i like my sugar with two teaspoons of coffee!

You are about to punch a hole in your stupid fucking front door.

There is a reason for your frustration, it's not as out of left fucking field or the deepest recesses of outer space like you know your anger sometimes (almostconstantly) can be. You are actually somewhat justified this time, honest. Your dickwad porngenerator fuckwit of a brother, after ensuring repeatedly that he would get the lock replaced, after you tried many times to slather the fucking thing in WD-40, after he damn near took the thing apart and spread it across the living room floor before carefully piecing it back together -- after the two of you had tried everything you could think of, you finally got him to swear up and down by his fucking perverted puppet website that he would bite the metaphorical wound-gouging bullet and buy a new fucking lock. One that actually worked.

It's been a week since then, and you have worked every day of that significantly lengthy week, sometimes coming in to cover shifts for your asswipe of a coworker at the last minute, resulting in the boss phoning you frantically (well, her version of frantic involves using this nasally whine that she thinks is endearing or some shit, it's really pretty sad if what she's going for is pitiful, because she only ever manages to sound like she's tried slathering her vocal chords with engine oil) to ask you to take the shift.

So you're trying to leave the apartment for another fucking boring day at your obnoxious fucking job (which you actually don't really hate much at all, but wouldn't admit it even if there was a fucking branding iron shoved under your nose, because Vriska would lord it over you for eternity), but you can't get the damn door to lock because the damn useless pile of shitty nonfunctional metal masquerading as a lock doesn't fucking work.

"DIRK!" you holler into the apartment, not at all sounding like a whiny tool. You're pretty sure you hear an irritated grunt drift down the stairs in reply, so you continue. "IF THIS FUCKING LOCK ISN'T WORKING BY THE TIME I GET BACK FROM VRISKA'S TODAY I SWEAR TO GOD I AM TOSSING YOUR FUCKING ORANGE PUSSY LAPTOP OUT THE FUCKING SHITTY CRACKED-UP WINDOW INTO THE NEIGHBOR'S FUCKING HUGEASS CHLORINATED-OUT-THE-NOSTRILS POOL. TRY TO MAINTAIN A WEBSITE THEN, YOU EGREGIOUS FUCKSTICK."

About halfway through your hollering you hear a door creak open (Dirk's door could rival the cheesy sound effect in haunted video games, this lock is definitely not the only thing less than functional in this fucking apartment) and towards the end Dirk's offensively blonde head and gay-ass pointed shades poke themselves around the wall blocking the stairs to the upper floor from the doorway.

"Cool your jets, lil man, I'll get to it."

"I will cool my jets," you spit through gritted teeth, "when I can close this fucking goddamn door."

Dirk just rolls his eyes at you, the motion given away only by the slight lift to his eyebrows and the familiar tilt to his head that you've seen before, but you think, by the way he's walking towards the door, he actually intends to follow through this time. You turn to leave without another word because you know he can figure out how to get the stupid thing closed; he's always been better with shit like this then you are, so you leave him to it and you swear to the unholy demonic spirits of the underworld, if it is not fixed when you return, you are gonna choke a bitch.

Your freakish older brother is unnerving and downright assholeish at times, but the two of you know you can't let your brotherly shit get in the way when it comes to the apartment and living stuff. You've both been on your own for years now, and living fairly independently at your aunt's before that, and you've finally found something of a system that works. You're not living in style, not even close, but you're a hell of a lot better off than you were when your useless bitch of a mother took off.

Work isn't too far from your shitty apartment, so you always ride your bike there, leaving the beat-up car your brother finally managed to procure a year ago in case he gets an elusive DJ gig at the last minute. The proximity of the cafe was part of the reason you signed up there in the first place, but honestly, you're pretty glad you did. Vriska is pretty fuckin' chill as a boss, especially for a troll, even though she's a straight-up bitch. Her bitch is sort of the complement to your asshole.

Except when fucking Eridan is working at the same time as you and throwing off the sicknasty equilibrium, but you're not going to think about that fucker right now. You just had breakfast, for chrissakes.

You skid to a stop at the back door to the cafe and hop off your bike, grimacing slightly at the light sweat you've managed to work up in just a couple blocks. It is hot as fuck today. Boston is way less hot than Texas, which is nice, and you and Dirk were both shitting gratitude bricks when your aunt Roxy gave you the plane tickets so you could move in with her for a while, and you both needed the scenery change after everything. But summers are still brutal, regardless of where they are, and here they're fuckin' humid as balls. It's even worse now that you don't have your aunt's glorious and fully functional A/C, but neither of you could stand imposing on her for any longer than you did. Hell, she isn't even actually related to you, she just knew your asshole negligent parents.

So after spending the morning in your only-marginally-cooler-than-the-oven-that-is-the-outside apartment, you are immensely grateful for the waft of icy air that greets you when you open the back door to your place of work.

"Aww, thank you, Vriska," you mumble as the door slams shut behind you.

"You're welcome, dorkazoid," Vriska calls from the next room, peeking her head topped with her brightly-colored horns through the archway with a light toss of her hair. "Hurry your ass up and get your shirt on, we're packed today!"

You groan a little internally, mentally preparing yourself for a grueling day of work, and switch your shirt to the cerulean blue polo with the logo over the pocket. The design consists of a small coffee cup with some stylized steam wafting off of it, and if you stare at it long enough you can see the way it curls in a vaguely spiky spiral pattern that kind of gathers in the middle, which Vriska says is supposed to look a like a spider. She has this really weird thing with spiders, you just don't get it. You say it looks more like a demonic black hole, neither of which make sense for a fucking coffee shop. In the end, though, you suppose both are kind of ironically cool in their lack of suitableness for the business, which is totally fine with you.

You stride smoothly through the archway into the kitchen, passing through it to the cafe area, which is almost completely full with patrons. Vriska immediately appears in front of you, shoving a small notepad into your hand.

"This is the order from table 2, which is now yours, along with 5, 6, and 3. Hop to it, worthless peon!"

You quirk an eyebrow. "No one but you can read your chicken scratch, you dumb bitch," you tell her, but both your lips are drawn back into slight smirks. This is how you communicate; the name calling is just a part of the gig, and both of you know you don't mean any of it.

"Figure it out, loser!" she calls over her shoulder with a wave of her freaky metal arm as she heads toward one of the other tables.

You toss the order on the counter for the kitchen to deal with and make a quick sweep of your own tables. It looks like 2, 3, and 6 have drinks already, so you'll start with 5 since their table is still empty, and then figure it out from there. 

You've just managed to get drinks for 5 (two waters for the penny pinching douchewaddles, a coffee like that tightwound hussie needs it look at her eye twitch shit is bananas how long has she been awake for jesus, and a chai tea fucking hispters) and taken orders for table 2 (they all got the same thing, what freaks who even does that) when another group comes through the door, and as Vriska passes by you in a rush she mumbles a quiet groan.

"Sorry, Dave, can you put them at 8 and take care of them?"

You know it's serious business with the apology, but the fact that she actually uses your name tells you how worn out she is, and you've only been here for ten minutes.

"Sure thing, Vris," you tell her, and meet the two people at the d- aww, fuck.

It's these two.

"Shit," you say, and the one in front -- a girl with inky black hair and unnatural green eyes -- gives a cheerful giggle.

"Someone's happy to see us, John!" 

Your gut gives a soft flutter, which is quickly followed by a burning wave of self-loathing. You hate it when he comes here, and it always seems to be when you're working, fuckdammit. Can't the asshole take a goddamn hint? He's been in here almost every single fucking afternoon since he and the other two (his sister, which is blatantly obvious if you've ever seen the two of them standing within a mile of each other, and the blonde chick who's the only bearable one out of the group, who unfortunately has only come a total of twice including the first day, which is shit, you actually kinda like her) showed up a week and a half ago and made your job even more unbearable than it already was.

"You're over there," you bark at John, waving vaguely in the direction of the only empty table in the place, in the corner near the kitchen. "If you don't order the most expensive thing on the fucking menu, I'm gonna boot you out on your ass."

"Wow, Dave, why are you being so gracious today? There was only one 'fuck' in that whole sentence!" John fucking chirps at you, that's how high-pitched his stupid giggle is, and it is taking all your willpower not to cover your face in shame as you feel heat rise to your cheeks.

"Sit the fuck down," you snap at him, and he just smiles wider.

"That's more like it!"

The pair of them bounce happily to their table, and you take a moment to sigh and inhale deeply before resolving to visit all the other tablestwice before getting him his drink.

But then you remember he's with Jade, and you only hate her half as much as fucking John, so you decide you'll only visit all the other tables once. Well, maybe you'll stop by 3 an extra time, you thought you saw one of them getting kind of low on their soda, and you'll be damned if anyone tries to snap their fingers at you today because you let their fucking drinks run out.

Your other tables are entirely too complacent with their orders, and before you know it you're standing in front of the Bucktoothed Wonder Pair, unable to avoid them any longer.

"The fuck do you want, assholes?"

You swear you gave your honest effort to treating these two the same as everyone else who shows up at your fuckin' job, but it was just impossible. No matter what you did, how much you scowled, however long you left them without returning to ask if everything was alright, they were always fucking smiling. Happily, like they were fucking. Content. With the world. How is that even possible? And theirs are nothing like those asshole smirks Dirk employs, or even the gleeful manic grin of Vriska's. It's like they're legitimately happy to be in this damn place. 

It's fucking unnerving, and you decided you would make it your personal mission to be as shitty as possible to them in an attempt to get them to be miserable for one fucking second.

So far you've been completely unsuccessful. Particularly with John.

Fucking John.

"I'll have the Marquis burger with a side of onion rings, please, and Jade can't decide between the chicken noodle soup and the caesar salad. Which would you recommend? As long as neither have any nuts, of course," John says, and fuck him, he really did order the most expensive thing on the menu. Now you feel like shit. Thanks, asshole.

"Salads are for douchbags and lettuce is fucking stupid. Have the soup, we just got some fuckin' awesome freedom chicken or something from this new place, and people seem crazy over it so far," you tell Jade, mentally scolding yourself for cursing at her earlier. She really doesn't deserve it; she's not nearly as much of a dick as John.

"Cool, that sounds good! I'll go with the soup," Jade beams at you, and you can't help the soft smile oozing its way across your face. When you glance at John and see his jaw inching lower and his eyes wide as an overloaded truck, though, your poker face snaps back into place.

Fucking hell did you just do.

"Right. I hope you die in a ditch," you hiss at John. Turning to Jade, you add, softer, "be back in a bit."

You aren't sure why you just can't seem to be courteous to John. You think it might have something to do with the damn smile of his that gets brighter every time you insult him, or the musical quality of his laugh, which isn't endearing in the slightest and you don't know what you just said or where you were even going with that sentence what the fuck is wrong with you.

But if he's going to look at you like he did when you accidentally smiled at Jade (fuck you just know you're going to regret that one, it is going to bite you in the ass, why are you such a dumbfuck), you're relieved you're always such a dick to him.

You are fucked.

You are completely an utterly fucked in the worst way imaginable.

You are fucked and there is no help for you, not any, you are alone up the creek in a stupid floaty raft because you were too cheap to get a real boat and there is a giant fucking tear in your useless floating raft, and all the air is hissing out, and the air is laughing at you, in jaunty-as-fuck little hisses of malicious glee, because you are fucked and even the fucking air fucking knows how fucked you are.

You are royally flipping your shit and imaginary air is laugh-hissing at you in your mind because you are flipping your shit that fucking hard.

You are pretty sure you have a date.

You are equally sure that you do not know how to deal with a date, and you are way more sure that you are not asking your brother for help, desperately as you need it, regardless of your brother being completely homosexual and in possession of a boyfriend. The dude's a dick. And you are not a helpless guts-lacking daffodil. You are a daffodil with guts, dammit, you do not need advice from your rainbow sparkly homo brother.

Also the jerk still hasn't fixed the fucking door.

You would be bitching at him right now if you weren't too busy with, what were you doing again?

Oh yes, that's right!

Fucking flipping your fucking shit.

"Shirt? No shirt? Fuck, of course I need to wear a shirt. John would faint at all my radtastical lack of muscles and end up in the fucking hospital. Also there's the no-shirt-no-shoes-no-service rule that is complete bullshit but still a thing. Dumbass. The fuck were you even thinking. Which shirt? Broken record? No, thing's fucking worn to shreds. Unless comfortable is better? I should be the epitome of cool. Comfortable and laid-back is cool. Or maybe a button-down is cooler? Should I go for relaxed, or bring the A-Game? FUCK, why is this so hard?"

"Bro, you're muttering to yourself again. I can hear you from my room."

"SHIT what the HELL, Dirk, you enormous prick," you snap at him after turning around jerkily, still holding your broken record shirt, having been startled out of your fucking skull. You gave up on maintaining your cool halfway through the sentence because that fucker was dead. Your cool was deader than your dead-as-a-doornail-fucking-lock on your useless fucking front door.

You are going to kill him over that goddamn door.

"Are you getting dressed?" Dirk's tone is incredulous as he pulls away from the wall to get a better look at the clothes tossed carelessly across your bed.

"No, i'm fucking spring cleaning. Yes, you dickhead, I learned how to dress myself before I could walk, that's how long I've been getting dressed. Get the fuck out of my room."

"Do you have a date?" Your brother asks, a smirk tugging almost imperceptibly at the corner of his mouth, as he looks between you and the clothes, taking in your clean hair, still slightly damp from the shower you took earlier.

"Fucking-- no, it's none of your business, leave me the fuck alone!" You are losing serious coolkid points, you feel yourself descending the Escheladder of Cool, and you don't even fucking care right now, you just want him out. But your brother is more or less ignoring you. 

"Oh my god, my antisocial little loner bro has a date! About fucking time, man, you need to get over that fucking spectacle of a train wreck that was that friend of yours. Who's the chick? C'mon, you gotta tell me! Oh please let it not be Vriska," he very nearly whines at you, looking at you hard, searchingly. "That is totally a federal disaster and an adventure with How A Poor Fucker Obtains A Restraining Order you so don't need."

"Fuck, no, it's not fucking Vriska," you snap, and you immediately realize you've just given yourself away. 

God. Fucking. Dammit.

"Oh thank your lucky stars, that would've been messy. You're too suave for the likes of her, anyway. So who is it, then? Is it a dude, is that why you're not already bragging like a conceited asshole at me every chance you get?"

"Fuck, what do you even want from me," you mutter defensively, desperate at this point to get him to leave. You are rapidly deflating, not used to him pushing you this hard. You probably should've known you wouldn't be able to hide shit from him; if there was one person in the world that could read you, through your poker face, through your shades, and through the flustered shambles of your angry, coolkid facade, it was the one who taught you everything.

Well, everything but the anger. You picked that up solo.

"Fuck, it is a dude. Fucking-- did you think I would judge you or some shit, Dave? I'm dating fucking English, how can you even pretend to think for a nanosecond I would be an ass about it?"

"Fuck you," you say, but there is no actual venom to your tone, and what you really mean is thank you. You're pretty sure you can feel the relief in an actual lifting of your shoulders, and you kind of want to cry a little. You didn't even realize you were fucking worried about it in the first place, for fuck's sake.

"I can't believe you, you little dick," he says with a soft, heavy laugh, and punches you lightly in the arm. "Knock 'im dead, little bro. And wear the gear one, it's the shit," he says as he leaves the room, kicking the door closed on his way out.

Your brother will probably always be cooler than you, and fuck you with a mallet if you ever admit it, but you suppose sometimes it's not... Like, necessarily. The worst thing ever?

