we're going to trip the lights;

[wingborne]

John had a Problem Scale ranging from 1 to Nick Cage Cardboard Cutout.

The Nick Cage Cardboard Cutout Dilemma went as follows: one (1) John Egbert, roommate extraordinaire, had brought along the refrigerator, the microwave, various game consoles, a personal laptop, and one handsome, handsome cutout to the shared living space of the apartment. Unfortunately, the accusing plaintiff of one (1) Dave Strider, shared living space clutterer, spoke slandering lies against the alluring face of the cardboard cutout, such as “fuck egbert you shove that hideous thing outside my shower one more time he will be singing with the little mermaid and their seashell bras in the deep sea” and “that thing doesn’t just kill your boner it goes back in time until you were nothing but a sperm spared from tissue hell and it takes away your ability to ever have a boner.” These words were all spoken against the defendant, one (1) Nick Cage. The Dilemma never came to a resolve, much to the defendant’s supposed hurt feelings, and the life-size cardboard cutout was moved almost daily across the room.

So when John had a problem that far exceeded the Nick Cage’s Thick Wood Dilemma, he knew he was in trouble.

“Dave, you really have to go out with me.”

“Fuck no.”

“No, Dave, you have to!” John kneaded his fingers anxiously over Dave’s shoulders, the backrub rapidly turning into an interrogation center. “Dad will keep asking me and asking me if I have a girlfriend yet and I just can’t take it anymore because I’ve hit sorta a rough patch lately—”

“The Pumpkin Patch kids had better patches than you.”

“—and it’s really hard to tell your Dad that you have a dry spell—”

“Harry Potter’s got better spells and a harder wand than you.”

“—so just pretend that you’re my boyfriend and he’ll stop asking questions and it’s only for like a week and please, come on, Dave, we are like, best buddies. I will do almost anything. Except Nick Cage has to stay in the apartment, but other than that, anything. Super anything.”

John had known Dave for most of his life, with the exception of the times that he didn’t. He knew a lot about Dave, and even more since they moved together in a small apartment. He knew Dave had bad bed hair, left stuff all over the sink, would do anything for his friends, and forgot his pocket burritos in the microwave until they popped and exploded their baked bean insides into a gruesome CSI murder scenario across the walls. Two of those aspects came in handy, now, as John settled back down on their IKEA sofa.

He knew it was a weird request—asking his best friend to pretend to date him, ha ha!—but Dave had to understand. Every time he had gone back to his house, his father had been bugging him about girls. Got a girl yet, he would ask, faking disinterest. But John saw right through him. If he brought home somebody, then his father would stop asking. But asking Rose and Jade would be weird, because—it would just be weird. But he had seen the inside of Dave’s side of the refrigerator, and he knew weirder things about Dave than even the request.

“Might be more convincing if you had double d’s.” Dave remained stalwart and unsympathetic, watching Teletubbies on the television. John resented the insidious little bastards with their grotesque faces for distracting his chances at fake winning over his friend, but he might have been overreacting a tad.

“I will do the dishes for like a week.”

“No.”

“Two weeks.”

“I’m not fake cheap, either.”

“Yeah, I guess it makes sense. You’d be pretty expensive, since you’re so handsome and stuff,” John said, switching tactics. He pressed his hand against Dave’s arm, pretending to feel the muscles, because he had known Dave until he knew him better than himself, and he knew Dave spent hours staring at himself in the mirror.

“No.”

“Come on! I’m not lying, you know. I think you’re pretty handsome. And anybody would be happy to take you home for a prize.” John fake ran his hand up and down Dave’s arm again before dropping it. He wasn’t lying, as much as he could see Dave’s temple tense up. He honestly thought Dave Strider was a handsome friend, because he had that confident look, the slouch of uncaring, wiry and tense muscles, slender but powerful. He thought he liked seeing Dave’s red eyes in the morning, when he couldn’t find his aviator shades because John hid them somewhere. Sometimes, when they went swimming, he was honestly shocked people weren’t all over Dave’s fit stomach, the strength on his back and the way his rib cage was gently pronounced.

And most importantly, Dave was a good friend.

There must have been something honest in his tone, because Dave reluctantly glanced at him, leaving his beloved Po on the television screen. He sat with his arms crossed, a statue of deliverance upon suburban fates everywhere.

“Two months,” Dave said, “And Nick Cage is banned from the bathroom.”

