Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The cold air hit John Egbert as he stepped out of his dad's car and onto the snowy sidewalk. It was winter break, and while everyone else was probably kicking back and enjoying the time off, John had a different idea. He was here to get serious.

“Well, Son, I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours, alright? Don’t end up wandering off into the graphic novel section like last time,” his dad said, giving him an exaggerated look.

John chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be quick.”

The bookstore was warm, with the kind of quiet hum that immediately made John feel at home. He shook off his coat and stepped deeper inside, inhaling the comforting scent of old paper and coffee. He had a mission—get a book on songwriting. His guitar had been gathering dust back home, and there was no better time to start writing music than now, right?
He wandered through the aisles, skimming the spines of various books, feeling the familiar tug of all the other sections—the sci-fi, the fantasy, even the graphic novels. But no distractions. He needed something practical. Something that would help him figure out how to write songs that weren’t just terrible riffs and bad lyrics.

As he rounded a corner, though, he caught snippets of a conversation—one that, at first, he couldn’t ignore.

“Pete is not the lady killer you think he is,” said a voice, dripping with sarcasm.

John paused, squinting toward the sound. That voice. Rose Lalonde. It had to be her. You knew her from your Psych 1 class from this fall’s semester. You didn’t know she lived in your hometown!
Curiosity got the better of him, and before he could stop himself, he was walking toward the back of the store, where he could see two blondes near the shelf: a guy and Rose, locked in some kind of heated debate.

“Dude,” the guy was saying, waving his arms around like he was trying to explain something complex, “Pete’s got that it factor! I mean, the dude’s the face of the band! Without him, the whole thing falls apart. He’s got the swag, the charisma—he’s a lady killer, you know?”

Rose, as usual, wasn’t buying it. “Pete doesn’t do anything except strut around on stage like he’s god’s gift to music. The only thing he’s killing is his own credibility.”

The guy frowned, but Rose wasn’t done.
“I’m just saying,” she continued, crossing her arms with that sharp, detached look she always wore, “Pat could be more than the sad, quiet guy in the back, if people would actually pay attention to him. He’s the one with real talent. But nope, Pete steals the spotlight with his fake charisma. Pat, on the other hand, actually feels something when he sings.”
John felt a small sense of triumph hearing Rose say exactly what he’d been thinking for a while now. Pat was the underrated one, not Pete. But before he could fully process it, he realized that he was standing there, a few feet away, listening in.
And that’s when it happened.

“I think Pete steals the spotlight from Pat, too,” John blurted, surprising himself more than anyone.
He felt his cheeks heat up, but it was too late to take it back now. Both of them looked at him, and Rose didn’t even seem shocked—just mildly amused. The guy, on the other hand, looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

“What—wait—you just said that?” he asked, blinking a few times in disbelief.

John coughed awkwardly, realizing that he might’ve been a bit too eager to chime in. “Yeah. I mean, Pat is the one who deserves more attention, don’t you think?”

Rose turned her head slowly toward John, giving him a look that said she was both impressed and a little skeptical at the same time. “You really think so?” she said, voice dripping with casual indifference, but her raised eyebrow told him she was definitely intrigued.

“I mean, Pat’s the lead singer, right?” John said, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s the one who really carries the emotional weight of the band. Pete’s just... I dunno, loud.”

The guy—Dave, Rose’s twin brother, as it turned out—looked at John for a long moment, and then his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Oh, I see. You’re one of those people. You think Pat’s the ‘real’ talent just because he can’t keep his voice in key half the time and sings cheesy lyrics about ‘feeling the world’ or whatever?”

John’s jaw dropped slightly. “I—What? No! That’s not what I mean. I’m just saying, Pete gets all this attention, but it’s Pat who has depth. Pete just shouts and looks cool. But Pat, you can feel what he’s singing. It’s real. I mean, you can’t just ignore that, right?”

Dave rolled his eyes, clearly unfazed by John’s defense of Pat. “Dude, you’re hardcore about this, aren’t you? I get it, I do. You’re all about the ‘sensitive artist’ angle. But that’s not what people want. People want energy. They want Pete. He’s the one getting the crowd moving, not Pat.”

John shook his head, frowning. “No, that’s exactly the problem! People just want what’s flashy. Pat’s not the ‘loudest,’ but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve more. He’s got soul, man.”

Rose, who had been quietly observing this exchange, finally chimed in with a knowing look.

“You two are amusing. But you both know this isn’t going to be resolved, right? No matter how many times you argue about it, you’re both going to leave thinking you’re right.”

John couldn’t help but laugh, relieved that at least she was still being her usual sarcastic self. But Dave, clearly not finished with the debate, raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine, we’ll call it a draw,” Dave said with a grin. “But I’ll bet you this: you’d never catch me going to a Pat solo show.”

“Probably not,” John muttered under his breath, “but I’d rather go see someone with substance.”

“Alright, enough with the Pat fan club,” Dave said, suddenly shifting gears. “What about you, man? You play any instruments? I’m guessing if you’re that passionate about music, you’ve got some skills.”
John blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Uh, yeah, I play guitar. And I sing a little... but I mean, I’m not in a band or anything. Just... for fun, I guess.”

Dave’s face lit up, his grin widening like he’d just found a treasure chest. “No way, man! You should totally come jam with us sometime. We’re always looking for people who actually like music. You in?”
John stared at him for a second, a little unsure of how to respond. His mind was still buzzing from the debate about Pat, and this felt like an entirely new, unexpected turn. Still, he couldn’t deny the temptation to try something new.

“I—uh—well, sure, I guess I could come by. See what it’s like.”

“Hell yeah!” Dave said, practically bouncing with excitement. “We’ll be rehearsing tomorrow afternoon. Text me, and I’ll give you the details. It’ll be fun, no pressure.”

John hesitated but eventually pulled out his phone, accepting the crumpled piece of paper with Dave’s number scribbled on it.

“Okay, I’ll text you. See you tomorrow, I guess.”
As Dave walked off to continue debating with Rose, John felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread settle in his chest. He had no idea what he’d just signed up for, but something told him it was going to be a wild winter break.

Well, at least he’d have a good story to tell when he got back to Prospit Tech.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider and you are trying to start a band. Your friend John is accompanying you to a friend’s where you’ve convinced him to try out for lead vocals.

Your friend Sollux has been in a band with you for a short while, and you’ve been looking for new members. Thankfully, John had been in the bookstore at the same time as you and joined a conversation with you and Rose about a band you’d listened to. That led to you taking him to one of your practices, where you hoped to get him inducted as the vocalist for your not-yet-named band.

As you pull up to the curb outside Sollux’s, you turn around to face John in the backseat of your beat-up car.

“Hey man, don’t be nervous if they get a little weird. I know you’ve been in some bands before, but these guys are a little niche, if you’re picking up what I’m laying down.”

You push your previously slipping shades further up your nose. John looks eager to be here, so you guess he might be alright after all.

“Ah, okay Dave, that’s cool… I hope they like my jokes! :B” John cheerfully says, unbuckling himself from your janky backseat.

You are now John Egbert and you are auditioning for a (maybe?) kick-ass band.

Opening the door to Sollux’s house (which is a decently sized house in the suburbs, mind you) feels like you’re stepping into a concert. You hear drums and guitars ringing off of the walls, leading to the basement where you find a guy Dave introduces as Sollux Captor—not to mention a few others you also do not recognize—playing a bunch of nonsense and attempting to yell over the ruckus.

You are told to sit on an old couch, where Rose and two other people are already promptly planted, but you manage to squeeze into a somewhat comfortable position.

“So Dave says you’re John! Welcome to our jam session, John. My name is Sollux and I play bass.”

He then turns to a drum set nearby. In it sits an angry-looking short dude stuffed into a very oversized gray sweater.

“This is Karkat. He’s our drummer, but you could say he just beats them up the whole time and we play over it, haha. We have a little audience among you as well—the two girls between Rose and you are Vriska and Terezi. They mainly just listen to us and help us out when we need it...”

You nod along to the very long introductions until it’s finally time for you to talk.

“Um… Hi everyone! I’m John Egbert and I was a drummer for XprankstersX, but hopefully I can woo you all with my voice, haha.”

Oof. That was awkward.

You now sit and watch as this band tries to demonstrate a song they’ve been working on, but the lyrics are very all over the place and no one really wants to keep tempo.

It’s beautiful.

Evening out with your Vriska lol

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and you’ve been writing lyrics on a couch—shared with Vriska—in Sollux’s basement for three hours straight.

With a sigh, you set down your pen and reach for a slice of pizza on the pop-can-covered coffee table in front of you. As you eat, you watch Sollux and Dave play Halo.

Vriska, who had been playing with her hair, suddenly stops and looks at you.

“Hey John, you gonna save any for the rest of us?” she laughs, nudging you as she snags a slice from the nearly empty box.

You roll your eyes and keep chewing. She’s mean, but… pretty, in a way. Not that you’d ever admit it. If anyone knew you liked Vriska of all people, you’d be made fun of for life. Besides, she’s got that weird thing going on with Terezi—who also has a weird thing with Dave and Karkat. Complicated stuff. Rose tried to simplify it for you after band practice the other night, but it didn’t help much.

You just wish girls—especially the pretty ones—would look at you like you weren’t just some geek.

Suddenly, a cacophony of evil laughter and frustrated yells breaks out as Sollux and Dave fight over whose turn is next. The noise jolts you out of your thoughts.

A while later, you hear the creaking of stairs. Karkat and Rose appear, with Terezi following behind, her arms full of bags of yarn.

“You shouldn’t have stopped at the fabric store on the way back,” Karkat snaps, glaring at Rose and Terezi. “Now there’s no pizza left!” He flops onto the couch beside you.

“Karkat, do you have any ideas for lyrics?” you ask, hopeful.

“No, John. I haven’t had any time to focus on songwriting because SOME PEOPLE think staring at yarn for two hours is fun.” He rolls his eyes and facepalms so hard you almost feel it.

You know he’s lying. There’s definitely a notebook full of cheesy love songs hidden in his stuff somewhere. But you don’t press—it’s funnier to let him keep his little secret.

Before you can say anything else, you’re flattened under Terezi, who’s using you as a secondary couch cushion.

“Vriskaaa, can we pleeease hang out at your place later? I know you have my dragon hoodie in your room! >:[” She rolls all over you and Karkat, who is clearly smitten with her, though she’s obviously toying with him.

