So, uh, yeah. I've read fan fiction on here for a little bit now and I got really bored today so I thought I'd try writing some… This is my first one and I've also never written in second person before so… I'd love any comments on this. Well, here. Hope you guys like it!
It was just another night. Nothing would have been different; well, that is if John wasn't the most adorable little fuck you had ever come to know.
You are Dave Strider, twenty years old, and madly crushing on your derp of a best friend.
But of course being the cool kid you are, you would never let your completely heterosexual friend know this is how you feel. That would be un-cool. And if the constant repeating of 'Dave, no homo' didn't make it clear enough, John had never seen anything in you that wasn't platonic. You knew that. It would be wrong to think anything but that… Right?
Even so, here you sit on your couch in the shitty apartment that is your home, waiting for your friend to come prancing up to the door and join you like any other night. You are going to laze around and probably watch a movie; maybe play some games.
You hung out quite often, but now, as you began to realize your feelings were not going to subside, things became a little more difficult to handle. John's little quirks became even more endearing than usual. It had come to the point where, in many instances, you simply wanted to hold John down and kiss the ever living shit out of his buck toothed grin.
But you refrain.
You know that would only send John into a spasm of awkward flailing limbs and flustered expressions. It would surely ruin your friendship. That being possibly the worst thing that could ever happen, makes you weary of any attempt. Thus, you hold yourself back, saying that is what's best, and settling for a punch on the arm every once and awhile and a passing smirk here and there.
Still, it always hurts to listen to him ramble on about how he can't catch a girl, or be as big a ladies' man as you are. Ha Like you would rather be with some random chick from a bar than him. He has idolized you as this big guy who's too cool for anyone, and yet, you get all the chicks. It's not like you can help it though. They fawn over you. It would be shameful to just leave them hanging.
But, that's beside the point.
The real issue is how much you want to tell him; but you never will. He is your straight friend. Your adorable, it has to be illegal to be that cute, friend.
You have thought many times it would just be easier to tell him. He's your best bro. He would be okay with it. At least, that's what you tried to make yourself believe when you sit beside him saying anything and everything to hide the fact you're spazing on the inside.
You sigh and roll your head back. It hurts in more ways than one to think about these things; enough to make you want to rip your hair out. You rub a hand against your forehead when a knock at the door drags you back into reality and you pull yourself from the couch. Upon reaching the door, you barely have time to open it before the cold air from outside pours in and forces you to shiver. In the winter, you wished you were back in Texas and not Washington. Why had you let John drag you up here?
Oh, that's right, because you love him. Stupid emotions.
But, it's still always so god damn cold. Even in the summer it could never beat the southern heat you had come to both love and hate.
You quickly recover from the shock of the chilliness outside and glance down at the slightly shorter guy in front of you. All bundled up in a big coat and scarf; nose and cheeks red from the cold. You could warm him up. Pull him into and embrace and let him burry his face in your chest. Fuck, no, don't think about that.
You sigh again and give small shake to your head. Meanwhile, he's shivering and staring up at you with those big blue eyes.
"Dave!" John pipes though it's muffled by fabric. Giving a small tug to the light blue scarf around his neck, he frees his mouth and tries again; calmer this time. "Hey Dave. Can I come in?"
You step to the side and throw a dramatic arm to the side in a sign of welcome. "Sure thing bro, come on in."
He enters and looks around. He has been here before, but for some reason he always finds the need to search over every inch of the place. You just shrug it off. He has lived through visits to the smuppet infested place you used to live with Bro; and anything was better than that. Those things scared the hell out of you. Especially Cal. A shiver goes down your spine with the simple memories of that creepy ass thing, and you soon realize John is staring at you. He has shed his coat and scarf now in a simple t-shirt and jeans. Somehow, he is still attractive to you.
You stare right back, but of course, it can't be seen behind you dark shades. "What're you looking at?" Your tone is as smooth as always with an eyebrow perched above one of the lenses.
"Oh, nothing." He replies with a small laugh before turning and bouncing off to sit on the couch.
Fuck. He's adorable.
You shake your head yet again. Just try to get through tonight. A small sigh escapes, ironically of course, as you sit casually beside him and send a glance his way. "So what are we watching tonight?" Simple enough; not even a hint of tension runs through your voice.
John smiles sheepishly and holds up an all too familiar box. Fucking Con Air. "Fuck no, Egbert. We're not watching that shit again."