You put on your gear shirt, the deep red one that's slightly darker than your eyes, with the large, subtle gear design. The pattern is a couple shades lighter than the fabric of the shirt, and it starts over your stomach and wraps around the side to taper off across the back. You pair it with your black jeans - casual, but not sloppy - and give yourself a last once-over.

You think you might be ready for this.

Only T minus two hours til liftoff.

Nope, you are wrong. Two hours is forever and you're totally gonna fucking die.

 

---

 

Two hours and twenty seven minutes pass by, alternating between agony-inducing slowness and sweatstain-inspiring rapidity. But finally you hop off the bus as you arrive on the other side of town, promptly at 2:00, the exact time John suggested yesterday, which you agreed to. You kind of meant to be ten minutes late -- y'know, walk in all cool, my bad, I got a bit distracted dropping some sick beats, but the party can start now -- so you wouldn't have to wait around outside, because it is still hot as balls, and it's the gross, humid kind of hot today, but you seem to have this thing with time. You are always on it, the slick and not at all lame head to its pointy pin. You tried to go somewhere half an hour early once, but couldn't find your wallet, and then lost your keys, and ended up getting there exactly. On. Time.

Shit's bananas.

Luckily, you are not the first one there. You are fairly certain your coolitude meter would be in the negatives if you, the invited, beat the inviter to lunch. Shit is just not done, your weird time shenanigans be fucked.

You see John ahead of you, waiting by the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. He doesn't look nervous, though, just... kind of spaced out, a little. It's... fucking precious. There, you thought it. It's adorable as fuck.

You are so stupid for this kid, and you've literally seen him less than twelve times. What is wrong with you.

You're walking toward him when he looks up, and grins big, like usual. But he's not looking at you.

He's looking at Jade, who has just emerged from a dark car after it pulled over at the curb.

And Rose.

Jade and Rose are here, and they're getting out of a slick-looking black car of unknown variety (you don't know shit about cars, shut the fuck up).

This... is not... a date.

It never was a date.

You swear you were walking at one point, but you are not anymore, and you're not sure how it happened. You do not want to reduce the distance between you any more, you are fine here, yes, thank you, and fuck everything. You couldn't move your feet if you wanted to anyway, you're pretty sure all your muscles just spontaneously turned to metal. Titanium, or fucking... diamond, or some shit. They are not going anywhere, nope, better pitch a tent and get out the marshmallow cause you are gonna be stuck here for a while. 

Your vision fogs over as you replay the conversation from yesterday in your head, as near as you can remember. You vaguely recall him saying "lunch." Yes, genius, it is, in fact, lunchtime. You are the smartest, it is you.

You recall the establishment, which you clearly got correct. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You should totally come with us to the new coffee place downtown! We're eating lunch there tomorrow...

We.

He totally said we.

As in, all of them.

And you thought--

Fuck.

"Dave!"

Oh, fuckfuckfuckfuck-- fucking shit. John spotted you, and is now walking in your direction, still smiling his stupid fucking adora-- fucking grin.

And your legs still won't move.

Why do you always fuck everything up?

Why is it always you that fails epically at people?

"Sup," you say, your voice cracking. Fucking dammit. Shit. FUCK. Why are there no convenient alleyways to disappear into like a fucking top-secret agent superhero protecting his fucking identity when you fucking need one?

"What are you waiting over here for? Aren't you coming?" John finally catches up to you, he is feet from you, and he gets this confused puppydog look. He is begging you with his eyes, please, don't abandon me, I'm wagging my tail at you, look! How can you ignore this face?

"No, I'm comin'," you say, completely at the mercy of Egbert's puppydog face, and you are immensely relieved when your voice is steady, but you still wince at the slight return of your Texan drawl. You thought you'd managed to stamp it out completely, but apparently not.

"Great! C'mon then, Rose and Jade are getting a table," he says, still smiling, and tugs on your arm lightly. Your legs finally begin to move again, and you turn your attention to mentally cursing out your arm, which has started tingling and sending warmth up your shoulder from where he's still holding it. Didn't it get the memo? This is not a fucking date, and you were a stupid fucking moron for assuming it was.

Ugh. Maybe you should just chop the thing off. Yes, this seems like a good course of action. It can't give you away if it's no longer attached! You clearly possess an IQ well above the national average.

"Oh man, I hope this place is good," John says, and you realize he has been babbling pretty much the whole time, because he never shuts up. And this is not news to you, he always talks a lot, but for some reason it is now endearing rather than fucking obnoxious (who are you kidding it was never obnoxious)--

"According to Kanaya and Rose, they went here like a week ago or something, that's how we know about it, and they said it was pretty good. Not as good as your place Dave, I mean not really your place but, y'know, where you work, but they said it wasn't bad," John continues, and the arm not currently dragging you along with him is flailing all over the place. You're pretty sure he's about to take someone out with it, it's a health hazard, but you can't quite make your voice work yet, and you don't want him to stop talking, anyway. So you quietly follow after him, sort-of listening and sort-of just... admiring his voice, and his messy hair, and the way the T-shirt pulls a little as it stretches over his muscles, because hey, the kid has some, wow, how did you not notice that before, and you like his pants, they are really flattering his--

Wow yes, time to stop that line of thought, no good things were coming from that direction, moving right along.

After what feels like an eternity, you are finally seated at the table, next to Jade. You are not sure if this is a blessing or not, because it puts you directly across from John, which you are simultaneously grateful for and cursing for its sudden and inevitable betrayal, and there is no way you can keep from staring at him when he is right there in front of you.

You just have to hope your shades are sufficient cover.

"My, David, but you are quiet today," Rose says, and you almost don't hear her because you are studiously looking over the menu.

"Thought you'd be relieved, Lalonde," you say, looking up at her. "You don't have to think so hard about how to respond to my dizzying levels of swag if I don't talk," you quip, silently thanking her for the distraction because John was starting to chew his lip as he looked over his own menu, and fuck, it was doing things to you.

"Hardly, Strider. I could keep up with you in my sleep, I assure you," she says with a wicked grin, and you get this feeling, like she knows something. Which is stupid and impossible, because you haven't given anything away, your shades block everything, your leg is completely 100% still, and your were definitely not tapping your fingers against the table a moment ago and fuck she knows everything.

"Fuck you, Lalonde, I have a PhD in Wordsmith and don't even pretend you can parse my unbelievable echelons of irony," you say, your nervousness giving your tone a harsher edge than you meant, but her grin just morphs into an even bigger smirk as she continues to look at you, her chin resting in the palm of one hand.

"Hah, you wish you were so enigmatic, Dave!" Jade laughs next to you, a bright, bubbly sound, and nudges you lightly in the side. "If you are half as ironic as you pretend, I'll eat my own sock!"

"Ugh Jade, that's gross! Your socks are nasty," John laughs from across the table, and you are not watching him, not at all, and you totally miss the suspicious expression that crosses his face when he looks between you and Jade. Except you don't and that was weird and now you are getting very, very worried. Which is pretty catastrophically horrible, because you were already Seriously Fucking Freaked. You thought this was a fucking date, for chrissakes. And now John is definitely planning something, and you are so fucked, you want out of here right this fucking second.

But Jade is laughing and teasing John about his smelly, gross room, and John is brandishing his menu at her with a big stupid smile and it hasn't left his face at all in the last ten minutes, and you give a soft sigh because you know you're not just going to ditch these losers.

Fuck your miserable life.

Your eyes wander back to Rose and she is still fucking watching you, and shit you totally forgot to be freaked out by her for a second, but she isn't grinning anymore. You can't read her expression at all, you only know that it is intense, and you can't look at her for too long or you think you might burst into flame or melt into a pile of ashes or something.

So you can't look at Rose, and you definitely cannot stare at John, so you focus your attention on Jade, who is by far the safest at this goddamn deathtrap of a table. "So you go into John's room a lot, Jade? Spend plenty of time in there?" Fuck you, you are not curious, what a stupid topic of conversation what were you even thinking.

"Ha, as if! He spends so much time in there doing Lord know what, gross boy things, probably," she says, sticking her tongue out at him, and her nose wrinkles slightly as she does. "I pop in every once in a while, usually to tell him it's dinner time because otherwise he'd completely forget!" She smiles, and you feel yourself relax slightly in her warmth and openness. Talking to Jade has always been easy, somehow.

"Well, good thing he has you to look after him, then," you tell her, and she giggles.

"What are sisters for, y'know?"

"Man, I'd kill for a cute lil sis instead of my asshole brother, he's such a dick," you tell her, and immediately feel bad because he was totally not a dick to you this morning, not even a little bit. "Well, usually," you amend in a low voice. Jade smiles knowingly at you.

"Haha, sure, Dave. I bet he's even cooler than you, right?" she says, teasingly, and you can't help but lecture her on the massively impressive and entirely unappreciated levels of irony you and your brother employ on a daily basis, and she doesn't interrupt you once except for an appropriately timed, "Oh, wow!" Or the occasional, "I see."

The waiter returns to take your orders shortly after that, and it's about then you begin to notice John checking his watch and fidgeting, and you realize you'd barely been paying him any attention while you were talking to Jade.

Suddenly, he looks over at Rose. "Oh, shit! Rose, didn't you say Kanaya was coming over?"

She frowns. "Yes, John, but that's--"

"We need to go, then!" He yells, cutting her off. "Right now! C'mon Rose, hurry, I can't believe I forgot! So sorry guys, we'll see you back at Rose's later, okay? Bring our food back for us! Bye!"

John drags a sputtering, protesting Rose out of the booth, and you and Jade are left staring after them, speechless.

"I... what just happened?" You eventually ask Jade, who slowly turns to you, frowning.

"I think he... just... oh, shit," she says, realization dawning on her face, and she smacks her forehead. "Oh, shit! John, you dumbass!"

You start feeling a very unpleasant, very acidic writhing somewhere in the region where your intestines are supposed to be, and choke out a, "what?"

She turns to look at you, apologetic. "Oh shit, Dave, I think I messed up!"

"What d'ya mean?" You are now very fucking confused. You are also fairly certain your expression reflects this.

"Well, John was asking me all these things earlier, about you, and-- shit, I though he was into you, oh man, I totally was super encouraging and said good stuff and, damn, I think he thought..... oh, fuck!"

You frown. You are so not following.

"John asked you, about me? And... you thought..."

Jade pouts at you. "He did one of those, So, Jade, what do you think about Dave? completely obvious questions, and I just assumed he was asking 'cause he liked you, y'know? I mean, I'm pretty sure he does anyway, John isn't really very subtle," she says, her hand lifting to settle on your back as she rubs small, comforting circles in it, which you think might be because you are not breathing normally. "'Cause it's so obvious you like him," she adds, and you nearly choke.

"Wh-what? No, are you fucking kidding? Like that? Absolutely not, no way, I'm not a fucking--" but she's just looking knowingly at you, with a small, sad smile. "Is... Is it that fucking obvious?" you say, your voice wavering as your shoulders sag in defeat.

"Haha, only once Rose told me, after that yeah, it was pretty obvious," she says, grinning cheerfully at you, and you drop your head into your hands, because Rose really does know fucking everything, she must be a witch or something, shit's unnatural. "I guess I was a little preoccupied, I'm not sure if I would've noticed if I'd been paying attention! No offense though, Dave, you are way attractive," she says with a nod.

"Preoccupied, huh?" you prod weakly, hoping desperately for a change of topic and studiously ignoring the rest of her sentence.

"Yeah, there's this asshole I hang with and am kind of nuts about, but he's being a giant baby!" She huffs, and she stops rubbing little circles into your back (shit, that actually felt really good) to cross her arms.

"He'd have to be a complete fucking retard to turn you down," you tell her, because it's true. She smiles at you.

"I know, right? What a dummy!"

And just like that, the two of you are laughing again, and you're starting to actually feel hungry by the time your food finally gets there.

This place is slow as shit, though, and you are definitely not coming back any time soon.

The emotional trauma it has inflicted on you today doesn't have anything to fucking do with it.

 

 

Jade insists on paying as an apology for her "shit-for-brains brother," which you protest, but eventually give in because the girl is seriously stubborn when she wants to be and has a scary glare. Like, laser-beams-eviscerating-small-mammals levels of scary. You would not want to get on her bad side.

You kind of like being on her good side, anyway. She's stopped teasing you quite so much since she found out the two of you are in the same romantically-troubled waters, and you can't remember the last time you just chilled with someone like Jade.

Well, actually, you remember pretty well. The last friend you spent time with like this was Sollux, who you've known forever, but that was before you made the mistake of bringing him to your place of work. Which would've been fine, except it resulted in him meeting Eridan.

You... haven't seen much of Sol since he started... whatever it is he's got with your most obnoxious coworker. Even that you'd be able to handle if it weren't for...other circumstances. And you can't stand being around the two of them together; no amount of money or other incentive will ever be sufficient compensation for putting up with Eridan outside of working hours.

Your thoughts are interrupted (thankfully) by Jade when she blurts, seemingly out of nowhere, "You have to come eat with us!"

"Uh," you begin eloquently, "I thought I already was?"

"No no no, not this crap -- this place really isn't that great, is it? -- I mean Rose and Kanaya's cooking! You should come back to Rose's with me, it's the least we can do after dragging you here today."

You actually make an audible groan, and instantly hate yourself, what the hell. Talk about rude. 

Jade just grins at you. "C'mon, a bunch of people will be there, you can completely ignore John if you want to, I swear. Kanaya's a doll, you'll love her, really! And you can meet Karkat, too! He's almost as sullen and angry as you are," Jade says with a lopsided half-smile, equal parts insistent and pleading because she's actually asking you if you'll come and not making you feel like you have no choice, the way John did.

"I dunno, pretty sure if there's another person as angry as me, there will be serious concern for the safety of other partygoers. You run the risk of being poisoned by our toxic airborn hatesmoke. It could be radioactive." You are just rambling at this point, out of reasonable arguments to protest Jade's offer, and you both know it.

"Great, you can team up and cause all of our deaths, it'll be a blast! Let's get out of here, I want to go buy something real quick, and then you can come and meet them!"

Jade pulls you up out of the booth, and you follow her out of the restaurant, determined to never set foot in it ever again.

You have a lot of reservations about spending more time in the vicinity of John, as he seems determined to make your life as unbearable as possible. But you're not even going to try arguing with Jade, so you resign yourself to your fate, and follow after her with minimal complaint. Soon you are talking with her and joking in a manner dangerously approaching cheerful. 

It's downright unseemly for a coolkid of your caliber, but you decide to let it slide.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are a genius.

"Shh, Rose, c'mon! Just trust me," you hiss at her, giggling with manic glee, as you drag her out of the small restaurant and onto the sidewalk. It's overcast and grossly humid; you can feel your shirt getting heavy with moisture already, but you couldn't care less! You are far too pleased with your superior matchmaking ability to be bothered by silly things like dumb, gross weather.

"What are they doing...?" You mutter, not really talking to anyone in particular, as you shuffle around in an awkward dance-wiggle combo as you press your nose up aginst the glass in an attempt to peer back through the window, into the building. You think you can see the vague shapes of two people where your table was -- you can't really tell that far into the restaurant -- but if you had to make a guess you'd say they look like they're having fun! Oh man, you are so great. Good friend, best matchmaker.

"John, stop this nonsense immediately, you look ridiculous. And this could be misinterpreted by the casual observer as stalker-like behavior," Rose says, and you are more or less ignoring her, but she continues anyway. "What on Earth are you trying to do here? Unless your aim is, in fact, to become a stalker? In which case I would suggest picking a target outside of your circle of close friends, for starters."