“No, Terezi. I know you’re just trying to make out with me,” Vriska says, chewing on her pizza crust.

Okay. They’re not even trying to hide their weird, gay friendship-relationship thing anymore. Not your business, anyway. You decide it’s time to stop procrastinating. Fishing your notebook out from under Terezi, you pick up your pen and start writing.

Song Idea – 12/01

The next time the phone can wring my neck, it gets no answer
And the time that I’ve spent telling in my roots, I’m shaking in my boots
But still it looks at me, like an old friend I’ve betrayed
The dark side of the doormat, is the one your shoes have frayed

After about an hour of failed rhymes, you give up. Wriggling free from the sardine can of a couch, you glance around. Rose is knitting in Sollux’s dad’s old recliner. On the couch, Vriska is asleep on Terezi, who is sprawled across both her and Karkat.

You chuckle, then head upstairs. In the kitchen, you find Sollux and Dave at the dining table, smoking something pungent. You shrug it off, grab a pop from the fridge, and sit down.

“So… am I actually a member of the band? I don’t think I ever got confirmation. But it’s cool if I’m not! I’m happy just to be here.” You smile nervously.

“Yes, dude.” Dave chuckles, shuffling a deck of cards. “John, have you heard our singing? It’s not pretty. We’re not getting anywhere without you.”

Sollux nods in agreement, flipping through the Uno rules.

Much later into the night, the Uno table has grown to include almost everyone. The game has devolved into drink or darewhenever someone draws.

You’re sweating. The color is yellow, and all you have are blue cards. You really don’t want to draw—but maybe a shot won’t kill you. It’s your first time drinking. Oh boy. You really can’t embarrass yourself now.

“Okay, Egbert, your turn!” Terezi shouts. “Don’t tell me you don’t have any yellow >:?”

“Heh… you’re right, Terezi. But go easy on me with the dare, guys :B.” You draw another blue. (Seriously, were these cards even shuffled?)

“All right, Egbert. The court sentences you to…” Terezi stands on her chair, grinning wickedly. “Kiss Vriska!!! Heh >:]”

Oh boy. Not what you were expecting. Everyone knows you’re the ultra-virgin of the group. Your face heats up. You glance at Vriska, then back at Terezi.

“I-I’ll take a s-shot. Sorry, Vriska. You’re cool and all but I’m not… uh…”

You’re cut off as Terezi shoves the vodka bottle into your face.

“Enough sob stories, Johnny boy. Drink up! Or else you’ll have to take the penalty shot >:]”

Pretty sure “penalty shot” is made up on the spot. Still, enough stalling. You gulp as much as you can, gagging. Terezi yanks the bottle away before you drown yourself—though you’ve definitely had more than one shot. Maybe three.

The night blurs. You vaguely remember more dares, more shots, and the comforting weight of a couch beneath you before everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

The morning light creeps through the basement windows, sharp and unforgiving. You rub your aching head, groaning as the sour taste in your mouth hits you like a ton of bricks. What happened last night?

You sit up, feeling the weight of a knit blanket draped across your lower half. You blink, squinting at the unfamiliar surroundings. It’s only then that you notice your pants are around your ankles, and your Ghostbusters underwear are exposed. You freeze, panic rising in your chest. Did they see? The thought of your underwear on full display to the whole basement makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. You quickly yank them back into place, praying no one took a picture.

The sounds of voices reach your ears, and you turn your head to see Sollux, Dave, and Karkat arguing animatedly in front of the TV. They’re too wrapped up in their debate about defeating a boss in what looks like the most ridiculously girly video game to even notice you.

You push yourself up, but then something hard pokes into your back. What the—? You glance over your shoulder, your stomach dropping. Between you and the couch is Vriska, a mess of smeared lipstick across her lips and her hair tangled in the cushions.

You jump up from the couch, startled, which in turn startles the others. The TV blares with some overly cheery music, and the characters are shooting each other with what looks like sparkly lasers.

“Jeez, John, you shouldn’t scare us like that, man,” Sollux mutters from his position on the floor, still clad in his Star Wars pajamas. Dave and Karkat both chuckle and glance at you, their grins wide and knowing.

You lift your hands to your face, the sudden impulse to check yourself in a mirror overwhelming. You hurry to the bathroom near the stairs, flipping the light switch and staring into the mirror.

A sharpie dick is drawn across your forehead. A mustache. And, blue lipstick smeared all over your face.

Blue lipstick?!

You gasp so loudly it echoes in the bathroom. Your heart races, and a sick feeling settles in your stomach. “There’s no way Vriska did this…” you mutter to yourself, the absurdity of it all slowly sinking in.

With shaking hands, you turn on the sink, beginning the slow, painful process of scrubbing the mustache and dick off your face. The lipstick is easier to get rid of, but the thought of how it got there… well, that’s a different story.

After what feels like an eternity, a rapid knocking comes at the door. “Johnnn, come on, you better not be stinking it up in there!!! I gotta piss!!!” It’s Vriska.

You stand up straight, taking a deep breath. Calm down, John. You splash your face with water, fixing your hair and putting your glasses back on.

“Sorry, Vriska, I got vandalized—”

The door flies open, and Vriska barges in without a second thought, slamming it behind her. The impact stings more than you'd like to admit.

You let out a long, heavy sigh as you slowly shuffle back to the couch. From across the room, you see Terezi asleep under the pool table, one of her arms flung out as if she'd passed out mid-reach for something. You chuckle softly to yourself. Rose must’ve left after everyone else had fallen asleep. You don’t think she even played Uno, now that you think about it. How strange.

The sound of a toilet flushing echoes up the stairs, followed by the rush of the sink. You sit nervously on the couch, trying not to glance at the bathroom door. Finally, Vriska storms out, looking visibly upset. Without saying a word, she darts up the stairs, and you’re left in the awkward silence.

“Yikes. What was that all about?” Rose’s voice breaks the quiet. She’s standing at the foot of the stairs, a tray of four cups of coffee in hand and a bag with Tylenol and orange juice slung over her shoulder. She sets everything down on the coffee table, brushing away cans and pizza boxes from last night.

“Hey, Rose! Thanks for the blanket! How long did that even take to make?” you ask, trying to push the strange tension from the air.

“You are very welcome, John. It only took about three or four hours.” Rose grins, sipping her coffee. “Hopefully Vriska wasn’t upset that you got the most coverage from it.”

You feel your face heat up, and before you can stop yourself, a surprised, mortified laugh escapes your lips. “Sorry if this is a weird question, but did you—”

“If you’re talking about the Ghostbusters, yes, I did see them in all of their glory,” Rose smirks at you, but not in a mocking way. It’s almost sympathetic, like she can sense your mortification. “Maybe Vriska won’t remember, and that’ll save you the embarrassment.”

You let out a breath, grateful for her kindness. “Heh, thank you, Rose. I think I’d better get going soon…”

You stand up, starting to walk toward the stairs.

“Bye, John, hope she doesn’t ‘ghost’ you, buddy!” Karkat calls out from across the room, his voice laced with mockery.

You cringe. “Aw, man, did you all see my underwear!?” you exclaim, half laughing, half in horror.

“I didn’t, John!!!” Terezi pipes up from the couch, her cloudy eyes still half-lidded as she grabs a juice box from the grocery bag.

You sigh, shaking your head, and head up the stairs.

“Bye, John!” The chorus of voices echoes from the basement, and you can’t help but laugh as you step out the door.

You close it behind you with a groan.

What a morning.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and it’s been three days since you spent the night at Sollux’s. You’re lying in bed, staring at the posters on your wall—an awkward collage of old comic book heroes and bands you don’t even listen to anymore. You wish you were anyone but yourself right now, anywhere but this town. But you’re not. You’re here, stuck until January when college starts up again. You sigh heavily and roll yourself off the bed, the sheets tangled around your legs like they're holding you back.

"Might as well do something with myself," you mutter to no one in particular, stumbling out of your room and down the hallway to the bathroom. You turn on the shower, waiting for the water to heat up, and let your mind wander.

You think about your new friends, the ones you’ve somehow managed to fall in with after years of hovering on the outskirts of things. Most importantly, you think about Vriska. You can’t quite believe you actually spent the night on Sollux’s crusty old couch with her. It’s a miracle you managed to keep your pants up, let alone your dignity. It’s the first time in your life you’ve ever had a chance with a girl, and the idea of it still doesn’t seem real.

And the worst part? You can barely remember what happened. You can’t even tell if you slept there because you were too tired, or if you did something… else. Something you’re definitely not prepared to think about. You cringe and try to push it out of your mind.

As the water starts to warm, you think back to coming home hungover. Dad had been nice about it—too nice. He always is, even when you’ve messed up. You're lucky, really, that he’s so down to Earth. You wash yourself, letting the hot water calm your nerves. It’s easier to think when you’re not trying to piece together the night, but still, you can’t help but wonder what you did. Did you embarrass her? Did she regret it?

You decide that you’re not going to think about it anymore. That’s the smartest way to go about this, right? If you act like nothing happened, maybe it won’t.

But let’s be real—you’re going to think about it. How could you not?

Later that night, you find yourself at Sollux’s house again. You’re warming up, strumming a few chords on a spare guitar and humming your favorite songs while you wait for everyone to show up. Sollux is already here, of course, but his girlfriend, Aradia, is also tagging along to hang out and watch you guys with Rose and her girlfriend.

You’re in the zone, lost in the music, when you hear a thundering stomp from upstairs. The sound of feet pounding down the stairs, followed by Karkat, who looks like his head is on fire and his drums are the only thing keeping him grounded. He ducks behind his drum kit, motioning for everyone to “shut the fuck up.” You all freeze, waiting to see who’s chasing him.

It’s not long before Dave and Terezi appear at the bottom of the stairs. Something’s wrong. They’re both unusually quiet—too quiet. Dave’s staring down at his phone, like he’s trying to will it into ringing. Eventually the staring works, and a high-pitched, decidedly feminine tune echoes through the basement.

Karkat looks like he’s about to explode.

“Dave, what the fuck!” He shouts.

“Woah, dude, it’s not my fault you have a girly-ass phone,” Dave says, smirking.

“And it’s not my fault you like boys, is it?” Karkat shoots back, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Dave’s face falls. “Okay, listen, Karkat, you know I’m not—”

“Know you’re not able to take it up the ass? Yeah, I do know, very well, Dave,” Karkat cuts him off, and the room erupts into laughter. Even Dave can’t help but chuckle.

