Your name is John Egbert, and taking Karkat Vantas to Jade's soiree is the best decision you've ever made. That is because Dave is standing by the punch bowl looking devilishly handsome and you don't think your heart can take it anymore. Feelings, man. They suck.
Speaking of Karkat, he seems to be enjoying the party. He stands next to you, trying to delicately munch on a bunch of hors d'oeuvre (meaty things that makes you wonder if Jade, in a fit of not unprecedented irony, managed to incorporate horse flesh into the food). Karkat avoids eye contact with practically everyone but you, and you can tell that he is still a bit nervous about the party. You don't talk to anyone else but him and occasionally the girls, too, and you try to get him to relax and fully enjoy himself, because Jade spent effort into making the soiree into an "extreeeemely classy affair!" You like the touch of animal banners strew across the ceilings and walls. Very elegant.
"This isn't so bad now, is it?" You ask, playfully poking him.
"...I guess not." He grins a bit and nudges at you. You think that Karkat has gotten a lot more mellow over the years since you met him. "Fuuuuck, who made these? They are like fucking sex on my tongue."
"I don't know, some fancy and elegant Russian chef, probably." You reach a finger into his plate, and was promptly slapped out.
"Get your own food, fucknut."
"Oh no you didn't. You did not just refuse me a morsel of horse meat."
"What?" is all that manages to come out of his mouth before you smartly snatch his plate away from his hands, cramming a handful of those little things inside your mouth.
"John for crissake act your fucking age!" You laugh at his attempt to whisper shout and as an act of reconciliation, hand him a flute of champagne, snatched from a passing waiter.
"You must be thirsty, come on, drink up!"
He takes the flute and gingerly sniffs it. "It's alcohol."
"So?"
"I'm only twenty, idiot. Stop being an awful adult and handing the underaged alcohol, John."
"Oh, man, I forgot how much of a baby you were!" You stifle a giggle at his expression and hold out a hand to take the drink away. You're a responsible adult and, despite what Karkat may think, don't make a habit of handing alcohol to minors. "Oh, come on, it's just that I forget how young you really are, man. Give it here and I'll bring you a box of orange juice, okay?":
Honestly you should have been expecting this. You swear that you could see a throbbing vein next to Karkat's eye.
"OH FUCK YOU!" He flung his arms out, and glared at you, "Fuck you and your orange juice-"
You stop him by slapping your hand across his mouth. "Dude. Don't wave your hands around when you have something in them, okay?"
"Very good advice. I'm afraid that it's too late." A voice that you really don't like cut its way into your conversation.
The both of you slowly turn your eyes toward an extremely angry madame with the most pretentious piece of minx and silk dress. Her gown is splattered with champagne. Coincidentally, her name is Victoria Anne Fischer and the head of a huge publishing firm. Also coincidentally, she publishes Rose's novels. Wow, so many coincidences.
You should probably do some damage control.
"Oh, sorry," Karkat mumbled, "I didn't mean to do that, shit, do I need to pay for your dress? I think it stained-"
Not a good idea.
"Excuse me? Who are you to think that you can just waltz in and pour a jug of-of champagne down my chest?"
"What, no, I'm really fucking sorry about that okay-"
"Oh don't you get your delinquent tongue wagging on me young man! This is a place of decorum in case you haven't noticed, not the place for you to spout nonsense words!"
"Oh shit, I mean, sorry. Fuck. I mean no." He takes a deep breath, trying not to shout. "Look lady I'm sorry about your dress-"
"Oh whatever." She sniffs disdainfully at his coarse mannerisms. You really don't like where this is going. Karkat's vein is throbbing again. Maybe you can take him to some anger management lessons or something. "I'll take the apology. Seeing as this is Ms. Harley's auspicious event I'm going to let you go on this one, young people these days-"
"Look, I'm fucking sorry for spilling my drink on your pretentious dress, but you could be less of a fucking menopausal jackal's ass about this!"
You mentally sigh and laugh at the same time. This guy is hilarious, man! Shit like this is why Karkat Vantas is one of your best bros.
"What- how dare you-you uncultured and barbaric-"
You cut her off by wrapping an arm around Karkat's waist and pulling him into you intimately. You don't risk your hand by placing it anywhere near his buttcheeks (besides, ew Karkat ass).
"Sorry about my date, Mrs. Fischer!" You make sure to emphasize the word date, "He's a bit of a klutz, you can send the dry cleaning bill to me later, and we can find another gown for you right away!"
Your arms remains wrapped around his waist when Fischer slowly backs away from your tense smile.
"I can't believe you. What, not even wining and dining me and you think you can take your pugnacious hand and wrap it around my waist like I'm a goddamn trophy wife?"
You laugh again. "Oh man. Hey why don't you be my trophy wife tonight? I think there are rumours going around that," you drop your voice and whisper, "that I'm gay. We can totally dispell that!"
"John no. Just no. If I haven't cringed when I found your godawful het porn collection I'd think you're fucking serious."
Your cheeks fail to resist blushing. "Oh wow, I should probably find a better place to put them huh?"
"Probably." He doesn't remove your arm, though, and even leans a little against you. It's weird, and you totally wish that it was someone else in your arm. "Are you trying to make him jealous?"
"Haha who?" You're a liar, the liar is you.
"You know who." He follows your vision to your other best bro, a clear cut figure against the otherwise high school promlike table. "I don't want to see you looking so sad."
He's still calming down from his outburst but you could hear the softness in his voice. His light lime colored eyes focus on you with concern.
"I'm not sad."
