Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sticks and snails,
And puppy dog tails.

 That's what little boys are made of.

It's unusually hot that summer. Cicadas buzz gratingly loud. Dead animals rank on the sides of roads. The sky shimmers with wet heat. You stay inside, buried under piles of blankets, ignoring the heat, ignoring everything.

Dave doesn't call or visit even once all summer.

You wonder if maybe being who you really are is even worth it if you can't be with Dave.

When September comes, your chest hollows with dread. Seventh grade. Middle School. You'd always heard only awful things about Middle School, but you'd always told yourself you'd be fine because you had Dave.

And now you don't.

The halls are filled with - literal - circles of friends. You keep your head down, fingers constantly tugging on the hem of your t-shirt, or being shoved forcefully into your shorts' pockets. If you don't make eye contact, no one will say anything to you.

You have a hard time finding your way to your locker, your room, anything. You'd been so preoccupied with thinking about Dave you'd forgotten that you'd have to learn to navigate a whole new portion of the building. And it doesn't help that now all of your classes are in different rooms all day long.

To your simultaneous relief and surprise, no one's said anything to you by the time you find your first classroom. Your hands are sweaty with nerves. You rub them on your shirt. Calm down, it's just school. What's the worst that could happen?

(A lot.)

((Dave's not here. You're alone. What if you can't fight for yourself alone?))

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the room and sit in the desk in the corner. You're not being emo. You just want to be somewhere you can keep an eye on everyone else. You feel better knowing you can see what's coming.

The class goes mostly like you predicted - the teacher has you all introduce yourselves, say a random fact, etc, etc. When it's your turn to introduce yourself, a few whispers swirl around the room until your teacher hushes them. Could've been worse. At least no one actually said anything.

Most of the day goes the same day. But when you get to your second to last period of the day, your stomach lurches when you see Dave already in the classroom. You knew, rationally, that you'd more likely than not have at least one class with Dave, but you'd hoped. You'd hoped you wouldn't have to face him.

You hesitate in the doorway. Should you go sit by him? Pretend you haven't seen him and go to a seat on the opposite side of class?

Your ribs ache. Last year you would've gone to his side in a heartbeat. It isn't fair, it wasn't your fault. He's the one who freaked out before you could explain. He's the one who didn't even bother to contact you even once. The ice in your lungs thaws and turns to a boil and you step from the doorway to deliberately walk past him, eyes piercing, as you go to sit in the seat two rows behind him. A dark sort of satisfaction rolls over you as you see his shoulders stiffen in the corner of your eye.

Your satisfaction shrivels the moment his posture brightens and he's calling over to someone just walking into the room.

"Hey, John! Over here!"

Your head swivels to see some kid you don't recognize beam and trot towards Dave.

"Hi, Dave!" the kid - John, apparently - says brightly, all smiles and buck teeth. "I can't believe we've had this many classes together so far!"

"It's not that surprising," Dave snorts. "I am supposed to be your 'guide' or whatever until you get used to the new school."

"True," John laughs. "But c'mon. I'm not a moron, I can figure stuff out myself."

"Uh-huh. Sure. That's why I found you sticking gum under the chair in the principal's office because you were too stupid to find a garbage."

"Oh, shut up."

Your blood boils, your eyes narrow. The kid is weirdly cheerful. Goofy. You hate him. The hell is Dave doing? Is he really petty enough to try to make you jealous? Does he really think you're petty enough to get jealous?

(He'd be right. Goddamn.)

Dave blatantly pretends you don't exist for the rest of the period. You return the favor.

Thankfully, your last class of the day is blissfully Dave-less. John's in it, though. Screw him. By the end of the day you're exhausted, but blissfully intact.

The rest of the week goes pretty much the same. You stay on edge, waiting for someone to mock you, call you a fag, or homo, or something. You notice people go awkwardly silent as you walk by, usually followed by hushed whispers. But you can live with that, so long as no one actually, y'know, tries to beat you into a wall or something. Maybe you're just paranoid.

You weren't just paranoid.

After the first couple weeks of school, kids start to single you out. Should have expected as much. Even without the freaky trans thing, having no friends in Middle School is nothing short of a torture sentence. You're fucked.

At first it's not so bad, just a barb here and there. Oh, hey it's the queerdo. What's wrong, want the D so bad you're pretending you've got one? Have you seen any balls lying around? I think you lost yours. Oh, wait, maybe they've gone and disappeared up your pussy. You have one of those, y'know?

But you can handle that. It's just words. No, you're not above actually letting it get to you, but at least you can deal.

But it's when some of the kids (usually the guys, the girls are content just to mock you behind your back. Or to your face.) start 'accidentally' bumping roughly into you, when they start sticking out their feet to make you fall, when they block your way to your one available bathroom - that's when it really starts to get to you.

You have gym every day of the week. That's when it's the worst. Luckily your class is co-ed so you don't stick out too badly, and the uniforms are, thank god, gender neutral. But it doesn’t stop all the stares you get as you come out of the coaches' office every time you change. When you do split up between boys and girls, you're allowed to go with the boys, but it still sucks. You're short. Painfully short, even for a girl. Part of that has to do with the fact that you still haven't really started puberty (which you're glad for), but it's humiliating. You obviously don't belong.

Even so, you push forward, try not to let it bring you down.

Dave continues hanging out with John. You'd been hoping it was just going to be a start of school thing while Dave showed John around, but no, they do everything together. When, a month into school, you overhear Dave inviting John over, it takes all your self control not to start screaming at both of them like a possessive tool.

You try to stay strong. You're a man. Don't show weakness. Don't cry.

But as you reach the end of the first semester, your temper is more violent than ever. You begin to shout at everyone, for every small thing. You can't help it. You're so angry. What did you do to deserve this? Why you?

It's only a week before winter break that you notice the first wiry hairs starting to poke their way out from your crotch.

You're not strong enough to keep yourself from crying.

When it finally reaches Christmas break, you're exhausted and beyond thankful for the reprieve. You sit in your room watching romance movies on your old TV and try to block out the worried conversations between your dad and your brother. It was worth it, you think to yourself when you overhear your dad asking your brother if it was. It has to be.

Part of you wishes you could go back, undo everything and keep your mouth shut. Stitch your lips together and lock yourself inside your skull. But you know that even if you did go back, even if some ultra cosmic power reached inside the proverbial clock and twisted the gears back, everything would be the same. Because as much as you wish you'd just kept your tongue glued to the back of your throat, you know better than anyone that you never would have been able to do it. You still would have told. Choked on your fat, sticky tongue, swollen with lies and deceit until you gagged up the truth in a sour, slimy puddle all over yourself.

Maybe God hates you or maybe you don't even believe in God. You're not sure anymore.

For Christmas your dad gets you mostly some new clothes and a couple books and movies. It's nice to have clothes that are just yours and you hug him extra hard in thanks. After you and Kankri finish opening your presents, and after the two of you give your dad small presents in return, you dad pulls out a worn cardboard box with no wrapping paper.

"Found this one outside by the door this morning," your dad says with a shrug. "Had your name on it, so I figured it was from a Secret Santa."

You curiously take the box from your dad, and sure enough, your name is scrawled across the top in huge letters. You give it a shake. Huh, not exactly light, but nothing rattles. At least it's probably not a bomb.

You unfold the overlapping cardboard. Inside there's some sort of clothes individually wrapped in plastic. You turn the box upside down. Seven thin articles of clothing, varying in color, fall to the floor. Confused, you pick up the closest one and take it out of the plastic.

The cloth feels weirdly plasticy, you notice as it unfolds. Unfolded, it ends up being some sort of tank-top with a zipper up the middle, and you stare blankly until you realize, oh.

"A binder," Kankri says for you, surprised.

"I think they're all binders," you say slowly, running a hand over the pile. Expensive binders if the one you're holding is anything to go by. You'd been wondering how you'd scrape enough money away to afford even one once you needed it.

You finish opening the rest. They vary slightly in size and length, some ending just below the breast line, others going all the way down like a shirt. There were two 'nude' colored binders, a few notches lighter than your own skin (because apparently white people are the only people who are ever naked), one brown one a few shades darker than your skin, a black one, a grey one, and two white ones.

They look a little too big for you now, but you are still growing. Hard to know if they'd end up being the exact size you needed, but it was definitely an awesome start.

You hear a crinkle that's definitely paper, not plastic. You look down by your foot to see a single torn notebook paper. You pick it up nervously.

Hey lil' man,

Hope this helps. I picked out some smaller ones so hopefully they'll fit, at least to start you off.

Sorry Dave's being an immature assmunch,
Bro.

Your throat closes up a bit, and you choke out a 'thank you' like he's actually there to hear you.

You meet him one day during recess.

You've developed the habit of sneaking off during recess to avoid unwanted attention. But when you notice the sharp smell of cigarette smoke coming from just around the corner of the doorwell you're hiding in, curiosity gets the better of you. Besides, if it's one of those assholes who always pick on you, you're not above snitching.

You cautiously peek around the corner to see…a high-schooler maybe? The dude's almost freakishly tall, and skinny. Like someone grabbed him and stretched him out like a Fruit by the Foot. His hair is pretty long, and stringy. Gross. His clothes don't look like they've been washed any time recently, either.

"Hey, little brother," the guy says suddenly, turning his head towards you. You yelp and stumble back. And then your butt is on the cold ground and your cheeks are doing their best to start on fire. "Whoa, there, little motherfucker. No need to be getting your scared on. I ain't gunna come tackle you or nothing."

You stand back up, cheeks still burning. You march right up to him, trying not to wrinkle your nose at how bad he smells. "What are you doing here?" you ask, scowling.

"Could be asking you the same thing, young brother," he responds, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Don't normally be seein' much of you little motherfuckers on this end of the building."

You narrow your eyes. "I'm in Middle School. My class is just around the corner."

"Motherfuck," the guy says, eyebrows raising. "You sure are one tiny brother."

You open your mouth to tell him that you are most certainly not tiny, when you stop suddenly, realizing, hey. "Did you call me 'brother?'"

"Yeah, brother," he smiles. His eyes are weirdly cloudy. Unfocused. "World's beautiful. We're all each other's brothers and sisters, y'know?"

You should probably be more concerned about how…off this guy is, but instead a warm feeling blooms deep in your chest. He thinks you’re a boy. Like an actual, real boy!

"What's your name?" you ask, too loud.

"Gamzee," the guy replies, raising a hand to his mouth, taking a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

"That's a weird name," you tell him.

"Don't I know it," he says, his eyes staring somewhere by your shoulder instead of at your eyes. "Motherfuckin' miracle, if you ask me."

"Miracles aren't real," you say, unimpressed.

"Only if you don't believe, brother," Gamzee says with a shrug. "And what would all up and be your name?"

"Karkat," you mutter.

Gamzee's eyes finally meet yours. "You've got one crazy name too, young fucker."

You glare but don't deny it.

In the end you wind up coming in late from recess because you lose track of time talking to the weird high-schooler.

You kind of want to see if he'll be there again tomorrow.

The next day you find Gamzee in the same place. He's wearing the exact same grimy clothes. You think he's somehow managed to smell even worse. His eyes are even more vacant and his cigarette smells horrid - more pungent that yesterday's. You suspect it's not just a normal cigarette.

He's so far out if it that he doesn't notice you even as you sidle up next to wear he's sitting, back against the school's brick wall.

"Hey," you announce. Gamzee jerks a little and turns his head towards you, his eyes aimed a bit over your head. He stares blankly for a moment before a lazy smile crawls onto his face, revealing crooked, yellowed teeth.

"Well, hey there, my motherfuckin' young brother."

You don't even attempt to hide the grimace that distorts your expression at the smell of his breath. If he's offended by it at all, it sure doesn't show. He just keeps grinning vacantly.

"You smell gross," you inform him, just in case he wasn't aware.

He chuckles and turns his head to stare off towards the winter-dead fields beyond the school. "Well, fuck."

You shift uneasily and draw your knees to your chest. "Don't high-schoolers have class right now?"

His head sort of rolls in a gesture you're really not sure was a nod or shake. Other than that, he doesn't reply and just sucks in another huge breath from his cigarette. You try not to cough like a wimp when he exhales the smoke out everywhere.

There's really something not right with him. You don't really care.

At least this way you're not alone.

For the remainder of the year, you meet Gamzee outside during recess. There are days he's more coherent than others, and on those days, he usually has some fresher clothes and looks like he actually took a shower for once. You can't decide if his hygiene goes downhill whenever he gets…off, or if he loses his shit after he goes downhill all together. It's…whatever. You put up with it.

You start to notice his foul mouth is rubbing off on you. It's not like you've never sworn before - both Dave and Bro had pretty colorful vocabulary, but it gets to the point where you don't even realize the swear words rolling off your tongue.

You accidentally swear loudly in front of Kankri one day which ends up with him giving you this hugeass speech that you lose patience with. In the end you just tell him to fuck off, and leave him with his mouth hanging.

You've never had much luck at containing your temper, but you've gotten smart about not actually getting into fistfights with the assholes who push you in the halls, who step on your shoelaces to make you trip, who shout insults after you. You do still have the unfortunate habit of blowing up at people, basically vomiting cusses and colorful rants at them until some teacher or other hauls you to the principal's office.

Everything grates. It's like the world is sandpaper and it's doing its damn best to rub you raw. You feel frayed. When one night, you hear your dad and brother talking in hushed tones about whether or not it was actually a good thing for you to go through with being a boy, you fear you might unravel all together.

