Chapter Text
--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: dude come on
TG: what heinous goddamn stains are you wrangling
TG: shit better be dried in worse than the fucking sahara for it to take three hours
TG: i want to go to bed
CG: YOU COULD, I DON’T KNOW...GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP ALREADY AND STOP MESSAGING ME?
CG: MAYBE IF MY ASSCHEEK WOULD STOP VIBRATING TO ALERT ME THAT I HAVE A NEW STRING OF INANITY TO READ, I’D BE DONE ALREADY.
TG: thats some hot bs youre serving and we both know it
TG: i fell asleep on laundry day last week and you didnt come in until like two and a half hours later
TG: i know you never fucking sleep but you could at least not sleep in bed
TG: or is it too hard to resist my supple nubile human bod when im asleep and cannot fight against your lecherous ways
CG: DUDE, I’M NOT TRYING TO AVOID YOUR SWEATY WILES. DESPITE MY BETTER JUDGEMENT, I DO *ACTUALLY* LIKE IT WHEN YOU DRAPE YOUR DISGUSTING MAMMAL HUSK ACROSS ME WHILE YOU SLEEP.
TG: gay
CG: STFU.
CG: I’M SERIOUSLY JUST DOING LAUNDRY, THOUGH. YOU’RE WELCOME TO COME DOWN AND WATCH ME DO CHORES BUT WE ALL KNOW YOU CAN’T HANDLE STAYING UP ALL DAY LIKE I CAN.
TG: maybe ill come down there and piggyback around on you
TG: snore in your ear while youre separating your grays from your dark grays
TG: seriously man it doesnt even take me this long to do mine and i actually HAVE whites to worry about what are you doing
CG: I AM *DOING* *LAUNDRY.* BETTER THAN YOU, OBVIOUSLY
CG: BUT WE ALREADY KNEW THAT, BECAUSE YOU SMELL LIKE SWEATY ASS PRETTY MUCH CONSTANTLY
TG: is the implication supposed to be that you smell so much better cause youre down there reinventing detergent or whatever
TG: so soon you forget the great deodorant conversation of the early aughts
TG: i promise we have enough detergent scientists in the world it isnt your calling
TG: dont leave me for tide
CG: YES, THE SLIPPERY TEXTURE OF DETERGENT IS SO REMINISCENT OF TROLL REPRODUCTION THAT I JUST CAN’T CONTROL MYSELF AROUND IT.
CG: I’M FILLING A SUDSY PAIL AS WE SPEAK. OF COURSE, YOU’LL ONLY FIGURE IT OUT WHEN MY DESCENDANTS CRAWL OUT OF THE CAVERNS SMELLING OF LINEN AND ~SPRING BREEZE~
CG: INSECURE MUCH?
TG: defensive much
TG: im just saying it takes up a lot of time
TG: i could do the laundry if you wanted to fulltime trash duty
CG: NO, I DO MY CLOTHES THE *RIGHT* WAY. I DON’T NEED YOU SHRINKING EVERYTHING AND FORCING ME TO WALK AROUND IN A CROP TOP THAT USED TO BE DECENT APPAREL.
TG: well now i gotta
CG: I’LL BE DONE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP BEFORE I COME UP THERE AND SMOTHER YOU INTO UNCONSCIOUSNESS.
TG: im drooling into my pillow as we speak
TG: dreams of scantily clad karkats dance through my head
--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
Dave puts his phone on the nightstand next to his shades and sighs. It’s...whatever. Every weekend, Karkat does his laundry like clockwork (heh), which. It's fine, but it'd be finer if it didn't take fucking forever. Dave lets his go a little longer, usually, but at least it means he isn't wading through piles of crusty troll underwear to get to his shit. Still, though. Much as Dave won't admit it, he really does prefer falling asleep with Karkat to curl up against. But he’s not a baby, he isn't going to pitch a fit about it. Dude needs clean clothes, yo. Dave turns off the light and flops back down onto his bed, eyes closed.