Rose grabs your shoulders and pulls you around to face her, apparently quite through with your lack of acknowledgement. She is giving you one of her looks, and not the good kind of look. You can't help but shrink a little under her gaze; she is demanding answers, right the fuck now. Hasn't she figured it out yet? She of all people should've seen the obvious chemistry between Jade and Dave! Why isn't she excited??

"I'm... letting Dave and Jade get to know each other... better...?" You offer hesitantly, nervously glancing back and forth between her dark blue eyes, looking for any hint of approval, or understanding, or anything, really, besides her current expression, which you're pretty sure is borderline furious (which, for Rose, is evidenced by a hard glint in her eyes and a subtle creasing of her brow. You are an expert in Hard-To-Detect Expressions of Rose Lalonde, though, so it's pretty obvious to you!)

"Oh, John," Rose sighs, bringing her hand up to cover half of her face in her much more graceful variation on the classic face-palm. No one can face-palm quite like Rose.

She is exasperated, and you are officially confused. And also quite concerned. This was definitely not the reaction you expected!

"Um, Rose? Why aren't you, like. Jumping up and down in enthusiastic glee?" You offer hopefully, praying that she's just misunderstood something and the excited grin is coming any second now, because otherwise you have really, really messed up.

"John, why on Earth did you feel the need to contrive this little episode? Have you completely forgotten about a certain surly troll that will be visiting our apartment later tonight, for the sole purpose of seeing our dear Jade?"

Your resolve crumbles a little at that, your hope evaporating by the second. John Egbert, eternal screwup, strikes again!

"No, I didn't forget. But Karkat is always so mean to her, Rose! And Dave isn't mean at all, wouldn't he be way better for her?" You are starting to feel desperate now. You are trying to help! Doesn't Rose understand that?

"Oh, John," Rose sighs, and pulls you into a hug. "You don't decide what's best for Jade, honey. She can do that just fine on her own, she's quite capable like that."

"I know she can," you say miserably, "but they're always yelling at each other." You mumble the words into Rose's shoulder, wrapping your arms tightly around her back and maybe clinging to her a little bit. "They don't get along at all!"

Rose laughs softly. "Sure they do. They just... communicate a little differently than most. You of all people should know Karkat doesn't actually mean half of what he says, John. Three-fourths, even." Rose begins running her fingers lightly through your hair, and it feels kinda good, and you find that you don't feel quite so horrible anymore.

"I know that, that's not the problem. I don't listen when Karkat says things. I mean, I listen, but I don't listen-listen. But Jade just gets really mad! She can't just let it, y'know. Bounce off her, like I can."

Rose continues to laugh gently. "Do me a favor, and pay closer attention to Jade next time they fight. Which, in all likelihood will be later this very evening. I think it might be...enlightening."

You pull back to look Rose in the eye, not really sure what you're hoping to see there. She's looking at you steadily, and you have a sinking feeling that she knows exactly what she's talking about, and you have been kind of dumb. Possibly more than kind of.

"Yeah, okay," you mutter, breaking the eye contact to examin your feet, and she hooks her arm around yours to lead you over to the car. "Sorry for messing things up, Rose," you mutter, hanging your head a little.

Rose leans over to plant a soft kiss on your cheek. "No harm done, Mr. Top-tier Prankster. Although next time, might I suggest you run plans by myself, or perhaps Kanaya, first? I guarantee we would've come up with a much more subtle scenario to set up our beloved friends. Because yours was quite sloppy, I have to say."

"Hey, I had to think on my feet!" you whine, shoving her lightly.

"Yes, well. Let's leave the conniving to the professionals next time, shall we?" She ruffles your hair one last time before you both get into the car to drive back to the apartment.

 

---

 

"Fucking hell, Kanaya, did you REALLY have to bring this much shit? How many ingredients does it take to make a single fucking meal, I mean seriously, you're not feeding an entire herd of ravenous stampeding trunkbeats, you can't possibly be planning to use all of this shit," a voice carries from all the way out in the hall, and you can't help but giggle, exchanging an amused glance with Rose.

"Guess who's here!"

"I haven't the faintest idea, John, why don't you go investigate?" Rose says with a smirk, and you run over to open the front door before they even have a chance to knock.

"Hey, Kanaya!"

"Good evening, John. I presume you, erm. Heard us coming?"

"You could say that." You give them both a warm smile, taking one of the heavy-looking bags Kanaya is holding, which you realize a moment later was probably an error in judgement.

"Oh sure, you take Kanaya's bag, because two is SO many, as opposed to the five million that I am balancing here, you shitfucking prickfaced grubsnot," Karkat grumbles, and you roll your eyes. You really regret teaching him quite so many English cursewords; you preferred when he used the troll words, and you didn't know exactly what obscene bodypart he was referring to, partcularly when he basically calls you dickfaced! What is that even supposed to mean? Your nose is not that big.

"I'll be right back to help you next, Karkitty," you tell him, solely because it makes his face go reder than a tomato and his nose scrunch up as he prepares to start his tirade anew, and you skedaddle to the kitchen with Kanaya's bag before he can unleash the full force of his wrath directly in your face.

After dropping the bags of food off, Rose and Kanaya shoo you from the kitchen (you always manage to cause more damage then you provide assistance, so they have limited you exclusively to dishes and cleanup), and you wander over to the living room where Karkat has burrowed into a pile of cushions on the sofa. You giggle and begin digging a tunnel in search of your bestest little angry troll buddy.

"Karkat, I can't find you! Are you in here?" You call, when you're pretty sure you're right about where his ear should be.

"FUCK you annoying little shiteating worm, what do you want?" He swipes a claw at you, and you frown. He seems even more surly than usual today.

"Karkat, is something wrong?"

"Ugh, no, you addlebrained nookwhiffler, I am perfectly fine. Go pester some other troll."

"But the girls won't let me in the kitchen! You remember the Great Salt Incident of Oh-Nine."

"Oh gog, the food didn't taste right for days," Karkat groans, and you laugh. 

"Percisely. No kitchen for me, for that very reason! You've got me all to yourself, you should feel priviledged." He grumbles a little as you scratch his head around the base of his horns in the way you know he likes, being careful not to actually touch them, but his eyes flutter closed and you can hear the beginnings of a purr deep in his throat.

"Seriously, what's eating you, man?" You say, all business this time. Karkat's eyes open a crack so he can look at you for a moment, and then he sighs. 

"What do you think, fuckwit. I haven't talked to Jade since... well. You know."

You grimace in sympathy. You remember very well the last time Karkat talked to Jade, which was almost a whole week ago, when they'd had one of their worst arguments, ever. You're not even sure how it started, but it had ended with Jade slamming the door in Karkat's face, and you'd been pretty sure Karkat's eyes had been suspiciously red and watery before the loud SLAM of the door had blocked him from view. You'd tried to go after him, but Rose had held you back, saying that they both just needed time to cool off. You reluctantly agreed, and dragged Rose off to watch a movie instead, hoping it would take you mind off the whole debacle. It hadn't, but Nic Cage had helped. A little.

"You know Jade, I bet she won't even mention it and it'll all just be back to normal," you tell him, but even you don't believe it. Jade's not someone to brush off a serious argument. Especially when ignoring stuff doesn't change anything! They'd just fight all over again if they don't work it out somehow.

"Can we please not talk about this? It's completely my own fucking fault and I would really rather not think about it right now because I'm pretty sure I'm well on my way to getting an ulcer as it is, thank you very fucking much."

You frown. "I'm sure it wasn't all your fault, Karkat--"

"Fucking hell, John. When has Jade ever started an argument in her life?"

"Um, like all the time dude, have you ever tried to suggest she should get a new dog? Or insulted her glasses? Or told her to get a haircut? Or--"

"Okay okay, I get it already, shut your noisepipe. I meant about something serious, you fucktarded assmonkey," Karkat interrupts you, but his lips are quirked in a small, lopsided smile. "You would know exactly what gets her mad, you good-for-nothing bulgemuncher."

You grin wryly. "I definitely made her mad today, heh. You might not be the only one in her doghouse this time, Karkat!" you try to laugh it off, but you don't think you do a very good job. Jade really would have every reason to be pissed at you for trying to hook her up with Dave, it was dumb and pointless and you should've known that from the start.

"What's what supposed to mean?" Karkat says with a growl, catching on to your mood shift instantly. Shit.

"Oh, nothing, I'm just being-- what did you call me before? A nooksmelling fuckbucket?"

"Ugh, gross, you moron, that is nothing even remotely similar to what I called you, I am far more eloquent than that," he says with a grimace, but he doesn't give up that easily. "What did you do, exactly?"

You stare at him for half a second before deciding it's better to just give in, because you know he's not going to relent until you tell him, he has that stubborn, you-will-tell-me-or-I-will-lecture-you-on-quadrants-again look, and you really don't want to hear about the quadrants again. "Um, I may have, kinda... abandonded her so she could talk alone with that cranky foulmouthed waiter at the coffee shop that I told you about? Ha...ha?" You brace yourself for impact, and sure enough--

"Fuck. Does she like him? Maybe I should just let him have her," Karkat says, his shoulders drooping as he stares off into the depths of the carpet. "I bet he'd be way better for her than the likes of me."

"Karkat, no! Don't say that!" You immediately backpedal. This is not how this conversation is supposed to go, at all. Karkat is supposed to get furious at you! And yell and stuff!

"Don't pretend you didn't think the exact same thing, asshole. Why else would you even try?"

You admit that he has a point there. You are the worst friend ever, why did you ever think Dave and Jade was a good idea?? "Karkat, Jade is nuts about you," you tell him, honestly, because it is totally true and everyone knows it. "There's no way she would just go for someone else like that, don't be dumb!" You are in dangerous redzone territory, mayday, Egbert to Houston, we have a serious fucking problem, come in Houston. you have no idea how to get Karkat out of his self-deprecating downspirals, and it looks like that's where this conversation is going, fast.

"I know she is, but if I don't fucking make a move, she's not going to stick around forever," he says, drooping his head to rest in his hands. "She'd be better off if she just found someone else." You are really starting to freak out, and you have no idea what to say. Your hands are big and dumb and useless, and your words are completely failing you. Fuck English! Also, there's this sick feeling in your chest that wasn't there a minute ago. This is really, really bad! Completely horrible and rotten.

Suddenly, a miracle happens in the form of your other bestest troll buddy, and you silently thank troll jegus who must be looking over you, or having a sudden bout of the human disease called sympathy, because she has really good timing!

"Karkat," Kanaya calls, poking her head through the doorway. "Where did you put the-- oh, dear. John, what did you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything!" you squeak, waving your hands frantically, and Kanaya just grimaces at you. 

"John, go assist Rose for a moment, and don't touch anything," she says, and it must be bad if she's actually telling you to go into the kitchen, so you make like a jackrabbit and hop off the couch post-haste.

If anyone can get Karkat out of a funk, his moirail definitely can! You are pretty sure that's in the moirail job description, and even if she wasn't his moirail, Kanaya is really good at knowing what to say, always! She is way better at this kind of thing than you.

In the meantime, you'll just hang with Rose and try not to make a mess of everything. If anyone can prevent you from doing something stupid, it is definitely, without a doubt, 100% for sure gonna be Rose.

 

By the time Jade finally gets back, you have made a mess of everything. Who's surprised? Certainly not you!

"No, John, the sugar goes in this bowl-- no, stop, that's way too much!" She makes a dive for the mixture, trying to block the moderately-sized white avalanche that comes pouring out of the bag you are currently holding, completely out of nowhere and without your permission, before it mixes with the rest of the carefully measured ingredients. She manages a partial success, and half of it spills over the counter and onto the floor.

"John," Rose says between clenched teeth, making a supreme effort to keep her voice level. "I think you should go see if Kanaya needs anything."

"Yes ma'am, right away!" You are once again banned from the kitchen. You're really not sure why Rose let you in in the first place, to be honest! You guess you must make a really convincing puppydog face, or have powers that allow you to inflict temporary amnesia on people at will! Because that's the only explanation for her lack of foresight.

As you wander past the front door, in a spectacular moment of horribly inconvenient timing, it swings open to reveal Jade, guffawing carelessly, her arm draped around Dave's neck, and holy shit was that an actual smirk from the constantly-frowning foulmouthed asshole waiter coolkid??

Okay that is too many descriptive words, you're just going to call him Dave in your head, thanks. That seems way simpler.

You feel a strange, alien sort of squirming in your gut at Dave's wide smile (you didn't even know his mouth went that far!), but it evaporates when they both spot you and stop laughing kind of suddenly. Oh, fudgesickles. They are mad. 

"U-Uh, welcome back, guys! Um, Jade, I think Rose might. Want some help in, like, the kitchen? Fixing my screw-ups?? If you're not busy or anything," you mumble, and try to sidle in the direction of the living room as unobtrusively as possible. You are kind of stuck between possibly-still-upset-Karkat, definitely-ticked-at-you-for-saying-dumb-things-as-usual-and-upsetting-her-moirail Kanaya, absolutely-without-a-doubt-pissed-off-for-ruining-her-dinner Rose, and these two, who, quite clearly, are also mad at you.

Dammit, why are you such a shitty friend?! Why can't you do anything right, ever?

"Jooohn, who let you back into the kitchen?" Jade says, but instead of sounding irritated like she really has every right to, she just sounds mildly exasperated. She releases Dave with a roll of her eyes and a grin, skipping past you into the kitchen, giving the back of your head a light smack as she goes. Maybe she's not quite as mad as you thought...? Do you dare to hope?

"Not kitchen-friendly, I take it? Why am I not surprised." You wince slightly as Dave finally acknowledges you in a low voice, but he's not grinning anymore like Jade was. He's as expressionless as always, and for once you are really, really unnerved by it! You have no idea what's going on behind the pokerface, and for the first time, this kind of bothers you.

"Haha, nope! If the food ends up tasting horrible, I am definitely the one to blame. I had a bit of a disagreement with the sugar!" You rub at your hair self-consciously, your cheeks getting pinker by the second. You weigh your options: would it be more awkward to continue standing stammering out excuses, or to escape and see if Karkat and Kanaya still hate you? You really have no idea, both options sound kind of terrible.

"Well, if Rose and Kanaya are half as good as Jade says they are, I bet it's salvageable," Dave says, and you can't quite believe it, but you think you are pretty sure that that was a tiny smirk you just caught. But that seems pretty unlikely, so maybe it was a trick of the light? Dave is not swearing at you, this is definitely weird, why is he being weird??

"Oh man, they are amazing! Their skills are legendary, for real," you gush, still not sure quite what to do with your hands, or your feet, and you are suddenly and painfully aware of your hair which is in your face and won't seem to get out of it, but you think you'd be willing to put up with all of that if Dave would maybe smile a little bit again, even if you just imagined it, because that was nice and even though it made your stomach feel funny, it means he's not mad at you! Right? Do people who are mad at people smile at people? Is that even a thing that can happen?

"Then you've got nothin' to worry about," Dave hums, and when you fail to respond because he is being downright agreeable, he shifts his weight a little and continues. "So... you gonna give me the tour, or whatever? This hallway is nice and all, but I was kind of under the impression there was a whole apartment back there."

"Oh, yeah!" You cannot believe you were just standing there like an idiot, what is wrong with you? Your Dad taught you to be a gentleman, and you made someone invite themselves in! You are the absolute worst host, ever.

"Um, well that way is the kitchen, obviously, but I think I'd better stay out of there for now! Umm, you can leave your shoes over there, on the mat, with the others. This way is the living room. You can meet Karkat and Kanaya!" You lead Dave through the door opposite the kitchen, into your sparsely decorated but very homey living room, hoping maybe that they will suspend their anger at you long enough to say hi to Dave.

