Your name is Dave Strider, and you just saved your team's ass. Sweet. After a particularly draining game of killing zombies on your Xbox, you left your room to grab something to eat. You open up your fridge, dodging more than a few shitty swords, to find that it was empty. As per fucking usual. You're not even sure why you bother to look in there. However, there is a single bag of what can hardly be considered groceries on the counter.
Inside are some bare essentials that Bro probably left for you to store in your closet, since the kitchen was no place for edible things. You find some bread, apple juice (Fuck yeah, how'd he know you were running low?), peanut butter, strawberry jelly, and- Of fucking course. A packet of condoms. Very funny Bro.
He'd been leaving shit like that around for you to find ever since you and your best friend of many years had started dating. For a long time, it'd been just you, pining after his derpy ass, but then somewhere along the line he'd started liking you back. It still took a while after that, but eventually you two started doing the dating thing.
Both you and John were pretty happy with this turn in events. Everything was going pretty well, in fact, your boyfriend (God, you love being able to say that. But you'd never say that to anyone… Maybe John. But that's it.) was coming over soon. You had just been on you Xbox waiting for him and quality Egderp time when you got hungry.
With that thought, you began to make your sandwich with what ingredients you had. This was actually pretty cool, like a treat for you. Bro never buys shit, and when he does, it's usually Chinese takeout. But hey, that's cool with you. Chinese food is the shit, and you especially love showing off your skills when it comes to chopsticks. After you made your impromptu meal, you head back to your room with the plastic bag and the rest of its contents.
You put everything away, because if Egbert saw the condoms, he'd flip. Right off the fucking handle. He wasn't quite at home with "butt-things" yet. You say yet because you've both been going further and further each time he came over. He's been getting more and more comfortable with you. Needless to say, you're psyched about him coming over today. After putting away the bag (And by that you mean shoving it in the back of your closet), you finish you sandwich and are wiping crumbs off on your pants when your phone chimes.
John's pestering you, and he's here waiting for you to get off your fat ass and buzz me in already. You smirk at your phone, replying with egbert we both know i have a fine body in fact my abs are so chiseled artists have tried to pay for just a peek but no i told them this fine as fuck specimen was reserved for one john egbert. Going off on a typing tangent while you buzz him in, you kind of want to make him wait just to piss him off. But you don't, because you both have important matters to attend to.
It's kind of awkward when you open the door. Because it just is. How do you even not make that awkward? Both of you know exactly why you're here and there isn't a smooth way to say it. You're sure if there was, that you'd know. What with being the cool guy you totally are. You gesture for him to enter, and he does, standing in the middle of the room as you close the door.
He turns around, waiting for something. Some kind of instruction. This is how it usually goes, it's awkward in the very beginning, but soon enough both of you get into and nothing else matters. John's still there with a look of "...What now?" on his face, as he takes off his jacket and placing it on the table near the door.
You would prefer to mess around in your room, but ever since that one time where he tripped over a cable on the floor and almost knocked your turntables over, you'd stuck to couch. You really loved- shit, you meant like. You really liked this guy, but you didn't want to put your precious turntables at risk again.
So instead, you lead him over to the couch and gently push him down onto it. He complies, somewhat eagerly, letting his body go down but lifting his head up to yours while closing his eyes. You lean down enough to reach his lips, staring at him through your shades and starting off with a light peck. You like to watch him and the expressions he makes with his eyes closed. Cupping his face with the hand not on his chest for support, you tilt your head a little for a better angle. It's sweet, and that's great, but you're a hormonal teenage boy.
You let your tongue swipe along his bottom lip, trying to coax him to let you in. He does so without much hesitation, just as ready as you are. His tongue meets yours and fuck does this feel nice. You're only at this for a tiny while when suddenly his eyes snapped open and he looked... scared? What the fuck? What did you do?
Backing up and letting go of him, he shoves you away. You can't keep the look of concern and hurt off your face, and he can't keep the look of fear and "OH SHIT" off of his. He looks away from you confused, rolling his tongue around in his mouth. Then his eyebrows shoot up, and he says in a strange kind of way, "Peah-nuts?"
Before you could respond with a "what" he was running to his jacket and whipping out something orange and blue. John ripped off the orange part and then swung it down to his thigh. He held it there while he turned his head to look at you, motioning to his throat frantically. The universal sign for "I can't breathe."
While he'd been doing all that you were just standing there like a dumbass. But when he gestured to his throat, your mind snapped to attention and you understood. John was really fucking allergic to peanuts. Or peanut butter. Either way, he needed to get to a hospital, like two minutes ago. And, either way, it was your fault.
Your name is Dave Strider, need to get your best-bro-turned-boyfriend to the hospital.