, Jade! We're coming!" Jake calls back. He reaches forward and fixes your tie. "Behave." He warns.

"Of course." As he turns to head for the back door, you took the opportunity to grab his ass. He slaps at your hand and glares over his shoulder. You only shrug, a smirk playing across your lips.

His grandparents were waiting for you in the backyard. Along with Jade and Karkat. Jade's dress was lime green and black and sparkled like the stars. Karkat chose to go with traditional grays and blacks. You and Jake decided to match while still wearing your own favorite colors. Your suits are black, and your shirts white. The vest you wore is bright ass orange and you wouldn't have it any other way. Jake's vest is the same dark, vibrant green as his eyes. You went classy and chose a simple black tie. Jake went classier and chose a black bow tie.

Pictures go by just as you expected them to. Jade and Jake direct the usual cliche poses, meanwhile you go with the flow and smile and Karkat has to be coaxed into not frowning. You even left your shades in the car.

"How long do you think before he blows a gasket?" Jake asks as his cousin and her date take individual photos, with grandpa wielding the camera. The two of you stand off to the side, out of the spotlight. You saddle up behind Jake, wrapping your arms around his waist and loosely interlocking your fingers in front of him. You then lean forward, resting your chin on his shoulder. He puts his hand on yours, resting them there as his thumbs lightly run across your knuckles.

"Could be any minute now." You say, keeping your voice low and only for Jake. "Do you see how red his face is?"

Jake tilts his head to the side, resting it on yours. "He looks like he's manhandling bushel loads of prickly pears."

"Not sure what that means, English. Unless the prickly pears he's manhandling is his attempt to not curse in front of your grandparents. And trying not to pop a boner while touching Jade."

"Right o, Strider! You hit the fancy nail on the head with that hammer of a noggin of yours."

You exhale sharply, a form of a small laugh. "What do you think will be the first bomb he drops?"

"My money is on the F-bomb."

"Nice choice."

A flash catches you off guard and you blink, lifting your head to find Jake's grandma with a camera, smiling at the two of you. "Sorry, dearies. Couldn't resist." She says, winking. "You two just looked so precious. He's a handsome one, Jakey."

"Grandma!" Jake says, and you smile at how embarrassed he sounds. He tries to push your hands off him, but you keep them firmly in place.

"She just thinks we're cute, Jake. Calm down." You lean forward to kiss his cheek and his grandma snaps another picture, much to Jake's horror. You find that you like Jake's grandma. She has just as much fun embarrassing her grandson as you do.

When pictures are done, the four of you head for the cars. You and Jake to yours, and Jade and Karkat to his. "That went well." You say as your engine hums to life.

"That was not amusing, Strider." Jake says, crossing his arms over his chest as he pouts in the passenger's seat.

"I think your grandma likes me." You say, smirking as you pull out of his driveway.

"A little too much, if you ask me. I will never hear the end of it. She'll lord those pictures over me till the end of my days."

You eyed him, one eyebrow raised. "What's wrong with them?"

"She took them without my knowledge!"

You shrug, starting off down the street. "She took a few when we weren't looking, when we were just being us. Isn't that better than posing?"

He huffs and looks out the window. "I guess." He mumbles.

You reach a stop sign at an intersection with no other cars in sight. You pull to a complete stop and lean across the center console, reaching for Jake. You take his chin in your hand and pull him around to kiss him. It takes him by surprise, but he relaxes into it quickly, leaning toward you. You kiss him gently, softly, chaste, like a gentleman who's about to take his lady out to dance. Because you're a fucking gentleman.

"I want copies of those pictures." You say when you pull back from the kiss. "Gonna frame one for my bedside table. Gonna put the other in my wallet. So I can show everyone how fucking cute my boyfriend is."

It's dark in the car, but you can feel the heat of his face on your hand, the one that's still poised under his chin. He clears his throat. "Yes, well, I do suppose I look quite dapper in a suit."

"Fucking gorgeous." You run your thumb lightly over his lips. They're still moist from your kiss. "If you didn't insist on this school dance, I'd insist on taking you home with me right now."

You can feel his breath on your thumb, but he snatches your hand away, holding it in his. "None of that, Strider! We are going to this dance and you will be my date, as the proper southern gentleman you claim to be and as a proper boyfriend."

You sigh. "Yeah, yeah, you got me. But you owe me."

He brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles. "I will find some way to pacify you, I promise." He licks between your fingers, bringing one into his mouth. He gently sucks on it and your other hand tightens on the steering wheel. You watch him, and he watches you watching him as he runs his tongue over and under your finger. Then he releases it, slowly sliding it over his lips.

From the tightness of your pants, you have a feeling this is going to be a long night. "You fucking better."

==>

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are nervous as fuck.

Although you and John have been dating for roughly three months now, he only just told his dad. And now you have to go see his dad, while wearing a tux as you pick up John for prom.