Your show him the moderately-sized TV and Rose's favorite rocking chair that she likes to sit in to knit, and then you're standing in front of the couch, where Karkat is talking with Kanaya, and thank heavens it looks like he is doing better now because otherwise that would've been really embarrassing!

"Hey, Karkat, Kanaya! This is Dave, the one I was talking about. And Jade is here, too!" Kanaya looks at you, and you gulp nervously, but she just turns back to Karkat. "I'd better help Rose with the food, then. Yell if you need anything, alright?" she asks, giving Karkat's arm a fond squeeze.

"Yeah, yeah, go set fire to shit, I'm fine," he grumbles, but you're pretty sure he gives her hand a squeeze in return. Man, they are just the sweetest! You can't help the dopey grin you're pretty sure you've got on your face.

"I certainly hope we're not having shit for dinner, 'cause that's what Jade and I had for lunch, and wouldn't that just be a travesty," Dave says. You have to do a double-take to make sure it was actually him that spoke, because you think Dave just made a joke!

"Fuck you and the literal fucking hoofbeast you rode in on, asswipe," Karkat barks at him. "If you insult Kanaya's cooking, I will personally arrange your funeral, and there will be no flowers at all, none. I will replace them all with balloons and streamers because your death will be a cause for celebration among the townspeople."

"Sounds pretty rad, actually, sign me up. Flowers are so last year," Dave says with a smirk, and that only makes Karkat sputter and get redder. Oh man, this could get really bad, really fast! But at the same time you are kind of enjoying it, because Dave is smirking again and making jokes and kind of acting like a normal person! A really sarcastic normal person.

"Fuck that, I changed my mind, you are so not worth it, you outrageous pissguzzling assmuncher."

Dave turns to you, thumb pointed over his shoulder at Karkat, and says, "I like this guy already, he knows some really big, really fake words. Where can I get one? Is there like a Small Angry Troll Depot? Do they come in bulk?"

Which, of course, makes Karkat fly off the handle, jumping to his feet in rage -- "I am not a line of shitty wiggler playthings, you fucking bulgemonkey!" -- and you think you should probably intervene somehow before Karkat has a ragefit-induced stroke.

"Dinner!" Kanaya's voice drifts warmly from the kitchen. That's two saves in less than an hour; troll jegus must really be on the ball today!

"Oops, time to eat!" You say, probably a bit louder than necessary, and grab Dave's arm to drag him in the direction of the kitchen before he can say anything else to further enrage your tiny, spitting troll buddy.

"Y'know, I'm actually quite capable of walking sans assistance, Egbuns," Dave says, and it takes you a minute to figure out what he means.

"Oh, shit! Sorry," you stammer, dropping his arm as if it had burned you. "Haha, 'course you can," you say, trying to will your face to stop getting so red, but alas, it never really listens, does it? Damn your stupid, thoughtless face!

"No problem," Dave mutters, and you could swear you caught sight of a slight frown behind his glasses, except for the fact that Dave doesn't make expressions, so you couldn't have!

But, of course, you have to mentally smack yourself, because Dave totally does make expressions, you just saw him make, like, six different ones, which was totally awesome! And they were all in the smug-to-happy range, which is even stranger than seeing him frown, so you really don't know why you're surprised, and you definitely don't know why your tummy is doing acrobatics at the thought, because it seems to be interfering with the functionality of your lungs a little and that can't be healthy.

Or maybe it's just the smell of really amazing food, because you are now in the kitchen surrounded by it on all sides, bombarding your senses, and you are really, really hungry.

"Take a seat, the food will be out momentarily," Rose says, placing the last of the plates on the table.

"Oh wow, Rose, it smells amazing! I hope I, uh. Didn't mess things up too bad?" You ask, sheepishly. Rose just smiles at you.

"Not at all, John. Your addition was quite easy to rectify, I apologize for snapping at you," she says, giving your hair a fond ruffle. "I must apologize to you as well, David, for our.... abrupt departure today. I hope you and Jade managed to have a pleasant afternoon? It certainly sounds like she did," she says with a soft grin.

"Yeah, Jade's pretty chill," is all Dave says, and your tummy gives another squirm, this one decidedly less fuzzy. You suddenly really want to know what they did after you and Rose left!

"Um, so you had fun with Jade, huh?" You prod, curious, but also because you're not really sure how to go about apologizing for your interference. Why is Rose so good at these kinds of things? She is totally making you look bad.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Dave says, but he's smiling again, and it's just the slitest quirk to his lips, but it means he's not upset with you. The relief you feel is almost overwhelming, and you feel a small lump in your throat. You're not sure what you would've done if Dave had been really mad at you! Which is kind of strange, since you haven't even known him all that long. But it still would've been awful!

Rose gives you both a warm smile before she goes back to grab the food from the counter.

You settle into a chair, and your heart gives a giddy, proud leap when Dave takes the one next to you.

Rose and Kanaya and Jade all return with various mouthwatering pots of delicious-smelling dinner items, and Karkat shuffles in from the living room to sit on the other side of you. Oh man, it has been ages since Rose and Kanaya cooked for you, you are so beyond excited!!

"Oh man oh man," you chant, squirming in your seat a bit. The food just looks so amazing, you can't believe it. Rose made her specialty lasagna, with layers of really awesome, obscure-branded but unsuspectingly sob-worthily-delicious noodles (only when she cooks them though, when you tried they tasted like cardboard!), and the best blend of cheese ever to exist, ever. And it looks like Kanaya made some vegetarian stuff too, which if it was anyone else would make you cringe, but this is Kanaya's cooking so you know it will be amazing no matter what she makes! Today it looks like eggplant and green beans were the ingredients she chose, which are definitely not on your list of favorite foods, but if the smell is anything to go by, after today they might be!

Dave chuckles next to you. "You're really excited for this. Do you just really love food, or are they that good?"

"Both!" You say, and maybe you're a little too enthusiastic, especially when you feel the need to accent the statement by throwing both your hands in the air, but it gets a smile out of Dave (again!!), so you don't really care. "Man, it's been ages since I've gotten to eat Rose's cooking," you tell him, and you are only just holding back from using your hands as utensils because you are just that hungry. "And Kanaya can even do amazing things with vegetables, it's like magic!"

"It's called seasoning, you ignorant dumbfuck," Karkat says with a scowl.

"So I guess that means even you could make it, Karkles? So why weren't you in the kitchen with them? Seems like a waste," Dave responds without missing a beat, and Karkat colors slightly and doesn't answer. Dave smirks in triumph.

"Alright, enough bickering. Dig in," Rose returns with a pile of serving spoons and sets them on the table, and they are touching the brightly colored tablecloth for about .4 seconds before you have one embedded in the middle of the lasagna.

"Not from the center, John, really," Rose scolds as she slides into her own seat across from you, with Jade and Kanaya following suit. As soon as you put the spoon down, though, with a sigh, she takes a piece next to the gap left by yours.

Dave grabs the spoon after her and makes a hole in the lasagna diagonally from your own, also in the center, and shoots you a conspiratorial grin. Your heart soars as you grin back, unleashing the full power of your smile at him, because you simply can't hold back and you feel like you might even be glowing, a bit.

Dinner passes in a flurry of activity and good-natured gibes flung back and forth playfully across the table. Most come from Karkat, and a significant chunk of the rest are Dave's responses to Karkat's colorful commentary, at which he spits increasingly obscene replies back. You can't quite tell whether Karkat is actually mad or mad like mad-at-you mad which is not really mad-mad, but you suppose he's not on the verge of tears, so that's probably a good sign? You think.

Jade and Karkat don't talk much except for the occasional forced-calm comment, but you guess it'll get better slowly, maybe? You sure hope so. You will be really sad if they don't patch things up soon! Especially if you made things even worse today.

"Hey," Dave mutters at one point, catching you watching Jade, who'd just asked Karkat way too calmly to pass the pepper. And he had done it, without a single swear! That just wasn't right.

"Hmm?" You manage around a mouth full of eggplant. (Yep, it's official - anything Kanaya makes is instantly added to your favorite foods list! It's immutable fact. Sign that document and send it to the House, because that bill just became a law! And you suppose there is a reason you are not a lawyer, you actually have no idea how that stuff works.)

"They'll be fine," Dave says, not quite looking at you.

"Who?" You think you kind of know who he's talking about, but you have to be sure!

"Who d'ya think, smartypants. You were just staring hopelessly at 'em, it was like the saddest scene from the sappiest movie ever. So I'm tellin' ya, they're gonna be fine. You don't need worry about it."

You're not really sure why, it's not like Dave knows everything, you're pretty sure he wouldn't be so easy to tease if he was omniscient! But you feel better, regardless.

"I guess. Thanks," you say with a small smile, because he was trying to make you feel better, and it kind of totally worked! For some reason.

"Sure," he says, and goes back to eating, and you feel warm and a little fuzzy inside. Which is weird, when you think about the fact that your stomach is actually filled with acid! Well, acid and delicious, homemade food. Why don't you eat at Rose and Jade's more often??

You decide to go back for more of said delicious homemade food, and when you glance up your eyes lock with Rose's, because she is currently staring at you with a huge, knowing grin on her face. You frown at her, mouthing, what?

She just shakes her head at you, mouths later with a wave of her hand, and turns to mutter something into Kanaya's ear. Kanaya giggles in response and shoots a glance at Dave, and you suddenly are very suspicious of Rose and what she might've been grinning at.

Then they both flick their glances over, as one, to look at Dave. And then at you. And something clicks.

Oh.

Oh!

Your insides drop through the floor as a mild wave of dizziness washes over you, passes quickly, and is replaced by a warmth, deep in your core, settling there in a kind of determined way, like it's telling you it's here to stay for the long-term. It's moving in, and you have no say in the matter. You think that's kind of weird! But you're not really paying very much attention because Rose and Kanaya think that you and Dave -- ?

You and Dave? You and Dave?? That doesn't even make sense! Why the heck...?

Dave's smile materializes then in your mind, like it's supposed to be some kind of answer, bright and warm and sudden. He's wearing his shades but you can see little creases at the corner of his eyes that give away his real smiles -- he thinks he's so hard to read, but you can totally tell! And your insides are back where they're supposed to be, somewhere in your midsection instead of down under the floor, but they're performing that loopy, acrobatic squirmy thing that they've been doing for a while now, and what. The fuck! Is going on! You suddenly understand nothing.

You definitely do not like guys! Right? You've never, y'know. Liked a guy before! Not like that!

But this is also different from the wistful, achey-brightness you feel when you watch a movie with Liv Tyler. You like Liv Tyler a lot, she is so pretty! But you also know that she's very much in the TV and not real life. It would be the height of dumb to spend your whole life pretending you could end up with someone like Liv Tyler! You would never get a date, ever if you did that. Dave, on the other hand, is definitely not from a movie! Although you think that he could probably do it if he wanted, he has a kind of... atmosphere, like he would be at home on a stage, you think. And he's not, y'know. Bad looking, or anything! Definitely not, nope! Wow, did that sound kind of not-straight or was it just you??

The feeling you have right now is... a lot different from the Liv Tyler feeling! It's way more uncomfortable, for starters. And it's making it kind of hard to enjoy the food, because you're not sure you can really taste it anymore. It looks the same, and it still smells good, but you put it in your mouth and you kind of can't swallow very well. It's a bit frustrating!

"John?"

You realize you were probably making some kind of face -- which is stupid, why would you do that? Dumb, John! -- because Rose is looking at you with a whole lot of concern. But you're totally fine!

You try to tell her that, but the words won't seem to leave your throat.

"Bathroom!" You finally blurt, cringing at how wobbly and totally not-fine your voice sounds, and you jump up to do what you said, because it would be really weird if you told everyone you were going to go to the bathroom and then just sat there! Right? That would totally be not normal.

You think maybe Karkat was right, after all. You are probably a giant nooksmelling fuckbucket!

You don't notice anything is wrong until Rose says his name, quietly, but laced with concern. It takes you a moment to figure out what sounds so wrong; there's no snark, or condescension, or any of the other variations on those you've heard from Rose in the past. It's only when you recognize the worry in her question that you turn around, curious, and see his face.

There's a whole novel written there, in the curve of his mouth (which is pretty much nonexistent, that is one straight pair of lips, there aren't gonna be any accidents on this stretch of road you can see clear down the whole way not a single bend dip twist or corner) and the crease between his brows and his eyes, man. Glasses don't hide anything with this kid, you're pretty sure everyone he has ever met has seen every emotion he's ever felt right there on his fucking face, it's all there, plain as day. Plain as white bread. Not the kind with seeds and shit sprinkled all over the top or shredded cheese or whatever (that shit's fucking awesome though), but the flavorless, textureless, boring-as-shit kind. You could pretty much taste a single grain of salt if it were sprinkled on that bread, that's how plain that motherfucker is.

You see him snap out of his reverie, make eye contact with Rose, and then cringe, caught in the middle of some rogue thought chain that undoubtedly led somewhere highly embarrassing and with any luck, hilariously unappropriate. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times without saying anything, like an adorabified interpretation of a creepy-ass sky blue goldfish with giant front teeth. You want to know what he was thinking about, you've never seen him so inattentive to his surroundings or stumped for words, it is downright unnerving. This is John we're talking about here, who likes to show up at your job and mess with your head and up his prankster's gambit frequently enough to settle just shy of intolerable and who doesn't so much as blink regardless of how verbosely you curse at him.

He's bolting out of his chair with pathetic excuses about bodily functions, and the whole table goes silent because John is fooling no one and something just went down that you completely missed.

You try to eyebrow-raise information out of Rose, because she must know what is going on she's just savvy like that and has the handy skillset that allows her fluency in the language of John Egbert, but she follows after him with only a brief, inscrutable glance in your direction. That girl wouldn't be scrutable if you were given a magnifying glass, a thousand page manual, and a fucking crystal ball. Chica might have a better pokerface than you, and that is saying something. Your pokerface is fucking legendary, goddammit.

You try to resume your conversation with Jade, but even her enthusiasm isn't enough to distract you. You get this sinking sensation in your gut, like it's your fault somehow and you should feel guilty. Which is crazy, because you were being totally innocent as fuck and talkin' to your pal Jade, minding your own business, how could you have messed up without saying a word?

Of course, if anyone could pull off a spectacular nonverbal fuckup of a nonexistent relationship, it would definitely be you. There are trolls who could attest to that, and they would be one hundred percent accurate. Signature at the bottom, hand over the bible, pen that fucker in blood because it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

Leave it to Sol to be screwing with you even when you haven't talked to the guy in fucking weeks. Asshole.

"Earth to Dave, come in Captain Dave!" Jade is waving a hand in front of your face, which is dumb because you were looking right at her. Well, sort of. In the seeing-but-totally-ignoring-her kinda way.

"Harley, are you trying to direct planes here? 'Cause I see no other conceivable reason for waving your arms at people in such a manner. It's mad obtrusive and shit."

"Well, you didn't answer me, douchenozzle, so I had to get your attention! You're supposed to actually listen to people you're talking to, Dave, that's like the first rule of social interaction. Did they skip that in coolkid school?" She chuckles at you in a way that means she's not really offended at being ignored, which you appreciate. It makes the crippling guilt a little easier to deal with. Harley's really not such an awful person (she's downright angelic who are you even kidding she is fucking rad as shit) and she doesn't deserve your incompetency.

