Yeah, so I didn't really think I'd continue this… but why not? And I realized after this first part, I like writing Dave better CX Anyway… enjoy!

You are John Egbert, nineteen years old, and currently your lips are locked with those of your best friend.

Hold on. How did this happen? You are most definitely not a homosexual. Then why are you making out with your friend, who is in fact, a guy? This is an unanswerable question.

It was a normal night, but somehow it turned into this. This is unacceptable. It's not like you didn't feel anything for Dave, but it was nothing like this. Not all this romantic bullshit. He was just friend; that's all you wanted him to be. Countless times you had told Dave that you are not in any way gay. Apparently not enough times though.

And yet you keep kissing back instead of stopping. No. Fuck no, this isn't right.

You feel his tongue rake across your teeth, and immediately, you pull away and push his chest deep into the couch. "Dave, stop." You stare him down, but he just stares right back up. It's odd seeing him without his shades, but you can't seem to focus on that right now.

"What is it?" He asks in that normal cool tone. That tone pisses you off sometimes; you never know what he's really feeling. Even his eyes weren't showing any emotion.

"I can't do this Dave." You sit back and scoot to the other end of the couch. He follows suit and sits up as well. "I don't know how many times I have to say this, but I'm not gay."

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Fuck, Egbert. You keep saying that l, but I know you kissed me back right there. You can't deny that."

"I know... I was just a little surprised." Your stomach feels almost queasy as you sit and flick your eyes across the dark room. "But I know for sure now. I am straight Dave. You've told me before that you're bi or whatever, and it doesn't bother me in the least. Just, you can't do that- You can't force me to kiss you..."

You are now Dave Strider, and hold the fucking phone. What did he just say?

Your eyes narrow as you gain a light glare. "What was that? I didn't force you to do shit John." You can tell he's uncomfortable, but there's no turning back now. "You were the one crawling up in my lap-"

"Now wait Dave." Oh, this is going to be good. "It's not my fault you wouldn't take your glasses off. I just thought it'd be nice if you could feel comfortable around me."

You laugh, probably too loud and too forced. Your emotions are blaring now, and you're certain everyone could be seen without your shades. "Jesus, Egbert. Seriously? You want me to feel comfortable? Well you failed miserably. The last few months have been anything but comfortable for me when I have to be around you and stifle everything I feel for you."

Shit shit shit. Take the words back. Eat them. Make him forget you said anything.

He blinks and tilts his head a little. "What do you mean?"

"Fuck. Nothing. Just- stop."

"Stop what?"

"Stop. Stop being you."

Oh wonderful thing to say. Yes, you are Mr. Smooth Talkin' Strider tonight.

This triggers a small laugh, and even though it's adorable, you can't help but feel slight anger. "I can't really stop being who I am Dave."

"Shut up." You reply shortly and he retreats a little further into the couch cushion.

Silence. Unfortunately, he soon breaks it.

"Dave..." You sigh at his tone and slump down against the couch arm.

Still, you cock an eyebrow. He went from accusing you to his usual cautious behavior. "Yeah bro?"

"You've wanted to do that for awhile now haven't you?"

Fuck.

He's figured it out just like that. Way to let your mouth go a let him know exactly how you feel. It seems your shades really do hold some barrier to your emotions. And now that you've been stripped of them, it seems he can read you like a book. No, he's always been able to do that. Even with the dark glass blocking your emotions, John has always been the one to know exactly how you were feeling; no matter what.

"Yeah." You mutter almost reluctantly.

His reaction is almost instantaneous. He looks like you told him the worst news in the world. The visible grimace brought a lump to your throat.

"I'm flattered, but Dave. I'm not gay, or bi, or anything other than straight. I like girls." The words stung your ears and you shift to drop your legs on the ground.

A long silence drug between you. It bit at the air, but its jaws were silent, and the tension was almost tangible.

"I think you should go John." You didn't want to say it, but you couldn't look at his face right now. There was no place other than downhill for this conversation to go.

"Dave I'm-"

"Don't. Don't fucking apologize. I know you're going to. Jesus. Just go." Your eyes shut as fists form on your knees.

"We can talk it out. Just speak to me-"

"Fuck Egbert shut up!" You never mean to shout, but the gates are cracking with every word he says. The damn would soon be broken.

"I can't leave you like this."

Crack.

"I know you're hurt."

Crack.

"I want to help you."

Crack.

"I know this must be hard. It has to hurt, but I know you can get through this. I'll help you; whatever it takes. You're my best friend Dave."

Boom.

The rock broke; water pushed past the rubble, the world was flooded.

Your cool guy facade is lost and now every emotion is flashing in your eyes. They are completely exposed, and you can't keep anything in. Your knuckles are white when you stand. Before even thinking, you whip around, and you are towering over him.

"Fuck no John. You can't do this. You can't push me away, but the second you see any hint of hurt, want to help me. You're the fucking reason I'm like this. You want to help me? You want to fix what you've caused? Well tough shit. You have royally fucked up my life for god knows how long. I can't see your face without wanting to take you in my arms and squeeze the ever living life out of you. I can't watch you laugh and smile without the urge to grab your face and kiss your fucking buck toothed grin. You make my head hurt every time I think about you." Your voice trails as he sits whimpering and crying in your couch. It was probably your tone and the height of your voice. He'd never been the one to handle shouting very well; especially from you.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He mumbles out, curling up into a sobbing ball.

"I was trying to avoid this very moment. I knew this would happen." You sigh, utterly ashamed and humiliated. "Fuck. Eg- John, stop crying."

"Da-" He starts once more.

"No." You turn around and place your head in your hand waving the other at your side. "Stop crying. Just go. I can't deal with this right now." His fingers rake your palm, and you, without delay, step forward, snatching your hand away. "John, leave."

Even with your back turned, you hear him shuffle off the couch and past you. He slips on his coat and shoes before the latch on the door clicks open. He stops, holding the door frame and looking over his shoulder.

"I'm sorry Dave." He whispers, walking out, and shutting the door behind him.

All your muscles are tense; a fist flies into the wall beside you. It hurts, but it's nothing compared to your chest. Hitched breaths make you blink. You raise a hand only to feel that your face is wet. You bring your hand away and stare at it. Another drop runs down your cheek and drips to the floor.

Tears?

You, Dave fucking Strider, are crying? It's impossible.

Another tear falls, followed by countless others.

Okay, perhaps it is possible. You're just glad you're alone.

You don't even bother to pick your shades up and slip them back on your face. Finally, shaky legs give way, making you slump to the floor. This pathetic ball of emotion can't be you. Bro would surely make fun of you right now. You're being a pussy; and a downright feeble one at that. However, truthfully, you couldn't stop if you tried.

Breakdowns were not a cool thing to do, but occasionally, that's all you could manage.