It's a Tuesday morning and you're bored as hell and wondering why no one seems to have an appreciation for local businesses anymore. Your name is Dave Strider and you work at the local music shop downtown, peddling instruments and records to anyone who is willing to buy, which seems to be no one these days, hence your boredom.
You know the real reason. Everyone is too busy to play instruments, and no one buys cds anymore. All that shit is digital now. You don't even know the last time you bought one yourself, and you work around them all the time. Fifty percent discount still doesn't beat piracy on its most basic level. Nothin' beats free.
You're broken out of your thoughts by the chime of the bell above the door, and you look up to see customer numero uno of the day only to be pleasantly surprised. The guy is a major hottie. In a dorky way, that is.
You saunter on over to him, putting on your best cool kid smirk. "Can I help you find anything today?" Nailed it.
He looks over at you through his thick rimmed glasses, a legit smile on his face. "No! I'm just looking around," and he wanders down the cd aisles, looking through the artists. You follow him naturally because he's a good-looking guy, and he's the only one in the store.
He picks up a cd, looking at the back and reading over the tracklist, and you hiss through your teeth. He looks at you. "What?"
"Nothin.' That's just a really shitty band." He scoffs but returns the cd to its rightful place, moving further down the aisle.
You keep following, doing your best to deter him from all the terrible bands he tries to pick up. "I think I'll buy this one."
You frown. "I'm not letting you buy that."
"Seriously? I'm the customer. Isn't the customer always right?" He waves the cd around, and you snatch it from him.
"Nah, that's bullshit to make the consumer feel important. But seriously man, I'm not gonna let you continue through life with shitty taste in music."
He narrows his eyes at you, crossing his arms. "Fine, Mr. Music Expert. What would you recommend I listen to then?"
You smile. Finally a chance to put your expertise to work. "Well, Mr. Customer, I thought you'd never ask," and you beckon him to follow you as you move down a different aisle, picking up cds as you go. You hand them to him, and he reads the titles.
"I've never heard of any of these."
"Exactly, that's why your music taste is complete shit. You don't know anything good." You hand him another couple cds. "I recommend you become acquainted with those first. They're a good starting place for the beginning listener."
He rolls his eyes. "Who said I was even gonna buy these?"
But he does. He buys every cd you recommend, and he keeps coming back week after week for more. You're always ready for him with a stack of cds and a conversation.
It's week three when you finally get his name.
"John Egbert," he says, and you think that's a really stupid name, but also really fitting. Cute in a dorky way.
"I'm Dave. Dave Strider." And he smiles again, shaking your hand before paying for his cds and walking right out the door.
It's week seven when you finally work up the courage to ask him to hang out outside the store. He smiles, says he'd love to, and scribbles his number on the back of his receipt, waving at you on his way out the door.
You don't call until week nine, when you both make plans to go get some food.
He asks what took you so long to call, and you tell him you were busy with music stuff. A half truth. The other half being that you were too nervous to call. Maybe because you gained a little crush on the guy.
He giggles, fuckin' giggles. "So cooool," and he elbows you playfully.
You grin. "Damn right," and you shove your hands in your pockets so he doesn't notice their shaking.
It's week ten when you visit his house for the first time. It's a normal suburban house with two stories, a white picket fence, and a nice yard. You wouldn't expect anything else from the dork.
You meet his dad, and you swear the entire Egbert family is made up of hot guys.
He makes you both dinner and dessert, so much dessert, as you two sit in John's room playing video games. John bumps his shoulder against yours and knocks knees with you, and every time you feel as if your skin were on fire.
It's week fifteen when you kiss him for the first time. You're standing outside in the freezing cold waiting for the midnight premiere of a movie he was dying to see, and he looks so excited. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are rosy, the tip of his nose a bright red. He's all bundled in his winter coat and hat and scarf, and you think that there's no one in the world cuter than him.
So you kiss him. It's a quick kiss, but it gets the point across. He smiles at you when you pull away, looking a little confused. "What was that for?"
You shrug. "Just felt right."
You spend the whole movie with his hand held tightly in yours.
It's week seventeen when you finally ask him out properly, and he gives you a quizzical look. "I thought we were already going out." And you almost cry because he's so cute you could die.
You celebrate your anniversary every month after that, and you fall more in love each passing day. You think John feels the same, although you've never asked.
It's month 48, and you're still working at the same music store and John still comes to visit occasionally.
He walks right on in, making his way to the counter for your hello kiss, and you smile, a legit smile, telling him that you have a surprise for him.
He leans on the counter, a big beaming smile on his face and asks you whatever it could be. You tell him to close his eyes, which he does, and you take his hand in yours, running your fingers over the skin as you think about what you're about to do.
He doesn't say anything, just keeps his eyes shut as you pull out the surprise and slip it on his finger, but you see his smile grow exponentially as the metal slides over his skin.
You tell him to open his eyes, and he does, looking down at the shiny ring, and you can tell he wants to cry as you lean in to kiss his ear, whispering the question he knows you were gonna ask before pulling away. He wipes his eyes, nodding wildly and tackling you in a big Egbert hug, and you smile with him, hugging him tight and looking around at the shop that started it all.