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Your name is Dave Strider, and you have unironically loved your best bro John Egbert for as long as four years and now you’re telling him about it.
Not exactly the smartest thing you’ve ever done in your life, but at least you’re getting it over with.
“So, yeah. Pretty much had a torch burning for you since sixth grade,” you say in your usual tone, calm and unimpressed, yet inside you’re screaming and crying and why are you doing this? Why are you even telling him? Jesus, you are the worst kind of idiot and you should go jump off a cliff once all of this is over and John-
John will hate you for ruining things, for being such a-
“Oh.” John murmurs, voice unusually soft. You push away the urge to yell at him, to take him by the shoulders and scream at him (“Oh? Is that all you’re going to say?! I’ve always been cool about things but you don’t know what you do to me, you don’t know how much this is making me feel right now-”), and keep quiet. He opens his mouth just as you try to say something, something less stupid that could fix things, and you back down. It’s his time to say something, now. “You know that I’m not gay, right?” He says, eyes darting up from the floor to look at you. He’s never looked so beautiful and it hurts, because you know that he’s not yours.
“Yeah,” you reply with a nod. Your hands are shaking in your windbreaker’s pockets, and you clench them into fists to make them stop. It feels cold, for some reason. “Wasn’t exactly expecting you to reciprocate, or anything. It’s stupid.” You shrug, slipping one of your hands out to rub at your arm before slipping it back into your pocket. “Just wanted you to know, I guess.”
John is still looking- no, staring at you, and you hate him. You hate yourself. You hate that you love him so much, hate how you’d do anything for him, and he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even realize that you’d give him the whole world if you could. You hate how he remains so oblivious to it all, how unaffected he is to all the anxiety you’re feeling right now. He probably doesn’t even realize how big a deal this actually is to you. (Scratch that, he really doesn’t.)
“I guess I’m willing to try,” he says slowly, a nervous smile on his face as he looks at you.
Wait.
What?
“Jeez, Dave,” he laughs, untangling his fingers from each other and using one hand to softly slap you by the cheek. It’s barely even a slap with how gentle it is. “Come on. You like me, right? And people who like each other go on dates. So. Conclusion is, we should go on a date.”
“What? I don’t-” you choke on your words, eyesight worsened by the blur of tears getting in your way, “you want to go on a date with me?”
“Uh, duh.” He laughs again, voice returning back to its normal volume. “We should at least try before getting hasty with anything.”
There’s a moment of silence of John looking at you, the smile on his face expectant, before a quiet sob breaks it and you’re shaking, your hands still balled into shivering fists as you slump into yourself and John’s holding you, that worried frown on his face again as he keeps asking if you’re okay over and over again and you just cry into his shoulder, your hands slipping out of your pockets to cling onto his back as he embraces you. It gets quiet eventually when John realizes that you won’t be able to answer, his large hands running through your hair in comfort as you try to keep in your sobs.
“You are such a doofus,” John says affectionately and you laugh, tears still running down your face as you pull away for a short while. John stops you from getting your hands on your face with a small huff, his hands doing the work of brushing away the tears instead. You try not to feel like a schoolgirl who’s head-over-heels in love with the school quarterback but you’re pretty sure it’s a futile effort either way.
“You love me anyway,” you shoot back without thinking, though it doesn’t really matter when John grins his toothy grin at you.
“Pretty much,” John replies with a small laugh.
You are unironically in love with this bucktoothed dork in front of you, and you don’t mind that he’s not as in love with you just yet.
You’ve waited for four years. You think you can wait for a few more.
---------------------------------
It’s been nine months of being in a relationship, and you’ve yet to get tired of John Egbert. Rather, you fall harder; which is really unexpected considering you never thought there’d be any more of the black hole that is your love for John to get any deeper. Being wrong has never felt so good, really.
Though would it even be called a date, to have movie night with John’s head in your lap and eating popcorn like it’s no one’s business? It’s not any different from every day with him. Which, with all things considered, is one of the reasons you’re happiest with him. You easily transitioned from best bros to best boyfriends and it’s wonderful, amazing, and you can never live a day without him ever again. There wasn’t much to change considering John was already an adorably touchy-feely doofus before the two of you became an item, and you already made him an exception to your no-smiling policy way long ago. The only things different would be the deliberately long embracing time, the kisses, the non-ironic hand-holding, and p much everything else that everyone else already noticed was going to happen way before you or John did. You don’t even have any words to express how ridiculously happy it makes you whenever you get home and you know he’s already waiting online for you if he’s not actually with you, or when he texts you with that stupid (really, why would he even do that) text heart that makes you smile that goofy grin that totally breaks your cool enough to make Bro come after you with a sword and Lil’ Cal in tow. (Jesus, he even makes you feel like a terribly sappy tool just by smiling at you how does he even do that).
You are so unironically in love with him that you can’t make a proper poker face whenever he’s in the vicinity. Hell, your ninja sensing skills have never been given the opportunity to sneak up on him anymore since he always gets to you first with his huge and bear-crushing hugs that leave you breathless in both the figurative and literal way.
Oh. Wait, is he calling you? Shit, you got too much into your thoughts. You need to stop that.
