Your name is Dave Strider and you're making an inhumanly high-pitched squealing noise right now. You hate that you're losing your cool, but you love that you're going out to eat with John. You hate that Rose would love the little meltdown you're having right now. And you hate that your bro is in the next room and probably loved that fucking shrieking you just did.

You are currently in a love-hate relationship with life.

"Hey, you okay in there, lil bro?" Dirk said, holding back a chuckle. "I'm fucking fine, Dirk! Leave me alone!" You were not having his shit today. But then he opened the door, and his expression softened. More than you'd ever seen it.

"Dude," he said quietly, "tell me what's up."

"No."

"Dave, I get worried if I can't tell noises of happiness from noises of despair."

You roll your eyes. "Oh for fuck's sake. There's no despair here, unless it's coming from you." Wow, that was weak. You're way off your game.

"Dude, weak. You're way off your game." "Shut it, Dirk." "What's got you all excited today, lil man? Come on. Tell your big bro."

"I am the living embodiment of the word 'fcuk'."

Dirk's eyes go wide, or so you think. Damn pointy anime shades.

"You got a date? Nice. She pretty?"

You stare at him and say nothing. You honestly just need some time to process your brother's psychic abilities, which he has obviously developed since the last time he read your thoughts.

"...He handsome?"

"Christ, Dirk. It's not even a date."

"I knew it." Dirk cracked a smile as you cracked your knuckles, feeling your face heat up a few degrees. "You never answered my question."

"No, he isn't 'handsome.'" Dirk frowned comically at this. "He's cute, I guess. In sort of a dorky way." The frown was replaced by a grin of equal ridiculousness, which you rolled your eyes at. This guy is all kinds of lonely, you realize. He's way too involved in your romantic endeavors. Which this DEFINITELY isn't! It's not a date!

Fuck, it's a date.

"Fuck, it's a date," you mutter, slapping yourself in the face. Hard. Ow. Dirk snorts, and you give him a glare. "Dude, shut the fuck up. I'm sort of a nervous wreck over here, in case you couldn't tell."

"Believe me, little dude, anyone could tell."

"SHUT UP!"

Dirk smirks and practically dances out the door, pulling it closed behind him. Good. One more word out of him and you would've thrown him out the damn window.

You roll your eyes and run your fingers through your hair, going over to your closet. You're gonna dress nice, but also the same as usual.

Trust me, it makes sense.

You pull on your classic record t-shirt and dark jeans, but you push your sleeves up to your elbows. You heard chicks dig that. Maybe Egbert's the same way.

You spend a grand total of three seconds looking in the mirror and fixing your hair. It's fucking flawless, so you don't have to waste precious minutes on it. You spray a light curtain of your favorite cologne in front of you and walk through it. Yeah, it looks fucking stupid, but you're not going to spend the entirety of your…date…suffocating John with the scent of "Fresh Mountain Air," whatever the hell that's supposed to mean.

It's 11:47 and you're heading out the door, hoping to God that Dirk won't stop you on the way. Luckily, the world seems to be working mostly in your favor today, so you make it out of the apartment with no interruption. You shut the door behind you with a halfhearted slam, as a sort of last "fuck-you" to Dirk. God, he's such an asshole. You let out a quiet sigh and head for the elevators, trying to control your slight case of the jitters as you rock back and forth from your heels to your toes and back again. Man, you have got to get this shit locked down before John sees you. You bet he's the type to tease you about it and never ever let it go.

You take some deep breaths as the elevator descends to the ground floor, and succeed in calming yourself at least a little. You're feeling much better by the time you exit the apartment building, and halfway to the sandwich shop you're more confident than ever. It's not even a big deal. The kid's a dork. No way you're gonna look any worse than his scrawny ass. Which you love.

Wait what? No, shake it off, Dave.

Good lord, you've gone crazy.

You've reached your destination, but emotionally, you're back at square one. Goddamnit.

You shake your head at yourself and push open the door. The little bell above said door tinkles with your arrival, and you scan your surroundings. Egbert's here already, and his face brightens when he notices you walking in. You almost smile. Not many people are so genuinely excited to see you these days.

You give the nerd a small wave and walk up to the order counter. As you expected, it's your grumpy friend Karkat who's waiting there for you.

"DAVE." His familiar loud voice fills the room. "Sup Karkat," you reply with a slight nod of your head. "I'm just getting the usual."

Karkat rolls his eyes. "WELL, I FIGURED, SEEING AS IT'S YOUR F- I MEAN FRICKING USUAL." You snort a little as the angry young man censors himself. Just goes to show how much he needs this stupid job. You suddenly appreciate your dull career as a goddamn florist. Compared to this, it's a thrill ride.

He notices you're amused and gets even angrier. "GIVE ME A FU-…GIVE ME A BREAK DAVE," he corrects himself again. "I'VE GOTTEN IN TROUBLE TOO MANY TIMES AND I HAVE TO BE CAREFUL. I DON'T KNOW IF YOU KNEW BUT I ACTUALLY CAN'T AFFORD TO LOSE THIS JOB."

"Nah, man, I know," you apologize, reaching over the counter to pat your friend on the arm. "Anyway, thanks for the sandwich."

"I HAVEN'T EVEN GIVEN IT TO YOU YET, IDIOT."

"I know."

You turn away from Karkat and switch your focus to John, who's still positively beaming. Cute…no, stop. Not now. He pushes the chair across from him away from the table with his foot, indicating that you should sit down. You do, and he finally seems to notice how widely he's smiling. He stops and blushes a little, looking embarrassed.

"Hi, Dave."

"Hey, John."

This is awkward as hell. Say something. Anything.

"So, you get any hot ladies down at the tattoo parlor?" OK, wow, not that.

John giggles. "Not really. Most of them already have multiple tattoos and aren't exactly sugar, spice, and everything nice. Well, maybe they're the spice part. Some of them are pretty though. A lot of them have really cool hairstyles, too!" Jeez. Simple question, complicated answer. Seems like that's how it works with this guy. It's funny. It's like his bubbly rambles balance out your serious, straight-to-the-point nature.

Though, maybe you don't want to be serious and straight to the point all the time with John.

Suddenly, you're jerked back into reality as Karkat calls both of your names loudly, signifying that your lunches are ready. The two of you get up from your seats and shuffle up to the counter to retrieve your food. Karkat gives you a smug smirk and hands you your tray. You reply with a warning snarl. "Don't you dare," you hiss at him as John practically bounces back to your table. "I won't fucking say anything, Dave. Jesus Christ, what kind of friend do you think I am?" he whispers, rolling his eyes. You relax a little, sigh, and head back to your table. John is, predictably, waiting for you to sit down before eating.

Such manners.

The two of you eat your sandwiches in a sort of comfortable quiet, pierced occasionally by a story from John or a question or quip from you. At some point, John sets down his sandwich and bites his lip, staring intensely at the table. Hm.

Suddenly, he speaks. "Hey Dave?"

"Yeah?" Your eyebrows knit together.

"Is…is this a date?"