"I resent that, Harley, we are taught only the most suave and polite of social intercourse in our coolkid lessons. But I had to flunk all my classes in order to graduate 'cause everyone knows aceing ain't the way of the properly established coolkid," you say, hoping she can suss out the meaning buried somewhere in the irony because you do not do actual feeling jams. Shit's just not conducive to your flow.

The thing about Harley, much to your relief, is that she never seems to need the actual words. She just gives you a rather violent slug to the shoulder, and you know by the stinging bruise you feel forming followed by the cheerful subject change that all is forgiven. Girl speaks your language.

You try to fall back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation you'd found during dinner, but the beat just won't jive without the bucktoothed idiot and the blonde all-knowing witch. Even getting Karkat riled up doesn't seem quite right; he won't yell as loud without John coming at him from the other side, taking your comments and layering on some pranksterly insults for you to work off of. Karkat's responsive rage is similarly lackluster.

So you give up on conversation after a bit, just listening mostly, and then decide that it might be better if you made your exit before shit got awkward. So you tell Jade you're headed out, just in time for Rose to make a reappearance and a frankly awful suggestion.

"It saddens me to see you departing to early, Dave, but if you have prior engagements we understand. John, why don't you be a gentleman and walk Dave out?"

You unleash your harshest glare on Rose, but it's a complete bust because she's not even looking at you. She's luring John back into the room and none-too-gently shoving him at you with a smirk.

God, you hate this chick. She couldn't just let you make a smooth getaway.

"Nah it's cool, I'm just gonna give my bro a call an' he'll come get me," you say, even though you aren't sure if that's true at all. But you really don't need another awkward situation with Egbert, you think you've both had enough of that for one day. For a week. No, a month.

"He insists," Rose says, and something in her tone makes your blood run ice cold, just for a moment. You glance over at John, who is doing his best to smile through his embarrassment, and it isn't really working too well. He keeps fidgeting and he can't quite meet your eyes. But like hell are you going to give him space when Rose is looking at you like that.

"Right, fine, don't have a grimdark terrorfit and mass murder people, he can come, whatever. I'm literally just gonna be standing outside for like two minutes." You throw the words at her like a plea, don't hurt me i'm innocent just a little babyfaced angel here honest, and she just gives you this satisfied hmm, and you see her think to herself, that's more like it, and then John is rushing past you to open the door and shuffle awkwardly some more.

You leave before Rose can do something even worse, and John trails after you as you descend the stairs to the ground level of the building.

"That chick is one scary motherfucker. What did you ever do to incur her wrath?" It's a rhetorical question and you don't really expect an answer, pulling out your phone halfway through to dial Dirk's cell. It'll be more like like thirty minutes, if you go by his average response time, but hell would've frozen over before you would make that common knowledge.

"I'm not really sure..." he trails off as you both exit the front door of the apartment complex to stand and wait outside. It's just starting to get dark and you're looking at the sky trying to guess if you can walk home before it gets to be full-on night as you find Dirk's number in your contacts. You don't think John is going to break the silence, but after a moment he surprises you. "She was friends with Jade first, and then she was just kinda everywhere? For all I know she's an actual magician and she worked some hoodoo witchcraft on us or something." He's toned it down from pants-wetting to a mere sweaty-palms with a bit of nervous-giggle, so you think there might be hope for this situation yet.

"I'm, uh. Really, really sorry about today!" He says out of nowhere, and you turn to face him. "I was kind of a dick. A major dick. And, um. I didn't realize it until Rose beat me over the head with a stick, so. I feel really bad about... that." John is dancing from foot to foot and wringing his hands and damn, this is painful to watch.

"No worries, dude. Today was actually, y'know. Not a complete suckfest, weirdly enough."

"Haha, wow, high praise coming from you! Jade must've really shown you a good time if you're not unbelievably pissed at me."

"Yeah, Jade's pretty chill, but I don't see how anyone can be anything but downright manic with the happies after being treated to food like that," you say with a jerk of your head at the door you just exited.

"Haha! I suppose not." John isn't completely relaxed, but he's started actually looking you in the eye, which is progress. John Egbert has gained a level! You are now a Socially Awkward Derp.

"I'm just gonna call my bro real quick, see if he can come rescue me from my tower or if he needs me to let down my hair first," you say, before you can descend into awkward-silence-ville, and do just that.

Dirk actually picks up on only the second ring, which is a blessing.

"Sup?"

"Yo, I'm at this apartment on the other side of town. Think you can come get me?"

"That is within my capabilities, yes, given that I am, in fact, a licensed driver, and have been for several years now."

You roll your eyes. Does he really have to be such an ass about everything?

"Will you or will you not come pick me up?" You are tired, and so the words come out sharper than usual, and you think for a moment that he's going to refuse because of it.

"Address?" Is his characteristically short response, and you let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Uhh... 413 Windy Drive," you say after a glance at the number on the building and then John, who supplies you with the street name.

"Be there in ten," he says, and then there's a click as he hangs up.

"So he's coming?" John prompts, and you nod.

"Yeah, I can't believe he actually agreed. He must not be working on anything important right now." You stare at your phone for another second before pocketing it and turning back to John. "You don't have to wait, y'know, I can sit on stairs by myself. Been sitting on stairs since I was a wee lad, I'm basically a professional."

"No way, are you kidding? If I go back in without witnessing the actual event of you getting into your brother's vehicle, Rose is going to know, and then she's going to rip out my intestines and strangle me with them! Her words, not mine."

You laugh. "Yeah, I guess she would."

You're both quiet then, and it starts to get awkward. You're about to speak to break the rapidly-approaching-painful silence when he blurts out of nowhere, his words jumbling together, "Canicomevisityouatworktomorrow?"

You blink. "Um. It's kind of a public place? I mean I can't exactly stop you." He's never asked before, so why now?

"Well, yeah, I know that! I mean, like. Would you... mind? If I showed up? I know I'm kind of an idiot and I totally get it if you think I'm annoying and stuff, I don't want to bother you, if. Uhh. You don't--" John seems to run out of words at this point, his shoulders hunched, and he shuffles his feet and looks up at you through his eyelashes a little. 

How the fuck are you supposed to say no to that? Damn cheat. This kid's face should be straight up illegal.

"You askin' me on a date, Egbert?" You say, just to tease him. The response is explosive, and a little bit precious. No, wait, you take that last part back.

"What?? No, I. What? No! I didn't-- not to say that you're not-- I mean wow, what am I even--? Gosh no, I just. Want to be friends! You know? Bros, and stuff! I just want to like. Get to know you better! As bros!! That's all, I swear!"

Wow, okay, you can take a hint, jesus. Note to self, completely not interested. You admit you're a little disappointed (fucking heartbroken), but it's probably better this way. If you're honest, you could definitely use some friends right now. You're kind of relieved he wants even that much, you were a total ass to him prior to today, after all.

"Relax, it was a joke. You can come whenever, you're not bothering me. I'll try to, uh. Not swear at you so much."

That must have been the right answer, because John's face lights up like a Christmas tree. A really blue Christmas tree, late at night, in the middle of the forest, with a huge-ass fucking disco flashy-as-fuck angel on top. You think there might also be sequins involved.

"Cool!" John says, and he's actually jumping up and down a little in excitement, is he twelve? He's still smiling as you hear a familiar engine, and your brother's fucking ironic as shit bright orange car pulls up in front of the building. The thing has the same design as the tattoo on his shoulder painted across the hood. So. Fucking. Ironic.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dave!" John calls with a last wave, completely ignoring the insane levels of irony your brother's car embodies, and you nod back at him as you slide into the passenger's seat and turn to your brother.

"Holy shit, Bro, that was actually almost ten minutes. Color me fuckin' stunned."

"What the fuck kind of greeting is that, little man? I said ten minutes, I meant ten minutes, give me some cred. Was that your date? He's already bringin' you back to his place, eh?"

"Holy fuck, Bro, that is not even close to what today was. It was not a date, it was a fucking group endeavor. Shit was as platonic as it gets."

"Do I detect a hint of resentment, by which I mean a huge heaping unrequited mancrush stomped unceremoniously into dust before it even had a chance at life?"

"Fucking-- no, Dirk, I went to get food with some people. There are no crushes involved, except for one that he made up. With a girl."

"Oh damn, you have a thing for a bro without a gaydar? Shit, he's not straight, is he?" Your guts squirm uncomfortably as Dirk hits way too close to home, and you give them a firm shut the fuck up, you do not get a say in this.

"Dirk, we are so not discussing it--"

"Aw fuck, man, them's the pits. I feel ya, dude."

You have to stop and reel a little at the actual unironic sympathy you seem to be receiving from your Bro. You can't help the look you give him, all what-are-you-on and zero gratitude because you are a suspicious motherfucker and Dirk doesn't do things if they don't suit his purposes.

"Hey, c'mon, I've been there. It's the worst. I'm not a complete douche, you know."

"Yeah, you kind of are."

"Hey!" He says, scandalized, and gives your hair a fond tousle, which you know you've told him on countless occasions that you despise with a passion. "Touche. But seriously, though. You need to talk or whatever, I'm here. 'Cause I get it. Really damn well."

You look sidelong at him, and he glances away from the road for a moment to look at you earnestly, making you feel instantly bad for doubting him. You forgot he had actual straightforward, non-robotic feelings. Apparently you can't do anything right today, at all.

"Thanks," you mumble quietly to your shoes, and he just chuckles and musses up your hair one last time without saying anything. The rest of the short drive is quiet, but comfortable, and you pass out as soon as your body touches down in mattressland.

The next day, you decide that you are done losing your cool over stupid shit. You are so tired of it, and you refuse to spend any more time being a fucking twelve-year-old girl.

You are so done with being a little bitch about every goddamn situation. No more wardrobe conundrums where you feel the need to be the Hurricane Davey to your room's peaceful seaside village, no more shojo-style doki dokis or sparkly animu situations with strangely coincidental breezes and fluttery gay-ass leaves. You are way too badass for that shit, and Dirk is more bishi than you, anyway.

You also decide it's time to stop avoiding shit, since you're being all reformative and personal-growth-ful. You have just met a whole bunch of people who were pretty damn cool to be around -- not that you need fucking friends to fall back on or something pathetic like that, you would be just fine even if you'd never met them, dammit, it's just that being at their place yesterday made you realize some shit. So now that you're all, enlightened or whatever the fuck, it's time to stop being such a big fucking pansy. Daffodil with guts, you remind yourself. Bright as fuck, Easy Mac yellow, fluorescent flower guts.

Yeah. You'll get right on that.

You throw on the first articles of clothing you find, absolutely refusing to spend more than ten seconds thinking about it, settling on your worn broken record shirt still on the floor from when you'd tossed it yesterday (you give it a mental apology and an oath to never be so harsh to it ever again, it has been nothing but a faithful article of raiment to you over these long years and only has one tiny hole along the hem to show for it, that's how badass this shirt is), and a pair of khakis. You stuff your work shirt into a bag, adding an extra pair of jeans when you glance out a window and see rain sliding down the glass in sheets, and then run downstairs and grab some Chinese leftovers out of the fridge to heat in the microwave before you leave for work. And you are one hundred percent the calm, cool, collected badass. It is you. You should teach a class.

It seems the heat has finally decided to visit another part of the country, the rain falling mildly as you leave the apartment, heavy clouds blocking out some of the harsh rays. It's still humid and sticky, and your hair quickly plasters itself to your forehead and temples, but the heat is at a level you can deal with as you climb onto your bike and pedal madly down the street. You've been sufficiently soaked when you finally brake to a stop behind the cafe, but a quick towel-off and change of shirt and pants in the back room leaves you almost dry once more. You hang up your damp clothes in your locker, leaving it open in the hope that it'll air-dry somewhat over your shift, adjust your hair so it's not hanging directly in your eyes, and steel yourself for another day of serving morons and assholes staggering quantities of caffeine and sugar.

You may be done being a little bitch, but your patrons will never give up being unholy levels of dickish imbecile and every variation thereof. At least you can be an asshole back in the privacy of your own mind; you think the universe owes you that freedom, at least.

You greet Vriska warmly as you pass through the kitchen to start serving the lunch crowd ("shitty afternoon, bossbitch." "you're two minutes late, Strider, and you look like a drowned rat!" "I am barely forty seconds late and you know it, Vris, eat shit, and my hair is fabulous") and give a tiny, itty bitty, barely even remotely audible groan when you see that Eridan is working today. Good for the lunch rush, bad for your last nerve, which is about all you'll have left after the first sentence out of his damn mouth, and you can already feel it dying a slow, painful death. You begin planning the memorial service, since it deserves a grand event for surviving this long. Your last nerve is a trooper.

You give Eridan a nod anyway, determined to at least make an attempt to start that day off in a non-hostile manner. You are resolved, dammit. You ask before he can make any comments to piss you off, "which tables are mine?"

He blinks a bit -- in surprise, you guess, you don't really give a fuck -- and says, "I got one through five, so just take six to eleven, Vris said she'd keep the last bunch."

You give another acknowledging nod, glance at your tables, and go to check in with the ones that look like they're about to start waving or snapping their fingers annoyingly at someone. The group at table eight look like real assholes, they're kinda loud and rowdy, and you're pretty sure you caught someone throwing a napkin out of the corner of your eye.

You take a deep breath, and head over to see if anyone needs refills. They all do.

 

The next couple hours actually pass pretty smoothly; the rain lets up, and your lunch rush ends up being almost as busy as usual despite the shitty weather, but there aren't any horrible screw-ups with orders or major spills or even any customers that are particularly belligerent. One woman with way too much makeup and giant, pink nails winks every five seconds (you counted) and tries to slip you a napkin that you're pretty sure has her number on it along with a fucking fuschia lipstick kiss (wow can you say cliche), but you manage to abscond before she can stuff it into your pocket. You get Vriska to bring her the check, and the day continues on, the incident minimized to an obnoxious but momentary speedbump in the smooth rollercoaster of the rad waitering experience.

As the lunch rush begins to die down, you notice a very familiar bucktoothed face appear in the entrance along with the jingle of the little bell, and for the first time in a long, long time, you don't let out a silent string of choice cuss words at the damn bell.

You're too busy willing your heart rate not to budge, because it is trying to pick up the pace and you are just not having any of that shit, that is not how bros do things.

After checking on a table by the window and promising to return momentarily with the ketchup they asked for, you casually make your way over to John.

"Egbert," you say by way of greeting.

"Hey, Dave!" John says with a shy little wave. "Mind of I take that table over there?" He asks, gesturing towards one of the smaller tables by the window, off to the side.

"Sit wherever y'like, I'll be with you in a--"

Your words are choked off when you spot another familiar, distinctly unwelcome face attached to a gangly body, hovering in the doorway over John's shoulder.

"Uh, Dave?" John asks, raising one eyebrow and turning to look behind him, searching for what caught your attention. "Do... you know that guy?"

"...Fuck," you finally manage, and before you can bolt for the kitchen because it has been weeks and you so don't want to deal with this, he spots you.

Sollux.

His eyes widen slightly in surprise behind his glasses (the same stupid kind he's always had, with the earpieces two different colors, how dumb is that), and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, uncomfortable.

That's right, asshole. He should be uncomfortable.

Your previously immobile insides erupt in a firey explosion of pure fury, swirling around the vat of acid that is eating away at your core, leaving nothing behind but chemical waste and toxic sludge. Sollux seems to struggle for a moment before making a decision, and coming towards you. His hair is a bit longer than you remember, hanging almost to his eyes, the back even longer and just as messy and haphazard as ever, with his twin sets of horns poking sharply from the top of his head.

He ignores John completely, coming to stand in front of you.

