It's the day that your best friend, John Egbert, is going to finally arrive, crashing and floating and spinning and jumping no doubt, into your realm of phsyical existence. It's the day he will materialize from a two dimensional image on your screen, a voice humming over the sound of Bro cleaning out the microwave in order to whip up some freshly frozen bean burritos, into something tangible, real, and touchable. And maybe that's a bit why you're so nervous, why your day is starting like this. Because in four hours his plane will be touching down and shit, you're room is a mess, and your hair is a mess, and well fuck basically you're just a mess, because you're Dave fucking Strider and you either sleep naked or in your jeans what the hell is a pajama you ask. Either way. Your heart is pit pattering like a rap star scratching out lyrics while he pussies out in prison, since you know, they all do that, shit, but if you make it big, you will never be like that - and your fingertips are shaking as you press them to the keys on your computer, watching the screen flick to life.

There is laundry to shove out of the way, and you turn your attention there first. Anything embarassing is to be erased, and before long, you've got a trashbag full of smuppets on their way the fuck out of your room. Your nails scrape against the wall as you shove a pile of ironic books with ironic titles away from your being, your bare feet sliding along carpet that has seen cleaner days. You supposed you really should clean up more, but your sweet wicked turntables take up so much room, it would be far too much of a pain. That's what you tell yourself, anyways. In any case, soon it is just you, and one last corner of your room, that just so happens to be out of the range of the webcam attached to your snazzy computer device. It is a corner usually more or less hidden from the view of all, because within it is your beautiful collection of ironic or maybe not so ironic furry shit.

Yeah. Your collection of furry porn and fluffy tails you wear on your belt when you're sure nobody you know will be around, the small collection of comics you've bought off the internet, a bunch of cd's by various fur-bands and whatever they are called, all more or less taking up a rather insuspicious shelf. It is like that one corner of youtube you try to avoid no matter what, because after so many times of clicking on the reccommended videos you find yourself watching giraffes gargle salt water while raping an elephant.

And you know without any sense of a doubt that this must absolutely go.

But to where is what you must ask yourself. And soon you're starting to sigh, and you merely shove everything into various shoe boxes, stuffing them in the very deepest depths of your closet, even snagging a smuppet to put in that general area, either to ward off John or distract him. You hope it will work. His green fuzzy ass sure seems happy nestled among your porn and your old blankets, and well damn, you guess the little guy can feel loved for once because the second spring break is over and your buddy leaves it is adios muchacho for that little fucker.

Finally you stand, seeing a respectably ironic room and you sigh, letting your lips spilt just enough to show the confident smirk you are now wearing. John's gonna come in and fall in fucking love with your sexy hips and your cleanish room and everything will be sunshine and rainbows and shit not even Jade with her equal furry enthusiasm will ever know of your secret fetishims and you can go on being mr. badass with your poker face from the seventh ring of hell and bitches don't know shit about your carpet flooring. Today, decidedly, will be a good day. And that makes you feel pretty fucking great.

The next thing you've gotta do is brush your hair, so you do, pushing blonde locks away from your sunglassed face. Your lips are smooth as a smuppet's virgin ass and you brush the shit out of your teeth so that they look like you just waltzed out of the dentist's office dressed in flourine. A snazzy white suit made of flourine. That shit is nice. And then you're shrugging yourself into your usual get up, and lacing up your cherry red shoes and your glasses are still keeping your eyes hidden and then Bro is yelling and it's time to go and you're running out the door with the closet door shut and you're in the car and then you breathe because.

John. He's standing there, looking like the fucking Egderp he is. His skin is pale and looks so fucking soft, just like you imagined it would, taken out of the shitty comprehension of a webcam. His hair is a rich black, hanging down just past his adorable chin, his lips aren't pale like yours, their petal-pink and his eyes are huge and blue like his shirt behind his square glasses. His little buck teeth peek out over his bottom lip, and he just looks so perfect, so soft, so huggable and for some reason your thoughts are a lot more homosexual than you're used to. Even if you grudgingly watch two wolf boys go at it, you'd like to think yourself a functioning heterosexual, but this kid's got your heart beating so fast in two seconds and the best part hasn't even begun yet, the part where the two of you meet and shit gets bitchin.

Shit just got bitchin.

"Dave?" John says, and you let the most microscopic of smiles escape, opening your arms for his derpy ass to run into you like one of those silly nic cage movies where things that are all cheesy and shit happen and he does, bounding over to you like you're long seperated and little Casey is your baby and jegus bro is just some awkward bystander because he seems really uninterested in you two and very engrossed in the ventrilloquist with the mohawk down a few feet. He looks up at you like he can see right through your shades, and your nose scrunches up. "You Egbert. Have to say. I didn't expect this. Thought you'd be shorter." You murmur and he laughs, being extremely homosexual himself now that you think about it, his skinny white wrists digging into your hips. "Nope Dave! I'm as tall as they come! Im huuuugee," He responds and holy fucking shit they way you're smiling at each other this is really nice.

And again, you think you might be developing the slightest of man crushes on this kid. Fuck.

"You ready to go then, to the house of Strider? It's a fucking dangerous trip, not gonna lie." You proclaim this proudly and stare at his eyelashes and he giggles again like a fucking girl and oh god Rose was right, he's so fucking womanly. Bro reappears looking disappointed and ironic and shit and you just wave. His expression is mirroring that of a certain Mr. T themed puppet you recall vaguely. He doesn't say anything, even when it's your long lost best friend and he just starts walking to the car, pointy anime shades leading the way. "And that's bro." John shakes his head, scooping up your arm and running after the elder Strider.

Oh sweet fucking Jegus, you think. John is going to be your undoing if he gets anymore adorable.

Maybe this is what it's like to allow yourself to think you might be in love with your best friend.

sorry, didn't really get to check for typos, i seriously need a beta.

this is going to be a a smutty story about john and dave and dave's fur fetish.

i promise.