A/N: Last time I uploaded this, it was the wrong version. Sorry! Here's the real chapter. If you read the first version, you have a heads up on chapter twelve. :P

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Present day
Houston, Texas

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Present day
Houston, Texas

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Your name is Dave Strider, and you're at Egbert's place for a pre-mid term cram session.

He was the one who suggested it, and he didn't invite Jade or Rose, so you're unsure about his intentions. It's John, who's awful when it comes to hiding things (and rarely tries), but you're much more guarded than normal when you sit on the edge of his bed and dig in your backpack for your science binder.

"Okay, Dave. What's this bone called?" Egbert points at the center of his own chest.

You raise an eyebrow. "The bone placed awkwardly between your moobs?"

Egbert cracks a grin, like you knew he would, and you're tempted to smile yourself. He's fucking infectiously warm. The exact opposite of (what) you (try to be).

"It's called a sternum," Egbert says after a comfortable silence. "It protects your heart...and stuff."

You nod. You hold out your hand and wiggle your fingers. "What about these, smart ass? What are they called?"

Egbert grabs your hand (!) and pretends to inspect it. "I'd say they're called the . Don't you agree, Dr. Strider?"

You don't answer, instead yanking your hand away and pretending to point at your notes. "I was kind of wondering if you got this part of the section?"

Egbert giggles, and you look down to see why. You're pointing at your name. You feel a dreaded, terrible, evil blush heat your entire face, and you look down to avoid it.

What could have been the most awkward, embarrassing moment Dave had ever let himself experience with someone is halted and caressed into a minor fudge by Egbert's next words: "Dave, you're so silly!"

You glance up at him and allow a coolguy smirk to grace your chapped lips. "Yup. That was a joke. Glad we share a similar sense of humor, Egbert."

John smiles (GOD! You wish he would stop DOING that!). You find yourself staring at his lips, and he notices. He wipes his chin, paranoid that there's something on his face, and the movement brings you back to his blue eyes. Sometimes you wonder how a color could be so intense, but natural. He says something, and you're back to his lips.

"Dave?"

You turn your head, examining the polished floor.

"Dave, are you okay? Dave?"

"Yeah, man. I'm great. Awesome," you say, brushing blonde fringe back into place on your forehead.

"Are you hungry? My dad said he'd bring us brownies, and I bet they're almost done. His cooking is awful, but it's not like it's inedible." He pauses, grins. "Most of the time."

You know for a fact his dad is a marvelous cook, as John has brought you his baked goods for lunch before. He is a good cook, but you're not in the least hungry. In fact, all you really want is the one thing you won't allow yourself to have. You glance at John's lips one more time, and say you could definitely eat.

"Cool!" Is his only response, and then you two go back to studying.

Your name is Dave Strider and you didn't get much done at Egbert's place.

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Your name is Dave Strider and today you're going to tell him.

Your brother's not the kind of guy who would disown you because of who you want to sleep with. You've known that since the day your brain developed enough to form coherent memories. Bro is standoffish, stubborn, and ignorant to emotion (even his own). He's rude and likes tangling people up in his mess of a mind for entertainment. But you know that he's certainly not s homophobe. You're almost certain he's gone that way himself, because curiosity is one of his many traits.

Despite all the odds saying he won't hate you, you can never figure out just how to word it.

"Bro, I'm a fag," sounds too self-degrading, and he'd make you say it again with better wording because he didn't raise you to self-loathe. Or he'd think you were kidding and make you say it again with the same wording every half hour until it lost its ironic humor.

"I like boys," would work, but sounds too childish and you wouldn't even be able to take yourself seriously.

"Dicks are my thing," would be appreciated in an ironic sense, but, again, would seem too joking.

You want him to smile, put a hand on your shoulder and say, "Lil' bro, I'm happy you feel you can share that with me and I approve wholly."

Wait, no you don't. That would be weird. You want something more like, "Okay. Go get me a soda," because that would be normal and you can handle normalcy. Also, expecting anything more would be expecting Bro to completely compromise his beliefs, and expecting anything less would indirectly accuse him of being a bad dad sub.

Your name is Dave Strider and tomorrow you are going to tell him.

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