Your name is John Egbert and you're currently in a trance.
You're watching, gazing more like, in awe at Dave Strider as he stood up in front of the crowd fearlessly and spat out raps and rhymes like nothing you've ever seen before. Besides you, his girlfriend, Terezi Pyrope sat, twirling her straw in a cherry milkshake as she listened intently, a faint smile gracing her black-painted lips. You can see her bloodshot, sightless eyes when you look at her from the side – her elegant red glasses usually concealed them. They're half-lidded and pointed straight ahead.
Dave had invited you both along to watch his performance at the weekly open mic night in the club downtown. You've heard him rap, but never with an audience. He was, well, amazing. Stunning.
You bring a glass full of pepsi cola to your lips and drink, almost choking as Strider changed his pace, his voice crooning softly to his acoustic guitar. He's playing a romantic sounding song, obviously dedicated to Terezi, which was sweet. He didn't usually show much affection towards her, which she seemed cool with. Who knows, maybe he was a huge sap when he was alone with her. The song was too adorable and romantic to be ironic. Terezi's lucky.
You shoot her a look, and her face has lit up clearly, and her hands have dropped from the straw to her face, leaning her head in her hands while she listened.
You look back at Dave and his head is turned to the table you and Terezi are sat at, the ghost of a smile on his lips. Terezi is lucky.
Once Dave finished his performance, he came over to sit with you both, choosing a seat between you both, and you caught a glimpse of Terezi's fingers intertwining with his under the table.
"Nice work, Dave!" You compliment, clapping his shoulder in congratulations. He was by far the best act that had been on.
"Thanks, man." He said calmly, giving you a nod and lifting his drink while Terezi engaged him in some sort of conversation, promptly making you feel awkward, like a third wheel. Terezi was great, and she was nice and all, but she would always make you feel second in Dave's books. Which you guess should be the case, and you'd think something was up if it wasn't, but you can't help but feel a little jealous. You accepted it, leaning back and watching the remaining acts. You couldn't help but pick on their conversation when Pyrope let out her high pitched, vaguely irritating cackle.
"Oohh, Mr Strider, ooh!" She fell into giggles again, and Dave let out a snort.
"But seriously," She continued. You turned to glance at them both at this point. They didn't notice. You look back to the small stage. "I can't come to yours tomorrow, I forgot I had an appointment at the hospital.."
"Jesus, why do you even have to go to those? You're blind and that's that, right? Surely you don't need them peering behind your eyes every month." Dave ranted, though his voice never rose above his usual speaking tone.
"You would think so." She grumbled, sighing. "But no, they just keep checking for whatever made me blind eighteen years ago."
Dave snorted again. You felt another pang of jealousy – she was the only one who could draw so much "laughter" from him, the things she said weren't even that funny.
"Who knows, maybe they'll find a dragon back there." He suggested sarcastically, making a dig at Pyrope's obsession with dragons.
"Of course, because a dragon hid behind both of my eyes when I hadn't even been born yet."
They both collapsed into ironic laughter.
The night continues like this until you get fed up and announce that you're leaving. Neither do much to stop you, so you head off, shrugging into your jacket and heading home. You collapse onto your sofa , flicking through the channels. Finding an old Nick Cage movie, you settle down for the night.
You dream of Dave.