John assured you that his dad didn't mind, and that he was very supportive about the whole "love who you wanna love" sort of thing, but that didn't make you any less nervous about going to see your boyfriend's dad. Especially when you've already seen his dad half a hundred times already but now you have to go look him in the eye while he knows that you two have spent the night with each other and slept in the same bed and cuddle on the couch and now you're porking his son.

Okay, so you're not porking his son. Yet. But he doesn't know that, now does he? And you can't exactly bring it up. "Hey, Mr. E, I know what you're probably thinking, but don't worry, your son's virginity is safe for now. But I plan on deflowering him eventually. But it'll be okay, cause he'll be deflowering me too."

You actually didn't know when you planned on deflowering John. Or yourself for that matter. John was a little surprised to discover that you were a virgin and that he was your first relationship ever. That had been one hella embarrassing talk. He had built you up to be this cool guy who gets all the ladies. Then you go and tell him, yeah, you kinda don't like the ladies but at the same time you've never dated anyone. When he asked if he had been your first kiss, you refused to answer him. And you held his hands down so he couldn't make fun of how red you were.

But the point is, you're happy and Egbert's happy and you're super nervous about the whole sex thing, so that's been on pause. Not that you haven't thought about it. Just that you're super happy just getting hot and heavy with the make outs and cuddling all the time. No need to rush it.

But you're getting off track here. You're just procrastinating pushing that doorbell button and facing your doom. You're not sure how long you've been standing here, but by the time you reach out to actually push the button, the door is swinging open and there he is. Your boyfriend. All blue eyes and smiling lips and fucking adorable in his suit.

He looks you up and down and his grin widens. Then he bends over at the waist as he starts making that adorable breathy sound that he makes when he laughs. His body shakes with spasms and he clings to the door for support. He's always been embarrassed over his laugh, but you like it. And you feel a swell of pride knowing that you're one of the only people he'll actually laugh like that around.

You shove one hand into your pocket, the other is holding the box with the stupid man flower, and wait for his laughter to subside. Eventually it does, and he straightens, wiping moisture from his eyes. You smirk. "I told you I would. Don't doubt me, Egbert."

His smile never falters as he lets go of the door, steps forward, and wraps his arms around your waist in a tight hug.

"Hey now, you're gonna wrinkle the suit." You wrap your arms around him anyway and give him a light squeeze. You put your chin on his head and look past him into his house. You release him and step back, but he's more hesitant to let you go. He gives you a pouty lip. "Don't want your dad to find us in such a scandalous pose."

He rolls his eyes and brings up both hands, crossing them, then slowly uncrossing them and lowering them to waist level.

"Calm down."

"I am calm." You're not, and he knows it. He rolls his eyes again and takes you by the hand, leading you into his house.

It's not as bad as you anticipated and you make it out alive. Dad Egbert shook your hand with a rough firmness that could have just been your imagination, but you doubted it. His mouth was smiling, but his eyes were a warning. You held his little boy's heart in your hands, don't break it. You had no intentions of doing so, but it still made you nervous.

You pinned the dark red rose to John's black suit jacket. He wore a simple black suit with a white shirt and a bright, light blue vest beneath. His tie was a blue so dark it was almost black. It made his eyes pop inside their black frames. He had gotten you a white rose. When you gave him a look, he smiled. It had been originally a joke. You said proms were a stupid ass high school tradition and if John was going to insist you went, you were going to go in style. And "style" meant you were going to wear a solid red suit. He said he didn't believe you, but he still bought you a white rose like you told him to. Because it would go better with a red jacket. Underneath you wore a white button down and a black vest with a black bow tie.

Basically, you're classy as fuck and John is dressed like a tool.

And adorable tool that you would totally bang. Against a door, the wall, the floor, the bed…But you digress.

Dad Egbert insists that you take pictures in the house, in front of the mantel. He directs the photoshoot and you do as you're bid, like the perfect boyfriend puppet. Side-by-side, arms around each other, hugging, he even insists you do the cliche prom photo with one person in front and the person behind with their hand on the other's waist. Only that pose is for a boy and a girl, so you do both. First with you in back and John in front. Then with you in front and John in the back. That one turns out more comical than anything, with John being significantly shorter than you.

The tension doesn't leave your shoulders until you're out of his house and back in your truck. John taps you on the shoulder and when you look at him, he smiles, points at the house, then puts his thumb under his chin and moves it out before putting his fingers to his chin, moving the whole hand out and away from his face.

"That wasn't so bad."

You started up the engine and back out of his driveway. "Are you kidding me? Your dad totally has it out for me."

Your eyes are on the road, but you just know he's rolling his eyes at you. He leans toward the center console and puts his hand on your arm, squeezing it lightly. You let go of the wheel with your right hand, leaving your left to steer, and take his in yours. You drive to the high school in comfortable silence, idly sliding your thumb across his knuckles.

Your school doesn't have a lot of funding, and the school's prom is held in the gym. It's a big gym, granted, but still a gym. The lobby outside the gym serves as a cool down space, and pictures are to be held in the auditorium. When you pull into the parking lot, there are already a good deal of cars there, giving you a good enough excuse not to park so close to the doors. Instead you park further away, in the back corner of the lot.

