Hello, loves! I'm pulling another late-nighter, so I figure we can fill it with some fluff. Y'all know you love FLUFF! (yes, I said 'y'all'. I'm southern, shut up.) Work is killing me lately, so sorry for any lack of updates! I think next week is supposed to be slower. Anywho, on to your love! luckycat222, yayyy, hello, dearest! Yes, I was screaming too. We all knew their reunion would be short, but at least they talked! And were FINALLY in a panel together! I agree Dave is a dork. I'll write him as such, haha. polyfandrous, oh, I agree he was hysterical! Who wouldn't be? But I do still think he's a mega-dork in disguise. He and Dirk both, though I feel Dirk is a little more open about it. And, YES, the shades are a shield! A present from John too, hehehe. I had to add Karkat somehow! He and Gamzee are my favorite trolls! And Sollux…and Kanaya…okay, I have a lot. Grey Seas, awww, thank you! It's short so far, and I apologize for that! This chapter should be longer though! It's gonna have lots of dialogue. Kira-Lime Orima, hahaha, YES! I love Karkat! LOVE HIM! NyaddieLove, thank yoooou! I'm trying to make it cute, hehe. Random, huh? Well I hope to see your name again! Shikuro-Chan, so glad you're excited! It means a lot! YOU don't even know~! :3 Now, my loves, on with the story!
Confession 4: I have ZERO sense of direction. Seriously, I've gotten lost in my car going in a straight line. Once, I missed a turn, and it took me almost an hour to realize it. IN A STRAIGHT GODDAMN LINE. People say it's about paying attention, but I feel I was just born without a mental compass. If I was lost in the woods, I'd never make it home. SIGH.
It's Time
(Imagine Dragons)
[So this is what you meant when you said that you were spent. And now it's time to build from the bottom of the pit right to the top. Don't hold back. Packing my bags and giving the academy a rain check. I don't ever wanna let you down. I don't ever wanna leave this town. 'Cause after all this city never sleeps at night.]
You're John Egbert, and you're beyond nervous.
You've come to terms with it. Who wouldn't be nervous with someone like Dave in their passenger seat? The blonde hadn't said a word when he saw your car. His eyebrow simply rose above his shades, and he had shaken his head, but he didn't say a word. You drive a bright green Prius, and you're actually very happy with it, since it had been a graduation present from your father. You've offered to make payments, but your dad seems to have realized you have enough going on. Some months, just keeping a roof over your head is a challenge. But, anyway, as said before, you're nervous.
Dave is casual, as per usual. He's prattling on cheerfully from beside you, commenting on things he sees. You're surprised he hasn't turned on the radio, or hooked his phone to your speakers yet. He's just talking to you, and you're having a bit of a mental breakdown because you can't think of responses witty enough. This is so much harder than chatting online! He's just so…intimidating, and you know he'd never want you to think of him that way, so you keep quiet, but damn it all if you're not having a hard time gripping the steering wheel because of your sweaty palms- and Dave's not helping.
He seems to have a hard time keeping his hands to himself. Just in the span of this ten minute drive into traffic, he's clapped your shoulder three times, patted your thigh once, and even grabbed your hand to comment on your man-handling of the steering wheel, saying you were "strangling it like a bitch who owes you money". So needless to say, your head is swimming with thoughts that are borderline overwhelming while Dave is chill as can be, now going through your CD collection in the big case you usually keep crammed under your seat. He pauses, and you look over as the car comes to a halt at a red light.
"Bro. Please…just please, tell me this isn't what I think it is," he says in a deadpan voice.
"What?"
"Celine Dion? Celine fucking Dion? No one has a Celine Dion CD in their car except for Celine Dion. This is a cry for help, Egbert. I'm concerned."
"Shut up, okay? I like her! And you said her name more in one sentence than I've ever said in my life!"
"Whatever, man, I'm putting it in."
"You're the one hating on her!"