“Oh, fuck yes!” John almost leapt into Dave’s lap, hugging him tightly, even as he heard, in the kitchen, another of Dave’s forgotten burritos sacrifice its life to the hotter goods. He was relieved Dave had agreed—not that he was expecting differently—but it was going to be super easy for the both of them. Just in, out, and everything would be back to normal. Problem Scale set back to 1, and really, what could go wrong?

--

Everything went wrong.

First, their flight was late, leading John to blabbering anxiously to his father about how they would be there soon, and then the only movie on the airplane was some dumbass movie that Dave watched on headphones the whole time, and the taxi cab ride to their front door took way longer than it should have and he needed to pay almost twice what he normally did and that was a total bullshit ripoff and—

“Breathe, babe.” Dave rested a hand on John’s back, a surprising solid presence. John sighed deeply and obediently, turning to look at him.

“If I wasn’t breathing, I’d be dead.”

“Miraculous that you’re still alive. Don’t see why you’re so stressed, anyway. Not like your father’s gonna leap out and attack you with twenty crappy swords at once and then try to throw you off your fucking building.” Dave touched the headphones around his neck as he nostalgically stared up at the white house.

“Speaking from experience?”

“What? No. Fuck no. That’s just crazy.” Dave scowled, obviously offended even with his eyes hidden behind the aviator plates. “Bro would never use less than fifty.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go over the story again before we go in. Don’t fuck it up! If you fuck it up, Nick Cage is getting back his bathroom privileges.”

Dave visibly shivered, obviously having been on the wrong end of Nick Cage’s peering face far too many times. John didn’t really think Nick needed to use the toilet, as he claimed loudly when he pushed the cardboard cutout into their tiny bathroom. He just found there was an angle where Nick could peer from the doorway and Dave would always totally freak out. It was funny until Dave accidentally punched Nick in the face, and then it was even funnier.

“Okay, so, we were going to this party together—” John started.

“Are we seriously using that one? Shit.” Dave rolled his eyes. Years of experience had John able to tell from certain movements how Dave was feeling, even with half his face covered in reflective shielding. The slight shift of the shoulders said he was rolling his eyes in exasperation. Tapping his toes meant Dave was darting his eyes frantically in nervousness, accessing the situation. Holding up his middle finger typically meant aggression, but John could never be sure.

“What’s wrong with that one?” John asked, rolling his eyes in return.

“Torn out of the pages of one of Karkat’s romance novels. We should have used mine. That was the shit.”

“It was the shit, Dave. That’s why we can’t use it, because it is super, super shitty.”

Dave’s proposal had been they had slowly fallen in love with each other, and Dave only confessed when he was about to move out of the apartment. Just as he had one foot on the plane, however, John came running up to him and begged him not to leave. Though they were happily reunited, on the way back from the airport, the cab suddenly had to stop because their small college city was being attacked by Godzilla’s third removed cousin, the weird-looking one that looked both like a pterodactyl and gonads. They were tearfully separated as they crawled away from the wreckage, at least until a month later, when they saw each other in the hospital room as the country tried simultaneously to rebuild and also figure out how to perfectly salt Godzilla’s third removed cousin to a tender, yet seasoned, roast. John, by then, had become part-robot, and he’d been afraid he couldn’t love with a tin heart, and also worried all the sex would come from USB drives now. Dave, for his part, had been partially embedded with the DNA code of an elephant, making him super strong, but also made him worry about stretch marks on his thighs. But even as they managed to work it out, Godzilla’s fourth removed cousin, now with 20% more gonad resemblance, had attacked and they’d both died in the wreckage, anyway.

John thought it was all right, except he was never going to mention sex in front of his father. That would be so stupid.

“Our eyes meet across the room in a party, we laugh, dance, fall in love. Whatever. Let’s go,” Dave shoved his hands in his pockets and started for the door, but John cleared his throat loudly and held out his hand.

“We should hold hands,” he said, even as he felt the heat creep up to his cheeks. “To make it more realistic. I mean, we don’t have to—if you’re chicken about it—”

Dave clicked his tongue once, slowly, before a smirk slowly curled on his face. “John Badonkadonk Egbert, are you trying to sass me up?”

“I’m not trying nothin’ on you. It’s not really foul play…”

“No puns.” But Dave grinned, and took his hand. John always thought Dave had a good smile. He didn’t smile too much, mostly keeping a solid poker face through the saddest movies, the funniest comedy routines, and sometimes even poker games, but that was what made it all the better. To know that smile was for him, in some way. Dave, not used to smiling, always had a slightly awkward one when he actually did grin at the world.

But John liked that part about him the best.