When you're both out of the truck, you lock it up, drop your keys into your pocket and take John's hand in yours. He twines your fingers together and gives you a smile. It's been three months and some change, and he's still so fucking happy just to hold your hand. You can't take it. He's just too fucking adorable. You stop in the middle of the parking lot to kiss him. It's a quick kiss, but you cup his cheek and everything. Because your a classy, romantic motherfucker. You kiss him gently, sliding your lips over his and you hear his breath catch. You would think he'd stop being so surprised whenever you kiss him, but every time he acts like it's some magical moment.

And, of course, that just makes you want to kiss him more.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. You ignore it, but then it buzzes again. And then a few more times. You pull back a few inches to reach into you pocket and pull it out, but you don't step away from John. He leans close, looking at your phone with you.

From Rose: If you can't make it across the parking lot without locking lips, I fear for how you intend to make it through the night

From Dirk: Stop getting your mack on in the parking lot

From Jade: yeah get some! :B

From Karkat: HEY SHIT DICK HURRY UP

John tugs on your shoulder and when you look at him, he points. You follow his gaze to the other side of the parking lot, near the doors, where your friends are all waiting. "Can't a man get his fucking mack on without getting harassed."

You turn to start walking toward them when John grabs your face with both hands. He pulls you down into a rough kiss, capturing your lips and holding your head hostage. Your eyes widen in surprise, but only for a second before you're kissing him back.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST." You hear Karkat shout and then your kiss is broken because you're both laughing.

You throw an arm around John's shoulder and pull him close. "I believe our presence is being requested." John slips his arm around your waist and you hurry to meet up with your friends. Karkat isn't smiling when you reach them, but nearly everyone else is. Rose and Kanaya give you small, knowing and amused smiles. Jade waggles her eyebrows. Dirk smirks, and even Jake is smiling.

"Nice of you to join us, Dave. John." Rose says.

Kanaya looks you up and down, her smile fading to the slightest of frowns. "David, what are you wearing?"

"A suit. What the fuck does it look like."

"A monstrosity I think would be a word more appropriate."

John let go of your waist to sign. He pointed at you, then held his left arm across his body and brought his right one, hand fisted with thumb extended, to stab at his chest, being blocked by his other arm. Then he held a hand up, thumb and forefinger extended and an inch apart, and shook it. He acted like he was pulling on a jacket and used his fingers to then move down the center of his chest, like he was buttoning buttons. He gave Kanaya a very pointed look, his lips pressed together, his eyes wide, eyebrows up, and his head titled down.

"He threatened a green suit, too."

You're getting really good at sign language. You understood him and you weren't even facing him. You suppose talking to your mute boyfriend all the times does that. You learned from Rose and the internet, but you practiced with John. Now you can hold real conversations with him, and most of the signs you don't understand, you can get through context clues. Though sometimes you have to ask what something means, but it doesn't take long for him to explain it and for you both to move on.

John still insists that you talk to him though, instead of signing all the time. Whenever you're reminded that he likes your voice, your heart does this weird little flip in your chest. You make a point to talk to him at night, when you're cuddling before you sleep and it's dark and your lips are close to his ear. Sometimes you can feel him shiver when you do that.

Kanaya's lips, painted black to match Rose's, turn just a fraction more downward. "I think I prefer the red."

"Yeah, me too." You say. You turn to your brother. He's got his arm wrapped up with Jake's and doesn't look too happy to be here. You know he was against going to a high school prom at twenty-three, but you also know he couldn't say no to Jake. You had to admit though, you never thought you'd end up going to prom with your brother. "Looking sharp, bro."

He nodded. "You, too, little dude." He offers a fist and you bump it.

"Can we hurry up and get this the fuck over with?" Karkat says in an angry mumble. His arms are crossed over his chest.

"Get your head out of your ass, Karkat. It'll be fun." Jade says, grabbing onto his arm. His frown deepens and his face reddens. As sour as he is, he can't fool you. He was the one who asked Jade to prom.

You glance around. Your little group is standing outside the front doors, a little to the side of the path. It's nearly the same spot where John kissed you in front of everyone. When you sent that video, you immediately regretted it. You couldn't believe you had thought it would be a good idea. You were nervous as fuck to see John that day, and hear what he had to say. But then he came running out of crowd and practically leapt at you.

You didn't even care that everyone was watching, and you haven't cared since. The two of you hold hands in the halls and sit close at lunch. You kiss him when he heads off to class and wrap an arm around him when you head out to the parking lot after the final bell. The snickers eventually died down, but you still got a few strange looks. You don't give a fuck though. And neither does John. No one has dared to pick on you to your face, and John is barely alone long enough for anyone to pick on him.

Once you found him cornered by a group of angry girls. When they saw you, they scattered. John told you later that they were mad that he took you. And to that, you laughed. They never stood a chance with you anyway, you told him. You're too fond of the D. They were just jealous anyway. John was a million times more adorable than any girl at the school. But at least the girls were just jealous. It was the dudes who worried you. Especially your old team. They were obviously uncomfortable. They looked at you like you grew another head that started spitting fire and speaking latin.