"I know, but this is just lame enough to be cool. Two bros, jammin' to Dion, the lead lady in non-platonic bromance. Well, 'cept for Streisand. If you have her in this car, I'll pray for you."
You're laughing at this nonsense, and it feels good to focus on more than your nerves.
"Are you being for real right now?" you ask him. He looks over at you.
"Shit's legit, John. You could say…Dion makes my heart go on." And suddenly, that song is blaring on your speakers, and he's smirking over at you, and you're laughing hysterically because of what a fucking dork he is. He leans forward to turn up the volume even more, and it's so loud you can't even hear yourself think anymore.
It starts small, just him making dramatic motions to the lyrics, and you grin over to him every now and then while singing under your breath. And then he rolls into a flat out performance, and is soon moving his limbs in what can only be described as flailing, and is in no way whatsoever in sync with the rhythm of the song. You're now cackling so hard it hurts, and it's only fueling him on more. By the time the song reaches the second chorus, you're both screaming the lyrics, and Dave is still flailing- slam dancing, he calls it- and has grabbed your hand so you're both jerking around in the car, and it's definitely drawing attention.
At a red light, you're aware of the car next to you, and its occupants are eyeing you with grim looks on their faces. At first, you're confused, because sure you guys are being disrupted, but not enough to warrant those kinds of stares. Then you realize they can see your hand entwined with Dave's (because he's still waving them around in the air like a madman) and are probably assuming you two are a couple. You blush furiously, your euphoria dwindling just a little. As if on cue, you find yourself with a lapful of Strider, who decides to serenade the car next to you by leaning over you and shouting the lyrics at them. By the time you're driving away, he's flipping them off, and then plants a very deliberate kiss on your cheek so they can see- which he finds hilarious. To you, it's only more confusing.
The song ends, and he turns the volume back down, claiming he's had had enough.
"That's enough Dion to last an eon," he smirks, and you roll your eyes.
"Don't start with your mess," you say. "Those raps aren't as great as you think."
"My mess is the best. Makes bitches come undressed."
"Dave."
"Say 'Strider, I gotta confess. Got shit to get off my chest'. Check out those awesome breasts."
"Dave."
"Egbert be hating because his pool's a wading while Dave sits in…the deep end? No, shit, hang on, that was weak."
"All of this is weak. All of it. I'm thinking of this in your red text, and normally, I just skip over all of it and wait for you to shut up, but you never do. It just keeps going. I wake up with fifty unread messages from you, all raps, the majority of them you correcting yourself."
"You don't read those? Some of 'em are gold, Egderp. And I gotta argue with myself sometimes. Keeps me in line."
"Like you don't skip over my rants," you say sarcastically.
"Only if they're about Cage. I tried toughing it out, but…it was too hard. I couldn't do it anymore," he sighs dramatically. His head rolls towards you, and he's staring again. Or at least you think he is. How badly you wish those damn shades weren't attached to his face right now- though it's really heartwarming he wears them all the time. You gave those to him. Still, you wish you could see his expression so you might get an idea of what he's thinking. Every time his head turns towards you, it's disconcerting that you can't tell if he's looking at you, or over you, or not at anything at all.
"You're still the same," he says after a minute, confirming he was looking at you. "Older looking, but still the same."
"What are you babbling about over there?" you ask. "Same as what?"
"Nothing," he answers as you pull the car into a Burger King parking lot. "I'm fucking starving." And then he gets out of the car, and motions for you to hurry up. Sighing, you exit the vehicle as well, and walk around to join him as you both enter the restaurant together. He holds the door open for you.
"Such a southern gentleman," you smile, ducking under his arm. He scowls at you.
"It's called manners. I hold doors open for ladies."
"…Are you calling me a girl?"
"Nope, but you just did."
You hit him in the side, muttering under your breath about jerks, and he casually drapes his long arm around your shoulders and pulls you close. You've decided he's just touchy-feely with everyone. That has to be it, right? Otherwise why would he touch you so much? It must be a bro thing, you decide.
