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Even with the regular messages from his fairy god troll and the occasional tips from his sprite, it took Dave a little while to get a handle on time travel. The biggest problem was having too much time on his hands. He'd overshoot his mark, and have to find a safe way to kill time until the loop closed.
Usually, this meant chatting with Terezi or brainstorming some grade A fresh beats, but he still got antsy.
This time, he'd gone back towards the beginning of the session. None of them were god tiers; he wasn't even sure if Jade was in the Medium yet. But he already finished setting up the time loops he needed on Prospit, and Derse. He could just try and skip ahead to set up his next loop, but Dave had the feeling he'd accidentally catapult himself into next month. His next loop wasn't more than an hour away anyway.
Dave glanced around, flying up, into the open window of John's tower. Right on cue, in the opposite tower, Dream Jade emerged. She took off, flying right past the place Dave had been only minutes before. Hell yeah. By the time he had all these loops in place, he was going to be an absolute dictionary on these twenty-four hours. He'd be wound up like a clock, hella tight and always just in time. That was the goal, anyway.
It was a huge relief that John was still out of it. His dream self was fast asleep on his squishy golden bed, not to wake until the moon did that thing where it crashed into Skaia.
"Yo," Dave said, tucking his hands into the velvety pockets of his god-tier pajamas. "Mind if I sit?" He asked, flopping down on the foot of the bed. "'Course not. You're too busy dreamin' dreams about not dreaming."
He watched John for a minute, lost in thought. Look at his little, dumb mouth. Soft and subtle and warm. Dave could just make out his dorky buck teeth beneath his lip, and the slight whisper of a dimple.
John was sleeping poorly. Even if he didn't have future knowledge on his side, he would have been able to see the baggy eyes, the tired slump of his entire body against the bed.
It was probably that stupid clown doll. Dave shot if a glare. It smiled back, one torn eye squinted. He wasn't really sure what it was or where it came from, but whatever it was, it was causing the bad dreams. John has said as much himself.
He wanted to stab the stupid doll, or just chuck it out the window for one of the little chess guys to have. But he was in the past. Time travel changed the rules. So all he could do was sit there and watch John sleep.
Shit, was he being weird, watching John sleep? No. No, they were friends. If John were awake, he probably wouldn't mind much if Dave used his room as a temporary golden lunar Bat Cave. Still, maybe he should find somewhere else to bum the next hour or two.
He was about to leave when he noticed the small, blue bound notebook under John's arm. Curious, Dave slid it free from its John-arm prison, turning it over to get a better look.
It was a small hardback notebook, with a cheap Nicholas Cage bookmark hanging out the bottom, and John's handwriting scrawled on the cover in permanent marker. "John Egbert's Diary."
Egbert had a diary? He’d never mentioned anything like this. It wasn’t even a journal, though, it was a diary. A super special diary that was apparently important enough it showed up with John on Prospit, like a holy messiah of private notekeeping, just sitting out like bread on the counter for any rando to find and slather up a sandwich.
His name was on the very first page.
after i talked to dad yesterday, he bought me this journal to vent my feelings. he wanted to buy the one with creepy clowns on the cover, but i barely managed to convince him to get this one. i also got an awesome nick cage bookmark. it’s not of him in con air, just some random celebrity photo, but—i think im avoiding the subject. darn, i cant even talk about it in my private diary. fine. here i go. dave strider is the biggest idiot i know.
That was... kind of harsh. Dave glanced up at Dream John, as if maybe he could give some answer. John had never said anything like that. Not to his face, anyway. Hell, he was pretty certain John didn’t get mad about things easily, unless it was something stupid. He racked his brain, trying to think. When was this written? Had he done something wrong? Well, shit. The easiest way to get answers would probably be to finish reading.
every time i ask him if hes gay he gets annoyed and avoids the answer. does he think im just being a pest. im trying to drop hints but how do you be subtle while being unsubtle anyway. its stupid. hes stupid. he made this stupid joke while we were chatting today. something, like, asking me if i wanted to shower with him. dave’s ironic jokes make me so mad. he can just say something like that and i have to laugh along. i cant say “oh hey thats funny best friend, did you know ive dreamed about that? multiple times? i wanna run my fingers through your wet hair and see you with your glasses off and kiss you every time a drop of water falls. anyway, how are you today?” he made that joke and i asked him if he was trying to tell me hes gay and he just got all exasperated. he wanted to chat and play some games online together but after that i wasnt feeling up for it anymore.