You ignored them all though, boys and girls alike. All that mattered were your friends and John's happiness. And you liked to think you were making John happy.

You present your tickets at the door and head into the school. All of you decide to avoid the auditorium and head straight for the gym. You have to admit, the decorating committee did a pretty good job. it barely looks like a gym.

You pull John close to whisper in his ear. "Ready to dance, darlin'?" Lighting is dim in the gym, but you can still see him blush. He grabs your hand and leads you to the dance floor.

==>

Your name is Jake English, and you're having a rip snorter of a good time!

You've never been to a dance before. You've had plenty of opportunities, sure. Prom is open to juniors as well as seniors. And there's been the homecoming dances and the winter dances. But you've never gone. Not for lack of interest. You have been curious about these dances and if they really are indeed anything like the movies. But your friends have never wanted to go, and so you have never gone.

But this year you're all seniors and you all have dates. Even you have your boyfriend, though it took you nearly an arm and a leg to get him to come. He did give into your begging eventually. He always does. Dirk may be stubborn, but he's always like to do what will make you happy.

The dance isn't quite as exciting as the movies make it out to be, but it's still enjoyable. Your friends are all here, and times are usually fun when you're with them. There's music and dancing and by golly, you sure can not dance. But you don't let that stop you! You wiggle vaguely to the beat and it seems to amuse Dirk. He smiles at you in that fond way that makes your heart jump.

Dirk really does have a gorgeous smile. Sometimes you wonder how you could have ever thought of him as an obnoxious brute. Then he does something like grab your bottom and you're reminded of why exactly you thought that. But it doesn't matter, because you still like him. You really do. That's just part of Dirk. And Dirk is complex, keeps you guessing, and always surprises you.

Like how quickly he melts into your lap. That definitely surprised you. You had expected Dirk to be the man of this two man operation. Just like your bouts of fisty cuffs and wrestling, you expected him to fight you for dominance. And while he does give you a good fight for a while, all it takes is a few good, rough kisses, perhaps a bite or two, and he's a puddle of submissiveness in your lap. You never expected it from the older man, but you can't say that you're disappointed. In fact, you rather like it. From looking at him, no one would guess that Dirk Strider, cool and mature, robotic genius and relatively rich guy, can very easily become a mewling pile of need in your bed. YOUR bed.

When the first slow song starts, you get another surprise. You, having wiggled with the best of them during the previous songs, are rearing for a refreshment to quench your thirst. But as you turn away, Dirk grabs your arm. When you look at him, he smirks.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks. He's not wearing his pointy sunglasses. Unlike Dave, who stubbornly insists on wearing his even at night and in the dimly lit gym, Dirk left his in the car. So you can see the way his smirk scrunches up his eyes in the best of ways.

"To get some punch, mate. Would you like-" Before you can finish, he's pulling you back onto the dance floor. You stumble and he catches you against his chest. When you look up at him, he's smiling his very small smile.

"Don't think so. If I'm gonna be dragged here to dance, you're gonna dance with me. And that means the slow songs, too. Like a proper boyfriend."

When he says the word "boyfriend," your face heats up. You're certain he can't see your blush, but his smile widens a fraction anyway. You know he likes saying it just as much as you like hearing it. Especially when he says it in that vague southern twang of his.

"Never let it be said that I was anything less than a gentleman." You say, stepping a few inches away to arrange your hands on his waist for the slow dance. But no sooner are your hands in place that he moves them. He puts one of your hands on his shoulder and takes your other hand in his, holding it lightly to the side. He rests his other hand on your waist and pulls you as close as you can possibly be without actually touching. Then begins to move, guiding your steps back and forth, and around in a slow circle.

Your feet stumble a few times, and you step on his feet once or twice, and eventually you have your head tilted down, watching your feet.

"Nope." He says, lifting his hand from your waist to gently lift your chin so you're looking at him. "Eyes up here. Trust your feet." His hand returns to your waist.

You immediately, accidentally, step on his foot again. You cringe in embarrassment, but he doesn't, for which you're grateful. "You're rather good at this, Strider."

"It's called cotillion, English." He says, gently guiding you away from a neighboring couple. "They take all the little southern boys and girls and force them to dance together until they're deemed proper enough for society." To your surprise, he spins you out, then spins you back in, catching you with your back to his chest and his arms holding yours in front of you, and holds you close. "One of my foster families insisted that I go. We moved families before Dave got a taste of that."

"You remember your lessons well." You say as he turns you back around to face him, his arm wrapping around your lower back and he presses against you.

"I told you," He leans his head down the inch or two between your heights and rests his forehead against yours. In the dim lighting, his eyes are molten gold. "I'm always the perfect, southern gentleman." His hand slides down and his fingers dig into one cheek of your buttocks. You jump in surprised alarm, pressing your pelvis firmly against his. You frown and he smiles a devilish grin. "Sometimes."

