Chapter Text
Today was boring, as it always is at this new school. Roxy and Dirk managed to apply to a program for kids who escaped abusive situations. Somehow, they were able to get you and Rose into an expensive private school in Chicago. The only thing that really fucking sucks about that is Dirk, Roxy, and Rose all had to get extra jobs to help pay for all of your supplies.
You, however, were left out of that particular little meeting.
Apparently, they think your powers aren't "developed" enough for you to be in a high stress situation like jobs tend to be. So, here you are, walking into the fourth “quirky” café this week with Dirk and Roxy while they're in between shifts. It’s a good way to make sure that you can all hang out and study together, if needed, that way nobody misses what is going on in anyone’s lives.
"So, rock-paper-scissors for hit or miss with this one or what, my dude?" Roxy asks you, adjusting the shoulder strap on her backpack so it's not yanking her onto the floor. You don't really blame her since college books are heavy, but she insisted on bringing them in instead of leaving them in the car. "I don't want some bitch to jack my shit, yo" was her explanation, so you guess you understand. College books are apparently really fucking expensive and you’d hate for her to have to waste money replacing them, especially since she can’t really afford it with how tight the budget is right now.
"Nah, let's leave this one to chance, I like it better that way. If I really wanted to know what the fuck was goin’ on every ten seconds, I'd drag Rose's ass here with me," you say, pushing the door open. It jangles loudly, how annoying. They should really install a fuckin beeper or some shit. Don't they know this is like, 2012? Honestly, you were raised in Texas and they had better shit than this.
"Besides that, neither of you should be using your powers in public," Dirk peers down his nose at you, "You know, people have been killed for--"
"Yeah yeah, we fuckin’ know, Sherlock Holmes," Roxy interrupts, " never use your powers in front of other people, one of them might be a god and they'll kill you. We know the lore, Dirky-Dirk. But when was the last time you saw a god or an angry purist hangin' out in Chicago? I ain’t never seen one and I got a hard time believin’ that someone like that is runnin’ around here of all places. Texas, yeah, but Chicago? Nah."
"I just... have a bad vibe. Besides that, it's not just me, Rose has a weird vibe too. There's like, a big void in her visions around mid 2015. I don’t really want to find out what’s up with that if I can help it," he goes on, "Either way, I think Dave will be fine if he ever does see someone like that, but I dunno... I think there's more to his music shit than just being real good at mixing."
"Well thank ya for the compliment, bro," you take a fake bow and Dirk rolls his eyes at you, "I know, I'm the best, you don't have to say it. I know I’m the hottest shit ever lain on the sidewalk before your bare feet. Watch where you step, you wouldn’t want to get my big talent all over your kicks, dude."
"’Kay, so first off, that’s fuckin’ gross. Second,I'm just saying, I don't think your powers are done developing yet. Rose doesn't think so either and she is the one you should be trusting here. She actually sees shit and everything she sees always happens,” Dirk walks up to stand in line and you follow him with Roxy trailing behind you. “Just be careful and never use your powers around people or for people you don’t trust, got it?”
“Yes sir Mr. Dirky, anything you say,” Roxy salutes and then promptly starts snort-laughing, “Are you gonna shut up long enough to... let me… order my…”
“What?” You tap her shoulder and she’s got that blank look in her eye, you know it well. “Who is it?”
“That guy, up there at the counter,” she points and your eyes follow. It’s the barista, there’s not really a lot of note about him from just quickly glancing, “He’s in my future.”
“Wait-- really? Here of all the places, you found someone like that?” Dirk puts his hand on her other shoulder, “Well now that we know that, how should we play this?”
“I don’t… I’m not sure. Just... be cool.” Roxy blinks furiously and shakes her head, “He’s really cute anyway, but I don’t think he’s my type. However…” Her eyes trail over to you. You swear to fuckin’ god if she’s implying what you think she is…
“I’m not gay,” you answer back as flatly as possible, though the side-eye implication does make you take a longer look at him. He’s… well, he’s got a good face. He’s short, his lips are plump, he looks like he’d be nice to hug, his hands look like they’d be great to-- “I’m not gay,” you repeat, just to… make sure she doesn’t get any ideas.
“Mmmhmm,” Dirk hums, “You know, there’s more than one kind of sexuality, Dave. There’s even different kinds of romantic attraction! There’s pan, bi, demi, ace, aro--”
“I’m not gay.”