"Yeah right."
You see Dave starting to make his way towards the two of you. He moves in his cattish ways, slinking from one part of the reception hall to the other. The light catches the bridge of his shades and his thin cheekbones, and you can't help but stare the the striking image he makes.
"I can be your fucking trophy wife for the night. Just so you don't feel like that one guy who's pathetically stag."
His voice is helping you breathe in and out as Dave gets closer. You shoot a painful grin at the stylish blond and Karkat rests a hand on your back, gently massaging circles into very tense muscles.
"Stuff happens in life John. Shit happens and you deal with them, and you got me behind you to help you clean up all the emotional trainwrecks that happen."
You do feel kind of pathetic, because the issue here is only a small one. The love of your life just doesn't reciprocate. That's all. That's not a large thing. You can have other loves of life. You shouldn't blow this out of proportion. Your heart shouldn't twinge everytime Dave smiles. You shouldn't look at his lips and wonder how they'd feel under yours. Shit happens in life but your shit shouldn't be big enough to shadow your life this way.
"Sup." His voice is breathy and deep, all the precise combinations of classy and casual.
"Hi Dave! You're looking fiiiiiiiine tonight!" You let go of Karkat temporarily to fistbump him. His knuckles knock against yours gently.
"So you're not going to introduce me to the grumpy dwarf you have in your arms?"
"Oh!" You smile nervously, "Yeah Karkat's pretty short, aren't you?" You turn to him, only to see a sullen glare on your "date's" face.
"Fuck off, I'm not short. I'm just fucking fun sized."
"That's what they all say, shorty. Size doesn't matter, they say. You can be an inch high, but it's what you do with that inch that counts, they say. Too bad the all the inch is doing is being limp and angry."
"Hehe, I think the two of you are going to be amazing friends!" You laugh. "Anyway, this is Dave Strider, resident cool dork and my best friend from childhood!"
"You forgot to add movie maker extraordinaire and genius."
"Dave, your movies suck." You roll an eye and go back to introducing them. "This is Karkat Vantas, we met in a coffee shop when he spilled a cup of frappe all over me! He's like my best real life movie buddy, and my date for tonight."
"Damn, Egbert. You got some eyes, look at that piece of specimen." You sense some animosity behind his words, but you can't figure out why. You simply shake a finger at Dave and put an arm back around Karkat.
"Dude, stop macking on my date."
"He's not fucking macking on me. The sleezy asshole is mocking me."
"What no. I'm not on mocking mode right now babe, and the Stride is already taken to be mackin' on a minor. Seriously, John? Cradlerobbing?" Dave shakes his head and you punch his shoulders.
"He's just my date for the night, Dave. I'm not cradlerobbing anyone!"
"Uh huh." He glances at Karkat and something must be off because Dave looks surprised. You turn to your "date" and see that Karkat was struggling to balance out his obvious dislike for Dave and his inner loquaciousness that needs to be compensated by stating in loud and clear tones exactly why he fucking hates Dave Strider and his douche glasses. Or something like that. You hope Karkat doesn't diss the shades. They costed a pretty penny.
"Woah. Dude we should get you some fresh air." You make a gesture to the balcondy. "Sorry Dave, but I have to give Karkat some organic oxygen so he can spout all the bullshit trapped in his system."
"Fucking excuse me?!"
You giggle because your friend is the funniest friend in the world when he talks and lead him away from your heartbreak.
You don't see the way Dave crumples the tacky paper cup in his hand.
You should honestly feel relieved that you don't have to look at Dave anymore, but you want to. Honestly, that's a big problem.
Your name is Dave Strider and you have a problem. Two problems. Maybe three.
You're pretty sure that your boyfriend is going to ask the big M soon. Maybe this weekend. You've seen the hints of a box and a receipt from a needlessly expensive jewelry store. You say needlessly expensive, but if you were in his place you know you probably would have bought the most expensive and classiest ring for ironic purposes. Or proposed with a ring pop. Yeah, John would look ridiculous with a- nope nope nope not John never John what are you even thinking about. You don't sigh and facepalm, but you do toss the crumpled paper cup into a trashcan angrily. Back to the topic. You don't know how to feel about this. You actually kind of romantically liked Chuck as a guy, and he's a cool friend, but marriage? The idea gives you shivers. Chuck's the kind of guy who dreams of the stable celebrity power couple life, complete with a marriage certificate, matching rings, homemade pancake and bacon in the morning and an entire new lifestyle. You don't think you're ready to be tied down yet.
Which leads you to your next problem, because the entire "you're not ready to be tied down thing" got you into this mess years ago. Years ago as in, when you were fifteen and decided to have an internet fling with John, then breaking it off in a few months because you didn't want to be tied down to a person half way across the country. You were the dick. It was you. You childishly cut off relations with him for a long time, then went grovelling back at his foot because you were the douche and not only crumpled up his feelings, but also drowned them in oil and set fire to them. You're usually not predisposed to remembering the fuckups you created more than a decade ago, but now that John's in front of you and now that that's a fact that isn't changing soon, you're kicking fifteen year old you in the ass, because god damn. If only you waited thirteen more years. You snort. Yeah, like that's ever going to happen in any timeline.
You guess that you and John just weren't meant to be. You've got your own string of loving boyfriend and exes, and he's got...
Well, the third problem.
Karkat Vantas.
The two stand in the balcony, and you see how Vantas' eyes are trained onto John's face. His waist is still in John's arm, and the two of them look like a picture perfect pair of lovers.
Just. Fuck that guy.