"Oh, man, I'm so hungry right now, it's sad," Dave drawls. "They're gonna write songs about it. Movies, even. First film called, The Hunger, starring Ben Stiller." You laugh at him as you scan over the menu, assuming he's doing the same behind his shades. "And then there will be a sequel. Then a sequel to the sequel, and they'll all suck as bad as the first one."
"You could switch it up and make something good," you suggest. His arm tightens around you, making you stumble.
"All my genius goes to my music," he informs you. "My movie ideas are pure shit, but will be seen as the shit. You'll see, John. My name will be everywhere. In lights. Everyone in Hollywood will have to wear shades because of all the goddamn lights spelling Strider."
"If I posted a video online of your slam-dancing, you'd be that famous by tomorrow."
"Patience. Slam-dancing is an art. I can't show everyone my tricks."
You both place your order after the person ahead of you is served. To your surprise, Dave's arm stays slung over your shoulder. He pulls his wallet out and pays for everything, and you put up a fuss, but he shushes you, squeezing your face between his hands and making a cooing noise while you helplessly swat at him. The cashier eyes you, but not in a bad way. She's smiling at you.
"Are you guys together?" she asks in a somewhat hopeful voice.
"Sure are," Dave says. "Walked in together and everything."
"Dave! She means-!"
"I know what she meant," he smirks at you. "The answer's the same." And with that, he removes his arm from your person, and grabs the tray. The girl behind the counter is smiling widely, and you're grumbling as you follow, making it a point to kick him under the table as you join him in a booth. He simply steals one of your fries.
"You're the same too," you tell him after a few quiet moments. He looks up at you, you assume. Damn shades.
"Huh?"
"You're pretty much how I thought you'd be in person, save for the Dion serenade. I was right to think you were actually a total loser though," you laugh, taking a bite of your chicken fries. "The cool kid behind the red text is actually a total dork. I should write a memoir."
"More like so awesome your little geek brain can't handle it," he corrects, taking a huge bite of his burger. "'Sides, you're craving this all over you, don't deny."
"You're so right. I'm so into you, I can't stand it."
"Damn straight." He steals another fry from you. "What time you working tomorrow?"
"I go in at five pm."
"What time you off?"
"Not till after midnight."
"Jesus, Egbert."
"Yeah, well, I've got bills to pay. Sucks though. Your gig is the day after tomorrow, right?" you ask, pulling your food out of Dave's reach, since he can't seem to stick to his own order.
"Yup. You're gonna be there. Front row."
"Are there rows in clubs?"
"Don't change the subject. I gotta look into your dorky face while I'm mixing rad beats. It'll be a tragedy if some slutty chick gets the extent of my cool kid brooding while you're peddling comic books for a psychopath."
"I want to go, Dave. I do. I'll talk to Karkat tomorrow night. Maybe I can switch shifts."
"Let's swing by after we eat. I'll talk to him."
"No."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because it's my job on the line, and you're an asshole."
"I'm wounded."
"Fuck you."
Dave reaches over to steal another fry. You slap his hand away, and he slaps yours back.
"C'mon, I'll be good. I actually wanted to meet this freak. It's on my list of things to do while visiting," he says. "And the sooner you tell him, the more likely you'll get the night off, so he can cover your shift."
You know he's right, but you don't want to admit it. So instead, you steal one of his fries for a change, and give a curt nod. Dave jerks your hand toward his mouth and eats the pilfered fry out of your hand, and everything is way too hot as you watch him chew it, and suddenly you're not as hungry as you were before. Wordlessly, you shove your food toward him, and he chuckles, but asks no questions. You swear you hear him call you cute, but his mouth never moves.
On the way to the comic store, Dave drives while you give directions. He informed you that your 'granny' driving was causing him to age too rapidly, so you just let him handle it. Now, you're wishing you didn't, because he's driving like a fucking lunatic. He runs a yellow light right as it turns red, and you're pretty sure people aren't supposed to race in a Prius. You tell him so.
"I'm making this bitch fly. Priuses never looked so good," he says.