You tell this to Gamzee one day (carefully leaving out any indication that your stress is from being trans. Gamzee is the one person who doesn't know what you've got going on between your legs, and you intend to keep it that way). In response, he holds out his skunky smelling cigarette to you.

"Try taking a motherfuckin' break in paradise," he says. You grimace and push his hand away. Like fuck are you putting something that gross in your mouth. He laughs and pulls the cigarette back to his own mouth. "Well, my brother, the offer's always open. I've got miracles in my pocket, we'll save them for a motherfuckin' rainy day."

You tell him to save his miracles. You'll make your own.

Having only one friend - a mentally wrecked one that you only see at recess - wears down on you. Sometimes it's just little things, like not having anyone to group up with during class and always ending up with the other social outcast. Other times it's the bigger things, like when one of the larger boys shoves you up against the lockers, and you're scared, and you want Dave, because Dave always comes to help. Except Dave won't, because Dave isn't your friend anymore.

And like fuck if you don't bite back at him for that whenever you get the chance.

Now that you can get a more objective look at Dave, you start to notice all these things about him you didn't before. For one, the kid is a huge attention hog. It's like he needs it, almost pathologically so. He's awful at dealing with embarrassment, like it's the worst possible thing that could happen. You're cruel enough to laugh extra loud whenever you notice him trip up. The daggers he glares back at you are reward enough.

You notice he tends to pass everything off as a joke when he can. Fucking John always laughs, and you can't tell if it's because he's a moron or a good friend. You hope it's the former.

You, on the other hand, are awful and you wonder how Dave was ever your friend in the first place.

And each day you look in the mirror to examine the wiry hairs sprouting their way from your groin and armpits, the more your self-esteem plummets. You anxiously ask your dad to get you some boxers so you don't have to look at your hips or crotch. You're weirdly glad your hair is dark on your legs. At least that's one thing that could be deemed manly - thick leg hair.

You obsess over every small detail of yourself, terrified of finding change. You can't tell if your hips are actually starting to get wider or if you're just freaking yourself out enough into thinking they are.

But when you start repeatedly clipping the edges of desks and chairs with your hips and thighs, you're forced to admit to yourself that you're changing.

You managed to avoid the onset of puberty longer than most people, but it wasn't possible to outrun it forever.

Time crawls painfully. You don't have much to look forward to these days. You spend thirty minutes a day with Gamzee. The Middle School library has more books to choose from, and you read a lot. Meulin lets you borrow her RomComs. But those are the only thing you really find yourself enjoying anymore.

You miss Dave and you hate that you miss Dave. You're not even sure if you would want to be friends with him again at this point anyway. He's made it clear that he doesn't actually care about you.

It's an overwhelming relief when summer comes. The downside is being unable to see Gamzee anymore. You never found out where he lives. You're not sure if you even want to.

Time slows down even more. All you really do all summer is read and watch movies. Sometimes Kankri and Meulin drag you out of the house with them, but then you're just this awkward third wheel that you know they're just taking pity on.

As much as you don't want to go back to school, a part of you is practically begging for school to start come August. You're so lonely and so bored.

On the bright side, both your dad and brother have gotten really good at calling you 'he.' Maybe not quite as good as most of the teachers at school are, but then, the teachers didn't live eleven years of calling you 'she' first.

You're full of mixed feelings when school actually does start up again. You try to tell yourself it'll be okay. If not, it's just one more year. One more year until High School, and then things won't be so bad, right?

You wait anxiously throughout the morning for recess. You hope Gamzee will be there. It occurred to you that you never asked what grade he was in. What if he graduated?

You're stomach turns happily at the first smell of cigarette smoke when you seek him out.

It takes him a second to register who you are, and you force yourself not to be too hurt by that. He's not exactly present. Again. You recognize now that the smelly stuff he smokes is weed. Shouldn't be that surprising if his memory doesn't work the best when he's stoned to hell and back.

Once he does remember you, his slow smile returns to his face and he gives your hair a little ruffle.

During your last period you're assigned a seat next to this pretty girl named Kanaya. You decide you really like her pretty quick. It helps that she's here to distract you from the fact that Dave is also in this class (John isn't, though. Ha.). It'll be nice to actually have a class with someone you enjoy talking to. Turns out she's also in your lunch period and you excitedly ask if you can sit with her tomorrow.

"Of course you can," she says with a nice smile. You try not to openly show how excited you are. It's been a whole year since you had someone to talk to at lunch.

Unfortunately, your eagerness for the class is ruined the moment the teacher begins having you introduce yourselves. She says to go in reverse alphabetical order to mix things up.

"Karkat can go first since she's last on the list here."

Your cheeks flush as a few of your classmates start giggling.

"Um, it's 'he'," you mutter awkwardly. You can tell the teacher is going to say something more about it but you quickly go on and finish introducing yourself instead. You can see the her debating with herself on whether or not she wants to say more on the matter, but to your relief, she moves on to the next person.

Kanaya looks at you curiously, before her eyes light up with understanding and her expression turns to sympathy. You desperately hope she won't bring it up. It's hard enough living in the wrong body - you don't have the energy to explain things over and over.

To your relief she doesn't, not even the next day at lunch. And, oh god, how you missed having someone to eat with.

Kanaya is really mature, much more so than you, though you suspect that she might act more mature than she actually is. She really likes fashion and the color green. When you awkwardly admit to her that you like romance, her face lights up and tells you that she does, too. You eagerly ask her if she'd want to come over sometime to watch RomComs with you, and you nearly burst when she says yes.

When it's time to go out for recess, you eagerly ask her if she wants to meet Gamzee. She looks a little unsure, but politely says yes.

Unfortunately, you figure out pretty quick the two aren't going to get along the best. Gamzee is a bit surprised that you brought someone, and flat out says he misses your 'motherfuckin' alone time.' Kanaya tries to be polite, but you can tell she's really uncomfortable and eventually excuses herself to go meet up with another friend.

You deflate a bit and Gamzee leans heavily on you and says he likes you best and that you don't need any motherfuckin' girls. In the end you suppose having two friends who don't like each other is still better than only having one friend you only get to see less than half an hour a day.

Kanaya holds true to her promise and comes over that weekend to watch movies with you.

Your dad looks suspiciously close to tears and Kankri decides to be 'encouraging' by being the biggest fucking embarrassment in your life. Kanaya looks absolutely tickled by them.

You're not sure if it's because you're so happy to finally have someone back in your life again, or if it's because the movies Kanaya brought are really that good, but you end up crying like a baby, and fuck, you're embarrassed, but maybe it's worth it in the way she leans against you and runs her slender hands through your hair.

What leaves you more than just a little perplexed, is how emotional you remain for the next several days.

Like, yes, you're happy to have a new friend. But. The fuck are you this moody about? Every teeny tiny thing has you flipping your lid or bursting in tears. It's embarrassing, and not at all what you expected 'teen angst' to feel like. Sure, you remember Kankri being moody - he still gets moody - but not downright bipolar.

And to top it off, come Thursday morning, you wake up with a pain low in your gut that you're not sure you've ever felt before. It's like someone has reached inside you and is tugging your insides, and with each tug you're hit with an overwhelming wave of nausea.

You want to ask your dad if you can stay home but he's already gone to work. When you ask Kankri instead, his lips thin to a small line and says he isn't sure if dad would let him leave you home alone.

"Holy fuck, Kankri! I'm in eighth grade!" you yell, making your head pound and your gut clench unpleasantly. "You were babysitting me by this age!"

Kankri sighs and goes to get a thermometer. "If you have a fever you can stay home," he says when he comes back from the bathroom.

Of fucking course you don't end up having a fever. 

You spend most of the day with your head pressed against your desk and wishing you'd at least been smart enough to take an Advil before coming to school. Even your hips ache for fucks sake. For the first time in your life, you're actually tempted by Gamzee's offer to inhale some of his weed, but at the last second decide against it. The last thing you need is to end up in the hospital or some shit because of this and have the police arrest you for being high.

Not even Kanaya's soft hands rubbing your scalp during your last class helps distract you.

You glare at Kankri the entire bus ride home.

When you get home you go straight to the bathroom to take a piss and then down as many painkillers as possible without killing yourself.

When you yank down your boxers and plop down onto the toilet, you freeze.

Thick, goopy red-black globs of blood cling in strings across the fabric of your boxers, the bottom stained darker than the already dark fabric. There's a thin layer of bright red blood smeared across your thighs and, panicking, you hastily yank some toilet paper off the roll and start attempting to rub it off, but mostly you just end up smearing it, getting it into your ever thickening pubic hair, and fuck, fuck.

Your stomach heaves and you barely manage to get turned around fast enough to get your vomit into the toilet and not all down your front.

Once your stomach refuses to produce anything more, you lay your cheek shakily against the ceramic toilet seat, hands trembling.

You stare blankly at the opposite wall of the bathroom, boxers still down under your folded knees. Your breath seems to loud, you can hear your heart beating in your ears (blood, blood). You try not to let the realization sink in. You try, you try.

But it doesn't come fast, slapping you across the face like you'd always expected it would. It comes crawling, seeping into your core and then you're shaking and shaking and you feel the blood drain from your face (blood, blood). 

Your breath hitches on the first shout of your brother's name as you push yourself up, clumsily yank your pants back up around your hips.

You barely hear your own voice as you call for Kankri again. Again, again. You barely feel anything as you clumsily collide into the sink, your fingers gripping the edge to hold you up. Everything is spinning, everything looks red (like blood, blood).

You don't know how many times you've cried your brother's name until he's forcefully opening the bathroom door, annoyed expression quickly dissolving into fear as he sees you draped over the sink.

"Karkat, what's wrong?" Kankri asks, his voice squeaking in fear.

"I-" You stare sightlessly into the sink. You feel overwhelmed. You feel numb. You don't want to admit it, you don't want to think about it. Maybe it's not real. But when you hear Kankri shakily say your name again, and lay a hesitant hand on your shoulder, it all comes crashing in.

You hear yourself sobbing before you realize that you are. "I g-got my p-period!" you sob, and it sounds so stupid, so dumb and you feel ridiculous but you can't stop yourself.

You can't even be angry at the split second of relief that passes over Kankri's face before he's wrapping his arms around you and you're collapsing against his chest, breathing too fast, too loud.

"What do I do, what do I do?" you sob against him. You feel him tense and he pushes you back far enough to look you in the eye.

"Okay, first, breathe," he says, his voice defaulting to his lecture voice and you have a feeling he's doing it to cover up how upset he really is. "Breathe."

You try. When you manage to get your breathing down to hitching breaths instead of borderline hyperventilating, Kankri tugs you back towards the toilet. "Okay, I need you to sit on the toilet so you don't stain your clothes, okay? Here, let me grab you a towel so you can cover up."

You nod dumbly and shakily pull your pants back down once Kankri hands you the towel and turns away. Once you're seated on the toilet with the towel covering you, Kankri begins walking nervously back and forth.

"Okay, so we'll need to get you some pads," he says, and you burn in embarrassment. "Do you have any panties anymore?"

"Fuck no," you sputter. Your guts tug downwards again and you think you can hear a glob of blood drip into the toilet bowl.

"Well, then we're going to need to buy you some," Kankri sighs, "Unless you're okay with using tampons?" The look on your face must reflect your horror because he lets out a dry, humorless laugh. "I didn't think so. All right, you're going to have to wait here I guess, I'm going to bike to the store and buy your supplies, okay?"

You let out a sort of half groan of agreement and lean back against the toilet seat as Kankri leaves the room. You let yourself focus on your breathing as you wait for him to come back. Your initial horror has receded, but is slowly being replaced by a suffocating sense of defeat.

It's not like you didn't know this would happen eventually, but some part of your mind had convinced you that maybe it wouldn't.

And now, you've got to brace yourself for half a lifetime of this, every month. And fuck, now you know why you were so moody and why your stomach hurt so bad. You dread going through that even one more time. You have a hard time comprehending doing it twelve times a year.

You rest your head back against the wall and close your eyes, a tear trailing its way down your temple.

It shouldn't be this overwhelming. But it feels like everything has changed.

It's amazing how fast your body begins to change after that.

It seems all at once your hips spring outwards and your thighs begin taking on fat. Your bones ache from the height you begin gaining, and your chest throbs. It occurs to you one horrible day that, oh, your nipples are showing embarrassingly through your shirt.

The moment you get home that day, you dig through your cabinets and retrieve the binders you got from Bro almost a year ago. You take all of them with you to the bathroom and strip down.

You observe your naked self in the mirror long and hard. Barely-there breasts poke like squishy pyramids from your chest. Your waist is narrow, but only serves to exaggerate how wide your hips are. You press your hands against your hip bones like you could actually push them back in.   

You sigh and let your hand travel down through your thick, black pubic hair, to your thighs. Dark, angry red lines zigzag around the insides of your thighs. You trace them with your fingers, frowning, and twist your body to examine the matching stretch marks across your hips.

You hear all the girls complaining about them at school. Apparently they're pretty normal and that they'll fade, but you still stare at them in disgust. They're ugly. They mean you grew too fast. And they're in all the places girls get them. You can only hope your chest won't get them as it continues to grow.

You shake your head and pull a binder off the top of the pile. It takes a bit of wriggling to get your arms through the holes, but once you do, it zips up fairly easily. It makes it a tad difficult to breathe, and you realize that you're probably going to have to designate the loosest one for gym class.