"...Dave," he says. Like he knows you, like he expects... what? A friendly fucking greeting? After the last time you two spoke, when he'd been in the middle of sucking face with Eridan? Yeah-fucking-right.

"I'm busy," you say sharply, turning back to John. "Can I get you a drink, John?"

You are trying your damnedest to just ignore Sollux, who made an indignant little noise in the back of his throat, and to focus on John. But Sollux's presence is like a gravity field, drawing in your awareness, and you can feel him there, pulling, tugging at the corner of your attention as he stares at you. You just want him to fucking leave. Why is he still standing there?

"Uh... w-water is fine, thanks," John says, glancing anxiously between you and Sollux.

"Right. Have a seat, I'll be right back," you tell him, and you can hear the tension in your voice as you look everywhere, anywhere but at Sollux, who is looking more and more scandalized by the minute.

You turn to walk away, and Sollux follows. "Dave!" he finally blurts out, and you turn on him suddenly, practically coming nose-to-nose with him.

"I said. I'm busy," you snarl, your tone all ice. Chillier than the arctic, you are zero-degrees-Kelvin levels of cold, here. And the dude can't seem to take a hint.

"Dave, what's going...?" John says nervously, eyes shifting between you and Sollux, but he's cut off halfway through his sentence.

"I just want to talk to you for a second," Sollux says, all desperation, his lisp just as bad as you remember. It hurts, his voice tearing away at your resistance. You ache to give in, to do whatever he wants, anything to stop him from sounding like that. Stupid, so fucking stupid, all of it. Too bad you can't have a fairy godmother like Cinderella and wish away your fucking annoying-- whateverheis. You would totally go to some fucking awful ball if it meant you could escape your shitty life and all the stupid reminders of its complete and total failure and your spectacular levels of fuckup-itude. Especially if it means turning him into an animal, you think that would definitely be the icing on the metaphorical cake, here -- you might even be willing to put up with a tacky, glittery tent-dress. He can be a leech, and serve no purpose other than to be gross and irrelevant to the story. And suck. He will suck a lot.

In a gross, blood-mooching way. That's it. Because he is a leech and that's what leeches do.

"Fuck you, Sol," you growl, and try to disappear into the kitchen, but he grabs your wrist. He's not strong, exactly, but you haven't been training as hard with Dirk recently, and he's not using his psionics. You don't want to make a scene in Vriska's restaurant, either. She'll put up with a lot of shit from you, but not if it means upset customers and losing business. And you need this job.

John is hovering around the two of you, unsure of what to do, looking at you for answers. You wish he'd just leave, too. You can't deal with this. Your stomach is doing a contortionist act, your skin itching with the desire to bolt, to get away, to morph into someone else, anything. You will take any escape if it means not having to endure a conversation with Sollux right now, he can't corner you like this, whywon'thefuckingleave?

"Dave, wait a minute, for fuck's sake!"

"Let go of me." You glare at him, but it's completely useless; his grip doesn't slacken, not even a little. You are getting very concerned that there won't be a quiet way out of this, and the other patrons are starting to glance over, curious.

"Dave, talk to me!" John begs, and it's like they're double-teaming you, two pleading looks, two beseeching faces, and you almost break into pieces right there. It's not fair, you can't do everything, you can't give them both what they want, there isn't enough of you, you don't know what to do. You can't quite choke back a sob as it claws its way out of your chest, your other hand flying up to try to belatedly smother the sound.

"What's going on?"

Your stomach drops as Vriska's voice cuts through the babble that has risen in the small restaurant, and she makes her way over to the three of you, Eridan on her heels. Shitshitfuckshittingdammit, fucking useless shitty luck, you do not need her getting pissed at you for causing a scene. At least Sollux let go of your wrist when he heard her voice, but you are still so unbelievably screwed and barely holding back angry, frustrated, hopeless tears.

"Nothing, Captor is here to see Ampora," you tell her in a rush, trying to hold your voice together, keep it from breaking, because steady is completely fucking unattainable right now. You stare off to the side, silently pleading for Sollux to take your lead, for Vriska not to kick you out on your ass for disturbing customers, like she probably should.

"I think you should leave," Vriska says instead, and your eyes snap up to her face, trying to figure out what she's doing, why she isn't dragging you away to yell at you for being a useless fucking idiot. She's staring hard at Sollux, her expression livid.

"I j--"

"Out," Vriska snaps, and Sollux actually flinches. You stare at Vriska in awe; she is seriously terrifying when she wants to be, her patch obscuring one colbalt eye, fangs bared in a snarl. "You're bothering the other customers," she hisses.

Those teeth are fucking sharp.

Sollux nods, apparently lost for words, and scurries out the door. Then Vriska turns to John, who looks like he still wants answers.

"You, too," Vriska says, no longer snarling, her tone changing from venomous to flat and unsympathetic. She stares John down until, with a "yes, ma'am, sorry to, uh-- s-sorry," and one last, confused glance at you, he leaves as well.

You would feel bad, you suppose you should, when you told him he could come today, except all you can feel right now is relief. Your shoulders are heavy with it, your chest hollow, like John and Sollux took your insides and remaining ability to emote with them when they left. 

You're not sure whether to feel grateful, or bereft. Your missing insides and emotions both seem far away and remarkably unimportant at the moment.

"C'mon," Vriska says, taking your arm lightly, and your awareness returns with a snap. This is it, she's finally gonna let you have it, you're fired, that's it. You should've known you couldn't escape that easily.

She opens the door to the kitchen, snapping a "back to work!" at Eridan on the way by when he opens his mouth to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Vriska, I shouldn't have let him in here, I didn't mean to cause a scene, I swear I wouldn't've come in today if I knew he--"

"Shut up," she snaps, and your teeth clack together with the force of your jaw as it clamps shut. "I don't fucking care about that, alright? Sollux is a fucking bulge, I am going to tear him to pieces next time I see him, I swear. Just stay here until you get your act together, got it? There's been enough of a scene in here today, I don't need you starting a waterworks show in front of my customers." She pauses, looking hard at you for a moment, before giving your arm a brief squeeze and grabbing a pitcher of water on her way back out to the dining area. "If you're too much of a pansy to finish your shift, you owe me extra hours next weekend!" She calls before the door shuts with a click behind her.

Vriska... is going covering your tables. So you can chill in the back.

Vriska just kicked two potentially paying customers out of her cafe. 

This information seems to short-circuit your brain, so you flop down on the floor and focus on your breathing for a few minutes, determined not to leave your post for much longer than that, there is no way you're gonna repay Vris by leaving in the middle of your shift.

You have the best fucking boss.

 

You stay until closing today, even though that's usually Eridan's responsibility. You wordlessly help, wiping down half of the tables when he gets the rags out, restocking napkin dispensers and salt shakers on the tables as he mops the floor. It's so quiet, nearly peaceful, with all the customers gone. Every sound you make, the scraping of chairs on the floor and footsteps on the tile, all bounce around the room, drawing attention now that they're not drowned out by the chatter of voices or the noise from the kitchen. You're not sure why Eridan hasn't said anything about the scene earlier, you're just extremely grateful and decide not to question it.

"So Vris is probably gonna turn me into chum for sayin' this but I feel like I gotta." You cringe; of course he couldn't just let it go. You're not sure why you ever thought it was a thing that could happen. You must be fucking stupid.

"Eridan," you say, harsh and short -- A warning that you really, really hope he picks up on, clueless as he is.

You were stupid to think that. That thought was dumb and you should be ashamed for thinking it.

"I'm not really sure what that was between the two a you earlier, but I can tell it wasn't the height a amicable, an'. I can tell him not to come here anymore, if you want me to, I am feelin' that fuckin' generous."

You frown. This was not quite what you were expecting.

"You guys were friends before an' I didn't know it would be a thing, he didn't say..." Eridan kind of trails off, staring at the wall and blatantly avoiding your gaze. "I completely was under the impression that the two a you were like, subtle shades a pale, but if there was somethin' ruddy goin' on... well, I know all about when your flushcrush goes an' gets to startin' relations with a troll that ain't you. So I'll tell him to back the fuck off."

Eridan pauses then, with a slight grimace, before he continues. "He is Sol, though. So there's a pretty fuckin' high probability that it'll have no effect at all. Not much gets through that thick think pan a his."

You're not entirely clear on troll lingo, as many times as Sollux tried to explain it to you (Sollux should never, ever be a teacher, he always left you ten times more confused and feeling like the stupidest dumbfuck whenever he tried, it was horrible) but you think that Eridan is trying to... help.

You and Eridan are always dicks to each other, this makes less than no sense. This makes negative sense, the kind of sense that lowers IQs by existing because of how it creates a black hole that is tuned to the frequency of sense and understanding, drawing it in and sending it to some unknown corner of the universe. This is how little sense it makes.

"Uh."

You are the master wordsmith, it is you. People should be throwing awards at your feet for shit like this, it's all kinds of legendary.

"No need to get all appreciative or nothin', I won't be makin' this a habit, after all you are a scumblooded human asshole that I strongly dislike. Don't forget the lights an' shit when you leave."

Eridan sweeps out in what he probably thinks is the height of dramatics. Your brain is still trying to reconnect, so you haven't formed an opinion on it yet, and you turn back to finish cleaning up so you can go home because you should probably be getting hungry right about now. Yes, you think that sounds normal, like a normal thought that you should be having around 5:27pm, since that's what time it is right now.

You're so out of it and reluctant to begin paying attention to things that you don't even notice John waiting by your bike until you're standing right in front of him. You jerk back in surprise, trying to figure out how you got to this spot, standing in front of him, without noticing. You kind of wish invisibility cloaks were a thing, because you are tired as shit. How much wibbly emotional overload can one average Dave handle in a day? You think you're about to find out, because it can't be much more.

So much for quitting the bitchfest tendency you've been nursing to unhealthy maturity. You wonder how much you can link your decline of cool directly to one John Egbert's influence. The evidence is piling up, here.

"My bad about earlier," you sigh, pinching the space between your eyes as you feel a headache building. John is giving you the sad puppy look, and it's kind of messing with your system. In equal parts, you want to console him, and go to sleep right on the pavement. you think you might also want to slap him? That's in there, too. It's not helping the headache.

"Oh gosh, Dave, you don't have to apologize!" John flails his hands dangerously close to your shades, but you can't be bothered to put the effort into backing up. You are pretty much relying on your bike to keep upright at this point. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you looked really upset earlier."

You snort. Upset is pretty drastic understatement.

"Um, Dave, you're kinda... swaying a little." You notice it's true when John lays a hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. The pressure behind your eyes is building, staring to poke uncomfortably at your brain, and it is starting to make thinking take effort.

"I'm, uh. Long day," you mutter. "Look, I'm fine, I just really want to go home."

"Yeah, of course!" John says, but he still hasn't moved his hand from your shoulder. "Can I at least drive you or something?"

You open your mouth to protest, but John keeps talking before you can get any sound out. "You're like, barely awake, dude, you will totally get hit by a car and die. There's no way I'm letting you ride your stupid bike home, that is not something that friends let each other do, and hospitals are the worst! They smell bad and doctors don't speak English like normal people and the nurses are never as hot as they are in the movies, it's totally not fair. I won't even ask any questions, really! I'll be totally silent the whole ride, we don't have to talk at all." John mimes zipping his lips shut with the hand that is not currently on your shoulder, and you just give up and nod at him. His logic is sound, after all, and you lack the necessary brainpower for a proper counterargument at this particular point in time.

"Great!" John picks up your bike and brings it over to his car, which, it turns out, is tiny. It's light blue and a two-door and minuscule. You both kind of stare at it blankly for a minute in silence before John slowly lowers your bike to the ground.

"Dude, my bike is not gonna fit in that. I can just. Call Dirk, or something, it's no big deal."

"No way, it's fine! you have a lock, right? I'll just... trade cars with Jade or something, she can totally fit it. Or I can drive you in again for your next shift! I am not giving up this easily, dude."

John is frowning at you in a very determined way, and you are too tired to figure this out. You suppose there's always the option of walking. You shrug, and get into the passenger seat of John's little car, and he slides into the other side a moment later. It smells like pine, probably one of those awful air fresheners, but it's not making your headache worse so you suppose that's a blessing. Your eyes slide closed and you rest your head against the smooth coolness of the windshield, which dulls some of the throbbing as long as John avoids the major potholes.

John stays true to his word, remaining silent for the whole five minute drive. You wonder if it's some kind of record for him, and then feel guilty because that was kind of mean. It's not like the talking bothers you; if anything, it's actually kind of the opposite. Usually John's chatter is soothing in a way; he doesn't yammer on about nothing or about how spectacularly dumb people are like you do, and he doesn't whine about how the universe has it in for him the way Eridan does. And Sollux... didn't talk much.

When you arrive at your building, John follows you up to your apartment, and you wonder if it's because he thinks you're actually going to pass out before you make it or if he just want to see the inside. He's going to be very disappointed, especially if Dirk's been filming today. You think it's possible he might become permanently scarred and never want to set foot anywhere near you again. This would most likely be very distressing, if you weren't this absurdly tired, so you just give him a vague, "brace yourself, this place can be dangerous," before you open the door.

Luckily, the kitchen and living room are actually quite pristine for what qualifies as normal in your apartment; only a couple smuppets shoved in the corners, half the sink is actually empty (the other half is full of fireworks, but that never changes, even when you try to throw them out), and the empty soda cans are restricted to cluttering the table instead of the entire floor along with various chairs and other furniture. you turn to John, who is glancing around curiously after your ominous comment.

"Look, I made it, I will now be crashing on that there couch for the foreseeable future. I would offer you a soda or something but I think I'll be asleep before you can finish it," you tell him, shrugging apologetically.

"Haha, no worries dude, I'm the one that bullied you into letting me drive you home!" He grins sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his head, which makes his hair stick up more. It's still precious, even though you are barely coherent. You wonder if he would ever let you play with his hair, if that's a thing that "bros" are allowed to do.

"Um, so, get lots of rest! Then you can go back to using proper profanity at me, and I can tease you relentlessly." John grins wide enough to show off his front teeth in all their glory, and you can't help chuckling a little at how absurd he is.

"Sure thing," you nod, and then nearly stop breathing because John throws his arms around you and brings you into a warm hug. You barely register what's going on before he lets go, mumbling, "sorry, you looked like you needed one." With one last cheerful "See you!" and a wave, he disappears out the door, leaving you standing there with your cheeks slightly warmer than normal, and an indignant voice in the back of your head that informs you, he's fucking taller than me. Asshole. It's like he gave you a fucking drive-by hug, knocked you right over, shattered glass everywhere, and didn't even stop to give you his insurance.

You don't even remember wandering over to the couch, and you are asleep as soon as your face makes contact with the cushion, for the second day running. People are just plain exhausting.

You wake up the following morning to a death threat from your boss.

-- sent at 8:14 am from Vriska -- 

8f you so much as contempl8 showing up at w8rk today mr strider, i will h8ve you stoned for insubordin8tion!!!!!!!! and not the giggly h8ppy k8nd, the throw-rocks-at-y8u-until-you-die kind!!  i d8n't w8nt to see your dumb f8ce until tomorrow afternoon, 12pm at the earliest. H8ve a h8rrible day, b8lgeface. :::;D

You groan a little to yourself, sure that she's going to make you pay for this somehow, at some point in the future, but decide you may as well utilize your time off. You do all of this while conveniently ignoring the tightening that happens in your throat and chest, which is making breathing a shade more difficult than normal. You, after all, are way to rad to be emotional over your boss giving you the day off. Or stoned for showing up, that also would not be rad in the slightest. The world would be severely deprived without your sick beats, a scenario which simply cannot be allowed to happen. So you guess you're not working today.