You’re not. You swear to fucking god you’re not. You just… really really really want to maybe possibly hug this guy. A lot, maybe be best friends. It’s not… gay to think about being someone’s best friend, is it? No. Absolutely not. You’re not gay, bisexual, pansexual, or anything else. It’s not gay to want to be best friends with someone.
“Rox,” Dirk looks over at her and they share a look that you don’t quite catch, but they end their exchange with a nod. Honestly, you don’t understand how those two work. You don’t have the same “twin mood” with Rose, so it really doesn’t make sense to you. Rose won’t tell you jack shit about your powers, she says it has to do with “letting you learn to make your own mistakes and develop from there.” Whatever.
“Hi, my name is Karkat, I’ll… be your barista this afternoon. Welcome to A Cup of Love , how can I help you?” He sounds like someone just plopped him down here, it makes you feel a little bad for the guy.
“New job?” Dirk asks, thumbing through his wallet to fish out the tip ahead of time. Karkat, you think he said-- yeah, Karkat-- nods his head, “Here, you deserve it.” Dirk deposits a twenty into the tip jar.
“Thank you, seriously,” Karkat says, smiling softly at Dirk. Shit fuck fuck damn sonovafuckinbitch FUCK. "So, what'll you have...?"
"The name’s Dirk. I'll have a caramel cappuccino, no sugar please." He steps back to let you or Roxy order. You're... honestly kind of fucking in shock right now. You don't know what is going on with you today. Maybe you're just... really excited to make a friend? You can't stop staring at his lips and thinking about how nice they would... nope. Nope nope nope nope. You are not going there.
While you're still lost in thought, Roxy steps forward. "Roxy. Uh… I guess I’ll get a french vanilla frappe with a white chocolate drizzle, one sugar." You watch Karkat's hands as he punches in the appropriate numbers on the register. It feels like someone injected pure fucking ice water into your spine. Got a boy feelin' so froze it’s... god , you can't even focus long enough to make a metaphor. You are so fucked up.
Dirk's laughter pulls you out of your haze, "Come on, Dave, don't be shy. Tell Karkat what you want." He leans in a little closer, whispering quietly. "Still not gay, not even a little bit?"
"Fuck you!" You feel fucking mortified, disgusted, you are not gay. "Ugh, hi."
"Hi," he answers, voice like a smooth cigarette on the fire escape of a building after a night of passion. "Dave, was it?” he asks and you nod in response, “What will you have, Dave?"
"You," you bite your fucking tongue, dammit FUCK , "You--! You, you uh, you need to get me a mint mocha frappe. Two pumps of mint, three pumps of mocha, extra creamer, two sugars. Please?"
"Ugh. What the fffffffreakin' heck?" You wish a hole would open under your fucking feet and swallow you up. But he keeps going, "You actually like that sugary garbage? And creamer in it, of all the things? Disgusting. You should be ashamed of your poor coffee taste, Dave. Your... uh, siblings? They look like they have much better taste than you. Really, you should be taking after them and not whoever convinced you to like this liquid sugary crap."
“Hey don’t know it ‘til you try it, Karkat. It’s good shit, dude. You got a problem with my mocha-mint baby?” Finally, something to talk about other than how weirdly pretty he is. Not that he’s pretty… er, he’s not ugly either, he just… he’s got a nice face. The face of a friend. Yeah.
"Gross, absolutely fu.... er, freakin' gross," he sticks his tongue out at you and makes a dramatic gagging noise.
Weird, is he like, not allowed to swear or something? Well, it's something, you'll take the conversation. (If anything, it's to keep him talking because his voice is fucking wonderful. ) "Aww, what's wrong, Karkat, don't they let you swear on the job?"
His face sours, "No, I can’t I don't want to get fired when I just started a few days ago. Now, if you don't mind, can I get back to what I was up to? I'm on the clock, in case you happened to forget that."
"Whatcha got to do that's keepin' you so busy from talking to me? Ain't I cool enough for you to blow off some time an’ talk to?" You tease him, he's actually being a good sport and he's not taking your jabs too seriously. It's just the kind of quality you're looking for in a friend .
"I have to make your order, idiot." He smirks at you, "Unless you don't want your gross hipster sugar water?"