He swung their hands together as they trooped up to the porch, where John took a deep breath as he knocked on the door. But he barely made it to the second knock when the door creaked open, and his father stood at the door. He couldn’t help but grin when he saw his dad standing at the doorway, even with the bowl of batter in his arms and a white apron covering his standard office suit. He apparently rushed from the kitchen, judging by the way he still held a dripping beater in his hands.

“Hi, Dad, I’m home.” John felt a squeeze in his hand, and he reflectively looked at Dave. If he didn’t know any better, he would say Dave was nervous, like he actually was meeting his father as a boyfriend for the first time. But John thought he was mistaken—and even if he wasn’t mistaken, then Dave was probably more nervous due to the beady eyes of all the harlequin statuettes still loitering around his house. He really needed to sell those on eBay one day, all for negative cents.

“And you know Dave, my boyfriend.” He made sure to emphasize the boyfriend part, swinging their hands together. He could still feel Dave’s hand clench a little tighter, but he didn’t think Dave would be scared.

“Welcome home. It’s nice to see you again, Dave. Sorry for the mess.” His father stepped back to allow them into the house, and John gave a reassuring squeeze before dropping Dave’s hand in favor of the less sweaty baggage. Despite himself, though, he already missed the warmth. Maybe he should hold a warm stress ball later, since he thought there was something aching in him for the warmth again.

“I’m going to drop off our stuff upstairs and then I’ll help you in the—kitchen.” The pause was for the wrinkling of his nose, since he already smelled a familiar cake whiffing through the house. Jeez, his father always went all out whenever he came back home. It was ridiculous, really, like the care packages weren’t enough.

“Go ahead. The guest room is prepared for your friend.”

“Boyfriend,” John quickly corrected. Dave had been unusually silent, given his penchant for rambling on at the drop of a dime even about drops of dimes. That one had resulted in the creation of the penny tree and a new religion revolved around the sacred nickels. But Dave couldn’t be nervous, could he?

“I won’t need the guest room,” Dave finally said, louder than usual, shoulders slumped. He suddenly grabbed John by the shoulders, pulling him closer until John’s face was nearly pressed along the buttons and he could smell Dave’s light dash of cologne.

“Dave—” he tried to start, a warning to stick to the plan.

“We’ll both sleep in John’s room since we’re together now. If that’s all right with you, Mr. Egbert.” John watched Dave’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. When he turned around, forcibly removing himself from Dave’s death grip on his shoulder, he could see his father had fallen silent in thought.

“That’s fine with me,” his dad said, “Call if you need any help.” He turned away again, continuing to beat the batter, and John turned to gape at Dave, a batter beaten. This wasn’t part of the plan. This wasn’t part of the plan at all.

He hadn’t been expecting a lot, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting Dave to wear a shit-eating grin on his face. Dave scooped up the handle of the baggage. John was still too stricken to move, even when Dave leaned closer to breathe in his ear.

“You sassed me up,” he said with a quiet drawl, and John could hear him climbing the stairs to their newly shared room, even as he stared forward into the beady judgmental eyes of the harlequin statuettes.

--

Other than Dave groping his butt on the way down, the sassing seemed to fall into a quiet lull of footsie underneath the table during dinner. John was a pranking master, but even he had to admit, Dave was getting pretty good at the game. During the mashed potatoes, John tried to subtly swat away the wandering foot, and even in the green beans session, he managed successfully to evade the five-toed menace. But when Dave started gaining area during the meatloaf arena, John switched to another tactic.

His father, as he expected, had not asked too many questions about his love life. Now that he had brought Dave home, his father’s gentle inquiries about how he was at college had seemed to fade away almost entirely. That, or he had always exaggerated in his mind how much his father asked him about his love life, but that was silly. He’d never do that. Either way, though, as Dave’s foot slid up and down his calf, John cleared his throat over his drink.

“You know, Dad,” he said loudly, getting even Dave’s attention, “Me and Dave are getting along really well.”

He could tell Dave’s eyes squint at him from across the table. Dave’s feet inched closer to his knee, but John refused to budge. He was the pranking master, and he had a reputation to uphold. And besides, the conversation had fallen mostly quiet. Dave seemed anxious to only say a few words at the dinner table, unusual for his usual rambles about shores on Jersey over their TV meals. Whenever his father asked for something, Dave was usually there first to hand it to him overeagerly, even though at their apartment, Dave had spent meals without salt because he refused to budge on getting up from the couch and removing the salt container from the cabinets.

“I’m glad to hear that,” his father said, scooping himself another helping of the potatoes.

“Yeah, I like a lot of things about Dave.”