You sit back, trying to understand what’s going on. Apparently, Karkat had asked Dave for advice on his outfit, the exact same sweater and jeans he had worn yesterday. Dave had said it looked good for a "gay guy," and that set Karkat off like a firecracker. The two of them had fought all the way from Karkat’s house to here, with Terezi—poor Terezi—stuck in the middle of it all. You’re pretty sure they’ve both got a thing for her, and maybe, just maybe, there’s something more going on between Dave and Karkat, but who really knows?

Before you can think about it too much, you hear the unmistakable sound of thunderous footsteps again. This time, it’s Vriska, descending the stairs with her usual demeanor. She’s got two cases of beer and a handle of vodka in her arms.

“I have pop and shit in my backseat if someone will go grab it for me. Preferably not Egbert or Sollux. I’d like my shit not dropped on the ground by baby arms.”

You freeze. She laughs, but it’s like a punch in the stomach. Your face goes red, and you tell yourself, again, not to think about her.

But it’s hard, isn’t it? You haven’t exactly been successful at not thinking about her for the past few days.

Eventually, everyone’s ready, and the basement is buzzing with anticipation. Karkat counts everyone in, and you grab the mic.

As you start singing, the words feel like they’re spilling out of you all at once.

“And I want you to know, I feel the hesitation on your lips when we kiss,
And the stares you give when I wish
That things could be different,
That things would get rid of this,
Gross overbearing truth that you hate me and regret that you’d ever chase me.

Don’t look at me when you think of her.
Did the thought even occur
That I’d never want anyone but you,
And I’d do anything for you.”

By the end of it, you’re sweating and gasping for breath, but it looks like everyone’s enjoying your new song. Vriska gives you a nod of approval. You do a cringe-worthy bow, trying not to think about how awkward you feel.

But the moment you turn to grab a beer, your nerves only get worse. Vriska’s sitting there, her legs casually draped over a case of beer. She watches you, eyes narrowed like she’s waiting for something.

You approach her with a nervous grin.

“So, uh, what’d you think? Me and Sollux wrote that one earlier this week.”

Vriska laughs. “It was good, Egbert. But I didn’t hear anything about me in it.”

Your heart stops. “What do you mean by *about* you, Vriska?”

“Aww, are you kidding me, John? You promised you’d remember to put me in a song the other night!” Her tone is light, but you can hear the seriousness beneath it.

You try to backpedal. “Oh, uh… I don’t really remember the other night, but if you wanna fill me in or anything—”

“Nah, it’s fine,” she says, her grin sharp. “You’ll just have to wait until I try to jog your memory.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks. You chuckle awkwardly, but inside, you’re freaking out.

“Okay! Sounds good to me, Vriska. Thanks!”

You crack open a beer and start your first of many for the night, trying your best to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest.

This is going to take some serious thinking.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider, you are outside Karkat’s house. It’s December in Illinois, and the world outside is frozen. You’ve been praying all week that the van you’re bumming off Dirk will be able to handle this hellish winter landscape. Tonight is the night. Your band has its very first gig. At Jack’s Midnight Crew. A dive bar that’s seen everything from trivia nights to stand-up comedians, and now—hopefully—a new group of hopefuls looking to make a name. There’s free food on the line, maybe some new fans, but the real prize is getting your foot in the door.

You take a moment to stare at the snow blowing in every direction and rub your hands together, trying to keep your fingers from freezing off. The cold cuts right through you, sharp like a blade, but you've got work to do. First things first: load up the gear.

You grunt as you haul Karkat’s absurdly oversized drum kit into the back of the van. It’s heavier than it looks, but you’re used to it by now. As much as Karkat yells about how “compact and efficient” it is, the thing might as well be a small fortress. Next, you grab your guitar. It’s not the most impressive piece of equipment, but it’s yours, and you’ve been playing it since before you could even spell “guitar.” After that, you lug the amps and pedals into the back, stacking them with as much care as you can in the freezing cold.

Once everything is in, you slam the door shut, a bit of relief washing over you, and climb into the driver's seat. As you do, you notice Karkat has already made himself comfortable with a magazine. Of course he has.

“Karkat, dude, you could’ve helped me with your big-ass drum kit instead of reading your nonsense celebrity drama mags,” you say, swatting the copy of Derse Weekly out of his hands with a flick of your wrist.

Karkat’s reaction is as dramatic as you expect. He sighs, exaggerated and deep, like you're asking him to do something impossible.

“Dave, I’ll have you know that these celebrities are people too,” he says with a smirk. “Aren’t you always telling me I should care about someone other than myself?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. Karkat’s antics are getting old, but at least he knows how to keep things interesting. He picks up the magazine from the floor, brushing off the wet edges, and sets it on the dash with a casual flick.

You shift the van into drive, the engine rumbling to life. The cold makes everything sound louder than usual, even the van's engine protesting. You pull out of Karkat’s driveway, steering carefully over the snow-packed roads.

“Alright, time to pick up the rest of the crew,” you mutter to yourself, eyes scanning the road ahead.

This is it. The first gig. A little bar, some free food, maybe a few new fans. But for you and your band, it’s a step forward. You just hope this van can make it to the venue in one piece.

Chapter Text

You are now Vriska Serket.
(Surprising, I know.)

You're behind the wheel of your mom’s beat-up Bronco, headed to John’s place. Not because you want to but because you owe Dave. Apparently his ride is “too full” for both you and John tonight. Which is total bull, but fine. You're only doing this because of that one time you ruined apple juice for him.

Still, you’re a little nervous. You don’t know John as well as you wish. Not that you’d ever let him know that. He’s just a silly little nerd. And you’re… well, you’re you.

Your fingers tap the worn steering wheel as you pull into a quiet suburban neighborhood, slowing in front of John’s house. Your eyes flit up toward the porch light casting a dull yellow glow over the front steps. You brush your bangs out of your face and peer out the windshield.

His yard is… decorated. In this weird Santa-meets-clown theme. Inflatable reindeer with red noses and googly eyes. A giant circus Santa. Some sort of snowman in a fedora?

You squint.

What the actual hell.

Maybe his folks have a thing for bad jokes. You decide not to put any further brain cells toward figuring it out. With a casual flick, you pop a mixtape into the stereo — one of the better ones. Static fuzzes before the first track kicks in. Some old-school alt rock, loud and just what you need for the ride.

The windshield begins to fog slightly with your breath. It’s cold enough that the inside of the Bronco feels like a fridge on wheels.

You watch John’s house. Wait.

Finally, the man himself appears. He strolls down the freshly shoveled driveway — almost slipping on a patch of ice, arms flailing comically. He kind of plays it off. You smirk.

He gets to your passenger side and tugs the handle.

Nothing.

Because you locked it. On purpose.

Of course.

Just to prank him — if he can even tell he’s being pranked.

John shivers in place, puffing warm breath onto the glass. “Hurry up and unlock the car, Vriska! My butt is turning into a rotund icicle out here!!”

He smears his face against the window, fogging it further, pushing his nerd glasses into his face like the awkward little guy he is. It makes you chuckle — real and unfiltered.

You unlock the door.

He wastes no time diving into the front seat, shivering dramatically. Snow dusts his shoulders. He pulls a little journal from his coat pocket and starts flipping through it with gloved fingers.

You raise an eyebrow. “What is that, John? Your diary? Is my name in there yet?”

He freezes.

“No, Vriska!” he snaps, flustered and trying to hide it. “I’ll have you know this is the holy grail for all of my lyrics. You are more than welcome to snoop through it at tonight’s show.”

You smirk. He’s clearly too eager to have someone read it. Maybe you will. If only to mess with him.

You ease the Bronco into reverse and pull away from the curb. The tires crunch over snow-packed asphalt. The sky outside is already losing color — a pale gray overtaken by soft purples, slowly dripping into navy blue. Streetlights flicker on like fireflies one by one.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a man standing in the yard across the street. Long overcoat. Fedora. Smoking a pipe. Watching.

“Is that your dad?” you ask, glancing in the rearview.

John squints back, then nods. “Yeah. Cool, right?”

“Fucking cool.” You mutter under your breath, a little impressed. You wish your mom had that kind of mysterious energy. Instead of being the wild, plundering bitch who keeps stealing your cigarettes.

Enough about her.

You press the gas a little harder, the mixtape filling the silence with distorted guitar riffs. The sky’s gotten darker now — a deep, sleepy violet. Street signs blur past in gold-lit flashes.

You glance sideways.

John is completely lost in his thoughts. His mouth twitches between open and tight-shut. You reach over and poke him in the cheek.

“Hey nerd. Tell me about you.”

He jumps, flinching slightly. Then shifts in his seat like someone prepping for his turn in a talent show.

“Well uh… you know my name already,” he starts. “But I, uh—like bad movies. Video games. Rock bands. Science fiction. Comedy. Some other things...”

You grin.

He drums his fingers against his leg, warming up.

“I’m majoring in computer science at Prospit Tech. I’ve been in a few very short-lived bands before this one. I’ve lived in Sburb my whole life — with my Dad and Nana.”

He turns to you. “What about you, Vriska?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the road.

“I’m at Prospit Tech too. Business major. Weird that I’ve never seen you around. I like hanging out with friends. Play guitar a little. I adore Dungeons & Dragons. And sometimes I watch Nick Cage movies.”

You glance at him. His eyes light up.

“Wait, Nick Cage?”

You smirk and shove his shoulder playfully. “Didn’t think you’d be a fan.”

The Bronco rattles as you drive over a patch of uneven ice. You pass a strip mall dusted with frost and glowing in the dark like an alien beacon. Fluorescent signs blink OPEN. You can feel the night creeping in around you like a blanket — thick and slow, turning everything blue and silver.

You check the signs. You’re getting close to Jack’s — the place your mom used to haunt in her wild youth. Now it’s yoursoon-to-be stomping grounds. Where Dave’s new band will debut.

Wait.

You frown.

“Hey John… sorry if this is a stupid question, but what’s your band name?”

There’s a pause. You hear John freeze.

Silence.

“…That’s what I thought.”

The Bronco rumbles into the alley behind Jack’s. Dim lights illuminate the back entrance. You see Dave and Sollux unloading the back of a van. Terezi and Karkat are off to the side, throwing snow at each other like a couple of little kids.