Well, that's enough to make you back off just a little bit, but it gives you an idea. You put your finger up and signal for him to wait, and then you begin the annoying search into your pockets for a pen. Not the front one... no no, not the back... Oh, there it is, clipped onto your notebook in your backpack on the ground. Your favorite pen, you had Dirk fuck with it so it never runs out of ink. It’s a kind of power that you still don't really understand, but you don't really care enough to ask. It doesn't matter even if you did because the explanation is always the same;
"Magic."
"Gimme your hand, homie." You wave the pen around, "Imma give you my number so you can hit me up or somethin'."
"Why would you do that?" Karkat pulls his head back and you watch Dirk cross his arms from the corner of your vision.
"Uh... cuz I like you an' I wanna hang out when you ain't workin'? Duh. Are you gonna gimme your hand or what, dude?" He thinks for a moment and eventually complies with that request. He puts his hand in yours, oh god , his hands are so warm and soft. It's really nice, really really nice. You wish you could hold them forever, but you gotta focus. Just write the number down, get your coffee, and wait for him to text you.
After jotting it down, he takes his hand back and looks at his palm. "...Thanks, I guess. Here's... uh, your receipt." He slides the paper across the counter. Then he turns to look at you, "Dave, was it?" You nod, "I'll... uh, I’ll text you later then.” And with that, he trudges off to make your coffee at the other end of the counter.
“He thinks you’re trying to date him.” Dirk supplies helpfully, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Poor Karkat, he has no clue. He’s gonna fall in love with a straight guy and you’ll be feelin’ all bad for leading him on like that. How could you, Dave? Such tragedy.”
“Aww can it, Dirk. Dave is just tryin’ to make friends.” Roxy gives your brother a playful shove. She presses her hand to her heart and sighs dramatically, “I, for one, am glad. Poor Davey hasn’t made a single friend that wasn’t some cute girl tryin’ t’mack on him since we moved here.”
“Alright alright, offa me. I ain’t no baby and I don’t appreciate all this fawnin’ over me crap. I’m sixteen now an’ I don’t like y’all treatin’ me like I don’t know what I’m doin’ with my life or somethin’, ya get me?” You roll your eyes at them, who do they think you are, their kid? Well… legally speaking, you guess you are, but that shouldn’t matter in this particular situation. You’re their brother and you definitely don’t want them treating you like a little baby who poops hard in his diaper. “I’m gonna go sit down and listen to music, bring my coffee to me when it’s all done, ‘kay?”
“But don’t you want to stay and talk to Karkat some more?” Your brother asks, pointing his thumb in the direction of said hard-working barista. “I’m sure he wants to talk to you again, after all, you’ve gone and piqued his interest. It’d be mighty rude of ya to leave him hangin’ like that, don’t you think so?”
“No, I just… I need a bit, ‘kay?” You know he’ll let you be if you play the introvert card. Besides, you did come here to have a study group with these two. You’ll need it because after this, you have to skateboard back home to wait for Rose so y’all can start dinner for the family. It’s your night to cook and you wanna get a headstart so you can fuck off with your music some more, assuming you have time for that. Math sucks anyway, you were never really all that good at it. But music theory is easy enough though, your teacher seems to like your work since he’s always giving you A’s across the board. He even said you might be able to move on to the AP classes if you keep this up.
“Alright, go ahead, we’ll be there in a bit.” Roxy reaches up to smooth some of her hair back into place. “Get your algebra out first, I remember that class pretty well.”
“Of course you do, your powers let you see the board you had in the past,” you mumble under your breath and walk over to take your seat. You wish you knew what your powers would do, all you’ve really figured out is that your beats always make people smile or cry, they do whatever emotion you put into them. And besides that, you don’t know jack shit. It’s a real fuckin’ load and you don’t understand why they haven’t finished developing yet.
Later that night, after you’ve come down from the weird high of meeting someone new and actually liking them , you find yourself compulsively checking your phone. All throughout dinner prep, Rose has to chide you at least six times for not paying attention. You damn near chop your fingertips off while cutting the pork chops for dinner. And it seems that this is the absolute last fucking straw for your twin.
“DAVE!” Rose shouts, grabbing your phone out of your hand. “Are you serious right now? Who are you talking to that is more important than your own personal safety? This is the third time your mind has wandered in the last twenty minutes. Is there something going on that I should know about?”