The foot trailed up his inner thigh, but John could see the look of metaphorical desperation in Dave’s eye. Well. He could metaphorically see the look. Dave was halfway slumped in his seat, one spoon still stuck in the green beans haphazardly as he tried desperately with his foot ploy. But John wasn’t falling for that.

“When I was falling in love with him, in our friendship turned passionate love affair, I kept thinkin’ about all the things that made him so… him. Like, he’s a really cool guy, Dad. When he’s not being a total ass. And he’s totally good looking, right? He’s super good looking. I would even say h-oaahhht.” The last word didn’t go exactly as planned. The plan was, of course, one syllable. The end result was several syllables and nearly doubling over on his plate as the foot finally reached his crotch, brushing against his junk in the trunk with light feather feet touches. He glared at Dave from across the table, who, despite looking like he might fall off his chair any second, looked astoundingly shit-eating.

“And he’s really funny. He knows all the second best jokes, since I know all the best ones, and he gets along great with anyone and he knows the illest beats. Sickest beats. Those beats are in such need of a higher white blood cell count, we should take those beats to the hospital and then let them stay there overnight just to make sure they’re doing okay.” John peeked over the table to see if he was doing it right. Dave’s near imperceptible shake of the head told him that he was not.

“Dave’s just a really great friend, Dad. He’s funny and he’s handsome and I like his smile.” John remembered Dave’s smile earlier the day, and after pinning Dave’s foot in between his knees, he gave a small humming sound at his meatloaf. “He has a really great one. It makes me pretty happy when I see it. Or when I see him, God, like he mumbles to himself sometimes and he always such great things to say so it sucks that I can’t hear him, but I think that’s cool, anyway. And he’s like a little kid sometimes, he super likes the worst sugary cereals ever and he takes photographs of himself and hangs them in our room.”

“John’s just talking me up,” Dave said, straightening up after regaining control of his foot. His rapid retreat didn’t go unnoticed, as John raised his eyebrows. There was a brief lull of silence as they both looked at Dave, who was collecting his thoughts with a red face. John totally did major damage on that one, and he bit into the stringy beans with great satisfaction. There was no taste like a home-cooked meal and victory.

“Nah, really, Dave’s the best ever. I’m really glad I have him as my friend because he’s always got my back, except sometimes in video games, and sometimes when he forgets his burritos in the microwave—”

“I’m just saying,” Dave said loudly, “John’s the goofiest cornball you’d ever meet, the most gullible stooge I’ve ever met. You know when I first fell for him?”

John glared at him from across the dinner table, but it was impossible to stop him. He could already feel his prankster’s gambit turning against him. Dave was a great bullshitter. He was simply the best there is. And John was now at the brunt end of the speeding train of bullcrap, and it stank like bull. And crap.

“I fell for him the first time I met him,” Dave said, encouraged by his winnings, “Yeah. The very first time I saw that dopey face. John’s all the Disney princesses, rolled up in some hellish mix of goodness and that candy junk that gets stuck in your teeth. He’s the good hero, goes in ass first, butt cheeks sticking out, boy has got some of the bounciest rear ends around town—”

“Um, thanks, Dave.” John uneasily stared down at his salad, hoping his father suddenly turned a deaf ear to Dave’s nonsense about asses. When he looked up again, his father was only nodding as if Dave had launched an invigorating speech about the weather instead. On the other hand, Dave’s face had turned a subtle hue of pink, radiating from the tip of his ears. Strange that a guy who drew self-proclaimed simulacrums of his own hairy cock on their shared board could even grow embarrassed at all.

“I’m glad you boys are getting along. I’m very proud of you son. And welcome to the family, Dave.” His father tucked away his napkin, as if all talk about butts had been forgotten already. “Since you two seem so close, I might as well invite you to a company party the old boys are having. Would you be interested in attending the black-tie affair?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” John blurted out. This was obviously a challenge from his father! Suspicions had been raised, but John was an old pro at this game. For every pow his father gave, he could give a ka-pow. He was simply just that good.

Dinner closed up soon after, and Dave, rebuked from helping in the kitchen, awkwardly hung around the door until John finished soaping up the plates. The battle with his father triumphant (and how war was glorious when he was victorious!), he felt like doing some good old fashioned ribbing to his very best buddy.

“Sorry, Dave. Looks like you lost this sassy round,” John murmured, gently bumping into Dave’s shoulder. He only meant it as a tease, but Dave suddenly started. A cloudy emotion crossed his face, and he abruptly grabbed John by the shoulders to press him against the door frame. Before John could even catch his breath, Dave was urgently sucking on his face like his life depended on it. No, wait—he was kissing John with his lips pressed shut, urgent and needy. His lips were surprisingly warm, if a little chapped, and John could feel Dave’s fingers pressed on his shoulders, the way his body leaned into him, that light cologne giving away to his natural smell of something thick and comfortable.

