The rain is coming down in sheets. It rains just seldom enough on this idyllic world that most of its inhabitants are conditioned to leave their homes without umbrellas, and today they’re paying for it. The press clamors at the edges of the funeral procession, getting soaked to the bone and/or exoskeleton. John ducks his head away from the flash of cameras, still uncomfortable with his position among the pallbearers. He didn’t know Dirk that well, but he couldn’t refuse a direct request from a grieving bro. He ventures a glance at Dave, who is at the front of the line carrying a smaller casket containing Dirk’s decapitated head.

The actual casket is unusually heavy, not just because Jane insisted on having it crafted from the finest-quality timber on the planet, but also because for some unfathomable reason Dirk is going to be buried with every single one of his shitty anime swords. It would be absurd were it not so tragic, and possibly also predictable. Gamzee fumbles with his corner of the casket when it comes time to set it down in the cathedral, upsets the balance of the whole thing, and sends it careening down so hard that the nose of it crashes right through the stage.

John presses his mouth into a flat line. He looks at Dirk’s casket, sitting diagonally in a hole in the floor and popped about 13% of the way open. A few shitty swords seem to have made a valiant effort to escape, but didn’t quite make it all the way. He looks at Dave, who appears even more stoic than usual, with his wet hair plastered to his forehead. He looks at Roxy, who is staring at the floor, rather beside herself in grief. Then, finally, he looks back to Gamzee, who offers two dubiously sympathetic “whoops” in response.

Today is not the day to push it, he thinks to himself. He forces a smile, kisses Roxy on the cheek and goes to take his seat in the front row of the pews. At the back of the nave, devastated fans of RUMBLE IN DA PUMPKIN PATCH are trying to force their way inside, past the barrier of reporters. Jane drags Jake off by the wrist to deal with them as Roxy approaches the pulpit, looking miserably ghostlike in her violet mourning clothes.

She folds her hands in front of her. Her earrings light up as the reporters at the back take about six million pictures of her tear-stained face. She sniffs, then hocks back a whole mouthful of snot. The sound is very much in contrast with the delicate, feminine manner with which she tugs a tissue out of her modest cleavage in order to dab at her eyes.

Of course she doesn’t. Dirk was her first BFF, her first love, and at one time, the only other human being left on Earth. She rolls the wet tissue between her fingers.

Dave gets to his feet, unwinding his fingers from Jade’s. He walks to the pulpit with his usual smoothness but pauses beneath the giant stained glass window to run the heel of his palm under his shades. The camera bulbs start clacking away like crazy. John whirls around in his seat to glare at the reporters, putting a finger to his mouth to shoosh them. He watches a tiny, white-carapaced chess guy sheepishly press the flash button on his camera as quietly as possible.

It takes Dave a moment to gather himself when he reaches the lectern, but when he speaks his voice is steady and even.

Dave hesitates. His voice might be cracking, but it’s subtle.

Dave takes a deep, shuddering breath and actually takes off his shades to wipe away the tears that are pooling on his eyelashes.

Jake is openly weeping by the time the speech is over, his face buried in Jane’s breasts. She’s remarkably composed—looking more irritated than anything that her gentleman companion is getting snot all over her attractively tailored power suit. Dave leaves the stage, face turned away from the glare of the camera lights, and Roxy takes her place at the pulpit once again.

Rose—who had been staring off into space with a peculiar expression on her face during Dave’s speech—snaps to attention. She brushes Kanaya’s hand off her lap and goes to stand, but is interrupted by the horrible, squelching sound of Gamzee lumbering to his feet in his wet, oversized boots. He saunters up to the pulpit with the precise lazy gait of one who’s grown far too comfortable with a lifelong tendency of unwittingly inspiring others’ contempt, and braces his arms on either side of the lectern. If inside this church there were an adjacent room full of wet dogs eating garbage, everyone in attendance would run to that room immediately to escape the stench emanating from this smiling clown. Suddenly, his expression distorts, to become something which can only be described as a leer.

Gamzee clears his throat quite loudly and abruptly, sending ear-shattering echoes throughout the church. It sounds like someone just threw a toilet in a woodchipper.

The clown thrusts his hand somewhere beneath the waistband of his pants and starts obscenely rooting around. He retrieves a piece of paper, crumpled and soaked from the rain outside, and attempts to smooth it out over the lectern. The wet paper breaks apart immediately beneath his oafish clown paws.

Dirk’s close friends in the audience look on with anxious anticipation, eager to hear whatever important message Dirk had apparently handed down to Gamzee to be passed on. John can’t seem to find that optimism himself.

Gamzee draws a big, fat breath, and begins his speech.

The clown’s words hang heavily in the air. He scans the crowd, silent for a uncomfortable while, as if his question weren’t rhetorical and he were expecting an answer that will never come.

It goes on like this for some time. Members of the audience ride out the clown’s eulogy with an admirable sense of grit and determination, though visibly reacting with full body spasms every time the preacher issues another punctuating honk or deeply inappropriate turn of phrase. Karkat continues heckling him all throughout, and at one point delivers no less than thirty uninterrupted instances of the phrase “FUCK YOU.” Throughout most of the eulogy, Roxy continues attempting to urge others to settle down and give him a chance, based on the many endorsements she’s heard of his spiritual oration skills. But even she gives up on this effort when one especially boisterous honk results in Gamzee knocking over the lectern entirely, which he does not bother to pick up. Instead, he proceeds with his eulogy as if nothing happened, while openly scratching an itch beneath his codpiece.

