Your name is Dave Strider, you are twenty-six years old, and today is a very important day.
It's the thirteenth of April.
It's been thirteen years now since a day that you try constantly to forget. You saw heavy bloodshed, lost your dignity, excelled to exponential heights while at once fell torrential falls - you experienced trauma that honestly you probably should've had some fucking counseling for. But that's all in the past - green glitches and red stains forgotten and forced under a tighly-held rug.
This day is also your best bro, John Egbert's, twenty sixth birthday. You tend to keep down to living in SoCal these days due to your profession, while he lives up north with his doting wife (you wince), so basically it was more or less assumed you'd make the trek up to see him. Or well, the both of you assumed this - it seemed it may have slipped both of your minds to inform the Mrs. Oops.
You're standing at the frontstep with their wood door swung open, sun shining enough for your shades to actually seem mildly necessary but the Spring chill still biting at the bare back of your neck. Molly's eyes are alight with frustration as she huffs, tapping her feet at John who is hanging his head like a defeated puppy (no, come on man, it's okay seriously it's just an extra guest - seriously would she cool her fucking jets? She doesn't need to be so damn hard on him. You wouldn't be. You realize she may just be this way though because she's pregnant - another wince - and bitches get their little naggy moodswings then, yeah? Yeah.).
"I just wish you two had warned me is all!" she pouts, biting her lower lip, and you can see John's heart shattering - god he cares so much about pleasing her it's fucking sickening.
"I know! We've just… done this every year so we just kind of expected it?" he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his head while an awkward chuckle escapes (it's lower than when you first met, but still has a geekish height to it that would be so properly termed as "adorkable", if that term weren't even beyond irony's assistance).
She blinks, a more genuine pout becoming apparent. "But… you said you were with family last year, so that's why I couldn't take you out…?"
And he's panicking, fuck, the poor guy just wants to disappoint the person so important to him, and you know that feeling all too well, so you step in. "We were - his dad took us and Rose and Jade out, with our parents and shit. We've been kinda close-nit since some shit went down way back when," you look to him, raising thick eyebrows just above the golden rims of your sunglasses in a silent seeking of approval. He blinks, seeming relieved, and in that relief you revel.
"Oh," she blinks, those pouty lips rounded in perfect, surprised, defeat. "Well that's alright, I suppose!" she laughs a bit at you, before returning her gaze to John. "What exactly did happen back then? You keep saying you'll tell me when you're sure it won't upset me but… I think I'm ready now, John!" Fuck, he still hasn't told her about the game? You mean, you guess you see why - none of you guys have told anyone, because well, they find you crazy. But then again, John was the only one who had such a long term closeness and dedication with someone (or at least one with someone who wasn't part of them game, or knew about that dedication in the first place, you suppose), so it seemed like he ought to have. John was probably scared shitless she'd leave him, thinking he was crazy. Well what did he think was gonna change if that did happen? She trusts him enough to be married, under a roof with him, bearing his child, and more-or-less completely relying on him during said pregnancy and then maternity. All that would happen if he told her later was she'd be more upset because she dedicated this much to someone she deemed crazy.
You'd never think he was crazy.
"Come on, I know sweetheart, just…" he sighs, grabbing her hands and god, they're staring at each other so pathetically, you hate the true commitment you see eminating from them, and yet you love it because John deserves to love someone who finds everything that important (you would, you would) and hangs on his every word (you do, you do, god fucking dammit you do). "It's my birthday, okay? Another time, no drama."
"Right, right," she nods solemnly, squeezing his hands slightly, causing him to breathe out a little, tiny, barely noticeable gigglesnort. During your time living with him, you got painfully good at noticing his barely noticeable quirks ('painfully' was defitinitely the correct adjective there, you deserve a bumping of knuckles for that again painfully sick description). "Speaking of which! What were you boys hoping to do this evening?"
"I don't know!" John laughs, before turning to look at you. He always makes direct eye contact, which is something you thought to be fucking impossible before you met him, 1. because few people do that, and 2. fewer even people even try to with your damned shades, and 3. only he has ever fucking succeeded on magically finding your irises, even before you were so intently looking at his. "Since Dave's in town and it's such a rare occurrence, maybe he'd like to pick?"
You shake your head, putting a hand up in a 'No bro don't' motion. "I don't know shit about the area here. You're gonna have to pick or I'll choose like Mickey D's or something."
He's laughing again (you love his laugh), before he nods. "I think I know somewhere all of us will like!" and he's grinning like he won the fucking Nobel prize or some shit, and you kept help but smile a little bit too, when he does that.
—-
The three of you end up sitting at a table for three at a little music-cafe-bar-whatcha-ma-callit. He definitely picked right, knowing that despite your offshoot career choice, you fucking dig some solid tunes - and even if they aren't exactly up your alley, they're close enough, and you know he has to also appease Molly's needs. You wonder if he picked a bar because he somehow picked up on your heightened drinking habits the past couple years - you hope not, because you'd even trained your drunk self to only contact Rose, or maybe Jade, during those. And you figure he didn't, because if he did now that you think about it, why the hell would he take his suburban ass and his loving wife to a bar where he figures you'll get wasted? You affirm to yourself that for the rest of the evening, you will not touch a single drop of alcohol.
And it goes that way, for a while at least.
Everyone's ordered their foods of choice (you got a little Coca-Cola to go with your steak, which you figure Rose is off somewhere screaming and tearing out all her journals on your alcoholism used to vent your homoeroticisms, having to start again at step one), and is happily eating away at them. Molly's eating the exact same thing as John (sur fucking prise), and at this point you're wondering why they don't just order the same thing to eat on. It's a valid question, but you're really, really glad they don't, because you think that'd make you sicker (with envy) than you already were.