After the slow dances, when the music picks back up again, you finally excuse yourself to get something to drink. The next hour or so passes much like the first. You dance as best you can, to the amusement of your peers, and Dirk dances better. During most of the music choices, he's there, whispering in your ear about this or that music related. Overall, he disapproves, but the specifics you can't quite catch. You're more focused on his voice so close to your ear. At one point, both he and Dave dance the robot in some robotic dance competition. You're convinced that Dirk won that.

Shortly after that, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When you return, Dirk is no where to be found. You're certain he didn't also go to the bathroom, because you would have seen him. John and Dave are also missing, but you find Rose and Kanaya. Neither of them saw where he went. It's the same story for Jade and Karkat. You find his jacket is still at the table with the rest of your things, so you know he couldn't have gone far.

After looking near everywhere, you find him outside in the courtyard, his back pressed to the brick of the outside of the gym. He's the only one out there. In fact, you're fairly certain that you're not even supposed to be out here. He's leaning against the wall, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his hands in his pockets. He looks quite dashing, even without the suit jacket. Perhaps even more dashing without it. You feel stirrings in your heart and in your loins. He's looking upward, at the sky, but doesn't seem surprised when you come to stand next to him.

"It's a clear night." He says, and you glance up to see that, yes, it is. Not a cloud in the sky, the moon bright, and the stars visible. You turn back to him.

"What're you doing out here, old chap?"

He shrugs. "Just getting some fresh air."

You put a hand on his shoulder and give him a small smile when he looks at you. You know he's not used to being around so many people. Let alone so many people younger than him. And though he hides it well, you know him well enough to know that crowds make him uncomfortable. "Thanks for coming, mate."

He smiles, just the smallest upturn of his lips, and puts a hand on yours. "No problem." You remove your hand from his shoulder and instead slip one arm around his lower back, your other arm going around his waist. He lifts an arm, giving you free reign to press against his side, and rests his arm around your shoulders. "It's just weird being here." He says, and you rest your head on his shoulder while he continues. "I never did shit like this when I was in high school. High school fucking sucked." His arm tightens around your shoulders, just a fraction. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "I never had anyone like you."

"That's probably because I was still in middle school, mate. And in another country." You nuzzle into his shoulder and squeeze his waist. "Face it, Strider. You're old."

He snorts a short laugh. "You're right. What the fuck am I even doing here."

"Reliving your missed high school experiences." You say, rubbing your nose along his collar bone, through his shirt and vest. You could be imagining it, but you're pretty sure you feel him shutter.

"And what experiences are we talking about here?" He asks. His voice is calm, but you can hear the strain in it. It's faint, but you've been learning to listen for it.

You shift around in front of him, moving your hands to his hips, and push him back until he's pinned against the wall. "The kind that involve you and me in scandalous situations." You say, pushing one of your legs between his and pinning his hips with yours. He gasps, small and light and barely audible, but you can see the way his eyes widen and the way his mouth goes slack. You lean in close, holding yourself just a fraction from him. "Pinned ya."

He slaps you in the back of the head, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed down into a frown. You laugh, all the seriousness gone out of you. "Don't quote the Lion King when you're about to kiss me, dipshit." He snaps.

"I could sing to you instead, Strider." You say, grinning. You've never been a very good singer, but you know more Lion King quotes will bother him, so you go ahead with it. "Caaaaan you feeeel-"

"Nope. We're not doing that. We're done here, English." He pushes at your chest, but when it comes to strength, you can match him, and you refuse to budge. Besides, his shoves are only half-hearted.

You're still smiling and half laughing when you press your lips against his. He's still frowning, but all it takes is a few kisses for his lips to relax and kiss you back. And it only takes a few mores kisses after that for your smile to be gone. You kiss him hungrily, grabbing his vest and pushing him firmly against the wall with your body. His mouth opens up beneath yours, and his arms wrap around your neck, clinging to you as his hand desperately claw at the back of your shirt and at your hair. You raise your knee, pushing up between his legs. He gasps against your lips and bucks forward, only to be grinded back by your hips.

You kiss him long and you kiss him hard. Dirk Strider. Di-Stri. Genius, adult, and self proclaimed master of cool. He's under you, nearly whimpering for more contact. He's yours. Dirk Strider is your…your boyfriend. You're dating Dirk Strider. He comes off as strong and cocky, but beneath it all, in a place where you're just beginning to see, he's vulnerable. He has insecurities and vulnerabilities that he's had to hide, growing up too fast. He's had to be the brave one, taking care of his brother. But he's letting you see them. He's letting you hold him. He's yours now, and you're going to protect him, even if you're just protecting him from himself.

When you pull back to catch your breath, you're both breathing heavily. His face is flushed beneath his light freckles. His mouth is relaxed and his lips red and wet from your kiss. His eyes are molten gold, framed by yellow fire. He's handsome. More than handsome. And he's all yours. You really like him in a suit.

"You really are quite dashing, old chap." You say, leaning forward to bump your nose against his.