It's an indeterminate amount of time (tick tick tick, thirty minutes, fuck you brain Dave is not listing the seconds) later when Karkat wakes him up by climbing into bed. Dave always wakes up at shit like that. You don't exactly rest easy when you could wake up with a sword pointed at your nose and a demon puppet on your chest.
“Thought you were coming in, like, fifteen minutes ago, bro?” Dave mumbles, lifting his head off the pillow just enough to squint at Karkat's vague silhouette. The hazy blob shrugs. There's a brief rustle of sheets and the mattress sinks as Karkat gets situated. Once he's stopped moving, Dave scoots a little closer and fits his head into the crook of Karkat's neck. Yesss, come to daddy, Karkat is the best space heater and only complains sometimes when Dave puts his frosty toes on his legs. Truly he is a saint.
Karkat reaches up to run his fingers through Dave’s hair and makes a chattering noise Dave has learned to recognize as bugspeak for pensive.
“There was a really stubborn stain. I practically had to rip the cotton fibers apart at the fucking molecular level to get it out. I’m pretty sure my clothes are just trying to spite me at this point? Just...fucking irrevocably merging their atoms with any detritus that happens to linger too close. Abandon all soap, ye who enter here.”
Okay, Dave can't help but snicker at that.
“Pretty sure nothing can withstand your foamy onslaught, man. Little dust particles screaming in terror as you bring out the holy washboard. You hear their high pitched screams? That is the sound of most righteous cleanliness.”
Karkat laughs under his breath and shushes Dave (who is more than happy to go back to sleep, really; you don’t maintain looks like these without some fuckin’ beauty rest). (He makes a mental note to bring up the laundry thing later).
In the evening, Dave wakes up to find Karkat already awake, fucking around on his phone in bed. He isn’t sure if it’s a troll thing or a Karkat thing, but Karkat’s insomnia is a whole ‘nother beast compared to the human version. Jebus.
“You sleep at all?” Dave asks, propping himself up on one elbow to grab his shades and turn on the lamp. Hey, man, he already sleeps around Karkat. That’s fucking progress. Allow a dude his vices. He’ll take them off again later, when he isn’t still half-awake and not entirely in control of his motor functions slash expressions.
“What? Yeah, a little. Figured I’d stay in bed and make up for lost time, so you didn’t start pining for me two hours after getting up. What would the tabloids say if your pusher gave out from sheer despondent loneliness while you’re running errands?”
Ah, yes, Karkatese for ‘I wanted to rub up against your prone body and maybe stare at you while you slept’ which is, in turn, Davelish for ‘I wanted to snuggle.’ Romance is a beautiful thing.
“Deicide or devotion? Newly resurrected Knight of Time tells all!” Dave says, sitting up properly and grinning at Karkat. “Maybe we can get some breakfast before I keel over from starvation instead?”
Karkat nods and stretches his arms over his head. If Dave ogles a little, it’s just because he’s still getting used to the subtle differences in troll musculature structure. After three years. Yes, officer, this is a rock solid alibi he swears.
Breakfast is a pretty low-effort affair. Karkat’s still wide awake (ugh, can’t have slept more than two hours tops), but Dave would sooner serve up a plate of his own fingernails than let him cook. Dude spends more time staring at the recipe and flipping his shit about the possibility of accidentally fucking it up than he does making the food. It’s a goddamn travesty.
That said, Dave’s slouched on the couch with a bowl of lucky charms; he’s making at least some effort not to just pick the marshmallows out and leave the rest. Waste not want not, even if the actual cereal tastes like decade-old pencil shavings glued together. Besides, he needs the nutrition. Or something.
Karkat’s curled up in a nearby armchair with a bag of nasty little sugar-coated dried-up beetles. Like always, he’s meticulously plucking their gross, tiny legs off and eating those before snarfing down the rest. Why. How he manages to eat anything will forever be a mystery beyond Dave’s understanding. (That’s a lie, he knows Karkat only gets weird with some food. The bugs, popcorn, and some dessert pastries will be dissected, but pizza’s fair game unless there’s a topping he doesn’t like on it).