You're more than pleased with the results as you turn to look at yourself in the mirror.

It's form-fitting, so you won't have to worry about it creating wrinkles under your clothes. It does a good job at flattening your chest, though you're not sure if that's because you're so small chested or not. It does kinda make your nipples itchy though, nrrg. But what you're most pleased with is how it even serves to suck in your stomach, and the flabby stuff on the outside of your hips. It makes them not quite so wide, and helps take away your girly stomach fat.

You pull your shirt back over your head and silently thank Bro for the thousandth time.

As a whole, eighth grade goes a whole lot better than seventh grade, thanks to actually having a friend that you see outside recess.

Kanaya becomes a regular part of your life. She doesn't come over as much as Dave used to, but every so often she'll spend the weekend at your house to watch romance movies with you. One time you go to her house as well. Her mom is really nice, but her sister intimidates you, all covered in piercings and tattoos. Apparently she's actually friends with your brother, though you've never seen her before. You have a hard time believing Kankri would hang out with someone with so many body mods, but when you see all the feminism stuff in her room, you decide it makes sense.

One night, Kanaya confides in you that she likes girls, and she really admires you for being brave enough to come out to the entire school. You confess it wasn't a matter of bravery so much as a matter of not being able to live like you were. She hums thoughtfully and you lay your head in her lap as she runs her fingers through your hair.

You immaturely attempt to rub Kanaya in Dave's face whenever you get the slightest chance. Serves him fucking right for never leaving John's side. At least Kanaya is cool. When Dave's birthday rolls around, he switches out his obnoxious triangular shades for some round ones that John apparently got him. You don't know why that makes you so pissed.

The biggest, perpetual downside of the year, however, is your fucking teacher from your last hour.

She absolutely refuses to treat you like a boy, and always refers to you by female pronouns. Which in and of itself would be annoying enough, but it makes the rest of the class constantly snigger at you, and makes more kids braver to pick on you for it.

There are days you try to call her out on it, insist she stop being an asshole, but most days, you let it go like a grating fly you can't swat. There's not much you can do without getting in more trouble or bringing unnecessary attention to it.

But one day, close to spring break, when she divides up the class into girls and boys, and fucking of course assigns you with the girls, you lose your temper.

"No!" you yell, teeth clenched painfully tight. You knock your desk loudly as you stand up and slam your hands down on it.

The teacher narrows her eyes, pursing her lips. "Karkat, you do not speak to me in that tone. Now if you'll just line up with the other gir-"

"No!" you cut her off, your temples pounding, your cheeks heating. "Stop treating me like a girl!"

The teacher is beginning to look visibly flustered at your loud disruption. Good. Fuck her. Let her face some fucking consequences. This embarrassment is nothing compared to what you have to go through.

"I'm only treating you like the person you are-"

"No you aren't!" Your hands have curled into tight fists, and for the thousandth time you wish you weren't so small. You wish you were big enough to intimidate her. Big enough to look like a man. "I was promised that all the teachers would treat me like a boy!" Somewhere in the back of you focus you can hear the rest of the class whispering, giggling. Fuck them, too. You think you feel Kanaya nervously tugging at your sleeve.

The teacher's cheeks are flushed pinker than her horrible makeup. "Karkat, I'll tell you one more ti-"

"Hey, leave him alone!"

Your head swivels to the source of the voice. Dave is standing behind his desk, his lips pulled back in an uncharacteristic scowl, his eyebrows so low they're completely hidden behind his shades.

You stare at him dumbly, your mouth opening and closing. You don't even register the words behind your teacher's voice as she speaks again.

"No, stop it," Dave says. "He wants to be treated like a boy so treat him like one. It's probably against the rules not to. Even if it's not, you could at least try to be a decent person and not a raging bitch all the time."

At that, the teacher slams the book she's holding down onto her desk. "That's it. Office. Both of you. Now."

"Gladly," Dave snorts, stepping his way out from behind his desk. You're still staring at him, dumbfounded, and he has to grab your arm as he passes to get you to follow him. At first, you balk, but he leans down and whispers in your ear, "C'mon, fuck her. Let's get out of here," and you dumbly follow after him.

Once you're outside the classroom, Dave drops your arm and walks ahead of you towards the office. Neither of you says anything on the way there. Dave handles telling the receptionist at the office what happened while you sit down in one of the chairs by the principal's office.

Once your initial shock wears off, you're filled with a sense of wariness as Dave plops into the chair next to you. You want to be happy, but instead you don't know how to feel. It's been nearly two years since he's said so much as a word to you. And those last words were far from pleasant.

"So," Dave says, staring ahead, awkward. "How are things?"

You turn to stare at him, not even bothering to cover the annoyance on your face. "What do you fucking think?"

He flinches and turns his head a fraction to stare at you out of the corner of his eye. "Well I'm going to assume that's a 'bad.'"

"Yes!" you snap. "Things are fucking bad! Why wouldn't they be after living two years wading through miles of toxic-ass shit after being abandoned by my best fucking friend."

Dave grimaces. "You're friends with that Kanaya girl."

"Okay, yes, I'm friends with Kanaya," you snort. "Yes, that makes everything better. That totally erases the fucking year before then when I had to repeatedly put up with this kind of bullshit on my own."

Dave slumps in his chair. "You're right. I'm sorry. But it's not like it was easy for me eith-"

"Oh, fuck off. Like you didn't replace me with John the first chance you got!"

"I didn't replace you!"

"No, you just got a new best friend that you liked to shove in my fucking face whenever possible!"

"You are so self absorbed!" Dave snaps back, "Like everything I ever do has to revolve around you."

You balk. "N-no, I mean, I'm not stupid, Da-"

"Dave. Karkat," a stern voice says behind you and you both jump. You turn cautiously to see the principal staring down at the both of you, looking distinctly unimpressed. "Let's talk."

For the most part, you let Dave do most of the talking - you don't trust your temper to explain things yourself. In the end, you're let off with a warning since you were both just standing up for you, and the principal even says he'll talk to the teacher about treating you like a boy, which is a relief.

By time you get out of the office, there's only a couple minutes before the last bell, so you both head to the buses instead of going back to class. Before you split for Dave to go wait at the car pickup for his brother, he sighs and turns to you.

"Look, I am sorry, okay?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. "I have to go," you say, turning to walk towards your bus.

For the remainder of the year, Dave actually acknowledges your existence.

It's mostly little things. A wave from across the hall. A head nod as you pass him in the classroom. A borrowed pencil. But it feels hugely different from the silent treatment you'd been getting.

You're not entirely sure if you're comfortable with it yet. Part of you wants to forget the last two years even happened and accept Dave's apology. Just be friends again and go back to the way things were.

But the problem is, things can never go back to the way they were. You're different. Dave's different. If you're completely honest with yourself, you're not sure if you know him very well at all anymore. Two years, especially two middle school years, can really change a lot. And even if you do become friends again, relearn each other, it's not like it'll be just the two of you again. Now there's Kanaya and John and Gamzee in the picture.

And even putting all of that aside, you're not sure if you're ready to forgive him.

You don't find out until the last day of school that Gamzee is graduating this year. Which means the only time you'll get to see him again is during the graduation ceremony that you're going to because Kankri also graduates this year. Gamzee tells you he was supposed to graduate last year already but failed and then didn't go to summer school, so he ended up retaking the entire year.

When you angrily ask him why he didn't tell you, he just shrugs and says "Life's a motherfuckin' river, bro. Go with the flow and don't force things either way. And now the rivers takin' me somewhere else."

It might be poetic if you weren't so fucking pissed.

When you tell Kankri you want to look for Gamzee at the graduation, he gasps and says you shouldn't be hanging around someone like that. Admittedly, he's probably right, but it doesn't keep you from being pissed at him until graduation actually rolls around.

It hits you weird in the gut to see your brother in his graduation gown. He gets all fussy about his hair and making sure his tassel stays perfect even though you're pretty sure it doesn't matter since it's not like he's giving the graduation speech or anything. It feels a little surreal as you see him walk down the aisle to the podium. It doesn't even hit you that, wow, your brother is technically an adult now. It just feels like you're watching something from tv.

Gamzee is called up before your brother, and you notice his hair is actually clean for once, but everyone is still giving him a wide berth. You decide you'll try to catch him in the crowd before you leave.

You snort when you notice Kankri refuse to toss his hat up like everyone else and instead daintily folds his hat over his chest.

After the ceremony and you hug your brother and take pictures with your family, you push your way through the crowd of families until you catch a glimpse of Gamzee slinking out the door. You scurry up to him and snatch the cloth of his gown sleeve before he can get away.

"You could at least say goodbye," you say as he turns to look at you, his eyes unusually focused and surprised.

"Hi, little motherfucker," he replies, a slow smile dragging over his face.

"Well?" you say impatiently, trying to keep the hurt from your voice. You refuse to let another friend just leave you.

"No sense sayin' any motherfuckin' goodbyes when I'm not goin' anywhere," he says after a slight pause. There's a sharpness in his eyes that makes your stomach clench, but you try to pretend you don't notice it. "Ain't like I'm all up and fallin' off the Earth."

"You act like you don't even care about me, though!" you snap, and you hate how self-centered you sound but you can't help yourself.

His smile drops, and a tightness grows around his eyes and suddenly you're wishing you had just let it go.

"There's many miracles, my brother, but just as many shadows out there. You don't need to be following me into them."

The clarity in his voice makes your lungs go cold, and you're nearly winded with relief as you hear your brother's sharp voice pierce the crowd.

"Karkat!" Kankri chirps sharply, grabbing hold of your arm as he reaches you. He tensely raises his chin and looks up to meet Gamzee's unsettlingly focused eyes. "Makara," he acknowledges with a tight nod. You notice as he takes a small step to place himself in front of you. Any other day you'd already be seething at him, informing him just how much he doesn't need to protect you, especially from Gamzee. But now. Now maybe you're not so sure.

Gamzee's eyes are cold as he nods back. He doesn't even bother saying anything to your brother before he turns his attention back to you, a smile pushing itself back onto his lips. "I best be gettin’ my scram on. See you 'round, motherfucker." And then he's out the door and you're left dumbstruck behind your brother.

Kankri turns to stare at you vehemently, his tassel dangling in front of his face. "I told you not to be associating with him! He is dangerous and unstable, Karkat! Do you want to get yourself killed."

Indignant pissyness floods back into your system. "Fuck off, you're the one who decided to come crashing in like a tiny pre life-changing musical sequence Disney hero. I can take care of myself."

"He's the reason you picked up such foul language, isn't he?" Kankri says, dramatically dragging a hand down his face. You open your mouth to retort but he cuts you off. "You know what? Never mind. Let's find Dad. We have to get back to the house before people start showing up to the party."

You want to say more, but you're not even sure what you want to say, so you begrudgingly follow him.

You weren't really expecting how much Kankri leaving would affect you.

You love your brother, of course you do. But you're not buddy-buddy with him and share bro-secrets or play ball together or whatever brotherly shit is supposed to happen in movies. But come late August, seeing him all packed up and ready to head to the bus that will take him off to the university impacts like a kick to the teeth.

It's the first time you ever see your dad cry, a tear running its way past his eyelashes as he hugs your brother. And of course, seeing your dad cry makes you fucking cry, which makes Kankri's eyes go red and his chest heave under your dad's arms.

Grimacing against your tears, you worm your way into the hug, head tucked under Kankri's chin and ribs feeling like they'll be crushed by the pressure of your dad's chest against your back.

You can't remember ever feeling so simultaneously bereft and full.

The house is weirdly quiet without Kankri.

You have two weeks after Kankri leaves before you start school again. You spend much of your time pacing circles into the living room carpet, anxiety of starting high school thrumming in your ears. You wish Kankri were here so you could at least pick a fight with him to keep your mind off it.

You even miss Meulin, for fucks sake. It's not like you love her or anything, but you'd gotten so used to her always being here whenever Kankri was around. It's not that you particularly enjoyed her constant squealing or her annoying as fuck publicly-private conversations in sign language with your brother, but with all that suddenly gone, the house feels quiet.

Which leaves you to fester in your own nerves.

You keep telling yourself it'll be fine. You freak out over every school year, you need to man up and stop freaking out over everything. Besides, Kanaya will be there and Dave…

Well, Dave is fucking something anyway.

Anyway. You're pretty sure you're going to give yourself and ulcer if you keep thinking about it. You decide to drown yourself in RomComs until school starts.

Needless to say, it works, but it leaves you roiling in a constant state of helpless romanticism. But what else is new?

Life is apparently a python made of shit that has decided to wrap its feces-dripping, maggot-infested body around you until the pressure on your intestines makes you shit out your own impressively enormous monstrosity of rage snake.

Dave is in all of your classes except one.

He is even in your lunch.

When Kanaya oh so wonderfully is not.

How the fuck does this even happen? Yeah, freshmen have a lot of generals, and you guess that there aren't a lot of electives but seriously.

You make a pointed effort to search for an available seat at lunch that is as far away from the seat Dave picked out as possible. You don't want to deal with drama right now. You don't even fucking know what you'd say to him anyway.

Unfortunately, you don't know where to even sit in the first place. The room is crowded enough that there's not any completely free tables, and either everyone is in a grade above you (and therefore terrifying) or they are in your grade and think you're a flaming faggot (also terrifying).

In the end you seat yourself awkwardly at the end of a table with some girls and a couple guys you've never met. They glance at you as you sit down, but there's still an open seat between you, so they just go back to their conversation and ignore you. You're totally okay with that.