You're going to die, you just know it. Here, next to Dave Strider, who you can't decide whether or not is cool or crazy. This is the end.
Then you're slammed into a parking place with no scratches on you or your beloved green Prius, and his parking job is so effortless, even though it's parallel, and you decide he's probably an excellent driver, but was trying to scare you. That makes him an asshole too.
"Can I interest you in motherfuckin' comic book?" A voice calls from behind the counter as the door dings behind you.
"No, Gamzee," you sigh. You're always correcting him when he calls that out to customers, but he never listens. You see his crazy hair before you see his face, and then he's standing up, looming over you.
"John! I was just thinking about you. Fucking miracles, my brother."
"Yeah, uh, where's Karkat?" you ask, looking around.
"Getting his motherfuckin' smoke on. You know how he gets without his smokes."
"More unbearable than normal?" you joke, and Gamzee laughs loudly, drawing an incredulous stare from Dave.
"Gamzee, you insufferable piece of shit, didn't I tell you to restock the back shelf?"
You all turn to observe a short, but intimidating man approach, and you sigh audibly. Gamzee smiles widely.
"John's here."
"When is he not here?" Karkat grumbles. "I swear, Egbert, you're always bitching about work, and yet, here you are. Are you here to take over for Gamzee? Because it'd be nice to have someone halfway competent on the clock."
"Uh, no, I'm, uh… I'm here to…"
"You need to be chill, my brother," Gamzee says, and you're really not in the mood for the chill speech right now, but he's not stopping. "Your motherfuckin' smokes didn't chill you the fuck out?"
"There are more words in the English language than 'fuck'. I suggest you learn them, you cock-swallowing, garbage licking shit," Karkat snaps.
"So, I'm here to-" you start.
"See, this is what I'm fuckin' talking about. You're so tense. Want a back rub?"
"GO STOCK THE GODDAMN BACK SHELF BEFORE I RIP OUT YOUR SPINAL CORD AND SLAP YOU WITH IT!"
"Jesus. What's with the motherfuckin' volume?"
And that's when the books start flying as Karkat flings them at the taller male, who slowly walks towards the back shelf, but doesn't stock it. He simply stands there. Your face is in your hands, and Dave is looking like Christmas has come early, and you just want to die, because this shit is your life. Karkat turns haughtily towards you.
"Egbert, if you don't tell me why you're here, I'm making you work, because so help me, if that FUCKING SHELF doesn't get stocked, I'm closing the store. You know, the one that keeps you employed? Do you want that to happen? Because Gamzee can't focus long enough to do two things at once, and breathing seems to take up all his time."
Your face is still hidden, and your voice is muffled.
"I need Thursday off."
"I'm sorry, what was that? I don't understand mumbles from a moron."
"I need Thursday off," you say again, lifting your head to look at him. "I'll work another shift, any shift you want me to- I just need that night off."
"Oh, Gamzee, did you hear that? We can all just cancel anything WE might have going on Thursday, because we're going to be working. As a matter of fact, why don't we just close the store, and all have Thursday off? And every day after that? Is that enough time off for you?"
"Karkat, come on! I never ask you for time off!"
"Because this is a job! You're not supposed to want time off if you need money!"
"I do want money! I said I'd swap shifts!"
"I can't swap shifts with anyone because it's just us three here, and Gamzee's a goddamn moron!"
"I motherfuckin' resent that."
"IF YOU DON'T PUT THOSE BOOKS ON THAT FUCKING SHELF, SO HELP ME I WILL KLL YOU, BRING YOU BACK TO LIFE, AND KILL YOU AGAIN!"
Dave chuckles, and, as if just alerted of his presence, Karkat's gaze turns to him.
"Who is this?"
"Dave Strider," the blonde says. "Don't mind me, just enjoying the show."
"Good to meet you, my brother!" Gamzee's voice calls over. "John's talking about you nonstop, man. Be getting my heart vibes all rapid and shit."
