It's a warm, breezy afternoon in July, and Dave Strider is returning from his lunch break. You know this, of course, because you are watching him enter the store next door from the window of your place of employment. You watch Dave return from his lunch break every day. You just can't help it. You tell yourself it's just your mind wandering, that you're merely bored because there aren't any customers, but that's not it. You like watching Dave. It's something about the way he carries himself, maybe. Like he just doesn't give a shit. Maybe it's his shades. You've never seen him without them, even during the winter. Even when it's dark outside. There's a lot about Dave Strider that intrigues you. You've never even spoken to him.

Your name is John Egbert and you might have a little schoolgirl crush on Dave.

Someday, you think, you'll find a way to talk to him. Maybe he'll finally see you, instead of you just watching him through the store window. You wonder if he's ever caught you staring. You sure as hell hope not.

It's an unusually frigid, windy morning in September, and Dave Strider is just beginning his shift at the flower store, like usual. You, of course, are watching him as he unlocks the door and steps inside. You notice that his cheeks and nose are red from cold, and you kind of like the jacket he's wearing. It's red, and has a strange record decal on the front. Intriguing, as always. You wonder what sort of person Dave is. You can hardly even remember how you found out his name. Oh, that's right. You ran into each other once, outside the stores. Quite literally ran into each other. It must have been last December or so. You were carrying too many boxes of ink, which miraculously refrained from spilling all over the two of you, and Dave was on his phone.

Hardly an ideal meeting, but at least he knew who you were.

Or did he? Maybe he'd forgotten by now.

"Sorry, dude. Should've looked where I was going." He let out a dry chuckle, and you were lucky it was cold because otherwise he'd have noticed you blushing. "Dave Strider."

"John Egbert," you replied, letting out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

"Hey, you work at that tattoo parlor, don't you?" Dave asked, after the two of you had recovered from your little spill.

"Uh, yeah. You work at the flower shop, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh. Ain't manly or nothin', like I care though…" Was that…a Texan accent you were detecting? It seemed to come from nowhere. As did the only slightly-apparent blush creeping up Dave's face.

You tried to protest, insist that you didn't care what his fucking job was, but he was already gone. And you stood there and stared at the softly closing door of the flower shop like an idiot, completely dumbstruck.

Who was Dave Strider, anyway?

It's one of those days where it's cloudless and sunny, but manages to rain anyway. It's now March, and you're inwardly boasting over a year of pining after the mysterious florist next door. You don't really know what to do with yourself today, because you technically have the day off. Apparently, so does Dave, because you haven't seen him today.

For what seems like the first time ever, you leave the tattoo parlor while it's still light out. You walk and walk, alone with your thoughts and no destination in mind. Somehow, you end up all the way across town, finally stopping in the small park you cherished so much when you were younger. That same weird little spring-mounted pogo ride which you loved so much was still there. You never really figured out what sort of creature it was.

You stood there a moment longer, cherishing the distant memories you had of this place, before turning around and heading for the little coffee shop on the street corner. You didn't have much to do today, or ever, so your schedule on off-days consisted of finding little ways to distract yourself. You'd been to this little café once or twice before, sure, but it still felt alien to you. You'd barely taken a step inside when you froze in your tracks.

Dave. Dave Strider was sitting at a table across the room. He was right there.

He was with a girl.

A blonde, like him. She was pretty, and very mature-looking. She wore black lipstick and a black dress, with a pink belt and a pink headband.

You'd never even considered this to be a possibility.

Why not? Dave was obviously handsome. Probably funny. Of course he had a girlfriend.

Suddenly, Dave looked up. Right at you, actually. Fuck. You felt the blush creep up onto your face, so you did the only logical thing to do in such a situation.

You turned on your heel and walked right out that door and into the warm sprinkle of rain. You walked briskly back to the park and sat yourself down on a bench, cheeks still burning. You buried your face in your hands. You didn't know your crush was this bad.

Get yourself together, Egbert.

You chose this moment to ponder some major life decisions that might come into play in the near future. He saw you. You knew he did. Would he go out of his way to ask you about it? Or would he completely disregard it? You couldn't tell which was the lesser of two evils. Honestly, you were probably overthinking this whole thing anyway. Yeah, you probably were. You stood up from the bench, having satisfactorily proven yourself totally not obsessive. You started back to the tattoo parlor. You were sure you could find something to do. Something to keep your mind off Dave and his beautiful blonde girlfriend.

But you couldn't. You couldn't distract yourself enough today. Fuck, why were you so infatuated with Dave?

Probably because of his fluffy hair. Probably because of his air of mystery. Probably because of his freckles, which you noticed after bumping into him all those months ago. Probably because of his voice. Fuck, his voice.

Okay, okay, calm down, John. You buried your head in your hands and groaned. You never got this sappy about anything, not even your admittedly lame romcoms. Not even the last scene of Con Air got you this hard.

Time to contemplate your next move. Drop by the flower store? "Accidentally" bump into him on his way back from lunch?

Never speak of this and keep admiring him from afar?

Most likely option C.

Shit. He's back. How long did you space out?

You watch him from the window. At this point, you couldn't care less if he saw you. Embarrassment be damned.

Shit.

Shit.

He's walking up to the tattoo parlor.