At least, you're totally okay with that until someone loudly slams their tray down onto the table and fwumps into the spot next to you.

"Sup Karkat?" Dave says around a mouthful of god knows what.

You consider the fact that you don't immediately smash your nasty food in his face to be nothing short of heroic.

"I didn't realize that the your previous table was suddenly overcome by a swarm of angry, shit-eating maggots which forced you to evacuate and come my way," you grind out, refusing to grant him the privilege of eye contact. "Oh wait, I get it. I'm the piece of shit and you're the maggot. Awesome. Kindly fuck off before you get infected with some feces-born disease. Let me rot in peace."

Dave snorts and takes a sip of his apple juice. You ignore the twinge in your gut you get when you realize he still forgoes the milk for the juice the same way he always did.

"The only shit here is me. Because I'm the shit," Dave says, face horrifically straight.

"That was fucking awful," you tell him, despite knowing better than to give him any attention. You turn your head towards him and immediately regret it as you see a grin spread over his face, cheeks scrunched and eyebrows high above his round shades.

"Nah," he says. "I'm a Strider; nothing I say can be awful. Only ironic."

There's a part of you, an old part that you've tried your hardest to forget, that wants to smile. Wants to get into this stupid banter with him.

But you squash that part down, squelching it into the bubbling heat that comes rising to your tongue.

"Pretty fuckin' sure you know more than enough about what being awful is." The words taste like acid, your lungs feel too cold and your face too hot. Dave's grin falters and you can see him floundering for words, but you don't give him the chance to find any.

You sigh, and stand up. The venom in your voice is gone when you speak again, but replaced by a heavy tiredness. "Fuck off, okay? Just leave me alone."

Dave doesn't try to follow you as you walk away.

You try not to think about how much that hurts.

"I think you and Dave should talk."

You sputter over your drink and stare incredulously at Kanaya. It's been two months since the start of the school, and at least a few times a week Dave has tried to get you aside, talk to you at lunch, catch you before you leave for the busses, whatever.

It's been annoying as fuck and you wish he would just back off. Every time he tries to talk to you, your lungs seize and your ribs freeze. It hurts and you don't want to deal with it. It's whatever. It's too fucking late to go back to the way things were now and it's his fault. Why can't he be happy with his annoying bucktoothed replacement friend anyway?

"Why?" you scowl, cutting through your chicken breast with more force than necessary. You try not to wince as the knife scratches against the plate. Your dad won't be happy if you get cuts all over your plates.

Kanaya sighs and sets down her own fork and knife. "He's clearly not planning on giving up his little quest to talk to you. Maybe you should listen to what he has to say."

You growl and take an angry bite of chicken. "The fuck do you know? It's not like you even know why I think he's such an obtuse fuck."

"Exactly. I don't. Because whenever Dave is brought up, you shut down or change the subject. Which makes it obvious to me that whatever your issue with him is, it still bothers you quite a bit. I think you owe it to yourself at least to listen to what he has to say. Put things to rest at the very least."

You groan. "And what if I don't want to?"

"Then I'll pester you every day until you do. I'll put notes in your locker and write his name with ketchup on your food. You know I will," Kanaya says with a small smirk, and in that moment you realize that you've befriended the devil.

You scowl and toss a bit of chicken gristle on her plate. "Fine."

You chicken out at lunch and end up eating in the hall outside the cafeteria. You try to convince yourself that it's because you don’t want to have this conversation with an audience.

(That's a lie - you'd rather do it where there are other people around to make it less awkward.)

Eventually your cowardice wins and you tell yourself you'll talk to him tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever he tries to talk to you again. Yeah. You'll do that. Because if he doesn't try again, then it doesn't matter anymore, right?

So of course he catches you after school on the way to the bus that exact same day. Fucking figures.

"Sup Karkat?" Dave greets as usual, stepping too close to you, matching his stride with yours.

You pinch your eyes shut. Okay, Karkat, don't be a fucking baby. "I- fuck. Can we talk?"

Dave halts, and you open your eyes to see his eyebrows raised over his shades, his mouth slack. You don't say anything as he takes a moment to recompose himself. "Yeah! Uh, when? Right now?"

"Yes, now," you say instantly, deciding that if you back out now, you'll never do it. You'll just…walk home or something. It's only a couple miles and it's nice out and your dad won't be home until late so it's not like he'll notice. Might as well get some exercise in or whatever.

"Okay, sweet! Um, here or-?" Dave fumbles visibly over his words, his ears turning red.

You don't bother answering. You just take off in the direction that you used to hang around with Gamzee. Dave immediately follows like you figured he would. When you reach the familiar spot, you lean against the wall, arms crossed across your chest, like they'll ward off the nerves threatening to cause severe gastrointestinal mutiny.

Dave's face is still red and he has his hands shoved anxiously in his pockets, his shoulders up around his ears. "So…" he says hesitantly. "What did you wanna talk about?"

"I wanna talk about what you so obviously need to get off your chest," you say, your voice harsher than you meant it to be. "Since you keep following me around like a fuckin' starving cat trailing some stupid fisher's rancid fish."

Dave snorts, but you see his fingers picking fretfully at the edge of his pockets. He's so nervous, and you're not sure how that makes you feel.

"I," Dave starts, voice a bit thin, "wanted to say I'm sorry, I guess?"

"You already have," you reply bluntly.

"…And?"

You hesitate and drop your eyes to the ground. "I'm not sure if I can forgive you yet."

"Ah."

You look back up to see Dave's shoulders have risen even more defensively, his teeth gnawing on his lower lip. "Well," he says slowly. "I guess that's okay. I'm not sure if I'm ready to forgive you yet, either."

Your head snaps up. He's staring straight at you, and, fuck, you hate those ridiculous shades. It makes it so fucking hard to read him. "What?"

He snorts, crosses his arms. He leans his shoulder against the brick wall. "Well maybe if you'd just told me instead of keeping it secret from me-"

"Don't fucking make this my fault," you snarl. Your hands have become fists without your consent.

"I'm not saying it is," Dave snaps. "But you can't fucking deny you have some blame in this."

You want to deny it, but guilt catches your tongue before you can. Instead you end up making a sound similar to a strangled cat. You scrunch your eyes shut. "Fine. Sorry."

When you reluctantly open your eyes, you see Dave relaxing and a small smile making its way to his face.

"All right," he says, and holds a hand out to you. "Truce?"

"Fine," you grunt and take his hand.

He's got a full smile by time you drop your hand back down to your side. "So…wanna try the hole friendship thing again?"

You tense. "Friendship isn't a fucking trinket you can just magically hand out, Strider. And even if it were, you managed to shit all over it and I'm not sure I want it anymore."

He sighs. "That's fair." He tilts his head and pointedly adds, "Vantas." He bites his lip before continuing, "But what if I gave you a brand new trinket. A completely new one, no strings attached, no shitty memories."

You eye him suspiciously. "In which case, most people don't just fucking ask to be your friend. Last I checked, that was something that just happened."

Dave huffs and rubs a hand under one lens of his shades. "Look. I know you're still pissed, and I don't blame you, but want do you want me to say?"

You want to tell him that just because he's sorry doesn't mean he's entitled to a second chance. You want to. But, you still feel guilty, because he's right. Part of this is your fault.

(And maybe a part of you still really misses him.)

"Okay. Fine," you mutter. When you see his face start to brighten almost painfully you quickly add, "Not promising to be your fucking star of whatever bromance fantasy you have. Just. I'll try to be less of a dick, I guess."

"I'm not sure that's really possible either, though," Dave says with a grin.

You punch him in the shoulder.

It's awkward at first.

You begin to sit next to each other at lunch. There are times where the conversation flows, and though the topics are different, nostalgia keeps it going. And then there are times it feels as though you are talking to a stranger.

There are a lot of things about Dave that are as you remember him, but he's changed a lot, too.

He's more stoic around people he's uncomfortable around. Like he defaults into acting like his brother when he's not sure how to react. And yet, you can (with a fair bit of resentment) see a lot of John that's rubbed off on him. His smiles are more crooked, his sense of humor less dry than it used to be, more slapstick. He's more expressive when he talks about John.

But then, you know you've changed, too.

You've always been pretty hot headed, but now your general demeanor is just all around grumpy. You swear more than Dave does. You've developed a habit of running off into long rants. (You blame Kanaya for that one. Her and her damn flowery speech.)

You're jumpier. A tap from behind nearly has you knocking your entire tray off the table. You see Dave frown as he apologizes. He makes sure not to do it again.

You're pretty strictly school friends. You eat together at lunch, you talk to each other in classes during free time, you say 'hi' in the halls. But you carefully keep the relationship at that distance. As it is, seeing him every day, talking to him again, it's overwhelming.

You don't want to open yourself up for that kind of hurt again.

There are a few classes you have with both John and Dave, and consequently, you have the honor of officially meeting Dave's bucktoothed wonder of a friend.

He's an annoying little shit. He's got this stupid fetish for pranking people (and usually stupid pranks like putting a whoopie cushion on your chair. Like, seriously? Jesus fucking Christ.). He acts stupid all the time, but you can tell he's actually got a pretty bright brain ticking under that thick skull, which annoys you even more because he has no excuse to act like such a flaming doofus.

But, you reluctantly admit to yourself, he's actually not as bad as you made him out to be.

Kanaya reacts better to Dave than she did Gamzee. That is to say, at least she didn't more or less run screaming this time. Though from the strict politeness she keeps around him, you can tell he's not her favorite person ever. Whatever.

Outside of school, you keep watching romance movies with Kanaya and Dave still does what-the-fuck-ever with John.

An unfortunate side effect of hanging with Dave arises.

It's the same fucking problem you had back in elementary school.

You can't stop staring at Dave. The way his jaw and shoulders have broadened, the way his shoulders trail into his narrow hips, the way his hands have grown, strengthened. You stare and you're jealous.

(And maybe when you stare at him, you feel the pit of your stomach grow warm, and maybe that terrifies you, but maybe you kind of like it?)

Both Dave and John tend to talk about embarrassing boy things that you probably could have lived without hearing. But even though it makes your cheeks turn red and your ears burn, your stomach clenches in jealousy.

Watching them, you make a concerted effort to match their posture. Sit with your legs spread. Walk with your books in one arm by your side, not crossed over your chest. Stand with your hips farther forward. You didn't notice so much when you spent all your time with Kanaya, but there are so many stupid little subconscious things that differ between boys and girls. You wonder if you hadn't been told to keep your legs together your whole childhood if you'd naturally sit with them spread.

You don't know, you don't know, but it's frustrating. Retraining your body sucks.

As the months pass, your relationship with Dave becomes smoother. It's easy to keep a conversation again. Neither of you are constantly checking your words during a conversation. It's comfortable again. Maybe the closeness you had as kids is gone, but you're content with the way things are now.

You still stick to spending your time after school with Kanaya, and Dave does the same with John. But you decide that maybe that's okay. You never expected things to magically return to the way they used to be.

Dave goes on a trip to Washington over winter break with John to visit his grandmother or something. You have Kanaya over a couple times over break, though for the most part you (embarrassingly) follow your brother everywhere while he's back from college between semesters. You missed him, okay?

The fact that you and Dave are friends again made it to the rumor mill.

You suppose it's an inevitability with how small your school is, though it still grates like mulched up seashells on a baby's sensitive ass.

From what you've gathered from overhearing people in the halls, you and Dave have hooked up. Which (regardless how much it makes you want to roll your eyes), in itself, isn't that bad. What is awful is the various versions of how and why.

Some people are calling you a slut, and that your 'boy act' is your way to get away with it. Some claim John's in on it too, and you're trying to 'absorb boy germs to become one' or some stupid shit. Other's claim Dave is trying to get his 'gay phase' out of the way without actually having to touch any balls.

What surprises you is that the rumors against Dave piss you off more than the ones against you. Maybe you're just used to getting shit.

Maybe you're a little guilty that just being seen with you is putting Dave through shit.

You try to brush it off. All the rumors about anything are about sex in some way or another. Did you hear about that girl blew off two guys for fifty bucks? What about that guy who sucked grapes out of some girl's cooch?

Really, in comparison, the rumors of hooking up with Dave aren't that bad. At least they don't involve grapes.

Really, everything is about sex, sex, sex. Horny fucking teenagers. Right before everyone is let out for spring break, you get to have another day of school set aside for sex education. This time around for the actual sex part of the equation. How to use condoms, birth control pills, STDs, etc, etc, etc.

Luckily, this time the class is co-ed, so you don’t have to go through the embarrassment of staying behind with the girls again (because regardless of what every other part of you is, your anatomy is still female). Doesn't spare you from the awkwardness of the sniggering and blushing that always comes with these fucking classes.

And of course you're not spared from that other little side effect. The one that has you locked in the bathroom later that night with your pants pulled down and you fingers shaking nervously as you tug down your boxers.

Your heart thuds painfully in your throat as you lean back against the wall, boxers around your ankles. This is stupid. Really stupid.

Stupid that you let those stupid sex ed videos get to you. Stupid that you let your curiosity and frustration get the better of you, stupid that you're nervous, stupid that you're even doing this.

But as much as the videos went into more depth than you wanted in a lot of things, it didn't tell you how to handle being a guy with no dick. A guy with a vagina to be more specific.

