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Bully Dave for the Funsies

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Dave laid on his bed breathing in careful, measured breaths while something rummaged in his room. Most likely, it was Rose, but Rose didn’t make low guttural sounds and nor did her arms slap every surface wetly. Either someone was making very mean joke or Rose had summoned an eldritch being into herself. Fervently, Dave pushed the latter out of consideration from denial. Instead, using the techniques he learnt, he waited till the strange being in his room to leave. Then, he cracked his eyes open and saw an eye staring at him. He screamed.

 

The next morning, Rose and John were being lectured by Bro, Dad, and Mom while they kept sneaking smug expressions, thick as thieves. Rose, as Dave had come to learn, liked the adventure of practical jokes about as much the intelligence of wit. He walked to the toaster mind half asleep and slotted in two frozen waffles and waited. The buzzer ringed. Rose and John were freed. They, unlike him, had unironic tastes in food, thus they treated themselves to sizzling bacon and greasy eggs and crunchy salad and the sorts before seating themselves next to him on the couch, one on either side, probably looking for bro friend talk, which after the stunt they pulled, was like asking for an unreal sord to slice tomatoes into tomato slices, impossible.

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

“…”

 

Snickers. Those damned shameless supposed friends.

 

“Bros don’t scare bros into shitting their pants.”

 

“Bros know to take a joke from their bros,” John says while grinning back at Dave. Dave stared back.