Directly after takeoff to the new session, Dave tries to adjust to the strange customs of the trolls, the havoc of romantic miscommunications, and recent past events, which continue to linger with all of them. It's hard to begin an entirely new life.

Your wriggling day is in three days, and while you normally celebrate this event with the apathy it deserves, this particular sweep is different. That’s because it will be your eighth sweep, and it happens to coincide with the arrival of the imperial drones. This is a milestone that every troll looks forward to with a heady combination of excitement and terror. For most trolls, when they reach their eighth sweep, they become adults. Not you. When you reach your eighth sweep, you will die.

'There's a whole other story, about that, a girl with mirrors over her eyes and a man who was scared to care about anything.'

"I kind of... accidentally fantasized about Karkat while we were doing it. Which I do sometimes, not when we're messing around, just like-- uh, fuck, look, I'm--" Terezi puts a finger over your lips and you stammer to a stop. She nestles closer and sighs happily. "You too, huh?" You stare at the ceiling in bewilderment. Whatever response you were expecting, that was not it.

Growing up on a flying meteor is hard work. You know this from experience. TG: dude what is this piece of shit you just sent me CG: TO PUT IT IN YOUR HUMAN TERMS: CG: IT’S A FUCKING LOVE STORY, DAVE. Well, it's a bit more than that.