It's a warm, breezy afternoon in July, and you are returning from your lunch break. You know this because, well, you just had lunch. You catch that kid from the tattoo parlor staring at you again, but you know he can't tell because he doesn't look away. It's the shades, man. They're magical.

This guy looks at you a lot, actually. You don't know why you don't find it creepy. It's hard to stop yourself from smiling a little.

Maybe it's how you carry yourself. People are always saying you look confident. Maybe it's the shades? You never take them off. There's a lot about you that people find intriguing, if for the completely wrong reasons.

You find your mind wandering back to the kid in the tattoo parlor. Maybe he's just bored. There don't seem to be any customers around.

No, that's not it. Maybe he just likes watching you. Why? You don't really understand, but that's okay. You don't mind. You should; you've never even spoken to the kid.

Your name is Dave Strider and you're sort of fond of your little stalker.

What was his name again? You're pretty sure you know it, but you just can't remember. Damn. Someday you'll talk to him again, you're sure of it. Hopefully you remember by then. You wonder if he knows you see him looking at you. You sure as hell hope not. He'd probably get embarrassed, and you'd never see him again.

It's an unusually frigid, windy morning in September, and you're just beginning your shift at the flower store, which you work at for the irony. That kid, of course, is watching you as you unlock the door and step inside. Your cheeks and nose are red from cold, and you're wearing your favorite jacket. It's red, and has an 8-bit record decal on the front.

Man, you still can't remember that kid's name! It's really starting to bug you. How would you even know it in the first place?

Oh, that's right. You ran into each other once, outside the stores. Literally ran into each other. It must have been sometime around last December. Ironically, you were reading some story about a dude running off a bridge by accident (you never understood how anyone could be so damn stupid). The kid was carrying a large stack of boxes and probably didn't even see you coming.

Hardly an ideal meeting, but at least you'd kept your phone safe from snow.

"Sorry, dude. Should've looked where I was going." You forced a chuckle. Well, half-forced. You were surprised to find it mostly came on its own. "Dave Strider."

"John Egbert," he'd replied. John Egbert. That was it!

What a dorky name.

"Hey, you work at that tattoo parlor, don't you?" you'd asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Uh, yeah. You work at the flower shop, right?"

Suddenly, you were embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah, go ahead and laugh." He wasn't laughing. "Ain't manly or nothin', like I care, though…" Damn, your Texan was showing.

John's smile faded and morphed into a look of poorly-concealed panic. Oh shit. Exit stage left.

You went back into the flower shop, mildly embarrassed. A little peek over your shoulder told you that John was still standing, unmoving, out in the freezing weather.

It's one of those days where it's cloudless and sunny, but manages to rain anyway. It's March, and this month marks your anniversary at the flower store. You have the day off today, since the owner of the store is arranging for some electrical repairs, so you decide to call your cousin Rose and invite her out for coffee.

You need some of her professional-grade advice.

Once mid-afternoon rolls around, you leave your tiny apartment and head to the little cafe in town where you asked Rose to meet you. While you walk, you watch people, one of your favorite pastimes. Looking at the people around you, seeing how they function, has always been interesting to you. Plus, the shades prevent you from receiving hostile reactions to your observations. It's a little annoying, however, that you constantly have to wipe the raindrops from your lenses. It's difficult to do while the glasses are still on your face.

You reach the cafe to find that Rose is already there, and she's drinking her coffee. You notice another cup at the seat across from her, gratefully realizing it's for you. You sit down without saying hello and take a sip of the coffee.

Two sugar packets and no cream. Just the way you like it.

"Alright, Rose," you say, after taking a few sips of your drink. "I need to talk to you."

"I had come to that conclusion already, but thank you for the confirmation."

"Shut up, this is important."

"Okay, Dave, what is it?"

"There's this guy…"

You tell Rose all about John. What he looks like, where he works, and how he's always staring at you. She listens intently, occasionally raising an eyebrow or two, sometimes nodding slightly to show you she understands. Finally, you finish your story, and gaze hopefully up at Rose's thoughtful expression. She thinks for another moment, opens her mouth, shuts it again, and thinks some more.

Finally, she seems to find the words she was searching for.

"Dave. I think this boy might have a crush on you."

You are not surprised. At least, you don't think you are.
"That's not very helpful. I'm pretty sure I already knew that."

"And?" she asks, a smirk on her face. "Do you reciprocate his feelings?"

How could you? You hardly even know the kid! This is ridiculous. You feel your face go hot, and you know that if looks could kill, Rose would be fatally wounded. Despite that, she's still smirking.

Smug bitch.

You're still stewing when you turn your gaze to the door and he's there, he's right there maybe he'll come over and say hi? But it's only another half a second at the most before he's gone. You look back at Rose, slightly panicked, and her shit-eating grin is gone. She looks at you as if to say "Well, what are you gonna do about it?" and gets up from the table, exiting the shop and leaving you all alone. Her work here is done.

You go over your options. You could

a) Run after John and beg him to talk to you,

b) Visit the tattoo parlor and nonchalantly start up a conversation, like the cool guy you are,

or c) Pretend this never happened and put whatever feelings you might have aside.

Most likely option C.

But as you're heading to the flower shop, where you had hoped to immerse yourself in your work until your little emotional storm is over, you change your mind.

It's time for Plan B. Or...option B, at least.

With a little sigh and an air of finality, you switch your destination to the tattoo parlor, taking your gaze off your feet only enough to see John staring wide-eyed out the window. You smile a little despite yourself, and quicken your pace by a fraction of a fraction.

You can do this. You're a Strider, after all.