“No no no, I just…”
“You just what? ” She’s very much fed up with you and she’s holding your phone hostage in her hands. You’d better at least fess up a little bit so she’ll give it back. You need to know what Karkat says, afterall. You don’t want to miss his call or text or whatever he decides to do with your number.
“I talked to someone new today and I’m waiting for them to text me.” You admit, not quite meeting her eye. She softens a bit, lowering her hand and eventually dropping the iPhone back in your awaiting palm.
She sighs, “If it’s that important, you should’ve at least mentioned it to me. I really don’t want to drag you to the hospital at eight in the evening with no car because you chopped your fingertips off.” She takes the knife off the counter and stands in front of the cutting board. “You’ve helped plenty, go take a seat on the couch.”
You frown, you don’t want her to feel like she has to pick up the slack for you. “Go ahead, Dave. Don’t worry about me, I’ll live. I’ve chopped meat and veggies before and unlike some airheads here, I’m actually paying attention. Please do us both a favor and go occupy yourself with something, won’t you? I don’t want that horrible future I saw for you to happen. You know, the one where I end up calling Roxy to leave work early to take you to the emergency room?”
Well, once she makes up her mind, there’s no going back. You saunter off and plop down on the couch, pulling up some new music you’ve been working on to screw with on your phone. You let it play and your mind starts to wander again. Man, Karkat is really… interesting. You wish you knew when he got off of work. Then, something clicks in your brain and your fingers fly to the search bar of your Chrome browser.
how do i know if im gay
The first few things that come up seem semi-reputable, but what do you know? You’re an idiot sixteen year old googling his fucking problems because he’s too shy to ask his very gay brother. It wasn’t any problem to talk about gender when you were six or seven, but being gay? It feels impossible and you… you don’t know. Maybe you just don’t want to talk to Dirk because he seems biased. He’s already got that boyfriend of his who lives in Hawaii or something like that. But… nothing you see here feels right, you know you still like girls. You’ve had a few girlfriends since you’ve been here, and you… you guess boys are nice too? If you had to date one, you’d at least pick a cute one. Regardless, you scroll back up to the search bar again, typing in one of the terms you’ve heard tossed around at school, as well as by Dirk and Roxy.
how do i know if im bisexual
Now that sounds a little nicer… but… hmm. You’re… just not quite sure. Just because you think a guy is cute, that doesn’t mean anything, right? I mean, you’re already trans, maybe it’s just some kind of jealousy or something. You just want to be them or something like that. Right? Maybe? Yeah… that’s it. It has to be. That’s the most logical explanation after all.
With that thought in mind, you close out of Chrome, being sure to close all of your tabs and clear your browsing history. Dirk doesn’t look through it or anything, but you just… want to be cautious. You never know if someone from school or a teacher or something might check it.
Dinner that night is slow and quiet, Dirk and Roxy share slightly worried looks as you check your phone over and over. You end up hearing nothing at all, even as you’re tucked into bed later, you check it one last time, hoping and possibly even praying just a little bit that you’ll get something from Karkat.
Your phone says you have one new notification.
You scramble to unlock it and open your messages, only to see that it’s just some alert for flash flooding in the towns along the river about seventy miles south of here. Great. He couldn’t even be bothered to tell you no. Well… that stings a little bit. Actually, since you’re already so tired, you have no shame admitting to yourself that it hurts a fucking lot. Your face sags into a frown and you pull the blankets over your head, nuzzling your face deeper into the safety of your blankets.
“Stupid idiot, why the fuck would he talk to you when he clearly has better people to hang out with? Real people that he actually knows to talk to? God, what were you thinking? You were never good enough to hang out with anyway. Who would want to hang out with a freak like you? Once people figure out you have powers, you’ll be ostracized. You’re better off just not trying this shit at all. It’s safer that way. Who cares if this boy doesn’t like you? You don’t need to weigh him down.” And with that thought, you ignore the tears dripping slowly down your face and drift off into a fitful sleep.
It’s been a week since you first met Karkat at his job. You’ve stopped compulsively checking your phone after the third time you got in trouble in Algebra. Dirk started with his whole “protective sibling and guardian” thing. Fawning over you, asking if you were okay, trying to get you to talk about whatever could be bothering you. Of course, you insisted it was fine, that it didn’t matter. After all, you just wanted to be friends and it’s fine if you don't make friends with every person you meet.