You park.

Sigh.

What a bunch of geeks.

But… they’re your geeks.

Chapter Text

You are now John Egbert, and you're setting up microphones with Sollux on the stage of Jack's, a weird little bar on the edge of town that smells like old people and cigar smoke.

You’re still wrapping your head around the fact that... you don’t even know your band’s name.

Seriously. It’s never come up. No one’s mentioned it. Maybe it wasn’t a topic at all. Maybe this band was always just “whatever, we’ll figure it out later”. But the suspense is eating at you, so you decide to ask the one person here who would actually know:

“Hey, uh... Sollux?” you start, nervously adjusting the mic stand up to your face. “What’s our band name?”

He doesn’t even look surprised.

“Oh, no one told you?” he replies, not caring that you didn’t know until your first show. “It’s Homestuck.”

You blink.

“Wait, you’re telling me... Homestuck is our band name?”

Sollux just nods, amused, and walks off stage like that was the most normal answer in the world. He’s already halfway to the door, waving at Aradia, who’s just walked in alongside Rose and Kanaya, snowflakes catching in their hair.

You wave at the girls, then turn back to plug in the mics, still taking in the name. Homestuck. Huh. It's... honestly kind of perfect.

Before you can dwell too long, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey John!”

You turn, startled — it’s Vriska, standing with Terezi, holding out a slice of pepperoni pizza in your direction.

“I thought you’d want this,” she says with a little smirk. “Considering you definitely would’ve gotten some... if not for me bringing it to you.”

She hands it over, and your stomach grumbles in betrayal. Terezi shuffles beside her, gripping Vriska’s dark blue puffer jacket instead of using her cane. You can tell she’s trying to orient herself. It’s subtle — but you notice.

You offer Vriska a grateful smile and a mumble of thanks before inhaling the pizza and finishing setup.

Later, after some brief warming up and chaotic soundchecks, it’s finally time for your band — Homestuck, apparently — to show the five or six people sitting at the bar and the few friends in the crowd what you’re made of.

Turns out?

You're made of chaos.

No one can keep time. Not even close. You don’t know if it’s nerves, or the cold, or maybe some kind of synchronized collective failure, but everyone’s shaking like leaves on a freezing tree branch.

You glance at each bandmate, then dramatically point down at your foot, which is tapping a steady beat. It takes a few seconds, but the message sinks in.

Gradually, the band pulls it together.

And to your surprise, you actually hear clapping. Like, real clapping. People are enjoying it. You're kind of... doing it.

You smile.

After the show, the bar is buzzing in its own small way. People are chatting, laughing, moving amps and cases around like a kind of organized chaos ballet. You’re looking around for one person in particular.

But Vriska’s gone.

You check every table, every shadowy corner, every back hallway. No Vriska. You even look for the most Vriska-esque nooks — dramatic corners, crooked posters, any place with a bad vibe.

Eventually, you step outside into the biting wind. It hits you in the face like a slap. You hug your arms to your chest and glance around—

And there she is.

Vriska stands under the back wall’s lone, flickering light, cigarette glowing in her hand like a little star. Her dark, wavy hair moves with the breeze like it’s alive, swallowing her face in shadows. She looks like a painting.

She notices you staring and beckons you over with two fingers.

“Hey Egbert. Good job up there,” she says with a grin, taking a quick drag.

“Thanks, Vriska. You uh… too,” you reply.

Then immediately facepalm.

What the hell are you even saying?

You’re the nerd who can’t talk to people. Congratulations. It’s official.

But she just laughs. “You’re funny, John.”

She’s smiling at you.

The way her blue-covered lips crease makes you forget how to breathe. It pulls you right back to that memory — the one from earlier this week. Waking up on the couch next to her. Too warm. Too close. Too good to be real.

“So, uh... about the other night—” you begin, heart pounding.

But the band explodes out the door behind you, dragging gear and yelling across the tiny parking lot.

“Hey lovebirds!” Karkat shouts. “Care to help instead of doing... whatever that is?”

The lot is maybe twenty feet wide. He did not need to yell. But this is Karkat. So of course he did.

Vriska sighs, flicking her cigarette into the snow and pulling her jacket tight. Her breath clouds in front of her face as she rolls her eyes and walks off to help. You follow.

Everything gets packed into Dave’s van and Aradia’s little hatchback, and soon enough, it’s just you and Vriska again.

Finally back in her Bronco.

She struggles with the keys, missing the ignition four or five times with frozen hands. The engine finally groans to life as she flips through her CD binder, searching.

When the speakers crackle to life with slow jazz, you're surprised.

It’s... oddly romantic. Not that you’re thinking about it like that.

She hums along and taps the wheel as she drives out of the parking lot, headlights carving a tunnel through the snowy road. But the Bronco is starting to stutter, shaking more than usual every time she hits the gas.

You can tell she’s worried.

So you try to distract her — with that question.

“So, about the other night,” you say cautiously, “do you remember how we ended up on the couch together?”

She hesitates, eyes still on the road. Then—

“What can I say?” she chuckles. “You’re cute.”

Your heart does a full-on cartwheel.

Like, action-movie stunt-cartwheeling.

“Oh, uh… you’re, um… pretty cute too,” you mumble, cheeks going nuclear.

She laughs — not mocking. Not cruel. Just... warm.

“Thanks, Egbert.”

She reaches over and slides her hand around yours, resting it in your lap. Her fingers are cold, but the gesture makes your face burn.

Everything feels perfect—

Until the Bronco lets out a horrible rattle, then goes quiet. The dashboard dims. You both look at each other.

Perfect.

Right before a rest stop exit.

Vriska steers into the lot with effort, guiding the Bronco into a parking space before punching the dashboard with a furious fist.

“Stupid fucking piece of shit!” she shouts, eyes glassy with frustration.

You don’t know what to say.

She exhales slowly, pulling her jacket off and crawling into the backseat.

“Well... I guess we’re here for the night,” she mutters. “I’ve got blankets in the back, but I’m not sure they’d cover both of us individually.”

“Oh! Well, uh... we can always share, Vriska! You know, to stay warm. So we don’t freeze,” you add quickly, trying to sound helpful and totally not eager.

She eyes you, then chuckles, patting the seat next to her.

“Well, if you insist, Egbert.”

The backseat is cramped, but you make it work.

You use your jackets as makeshift pillows — her idea.

You're too aware of her beside you. The shape of her. The way her hair smells faintly like smoke and a rich shampoo. You’re sober. Fully aware. And completely incapable of believing this is happening.

Then, softly:

“Hey Vriska,” you whisper. “Can I cuddle you?”

She looks at you in the dark. The only light comes from the orange glow of a streetlamp filtering through the frosted windows.

“Sure,” she says. “But no groping.”

You nod.

You’re absolutely fine with that.

Chapter Text

You are now Karkat Vantas.

You sit slouched on the old hand-me-down couch in Sollux’s basement, a suspiciously girly drink sweating in your hand. It smells like fruit punch and lies. Your nose wrinkles before you even taste it. When you do—just a cautious sip—it’s so sweet it makes your teeth hurt and your tongue go slightly numb. Great. A drink that feels like it’s attacking your mouth .

Most of the band dragged themselves back here for an impromptu afterparty. Because, somehow, the gig wasn’t a total disaster. You didn't throw up on your drums or scream at the audience. That’s what passes for success, apparently.

You sigh.

Sollux and Aradia are mashed together on the other side of the room, making out like the world’s about to end in five minutes. Rose and Kanaya sit halfway up the basement stairs, heads resting together in that annoyingly serene way only they can manage. You swear you saw Kanaya smile earlier. Or maybe that was just a hallucination from the drink.

You haven’t seen Dave. Or Terezi.

Your heart stutters.

You try not to think about it, but your mind’s already doing that thing. The spiraling, panicked, thing. Vriska and John didn’t show. Shocker. But Dave and Terezi? Not here?

You gulp the drink again. It doesn’t go down easier the second time.

Maybe some air will help.

You rise from the couch, the world shifting a little to the left before righting itself. You steady yourself with one hand against the armrest. Okay. Maybe you’ve had a little more than you thought. Whatever. You’re fine. You just need some fresh air and maybe a non-strawberry-sugar-poison to rinse the taste out of your mouth.

You dodge past Kanaya—who’s now cradling a fully unconscious Rose—and start the climb upstairs. It takes... more steps than it should. When you finally shove the door open, the cold night air smacks you in the face like a disapproving parent.

Better. You can think again.

Sort of.

You spot the van still parked at the curb, that rusted metal behemoth that barely survived the drive to the gig. A flicker of memory hits:

Your gossip magazines are still in the front seat. The new issue of Derse Weekly’s ‘ Deranged Celebrity Meltdowns Monthly’ . Worth it. Definitely worth the walk.

The snow is weirdly soft under your shoes. Or maybe that’s your socks. Wait—where’s your other shoe?

You pause, squinting at your feet. One shoe. One sock. Unacceptable, but manageable.

As you wobble toward the van, a weird noise makes you stop.

A creak . A squeak. A rhythmic thud-thud-thud.

Your stomach flips.

The van is... moving?

You freeze.

Someone’s inside. They’re stealing your magazines . That’s the only logical explanation. You are being robbed . Violated . You clumsily tug your remaining shoe off your foot—takes longer than it should—and brandish it like a weapon. Ready for battle.

Your hands fumble on the van's back door handle. You throw it open—

—and are instantly met with the palest ass you have ever seen in your entire goddamn life.

You stare.

You blink.

Dave.

Terezi.

Hands. Movement. Back digging. Groaning.

They don’t even notice you.

You slam the door shut so hard it rattles.

You stand there, frozen, vibrating with secondhand trauma.

Then you run.

You don’t even think about it. You just bolt down the street like you’re being chased by an army of naked Daves. Your legs are jelly. Your head is buzzing. The air claws at your lungs. You’re half-sobbing, half-laughing, fully horrified.

That didn’t happen .

You didn’t see that.

YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT.

But you did.

The image is seared into your brain. Burned behind your eyes.

You stop just long enough to hurl behind someone's Christmas yard decor. You’re not sure if it’s from the sugary drink or the mental scarring or both. Probably both.

Your knees shake. You sit down on the curb. Or maybe you fall. Whatever.

The night grows colder, quieter. The stars blur together.