Dave finally leaned back, and John stared at him, dazed. He expected to hear a cacophony of shattered dishes from his father, a symphony to the tune of broken glass and lost hopes for the chastity of his chaste and loving son, but all John heard was the dishwasher humming.

“Checkmate,” Dave said, face beet red. He left John in the kitchen.

--

When John finally climbed up the stairs, he wasn’t surprised to see Dave already dozing off on the chair. Dave had tried to explain how the time zone worked on the plane, but his diagrams of obscene cleft butts and promiscuous phalluses really didn’t help John’s understanding at all. All John knew was that he was tired, and Dave would wake up grumpy if he slept in the char.

With a clatter, he dumped the boxes of condoms on his desk. Dave woke up with a start, a half-choked gasp about Godzilla on his lips from a remnant of what John could only assume was a wet dream.

“Congratulations, Dave, now my dad thinks I totally need all these. Oh, God, it comes in cherry flavor?” John picked up a box with a wrinkled nose.

“Do they have pineapple?”

“One, gross, Dave! Two, no, I don’t think so.”

“Then why’d you wake me up?” Dave yawned loudly, showing off his majestic bottom teeth, and rubbed sleepily at his eyes. After another moment, he sluggardly popped open a box and started opening one. John could only hope Dave wasn’t going to eat it, but he was too busy throwing on his pajamas to really care if Dave came to a sudden plastic phallus death.

“I guess we’re sharing the bed tonight, thanks to your little outburst,” John said, sitting on his fancy magic chest. It was funny how his childhood life suddenly seemed smaller, now that he was back as an adult. His video games carried heavy nostalgia, his desk that much smaller, that pogo ride just doubly more menacing, turning from children’s toy to sacred beast demanding blood sacrifice in the form of torn knees and forgotten dreams.

Oh, how times had changed.

“I called shotgun on the floor tonight, Egbert. Don’t go taking away take rug burns on my fine ass, striped up and down my thighs,” Dave said, holding up his shiny new cherry-flavored condom balloon.

“No way. We’re sleeping on my bed because I don’t want to step on your ugly fucknut face in the middle of the night. And if speaking of your non-rugburnt ass, what was that downstairs, huh?” John could hardly bite back a grin.

“Shut the hell up.” Dave’s face grew alarmingly the shade of his new best friend, the balloon.

“I know what you did, and what you did was totally self-implode down there, God. Don’t try to outprank the master. It’s a good thing I actually now what you mean, but talking like you’ve been staring at my ass since Neolithic day one? In front of my dad? Really?”

“You knew what I meant?” Dave inquisitively cocked a thick hefty eyebrow at him, which John supposed was a heavy face work out, judging by the size of those things.

“You say stuff weird, but yeah, I mean. I dunno why you think I’m great at all, but I know that you do, and I guess that means a lot to me? Even if I have to listen to you yammer on about my ass.”

“Fuck you. I’m so crystal clear, might as well be clear as gold. Sell that shit for bail bonds, exchange it for cash rewards, that’s more like it.” Dave fell silent for another moment, fingers lightly sketching on the squeaky latex, before he added, “I meant it.”

“I know, Dave. I meant what I said, too.” John grinned at him, all teeth flashing, and he was surprised to see Dave almost recoil in shock. That was silly. John thought it was obvious how much he liked Dave. Of course everything he said about his coolest bud, who had always been there for him, would be true. Dave could always somehow tell if he lied, anyway. But Dave was looking strange, almost embarrassed, now.

“Checkmated,” Dave murmured, or John though he did.

“What?” John asked, but he was rewarded for his efforts with a face full of cherry-flavored balloons. They made a few more—an array from lime to orange, until they nearly collected a sexually active rainbow on John’s floor. But Dave was a cranky baby, as usual, and he fell asleep half-lying on the bed, tuckered out first for once. John batted the balloons off to the sides, and shoved Dave to the inside of the bed, closer to the walls covered in a lifelong love letter to the screen. He turned off the lights, and crawled into bed.