“Yo, Dave,” he laughs as he pokes you in the nose. You get cross-eyed (you did that on purpose for the irony of course) at the finger on your nose and John laughs again. “You are so not watching the movie, man.”
“Psh,” you swat his hand away and he puts it back into the half-empty bowl of popcorn. How the hell did he eat all of that so quickly? “I was brooding. Mysterious coolkids do that.”
“Right, and I’m a unicorn.” He retorts.
“Attracting all the virgins, huh. Wouldn’t be surprised.” You snort before laughing once he manages to get hold of a pillow and smacks you on the chest with it. “Whoa, filly, better stop that before you hurt someone. Specifically, yourself.”
“Shut up, dork,” he shoots back, a mischievous grin on his face as he throws the pillow at your head and you dodge, which eventually makes the pillow land on the back of the couch. Welp, so much for that.
“Who are you calling a dork, dork?”
“Takes one to know one, doofus,” he laughs again, hand reaching out to take you by the nape before tugging you down. You follow the pull of his hand until you’re pressing noses together, and you try not to smile. John just grins like he’s gotten the prize to a prankmaster contest. “I have a secret for you, Davey.”
“Call me Davey again and I’m withholding any future chances at rides on the Strider lovetrain, Derpbert.” You retort, rubbing noses with him. Ironically. (Okay not really but who cares?) “So spill.”
“As if you could resist the Egbertcruiser of romance, Strider,” he teases you and yeah, that’s totally true. “Anyway, the secret is,” he lowers his voice and you duck your head down to hear him better,
“You are a total dork. And I sort hate you.”
“Whoa, what?” You startle back at the last notion, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What the hell did I do?”
“Well, for starters,” he looks up at the ceiling in contemplation as you watch him, “you make me feel weird.” You blink at that. Seriously? “My stomach gets totally flipped whenever I see you, and I get the ridiculous urge to smile just seeing the back of your head-”
“You always have the urge to smile, Egbert,” you cut him off with a snarky grin. He scrunches his nose at you and flicks you on the forehead with a huff.
“Shush now. I’m talking.” John clears his throat, at which you stifle a laugh, before beginning again, “I always feel like laughing when you smile at me because wow, I’m special to the Dave Strider. That’s pretty crazy, dude.” He laughs and you dare to poke him on the cheek. He just swats your finger away with a wide grin before continuing, “Sometimes I just want to pull you along to dance with me which is stupid, really, because why would I do that when there’s no music? That’s just weird.”
“Totally.” You agree.
“Also, I dunno, when everything else gets depressing,” he looks away before looking up at you with wide blue eyes again, a softer smile on his face and a tint of red on his cheeks, “just thinking of you, just seeing you and stuff, makes me happy.”
Oh my god. That is the sappiest thing you have ever heard from John’s mouth in your life. You’re damn sure your heart just stopped, so how are you still breathing? (Also the chance that you have a horrible blush on your face at this moment is somewhere along 99.9999% oh jesus you are so lame.)
“You realize that is probably the sappiest and cheesiest line to exist in the world coming from an Egbert’s mouth, right.”
“You love it.” John manages to wink at you through the blush spreading like wildfire on his face. Well, it’s not like you’re any different. “Just admit it, bro. My cheesy lines make you get the vapours.”
“Oh, Mr. Egbert, oooh,” you mock a swoon with the back of your hand pressed to your forehead. “Bless my Texan heart and get the mint juleps, I think I’m swooning.”
“Totally a doofus,” he points out, which then results with you pressing a pillow in his face. He laughs before managing to pull the pillow away from you and throwing it away, placing his hands around your nape again and tugging you down for a small kiss. You try not to giggle at how cute it is.
“Just for the record,” you manage to get in once you pull away, “I don’t think there’s any place for hating you in my heart.” You press a hand to your chest, right at the point where you know your heart is, before saying, “Got it filled to the brim with loving, sorry.”
The grin on his face is so wide you’re a bit worried that he might split his face in half, which is really a stupid thing to think now that you’ve thought about it. “I know,” he laughs again while intertwining your fingers together, your other hand running through his hair and massaging his scalp. “Just for the record,” he says, voice unusually soft, “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone else as much as I have you.”
“Jesus, you’re such a sap.” You retort quickly, just to try and hide the smile threatening to crack on your face.
No dice, obviously.
John grins once he sees the smile on your face, gripping onto your hand as a reminder that yes, he is totally real. You are not dreaming, Strider. “I’m not the one writing myself songs, Mr. Strider. I think that qualifies you as the bigger sap.”
“I’m not the one carving JE plus DS on trees with hearts added,” you shoot back with a small grin. “Why would you do that, I wonder?”
“Because shut up.” He tugs you back down again until you’re practically cross-eyed just trying to look at him. “Shut up is why,” he says finally before pulling you into another kiss, a little bit longer and sweeter than the last. He’s not the best kisser with the buckteeth and all, but you feel good (if you’re taking into consideration the tachycardic beating of your heart, the blush burning on your cheeks, or the stupidly and hopelessly in love smile you have on your face, then yeah you’re feeling really good).
You think you can get used to living like this.