"Right back atcha, English." He breaths, still panting. His hands release your shoulders and slide down to your chest, only to slide around to your back. He runs his hands down, from your shoulder blades to your ass, feeling everything and clawing as best he can through the fabric. A shutter runs through you, straight to your groin. You've found that you quite like when he scratches at your back. His hands end with his fingers in the waist band of your pants. "Maybe we should keep these suits for a few extra days." He says, tugging at your shirt until it's untucked. Then he runs his hands up your back, digs his nails in, and scratches his way down in one swift motion.

You gasp and groan, and his tongue runs across his bottom lip, slow and precise. You find yourself watching it, transfixed. When his tongue disappears, you look at his eyes and you like what you see there. His fingers dip into your waist band again and he grabs your rump with both hands. You jump a little, but you don't stop him. As long as it's not in public, you don't mind too much. You know for all his playful groping, he well and truly likes your rump. And you like what it does to him.

He leans forward and this time runs his tongue across your bottom lip. Your breath hitches. "Do you think your grandparents would mind if you didn't go home tonight?" He asks.

You chuckle. "I thought you were a perfect southern gentleman. Gentlemen always bring their dates home at a reasonable hour."

He shrugs. "It'll be a reasonable hour…tomorrow." He says, one hand leaving your pants only to slide around to the front and grope you through them. "I have a few more experiences in mind."

You don't return to the prom for another hour, and the first thing you do is call your grandparents to tell them that you won't be home tonight. You're nineteen, so you know they won't mind. But you at least have the courtesy to tell them so they won't worry about you being late. You can tell from your grandma's voice that she knows why, but you avoid saying anything too embarrassing, least she attempt to give you the talk right there on the phone. You can practically hear her eyebrows waggling.

As you dance the last slow dance of the evening, you notice that Dirk's lips are already swollen and red, and you can see a hickey on his neck right above the collar of his white shirt. For a moment, just one short moment, you feel bad. Perhaps you shouldn't have kissed him so hard or left marks where they could be seen. But then the moment passes and no, you don't feel bad. In fact, you feel a wave of satisfaction and you grin. You're not even close to being done with him for the night.

==>

Your name is John Egbert, and your boyfriend is a surprisingly bad dancer.

Dave Strider is good at a lot of things. You're hard pressed to find something he's bad at. Or at least he hides it very well. You've heard his music, and you really like it. You guess you just assumed because he was talented with music, he'd be talented with dancing. But that's not the case.

It doesn't matter though. You aren't a very good dancer either. And what's dancing anyway, besides just moving and having fun. After a few songs of trying to legitimately dance, you both give up and start having fun. Your friends join you, and you start doing silly things, like the cabbage patch, and the salt and pepper shaker, and the fax machine, and the slap chop.

You're a little relieved when the first slow dance finally comes. You're already sweating and it's getting hot really fast. But you're having fun. Dave was totally wrong when he said it would be dumb. You turn to him, a little unsure how to begin a slow dance. You've never slow danced before. It seems simple enough, but still.

You're saved the embarrassment of trying to figure it out when Dave grabs your hand and pulls you close. He places your hand on his shoulder, and you take the hint and put your other hand on his other shoulder. His arms go around your waist, fingers linking behind you. He doesn't say anything, just stares at you, and you stare right back. You're not sure how he sees anything. He's still wearing those stupid shades.

You had told him the lighting would be dim and he wouldn't be able to see anything, but he still insisted on wearing them. And you had forbade him from wearing his brown contacts. You don't like them. Not since you found out what his real eye color was. You don't want to look at brown eyes. You want to look at his red ones. With his shades off and his eyes exposed, his face says so much more. But he refused to take off his sunglasses if he wasn't wearing the stupid contacts, so now you're at an impasse.

But that's about to change. You slide your hands across his shoulder and up his neck. Then you take hold of his shades and begin to push them up to the top of his head. For a moment, you think he's going to let you. He's gotten so used to allowing you to take off his shades that it's almost habit. But then he remembers that he's in public and his hand is on yours, keeping them down over his eyes. You frown and both of you stop moving. You push at the sunglasses again, insistent.

"Not gonna happen, Egbert." He says.

You take one hand off his shades and shift your body a few inches away so you have room to sign. You take your forefinger and hold it up, shifting it around so first your palm is facing him, then it faces you. You then point to yourself, make a fist and nod it forward, then point at your eyes with two fingers and move them out.

"Only I can see."

He hesitates still, his mouth twisting into a frown. But finally he sighs and lets go of your hand, lowering his back to your waist. You smile, victorious, as you push his shades to the top of his head. It pushes his hair up at odd angles but you don't care. He looks cuter for it. And now his whole face is on display for you. The sharp angle of his chin, his cheekbones, the dusting of freckles, and his gorgeous red eyes framed by blonde lashes. Even the features you're used to seeing, his mouth and chin and jaw and forehead, all of a sudden are more because they're complete.