He thought he would have fallen asleep quickly, but there was something different in sleeping in the same bed as Dave, different than usual. It wasn’t a bad different, like someone farting in bed different. But after his long speech, he thought something was strange. He felt suddenly too aware of the arrangement of his limbs to the proximity of Dave’s sleeping body, and, suddenly, he wanted to watch Dave’s face relax in sleep without the shielding shades, to see the thinness of Dave’s hair brush against his forehead. It was like suddenly they were closer together, and he could feel Dave’s soft breath come and go, his body heat radiating from where his loose limbs had been tossed recklessly about the bed, and he stared at Dave’s handsome bridge on his nose and the softness around his mouth, a surprising gentleness for such acidic words, a weakness in his armor to show his true kindness. It was like suddenly Dave taking all the blankets was endearing, and not an asshole move.

It was like a fart in bed, but a very warm, nice, and comfortable fart in bed.

--

They promised each other a temporary truce from the sassery when it came to shopping for new suits, since they had to look dapper for the office event. John had thought they would be going to Men’s Warehouse, because he had heard vague rumors their guarantees. But his father took them to the store that he had all suits fitted and done—Professional Business Suit for Professionals.

After the first half hour of pretending to play Mafia with their oversized suits and cocky fedoras, with the necessary smoking finger guns, they settled down to actually find good suits. Dave shot down several ideas of John’s first ten choices of ties, and when he found out John revolved around the gravity center of children’s ties of wacky hopping mouths and tiny bunnies, he dragged him over to get fitted for a suit of a plain blue color.

“It’s called a black tie affair.”

“And this is called matching your eyes.” Dave held up two ties, which John could only figure out were the exact same shade of blue. But Dave must have been able to tell the difference, because he tossed one over his shoulder and pressed the tie over one of John’s eye. John had always thought matching eyes with clothes was a metaphor, but he had thought a lot of clothing related things were metaphors, like “plaid was out.” He didn’t know plaid was literally not in fashion, he just thought it was a joke. And now it made sense why everybody kept saying that to him when he wore plaid.

“You know a lot about this fashion stuff, huh?” John asked, trying to sneak a peek at a Mickey Mouse tie on the corner.

“You’re just a dipstick about it.” Dave tossed another blue tie into the mix, and switched them up again. John watched him stare at ties the same color of blue, and let his focus wander to where Dave’s own suit was seated neatly beside them. He thought Dave looked pretty cool in his suit. He had gone for the literal black tie in the black tie affair, but his entire suit was black and slim on his figure. It really fit him nicely, and John didn’t know much about fashion, but he thought Dave looked nice.

“Hot,” John said distantly, staring as Dave picked up a frost wind blue tie before tossing it out for blue feather, only to be quickly and rapidly replaced with duck egg. John began to suspect these weren’t even colors anymore.

“What?” Dave asked abstractly, picking out royal peacock, which John thought was a bad choice, because he was not royal.

“Just thinking to myself, I guess. You looked hot in your suit.” John prepared himself for on the onslaught of tie pressed against his eye bullshit, but Dave seemed surprisingly unarmed, standing there immobile with his jar of blue ties. Dave opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again, like a fish gasping for water.

“You’re a shitty kisser,” Dave said abruptly, turning away. The back of his ears still flared red, though, and John rolled his eyes.

“I’m a great kisser.”

“Like making out with my tuna fish salad for lunch. Worst five bucks spent, should’ve gone to Chili’s and got myself a baby back rib to French kiss.”

“It was convincing enough for my dad, right?” John asked anxiously. His father had eyes like a hawk. Or an eagle. Or maybe even a pigeon who had locked eyes with a fallen comrade of a sandwich.

“I don’t know. You might need a bit more practice.” Dave strung his fingers down mineral water blue.

“You’re such an ass.” John elaborately sighed. “Okay, kiss me.”

“What?”

“You said I need practice! So kiss me. Come on.”

Dave was still hesitating when John leaned over demandingly, deep blue sea still hanging off his open collar. He knew Dave never backed away from a challenge, and as he expected, Dave leaned forward to kiss him again. John thought Dave’s aggressive side would come out, like a lion doing kung-fu fighting in the wild in a natural way but they would never show on Animal Planet, but Dave was surprisingly light. His lips barely brushed before he pulled back, took a deep breath, and kissed him again, deeper.

John thought it felt nice, and good practice was good practice. He hooked his hands around Dave’s shoulders and pulled him in tighter, and Dave responded by gently opening his mouth. It was wet, he thought. A bit sloppy. But it was nice, and he pulled him in closer and felt surprised when Dave came up to breathe for air, nostrils flaring. John, who had breathed through his nostrils, felt a gut punch of disappointment.

“How was it?” John asked.