You close your eyes and breathe deep and just let your hand take control. Over your stomach (still got that layer of girl fat) through your pubic hair (this part is fine, everyone has that), but you hesitate before letting your hand dip any lower.

You grit your teeth. Just do it.

You avoid that little 'magic button' that everyone talks about. You'll deal with that later. For now, you just let your fingers dip between the folds.

It's…whatever. Sensitive, but you wonder if that's just because you're focusing so much on it. It's not like you get off every time you wipe yourself after taking a piss. (It's not like you've ever gotten off in the first place, haha.)

Kinda wet, but you expected that. You're a little surprised that the folds on the inside are a bit uneven, but, actually, the more you think about that in general, the more your heart throbs, and your head is starting to spin a little.

Stupid, it shouldn't be a traumatic event.

(But maybe it kind of is.)

You kind of just…play with the folds a little bit before feeling stupid and stopping. You're too scared to try touching your clit or...putting a finger in. The whole thing is gross. Stupid and gross.

You're stupid and gross.

It's about one month into the summer between ninth and tenth grade that you get the phone call.

From Dave.

When did your life become a soap opera? Or maybe it's a sit-com, because you can practically hear the stage audience laughing their asses off as you stare at the phone, his caller ID flashing with mockery, disbelief all over your face.

You decide the best plan of action is to ignore the phone. Dave doesn't even have to know you were home. Of course that plan is ruined when you hear Kankri answer the phone one room over. You're gunna kill him.

"This is the Vantas household," Kankri says, his voice muffled through the door. "Dave? Hmm, yes," he says slowly, and you can hear the distinct dislike in your brother's voice. "Yes, he's here, hold on a moment - Karkat!"

"I got it!" you holler back and roughly pick up the phone in front of you. "What?"

"Hello to you too!" Dave greets, fakey brightness dripping from his words. Fucker.

"Hello," you respond, rolling your eyes. "To what do I owe this special occasion?"

"Wanna come over?"

He asks it so bluntly, so matter-of-fact, that you're left reeling and sputtering. "I-what?"

"Like, come hang out and play video games and shit," he says, and you can hear the unspoken 'like we used to' settle over you like a thick weight.

"Sure, I guess," you reply, mouth moving before your mind can. "When?"

"Me and Bro could come pick you up and you could spend the night if you want."

You chew on your lip. Spending the night means less of a chance at getting away if you really want to. But, you suppose you could just… pester Kankri into picking you up if you really want to leave. "Okay," you agree after a moment of debating. "Just give me like an hour to get ready."

"Cool!" Dave says, and he sounds like Christmas just came early. Goddamn. "See you in an hour!" And then the phone clicks dead before you can say anything else.

You've pretty much gnawed your bottom lip off by time you hear the Striders' car pull into the driveway.

Bro greets you like he always did, with the exception of calling you 'little man' now. It makes you feel weird in the pit of your stomach. Happy, nostalgic, but also a deep set hurt low in your gut, beneath everything else. You underestimated how much you missed him. You want to hug him, but you don't. Neither you nor Bro where ever one for hugs really, so you keep your hands to yourself.

Dave chatters the whole ride to his place and you grunt out a few responses. You think you can see a small smile on Bro's lips in the rear view mirror.

What you weren't expecting was how strongly the smell of the Strider's house would hit you. Bro barely opens the door and you're smacked with a wave of nostalgia right in the nose.

"You can bring your stuff to my room," Dave says and starts walking down the familiar hallway to his room.

It's almost surreal being in that house again. You think that you'd probably convinced yourself it wasn't someplace you'd ever see again. Not from the inside, anyway. There are a few changes - a few more swords hanging from the walls, some more pictures of Dave, even a few of John, up by the ones of you and Dave from Elementary school. A weird, cool feeling wraps around your lungs when you see yourself with long hair, dresses. It's surreal.

Dave's room has more electronics. More video games, and a Bro's old turntable that Dave tells you was given to him when Bro wanted a new one. He shows you a few mixes he's made on it. You tell him it sucks, but you think it sounds good. You're not too sure, it's not something you've ever really put much thought into before.

Dave unplugs his brand new PS3 and hooks up his N64 instead. To play Super Smash Bros 'like old times.' You still pick Pikachu and you still lose most of the time.

Everything is so similar to how it used to be. You fight more than you used to, but it's sort of a comfortable bickering. When Bro calls from the kitchen that supper is ready, even the paper plates set out for you are familiar. The Striders never did use actual dishes. Not because they don't have any, but because both Bro and Dave hate changing the dishwasher.

As you devour your pizza (you think Bro ordered them out, it tastes a hell of a lot better than frozen pizza), you idly look around the house. You notice that not only did Bro get more swords ("Katanas, little man.") he's also got this full set of…samurai armor? It's hung up all impressive over the Strider's ridiculously tacky fireplace.

You kind of want to facepalm. Bro's just as much of an anime freak as Nepeta is.

Not to mention loaded, you realize as you keep looking. You guess you didn't notice so much as a kid because it wasn't something kids really think about, but it's pretty damn obvious to you now that the Strider's are definitely well off.

Then again, maybe it's not surprising. Those binders Bro got you are far from cheap.

(Which reminds you. You still want to thank him for that. But not with Dave around.)

Dave wants to have a bonfire before you go to bed, but since it rained the night before, everything is too wet to get a fire going. You retreat to his room and play more video games instead.

There are a few times you notice Dave almost call you 'she' or 'her', but he always catches himself and you always pretend you didn't notice.

It's good enough for now.

You wake up in the middle of the night to go take a piss.

When you're walking back to Dave's room, you notice Bro sitting outside on their porch steps, slowly smoking a cigarette. You hesitate before walking to the sliding door and stepping out to join him.

"Hey," you say, standing on the step higher than the one Bro is sitting on.

"Sup, little man," Bro replies, a light laugh in his voice.

"I didn't know you smoked," you blurt out. You immediately turn red.

Bro laughs, nearly blowing the tip of his cigarette out all together. "It's not something I make a habit of," he tells you, a grin still on his face. "But it can calm some nerves in a pinch."

"You're nervous?" you ask, slowly sitting down onto the step. Even being a step higher than Bro puts you almost level with him.

He hums thoughtfully and inhales a long, slow drag. "Yes, and no," he says after a moment.

"Of what?" you mumble. There's a little stone on the step. You push it around with your finger.

"For Dave," he says simply.

"Why?"

He chuckles, a little grin tugging on one side of his mouth. "Kid'd probably hate me for telling you this, but he actually put a lot of stock into you coming."

"Why?"

"I think he was afraid that if he didn't try to see you over the summer at all you'd go back to ignoring him."

You tense, try to crush the stone under your finger. "It's not my fault he's a dick," you mutter.

"Never said it was," Bro says, and takes another drag. "Though, to be fair, it's not his fault he felt like his best friend didn't trust him."

You wince. The stone is starting to dig painfully into your finger. "I just-"

"You know he never had a problem with the trans thing, right?" Bro plows on before you can come up with a defense. "If that's why you think he was mad, get that outta your head, lil' man."

You kind of wish you could crumble into yourself. You draw your shoulders in, your face feels too hot, and it has nothing to do with the Texan summer heat. You're not sure what to say, and after an uncomfortable silence, Bro starts again.

"Well, maybe that's not completely true," he muses. He takes one final breath from his cigarette and grinds it into the step to put it out.

"What do you mean?" you ask. Your voice is small.

Bro heaves out a short laugh, almost like a bark. "You gave the poor kid one hell of a sexuality crisis."

You feel like the cicadas in the trees have made their way under your skin, buzz, buzz, buzzing. You know what Bro means by it, but you don't want to think about it. If you think about it, it'll be real. Instead, you change the subject.

"And you don't have a problem with it?" you ask. "With the, uh, trans thing?"

"Nah," Bro says with a shrug. "No point. Never raised Dave to be one to judge over that kind of thing, either. Be pretty damn hypocritical if I did."

"How come?" you ask, and you force yourself to actually look at him while he talks.

"Probably something to do with the fact that I'm no straight ironing board."

"Oh." You're surprised - Bro doesn't exactly fit the flaming gay stereotype by any means. But, you figure, you don't really add up to all your stereotypes either.

Bro stands up suddenly and rolls his shoulders. "Anyway. You should get back to bed, kiddo."

You grunt in agreement and follow him back inside. It's funny. Bro still towers over you, but he doesn't feel as big to you as he used to. Less like superhero, and more like a human hero.

Before you turn off to Dave's room you stop. "Wait!"

"Yeah?" Bro says, eyebrow raised.

"I wanted to say thanks," you mutter awkwardly. "For the binders."

His chest heaves in a few, short, silent laughs. "Anytime, little man," he says and brings a hand up to ruffle your hair before lightly shoving you back towards Dave's room.

You hardly even blink and then it's at almost Thanksgiving and tenth grade is already a third over.

Time has never moved so fast. So bright, and the days feel like an impressionist painting, blurred together, but colors so vibrant you'll never forget the feelings from those days. Maybe it's because life always goes faster the older you get, or maybe because for the first time in forever you might actually be close to what happiness is.

You never thought having friends, like a real group of friends, was something you were missing. You hadn't realized how much you wanted it until you got it.

What's more than just a little unexpected is how well Kanaya and John begin taking to each other. They'd been politely friendly before, but they're genuinely starting to open up, and in turn, as much as you don't want to admit it, John has been growing on you as well.

Dave has the two of you over at the same time every now and then. John's annoying but fun to fight with, and you always love an excuse to murder him in Super Smash Bros, because hey! You can! It helps make up for the constantly reopened wound of being absolutely destroyed by Dave all the time. Well, almost. You can pretend that Dave's win record doesn't bother you.

But you begin to notice, not until nearly halfway through the year, little differences in the way Dave treats you now, compared to how he used to.

The way his hands linger on your skin after giving you a clap on the shoulder, a little longer than necessary. The way he looks for excuses to get his fingers in your hair because - oh, hey Karkat, your hair's sticking up all funny again, let me fix that. The way he sits close enough for your thighs to be pressed together as you play games, and you check, so you know he doesn't do the same to John.

You're not stupid. You know what it means. You know and you're terrified. You're terrified by the way your stomach rolls and spreads a heat through you that's both nauseating and horrendously pleasant. By the way your gaze catches on his lips as he talks, the way your fingers itch for his hand when you walk next to each other.

Your movies lied to you and you maybe kind of hate them for it. They didn't tell you how miserable this would be. You've watch dozens of the 'best friends fall in love' trope but they never made it look so scary, and they never told you which words to choose when you talk to him because now you're never sure if anything being said is flirting or just talking like you always have. They never told you how to fall for the guy who abandoned you and then came back and they sure as hell never told you how two boys get into this romance thing when maybe one isn't really a boy except he is.

Part of you wants to talk to Kanaya about this but part of you is still too reluctant to eat your own pride to bring it up with her.

Turns out, because life just loves you so much, you end up eating an entire pride buffet.

"So are you two ever gunna go out or what?" John asks, a mouth full of french fries and a head full of stupid.

You proceed to inhale an entire french fry of your own. You have a glorious life.                            

"What?" you wheeze after coughing up a lung and possibly someone's zombie girlfriend. You stare wearily at the thing you coughed up. If you're lucky it'll mutate and eat you alive to spare you of this humiliation. Thank fuck John at least had the decency to bring this up while Kanaya was home sick and Dave was in the bathroom. Apparently the asshole does have half a sense of tact. You're still going to murder him, though.

"You and Dave, duh," he says, and you would like very much to rip the grin right off his face.

"Oh my fuck, shut up." You are an eloquent motherfucker. It is you. "There's nothing even going on, the fuck have you been smoking and if it's that trippy can I have some."

He laughs and takes a bite out of his soggy excuse for a burger. "Come on, Karkat, you'd have to be blind to miss how in love with each other you are." He wiggles his eyes brows on the words 'in love' and you've never entertained the idea of adopting a rabid badger as much as right now. Just to let it eat his face.

"Oh my god, we're not having this conversation. I'm concussed. I'm in a coma and this is some trauma-induced nightmare. Put me out of my misery. Tell my dad I love him."

He snorts and then shrugs. "Whatever, dude, I'm just trying to do the both of you a favor. It's painful to watch."

You groan and bury you face in your hands. Your ears are on fire. "Kanaya set you up to this, didn't she?"

A devious smile passes over his lips and he shoves his face back into his burger to hide it. So that's a yes then.

"I hate you both," you whine into your palms.                                                                                                              

“Whoa, what's up with you?" Dave asks and you snap your head up and try to burn as many 'fuck yous' as you can into John's skull in the split second your eyes dart his way before going back to Dave, mortification turning your face dark.

"Nothing." You say too quickly and you hate yourself for not hearing him coming.

"I was just telling Karkat about this chick who made cupcakes out of semen instead of milk," John says easily, and maybe you hate him, but maybe you also admire his ability to lie on the spot.

"Dude, what the fuck," Dave says, nose scrunched in disgust. "Why were you talking about jizzcakes?"

"Because you have horrible taste in friends," you seethe, and try to focus all your attention into getting your face to return to its normal color.

You have a crush on Dave and you hate yourself.

You have a crush on Dave and you hate yourself and your pants are around your ankles and you're hunched over on the bathroom floor, and you're not thinking about Dave right now because this is humiliating enough as it is.

This is all Dave's fault, you decide as you snake your hand between your legs. It's his fault for making your stomach flip. It's his fault for making you feel things low in your gut that mortify and terrify you. It's his fault that you even started to wonder how you would do anything…like that.

