Your name is Dave Strider, you are thirty years old, and you've never been so happy.

You realize faintly that you may be getting a bit ahead of yourself, but you can't help yourself as you press your lips tightly to his and hold his face beneath your fingertips, choking back the sobs of nearly two decades' worth of sorrow. Soon he's kissing you back, his fingers shaking shyly on your shoulders. There is more passion in that one kiss than you've ever experienced otherwise, more explosions and more fire than any faint touching of lips or rubbing of the skin of strangers. It is the relief after a lifetime of pent-up frustration and loneliness; it's the first storm after an immense drought. There you remain for some time before the sensation must come to an end, him pulling back and those very fingers that held your shoulders so, just gently pushing you away.

"Sh-shit… Shit…" you're muttering while removing your sunglasses and then wiping at your pitifully dampened face with your sleeve, smiling through your sobs. You know this is the most emotion you've shown to anyone (when sober), and you almost take a moment to think about how weak you've become. But with the bliss that's surrounding you, there's more on your mind than feeble insecurities.

When you look up from your arm though, his own expression is nothing short of distraught; his own eyes red with irritation and mirroring yours, his face quickly moving to burrow into his hands.

Disillusionment coating you, you reach out towards him. You murmur at him as you catch your breath, "John, what's wrong…?" You lost control, you should've shown more restraint – but you've shown nothing but restraint for years and in that moment you felt there was simply nothing else you could do.

"I just… Fuck Dave, I'm so, so sorry, but I just…" and he wipes at his nose and eyes, a forced laugh as he tries to regain his composure along with you. "I'm married, Dave, and I… I still love Molly, at least, I'm pretty sure, and I just… I don't know, I wanted to be honest with you because, the way I've been, we've been going. It's not working; it's just not working…"

And suddenly you're stranded again, only without a single shred of protection or anything to even try to hold onto. The worst part is the look in his eyes – it tells you how he loves you too, how not any of this is a lie. It's raw and pained and stricken with guilt, but this is simply the way things are, the way they're going to be, and the way they have always fucking been.

Though he's not said so plainly, you assume he wants a break (that's not the right term; it makes it sound like you were ever more than just a pair of pining friends, star-crossed as you may be). A break from you to get over you, and get on with his life (get over you – get over you when you never even had the chance to wrap your mind around him loving you, liking you, whatever, in the first place). You aren't even sure if he's come to such a decision just yet, but he will and it's for the best. So you stand, picking up the shambles of your dignity and your numbness, unsure if they will ever be in place again as they were. "I probably ought to get going. I'll be back tomorrow for my shit." You grab your jacket and your keys, simultaneously going to replace your sunglasses, before going to exit the room. You're then hurrying down the stairs and out the door, breath caught deep in your throat. You vaguely hear Casey calling after you in confusion, but you're leaving the vicinity as quickly as possible.

You're wondering how the hell it even came to this – how it came to be that your grave is deeper than you ever even anticipated. You're not flat on the pavement as was your worst case scenario; you are plunged deep in the rocky debris that surrounds you. When did this family that wasn't even yours become everything? Were they always? When did gravity become so cruel, and when did what once held you so high bring you crashing down faster than ever? Are your flapping wings what ultimately pulled you even deeper into this hole you've dug yourself?

You can hardly see as you start driving through a familiar neighborhood that's never really been yours, tired old 80's tunes blaring thoughtlessly on your sound system. You hear the buzzing of your phone in your coat pocket, but you can't seem to bring yourself to care enough to check on it.

Eventually, you're flicking off the engine after pulling into the parking lot of some lake, summer moon reflected across the water. Rolling down the window, you allow your body to relax in the crisp night air and rest your swollen eyes.

Despite your skills with time, you think it's finally running out.

You wake up to the too-early chirping of birds and the warning clouds of rain. Groggily running your fingers over the stubble-clad skin of your face, you grumble and roll up the window you carelessly left open the night before. You adjust the glasses on your face before pulling out your phone, tiredly flipping through all your missed alerts.

You're greeted by a plethora of missed calls from John, as well as some texts from both him and Rose.

—ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 21:02—

EB: no dave, shit, where'd you go?

EB: i'm sorry and that wasn't at all what i meant!

EB: …ok, i don't even know what i meant. just, i know it's not this.

EB: please please answer your phone. where are you?

EB: god dave you're scaring the shit out of me. are you ok?

—ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 01:59—

—tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 21:16—

TT: Dave.

TT: I understand your feelings, at least from what John has thus far relayed to me, but I am going to have to ask that you at least inform one of us of your whereabouts.

TT: I know how much this must have affected you – so I am here. Just don't turn your back just yet.

TT: I pray you are alright.

TG: yo

TT: Oh thank heavens, there you are.

TG: yeah i crashed in my ride by some sweetass lake

TT: Do you mean sleep as opposed to a vehicle accident?

TG: yeah shit was dope

TT: I have no doubt that it was.

TG: yeah go ahead and tell john im ok if thats why youre here

TT: That's already been taken care of.

TT: He spent half the night looking for you, you had him worried sick.

TG: well shit

TT: I'd say. Storming out so suddenly lacks situational closure.

TG: did he just give you a playbyplay on this jesus Christ

TT: Somewhat.

TG: oh man now here comes the underdog player the lil man hass the wrong

TG: tonight hes the star its him

TG: except OH SHIT that was a foul play no points for him and he basically fucks over everyone involved ouch

TG: lets see that again

TT: Your lack of sports knowledge while at once tragically unraveling your innermost thoughts into a comic spawned in your adolescence continues to amaze me to this day.

TG: thanks i try

TT: I'm sure. But anyway, John is afraid you don't want to be friends anymore.

TG: ok first of all

TG: he was totally headed that way with what he was saying

TT: Granted.

TG: and second of all we cant be

TT: Why not? I agree on some levels, but I am interested in your reasoning also.

TG: mainly because im about to be the cause of a broken family

TG: or maybe because im ruining a fucking marriage which i know if i were molly then itd fucking destroy me for that to happen

TG: or maybe because I might make a promising kid have to go through a divorce at the goddamn age of 4

TG: and also hey maybe for both of our sanities itd be better because clearly at least one of us had to get over this

TG: aka one of us has to and will

TG: hint

TG: its not me