Everything starts to feel soft. Heavy . Like your bones are melting out through your skin. You lie back on the pavement, the chill soaking into you.

You’re still muttering, slurred and half-coherent:

“Nope. Not real. That was not. I am not—nope—no... ass. No ass was ever there...ghost of Christmas ass…”

Then the world tips sideways.

And the rest of the night fades into a long, slow black.

Chapter Text

You are still Karkat.

You are awoken by a Converse shoe meeting your ribs, barely protected by your clothes.

“Wake up, fairy.”

It’s Vriska. She looks like she just woke up herself, with a very cheery John beside her. His hair is messy, his glasses slightly crooked. He looks even happier to be alive. Weird.

“Vriska? What time is it?” you mumble, holding your hand over your face to block out the blinding sun.

“Half past seven. How’d you even get out here?” She laughs, scanning the imprint of your body in the soft snow.

You blink, realizing you didn’t make it back inside. Somehow, you’re not dead out in the cold. Your head is pounding with an ache that makes you feel concussed. As you push yourself out of the snow, you remember the van—Dave on top of Terezi. The thought makes you gag. You firmly hold your hand over your mouth, just in case you actually barf from the disgusting scene that keeps torturing you.

You trail sluggishly behind Vriska and John. John looks like he wants to be attached to her by the hip. Okay, something’s definitely going on between those two—and it makes you feel even more sick. Gross.

Rolling your eyes, you step inside Sollux’s house, having picked up your shoe from the yard. Rose and Kanaya had slept upstairs in the living room, already awake before everyone else. John joins them in the kitchen with whatever they’re doing. Vriska disappears.

You start thinking about everyone else. Sollux and Aradia obviously slept in his room, no mystery there. John and Vriska? Who knows. But what really gnaws at your mind is Terezi and Dave. How long had this been going on? Was it just a drunken mistake?

Descending into the basement, you make sure Dave and Terezi—who are sitting next to the pool table with juice boxes—don’t notice you. You sink into the couch, fiddling with your thumbs to distract yourself.

But how could you forget the image of them casually going at it right next to your drums? It pierces your heart every time the memory resurfaces.

Not long after, Sollux comes downstairs in a Transformers tee and what you assume are a pair of Aradia’s shorts. He plops next to you on the couch, holding a piece of paper.

“Hey, KK, check this out,” he says, handing it to you.

You grab it. At the top it reads: Homestuck Album Ideas. A list of potential song names fills the page. Presumably, this is what he’s calling the stuff you’ve been playing. To you, it all sounds stupid.

“Wow, Sollux. If I wasn’t so hungover, I’d tell whatever preschooler decided one of our songs should be called Spider-Man that it’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard, and I’m not playing it again.” You groan, handing the paper back.

“Jeez, man, who pissed in your Cheerios?” He looks offended—but honestly, you would’ve reacted the same way to that name, maybe just less harsh.

“Sorry. Rough night.” You rub your temple.

“It’s okay. I saw you leave but got too caught up in something to check on you. Sorry, dude.” He gives you what might be sympathy. Hard to tell.

Your conversation is cut short when Vriska thunders down the stairs, holding a shiny wrapper.

“Who fucked in the van?” she demands. “I went out there looking for John’s lyric book, but I found evidence of you freaks getting it on. Who was it?”

Dave looks guiltier than OJ. The image of him with Terezi flashes through your mind again, making you miserable.

Vriska notices the fear in your eyes when you glance at Dave. She smirks. “Karkatttt, was it you and Dave?” She laughs, tossing the wrapper before slamming herself onto the couch with you and Sollux.

The wave of embarrassment hits you hard, then fades.

Soon after, John comes downstairs with Rose and Kanaya behind him, carrying plates and cups. They’ve made breakfast and coffee. Kind of them, you guess.

You pick up a plate of eggs and what you assume is bacon John definitely overcooked, and take a bite. Gross. But not the worst thing you’ve ever eaten.

You sigh into your plate, wishing the day would end faster. You can feel Dave’s nervous gaze stabbing into the back of your head.

But you keep eating your breakfast anyway, already planning to arrange a ride home with Vriska and John.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider, and you can’t help but feel guilty.

You feel Karkat’s dread from across the basement—like it’s radiating off him in waves. It's seeping into your skin, curling up in your stomach like a dying animal. You like Terezi—sure, who wouldn’t? But you also know you hurt Karkat. You know exactly how much he liked her. How she’d tease him, how his face would turn into a whole-ass tomato at even the suggestion of her name.

But still. You gave in.

You don’t know what the hell you were thinking. Or maybe you do, and that’s worse. There was something irresistible in the way Terezi teased you, and even when every warning light in your brain was going off like a fire drill, you still let it happen. And now here you are.

Seething in silence. Stewing in your own shame. Sipping on a fucking juice box, of all things, like a toddler who just knocked over a vase and is pretending everything's cool.

Terezi is still talking. Something about a punk band she wants to start with the girls. Something about how you guys could open for each other, make it a scene. You can hear her voice, but the words are underwater now. Muted. Muffled. Your gaze is locked on the floor, and you can't bring yourself to look at anyone—especially not him.

Eventually, the group thins out. Someone's getting a ride. Someone else is heading to the nerd store. The basement empties out until it's just you. And then—

“Dave? Are you listening to me?”

You flinch at the voice behind you. You turn, slowly.

It’s Sollux. And he looks pissed.

“I asked what happened with Karkat,” he says. He's pulled his glasses down, which is a bad sign. He only does that when he wants to make sure you know you’ve messed up.

You swallow hard. “Oh, um… it’s kind of really embarrassing…”

Sollux narrows his eyes.

“Dude. Fucking tell me before you guys start fighting about it at the next practice.”

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. “Okay, you know how Vriska made a huge deal about the condom wrapper in the van?”

He blinks. “Yeah…?”

“Well, it was mine. And Karkat happened to open the van to see me and Terezi using it. Last night.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands.

Sollux recoils. “Ew, dude. What the hell? You couldn’t have gone to her place? She literally lives across the street. Gross.Remind me to just take my bass with Aradia next time.”

“Sorry, Sollux—”

“You should feel sorry for Karkat,” he snaps. “You know he’s been crushing on her for years. Imagine how it’d feel to see your best friend fucking your crush.”

You wince. There's no defense. You can’t even argue with him, because he’s right. Every word of it. And that somehow hurts worse than anything Karkat could scream at you.

“I know,” you mumble, voice dry. “I know I fucked up. I just don’t even know how to talk to him about it.”

“Look,” Sollux sighs, his voice finally softening, “just… try to talk to him. Before practice. Without Terezi. Please.”

You nod. It's the least you can do.

He turns and walks off, leaving you exactly where you've been almost the whole day—stuck in the basement with your guilt.

You finally stand, mumble a half-assed goodbye, and head for your van.

The guilt follows you out the door.

It follows you into the driver’s seat. It settles in your chest like a stone as you pull out of the driveway. As you glance in the rearview. As you try your hardest not to think about how bad you've messed this up.

But it’s no use. The guilt multiplies by the trillions.

How hard can it be?

Chapter Text

You are John Egbert.

The Bronco rumbles beneath you like it could die at any moment, its tired engine sputtering with every stoplight. You run your hand through your hair. It feels greasy, and you could really use a shower. Still, that’s not what’s on your mind.

It’s the girl driving.

You steal a glance at Vriska. The streetlights carve shifting shadows across her face, her hands gripping the wheel like she’s wrestling it into obedience. She looks restless, like she’s already halfway to her next scheme.

You swallow the lump in your throat and sigh. “Do you wanna… stay for a minute?”

The words slip out before you can stop them.

Vriska smirks, not taking her eyes off the road. “Sure, nerd. I’d love to snoop around your room.” Her laugh cuts through the rumble of the Bronco, sharp and bright.

You try not to grin too wide, praying she can’t read your excitement.

But then you notice something strange. When you pull into the driveway, both your dad’s and your nanna’s cars are gone. That never happens. Not both at once.

A nervous ripple crawls down your spine.

“You can just park here,” you say, adjusting your glasses. “I’m sure my dad won’t care.”

She pulls in without comment, but your chest is still tight as you both climb out.

Inside, the air is still and a little too quiet. The dimly lit living room waits, decorated with clowns, Christmas lights, and faded family photos. A strange carnival of your childhood.

“John Egbert, what kind of haunted house do you live in?” Vriska asks, picking up an old photo from the mantle. “This is giving me the creeps.” She squints, then breaks into a wide grin. “Oh my god. Is that you with buck teeth?”

Your stomach drops. She’s holding the picture. Thirteen-year-old you, Groucho glasses, pipe clutched between your teeth.

“Aw man, why is that still up?” You groan, snatching it from her and shoving it behind a clown statue.

“Relax, Egbert. I’m not gonna show anyone.” She nudges your arm, laughing. “But maybe I’ll let it slip.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms at the sound of her laugh.

“Alright, alright. Let’s just go upstairs.”

Her eyes widen when she steps into your room. “Is that… Matthew McConaughey and Nic Cage?”

You grin sheepishly. “Yeah, since middle school. I love their movies.”

She flips through your DVD stack on your TV that sits on the floor until she pulls out Con Air.

“This one. Favorite?”

You nod nervously. “Yeah. Totally.”

“No way. Mine too!” she says, smiling wider than you’ve ever seen.

Something in your chest tugs hard.

Before you know it, the movie is on, the popcorn bowl between you, and the two of you sitting close on the floor. But you’re not watching anymore. You’re watching her.

The flickering blue light paints her face like a phantom. A beautiful, impossible ghost.

“Vriska—”

You don’t finish. She moves first.

She crashes into you, mouth hot against yours, hands tugging at your shirt. You’re fumbling clumsily with her belt before you even realize what’s happening. By the time her jeans slide halfway down, your head is spinning.

And then—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your blood runs cold.

“Shit,” you hiss, scrambling off the bed. Your shirt is halfway across the room. You yank it over your head—your old, faded Ghostbusters tee. Three days unwashed. You don’t care.

“Hang on!” you shout, trying not to sound like you’re choking.

You slide out into the hall to greet your dad. He’s balancing two plates of cake.

“Hi John. Do you have a friend over?” His eyes flick past you, but he doesn’t push.

Your throat is dry. You hope the burning feeling in your face isn’t showing a bright red hue to your dad. “Uh… yeah. We’re watching a movie.”