Well today, you plan to go back and demand that he tell you what the fuck his problem is. You’ve already taken the liberty of skipping out on your last class of the day to sit and wait for him at the coffee shop. It’s not like you know exactly when his shifts are or what school he goes to. You don’t think you’ve seen him at yours so all you can do is hope his is a public one since they let out earlier than yours. As luck would have it, just as you’re settling into your seat in the middle of the cafe, a very familiar barista walks over to you.
“Hi Dave,” he says, looking a little bit upset about something. The fire in your brain dies out almost immediately. “Can I take your order?”
“Hey, hold on, what’s wrong, Karkat?” You ask, not even bothering to chew him out like you planned to.
“I… I’m really sorry. About not texting you even though I pretty much fucking said I would. Some ignorant dickwad threw my phone into the lake on my walk back home last Thursday. My… my dad was really pissed off, he... I really wanted to text you, I really really did, I’m so sorry.” He looks so apologetic. He pauses for a moment, “I don’t exactly have any friends whose phone I can use and my older brother doesn’t let me use his phone. I’ve been waiting for you to show back up but you haven’t been in so...”
“It’s…” Well, you really can’t be pissed at him for that. “It’s okay. I’m not mad. I’ll get you a new one. I’m sorry for not stopping in sooner.”
He blushes, “You don’t have to do that. You barely know me.”
“I don’t think you’d actually feel that bad if you didn’t care about me a little bit, dude.” You smile at him, “I should’ve given you my last name too, huh? You can like, find me on my blog and shit. I got a tumblr as cool kids in this day and age tend to do.”
He laughs at that, “Oh god, what kind of blog is it?”
“Music, mostly. Memes, shit like that.” You lean back on the bench a little bit, “I ain’t mad at you. Well, I was, I was awful pissed at you. But like, I dunno, seein’ you feelin’ bad and shit made me think twice. So I guess ain’t so mad no more. You’re cool, I’m cool, we’re cool.”
“Good to hear.” He smiles at you, “Coffee?”
“Right, oh, and it’s Strider. Dave Strider. Like 007, James Bond, but with less license to kill and more like a license to thrill. Hah, anyway, lemme get you my business card.”
“Oh my god, you don’t literally have a damn card, do you?” He rubs his forehead with his hand, it’s almost a facepalm but not quite.
“Nah, that part is mostly a joke, I don’t have one yet. Maybe someday though if I’m ever feelin’ down to card. I’m just gonna jot my shit down for you.” You grab a sticky note out of your bag and write down your blog, name, number, and your chumhandle down for him. “I even got pesterchum if you got that. You can message me on there. I got the app on my phone so I ain’t never gonna miss a message unless I’m like, asleep or at school. Cuz that’s like, a thing people our age do.”
“Don’t you have a job or anything like that?” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Ahahaha, I fuckin’ wish, yo. My brother says I ain’t allowed to have one until I can get a better handle on my…” you drift off from that sentence, “A better handle on my school work, you know?” He nods, “as for my coffee order, same as last time: mint mocha frappe. Two pumps of mint, three pumps of mocha, extra creamer, two sugars.” You hand him the paper and watch him as he pockets it.
“I’ll be done in a minute. I’m about to take my break, is it like, okay if I sit with you? I mean, you can say no, it’s no big deal. I won’t be mad or anything.” He asks and you have to practically sword-fight the blush from rising on your cheeks.
“Yeah… uh, yeah, of course. It’s a free seat, ain’t it?” You move your bag over. “I’ll be here, waitin’ up for ya.”
“I sure hope so,” he chuckles softly, “now pay me for your coffee.” You dig your money out of your wallet and hand the cash over to him. He takes it and walks back over to the counter. You watch him a little bit longer while he punches in your order and deposits your money into the register.
Then you turn back to your work, you’re nearly done with this song, you just have to listen for any wrong key-presses or bad editing and stuff like that. It sounds pretty okay so far, but it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion, you would’ve asked Dirk but you’re honestly a little too embarrassed to ask him. It’s a bit of a love-song, but it’s pretty chill and happy too. You put everything you had, all of your feelings and a little bit of your magic, into this one. Maybe Karkat would like to hear it? You hope it’s not to forward to ask him.