Holy mother of—was this for real? Dave swallowed, closing his eyes for a minute to try and wrestle back his composure. Slowly, he slumped down, sitting on the floor. After a moment, he read the passage again. The first page of a new diary, and John was announcing he wanted to share a steamy shower and make out. Maybe it was a prank? John liked those. Maybe that was it.
But that wasn’t John’s sense of humor. Not to mention he had no way of knowing Dave would ever see the diary, let alone read it. So it couldn’t be a prank. Then why did John write that? Did he really. . . Taking a deep breath, Dave started reading the next entry.
the holidays were great. i sent dave a box of mistletoe and some of the overflow gingerbread my dad made. i pretended i was doing an ironic joke and we laughed about it. thats easier than actually meaning something by it. daves nose gets so crinkly when he laughs. i wanna kiss all the creases and hold his hands and be the reason he laughs. i want to hang up the mistletoe and stand under it and hold his hand. i want to walk into my bedroom and see him wearing nothing but a pair of ironic kitty-cat boxers and knee-high white socks.
Holy shit, he remembered the mistletoe. He held onto that shitty leaf thing until it was falling apart. He'd thought it was a pretty clever bit of irony at the time; John had never really been good at the ironic arts, so Dave had been proud. But it wasn’t ironic. It was cheesy a romantic gesture that John didn’t have the guts to follow through on. He. . . couldn’t figure out what to think about that. Heart pounding in his chest, he turned the page.
i told jade by accident. i mean, i didnt use daves name but she knows i have a crush on my best friend who is also a dude and that kind of limits the playing field. i think she was sleep walking, so maybe she wont remember when she wakes up.
she said i should tell him. she was really vague but she talked a lot about things changing a whole bunch in a few weeks, when my thirteenth birthday happens. she says i might regret it if i dont tell him before things get crazy. maybe shes right. jade does know a lot of stuff that she somehow shouldnt know.
daves been bragging that he got me the best present. he does it in that calm way where he acts like he doesnt care that much, but he actually seems really proud of himself. or at least, as proud as mr. strider mc-rapping fancypants ever seems to be.
you know what would have been so cool and slick. if he were just talking about the present, playing it off like its no big deal even though he obviously knows im going to love it, and i just, cut him off. i look him dead in the eyes and tell him the best present he could ever give me is a kiss, and then we make out in front of a volcano, like in the movies. i mean, it wouldnt happen. for starters id just be making out with my computer monitor and that would be weird.
also im not telling him. i cant do that.
Holy mother of sick as shit beats and her loyal seppucrow entourage. Not only did John most certainly have the hots for him, but his sense of romance was as cheesy as his movies.
Dave tried to laugh it off, but his throat was dry as he stared at the page. They’d been friends for so many years. He’d kind of lost track. He’d never really thought it was sad or embarrassing that his best friend was someone he’d never met in person, no matter what people said. John was the kind of person that made the distance feel so narrow. Late night voice chats, sending each other stupid memes, complaining about life; John had always been his constant. His best friend.
His secret admirer?
i had a nightmare. it was dark and cold and i could hear someone yelling but there was so much wind. it was howling, drowning out their voice. my throat was filling up with thick black sludge, i couldn’t breathe, i was alone, it was dark, there was no one left. you know in dreams how you just know things. facts about the dream world just copy pasted in your head. i knew i was alone. everyone was gone or dead. my dad. rose. jade. even dave. i woke up sweating and i think i was crying.
it was the middle of the night. it was so dark outside, just like the black sludge in my dream. i knew everyone was asleep, but i just had to be sure they were still there, still okay.
rose and jade didnt answer until the morning. but dave was there before five minutes. he teased me at first but i think he realized how upset i was so he dropped it. he had bags under his eyes, but he turned on face cam. we talked for hours. i cant remember what it was about exactly. but somehow he always figured out how to steer me to topics that made me happy or jokes that made me laugh. i guess i fell asleep at some point. when i woke up the video window was still open and hed fallen asleep at his desk too. his hair was tousled and he was actually kind of smiling in his sleep. his glasses must have fallen off at some point. i know he likes them, but i like seeing his eyes. hes got beautiful eyelashes. one of his hands was on the keyboard like he fell asleep typing something just as clever and funny as it is stupid.
im in love with him.
i dont know what else to say here.
Dave turned the page, with shaking hands. But it was blank. So was the next page, and the next. He wanted to read more, but that was it. It was a new diary, barely used, and somehow, it still carried so much weight.
He turned back to the page he had just finished, mouthing the words silently, slowly, as if there might be some hidden meaning.
“I’m in love with him.”