He smiles knowingly and hands you the plates. “Didn’t want to intrude.” A wink. Then he’s gone, footsteps fading downstairs.

You stand frozen in the hallway, heart pounding like it might crack your ribs open.

Back in your room, Vriska sits stiffly on your bed, pants pulled back on, eyes narrowed with nerves.

“That was your dad?” she asks, voice lower now.

“Yeah. Sorry. He just… brought cake.” You set the plates on your desk with trembling hands.

For a moment, the air feels fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it.

Then Vriska leans forward, her smile crooked, almost daring. “So… did you want to keep going?” She pulls you toward her, eyes glinting in the TV’s fading light.

You swallow hard and force a smile. “Do you want me to keep going?”

Vriska tilts her head, eyes glinting with mischief. “That depends, Egbert. Can you keep quiet? Or are you gonna give us away?”

Her words send another jolt of heat through you, but underneath it there’s something colder—an edge of dread.

Because even if you can keep quiet, you’re not sure the house will.

Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by a sound.

The sound of tires crunching gravel.

Headlights sweep across your bedroom wall, cutting through the blinds like a knife.

Vriska notices immediately. “What’s that?”

Your stomach sinks. You know that sound. That timing. That car.

“Nanna,” you whisper, horrified.

Vriska chuckles, almost impressed. “Your whole damn family’s gonna show up, huh?”

You’re already panicking, fumbling to straighten your shirt, shoving the popcorn bowl under the bed like that’ll erase the evidence. “No, no, you don’t get it. If she comes upstairs and sees us she’ll tell my dad and I—”

The front door opens with a familiar creeeeak.

“Johnathan?” Nanna’s voice calls, bright and sing-song. “Are you awake, dear?”

Your throat closes.

Downstairs, you hear your dad greet her. His voice is calm, but low—he’s telling her something. Probably telling her not to bother you. Probably lying for you.

But Nanna has never listened to that kind of thing in her life.

The first stair groans under her foot.

“John.” Vriska’s voice is sharp now, serious. She grabs your wrist. “Window. Now.”

You glance at her like she’s insane. “We’re on the second floor!”

She grins, reckless as always. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

The stairs creak again. She’s coming up.

You don’t think. You just move. You drag Vriska to the window, tugging it open with shaking hands. The cool night air hits your face just as Nanna’s footsteps reach the top of the stairs.

“Johnathan? I brought you some extra blankets!”

Vriska’s already halfway out the window, one leg hooked over the sill. She looks back at you with wild, excited eyes. “You coming, Egbert?”

You freeze, staring between her and the door handle that could turn any second.

Your dad might cover for you. Or he might not. Nanna’s already reaching for your door.

You don’t have much time to decide.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert.

Climbing out of your window in the middle of December was probably a stupid idea, but what choice did you have? Did you want your sweet Nanna to see you tangled up with a girl you haven't even introduced to your family? Did you want your dad to give you that talk about protection?

You shudder at the thought.

You slowly lift your legs over the sill, one at a time, cautiously planting your shoes on the snowy roof. Vriska moves you out of the way so she can shut the window, but just as she does, you hear Nanna knocking.

Vriska spots her before you do, carefully crawling down the roof to an adjacent tree. She grabs a branch, making her descent look effortless.

“John, what the hell are you doing? What’s your plan if she finds you on the roof?” she whispers, her voice sharp with concern.

“Sorry. Sorry. I got caught up in thought,” you mumble, trying to reach for a large branch. Your hands miss, and you end up crashing into the snowy yard below with a loud "Oof."

Vriska rushes over and pulls you into the cover of a nearby bush. Well, it’s not exactly a bush—more like a ball of painful sticks coated in snow.

“What the hell, John? Are you okay?” Vriska asks, her hands gently cupping your face.

You give her a thumbs-up, trying to catch your breath, though the cold and the adrenaline make it hard to focus.

You hear Nanna’s voice coming closer. “Now where did that boy disappear to?” she calls, and it sounds like she’s walking away. You don’t want to take any chances.

As snow begins to fall around you, Vriska rubs her hands together, shivering. "So... wanna find somewhere to wait this out?"

You nod. "Yeah, let’s find someplace warm."

"Don't think we can take my car," Vriska sighs, glancing at her old Bronco. "That’ll give us away in a heartbeat."

An idea sparks in your mind. “I’ve got a treehouse in the backyard! It’s got blankets and stuff.”

Vriska raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “A treehouse? Seriously?”

You laugh nervously. "Yeah, I used to sleep out there when I was younger. It’s got a heater too, though I haven’t been up there since I was sixteen.”

“Well, let’s go before we freeze,” she says, following you as you make your way toward the backyard.

You reach the old wooden ladder leading up to your treehouse, which looks a little more worn than you remember. The rope hanging below is still a bit suspicious, but you decide to ignore it for now. The trapdoor is still latched, so you hope no animals have taken residence.

Climbing up slowly (Climb the latter, boy-skylark!), you reach the entrance, unlatch the door, and flick on the light. Inside, you’re greeted with the sight of an old TV with a VHS player, string lights tangled in the corners, a blanket fort with pillows tucked inside, a small space heater, and a box of comic books—all neatly arranged in a way that feels cozy and nostalgic.

Vriska climbs in after you, glancing around in mild surprise. “Jeez, John. Why didn’t you show me this place sooner?”

You shrug, a little embarrassed. “I never really thought about it until now.”

She chuckles as you start moving the blanket fort around, adjusting the heater to face it. The warmth and comfort of the space feel like a welcome reprieve from the cold night outside.

You both settle in the blanket fort, flipping through channels on the small TV before deciding on a movie—a VHS copy of Face/Off, for some reason. 

(warning for some plush-rump steamy scenes that I poorly wrote, I’m bad at it sorry!)

You turn to face Vriska, positioning yourself in the most sexy way you can think of.

“So… did you want to continue from where we left off?” You ask, expecting her to jump out of the treehouse.

“Sure Egbert, you want to learn what you’re doing first?” She chuckles, making you blush even harder.

You nod happily.

“Okay, so what you want to do is pretty simple,” she says, moving to a position to slide off her pants, leaving her spider underwear exposed. Okay John, focus.

“You’ll just need to use your tongue in a pattern, you’ll know where when I show you,” she says, tracing her fingers on your skin, pushing your shirt up and over your head —knocking your glasses off. “if you think you’re up for it.” She grins.

You nod your head enthusiastically, sweating with excitement. “I am!” You practically shout, heart pounding.

She climbs off of you, laying herself on the pillow and blanket-covered floor of your fort. You get up and place yourself at her feet.

You nervously slide the spider underwear down and off of her legs, and marvel in the pure adrenaline rush the sight of her is giving you. Oh man, your heart is about to explode.

You dip your head down between her legs and awkwardly mumble through her thighs, questioning what exactly you’re supposed to do.

“Just lick until you’ve found what I’m talking about, you’ll get it.” She says, holding your head down, smiling at you.

You close your eyes and let your mouth get to work on her, listening closely as you explore this alien concept.

Suddenly, you hear a small moan escape Vriskas lips. It prompts you to continue lapping your tongue, making your jaw tired.

“John- right there-“ she mumbles, putting her other hand over her mouth, bucking her hips against you, as you delicately nibble and lick her.

You continue to please her with your mouth while her thighs wrap around your head. She shakes with every movement of your tongue. You try to stay consistent with your rhythm and she grips your head tighter and tighter, moaning through her palm.

Finally, Vriska lets out a long whimper and bucks her hips one final time, squeezing your head even more firmly between her thighs. She practically tries to rip out your hair, digging her nails into your scalp.

Eventually, she lets go of you and releases you from her legs. She breathes heavily, covered in sweat, looking down at you.

“John, was that seriously your first time doing that?” she exhales, pulling her hair away from her face, sitting up to kiss you as you wipe your mouth on your arm.

“Yeah. I- uh, just did what you said.” you smile at her. Noticing an odd look in her eyes.

“Do you want a blowjob?” She grins.

Your heart nearly flies into outer space. How do you say yes without making it seem like you’d do anything for it? You would do anything for it but that’s not the point. The point is that you are about to get blown by the hottest girl you’ve ever seen and it’s going to give you a heart attack.

Then your mind flashes to the raging boner you’ve had for nearly 20 minutes. Oh man, what if it’s too small and she laughs at you? You shake off the feeling of dread and look at her. 

You gulp, nodding at her nervously. She motions you to stand up, positioning herself on her knees below you.

“Okay, just tell me if it’s too much. I don’t care if you cum fast,” she laughs, reaching for your pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down to your ankles, being greeted by your dick trying to fight its way out of your bright-green boxers. She palms it through your underwear and looks up at you. You desperately try not to faint.

“You like that don’t you John?” She snickers, with a slightly evil tone to her voice, peeling down your undergarments.

She slowly kisses from the base of your dick to the tip, making you whimper and moan above her. She then opens her mouth and slowly slides it over you, using her tongue to apply pressure to your dick.

You groan with pleasure as she gradually increases her speed, moving her mouth up and down on your cock, making you whimper louder and louder.

You can barely keep yourself together as she basically milks the cum out of your dick. When you feel yourself at your limit, you barely make out a word.

“I’m about to-“ you whimper, lightly holding her head on your dick.

She intensely starts tonguing your dick as your throb against her mouth, finishing dramatically. You can barely stand, watching as she licks her lips below you.

Before you know it, you’ve been tucked in and continue your movie, having spent a moment rewinding the tape after you and Vriska had gotten partially dressed.

You feel yourself drifting off, looking at Vriska next to you. You can’t believe you just got head in your treehouse.

Then, the cold night fades to black, with you nice and warm in a makeshift bed with your kind-of girlfriend.

Chapter Text

Your name is Dirk Strider. You're 23, and you wear ridiculously cool shades. You read books that most people would need a dictionary for, and you work at a gas station where the highlight of your day is the free cigarettes. You rap, you’ve got swords that you never really need to use (except for when you feel like showing off), and you’re really good at kicking ass. Mostly male ass, but don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just that guys make better targets. Which isn’t to say you like guys—just that dudes tend to be more tempting.

Wait that sounds weird. Not tempting they’re just more desirable. Okay what the fuck are you saying this is just the gayest fucking thing you’ve ever had the chance to think about. Wow, setting new records today.