“You could have been better.” Dave tried to extract himself from the death grip clasp, but John only tightened his hold around his own wrists and stared Dave in the metaphorical eyes. The shades made him stare into his own eyes, but judging by his stare, it was very convincing to himself.

“Do it again,” John said firmly. Dave exhaled softly, a thin line of air escaping between his teeth.

“You’re playing with fire, Egbert.”

“Then I’m gonna fan it.” John pulled him closer, and Dave kissed him again. They finally stopped practicing when their practice toppled over another tie bin and his father came around, looking for them. In the end, Dave bought him a golden brown tie to match his eyes, and John bought a tie with funny bowler hats on it, because bowler hats were hilarious.

--

“Most boring party in the world,” Dave mumbled into his hand. “This is it. This is Hell on Earth, congratulations, pin a ribbon on this ass donkey and let’s blow this joint.”

“It’s not that bad, Dave. Look, I made a tiny sandwich tower.” John marveled at his handiwork. Truly, he must be imitating the greats in this world. The Leaning Tower of Pisa was almost comparable to his majestic slant of wheat bread and finely chopped up lettuce. Other than his sandwich tower, though, he had to admit the party was pretty stale. When they said black-tie affair, they must have been talking about in their minds, too, because it was filled with men in suits and women in dark dresses and the music was slow and everybody moved in a metronome pace. But his father was having a good time, talking to some co-worker in the corner.

“I could go for another drink,” Dave told his empty glass.

“If you go for another drink, then you’ll be drunk.”

“That’s the point of wanting another drink.”

“I’m going to get you something else,” John said, standing up, “And you’re not going to get drunk at my dad’s party.” He collected Dave’s empty glass and leaned over to kiss him briefly on the forehead. After that, he went and asked for some orange juice at the open bar, and as he waited with his elbow on the counter, he realized he had kissed Dave briefly on the forehead.

The kissing practice must have worn his kissing mechanisms too thin. Now he was a kissing monster, he realized with growing sick horror, and he couldn’t be controlled. Not to mention it was really weird to kiss Dave since they weren’t actually dating at all, but it was just really bad that he couldn’t stop himself from kissing. He’d become the kissing monster. He’d become what he most feared. What if he couldn’t draw any lines? He couldn’t go around kissing walls willy-nilly. That was highly unsanitary.

When he sat back down again and slid the orange juice across their table, Dave barely looked up from tapping away from his cell phone.

“So that was a good cover-up now, huh?” John said loudly over the gentle classical music.

“What?”

“That—whole kiss thing. I totally did it because my dad was looking over.”

Dave glanced up, and for the first time in all his life, John couldn’t tell what Dave was thinking. Dave had a solid face, and his fingers were still hovering over the cell phone. It felt like an estranged moment, like suddenly the music in the party was too loud and the people talked too brightly and the floor was too shiny. It was a painful sensation.

“Sure,” Dave finally said, slipping away his cell phone. “Let’s dance.”

“Really?” John peeked at him again, and he was relieved to see the imperceptible moment was over. He could tell Dave was thinking, but he didn’t know what, and it didn’t matter. He scrambled to follow his lead onto the dance floor, where they stood nearby some pillars and a rather pretentious leafy frond. John couldn’t stand pretentious plants. There was just something so jaunty about them.

John made a face when Dave grabbed his butt firmly, but he didn’t complain. He just draped his arms around Dave’s neck and swayed off-beat. He knew it was off-beat because Dave occasionally squeezed hard to try and get him back on the beat to the drifting classical music.

“I’m not a great dancer, Dave.”

“I can tell.”

“Why are your hands on my butt?”

“You’ve got a fine ass, Egbert.”

“You can keep them on, but that means Nick gets to stand right outside the bathroom on a technicality.”

“Driving a hard bargain.”

“But you’re keeping them on.”

“Guess I am.”

John rolled his eyes at the laconic responses, and he let his head rest on Dave’s shoulder. The dance, despite being only a few feet at a time, was making him feel tired. Even though he had tried to keep Dave entertained, the party was draining him after all. He was surprised Dave didn’t say anything, except to remove his hands from the buttocks area and hold him by the waist almost gently. John thought it was soothing—and that Dave was warm. The comfortable fart feeling came back again, and he watched the sculpture of Dave’s throat through half-lidded eyes.

There was something nice about being with Dave, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The song came to an end, and John slowly rose up, like waking up from a faint dream. But he felt a pull on his arm and he found themselves in the shadow of the pillar, away from the boring eyes of the other people and away from the prying eyes of the pretentious frond.