You roll over and go right back to sleep, because waking up any earlier than noon when you don't have to is practically blasphemy worthy of Satan himself. Or you would, you suppose, if you weren't in the habit of being up so early; as it is you are now in a state of full wakefulness, and you curse the heavens for being way too damn bright before grabbing your shades and rolling off the mattress, shuffling down the hall towards the bathroom for a shower.

You take your time with the hot water, since it seems Dirk is still out cold and probably will be for some time, and recall that your bike is still at the cafe. You wonder if Vriska will inflict any permanent damage if you show up just to grab it; you think there might be a distinct possibility.

You're saved from having to make a decision when you return to your room smelling pleasantly like bottled ocean and notice that your phone has been pestered for the second time before 10am -- what is even wrong with people, and why are so many of them up (and text-coherent) this early in the morning? Shit is seriously fucked up, you may have to press charges.

-- sent at 9:32am from 5554347 --

hey dave! this is john. i hope it's ok that jade gave me your number?? well i guess it'll have to be, because she did! :B so unless you can go back in time and change the course of history, you can't get rid of me now! haha.

What the fuck kind of smiley even was that? Is that supposed to be John's teeth? Well, you suppose it's pretty accurate, if it is. Hehe. Buckteeth.

You continue on to read the rest of his (rather lengthy) text.

anyway, i am demanding that you make up for kicking me out yesterday before we even got a chance to hang out! i mean, if that's okay with you? either way, i am currently en route to bring you your bike, since it's my fault you didn't ride it home yesterday. so i'll see you soon!! 

The dude sounds even more cheerful over his phone. How he managed that, you are not entirely sure, because he achieves near-sunshine status in person without any assistance from overeager punctuation. If you'd been told this beforehand, you would've denied the plausibility of such a feat.

You should probably realize by now that Egbert and plausibility are pretty much mutually exclusive concepts.

You text him back a brief "cool thanks," since you can't very well send him back home if he's already on his way, and go to the kitchen to make breakfast.

You try not to think too hard about what's going to happen when Egbert arrives, so, naturally, it's all you think about.

You come up with several dozen scenarios, three ending with him leaving in an angry huff, two where he actually hits you, a few filled with awkward pauses and plentiful fidgeting and wonderfully prepubescent flickering glances at far sides of the room in an effort to avoid eye contact, and one where you shove your tongue down his oh hey was that the doorbell you think it definitely was a conveniently timed doorbell. How about that what a crazy coinkydink.

"Dave!!"

You are only mildly unprepared for when Egbert throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck in a brief, but firm hug. You only fidget slightly and get a bro-ish back pat in before he releases you and turns to wave exuberantly at his car.

"The bike is in the back of my Dad's truck, whereshouldIputit??" The question comes tumbling out of his mouth at high speeds in danger of flying off the track into the incipisphere, so you pause a moment to process before responding.

"Uhh. Bike. I have a lock, around the side, there's a rack over there--" you begin with a vague wave of your hand.

"Right, I'm on it!" John is at his truck with the bike in his hands almost before you can blink, you are following after him miles behind because Egbert is set to Turbo for some reason.

"Whoa, Egbert, slow down there before you hurt yourself. Or me. It is vastly critical that you do not harm my person in your supersonic burst of speed, here. Did you have espresso or something?"

"What? No! I mean. Maybe a little? I guess." You lock your bike in the rack where Egbert placed it and turn to face him.

"Dude, chill. You're gonna roadrunner right through a mural painted on a solid cliff wall at this rate and I will faceplant it in my efforts to keep up. I believe I mentioned something about damage to my person and its being very not cool. This still applies."

"Right! Sorry. No more coffee for me I guess!" Egbert giggles, and you take a step back to usher him into the apartment.

"You coming in then? I'd offer you a beverage but I'm putting a ban on anything caffeinated, which pretty much just leaves apple juice."

"Haha, I'm fine, thanks!" He bounces through the door to your apartment as soon as it's open, and immediately begins casing the joint.

"WHOA are those swords real??" His nose is inches from one of the katanas hanging on the wall in the living room, you fear for its safety and have to refrain from yanking him away from the sword by his shirt before he slices his nose clean off.

"Fuck yes they're real, what else would they be, imaginary? Striders are always real, man. The realest. Straight-up 100% concrete all up in this bitch."

John laughs at you and hops over to the next item, the turntables, which you forbid him from touching in any way shape or form and thankfully he actually listens. Then he examines your video game collection and by the time he gets to the fireworks in the sink, he barely even pauses.

When he runs out of things to prod and poke and inquire about, he finally turns to you and falls quiet. You wish desperately that you had a mansion all of a sudden, a desire that had not even crossed your mind for the duration of your existence but seems a highly appealing concept right about now, anything to occupy Egbert and keep him from examining you like that sounds just dandy.

"Okay," he says, finally breaking the silence and taking a deep breath, words tumbling out of his mouth again at lightning speed. "Rose told me I'm not allowed to make you tell me anything you don't want to, so I'm not going to because that sounds pretty dickish and generally unhelpful, but just know that if you ever want to talk, about that asshole yesterday, or assholes at your work, or any asshole at all, even if the asshole is me, you can! Or Rose or Jade or anyone, we'll all listen and not be huge jerks and stuff. Okay?"

You are immensely glad for your shades and their permanent spot on your nose, because you aren't entirely sure what your expression is doing at the moment. You feel the same tightening constriction that you did this morning, except about a billion times worse and also there is something in your eye, you think, and your head feels kind of full and slow and it's hard to use your brain when it's in a fog and also a pile of mush. Can mush be foggy?

"U-Uh. Sure," you manage, not trusting yourself to say anything else at the moment, determined to say anything that will get him to stop fucking looking at you like that, all concerned and focused and like he can see straight through your damn shades and wow can he you think he might be able to if he is looking at you that hard and jesus your face is getting really warm is it hot in here can you get away with opening a window maybe or something or would that be weird?

"Good," he says, and then, with a bright grin that is all light and air and no hesitation, "let's go!"

"What, where?" you stammer as he grabs your wrist and pulls you out of your own apartment, but his grip is loose and not at all constricting. His hand is also very warm. You think yours might be sort of clammy and wonder if it bothers him.

"You owe me for yesterday, remember? Rose had the perfect idea, I swear it's not even mine so it's like a thousand times less likely to be shitty, and I already talked to Vriska when I grabbed the bike this morning and she told me she gave you the day off, so you can't object!"

He stops at the car with his hand on the open door, and looks back at you with a slight frown. He's asking you, giving you your way out. You know you could turn around and walk back into your apartment right now with a "sorry, not today," and he would probably just shrug it off and try again tomorrow. You know he would understand if you needed an actual day off.

But you've been working pretty much nonstop lately, and you don't think you want to stay home today. So you give him a tiny nod as you climb past him into the passenger seat, and he grins so bright you almost have respiratory failure. You're sure that is exactly what just happened.

 

---

 

Egbert. Takes you.

To motherfucking.

Paradise.

"So... Rose picked good?"

"Holy mother of fuck, Egbert."

Music, records, albums, cassettes, and CDs are everywhere. They line the walls, they sit in rows, they tower over the heads of everyone in the store. Old, new, pop, classical, rock, country, jazz, bluegrass, Gregorian chants, every genre known to man -- they are all present and accounted for, in delightfully nonsensical disorder. It's glorious.

"Jade said you talked about not wanting to work service industry forever, and that you mentioned music, and I saw the turntables, and you haven't been in the area long so I wasn't sure if you knew about this place --"

"Egbert, you are a godsend." You shuffle reverently down the aisles, gaze flicking over titles and labels and covers trying to take it all in, over the posters that are squeezed between shelves and stacks of discs. It looks to be organized chronologically instead of by artist inside the respective genres, and the store isn't a monster. It isn't disinfected and sparkly and pristine, but well-loved and stuffed full of music and smells like... like musty paper and smoke, faintly.

"This place is fucking amazing, I love it," you mutter, not really intending to say it out loud, but apparently Egbert catches it because he shuffles and blushes furiously. It might be the most precious thing you've ever fucking seen, and appears to be giving you a lethal case of the warm fuzzies. You decide to drown yourself in the sea of delight laid before you rather than dwell on it too much.

You immediately find about ten different albums that you want desperately, but you decide to wait on most of them until after your next paycheck. You spend an hour whittling down the stack to a couple you haven't been able to find anywhere and buy them for an amazingly fair price, and have absolutely no power to reign in the grin that is splitting your face in two. Your bro would be ashamed, and you can't even bring yourself to give a single fuck.

"Wow, I was in there for several eons, how are you not bearded and old already," you say to the amazingly patient boy who followed you around for an hour in a music store and didn't buy a single thing, merely picked up something every now and then between watching you, saying barely anything. You wonder if he even likes music, and hope desperately that he wasn't bored the entire time. You have a tendency to get severely distracted when it comes to sick beats.

"No way, that place was cool! I've never actually been in it before, because I have no taste in music whatsoever, I usually leave that kind of thing to Rose. I'm glad you found some good stuff, though!"

He's still smiling at you, somehow, and you can't find any hints of irritation or impatience at all, he just looks.... happy. He's barely recognizable from the idiot who would insist on having your attention nearly constantly back when he first started coming to the coffee shop.

Except for the smile, of course. That's never changed.

"Yeah, they had some stuff I've been looking for forever. Should make my next mixing session a motherfucking blast."

You both get back into John's car, and you tuck your spoils safely down by your feet, and turn slightly in your seat to face him. You feel like you owe him, somehow. You stare at your hands for a beat before reaching up to push your shades onto your head, as casually as you can manage.

John is staring at you, wide-eyed, so you keep your eyes mostly on your hands.

"Thanks, John. This place was really awesome, and I haven't. You were right, I don't really... know much, about this town. I've been working, mostly, and not thinking about much else, so. Thanks. For real and shit." You manage a brief glance up at him before returning your shades to their regular post at the bridge of your nose, hoping that John gets how much this means to you, that you're not just saying it, or being sarcastic or ironic or whatever the fuck else people interpret your usual bullshit as. You're not really great with the heartfelt stuff, you tend to be pretty fatally allergic to it, so a pathetic mumbled thanks will have to do.

"Anytime, Dave!" John says brightly, after a moment of hesitation. If it weren't completely insane, you'd almost be inclined to think there was a waver to his tone, but that's ridiculous and stupid. But you think he understands, at least a little, that you're not bullshitting him. You hope so, anyway.

 

You both go to get food again after that, and it's pretty normal. There isn't any more hesitation or awkwardness on his part, and you're always your calm, cool, and collected self. You will gladly rip out the still-beating heart of anyone who claims otherwise. 

Except when people make amazingly thoughtful gestures like taking you to hole-in-the-wall music stores, apparently, but we're not going to talk about that any more, the topic has been thoroughly beaten into the ground with a multitude of blunt instruments, you think.

He makes horrible faces when you order a burger and proceed to fill it with chips and ketchup and pickles and even a couple french fries. "An affront to fast food," he calls it, and sighs in appalled disbelief. You think "masterpiece" is much more fitting.

You refuse to let him pay, but he tells you that he's the one who dragged you out with him, and you go back and forth with increasingly extended metaphors on your part and threats of numerous future repeats of today on his until you come to a stalemate and end up splitting. You refuse to feel hopeful that his threats weren't empty ones.

Who are you kidding. You are hoping and wishing like Tiana on that damn star. When did you sink this low, you are sure you were not this sappy before you met John.

He drops you off after that, making you promise to come back to the apartment some time so Jade and Rose don't feel neglected, because they were horribly offended that you were making extra time for John and not them. You tell him they have to earn their Strider time, that this shit ain't free, you are a hot commodity. He says they'll all see you for dinner tomorrow after work.

As you watch him drive off, there's a familiar warmth churning away at the base of your spine, in that spot on the underside of your belly that is completely out of your reach and hideously vulnerable. You know the danger signs, you're painfully familiar with the exact place you're headed, and yet you are powerless. There is no escaping Hurricane Egbert, with his dark, unkempt hair and (notactuallyallthat)giant buckteeth and bubbling laughter that bursts out of him in a melodious explosion that lights up and decimates the dark corners of you.

You're drowning, and you don't think you have the strength left to swim back to the surface. It's darkness in every direction. You aren't even sure if you mind, anymore. This could very well be a repeat of Sollux -- it could end just as badly, just as disastrous, and you don't know how well you can handle that again.

But you think that maybe, you don't really have a say in the matter anymore.

It's been a whole month since your and John's little brotime excursion, and you are ready to tear your hair out by the roots.

John “Blushing Virgin” Egbert can't take a motherfucking hint.

You've utilized every kind of innuendo your excessively overactive brain could fathom. You've insinuated, teased, mocked, and outright propositioned Egbert on just about every outing (each with various degrees of exclusivity and romantic atmosphere, from a group minigolf excursion to candlelit dinner dates), and he continues to be the thickest of oblivious dolts.

You cannot even think of a proper metaphor for how unbelievably obtuse he is.

He's made you resort to using the word "obtuse," for chrissakes.

You hate the word obtuse. It's a stupid word, and under normal circumstances you would refuse to even entertain the notion of using it. (Let alone ‘dolt.’ You can’t even begin to explain that one. You blame it on overexposure to Dorkbert.)

You even had a magical evening of epic bromance where you fessed up about your whole sordid history with Sollux the Heart Mangler. Everything from the early best-buddies-in-the-world stages, which led directly to the wow-we-have-a-lot-in-common-let's-spend-every-waking-minute-together honeymoon phase, to the super-close-in-fact-a-little-suspiciously-close that you rocketed through in middle school, beyond the hey-i-might-be-a-little-gay-oh-wait-me-too-but-this-doesn't-change-anything-right?-right confessions, all the way to oh-hey-let's-give-a-relationship-a-shot-wait-what-do-you-mean-you-got-a-boyfriend-what-was-i-exactly-then-you-fuckface grand finale, after which began the record-breaking Ice Age featuring miles of frigid tundra that you were still currently frozen in the midst of. You'd covered all the messy, emotional bases (albeit with your usual wit and deflectivatory nature because that is how you roll, along with making up words at your convenience that is a thing you do regularly because fuck english), and he'd given you the "wow, what an asshole!" sympathy rant and accompanying brohug. You'd even nuzzled his fucking neck. And what was his response?

"Don't you feel so much better having all that off your chest, dude? You know you can always count on me to lend a friendly ear, right?" And he'd given you his big, doofy grin (the one that turns your legs to a sort of gloopy mud-like substance which is completely unsuitable for walking) and patted you on the shoulder.

You think you might end up running the moron through with a shitty sword before you ever get him to realize your feelings for him.

You’ll try to leave the sword out of the equation if at all possible, though. Holes in abdomens don't make for desirable traits in a significant other, especially when you have a preference for said lover being alive. (Unless, of course, said significant other is a vampire, then it wouldn't matter so much. But to your knowledge, Egbert is fully human, so you'll try to abandon the avenues that lead to stabbing, for now.)

Short of that, the only option left to you right now would be a full-on, face-to-face, dead serious, now-with-90%-more-animu Love Confession. But Striders don't confess outright, shit's just not ironic, regardless of how many sparkles and fluttering cherry blossoms you can work into the mix. Nuh-uh, nope, not gonna happen.

There is no irony to be had in a confession, absolutely none. You would know -- you've tried.