The weather’s cold enough to freeze your brain into mush. Everyone else is off on winter break, but you’re stuck in your usual routine. Tonight though? You and Roxy are going to pick up Jake and Jane for a trip to the mall. A rare break in your world of gas station shifts and depressing nights on the couch.

Roxy’s in the passenger seat, breathing on the window and doodling random crap—cats, mostly—on the fogged-up glass.

“Man, where the hell are they?” you mutter, trying to spot Jake and Jane outside their duplex. You know they said they’d be waiting.

“They’re probably off smooching somewhere,” Roxy jokes, like it’s no big deal.

You roll your eyes. It’s a dumb thing to think about, but for some reason, it’s been bothering you. Jake and Jane are free to do whatever the hell they want, right? You don’t need to feel weird about it. But somehow, your stomach still flips. So, you swallow it down and ignore it.

Until you spot Jake trudging through the snow in his stupid shorts, looking completely unphased by the cold. And there’s Jane, way more sensible, descending the stairs, looking like she doesn’t have to shovel snow out of her boots every three steps.

“Hey Dirk! Hey Roxy!” Jake practically screams as he flings himself into the backseat.

Jane waves and slides into the car with a smile. “Hey guys,” she says.

You greet them, your usual detached vibe, and start driving toward the mall. Roxy’s got her mixtape blasting, and it’s kind of catchy, but you’re too busy wondering why you’re thinking about Jake in his stupid shorts to pay attention to anything else. Roxy’s air drumming and Jane and Jake are pretending their hands are microphones.

The drive’s not too bad, and you pull up to the mall just as the sun starts setting.

“Shit, it got dark fast,” you mutter. You’re already regretting not having more time to look for CDs. “We better move fast in here.”

Jake, always the optimist, grins from the backseat. “Don’t worry, Dirk! We can hit the arcade and the music store if we hurry!”

The mall’s packed with last-minute holiday shoppers, and you feel that usual mall pressure: people trying to buy up everything before Christmas. Roxy mentions getting Rose an Ouija board, and you realize you need to get something for Dave. You can’t leave him hanging this year.

First stop is the arcade. It’s packed with teenagers, all sweaty and awkward and hogging your favorite games. You and Jake manage to find a Street Fighter machine, and after a few rounds of you whooping his ass, Jake gives up and wanders over to watch Roxy and Jane at the DDR machine. Roxy’s shredding, and Jane’s struggling to keep up. Honestly, Roxy’s got her talents in full effect when it comes to DDR.

After a while, you all manage to make your way to the music store. Jane and Roxy are looking at some new local girl band album while Jake is digging through the rock section. You’re trying to find a decent hip-hop record for Dave. You settle on one that screams "Dave" in all the right ways: Upward Movement—looks like some underground stuff. He’ll love it.

At the checkout, you see a familiar face. Oh, hell. It’s Meenah Peixes. You thought she was off at some super fancy college or whatever, but here she is working the register at a mall music store. She’s rocking some major gold jewelry, her hair’s got pink strands now, and her whole vibe says she’s living her best life while you’re stuck in your hometown.

“D Strider? Damn, is that you? Last time I saw you, you were like half the size and rapping about robots,” she says with a laugh, clearly enjoying the sight of you.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” you answer, giving her a nod. You remember the time she got into a fistfight with some greasy kid next to your locker back in high school. Good times.

“I can’t believe we’re this old now,” she complains while ringing you up. “My mom’s already talking about ‘the family business’ and shit.”

You laugh, handing her cash for the album. “I know the feeling. I’m stuck at a gas station just waiting for my rap game to blow up. It’s gonna happen. Just need a few people to actually hear my bars first.”

“Like that’s gonna happen, Di Stri,” Roxy laughs from behind you.

You shake your head and grab your stuff, heading out. “Catch you later, Meenah. Happy holidays.”

“Later, ninja dude,” she calls after you, and you can’t help but chuckle.

The rest of the crew’s ready to go, and you all exit the store. Jane and Jake are staring at the Christmas lights, asking dumb questions about whether they keep them on all night. You don’t care about the lights, but you’ve got to admit, they’re kind of pretty.

You all make it back to the parking lot, and snow’s falling again. Jake’s trying to clean the snow off your Civic with his sleeve, but it quickly turns into a snowball fight. You can’t stop laughing as you all throw snow at each other, and somehow, you get your car cleared off without freezing to death.

The drive home is smooth, barely any traffic, and you drop Jake and Jane off with only a few minutes of small talk. Jake ends up clumsily tripping into a snowbank and needs Jane to pull him out. Jake’s attempt at walking through the snow was a disaster, but it’s hard not to laugh. They wave as you pull away.

You make it back to your apartment, where the smell of sugar cookies immediately hits you. Great. Roxy must’ve left a candle burning... Nope. It’s actually Rose and Dave’s early holiday gift. A whole Tupperware of cookies. You grab one, but Roxy grabs your wrist before you can take a bite.

“No way, Dirk,” she says, pulling it out of your reach. “We gotta wait for them to see us eat their cookies first.”

You sigh but don’t protest. “Fine, whatever.”

Roxy stashes it on top of the fridge, and you collapse on the couch. There’s nothing on TV, so you decide to just go to bed. Your bed’s not much better than the couch, but it’s better than nothing.

As you lie there, you catch yourself thinking about Jake again. Jake? Really? You roll your eyes at yourself, but it’s there. That goofy grin of his, the way he flailed around in the snow. It’s dumb, but... there’s something.

You shake your head. It’s nothing. You’re tired, that’s all.

You close your eyes and fall asleep, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. Or maybe it’s just the snow.

Chapter Text

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You’ve been curled up in your bed for two days. Maybe three. Who cares at this point? You’re trying to pretend your best friend didn’t offend everything you stand for. Even your stack of trashy romantic comedies can’t help you feel better.

Your dad and older brother have tried to console you, but nothing sticks. It isn’t their fault; you just can’t feel better unless you stay away from everyone. It’s the day before Christmas Eve and you aren’t even excited. You just sulk and wish you’d never gone outside that night. The thought burrows through your brain like a bug inside a nice log—until your phone rings.

The buzzing snaps you out of your misery. It’s Sollux. He’s asking you to come to band practice tomorrow night—he landed you guys a gig the day after Christmas.

“Fine. Yeah, I’ll come. Thanks for the incredibly fucking early notice, dude.” You groan into the phone, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“Dude, it’s like, not even my fault. They didn’t get back to me until today. Fuck off.” You can hear him rolling his eyes.

Then an audible beep. He’s hung up. Whatever. You flop back onto your mattress and stare at the ceiling, already dreading having to see Dave and Terezi in front of everyone else. Jeez. You really don’t want to go. But the band needs you.

After another night of restless sulking, you decide to pull yourself together. It’s hell, but you need to do it for the band. You shower, brush your teeth, blow-dry your hair. Bright red Christmas sweater. Casual jeans. Converse on your feet. Gray puffer jacket. Gray beanie. You manage to weave past your brother and dad, slipping out the back door. The cold air bites at your face as you start your trek to Sollux’s place.

After walking for a while, you finally reach Sollux’s street. You’re an hour early. Good. Maybe you can find the least embarrassing hiding spot before your former best friend and your former crush show up. You stomp snow off your shoes, brush yourself off, and step inside the front door. Warmth and the smell of pizza hit you immediately.

You peek into the kitchen. Aradia and a girl in a cat beanie are cutting fresh pizza. Aradia looks up and smiles. “Hey Karkat, this is my friend Nepeta. She’s friends with Equius, who’s in Sollux’s engineering classes.”

“Hey, I’m Karkat. I play drums for Sol’s band. Nice to meet you, I guess.” You stick out your hand.

Nepeta grabs it with both of hers and practically flings your arm up and down. “Hi!!! It’s so nice to meet new people!!! :33” she chirps.

You barely pull your hand free, snag two slices of pizza, and descend into the basement. Sollux and a huge dude with long black hair are hunched around the TV, playing Halo. You plant yourself on the couch with your pizza.

Nepeta and Aradia join you, chatting about their majors and clubs. You get bored quickly and retreat to your drum kit, set up in the unfinished (and colder) part of the basement. Warm-ups. Rhythms. Anything to drown out your thoughts. Eventually Sollux joins you on bass. The two of you run through a few songs until the others start arriving.

First John and Vriska, both looking like they’re trying to hide their faces. Must be serious. You roll your eyes and keep playing. Sollux abandons you to greet John. You notice Nepeta staring at you from the couch. She soon stands beside you as you finish a warm-up.

“Wow! That’s so cool how you can play so fast!” she says, eyes wide.

“Um… thank you? I didn’t think it was that impressive. I’m nowhere near the guys at Prospit Tech.” You laugh, setting down your sticks.

“Seriously, you’re good, Karkitty,” she grins.

The nickname makes you flinch. You mutter a lame bathroom excuse and get up to escape. That’s when Rose and Kanaya arrive—with Terezi. You sit right back down and stare at the floor until Nepeta drifts back to sit next to Equius, who takes up half the couch.

A sudden yelp draws your eyes. Terezi is trying to lick Vriska’s face. John looks like he’s dying inside. “Poor sucker,” you mutter. Vriska yells and swats Terezi away. Terezi lunges again. Rose and Kanaya laugh at the bottom of the stairs. Sollux and Aradia are talking to Nepeta and Equius about school, drowning out the chaos.

Then Dave arrives—with someone you don’t recognize. Taller guy, Mohawk, forearm crutches. Perfect. Bad haircuts unite. You roll your eyes and pretend to be busy on your phone.

Practice only lasts twenty minutes before Terezi and Vriska explode again—this time over John. “I just asked if you guys did it! It’s not like I’m asking to listen to it!” Terezi shouts from under Vriska, who’s holding a throw pillow over her head.

“We did NOT, for your fucking information! You stupid succubus bitch! Get off my ass about it! You just wish it was you!” Vriska slams the pillow into Terezi’s face.

John drags Vriska upstairs. Everyone fusses over Terezi. She starts chuckling—then cackling. Everyone else looks relieved. Except you. Red-hot anger boils under your skin. Every time you look at her—or at Dave—you flash back to the party. Dave’s bare ass. Terezi’s hands clawing into him. Snow beneath you. You can’t take it anymore.

You storm out of the basement. Sollux starts to follow but you shake your head. Nearly sprinting, you burst through the front door—straight into John and Vriska making out on the porch. Gross. You gag and run down the street. Then another street. Until finally, you’re home.