Sex is…you want to do it. At some point. Maybe not even with Dave but with someone, sometime. You don't even want it now but you know someday you will and then what? What do you do when the parts of you that you need for that don't line up with what your head tells you they should be. When you've got the wrong set of plumbing and you've got no idea how to work with what you've got.

You're terrified to work with what you've got.

You squeeze your eyes so tight it hurts and you press your index finger between the crease there. You breathe out, feel ridiculous because this is so stupid, and let your fingers play with the folds a bit.

After a few short minutes it gets boring and your shoulders relax and thank god, it should not be such a big deal in the first place. You find that if you keep your mind at a distance from yourself, observe what you're doing like it's not actually happening to you but maybe in a health video or something, it takes the edge of your panic away and you can focus on just exploring. You still avoid that 'magic button.'

Your junk's a junk. A girl junk. But, hey it's still a junk. You try to take a peek but then your gut squeezes like someone's got their hands in your intestines when you look at it too long so you close your eyes again, just focus on what you feel with your hands.

You saw enough to know it looked similar enough to all those photos you saw in sex ed. You were expecting it, but for whatever reason, you can't fight off the disappointment swimming in your veins.

You keep your feelings for Dave squished down, squelching it like an overfed slug into a jar of expired jelly.

That is to say - your feelings are a gross, mushy mess and tend to leak out anyway. Fuck.

You're sure Dave has noticed, just the way you've noticed his (admittedly obvious - how did you not see it before -) feelings for you. But neither of you bring it up, just continue to awkwardly dance around each other while trying to keep your whole friendship thing intact.

And honestly you do a pretty damn good job of it.

By the time the school year is coming to a close, it almost feels like you never broke apart. Your dynamics with each other may have changed, and maybe he's not your entire world anymore since you have more friends than just him (which is, honestly, probably healthier), but that closeness is there again.

When summer finally rolls around you're back to spending many of your days at Dave's. Bro gives you some mini review lessons of how to fight, something you hadn't even really thought about in years, but, oh, how happy you are kicking those punching bags and sparring with Dave. Especially sparring with Dave. He may be way more advanced than you now, but when you do land a punch or kick to his chest, you get this smug sense of pride that you never expected to enjoy so much.

The day the two of you go uptown to the mall together, and Dave introduces you to another friend of his ('well, detention bro, really. Don't ask.'), saying that you're his best friend you feel you might actually burst, happiness blooming and swelling deep in your lungs and you can't even manage to pass off your smile as a scowl.

You think Kankri suspects you have feelings for Dave, and you're pretty sure he disapproves, mentions that he thinks you should be careful to not be hurt by him again. You usually try to turn the conversation away from Dave, and towards Meulin. It works well enough - he either goes on these long rants about why she's perfect, or turns completely red in the face if you're pissed enough to ask him about all the juicy details of his sex life. Which he may or may not have. You haven't gotten a clear answer out of him.

You want more from Dave, but you don't. You like what you have, even if it's not everything you want. You don't want to push the balance. You doubt Dave would turn you down if you did ask, but you're afraid that getting into a relationship will mess up the dynamic you have now, and you don't want to lose that again.

You're afraid of how far things will go, if you do get together.

What if you can't get intimate? What if you can't do it right? What if you're too scared because, fuck, you can't even handle your private bits. It scares you and what if Dave doesn't like that? What if he sees you as a girl when you're all stripped down. What if he sees you as a girl now and that's why he's interested. What if, what if, what if.

Easier just to pretend those feelings aren't there in the first place.

It's funny how smooth life runs when you're actually in a place you might call 'happy.'

The days blur together, rainy spring nights shift to thick, summer heat, and you're happy. You wonder if there are people who have felt this their entire life. People who didn't spend a majority of their childhood running from bullies or feeling as though they were being eaten from the inside out.

People always say that poetry and art and beautiful things are born of pain. But you think they're wrong. The world has never been so beautiful as when you actually feel the light of the world inside and out.

Not that all your problems vanished the moment you fell into friendship with more than one person. There are still those nights you spend locked in the bathroom, chest heaving and eyes burning and unable to look in the mirror because what you see in the reflection is wrong, so wrong.

And you still don't know what to do with all those feelings that bubble their way up to the surface around Dave. Still not sure where the line between friendship and something more is. Still not sure if you're walking on a tightrope above it or if you've already stuck a foot over the line.

But really, all that is like adding salt to sugar. It's gotta be there for the sugar to be that much sweeter right?

And maybe a part of you likes to have a 'normal' problem to be flustered over for once in your life. So you've got a crush on someone. So does like, 90% of the student body. It's normal and you like that. It makes you feel just like any other kid for once.

It's Dave who finally tips the balance.

You're crouched down, cramming homework into your bag, because, fuck, your teachers are sadists who give out homework during the first week of school. Because 'you're in eleventh grade now and responsibilities and blah, blah, blah.' You're struggling to zip your bag shut when Dave steps up behind you.

"Yo," he says, and when you glance back, you note (jealously) how empty his own backpack is.

"Hey," you grunt back as you finally yank the zipper all the way closed. You stand up, swing your backpack over your shoulder and raise an eyebrow at the way he keeps shifting his weight from one foot to another, the way he keeps glancing off behind you. "What?"

He jumps a little and your eyebrows come down to furrow into a crease, a nervous twist building in your stomach at Dave's behavior. He tries to grin when he says, "Would you wanna go to the theater and watch a movie with me this weekend?"

"Sure?" you say, and it sounds more like a question than anything. "Was there something you wanted to see, or…?"

He shrugs. "Well, not really, but I figure we could just pick something out when we get there or something." His hand nervously finds its way to the back of his neck before he adds, a little rushed, "I was hoping we could go together as in like, a date. Type thing."

The tips of his ears are turning red, and he starts shuffling nervously again by time you realize you're staring, jaw slack, mouth dry. "I mean," he says, voice quivering nervously, "if you don't want to, that's -"

"Okay," you say abruptly, cutting him off.

Dave pauses for a moment, before a goofy smile pulls over his face, which he quickly tries to control into a casual grin. He doesn't do a very good job at it.

"Okay," he says in return, his smile in his voice. "Okay, cool. I'll call you tonight with show times and we can pick something out for tomorrow. Sound good?"

You nod, not trusting the stability in your voice to actually speak. And by time Dave has gone off to be picked up by his brother, you almost miss the bus because you spend a good few minutes staring blankly at your locker, not quite believing what just happened, actually happened.

It's amazing how stressful picking out an outfit can be.

For a split second, you think about calling Kanaya over to help, but you shake it off. This is embarrassing enough as it is, and having Kanaya over would make it take five times as long anyway. It would probably be helpful if you had a goddamn cell phone to just text her, but fuck if you or your dad can afford one.

In the end you choose to wear your favorite binder, one that ends just below your chest (which, at this point would probably be somewhere between an A and B cup if you actually wore bras. Thankfully, they seem like they're going to stay relatively small. Well, you hope so, anyway), and a polo with a hooded vest over it. Casual but still relatively nice. Better than your normal turtleneck or hoodie anyway. You wear some casual khakis with it. If Dave has the nerve to tease you about your outfit, you'll punch him.

The night before, the two of you had decided on some stupid looking comedy that apparently had a good romantic subplot. But to be honest, you're not even sure if you'll be able to pay attention with the way your nerves are eating you alive.

Dave comes to pick you up by himself, borrowing Bro's car. Which is good because you think if you had to experience this in front of Bro you might actually die from embarrassment. But it's also bad because, as you quickly come to realize, Dave is a terrifying driver. You decide the second you get your own license, you'll do all the fucking driving.

Thankfully, Dave decided to dress similarly to you. Casual, but nicer than he normally does. It'll probably keep the two of you from obviously looking like you're on a date anyway.

(A date!!)

You don't act much different than you normally do, but just knowing you're on a date is enough to have you both nervous. Dave's fidgeting nonstop and you can't stop playing with the edge of your sleeves, and fuck how the hell are you even supposed to enjoy yourself when you're so goddamn nervous about everything?

When you get to the theater you realize you were right - it's nearly impossible for you to pay attention to what's on screen.

What does have your attention is the way Dave's breath feels against your ear when he leans in to whisper a comment in your ear. The way your legs sometimes brush from how close the seats are. The way you both jump whenever your hands accidentally brush when reaching for the popcorn.

You also pay too much attention to the way your hips and thighs look so wide when you're sitting down. The way your mouth tastes like popcorn and stale soda and how much you hope your breath isn't bad. The way Dave pulls out his phone to send a few texts and how much you want to punch him when he does.

About halfway through the movie, Dave hooks his foot around your ankle and, really, it's all very cheesy, but it still makes your stomach flop in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant.

And, heart thudding, you wipe the popcorn grease from your hands onto your pants before reaching over and awkwardly sliding your hand over Dave's. Because that's what you're supposed to do, right? Oh, god, you half hope lightning will strike you where you sit.

You duck your head against your chest when you see Dave glance over, beyond thankful for the dark room so he can't see the blush that has caught your face on fire.

You're also glad he can't see the smile that cracks over your face when his fingers curl into yours.

The ride back is a little awkward since you're both still quite a bit nervous. You kind of wish you hadn't eaten the popcorn. Your stomach hurts.

When you get back, Dave scrambles out of the car so he can walk you to the door. Part of you wants to roll your eyes at him for how cheesy it is. Part of you wants to grind your face into the wall for actually feeling flustered by it.

You force yourself to bicker the way you normally do, feel relieved when he laughs. You stand in the doorway for a bit just talking about the movie, about school. Really, if it weren't for the fact that you know this is technically a date, you doubt you'd feel any differently than you normally do when hanging out with Dave.

But you do know, so everything is covered in a haze of giddy nerves.

When you finally turn the knob and crack the door ajar, Dave jumps, says your name.

When you turn to face him, he ducks down and presses a short kiss to your cheek. You go rigid in surprise and when Dave pulls back, his face is as red as yours feels.

"See you Monday?" he asks, words mushing together a bit for how fast he says them.

"Um. Yeah," you reply eloquently.

Dave's lips press thin in a smile he tries to hide. "Okay, see you then."

You wait until his car is out of sight before you finally go inside.

That night you absolutely refuse to answer the phone when your dad tells you John called. Fucking bucktoothed bastard.

For a week or so after your date, you're not sure how to act around Dave.

Do you act like you always have, or do you act, fuck, boyfriendly? Or? There needs to be a fucking manual for this kind of shit.

By the end of the week you get fed up with all the awkwardness and just ask Dave right out what the deal is now. He gets a little flustered and mumbly, but after a bit of needling, he admits he'd like to be your boyfriend. If he can.

You choke on your own answer and finally just settle on a tight nod, which makes Dave break into a huge smile and scoop you into a tight hug.

You smile and push your face into his neck.

It goes slow from there.

For a few weeks, you spend a lot of your time at Dave's. After school, on the weekends, whenever. The first time you go to visit, you're almost too embarrassed to face Bro to go, but Dave practically drags you over anyway. Bro does tease you, though.

When you tell your own dad, he stops drying the dishes he's working on, surprised, before smiling and telling you that he was waiting for it to happen. Urgh. What's worse is the conversation that follows. Stuff about not being allowed to have the bedroom door shut when he's over and nnnghh.

For the most part, when you're together, things are a lot like they've always been. You still bicker about stupid things, you still spend a lot of your time playing stupid video games or watching shitty YouTube videos.

The difference comes with how you rest your head on his shoulder when you watch movies. How he drapes himself over you when you're sitting on a chair. How you let him play with your hair and how you can't keep your hands away from him for too long. How you shakily move to sit across his lap for the first time, and how he nervously wraps his arms across your middle. How he will sometimes press his lips against your neck, and how you shudder from it.

And how, nearing your third week together as boyfriends, Dave bites his lips and turns away from the TV to look at you, eyebrows slightly drawn, shifts so he's facing you where you sit on the floor, back resting against the couch in his living room.

"Can I kiss you?"

You jerk back, surprised, stomach flipping dangerously and what you sputter in return can't even be considered words.

"Well," he continues, his face turning a bit red. "It's been a couple weeks, and we're being kinda stupid 'bout this and, well -" He swallows thickly. "I'd like to."

There's a moment, that lasts about half a breath, in which you realize you're never going to get your mouth working enough to form a response, so instead you lean forward and press your lips against the corner of his mouth. You quickly pull back, heart pounding, just in time to see Dave's lips spread into a smile before he's leaning back into you.

You're almost overwhelmingly warm, like you're suffering from a full body flush, and everywhere Dave touches you (a hand on your shoulder for support, another on your neck, thumb brushing your cheek) is like a small flame that blooms outwards.

It's not perfect. Neither of you are exactly sure what you're doing. You can't figure out where your hands should go, and you think Dave's mouth is open too far sometimes, and you quickly realize that Hollywood kisses are fake as hell.

But it's Dave. You're kissing Dave. Breathing in the smell of him, feeling the heat coming from his flushed face, feeling his heart thrumming beneath the hands you have clutched to his chest. And, god, you wouldn’t trade the world if it meant stopping.

It feels a lot like drowning.

You gasp for breath, fingers digging into Dave's chest and collar, clinging desperately to him like you'll sink away if you don't. You taste his breath as you inhale desperately before mashing your mouth against his again.