Dave turns the TV on to some mindless background noise and pushes his cereal around the bowl. After he eats, he’ll have to get out of his pajamas (Disney princesses, yo. They’re the shit, and for bonus ridiculousness these gals are all trolls, so they’ve got two great sets of racks and teeth that could kill a dude, all screenprinted across his chest). What clean clothes does he have, actually? ...Oh, shit, there’s something he needs to talk to Karkat about. The dreaded ‘why does your laundry take so long, you fucking weirdo’ conversation. Dave is the president of good communications, inc, and he is issuing a fucking executive order.
“So…” he tries, cautiously. Leaves the TV’s volume up so they both have an out.
Karkat looks up at him, not too fast not too slow, all feigned casualness. “Yeah?” Dave can see the anxiety in the crease of his brow, the way, whoopsie, he crushes the next beetle instead of plucking it apart.
Fuck, he probably thinks Dave’s trying to break up with him or something equally paranoid. How are they both so bad at this? It should not be possible for two dudes to contain this much fail and still consider their relationship successful.
“Wanna go out somewhere tonight?” Nice save, dipshit. Oh, well. The president of good communication is going to take a brief leave of absence, that’s all. He’s probably overreacting, anyway. It’s not like Dave has a whole lot of experience with housework. “We can go make fun of whatever’s in theaters right now. I think they’ve got something with giant robots and huge fuckin’ tits flopping everywhere. They know they gotta keep the audience engaged ‘cause if you give them two seconds they’ll just pass out in the chair from sheer boredom, and that’s just a head injury and a lawsuit waiting to happen.”
Karkat snorts a laugh and raises one eyebrow. “Are the rumblespheres on the robots? I mean, why not just combine your genre conventions to save up on screen space? Use the rest for product placement--or, or! Consider this: strap them in something lacy with a prominent logo, and there you fucking go. We don’t even have to use the other 90% of the screen at all.”
Dave snickers. “Now that’s what I call economical.”
They do go see the movie, and it is every bit as terrible as Dave could have hoped. They lean across the bucket of popcorn (that Karkat is predictably picking at) to whisper criticisms at each other, and Karkat bitches about butter and grease when Dave grabs his hand but doesn’t let go. It’s pretty nice, all things considered. Definitely better than movie dates on the meteor. A dude just can’t get in the mood with Dane Cook’s disgusting muppet monster face looming ominously in the background like some sort of warning about the fate of mankind. It’s a law of the universe!
Turns out Dave can absolutely get in the mood with Karkat curling his lip and wiping his greasy hand on the front of Dave’s shirt as they’re leaving the theater, though. It must be true love. He tries to drool in Karkat’s hair, Karkat threatens to bite his tongue off in retaliation, and by the time they make it home Dave’s suggesting that Karkat do something better with his tongue. Or mouth in general. Dave’s not picky, man.
Of course, it’s just his luck that a moment (twenty-seven and a half seconds) after they get inside, Karkat breaks away and starts to fiddle with the lock on the front door. It's a good idea; safety is not something to kid around with and Dave knows this better than anyone, but he swears he hears the lock click at least six times before Karkat finally gives the door a firm tug and turns back around. Dave’s boner is so dead.
“My boner is so dead, dude. Get out the shovels and start a-diggin’ because it's time to lay this limp fucker to rest. Not even two separate bathtubs could bring him back from the beyond.”
Karkat gives him a strange look that's mostly baffled amusement, with a spicy undertone of something like embarrassment. Or shame? Whatever it is, it says loud and clear that he knows he just locked the door six fucking times. Dave kind of feels bad for the death of his dick now. The mood has been fucking cremated , though, and trying to perform cock necromancy is just going to send Karkat down another self-loathing spiral.