As you listen, you feel your own emotions changing and your heart feels lighter and lighter. You can really only describe the feeling as magic. The stress that was weighing you down feels almost non-existent now. Almost.
You’re lost in the sounds of the drums, Karkat walks over to you and sets your drink in front of you.“Careful, it’s fucking hotter than the Sahara. Are you... working on music?” He asks, sipping a drink of his own. He plops down into the seat across from you and you slide your headphones up and off your neck.
“Yeah, do you… wanna hear it?” You offer your bulky studio headphones to him and he looks apprehensive at first. “Don’t worry, it’s good, I promise. I’ve been doin’ this shit since I was like, eleven. My uh… my Bro taught me how to mix.”
“Your bro? You mean Dirk, the one I met last week?”
Your face sours, “No.”
“Oh, I didn’t know you had another brother.” He takes them from you and slides them over his head. You reach across and flip the switch that blocks out the sound from the outside. After that, you reach down and scroll back to the start of the track and hit play. You already know the lyrics and you listen for them in the background of the song.
Yeah, I just spent a year or two on self discovery
And at the tail end of it you went and fell in love with me
So wake and smell the shrubbery, the roses and the petrichor
And tell me if there's anyone who I'd be any better for
Because honey you're my other half
Sinking ship
Rubber raft
Twinkling lips, lovely laugh
And every bit of what I asked - plus a half
Honestly I've always kind of sucked at math
But a hundred-fifty percent sounds fuckin' rad
The song plays out the rest of the way and you watch Karkat’s face go from slightly somber to almost excited and soft. You wonder if your music really is that nice or if it’s your magic. Either way, he looks like he likes it. After it’s done, he slides the headphones off and sits there for a minute.
“You wrote this?” You nod, of course you did. You write and rap all of your own stuff these days. Dirk hasn’t helped you out in years. “It’s… it’s beautiful. ”
You blink, “Wait, really?”
“Yeah, dude, jesus fucking christ! You’re really fucking talented, Dave.” Karkat says, looking over at you. “All of this, all of this is you? The rapping too?” You nod again. “Jesus, I don’t even listen to rap but I’d listen to that over and over again.”
“Well shit dude, I can send it to you, if you want it that badly.” You’ve never had someone talk about your music like that in real life. It’s more surreal than a random internet comment or seventy from strangers. It feels like it holds more weight when it’s happening right in front of you instead of behind a screen.
“Please.” He grins at you, “I can’t believe someone as talented as you wants to be friends with some idiot like me.”
“Nah nah nah, you ain’t no idiot. At least, you sure don’t seem like one to me.” You reach across the table and pat the top of his hand, “Not even a little bit, Karkat.”
You finish out your lunch with him as he grills you on your music. How long have you been mixing? How much does this stuff cost? What kind of equipment do you use? Where do you get the lyrics? What’s your inspiration? Can he come hang out and watch you work? Do you write for a living? And when the answer to that last one is “just song lyrics” he looks offended.
“You’d be a wonderful writer, if you ever decide to do that.” He mumbles softly to you, “I’d read anything written by you, Dave.”
You try your best to duel the blush, keep it down. But goddamn it’s got a really good sword arm and you can’t help it. “I… thank you.”
“Shit. God fucking dammit, I can’t believe it’s four already. I gotta…” he looks over at the counter.
“Hey, It’s cool, I was just heading out anyway. You can like, message me on something, if you want?” You reach up and close your laptop, starting the process of packing your stuff away. He nods quickly and you shove the last of your notebooks into your bag. “Alright, have fun at work. I’ll be waitin’ for you to hit me up, that cool?”
“Yeah, of fucking course. And I… I’m really sorry about last week anyway. I know I already said sorry but…” You put your hand up.
“It’s really fine, Karkat. I already forgive you, man.” You do, you can’t be mad at him. There’s something about him that just keeps you from being too mad. Plus he really seems to care. “I’ll talk to you later then?”
“Yeah. Have a good night, Dave.” He looks like he’s waiting for something for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and walking back to the counter. You stand and gather your things, totally not watching him tie his apron behind his back and fluffing his hair in the window reflection. He’s cute , you admit. But you think a lot of your friends are cute, so it’s no big deal, right? You hope so, at least.