It always goes this way. The two of you barely in his room before you're on the floor and he's pushing your back against the side of his bed, and he's everywhere. He's in every sense you have, taste, touch, smell, sound, sight. The room is him, the feel of his hands gripping your knee, the little noises he makes, they're all so him, so familiar, and so bizarre all the same.

And like always, you're overwhelmed quickly. You don't want to stop, the heat swimming under your skin screams at the thought, but you do, you do. You're scared. You're scared so you press to him tighter, because this is Dave, and he makes you feel safe.

You have no idea what you're doing. You're scared it shows. You're scared by the things he makes you feel when you never thought those things were even within the human realm of perception.

The kissing you like. The way you feel like you're sharing each other's breath. The way his tongue feels powerful at the same time as soft. The way you can pull a sound from him when you brush your own tongue along the roof of his mouth. The way he playfully bites at your bottom lip. Even the way he tastes like stale Mt. Dew, because it's so him.

And part of you wishes you could just keep on kissing forever and forget everything else.

But then, the heat between your legs, the almost painful throbbing there, disagrees.

You're both trying to reign your bodies in, you think. Which is why Dave's fingers are curled white into your knees instead of wandering higher, why you keep your hips a safe distance from his.

Though when Dave moves his hands to your waist, and his leg slides between yours, you instinctively try to push down against it, your stomach flopping, and you squeeze your eyes tight, a shuddery groan forcing its way through your teeth.

But when you feel the slimy dampness in your boxers, your lungs seize up, your lips pull into a grimace, and you stiffen against him.

Dave's breath stills for a short moment before pulling back, face flushed, lips red.

"What's up?" he asks breathily, licks a bit of spit off his lower lip.

"Wanna play a video game?" you reply quickly. A look of bewilderment passes across his face, so fast you nearly miss it, but you see the moment he registers your expression, your wide eyes and tight mouth, and in that moment his face softens into a small smile.

"Yeah, okay."

There comes a matter of hormones.

It's something you've thought about often, albeit not quite directly. The different hormone levels between boys and girls, and how you wish you could have more 'boy' hormones. Though it was never a thought you really put into words, much less action. It had become something you'd become resigned to accepting just wouldn't happen.

So it comes as a shock when Kankri comes home for thanksgiving, and asks you about getting T.

T for testosterone.

Kankri tells you about how he met a couple transguys on campus, about how they take T, how it changes their bodies, makes them look like 'real' men. Explains that by getting injections, it puts their bodies through something like a second puberty.

It excites you. It terrifies you.

You want it. You want to have a square jaw and to have a deeper voice and to be able to grow facial hair. But you're scared. You're scared because you don't know exactly how it'll change you. What if something goes wrong? What if it just makes you look gross and fake? What if it makes you feel worse?

You guess you always knew there were people who got surgery and stuff, but you somehow didn't think of it being applied to you. Like it was just something other people went through. And now being faced with it, suddenly you're unsure.

The top surgery, getting your breasts removed, you wouldn't hesitate to have done at this very moment if you could. But T is more, well, more.

It'll change how you look. Hormones can change how you feel - you've had enough periods by now to know that firsthand. What if it changes who you are? What if you regret it?

And for the first time since Middle School, you're unsure about this whole thing all over again. Because a real man wouldn’t hesitate at the chance, would he? You should be demanding a shot right now, not feeling like you'll cry because you don't know what to do.

What if this was just a phase? You beg it not to be. It can't. You didn't go through all that hell for nothing. And the moment you try to picture yourself with long, pretty hair, in a nice, pretty dress, that familiar cold hand grips around your heart, and you feel as though your soul has been shucked out of your body, like you're hanging onto it by the barest thread.

You can't be wrong. So what the hell is wrong with you?

"It's okay to be unsure," Kankri tells you. "It's a big decision. And you've got time."

Time, you wonder. You wonder how true that is. At college people may be more accepting of that sort of thing, but would you really be able to transition while you work at a real life job? Would people still be as okay with it?

Regardless, you can't afford it now. When you go online to do some research on it, the prices alone knock the possibility from your world.

At least for the time being.

You have to make a concerted effort to keep Kanaya in your life.

John too, for that matter, but also fuck him.

Honestly, you have to make a concerted effort to keep anything that's not Dave in your life. You abso-fucking-lutely refuse to be one of those lovesick teenagers that drops everything else in their life once they get themselves a boyfriend.

So you still blow off Dave every so often to spend the weekend at Kanaya's. She always demands details about your relationship, much to your embarrassment. Really, you think she's just teasing you. When you snapishly tell her to get a girlfriend of her own, she confesses that she met some girl named Rose during a recent tour to a college she's interested in.

You can't decide what surprises you more - the fact that Kanaya is already checking out colleges, or that she already got this Rose girl's phone number. When Kanaya shows you her Facebook page, you find out she's some creepyass blonde chick who wants to go into psychology and has a thing for cats and wizard porn.

You don't get what Kanaya sees in her, but you're happy for her anyway.

But then you wonder, what does Dave see in you?

You're not going to go on a horrible self-pitying parade or get into a pissing contest with yourself about everything that's wrong with you. Because really, you could do that to Dave, too. Question why the fuck you fell for some guy that let you be bullied for two years and sometimes scratches his balls with Dorito hands and licks his fingers afterwards.

There are days you get insecure in those ways, sure, but you think that's normal. Days where you hate yourself for a lot of things and wonder why anyone would care about you. Not just Dave in particular.

So it's not so much what he sees in you as a person that worries you, but as a boyfriend.

Namely, the boy part of boyfriend.

It's insecure. It's stupid. It still has you asking him one day when you're over at his place after school.

"So does this mean you concede to being gay or what?" you say. You've never been much for tact.

Dave's Mario falls of the battle platform as he nearly loses grip on his controller all together. "What?"

"Well," you say, using the opportunity to have your Pikachu grab the hammer that appeared on screen. "You have a boyfriend. Who is a boy. And you also happen to be a boy." You grimace and shift your legs into a more comfortable position under you. "So that must mean you're okay with being a fucking fag."

Dave doesn't say anything at first. You look at him from the corner of your eyes to see him frowning, eyebrows lowered behind his shades and his bottom lip being worked between his teeth.

For a moment you think he's not going to answer, and you feel your face beginning to burn with shame, and your stomach with anger. But then he sighs through his nose and pauses the game.

"So what bit your ass this morning?" he asks, nose crinkled from his grimace.

You balk. "Nothing! Fuck."

He heaves out another sigh and then turns to face you, his arm propped up on the bed so his fingers can play with the collar of your shirt. "Then the fuck is this all about?" he asks. "Did I do something?"

Suddenly, you feel really stupid and wish you could cut your own tongue out. But at the same time, you know that uncomfortable uncertainty that rests at the base of your spine won't go away. Not until you talk about this.

"No," you reply. It sounds too much like a whine.

"Then what?" Dave asks. His lips are pinched. "I'm trying, Karkat. I'm sorry if I fuck up sometimes, but you can't just expect me to read your mind and know it every time that I do."

"No, fuck, I know," you say, grit your teeth. "I told you, it's not that."

"Then, what?" he says, frustration strong in his words. "What do you want me to say? That I'm a raging homo like Bro? So what? So you can feel secure? Because what about me, Karkat?"

"Then what about you?" you say loudly, your face burning.

"Why does it matter?" he shouts, before jerking his hand from your shirt to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes, knocking his shades askew. The suddenness, how quickly he loses his temper catches you off guard. He's normally too cool headed.

"Because," you try, voice reedy and you hate it. "Because I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I'm scared you only like me because you still see me as a girl!" Your voice cracks on the last word and your forcefully wipe the growing tear from your eye. You're so pathetic. You're so awful you feel like you could just die from the shame.

Dave lets out this strangled sound of frustration and knocks off his shades altogether as he brings a second hand up to bury in his face. "I don't!"

There's a beat where you don't know what to say. Because you believe him, but you don't. You believe him because he's your best friend and you trust him. You don't, because why would he make a big deal out of it if it were so simple?

Maybe he's not sure whether or not he believes it himself.

Before you can figure out what to say, he's continuing. "Don't you think I haven't thought about this before?"

Of course he has. Bro told you as much. But he didn't tell you what Dave decided was the answer.

"I just, I don't, augh," Dave groans and pulls his hands away from his face and raises his head to look at you. "I don't know why it's so important to put a word on it!" His eyes dig into yours, makes you uncomfortable. So you focus a lot of your attention on the weird shade of his irises to distract yourself. They're this weird shade of light brown, almost reddish. He told you once it's because the pigmentation in his eyes never filled all the way in, so the red of his retina shows through. Which is also why he needs his shades to block out most of the light his eyes aren't able to. Very fascinating. But you've always hated how much he hides behind those sunglasses.

Unfortunately he looks away, talking your distraction away. You look away, too. Without his eyes too look at, you'll have to focus on his expression. It hurts too much.

"Why is putting a word on it so fucking hard?" you ask. You don't understand. When you found a word for what you were, you were so happy. Happy to know that other people are like you, and you're not a complete freak of nature.

"Because nothing fits," he says, and you hear his voice waver before he clears his throat with a growl. "Why does it even fucking matter? I like you, Karkat. Not your clothes or your hair or your junk. You."

There's another pause. You pick at the edge of your sleeve, face hot and eyes stinging. You don't know what to say. You feel awful. For being so self-centered, for being so needy, so dumb.

"All that other stuff, that’s just what comes with," Dave says softly. "I don't care what package you came in, I just like you."

"That was fuckin' cheesy," you say with a wet laugh, and Dave gives you a mock punch to the shoulder. "I'm sorry," you add quietly.

"S'cool," Dave mumbles. "Sorry I yelled."

"I deserved it."

"True."

"Wow." You glare at him, but your lips are pulled into a smile you can't help, so you lean in and give him a short peck on the lips.

"Like I said," he smiles, "I'm trying my best. I'll fuck up but that's the most I can do."

"Well, fuck," you grin. "I suppose I'll have to pick up some slack."

"You are kind of a lazy lampshade, bro."

"Fuck you."

The first time you get a finger up inside you, you nearly kill yourself from clocking your head back against the bathroom sink when you jerk back in shock.

You use the hand that isn't wedged into your crotch to rub the back of your poor, abused head. You weren't expecting your finger to just go in like that. There was some resistance, and then schulrp, your finger is in past the second knuckle.

At first, you keep your hand completely still, legs trembling where you sit on the bathroom floor. You stare blankly at the wall, breathing shallow before crooking your finger.

Really, other than the constant buzzing of adrenaline under your skin, it's not very exciting. If you're going to be completely honest, it's pretty gross, like picking your nose or something. You look up at the ceiling as you move your finger around, try to pretend you don't have your hand all up in your crotch, think only objectively about what you're feeling against your finger.

It's weird that you can feel your pelvic bone against your finger, you don't know why you weren't expecting that. And you're stupidly surprised that it doesn't feel immediately good, or even sexual. Like you were stupid enough to believe a porn star who starts orgasming the second something goes in.

But like always, you just end up feeling stupid after a few moments and slide your finger back out, grimacing at the slimy stuff on it.

You wash your hands, feeling ridiculous, but at least maybe not quite so scared.

Kankri gets engaged.

He's home for winter break when he proudly shows off the diamond ring he bought for Meulin. It's not the biggest diamond ever, but honestly you're surprised he got the money for it in the first place. And it's pretty enough.

You're not terribly surprised by the news - the two have been dating forever, but it still feels kind of surreal, watching your dad give Kankri a huge hug, and then even picking up Meulin, twirling her around to welcome her to the family.

You've got this big smile on your face that you can't force away, because you love your family, you love your family so much.

Your smile gets even bigger when Kankri asks you to be his best man.

Your fingers are in Dave's hair, mouth desperate against his, and you don't even care that some of his spit is trailing down your cheek, because, fuck, fuck, you just need more of him.

His hands are holding your hips down underneath him, pushing you back into the couch (out in the living room, what if Bro comes back? Fuck, you don't care.), and this time you're the one who gets a leg up between his thighs, and he's grinding against it, and your own crotch is safe from temptation, despite how much it throbs, throbs, and fuck you want something there, but you're too scared, so instead you focus on the noise coming from Dave's mouth.

And then Dave is seizing up against you, ridged, a strangled groan coming from between his clenched teeth.

Your eyes snap open, and catch a split second of his expression before he basically flops down on you. Confusion making your mind blank for a short moment until he lifts his head up to look you in the eyes, face beet red. You snort, trying to hold in your laughter, but fuck, you burst out laughing anyway and push him off of you.

"Oh, fuck you," he says, breathless, but he's laughing, too.

You’re still snickering as he awkwardly makes his way to his bedroom to get a new pair of underwear, and you're reveling in your power trip because, hell yeah, you just made your boyfriend come in his pants.

You very pointedly do not think about how wet your own underwear is.

It's sometime during Spring Break that you get your hand down his pants for the first time.

He just sort of freezes under you and stares down at the hand on his crotch like he can't quite wrap his head around the fact that it's there.

You take in a shaky breath, wipe your tongue across your lower lip and wrap your hand around his half hard dick. You've gotten his jeans unbuttoned, but you still had to stick your hand under his underwear. Part of you wants to just yank them down so you can see what you're doing. See what your own dick should be doing if you had one.

You both look up at the same time to make eye contact, and you're surprised by how…not scared, but definitely nervous, Dave looks.