You present your gift to John (Molly already has - some homewarming gifts, his favorite breakfast, and a movie collection as well as some comedy DVD's, since he's been straying from his planned science field as of late; you only know all this because John was so fucking exciting), and he's practically shitting his pants from excitement. You expected this, but still, you're high-fiving yourself under the table (a habit you've had for ages, and are fucking glad nobody's picked up on it because, damn, wow, uncool jesus fuck), watching his lovely eyes light up as he pulls off the clean-red wrapping paper. There's a jacket in there that Nic Cage wore in some movie with a certificate of authenticity, you didn't care to figure out which movie, Nic just handed it off to you. And along with it two letters, both of which he feels the need to read aloud.
You tune out the one that you got from Nic, because wow damn you don't give a shit, you do like the excitement on John's face though, and those little tears forming in his eyes. He feels like a kid finally getting recognition from his idol, you figure, and god if that isn't the cutest shit ever.
But then it's time for your letter. "Aw Dave, you haven't sent me one since I was 13!" he gasps, and you shrug, before he goes to read it for everyone to hear, great.
"yo egbert
happy fuckin birthday and all that shit. after about 26 of those one year after another they start to get a bit redundant and the gifts start to get a little stupid but i wanted to get you something that made your old-geezer life a little cool. and hey maybe you can stop moping about how you live in literally the most boring place ever and feel a celestial hand outstretched from the lands of coolsville. yes touch it gently john its waiting for you.
anyway thats not the point. im not sure what the point is because i havent written a dumb letter like this since this one time rose made me write one to myself for my mental health but shit that aint the point either. the point i guess is that i need to my ass to layer on some gushy bullshit or whatever. you are my best bro best bros forever and all the bullshit (no homo) and im actually a little surprised i havent left ya in the dust haha nah its the other way around. i mean shit youre married and damn shes a catch im proud of the guy that used to be nothing but a hopeless nerd. you keep it up.
and thats all ya get. go make love to your nic cage coat now ok
strider, dave strider"
And he's getting right on up from the other side of the table to hug you tightly, before proceeding to noogy you. Molly's giving a bit of a weird look while you guys are starting to laugh (John laughs harder when you do), before you eventually push him away. "Get in your seat, dumpass."
And the evening right then is just… pretty fucking great. And you figure you guys probably oughta head your asses home by then, but nope, John wants to fucking celebrate, it's alcohol time, right now. He orders himself a basic beer, gets Molly nothing (you can tell she's almost asking for a beer too herself, but she's pregnant seriously), and you get your usual Vodka.
Molly's watching you both with worry before another round comes, and another. You notice her worry at first and at first you're worried too, but you aren't about to be beaten byJohnof all people at a drinking competition, you mean, come on it may be his birthday but you aren't that much of a pussy.
Before the both of you know it, he's passed out over the table, and you're making zero sense anymore. Your brain is clear, thick, but clear, but your tongue is thick in your mouth and you're trying to make it all make sense, "Nah, nah, Molly, he'll be alright, I swear. Jus' fuckin' fine, okay? God, yer such a woman, bluh."
She hmfs, but you couldn't care less, and the both of you are watching John sleep peacefully after that. She's staring in worry but you, you're not sure what you're staring "at in" anymore. It starts out worried, because well seriously he's asleep but still hiccuping, what the fuck, do people even do that. Then you're just kind of perplexed, then staring happily. You've always liked when John slept, even way back when, cause he always fell asleep first and you didn't have the heart to move him from the couch (or from leaning on you), and he just looks peaceful, wasted or otherwise. And then adoration, and damn, you just want to reach out and pet his hair because wow damn, it is pretty, and it looks soft. You remember it being soft, it was definitely soft when you pet it once. But you don't, because that'll block your view and you're too busy staring.
And you realize that even if it didn't block your view it'd be bad too. Even if it was just you it'd be bad. You can't hug or kiss him or pet him or any of that because fuck he isn't yours, and that's always sad to you but, it's even sadder than usual right now. You can't even look at him, you can't even try to, so you're just staring down at your lap, biting your lip, before you tear off your shades, thinking this logical because you don't wanna get them wet, and your eyes are wet right now.
Through the filter your state puts over your ears, you hear Molly gasp, before she leans over to you, rubbing your back slightly. You look up at her, and with her lipstick and haircut, you think she looks a tiny bit like Rose, or kinda Rose's mom maybe, and she's rubbing your back and you can't help but remember when Rose did that at their wedding, and your throat suddenly hurts a whole fucking lot.
"Shh, Dave, is something the matter? I mean, I know you're a teensy bit," she giggles, "drunk but, sometimes that can be serious too, I think…"
And suddenly, this girl who has indirectly hurt you the most, but reminds you so much of the one who's been there when you've hurt the most, feels very trustworthy, and you shamelessly grab onto her. She's surprised, and you think this is weird of you too, like seriously, what are you doing. But again you can't care and instead of your shades getting wet, now it's her shirt.
Her hand is on your head again (you wonder if your hair is soft too), and you're trying to explain why you're upset. When you tell Rose, she knows what to say, so Molly might too, right?
"Sweetie, I can't understand you, you're gonna have to talk slooooowly, okay?" she says to you. And she doesn't sound like Rose, she sounds like Jade, but it's still close enough and you're trying to take deep breaths.
"I just… love John so fucking much, y'know? Like fuck why did'e… have to get marr'd and… fuck…"
She steps away after that, at the time you can't quite figure out why, but you feel like you've done something really, really stupid.