Dave stood up, adjusting his glasses, stealing a cautious glance at Dream John. He should probably put the journal back. Taking it might cause some asinine butterfly effect and screw over everyone, or at the very least, alert John that someone had been snooping around. He carefully slipped it back under John’s arm, stepping away. He kind of wanted to grab it again, read that last part one last time, just to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.
He was acting stupid. He needed to calm down, just to breath. Dave put a hand to his chest, as if he could grab his heart and hold it still, stop the nonstop pounding. Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he retrieved the Timetables from his sylladex. A quick jump back into the present, he’d talk to John, and everything would magically make sense. Somehow.
The jump was probably his best yet. He arrived a few minutes before he’d last left, with just enough time to make the flight down to the Land of Wind and Shade. He didn’t really feel particularly pleased about his improvement. All he could think about was John.
Floating where John’s Prospit tower used to be, Dave glanced around, glancing down at Skaia. Hell, he wished he could look into the clouds like Jade and John. Maybe he’d get some advice on how he was supposed to do this. He almost started monologuing to himself—but now he was just procrastinating, damn it. Steeling his nerve, Dave took a sharp turn and started the flight down to LoWaS.
Finding John wasn’t hard. He was sitting on the balcony of his house; or one of them, anyway, now that Rose had piled up copies higher than the clouds overhead. He was curled up in his dorky blue Heir pajamas, typing on his laptop. Dave paused when John glanced up.
Same dorky smile and wave. “Hey, Dave! You’re back!” John hollered, waving him over. After a moment’s hesitation, Dave came, landing lightly on the balcony, sitting down next to John without a word. “How’s the time traveling going?” John asked brightly. “Oh, and before I forget, Rose has a couple updates on the plan to deal with Jack, and she asked me to fill you in if I saw you, so—”
“I read your diary.” Dammit. The words came out awkward and cracked, with the shaky pubescent squeak Dave had practiced out of his voice.
John set down his laptop, frowning slightly. Dave could practically see the gears whirring in his head. “My diary? My. . . my. . .” His eyes widened. He was like a marble statue, pale and stiff as a block of stone. “You mean, like, that diary?”
What was he supposed to say to that? “I don’t know, do you have a whole library of secret journals I don’t know about?” Dave said, clenching his hands into first, chest thrumming. “Have you got a whole secret basement bricked up with you rambling about this crush you’ve apparently had for a while and you keep thinking about it and never say anything and just—”
“I’m sorry,” John said. His voice was soft, cautious. He turned away, shielding his face. “It was. . . stupid. I’m stupid. I should have figured you only wanted to be friends, I shouldn’t have kept thinking about it and writing about it and trying to work up the courage, and I ruined all of it. If it’s too weird to be friends anymore. . . I understand.”
Dave bit his lip, staring blankly at the cloudy sky down below, blanketing the world beneath them. The silence was deafening. He couldn’t even hear his heartbeat anymore, only feel it, pumping so hard it hurt. “You. . . said you loved me. In the diary.”
He looked to John, trying to catch his reaction. John was still turned away, his face completely hidden from view. Cautiously, Dave reached out, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He pressed his hand to John’s cheek, turning his head so they were face to face.
John’s cheeks were wet, his eyes cloudy and dark. He didn’t look up, didn’t meet Dave’s eyes, even as he carefully took off his sunglasses. “John,” he said, leaning in closer. “Did. . . did you mean it?”
No response.
Dave took a shaky deep breath in, his heart in his mouth as he tried to find the words. “John. . .” he mumbled. “John help, I’m in love with my best friend.” He leaned in, pressing his lips to John’s.
His lips were soft, perfectly shaped, matching up against Dave’s like a puzzle piece. They pressed together gently, cautiously, both exploring something new and wonderful. John started pressing deeper, moving with a surprising strength, his hand sliding Dave’s arm, raising the thin hairs on his skin. Dave brushed his thumb across John’s cheek, passing over the tear stains, tracing the warmth of his skin.
Finally, John was the first to let go, leaving just enough space that Dave could still feel his warm breath. “You actually mean it,” he said quietly, carefully. “You aren’t just saying it because you don’t want to actually hurt my feelings, right?”
“Dammit John,” Dave said, a small smile escaping across his lips. He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against John, his eyes slipping shut, savoring to contact. “What do I have to do? Hire a skywriter? Tattoo it on my ass cheeks? If that’s what you need I’ll do it. I’m in love with you Egbert,” he said. He grabbed John’s hand, holding it between his, kissing him softly on the knuckles. “I’m in love with you.”