He frowns and your heart drops. You don't like to see his frown with those teeth still jutting out. It's cute but you know he's not happy. He puts on a small pout and curls his knees up to his chest. "Come on Dave. You know it's the best movie ever. You're just jealous."
You let a smirk pass. "Jealous? Of what? That I can't be as shitastically stupid as that movie has managed to accomplish?"
The frown deepens and he sticks his tongue out. "No, you're jealous you can't be as cool as Nic Cage."
Another smirk, but this time it is almost a laugh. Almost. "Fine, put it in."
John immediately smiles and lets out a stream of giggles.
Cute. How could anyone not love him?
He slides off the couch and crawls over to the TV, pushing in the disk. As his smile settles into a deep grin, he returns to his place on the couch and snuggles down into the cushion. The movie starts and he watches the screen intently like he hasn't seen this thing a million times. You, on the other hand, preoccupy yourself with staring at him. Just a side stare though; you would never allow your wall of cool to drop so far as to flat our gawk at him. Still, he somehow catches wind of what you're doing and before you can look away he sees you.
"Dave…" His voice is quiet and absolutely laden with innocence.
You blink and search his face almost frantically just glad he can't see your eyes. "Yeah man?"
"It's dark in here." Blunt. Egbert never really knew subtlety. Just another thing you had grown to find lovable.
"You're pointing out the obvious bro." You reply. He's right though. You had turned the light off before the movie started and now the only light was that of the screen. You surprised he could actually tear himself away, but after sending a glance to the TV and realize this is a part where not much action goes down. You turn your attention back to those blue eyes, rounding, and glued to your face. You're not quite sure what he's getting at, but you don't dare look away and miss any expression playing on his face.
He scrunches up his face a bit in what you can only take as slight displeasure. "Why not take your glasses off?" Stupid question. You open your mouth to answer but he continues talking. "It flatters me that you like them so much since I gave them to you, but it's dark, and it has to be hard to see. No one else is here, so just take them off."
"No can do. A cool guy-" He cuts you off almost immediately.
"Never takes off his shades." He finishes for you and it causes your brows to rise but nothing more. "I know, I know. But seriously Dave, I've only seen you without them maybe twice. You shouldn't hide your eyes. They're not weird or anything. I think they're cool."
You sit, silent, for a moment. Here comes another one of those instances. No, who are you kidding? This entire has been one of those instances in which you want to plunge into the sloppiest make out session you could imagine.
Quick, cover it up.
Before you can let anything else out, you give a small snort. "Of course they're cool. They're just too amazing for anyone to handle. It's like fucking buried treasure up in here." You fake a snide grin.
Oh smooth, Strider. Real smooth.
His expression only contorts more and he inches closer. "Cut the act, Dave. I've known you for too long for you to still not trust me." With every word he comes closer and you scoot away, but you're stopped by the arm of the couch when he's leaning over you.
"Egbert- Get off me." The usual emotionless tone leaks out, but still a hand reaches up and brushes to metal rim of the lenses. You jerk your head away, but that pushes him forward and he raps his fingers around them. Pulling them off in one swift motion and tossing them the ground, only to reveal your eyes clamped shut.
How did this happen?
It was supposed to be a usual night; just you and your bud. You had barely even enough sense to realize the position you were in. John, the one you have been crushing on for years is practically in your lap. But still, you can't even enjoy it because he's now stripped you of the only layer that separates you from the world.
"Dave…" His voice is soft again and makes you want to turn back; but you don't.
"Look at me." He continues, still only inches from your face. You can feel his breath and it's driving you crazy. Reluctantly, but almost inadvertently, your head pulls back and your lids lift on their own account. You try desperately to shut them, but they won't close and you're stuck, staring him in the face. Once again the buck-toothed smile smears across his face and you can't look away even if you tried. "See. That's not so bad."
Once again your body acts without out your minds consent and you grab his shirt pulling him down as your lips meet. It takes him a moment, probably registering what's happening, but he pulls away none the less. Searching your now completely exposed eyes, he has a puzzled expression. "Dave, I am not-"
"A homosexual. I know. Just shut the fuck up for a moment, John." You actually grin, and it's sincere but gone before you're crashing your lips back into his. Much to your surprise, he doesn't pull away this time and actually kisses back after a slight disgruntled groan.
You are Dave Strider, twenty years old, and hopelessly in love in with your derp of a best friend.