"Talks about me, huh?" Dave smirks, and you're sure you're going to die.
"Sure thing, motherfucker."
You make a high-pitched wailing noise, over 300% done with this conversation, and turn to Karkat.
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO."
"He said please, motherfucker."
"HE'LL BE SAYING DEAD ASSHOLE FOUND IN COMIC BOOK STORE IF YOU DON'T DO YOUR FUCKING JOB."
"Okay, so here's the thing," Dave says, leaning on the counter. "I gotta gig in Seattle Thursday, and John here is my main man. I kinda sprung this shit on him last minute, so it's on me that this is so sudden, but I need him that night. And since you get him all the time, I think you should share."
"Oh, is this the internet friend you're always prattling about, Egbert?" Karkat asks suddenly. You nod with your face behind your hands again. So you talk about Dave at work. So what? Don't bros always talk about each other?
"Yeah, so, if you could just sign up the 'motherfucker' guy to work an extra shift, that'd be great," Dave says.
"I'm sorry, are you telling me how to do my job?"
"Karkaaaaaaaaaat," you whine. "C'mon, he's being serious."
"So am I. And you want to know a secret? I'm not really sorry. I know it's ripping your heart out, Strider, but your little boyfriend has work."
"Okay," Dave sighs, "what if I give you a hundred Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff T-shirts to sell, free of charge?"
Karkat looks at him like he's on fire. "The internet comic?"
"Yeah, funny story, I wrote it. I can easily print out a few shitty images, slam 'em on a shirt, and send the creation here. I'll even act like I planned it. It'll sell off your shelves so fast, shit'll give you whiplash. Bitches'll be throwing you cash."
"Dave, oh my god, this is not the time for your shitty rhymes," you hiss.
"It's always time for a rhyme. And yours are shitty, not mine. The print is there, and it's fine, so whaddaya say, Karkat, will your business be mine?"
"Testify, my brother!" Gamzee calls. Karkat's head whips towards him, and then back to Dave, and you're wondering for a moment if that vein in his eye is finally going to pop.
"Fine, FINE. One hundred shirts, just because it's a popular comic for whatever fucking reason. And I'm not paying you shit in royalties. You two can enjoy your little cock-sucking fest backstage while I'm stuck here with Gamzee can't-do-a-goddamn-thing Makara. Sounds great, really."
"Sweet," Dave says, shrugging an arm around you again; this time it's on your waist as he leads you out the door. You turn to tell Karkat you'll be at work tomorrow, and he waves you away in a jerking motion while heading on a war path towards Gamzee. You're barely aware of the butterflies in your stomach for the shouting.
"FUCKING TESTICLE LICKING FUCKWAD! WHAT IF I JUST SNAPPE D YOUR NECK IN HALF AND STAPLED YOUR CHEEK TO YOUR USELESS JAW? HUH? YOU COULDN'T BE ANY WORSE OF AN EMPLOYEE THAN YOU ARE NOW. I'LL MAKE A GODDAMN GAMZEE PUPPET, AND THE CUSTOMERS WILL BE CONFUSED BY THE AMOUNT OF IMPROVEMENT IN YOUR PERSONALITY!"
"Sometimes you just gotta do what feels right, motherfucker."
[So this is where you fell. And I am left to sell. The path to heaven runs through miles of clouded hell right to the top. Don't look back. Turning the rags and giving the commodities a rain check. I don't ever wanna let you down. I don't ever wanna leave this town. 'Cause after all, this city never sleeps at night. It's time to begin, isn't it? I get a little bit bigger, but then, I'll admit, I'm just the same as I was. Now don't you understand that I'm never changing who I am. It's time to begin, isn't it? I get a little bit bigger, but then I'll admit, I'm just the same as I was. Now don't you understand that I'm never changing who I am.]
Sachi: I love writing them all together! Slam-dancing is something my friends and I do at red lights. Rule is, the crazier, the better. Someone like Dave could hold his own though in such a situation. Review for love mOtHeRfUcKeRs! ;O)