(Bro confessions don't count, obviously. You know these things. You are the all-knowing king of social graces and stratagems, it is you. Anyone who says otherwise is blatantly full of shit and should be shot, stuffed, mounted on a wall, and filled with electronic wiring that forces them to sing obnoxious pop songs whenever someone is stupid enough to walk too close. A fate worse than death, by your understanding. No one should ever be forced to endure shitty pop songs for eternity.)

"What do you think, Dave?"

Rose's voice snaps you out of your distressing internal dialogue (thank heavens, you were about to get I Kissed A Girl stuck in your head for the bajillionth time since including it on one of your mixes, and you need that like you need surprise neural surgery for some sudden affliction in your brain. Shut up, you're not at the top of your game these days. You place sole blame for your game's slow and gruesome death on Egbertian persons and their complete social ineptitude and the fact that they haven’t fucked you yet wait what).

"I think you're a wily vixen who will take full advantage of my distraction to get me to commit to something that I haven't been paying the slightest bit of attention to," you deadpan, ignoring the scandalized looks from Karkat and Kanaya, who were just animatedly debating something that you're ninety percent sure you want nothing to do with. It was probably about either movies or vampire literature, which are both well ensconced in your don't-touch-it-with-a-ten-foot-pole-in-the-presence-of-anyone-except-Rose camp. (With Rose, they’d have to lobotomize you first.) You are so not in the mood for a shouting match with Karkles or a heavily sarcastic verbal smackdown from Kanaya.

Rose smirks at you, and you realize you probably just made a huge mistake. Damn her and the fact that within weeks of meeting you she can predict your every move. Shit ain’t natural.

"Actually," she begins pointedly, "I merely intended to see if you had any suggestions for where we might spend our recreational time this coming weekend. I don't believe anyone has prior plans or obligations, so we hoped to make something of an event out of it, and you, as I recall, have claimed to be well informed of all the ideal venues for such an activity."

You parse through the Lalonde-ese with well-developed efficiency, and before you have a chance to think it through, you respond with the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Well, Bro's playing his club this weekend."

"Splendid! I think this suits our purposes marvelously," Rose announces to the rest of the group, receiving an agreeable nod from Kanaya and thoughtful forehead-scrunching from John.

"An evening full of shitty Strider mixes?" Karkat says with a groan. "If your brother's abysmal fusion of horrible ear-splitting horse excretion is anything like yours, then I'm going to have to violently object in favor of preserving what little sanity I have left."

"On the contrary, their personal tastes and original mixing in comparison to the selection they play for the public are quite distinct from one another, or so Dave has told me in previous discussions. I hear the elder Strider's performances are ideal for relaxed enjoyment and, dare I say it, the express purposes of 'shaking your thang.' It has the potential to be an exquisitely enjoyable evening all around, I should think."

"Uhhh," you begin eloquently, rethinking the genius of bringing your new friends (and not-so-secret supercrush, shhh) anywhere near your brother. And a club environment. With dancing and close quarters and flashy lights and alcohol. You don't think you like this plan much at all, actually. "On second thought, no, his music's shit. We shouldn't do that. It was a dumb idea."

Karkat pauses and looks at you, eyebrows drifting upward. This terrifies you. "On further examination, Strider's fervent backpedaling is strangely uncharacteristic and highly suspicious. I've changed my mind, I fully support this plan."

"Rotten traitor," you grumble at him, which only makes him smile. You are so going to get revenge for this. You immediately begin planning how to arrange yourself a solid block of time with full access to his movie collection so you can switch every romcom title with something from John's Best of Nic Cage collection. The resulting explosion should be massive, and totally worth it. 

 

---

 

"Ready for a night of movin' and groovin', Dave?"

Jade is entirely too peppy for someone who spends a lot of time around you, you think. You grimace at her, which only makes her smile wider. She gives you a once-over, examining your wardrobe choices for the evening, and frowns slightly. "Dave, you must have something nicer than that. C'mon, where's your clubbing attire? You must have some, don't you work there sometimes?" Jade nudges you with her elbow, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. It looks completely ridiculous, and also totally adorable. You sigh -- there's really no resisting Harley when she wants something.

"I'm ain't trying to impress anyone, we're all just friends chilling at a club. What would I want to dress up for?"

"Don't you play dumb with me, mister. We both know 'friends' does not nearly cover your intentions toward a certain friend of mine whose name rhymes with smegbert!"

You fidget, and then immediately feel stupid and try to cover it up by casually fixing your hair. You fool no one.

 

You try very hard to keep your cool, and while you would like to think that many years of training with your Bro on maintaining a flawless pokerface in the midst of animosity has prepared you well for this day, you aren't quite sure if you manage it. Harley and Lalonde are tricksy friendses who have an unfortunate proclivity for seeing right through your bullshit with a level of accuracy that is really very annoying. Of course, that’s not entirely relevant at the moment, because your calm and collected persona is not, in fact, bullshit. You are totally cool. Ice cold, in fact. Think arctic, with a couple penguins huddling together for warmth. You are that chill.

You don't stare at all when Egbert emerges from his room with a fitted blue button-down shirt that clings in all the right places and shows just a hint of collarbone, his dark grey jeans also fitting a little better than normal (hot damn, Rose must've taken him shopping or something. You are so fucked). Nope, didn't stare at all. (The TV was off and highly reflective. That doesn't count at all, nope. Arctic. Think arctic, Strider, you can do this.)

You all climb into the car, Rose and Jade chattering away the whole time, speculating about what your brother is like, what kind of music he's going to play, who might be at the club. You're up front driving, seeing as you're the one who knows the place, and John managed to claim shotgun. Karkat is wedged in the back corner next to Jade, leaving a small gap between himself and Harley. You'd been informed by John that they managed to talk some stuff through the other day with only minimal yelling, but it seemed like they still had a ways to go. Judging by the way Karkat kept sneaking glances at her, trying to hide the way his ears turned red, and how Jade was speaking slightly louder and more than usual punctuated with frequent giggles, you were pretty sure they were going to be fine. 

You arrive at the club with minimal fuss -- a couple fingers from assholes cutting you off and getting mad at you for some unfathomable reason, aren’t cities great -- and park a block from the club. The bouncer recognizes you and nods your whole group in without a word, which you hope earns you some serious points with Egbert ‘cause that shit’s legit, but have a sinking suspicion that he didn’t even notice. Figures.

You Bro is on stage performing already when you arrive, so introductions will have to wait until after you are at least mildly intoxicated, which you think is for the best. You lead everyone to the bar and order a round, hoping you don’t do anything irreparably stupid tonight.

But that’s when you see Sollux approaching the bar out of the corner of your eye, and you bury those hopes six feet under.

Fucking Lalonde.

"uhh... hey."

"Sup," you reply after a pregnant pause. That pause was 8 months in and showing some serious signs of swelling. You haven’t looked up from your drink yet, and every one of your friends seems to have evaporated from the vicinity, probably to make their way to the dance floor.

You try to mentally brace yourself, fortify the troops, deploy rations, prepare for a long winter.

Sollux shifts his weight uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck and avoiding your face. Or anything above knee-level, really. He seems to be quite content inspecting the tiles of the club, although how he can even see them through the fog and smoke is a mystery. You suspect he maybe isn't actually looking at the floor.

"So, it occurs to me... well, a certain nosy troll that can't keep his fuckin' nose out of other people's-- I mean." Sollux flicks his gaze up at you for an instant before it slides off to the side, and he shifts from foot to foot anxiously. You can see where the heat and humidity of the club has caused his shirt to cling to his neck and sides. You would put him out of his misery, but you have to admit you don't hate the squirming. After the pathetic show you put on for him on more than one occasion, you think it's his turn to make an idiot of himself. So you wait, and let Sollux force the words out.

"I just--" Sollux cuts off again, grunts loudly in frustration, sighs, and runs fingers through the hair, finally looking up at you. He holds your gaze this time, steeling himself.

"I was a dick. And it was really, really shitty of me. And I kind of didn't know how you -- y'know -- but I also did, and I was a moron, and an asshole, and I should've said something instead of just -- and I'm s-sorry.” He trips over the word, but manages to get it out, and it even sounds genuine.

That’s saying something, with Sol.

Something in your chest loosens, and huff out a breath that’s been lodged in there for a really, really long time.

Pretty sure a museum would accept it into the archives at this point.

Oh yeah, Sollux is still talking. Whoops.

“I, uh. Well, you're a lot more fun to hang out with than Eridan is, the guy is a complete loser, and, well. If-- If you, y'know--"

"We're good, Sol," you interrupt him, laying a hand lightly on his shoulder. "You can stop fellating at my feet now. Apology, shitty as it was, accepted." You pull your hand back, smacking the side of his head for good measure on the way.

And you mean it, too. You know Sol, how he despises this kind of conversation with every fiber of his being, and he wouldn’t be here if he didn’t mean it.

That’s all you needed to hear, really.

Sollux's head droops in relief, his whole posture relaxing as he lets out a breath. He gives you his half-smirk that you know quite well (and still makes your gut squirm a little, if you're entirely honest, damn that boy and his attractive face) before he frowns suddenly, holding up a finger.

"No more rapping, though. Your raps are shit, and I will not be subjected to them any more. Ever."

"I think you mean the shit, and you're one to talk, you can't hack worth a fuck. You never even uncovered any top-secret government conspiracies, there had to have been a ton. Like at least twelve, and you didn't even find one. What a load of bullshit."

He punches your shoulder lightly, his grin even wider now, his crooked teeth poking out over his lip in the silliest and most endearing of ways, before leaning in close to your ear. "But, uh... I'm gonna have to put my foot down about one thing, Strider," he says conspiratorially into your ear.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"I'm afraid we're going to have to end our little tryst." You shove him away roughly, and he steps back with the momentum, spinning to walk in the opposite direction, cackling annoyingly. He laughs at you over his shoulder, and just before he disappears out of earshot, calls out, "Afraid I'm reserved."

You can't help but smile, glad to have your bud back. You really hated being on bad terms with him, and over something like this. You vow to yourself never be that dumb again.

And on that note, you feel a swell of determination and purposefulness. Things with Sol are finally normal again, but there’s one thing left to do before you can call it a successful night.

You, Strider, have a dork to seduce.

 

---

 

You let loose and dance for a while, in a loose circle with Jade, Rose, and John. Jade eventually breaks off to dance on the other side of the floor with Karkat, and then shortly after Rose joins Kanaya at the bar, leaving you and John alone.

It was significantly easier to ignore him (and that fantastic ass, goddamn Rose knows how to pick out clothes) when there were other bodies in between you.

Now that it’s just the two of you, the tension is rocketing up to cloud-level heights of strangulation power.

And judging by the way John is shuffling around, his arms drawn close to his body and his gaze flicking all over the room and yet suspiciously avoiding yours, he can feel it too. You decide it’s about time the tension took a swan dive into the land of broken and irreparable annoying social phenomena.

“Hey, John--”

“Dave, I have been avoiding you!”

You have to replay John’s words in your head a couple times before the meaning finally sinks in.

“I mean, not avoiding you avoiding you, but like. Willfully ignoring a lot of stuff? And I’ve been reliably informed that it’s a dick move and I should man up about it!” John’s voice is higher than usual, and it’s a bit difficult to hear him over the music. You wave a hand in front of his face to stop the word vomit and gesture for him to follow you, heading for the back door.

He grabs onto the edge of your sleeve as you lead him through the mass of bodies, and you are trying not to read too much into the willful almost-contact.

You lead him out the back into the alley, enjoying the rush of cool, dry air that greets you, and when the door clicks shut behind you both it’s finally quiet. There’s still a dull thudding that carries out from the speakers inside the club, but it’s soft and easy to ignore.

The quiet terrifies you, and it seems your brain has decided it’s your turn to babble like an idiot.

“So, you’ve been ducking my calls, Egbert. Tell me what I did wrong so I can fix it, I don’t know how I can live without you it’s like I’ve lost a piece of me, save me from the loveliness babe--”

“Dave, shut up!” John punches your shoulder, not quite as lightly as you think the occasion called for, and you snap your jaw closed. Where was that determination you had not half an hour ago? You back up a step and lean against the wall, trying to regain your composure and some of your injured dignity.

John closes up the distance you created with barely a moment of hesitation, stopping right in front of you.

You try to swallow, but your throat is suddenly very dry. You can’t help but notice there is very little extra room between John and the wall. You think he’s taken the not-avoiding-you thing a little far, possibly.

You’d think it was unintentional, that John just isn’t aware of himself and his surroundings like you are, but his face is a bit pink and he’s known the whole time what your game was and you’re starting to wonder if people underestimate just how aware John is.

“Okay, so, what I wanted to say was... I mean, you’re-- it’s kind of-- and I’ve been, well, thinking, and it seems... sort of-- oh, fuck it!”

John throws his hands up in exasperation, fixes you with a really intense stare -- his eyes are really fucking blue, and he’s still staring, what the hell does it mean -- then his eyes drop to your lips, and your stomach evaporates in a poof of oh shit what’s he doing oh fuck you know what he’s doing oh shit with a sick twisting sensation and then his lips are pressed up against yours.

There isn’t much force behind it -- you could easily push him away if you wanted to (likefuck you’re doing that no way john is KISSING YOU holyshit) and his teeth keep bumping against yours, but then something in you wakes up and you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him up flush against you, tilting your head in different directions until you find a better angle, and then oh shit.

John is just as enthusiastic as you are, and for every adjustment you make he figures out a little more and reciprocates. You both get more insistent and urgent and your skin starts to heat up an vibrate with how much you need more and wow you’re actually doing this right now how did this even happen.

You break apart after a lengthy tonsil-hockey session, both breathing hard.

“Sorry it took me so long,” John says, grinning, his cheeks dark red and hair a disaster. “I kind of freaked out a little.”

He’s perfect in every way.

“How dare you keep a lady waiting, Egbert. You’re definitely gonna have to make it up to me, there’s no way around it. You owe me at least ten million makeout sessions in penance.”

“Sorry Dave, I can’t accept those terms, I only have half a million makeout sessions to offer. What if I throw in some cuddles, and maybe a handjob or two?” He punctuates the offer with a leg brushing painfully close to your crotchal region, and you nearly choke.

“Fucking swoon.”

 

Rose finds you a few minutes later, liplocked and oblivious to the world, and barely reacts at all apart from a pleased smirk as she drags you both back inside, insisting that you introduce everyone to your Bro and swap saliva later. Kanaya takes developments in stride similarly when she joins you, shuffling up to Rose’s side to share a knowing grin. They smile affectionately and make teasing remarks when you give John’s ass a not-so-gentle squeeze, causing him to yelp, turn scarlet, and pull you close to him to nip at your neck. Which promptly turns you into putty.

Karkat and Jade are laughing and taking turns messing up each other’s hair and arguing about something science-related when they make their way to your group. Jade winks at you as Karkat gets distracted by Kanaya whispering at him, which causes his gaze to flick from her to you and John. He gives you an exaggerated eyeroll, mouthing took you long enough, asshole before Jade steals his attention once more.

The tiny twitch of a smile on his face when your Bro sees you and John is too quick for anyone else to catch, but you see it and groan a little internally.

You wonder if you were the only one who was surprised tonight.

When you all finally leave the club, dropping everyone off and making plans to meet at Rose and Kanaya’s the next day, you return home to find a note pinned to the fridge with a message scribbled in Bro’s handwriting across it. He hasn’t returned from the club yet, he’s still got a couple hours before he’s done. You crumple up the note and shake your head in disbelief, pocketing the small package that was taped to it.

Congrats, lil man. You’re gettin’ the D.

Don’t forget to be safe <3

You don’t think the condom will be useful for quite some time, but a free condom is a free condom, and Striders don’t waste free shit.