Before he could even ask, Dave pulled him suddenly for a kiss, and it was an abrupt, deep kiss. John hesitated, and he could tell Dave knew he hesitated, because the kiss was over in a second, and Dave stood back, face red and blotchy.

“Um, Dave,” he said, finally, “I don’t think anybody can see us—here…”

“That’s the point.” Dave’s words came out brusque and harsh, and John could see the outlines of his fists even in the suit pockets.

“Dave, I don’t understand—”

“No,” Dave said. “You wouldn’t understand. And it’s not your goddamn fault, but you have to understand now, because I’m fucking telling you, to your face. That I actually meant what I said, every time, shit was realer than butter, more real than California cheese, it was dairy farm up in here in realness, when I macked on your face, it was real, and the things I said, that was downright yogurt, so you have to understand.”

John wasn’t certain he understood. He thought the party going on in the background was quiet, and the frond very judgmental, and his friend very upset. He tugged at his cuffs and stared down at his feet, trying to swallow it all. It was a heavy weight, heavier than he thought, and when he tried to swallow it down whole, it landed flat at the bottom of his stomach.

“Dave,” he said to his feet quietly, “What about the butt parts?”

“What?”

“At the dinner table. Do you really stare at my butt?”

There was a silence.

“Yes.”

“Oh.” John laughed into his hand, and a moment later, when he heard Dave chuckle, he thought it was going to be all right, no matter what answer he gave. He looked up to see Dave leaning against the wall, scuffed sneakers kicked out, a giveaway of rebellion against the black tie affair.

He didn’t know if he liked Dave in that way. He didn’t know if he liked anyone that way. Dave had been right the first time, John wasn’t just having a patch or a dry spell. He was having difficulties with knowing what it felt like to actually be romantically involved with someone, and it was a scary thought, that he had grown old and he was supposed to know, by now, everything. Adults like his father could masterfully scout the field for potential clients, but John thought he couldn’t be sure.

But he thought about hands and kisses, and he thought about them, long and hard, and he didn’t quite think of them in a grown-up way—or he hoped he didn’t, or else grown-ups just suddenly became scarier—but in a way, he thought, made sense.

“Dave,” he said, “I don’t really understand, and I know you get that. And even though you’re telling me you’re saying stuff, you’re not really saying it, either. But that’s okay, I just… these past few days, I thought I felt stuff, too. I don’t really know how liking someone feels, but if I’m with you, I’m happy. If you think that’s good enough…”

“It’s good,” Dave said, a little too quickly. Even in the dimness of the shadows, John could see his hands knot up in his pockets.

“Okay,” John said. “It’s good. But I’m glad you told me and stuff, anyway. And that I needed someone to come with me on this trip, or else you’d never fall in love with me.”

Dave suddenly let out a short laugh.

“You seriously think I fell in love with you on this trip?” Dave gave his awkward little grin. “Just because I got to mack on your face doesn’t mean I fell in love.”

“What?” John was astounded, but then again, that had been some serious macking. It was almost a mackerel of a macking.

“I fell in love with you the first day I met you.” Dave leaned over to gently bump him on the shoulder. “I wasn’t lying.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are such a big fat liar, if you weren’t lying, then you’d prove it. Maybe with a kiss or something.”

John leaned expectantly against the pillar, and after a long moment, Dave gave a throaty chuckle and leaned forward again.

It would be too much to expect happy endings from these sorts of stories, so the end, after all, was quite unhappy. John was unable to surprise his father with the news he’d been faking it but now it was real, because his father only replied with a gravelly “I know.” Dave spent most of the airplane ride back flicking tiny paper footballs to the people across the row until he grew bored and fell asleep snoring on John’s shoulder. And forsaken by his beloved fan, Nick Cage the Cardboard Cutout spent the rest of his days facing the wall, especially during any sexual encounters that may have ensued. So now with the Cardboard Cutout problem resolved, John needed a new scale, from Having Dave as a Boyfriend to 10.

It wasn’t a bad scale.

Comments

[chalaite]

I love the fact that I'm reading your stories without knowing what am I getting into and not having a summary to anticipate anything.
Yet, I'm still swept away by everything you write * 0 * )<3
John being aromantic/asexual makes a lot of sense, Dave must be really frustrated ahhaha. The whole time I was like "Joooohhhnn what are you doing to the poor boy".
I can't believe Dave talked bout John's ass in front of his dad though!!!!
Mr. Egbert must be really amused behind everything hahaha.
I'm soooo happy to have found this here *_* If I'd realize these entries hid so much treasure, I would have went through them all a long time ago.
Now I'm remedying that > v O )