It's a date.

It's totally a date.

John doesn't even know it. But it's a date. You'd set yourself up for a date.

True you had already made it clear to John- not so much to yourself, but you were working on that- that this was, in fact, just talking business over dinner. While it was to be a very casual dinner, you had invited him. And you already put the bill onto your shoulders.

You're pacing around outside Donna's Diner, doing everything in your power to not tear out your hair out as you negotiate with yourself. It's almost 6:00- the time you told John you'd meet him- and with every passing minute, your freak factor raises about 5-10%. You're currently at 65% and still have yet to convince yourself this isn't a date.

Because it totally is.

Finally after a few moments, you manage to pause your pacing back and forth long enough to take a deep breath and adjust your jacket. You made sure to look at least somewhat nice- throwing on a pair of your reddest, most worn out tennis shoes so you didn't look too nice. As much as you like a classy outfit, you deemed it safer not to go overboard tonight.

You do your best to calm yourself down. The last thing you want is for John to catch you while you're in full on freak out mode- because freaking out is not a thing you normally do. You don't even really know why you're getting so excited over this and that's freaking you out even more. Long story short, you're an emotional mess.

There's suddenly a hand on your shoulder and it pulls you back to reality. The hand is a combo deal and comes paired with a, "Hey, Dave!" The voice continues as you turn to face its owner. "I wasn't sure I was at the right place, so I'm glad you decided to wait outside for me! I've never been here. Is it any good?"

The babbling voice, of course, belongs to John. And while you expected for his entrance to wind you even tighter, you actually feel relieved when you see him standing in front of you. Maybe this was going to be easier than you thought.

"Yo," you say in the calmest tone you can muster- allowing for yourself to relax. "Yeah man, this place is great. I swing by here whenever I need a good, cheap burger. Come on," you say, nodding towards the door, "let's go see if we can't get a seat at the counter."

The red stools set up at the counter are occupied, so you and John take a seat at one of the booths- not that either of you are really complaining. This little diner is, without a doubt, one of your favorites. It looks like it's pulled straight out of the stereotypical 50's; there's a jukebox, the floor is checkered, and the waitresses wear aprons over their brightly-colored skirts. Of course, it isn't just the atmosphere you love, but the food definitely ranks somewhere in your top ten.

"I recommend the chocolate milkshakes," you mention to John as he gives the menu a good once-over. "Those are great for dipping your fries- forget ketchup." You don't even need to look over your options at this point; you've been ordering the same thing for the past two years or so.

He makes a face. "Oh so you're one of those people, huh?" he asks. Though he's grimacing, it's hard to miss the amusement playing on his face.

"What people?"

"The kind of people who dip their fries in their shakes!"

You snort. "Well yeah. That's the best way to eat them, after all. It's fucking delicious, don't you know?"

John just kind of shrugs, eyes scanning over their rather large burger selection. "I've never actually tried it, to be honest. It's kind of weird!"

"...what?" you practically gasp, mocking something akin to offense. "Jonathan Egbert, I expected better of you." You really did. "You of all people should have been exposed to this years ago."

"Me of all people?" he repeats, raising an eyebrow at you over the top of his menu.

"Well you're kind of weird."

He grins, closing his menu and hitting you lightly over the head with it. "Shut up! You're weirder than I am, you know!"

Before you can counter with some sort of great, hilarious, witty masterpiece, your waitress interrupts you to take your orders. You just get your usual- a plain cheeseburger with a side of fries, a tall chocolate shake, and an ice cold Coca Cola to sip on while you wait for your food. John order's similar, but he piles on just about everything imaginable onto his burger. He is also without a milkshake until you tell the waitress he'll have one, too. That earns you a snappy, "Dave!" and an eyeroll, but if it means you can introduce your bro to the delicacy that is fries in a milkshake, it's totally worth it.

Shortly after your order's been taken- and you've been presented with a glass of cola- John pulls out some blank staff paper and starts talking business. Suddenly, you remember why you were getting worked up earlier and the tension starts rising again.

You cut him off mid-sentence. He was just talking about keys and time signatures- nothing really important. "Hey, dude," you begin, putting a hand over the paper. You kind of slide it out of the way and to the edge of the table. John watches you with a confused look. "I was thinking. Maybe we should take some time to talk, well, not music?"

His confusion visually grows. "What do you mean?" he asks slowly.

