Your name is Dave Strider and you are the most important person in the world. You keep the evil at bay. You control the very situation of life and death in this entire world.
Your name is Dave Strider. And you are the Shota Keeper.
"Fuck you Dave," a voice sounds from behind you, and you smirk, turning and looking at your best friend, John Egbert, the shota you keep.
"I'm not a shota. Don't you dare try and right that for your essay," he squeaks in denial, crossing his arms and glaring adorable icy daggers at you.
"Yeah, yeah I know. No one must know I own your body a soul," you retort teasingly with a snicker, deleting what you just wrote. You can practically hear John roll his eyes. His stunning, oceanic eyes that twinkle when he's excited and makes your heart skip a beat.
Now, you won't write this down while the boy is behind you, but you've been in love with him for quite some time.
By that you mean fourth grade when he kissed your cheek after you got punched.
It's just escalated to a point where you still love him.
You're in your final year of highschool now.
Hey, some may call you a hopeless romantic- which you are- and some may say its just a phase- they're wrong- but you're still cool and everyone knows it.
"You're a loser," John mutters behind you, and your heart stops for a moment in fear he can actually read minds.
"Dude get back to work, you're the one that still needs to do his self-introduction for English. I could be doing something far more interesting than watching the back of your head."
"You should be thankful you can even see the back of my head," you mumble, feeling a cute and painful punch to your side.
"Shut the fuck up you asshole and start writing," he growls, and you lean back so your head is supported by his legs. He grumbles softly, before placing a soothing hand on your forehead, petting you a few times before he flicks you with a mumbled, "work."
At the moment the two of you are located in your apartment, John seated on one third of the couch and you taking up the rest of it, with your head on his lap. Your laptop is resting on your stomach as you type, not this of course, you're good at multitasking with thoughts.
You're not lying. You have pictured fucking John in a supply closet while the two of you were debating in front of everyone in your English class last year.
"Its coming along, but I don't think you can say 'ya feel me' in an essay," John mumbles, proof-reading as you go.
"Yeah, I guess not," you reply, changing that up slightly, "so what are we doing after I'm done? We could watch movies. Not your shit movies, but movies. With the movie thing we could cuddle and make out a bit maybe. Get to some tender sex after that. Or maybe we could play some video games or something. I got this one new game and its really great, seriously. Its like, you get to run around as this guy, right? And he does this-"
"Dave shut up you're rambling again," John cuts you off, and you feel him shuffle beneath your head uncomfortably. You look up at him and- holy shit he's blushing. Damn that's really cute. He catches you staring and lowers his head further, blushing deeper and you just want to kiss him but you can't. So you do the next best thing.
"Dude are you okay? You're like, tomato red," you tease as you sit up and turn around to look at him, facing him cross-legged, only to receive a punch on the shoulder.
"I'm fine," he replies but you can tell he's lying.
"Fine my ass, what's wrong babe?" You purr, lowering your head a bit a bit to get him to look at you. He just turns away.
"Nothing is wrong. I'm fine," he snaps, and you hum questioningly. That seems to get him because he rapid fires at you, "I mean, even though you probably don't know this you're just so cute and when you joke about kissing and stuff I actually really want it and its really hard on me because I know you don't like me that way," he gasps for air and continues, "and I've liked you, like-like liked you for a long time and I can't not tell you anymore Dave."
He looks up at you with those deep blue eyes and you can tell he's close to crying. Shit shit shit shit.
"Dave I love you so much please don't ignore me or anything because of this."
You blink slowly, before grinning down at him, an honest-to-god smile from you, and placing your mother over his in a gentle kiss.
Your name is Dave Strider and you're so in love with your best friend, and he loves you too.