Dave looks uncomfortable and vulnerable, so you take his head in both your hands and lower his head so it can rest on your forehead. You smile, your hands falling back to his shoulders. Now his face is more hidden from others, but still on display for you. Only you. When you're together in private, the first thing you always do is take off his shades. You like to see his face, especially when he signs. It's like a secret that only you are privileged to see. But even though you're in public, you still want to see his face. Because this is a special night. You never thought you'd go to prom, let alone with someone you're dating. The fact that you're here with Dave makes it special.

With his forehead against yours, he finally smiles. It's a small thing, small and genuine. You both begin to move again, swaying gently and turning in place, alone in a sea of other swaying couples. You barely notice when the song changes to another slow song. You just keep moving with Dave. Then the song ends and the music picks back up again. He slides his shades back down on his nose.

You spend the next couple hours dancing, with only a few breaks to get something to drink. Your jackets come off fairly quickly, and you leave them at the table your friends had claimed with their things. Your friends come and go on the dance floor, but mostly you just stuck next to Dave. At one point, Jake and Dirk showed up. Dirk and Dave had a robot dance off, which Dirk won by a landslide, but you had to give Dave points for effort.

After they played the electric slide, which of course you totally danced to, because who doesn't love the time honored favorite of the electric slide? They played Cotton Eyed Joe, which you had no idea there was an actual dance to. But apparently Dave and Dirk know it while no one else does, because they actually danced to it while everyone stared. After that, they played several more songs with preset dances, all of which you didn't know. Dave excused himself to go to the bathroom and you sat at the table your friends had claimed.

As you sit there, you watch several songs and dances go by. People have been sneaking glances at you all night, but you've been ignoring them. You've gotten used to the looks, and they're staring to loose their potency. You've got your friends and your family and Dave, and that's all you need. You rest your elbow on the table and lean forward, watching Jade try to teach some line dance to Karkat. You smile, amused by how frustrated he's getting. You can tell from here how red his face is. But that might not all be frustration.

You feel a hand on your shoulder and you sit up, looking back to see Dave hovering behind you. You mouth the word, "What?" And he nods his head towards the doors. You look at him, confused, but he just nods again. You stand and he grabs both your jackets, handing you yours. Then he turns and walks away. You follow, hurrying a few steps to catch up to his side. You slide your hand into his and he intertwines your fingers with his.

As you left through the doors and into the gym lobby, you pass by Rose and Kanaya. Dave ignores them both, but you catch her eye. She raises one delicately shaped eyebrow and you just shrug. Dave leads you out of the school's doors and out into the cool night air. He still hasn't put his suit jacket back on, so you take his lead, carrying it draped over one arm.

It doesn't take you long to figure out that you're headed for his truck. You stop walking, tugging on his hand to get him to stop as well. When he turns to look at you, you use your arm that has your jacket draped over it to half sign. You point at one shoulder, moving it around to the other, then you point up and away from you both. You look at him with your eyebrows raised.

"Are we leaving?"

He shakes his head and tugs on your hand lightly. "Trust me."

You do trust him, so you give him a small smile and continue walking. When you reach his truck, he takes your jacket from you, unlocks the door, and puts them both on the passenger seat. You stand back a little bit, watching, confused but curious. He closes the door and walks around to the side of the truck, climbing up on the wheel and stepping into the bed. He then turns to you and holds out his hand. You stand there, staring at his hand and his face, tilting your head to the side.

Dave sighs, his hand dropping a fraction. "Jesus fucking christ, Egbert, come on, you're making me feel like an idiot here."

At that you give him a small, fond smile, because he is an idiot, and you step up to the truck anyway, grabbing his hand and letting him help you into the back of it. And suddenly you understand. You can see what you hadn't seen from the parking lot: Dave has turned the bed of his trunk into, well, a bed. Sleeping bags and blankets layer the bottom on the bed, pillows wrapped in sleeping bags line one end of the nest, next to the truck's cabin. It looks like a cozy nest.

You give Dave a curious look. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding making eye contact. "I read that it was supposed to be a clear night. And I just thought that it would be romantic and shit to star gaze after prom, you know, woo you and shit. But now that we're here, it looks stupid. Leave it to a Strider to fuck up the romance. We can go back to the gym. Everyone's probably wondering where we are."

He takes a step toward the edge of the truck, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him before he can walk past you. He's wearing those stupid sunglasses again, so you use your other hand to push them up to the top of his head. His eyes search your face, and he looks worried, uncertain. So you lean forward, going up on your toes to kiss him, light and fleeting. When you do, a lot of the tension seems to drain out of him. You step back and sit down in the center of the blanket nest, gesturing for him to join you.

He sits, stiff and embarrassed, and you scoot closer, smiling up at him. You can see him flush as he puts a hand on your face and pushes you away. "Stop smiling at me like that, Egbert."

Of course your grin only widens and you grab him, pulling him down with you. The two of you shift and struggle, trying to get comfortable, elbowing each other and shoving each other. Finally, after laughs and bruises, you settle down. You're both on your backs, resting against the pillows and staring at the stars. His arm is around you and your body is turned a little toward his as you press against his side.