“You, uh, want to snuggle while we watch our failing sexual prowess start to decay under the sun, then?” Karkat rubs at the back of his neck and worries his lip. Fuck though, he’s cute, and Dave hates seeing him look all deflated and miserable. Not to mention he is always down to snuggle Karkat; he’s warm and makes the best pillow, all soft with a tantalizing hint of muscle underneath. Choice.
“Hell yeah, dude. You know I’m all kinds of about rubbing up on dat bod, just lemme stash the snacks.” No sense letting perfectly good movie popcorn go to waste, man. Put it in a ziplock and it’ll be fine.
Once Dave’s done that, he walks into the living room to see Karkat already curled up on the couch with some of the blankets they keep around just for this reason.
“I’m coming in,” Dave calls, making sure Karkat knows it's him and not, like, a burglar before he vaults over the back of the couch and worms his way into Karkat’s lap.
“You are made entirely out of elbows and every single one of them is jabbing me,” says Karkat, who is totally not smiling from beneath his blanket cocoon.
“Love you too, honey.” Dave winks and plants a kiss right on Karkat’s lips when he sputters. He might be a weird, neurotic alien, but fuck if he isn't the perfect counterpart to Dave’s own weird, neurotic bullshit. And right now? Life is damn good.
The rest of the week goes pretty smoothly. Or, really, as smoothly as shit can go in the Strider-Vantas household. There’s no more tragic dong funerals, at least, and John even comes over to play video games instead of sulking in what Dave has lovingly dubbed his depression cave. The worst thing that happens is Dave’s three day food poisoning adventure from eating pizza he’d left out overnight, but he recovered just fine. Karkat’s flip-out over it was more stressful than the actual “being sick” experience.
The laundry thing is still on Dave’s mind, though. He figures that’s probably what was going on a bunch of the times Karkat disappeared for varyingly long stretches of time on the meteor, but Dave wanted to let a dude have room to be alone, so he’d never checked. It wasn’t like the laundry room was a choice hang-out locale; normally he’d enjoy some of his own alone time or pester Rose. But living together is different. Yeah, sure, they shared a space on the meteor for three years and they got a fuck of a lot closer, but there are some things you just don’t notice when you’re also living with four girls and a clown.
Now that it’s just the two of them, Karkat’s less obvious quirks are sticking out like a sore thumb. This thumb is bright purple and about the size of a banana, is what Dave’s saying. It doesn’t make him like Karkat any less--his heart still feels like it’s trying to smash his ribs into a fine powder when Karkat gives him one of his looks --but he’s worried about him.
Dave thinks about it, does some googling, and almost talks himself out of it on a near-daily basis. But something’s up, man; Karkat's acting a little different, a little cautious. When Dave (finally, stupid stupid dumb) realizes it's probably because Karkat's noticed something's up, that makes the decision for him. The president of good communication is back and better than ever, baby. They are going to Have A Talk.
‘Course, he's too much of a weenie to start it in person. Words are hard enough through text, Dave doesn't need his motor mouth betraying him and fucking everything up. Nah, man, nah. He’ll message him while neither of them are doing anything important, and then they can both gravitate towards a shared space and continue in person. It is a time-tested method, yo.
--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] --
TG: put down whatever youre doing my beautiful buttslave
TG: somethings just come up and it requires you to full ass this convo just as hard as i am
TG: grinding your buttcheeks against the screen with the force of a thousand stampeding elephants
CG: OK, I’LL TAKE THIS INCREDIBLY LOW-QUALITY BAIT. AT THIS POINT IT’S PROBABLY JUST A HOOK YOU’RE DANGLING IN FRONT OF ME, LIKE
CG: “SEE THE METAL BARBS? THEY’RE DELICIOUS I PROMISE.”
CG: BUT HEY! IT’S SHINY AND I’M DUMB, I’LL BITE. WHAT’S UP?