In high school, you had grown really great at bullshitting answers when called out in class. It was a skill you hadn't expected to ever be useful in the real world. And yet, you used that talent for all it was worth. "Well see, like, I don't know hardly anything about you, and you don't really know that much about me either, and if we're going to keep working together, I think that getting personal- no, not like that- would be good for our dynamic, you know? And especially if you're actually considering moving in with me, then we gotta know that one of us ain't gonna kill the other in their sleep or anything. Like, this is important stuff. Long story short, I want you to talk about you, and me to talk about me. Sound good?"

Nailed it.

John gives you a look that says otherwise. "So... this is a date, then."

"What- no." you say hurriedly. "I already said it's not a date."

He's unphased and raises his eyebrow at you once more. Wow, you're getting that more than usual tonight. "Dave, what you described just now? That's pretty much a date. Isn't that what you do on a date? Eat food and talk about yourself? Get to know more about a person you like?"

Before he can continue, you cut him off- panic rising a little. You hold up a hand in defense. "Woah, woah, woah. Now who ever said I liked you like that?"

"You did," he says without skipping a beat.

You go to defend yourself, claim you never said that. But then you realize that holy shit, you have said that. Only once out loud, but you said that.

"The walls in your apartment aren't exactly soundproof, Dave," John confesses a little quieter than before. He shrugs, trying to make it seem like it's all no big deal. "But I heard you talking to your brother the yesterday, and... well."

You're silent for several moments, and you begin to wish now more than ever the waitress would interrupt you again. She doesn't, of course, and you're forced to speak up. "...oh my god," you finally manage. You have never felt so stupid in your life. Of course he heard your conversation- there's no way that he couldn't have heard your conversation. Way to go, dumbass. "I'm so sorry, look, if this makes you uncomfortable, then I understand if you don't-"

"Dave, it's okay!" he practically yells, grabbing the attention of a few more of the customers sitting in the diner. "I mean, when we first met each other, you all but asked me out right then and there. I can't really say I didn't see this coming."

It's at this point that you've become convinced everyone else knows you better than you do.

John continues. "So... come on. Admit it. Was this a date or not?"

"Maybe? Kind of? Sort of? A little?" you mutter, your voice getting quieter with each phrase. You glance down into your glass, taking a sip of your soda from the red and white bendy straw awkwardly.

"So it is a date. It would've been nice to know that beforehand!"

You glance back up at him. "But would you have come if you knew it was going to be a date?" If you're going to have this conversation, then you might as well get some answers while you're going at it. You just hope you don't regret asking these questions later.

John shifts a little awkwardly, folding his hands on top of the table as best as he can with his cast. "Well..." he begins, twiddling his thumbs. "I mean, I wouldn't have blown you off if that's what you mean! And... I think I might like you like that. But I don't think I like you as much as you like me and that's... well that's not a good start. Plus there's the whole moving in with you thing- what if we don't end up working out? Then we have to deal with hating each other and living together until I find a new place." He looks back up to you. "It's complicated."

You hate this. You feel like you're back in high school confessing your love to some girl that doesn't want you, and you feel like this whole evening is just falling apart in front of you. You've got to think fast. You've got to put the pieces back together. Make this work somehow. You always do.

Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you wipe any emotion from your face as you had practiced so many times before. You take a long drink of your Coke, and finally, you begin to speak. "Well, it's like you said, isn't it? Dating is just a way for two people who like each other to get to know each other. So, let's date."

He looks like he wants to say something, but he changes his mind at the last second and hears you out.

"I'm not saying let's be in a relationship. That's not at all what I'm saying- what I'm saying is let's find out more about each other. Let's see if we really dig each other, you know? We don't have to share a bed, or hold hands, or hug, or sleep together, or anything. I would like to do all of those things," you admit, your voice cracking a little nervously as you do so, "but I don't think you do as much. But that's the beauty of this; I can change your mind about that for the better. We need something to do while your arm heals, anyway, don't we?" You allow yourself a small, small smile- pretty proud of yourself, actually.

John takes a moment to think, his blue eyes flicking from his hands to your coke to the napkins on the table to your face. "I think..."

He's interrupted by the waitress. She hands off your plates of food and your milkshakes, asks you if you need anything else, and goes about her merry way once more.

You're a little worried John might not continue his thought, but he does.

"I think that might not actually be a horrible idea. I mean, it makes sense for the most part."

Nailed.

It.

You allow yourself a celebratory french fry dipped in chocolate milkshake. John gives you a weird look, but you just kind of chuckle it off. You don't even really much care what happens for the rest of the day. Because this is now a thing that's happening.

Notes: Wow thanks so much for your patience, guys! And while I didn't get buckets of feedback, what I did get helped me a lot. So thanks again, very very much!