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Your name is John Egbert and you are completely shades-over-shoes for Dave Strider. You would say you had no idea how it got to this point, if only that weren't a blatant lie.
At first, it was all fun and games. You had a deep flirtationship, something more personal than a bromance, but a lot more sarcastic, ironic even. After a while, it wasn't so funny anymore.
You began noticing the little things, the way he moved around others and how it was so different than how he moved around you. The way he tried to only be expressive through his eyebrows like his brother, but talked with his hands so fervently you were afraid he might put anyone nearby in danger of being hit. You began finding yourself thinking, while you were fake-flirting, that you wish he were being serious.
You love his stupid irony, his coolkid mask, the dork behind said mask, the way he's colored the lightest shade of dick, the way he doesn't mind you being colored the slightest shade of asshole.
You love the way he walks, all leant-back and sauntering like some stupid anime protagonist trying to look cool.
When he sleeps on your couch you want him to sneak into your bed with you. You want to wear his shirts and pajama pants.
You want to show him how much you love him and goddammit do you want to kiss him.