TG: ok soooo
TG: this is going to sound whiny as fuck like oh dave cant handle any aspect of domesticity without flipping off the handle and into the sky
TG: there he goes never to be seen again
CG: I’LL ONLY MAKE FUN OF THE STUPID STUFF, WHICH FYI DOES NOT INCLUDE YOUR EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION OR VAGUE AND NEBULOUS COMPLAINTS ABOUT DOMESTICITY
CG: DO YOU WANT TO MOVE OUT? IT’S ALRIGHT, I MEAN, IT’S BASICALLY EXACTLY MY OLD HIVE AND I KNOW THERE’S GOT TO BE INSANE CULTURE CLASH, SO IF YOU WANNA GO LIVE WITH JOHN OR SOMETHING I’M NOT GOING TO CLING TO YOUR ANKLES
TG: what no
TG: i like your stupid house and i like your stupid face i wanna stay
CG: OH, THANK GOD
TG: its more like
TG: theres some stuff you do that youve probably always done but i didnt notice on account of hurricane vriska and im worried about like
TG: your ~internal state~
TG: this isnt me trying to be like
TG: what youre doing is harmless but it annoys me so stop btw im like legit a little worried even if saying what im worried about sounds really dumb
CG: OK, CONSIDER THIS: SAY IT AND THEN I WILL DECIDE IF IT IS DUMB. I KNOW IT’S A RADICAL CONCEPT, BUT WE HAVE SCIENTIFIC DATA TO PROVE THAT SAYING THINGS BEFORE JUDGING THEM IS BETTER FOR ACTUALLY GETTING STUFF DONE!
CG: UNLESS YOU WANTED TO SIT WITH YOUR THUMB UP YOUR ASS, I GUESS
TG: my thumb is up my ass 100% of the time
TG: but ok you have a point let me just
TG: i am worried
TG: about why youre so weird about your laundry
CG: THAT IS PRETTY DUMB.
TG: see i told you
TG: but you never let anyone see and you sit in the laundry room until the wash cycle is done and it takes way longer for you to do it than i take
TG: and no im not using time powers on my chores
TG: i just wanna know what youre getting up to in there and maybe help you speed up the process cause i think it stresses you out
TG: and i have a minor ulterior motive about wanting my pre bedtime snuggles back but thats less of a deal
CG: HM
TG: whats hm mean
CG: IT MEANS HM!
CG: IT MEANS SHUT UP AND LET ME THINK
TG: abouttt
CG: WELL, I MEAN, I’M A LITTLE WORRIED ABOUT YOU, TOO. SO.
TG: what no im fine i do my chores within a reasonable amount of time
CG: YEAH, SEE, THAT’S KIND OF HOW I IMAGINED YOU’D TAKE IT, ALBEIT WITHOUT THE REFERENCES TO MY HIVEWORK HABITS.
CG: AND THEN YOU GAVE YOURSELF FOOD POISONING AND I FOUND A MOLDY HALF-EATEN NOODLE CUP IN THE CLOSET.
TG: oh that
TG: i just forgot about that and didnt want to waste perfectly good pizza man
CG: NO, SHITNUB, IT WAS NOT *PERFECTLY GOOD* IF EATING IT MADE YOU EXPEL YOUR INTESTINES, TIED UP IN FUN SHAPES FOR EXTRA ENTERTAINMENT VALUE
CG: YOU SINGULAR FUCKING MONUMENT TO IDIOCY
CG: SO HERE IS THE DEAL, TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT:
CG: YOU CAN NAG ME ABOUT MY PERFECTLY NORMAL LAUNDRY PREFERENCES, IF I CAN NAG YOU ABOUT YOUR TENDENCY TO PLAY NUTBEAST WITH PERISHABLES.
TG: damn you drive a hard bargain
TG: but ok
TG: lets hash out the contract on the couch tho all that butt talk earlier put me in the mood for some choice gropage
CG: ALRIGHT, I’M DOWNSTAIRS ANYWAY SO I GUESS I CAN TOLERATE YOUR INSATIABLE NEED TO TOUCH MY ASS.
TG: yessssss
TG: omw
--turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG]--