He was right, it is a clear night. The stars are out in force. Suddenly his choice of the corner of the parking lot, far from the streetlights makes sense. A small breeze rolls by and you shiver. It had been warm in the gym, but now it was a little chilly. Dave notices though, and grabs a blanket, pulling it over the both of you. You snuggle deeper into his side.

The stars are pretty, but relatively boring. Instead you find yourself staring at Dave. The curve of his nose, the tilt to his lips, how dark his red eyes look in the shadows. And you find yourself thinking, wondering how in the world you could have ever been afraid of him. How could you have ever thought that he would want to hurt you. Dave is a dork. He is a dork with a cool kid mask and now he's yours. He's your dork. And you're his. He chose you. Out of everyone, he chose you.

And to make it even better, you're his first. His first kiss, his first date, his first boyfriend. Just like he's yours. And that thought warms you in places that no one else has ever been able to warm. You attempt to scoot closer to him, but you're already plastered against his side. So you drape one leg over his, pressing your warmed bits against his thigh. You wrap an arm around his waist. It's only then that he notices that you're looking at him.

"The stars are up there, dude." He says.

You stick out your tongue at him, but he only turns back to the sky. So you shift forward a fraction and lick his cheek. He leans away. "Oh, gross, man." He says, wiping his cheek with the hand that's not trapped under you. By leaning away, he exposes more of his neck, so you lick there. One slow lick from the base of his neck, up the side to his ear. You nibble his lobe gently. "Gross." He repeats, but it's strained and he does nothing to stop you. He's frozen in place.

His mouth opens, then closes, and his lips twist into a half frown. "I set this up so we could star gaze."

You lean back a few inches to give yourself room to sign. You lift your arm from around his waist and point at yourself. Then you flip your palm up and pull it toward you, and end pointing two fingers are your eyes and using them to point at him.

"I want to look at you."

He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, so you wrap your hand around the back of his neck and pull him toward you, kissing him. You bite at his bottom lip and his breath hitches. You giggle, a breathy little laugh, and run your fingers through his hair. You're adjusting to this whole dating thing quite quickly. You like being close to Dave, and you're tired of holding yourself back. You've done that for too long. Dave, however, seems constantly flustered and embarrassed and uncertain whenever you take the initiative. And you find that absolutely adorable.

You hold his head in place. His body has twisted around on his side, so he's facing you. You entangle your legs and he wraps both arms around you. You press your forehead against his, sliding your noses together. When he blinks, you can feel his eyelashes against your cheek. You run your fingers through his hair, feeling how soft it is to touch. You press your lips lightly to his, but instead of kissing, you mouth words.

"This was sweet."

He's gotten good at reading your lips through feel. You've been training him over the past few months. "Glad you think so. Am I the best boyfriend, or am I the best boyfriend?"

He sounds cocky, but you don't care. He is the best boyfriend. So you tell him so, mouthing against his lips. "You're the best boyfriend."

You don't miss the way his hands tighten around you when you say "boyfriend." Just like how you're still in awe that you and Dave are actually dating, Dave is in disbelief. Sometimes, mostly over weekends, he'll text you in the morning, asking if you're really dating. After it happened frequently the first month, he told you it was because he would have dreams where the dating thing was, well, just a dream. He wasn't sure it was real when he woke up. You can't blame him too much. You did keep him waiting for far too long. You thought it was cute, though it's been happening less and less as time goes by. You think he's finally adjusting to reality.

"I love you, John." He whispers against your lips, his voice barely more than a breath. You felt it more than heard it.

"I love you, Dave." You mouthed back, and then kissed him for real. But he broke the kiss quickly.

"I got into college." He says suddenly, and you pull back so you can see his whole face. You give him a surprised look. It's not hard. The news is sudden and you are surprised. "I got into college." He repeats, then he continues, a little less certain. "The same one you're going to."

Realization dawns on you and a grin spreads your lips. You wrap your arms tight around his neck and roll onto your back, pulling him on top of you. And you lay like that, just hugging him. Dave's going to college. Your college. You'll continue going to school together. And when you finally pull back from your hug to kiss him, he's ready. Propped up on his elbows so he doesn't squish you, but still pressed against you plenty, he kisses you, and it's rough and it's honest and you can feel the emotion behind it.

If someone had asked you how you thought your senior prom would go at the beginning of the year, you never would have guessed that you would spend a good part of it making out with Dave Strider in the bed of his truck. You wouldn't even believe that you would be dating a guy, let alone the new guy, football player, and general cool kid. But life doesn't always turn out like you think it will, and you're glad that it turned out this way, because you're happy.

You spend the next few hours with Dave, sometimes kissing, sometimes just staring at each other. You hear others start to filter out of the gym. A few people leave early. Neither of you says anything, with words or hands, because you don't need to. You can feel how he feels, and he can feel how you feel. Words aren't necessary, not when he's so close and you can feel his breath and his heartbeat. When you can see his smile and his eyes. You're happy and he's happy, and that's all that matters. Anything either of you says will only make this moment end.

After all, silence is golden.