After managing to avoid your dad and brother on your way to your room, you tightly close the door and lock it. You fling yourself onto your bed. They all care about that stupid whore and your evil best friend. It’s time for some lifestyle changes. From this point forward, you won’t give a single fuck. You bury your face in your mattress and scream until you pass out.

Fuck this shit.

Chapter Text

You are Dave Strider.

For three days you’ve been calling Karkat, watching your screen light up with his name and then go dark again without a single answer. By the third day, Christmas, as it turns out, you’re pacing in your room, thumb hovering over his contact, then you’re outside before you’ve really decided to go. The street smells like wet dog and stale smoke. You’re already rehearsing what to say when the door opens.

It’s his older brother who answers. His greeting turns instantly into a rant—how you should’ve been there for Karkat, how you let him come home like this, how you’re a bad friend, how it’s Christmas and you have the nerve to not bring a gift. His words are sharp but scattered. You keep your gaze fixed past him, jaw tight, and shoulder your way through. You don’t even bother with a reply; you’re already halfway up the stairs before he’s finished.

The door to Karkat’s room is locked.
You knock, first politely, then harder, knuckles bruising against the wood. Inside, there’s the sound of something shifting—a grumble, feet dragging across the floor. Finally the door cracks open and a pale, irritated face peeks through before slamming it shut again.

“Fuck you, Dave,” he groans from the other side. His voice sounds wrecked, hoarse and low.

“Yeah, I know.” You sigh, pushing your hands deep into your pockets so he doesn’t see them shake. “Can I at least come in?”

“No. Fuck you. Fuck you a million times to hell—where Satan himself will fuck you, and back.” His voice rises, brittle and angry, but there’s something tired in it too.

“Fine. But I’m not leaving that easily.” You lean your back against the door, head tilted back, staring at the ceiling like it has answers.

There’s a long pause. You hear a ragged sigh. Then the small click of the lock turning. You straighten up and push the door open gently.

The room hits you like a smell you can’t name—clothes everywhere, tissues scattered on the carpet. You pray they’re from crying. Karkat’s hunched on the bed, knees drawn up, hoodie hooded halfway over his head. He looks like hell.

“Dude, you look like shit.” You take off your shades without thinking. The world gets too bright, but you need to see his face.

“You could say the same for yourself,” he mutters, eyes flicking up with a flicker of old sarcasm, “but maybe that’s what Terezi likes in a guy.” He gives a thin laugh at his own joke.

The words sting. You feel them in your chest more than your ears. “Dude, that’s a low blow.” Your voice comes out small.

“Maybe don’t fuck her in the van at our parties and I wouldn’t be so fucking sour about it.” His arms cross, shoulders stiff, but his eyes are glassy and red.

Okay. Maybe he has a point. You do regret it. You’ve been chewing on the apology all week and still don’t know how to give it shape.

Before you can speak, he moves. Suddenly he’s clinging to you, arms locked around your torso, face pressed to your chest. He’s shaking—tiny tremors at first, then a soft sound that might be crying.

You hug him back automatically, like your body knows what to do before your head does. It makes your stomach flip, an unsettling warmth coiling there. Probably nothing. Probably just guilt.

“Dude, I’m so fucking sorry.” Your own voice cracks; you didn’t expect it to. “I know how much you liked her. She just—she had me in her weird sexy grip and I guess I was too drunk to stop myself. I hope I can make it up to you. I don’t wanna lose my best bro.” You sniff, holding him tighter than you mean to.

“It’s okay, you gross fuck.” He pulls back enough to look at you, eyes damp but mouth twitching toward a smile. “Just keep it out of my line of sight and off my magazine.” He chuckles, a wet sound. “Who’s the Mohawk guy? Your new best bud?”

“Nah.” You shake your head, relieved at the shift in tone. “I think he’s friends with Sollux or something. Sollux had me pick him up on my way there. I don’t know the guy too well. Just that he had a huge crush on Vriska forever.” You laugh softly at Karkat’s jealousy. He really is dramatic about some stuff.

The air eases after that. The two of you drift downstairs, ending up on the sagging couch with controllers in hand, playing GTA3 on his old PlayStation. His older brother hovers nearby, muttering about how violent the game is, but it’s background noise—just another piece of furniture.

Hours slide by like that. Eventually you’re at the door again, mumbling goodbye, and the sky outside has gone dark and amber. You climb into your brother’s van, the seat cold against your back, and drive away from Karkat’s house toward downtown, toward the apartment you share with your older brother and sister. The city lights blur past, and for the first time in days, you feel like you’ve at least started to make things right. Hopefully the show tomorrow goes as good as this.

Chapter Text

Your name is John Egbert, and right now, you're crammed in the back row of Dave’s van, surrounded by gear. It’s full of Karkat’s drum kit, Sollux’s guitar equipment, and who knows what else Dave has shoved in there over the years. You’re wedged between Vriska and the mess, but at least you’ve got your journal in hand, mouthing the lyrics to a song you’re trying to perfect. The gig’s an hour and a half away—long drive, but that's just how it is when you're in a band.

Vriska’s already restless and starting to get on Dave’s nerves.

"Dude, can you please let me light a cigarette?" she pleads, looking at him with that grin of hers.

Dave doesn’t even look back at her. "No way. I don’t want that smell on me when we get there."

Vriska rolls her eyes. "You smell like weed already, so what's the difference?"

"That’s a stage persona- my ganja musk is a must,” Dave says, as he focuses on the road. “You don’t get an excuse."

Vriska mutters under her breath and pulls out a lighter, sticking the cigarette between her lips. The van bumps down the road, too shaky to even get the thing lit.

"Whatever, you get your weed, I get my cigarettes," she grumbles, finally managing to light it.

Dave sighs, knowing arguing is useless, and keeps driving.

You’re too busy going over your lyrics to pay much attention to what’s going on around you. That is, until a snap of Vriska’s fingers jerks you out of your daze.

"John!" she says, holding the lit cigarette in front of your face. "Have you ever smoked one of these?"

You blink at the cigarette, then at her.

"Uh, no… I mean, my dad let me try his pipe once," you laugh nervously, trying to sound casual. "I was coughing for, like, ten minutes."

Vriska grins wider. "Wanna try it?"

You hesitate. Honestly, you're not sure why you’re even considering it. But you don’t want to look like a total dork in front of her, so you shrug it off.

"What’s the worst that could happen?" you say, grabbing the cigarette.

The second you inhale, though, your lungs feel like they’re on fire. You start coughing like fucking crazy.

"What the hell is in that?" you gasp, eyes watering, hands scrambling to wipe your mouth.

Vriska laughs but pats you on the back. "You’re supposed to exhale, genius."

"I—I did! What the heck is this stuff?!" You cough, barely able to catch your breath.

Before Vriska can say anything else, Karkat’s voice pipes up from the front, irritated as usual.

"Are you trying to fucking kill him with that shit, Vriska? Can we keep our singer in one god damned piece?"

Vriska just flips him off. "Shut up, Karkat. I’ll do whatever I want."

You manage to ignore the heat creeping up your neck from your embarrassing attempt to look cool and go back to mouthing your lyrics.

Suddenly, you feel a hand on your knee. It’s Vriska, her fingers light and warm. She’s looking out the window, extinguishing the end of her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe, letting the ash fall to the ground below. When she notices you staring, she smiles and grips your leg a little tighter.

Before you can really process that, the van’s stereo screeches loudly, pulling your attention back to the front of the van. Sollux is hitting the radio with the side of his hand, and Dave is frantically pressing the eject button on the CD player.

"Fuck fuck fuck. Seriously, what the hell?!" Dave shouts as the CD player spits out one of his mixtapes and sucks it back in like some hungry machine.

Sollux doesn’t say a word but continues punching the controls, his face locked in concentration.

"Is this some kind of shitty ancient ass ritual for good fucking luck?" Karkat yells, barely audible over the static of the stereo.

Vriska bursts into laughter, and you can't help but join in. Watching Dave and Sollux freak out over the CD player is just too funny.

Eventually, they get it to stop. Unfortunately, Dave’s mixtape is lost to the cursed machine, but at least it’s over.

The van pulls to a stop outside a rundown bar. It looks like it might be abandoned, but when you walk in through the back door, you’re hit with the warm, cozy glow of a place that’s clearly seen some action. College students, scruffy locals, and people who have nothing better to do. It’s perfect. 

Chapter Text

You're Equius Zahhak. And no, you're not nervous.

You’ve tied your hair back into a tight ponytail to keep it out of your face—efficient, practical. Your glasses rest firmly on your nose, just how you like them. Still, you can’t ignore the faint line of sweat collecting at your brow. You wipe it away with the back of your hand and tell yourself it’s just warm in here. Definitely not nerves. That would be weak. Unacceptable.

It’s just a show. You know everyone who’ll be there. And more importantly, Nepeta will be there too. That always helps.

You grab your keys, take one last look in the mirror—straighten your collar, adjust your wristwraps—and head out to your truck.

The drive to Nepeta’s place isn’t long. It never has been. Even back in high school, you could walk there in ten minutes, and you often did—especially after long, exhausting days when words didn’t help, but company did. You miss that simplicity. College has made time feel strange, and moments like those are harder to come by now.

You pull up to her house, a modest place made lively by the ever-present motion of cats pressed against the windows. They stare out curiously, tails flicking. You can’t help but smile. Adorable.

Before you can even react, the front door swings open and Nepeta bounds out, her boots hitting the sidewalk with energetic rhythm.

“Equius! What took you so long?” she chirps as she climbs into the passenger seat. She’s wearing her usual green overcoat and that ridiculous—but oddly endearing—cat-eared beanie.

You clear your throat. “I had… important matters to attend to,” you say, a bit more defensively than intended.

You definitely weren’t standing in your room, staring at your horse calendar, imagining what it would be like to gallop freely through that painted field of wild stallions. That would be foolish. Juvenile. Entirely unrelated to why you left ten minutes later than planned.

Nepeta laughs, pulling out her sketchbook as you shift the truck into gear and head off toward the venue.

“I bet you were, horse man.”

You don’t respond. She knows. She always knows. And you don’t really mind. In fact, you find yourself sneaking a glance at her sketchbook and wondering—hoping—if this time, maybe she'll draw another horse.

One with strong legs. Noble bearing. Maybe even a little bit of a resemblance to you. Not that you care.

Not really.