At this point, Dave has had enough, and exits the church. Karkat follows him. Gamzee inhales deeply, preparing to launch into what quite possibly will be the full body of his speech, rather than one or two mercifully concluding remarks. Roxy stands up and begins clapping loudly to bring a heroic end to the elocutionary horror show.

She nudges Jake.

John mutters a few imprecations under his breath and gets up before Jake can take the stage. He’s concerned about Dave and heads for the exit, beating Gamzee there easily. Gamzee’s strolling so leisurely, in fact, he’s barely even made it off the stage yet.

John pushes out into the churchyard. The rain has receded into a light drizzle, which is nice. Much less like being being trapped in a high-pressure shower and more like being sprayed with a plant mister. He looks around the largely decorative graveyard and spots Dave and Karkat huddled together beneath an eave of the churchyard walls. John begins to move towards them but stops when he notices how close together they’re standing. Dave’s got his suit jacket unbuttoned and pulled over Karkat’s head to shield him from the rain. Karkat’s the one talking—his caterpillar eyebrows furrowed, but his gaze soft. Whatever he’s saying makes Dave turn his face away, but Karkat winds a hand in his shirt and tugs him in, forces him to make eye contact. They both go still, seeming to finally realize how close their faces have gotten, how Karkat’s fingers are brushing down the length of Dave’s torso. Dave dips down so that their noses are bumping. Karkat’s eyes are so wide it’s amazing they don’t pop out. For a moment, it looks like they’re going to...

John sneezes.

Dave and Karkat jump apart like opposing magnets.

Oops.

John waves dopily and hopes that he doesn’t look as buffoonish and mortified as he feels. Dave and Karkat are still staring at each other from the corners of their eyes, warily. Something silent and tense passes between them.

They make a quick recovery.

Dave glances at Karkat again. He... smiles. It’s a sad smile, but it’s there.

John chews the inside of his mouth and blinks down at his hands. Now that he’s paused to think a little, what he’s about to offer is a pretty weird way to console a friend after the death of a loved one.

Dave quirks an eyebrow.

Dave says at the same time that Karkat shouts:

Dave makes a wavy hand gesture that implies he’s about to jump into a rant about causality or whatever. John cuts him off.

John frowns. Dave opens his mouth to say something else, but he’s cut off by Jade poking her head out of the church window.

Karkat stomps back toward the church, bickering with Jade his way across the graveyard. Dave adjusts his shades and puts a hand on John’s shoulder.

John nods, swallowing hard. His throat is dry all of a sudden. Dave turns and walks back into the church. Once John is absolutely sure Dave is gone, he closes his eyes, breathes in deep through the nose and raises both his hands.

Nothing happens.

John cracks one eye open. It’s been a while since he’s tried to do... well, anything more complicated than going out for dinner to be honest. Has he just forgotten how to invoke his game powers?

Do the windy thing, he thinks to himself. A brisk breeze howls through the graveyard, rustling some leaves off a nearby tree.

Nope, that’s all good.

Do the... retcon thing? He thinks much, much harder than he thought about doing the last thing.

Still nothing.

He stares at his hands so hard that his head starts to hurt. So hard that he doesn’t hear the footsteps sloshing through the wet grass behind him. When Roxy taps him on the shoulder he yelps and shoots six feet up into the air.

John spins around to greet her. He hides his hands behind his back like he was doing something bad with them. Which he guesses he was, kind of. Roxy shields her eyes against the rain and laughs.

John lands softly, close enough to Roxy that she can slide a hand up his arm.

John feels himself flush and runs an awkward hand through his hair. He’s still a little embarrassed to show affection in public places like this. He slips a hand into the small of Roxy’s back and feels a pang of guilt about what he saw transpire between Dave and Karkat earlier.

Her gaze gets distant as she stares at something over John’s shoulder. Whatever she’s thinking about, it tugs a soft smile across her face.

Roxy starts dancing her fingers up John’s chest.

She bops him on the nose.

John stares at where Roxy’s finger is still pressing down on his nose and goes a little cross-eyed as his brain tries to process what she just said.

John looks around the graveyard nervously.

Roxy starts laughing so hard she has to wipe away a tear. She leans in to give John a quick, chaste kiss on the lips.

That word hits John like a suckerpunch to the gut. He goes breathless with shock; adrenaline pumping through him, his blood rushing in his ears. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

He doesn’t know what to think. He so doesn’t know what to think that he’s spiraling inside his head, shaking all over, damp with sweat. Something about this doesn’t feel... right? Just a few weeks ago, Roxy was happy with Calliope, and now she wants to have his babies? John feels like he’s missing something important here, like he went for a bathroom break during the part of the movie where the plot twist happens. He should give Roxy some time, get himself some space. It’s all happened so fast that it’s suffocating.

On the other hand...

...on the other hand, isn’t that how love’s supposed to feel? Like a quick plunge into cold water, a feeling that grows unexamined, and then gets so big that the realization washes over you like a wave? Roxy’s unbearably beautiful with moisture clinging to her eyelashes and a smile that she’s only smiling because of how much she likes him. She likes him so much that she wants to be around him every single day! John’s stomach feels like it’s doing pirouettes. His hands come up around Roxy’s shoulders, and keep going until he’s cupping her face in both hands. He starts giggling.

Roxy waggles her eyebrows.

Roxy practically attacks John’s mouth, she’s so excited. John shuts his eyes and kisses her back, still giddy and laughing against her lips. She kisses him until they’re both breathless, then pulls back so that she can gaze at him with glittering eyes.