You hesitate, open your mouth to ask if it's okay, but Dave pulls you down to press his mouth to yours. You smile against his lips and let your hand explore his junk, half enjoying the way his breath hitches, half trying to picture it, learn it, so you can know what you're missing.

He pulls away from the kiss when he starts to get close, pushing his head back against the carpet and you bury your face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. Drink in the euphoria you get as he arches his back, pushing up into you as he comes.

You kiss him all over his face as he comes down from his orgasm, and you let yourself just lay on top of him or a while, enjoy how close you feel to him.

You don't let him return the favor.

By the time summer comes around, you've jerked Dave off a few times. Once in plain sight to, so you could see what you were doing. Which was pretty fucking great, actually.

You still haven't let Dave touch you.

At first, he was pretty chill about it. Confused maybe, but he let it go. But as time goes by, the more and more frustrated he gets every time you pull away, every time you push his hands away from your chest, your crotch, even your hips.

You want to let him touch you. You want to, but every time he does, it's like you get pushed out of your own body, and where he's touching you is alien and terrifying, so you push him away altogether.

You want to tell him, but you can barely even put it into words for yourself. And his frustration, well, you're frustrated, too. He can deal.

It's when you start to see the hurt in his eyes every time you push him away that you start to break.

But you just don't know what to say.

Impending adulthood hits you like a bat to the head.

You're watching TV with Dave in his living room when Bro frisbees a letter to him. Dave catches it easily and curiously looks down at the letter. You tilt your head as he opens it, skims to the bottom of the paper. A huge grin blooms over his face.

"Yes!" he says excitedly, pumping his fist into the air before looking at his letter again, like it's straight up word porn.

"What?" you ask, crane your neck to read the letter over his shoulder.

"I got accepted to the Univeristy I applied to!" he answers, tilting the paper so you can read it better.

"You applied for college already?" you ask, bewildered. College seems like a lifetime away.

He shrugs. "Well yeah. We've only got a year of school left, and I know what I want to go into so…"

"You do?"

"Yeah. Paleontology."

"Paleontology?"

"It’s like, studying fossils and shit. To figure out evolution," he says, sounding a bit self-conscious, but mostly just excited. "I dunno, man. I just like dead things, I guess."

"Oh. Wow," you say, staring blankly at the paper in his hands. "That's cool."

Sure you'd noticed the dead animals in jars, the bones and fossils he's got in his room, but you'd always just assumed he liked them because they were creepy or something. Honestly, if anything, you'd have expected him to go into music, or even photography maybe, given the way he's got all these photos that he took pinned up to his wall. When you say as much, he laughs and admits he's hoping to minor in one of those, maybe even both.

It's a surreal feeling. It's not like you don't know that adulthood is just around the corner - you just turned seventeen - yet it's like you can't actually wrap you head around the idea. Or more like you're walking through the motions, one step at a time, knowing what you're walking towards but not really feeling it. Like some small part of your mind has been convinced you'd be a kid forever.

And so you spend a good amount of your time alone that summer in a mild panic about college, life after high school in general. The sudden realization hit home, and though you try to convince yourself that you've got a whole year yet before you really start worrying, suddenly all you can think about is what will you go into, how will dorming work with your gender shit, and, oh god, come to think of it, Kankri had known what college he was going to well over a year in advance, too, didn't he?

When you talk to Kanaya about it, she admits that she's been accepted to a few schools already, and that she's just waiting to pick which one she wants to go to, because she wants to see if she can go to the same one as that Rose girl.

You even end up asking John. To your relief, he tells you that he hasn't started applying yet either, though he's pretty sure he'd like to go into biology or something similar. You're not even sure what you'd like to go into yet. You like movies, and you like reading, so maybe something in Film Studies or Literature? You just don't know.

And more than anything, you worry about money. About a month before school starts back up, you start hunting for jobs. It's harder than you thought it'd be. Living in a small town doesn't give you many options in the first place, and filling out applications is a major pain in the ass.

The biggest problem about filling out job applications should really be the easiest part. But fuck, you can't even fill out a simple survey. Because you always get stuck at the dreaded, 'Sex: M/F?'

It's not like you don't know the answer. You do. Sex and gender are different things, and while your gender doesn't agree, your sex is definitely female. It's just you hate the answer so much, your gut curling angrily every time you put a check mark next to that F.

And the bigger problem, of course, is that you don't dress or behave female, so what does that mean for when you get an interview? You sure as fuck aren't going to put on makeup and put on a lady uniform, that's for sure.

Kankri tells you to make a note of your situation in the little 'additional comments' box that's usually at the end of the application. You wrinkle your nose, because really, this is small-town Texas, and you're pretty sure putting down on paper that you're a flying faggot isn't going to help you get a job. If anything, you bet the employers will just throw your application in the trash. But you take his advice and do it anyway.

When you run out of places to apply in your town, you desperately start looking in the next town. You'll have to bike quite a ways to work if you get one there, since it's too rural of an area for there to be any buses, but hell, anything is better than nothing. It's only about a 15 minute bike ride, so you shouldn't have too much of a problem if the weather is nice. Your dad says you can take his car if he's home in time, and even Dave offers to give you a ride sometimes if you need it. Really, you just need your own car, but problem is, you need money first.

After applying at a few places there, you call it good. It's not like you'd be able to get to any job further away, anyway. You'll just have to wait and hope.

Every time you push Dave away, the more it hurts, so you start to avoid physical contact with him all together.

He notices pretty damn quick, so you tell him you're just on your period so you're not in the mood. He frowns, but accepts it, offers to watch a movie instead. The guilt you feel for lying nearly outweighs your relief of getting out of a makeout session.

But your little excuse doesn't cut it for much longer than a week.

He goes from being hurt to being angry. He stops calling to ask you over as much, starts spending a lot of his time with John again. It hurts, but you can't even blame him, and you hate yourself so, so much.

When he does still have you over, he stops trying to start anything, puts a pretty obvious distance between the two of you. Which in a way, is a relief, because you don’t have to worry about it. But it also makes you feel irrationally hurt and rejected, which is fucking stupid because it's your fault he's even acting this way. For fuck's sake, he's probably just trying to respect your boundaries or something. And yet, here you are, feeling like a dejected child. Fuck emotions. Seriously.

When it's only a couple weeks away from the start of school, you have Dave over to your place for a change. Your dad is at work, and Kankri is out with Meulin, so you have the house to yourself.

The two of you are sprawled across your bed, windows open as far as they'll go to fight off the thick summer heat that’s ebbed under your skin. The air is muggy and heavy, your mind fuzzy from the way the heat sits on you.

Despite the heat, it's been a good day for a change. The two of you bought some ice cream, and you spent the afternoon on your mattress with your feet propped up on his chest while you cleaned out two bowls of ice cream before your stomach refused to let you have more. It's been comfortable between you. You gossip about some of the kids from your grade, talk about which movies you'd like to see. The reprieve from the tension you've been having is nice, though it makes your chest ache, because you know that you're the reason it's not always like this.

It's the frustration with yourself that makes your turn yourself around, put your hands on either side of his head and lean down to press your mouth hard against his.

He squawks in surprise, and you take advantage of his open mouth to get your tongue in it. Because you want him to know you're not going to shy away this time, and because you like feeling like you're in control.

He kisses back hesitantly at first, but when you lift your leg over his hips to straddle him, get your hands in his hair so you can kiss him harder, he responds almost aggressively, teeth clacking against yours as he pushes his face harder into yours.

You don't mean to let it get as heated as it does, but it's been weeks since you've done anything. And it's your fault. And you've been together nearly a year and you should have done more by now, right? God, you don't know, you don't know, but you do know that you've been awful. Awful and you suck and make a shitty boyfriend, and fuck everything, you just want him. You want him and you don't want your stupid body to get in the way this time.

You don't even register that he's got a hand up under your shirt until his palm presses the zipper of your binder uncomfortably into your skin.

But for once, you force yourself not to pull back. Force yourself to stay put as you move your head to mouth your way along his jaw, hesitantly roll your hips against his. The sound he makes it more than worth it, shoots down your spine into a shivery heat at the pit of your gut.

You can't get enough air, panting against his skin between each breath. He's jumped on the fact that you aren't retreating, his hands rubbing all over you waist, stomach, hips, even brushing up against your chest.

You shiver. Can't decide if it feels good or just overwhelming and bury your face in his hair while he gets his mouth on your throat.

Your junk is throbbing, slimy and hotter than your face, and you can feel your heartbeat thudding in it. You should probably feel embarrassed at how quickly you're getting undone, but you can feel Dave's arousal against your hip, so you're not alone, and fuck if you really give a damn, because everything is happening so much.

You roll your hips into his again, breath hitching, teeth digging into your lower lip, and fuck, fuck, you feel so empty down there, and you want something there, but the moment one of Dave's hands slips under your waist band, brushes against the wiry hair of your crotch, you jerk back, nearly fall off of him in your haste to get away from those fingers.

You end up sprawled awkwardly, legs tangled with his. Your eyes meet, and there's a pause, a heartbeat, then two, just staring at each other blankly.

And then an emotion (frustration? anger? hurt?) clouds Dave's face and he yanks his legs in towards himself.

There's another pause. You open your mouth to say something, but you can't find any words, bite down on your lip instead.

"I think…I should go," Dave finally says, voice thick with an emotion you can't place.

You nod. This is stupid. Why is he freaking out so bad? Why do you keep freaking out so bad? Jesus fuck.

You don't say anything as he slides off your bed, leaves your room, leaves your house.

You sit alone on your bed for a long time, crotch thrumming unpleasantly, and for once, you want to stick your hand down your pants just to get the feeling to go away, but you don't. Instead, you wait it out, wait for it to fade.

The constant stream of insults you mutter to yourself helps.

He calls you later that night, after your dad gets home. Says he wants to talk.

You hesitate, because really, 'we need to talk' is pretty much the most horrifying set of words you can ever hear from your boyfriend ever, but after a short pause, you agree. Because you really do Need To Talk.

He wants to meet up at the school park, because it's a halfway point between your houses. Your stomach churns nervously at the fact that he doesn't want to have you over to his place to talk, but you agree, calling over your shoulder to your dad that you'll be back later.

When you get to the park, Dave is already there, which makes you suspect he's probably actually been out there for a while, since your house is a tad closer to the park and it's not like you were walking slowly to get there. You wonder if he's been out here all day.

He's sitting on one of the swings, and it's all really cliché. He could have been original and picked the seesaw or something.

You drop into the swing next to him, push yourself slowly back and forth with your toes. The rattling of the chains sounds too loud for how quiet it is.

"Sup," he says when he realizes you aren't going to say anything.

You grunt in reply. "What did you want to talk about?" you say bluntly. You don't want to drag this out longer than you have to. You look up at the sky so you don't have to look at him. It's overcast, looks like it might rain. You wish you'd checked the weather before agreeing to meet outside.

He huffs out a heavy breath. "I think you know."

"Sorry," you say, the word slipping out before you even think to say it. "Fuck, I just- I'm sor-"

"No," Dave cuts you off. "Don't say you're sorry. I know I'm not like, fucking entitled to you or anything." His fingers turn white from the strength of his grip around the swing's chains. "Please don't fucking think that's why I - fuck. I just, I want to understand why."

It's the tone of his voice that really gets to you. He doesn't sound angry. You wish he did sound angry, because anger…anger you can deal with. But instead his voice is just thick with hurt, and it makes your throat tight.

You try to figure out what to say. It shouldn't be hard, you know why, but you can't put words to it. No…you can. It just hurts too much to say them out loud.

When you don't respond, Dave starts up again, voice all unsure and un-Dave-like. "Am I doing something wrong?"

"No!" you quickly say, guilt gripping your intestines, because, ah hell, you weren't expecting Dave to put the fault on himself, to feel like he was fucking up somehow. "It's not you, I promise! It's…me."

You tried to stay serious, but your voice breaks around the laughter building in your throat. It's so fucking cliché and even Dave starts laughing.

"Okay, okay, fuck," you laugh, and then nearly jump out of your swing as a loud roll of thunder suddenly cuts through the air. You look up at the sky just in time for a single rain drop to hit your cheek.

"Jesus dick, it's raining," Dave says, face also turned towards the sky.

"So I noticed," you say. You're about to suggest walking back to your house before it really starts coming down, but, shitfuck it's already starting to pick up really fast.

Dave scrambles out of his swing, grabs you by the wrist, tugs. "C'mon. Let's duck under the castle," he says, jerking his head towards the playground's slide, which has an obnoxiously colorful castle at the top. But a castle with a roof so you quickly follow him, scramble up the ladder and squeeze into the tiny castle. You have to keep your legs tucked up to your chest so you both fit.

The rain is loud on the roof, slow at first, and then starts pouring. You huddle in closer to Dave to keep from getting splashed by stray drops. He wraps his arm around you and you rest your head on his chest. His heartbeat sounds nice alongside the sound of the rain.

For a number of minutes, you just sit cuddled up with each other, watching the rain. You want to hope you can just watch the rain forever, forget about the conversation you should be having. But you also know it would be really stupid to keep dragging this shit on.

"It's because I've got the wrong set," you say.

"Huh?" He tilts his head to look at you. He's so close, you can see every single one of his freckles. You sort of want to kiss them all.

"I've got the wrong plumbing, the opposite set of works, the wrong fricklefrackles," you say, roll your eyes. "Kind of hard to get it on when you've got the wrong junk."

"Oh," he says, and looks down to stare openly at your crotch. Your cheeks heat up and you bury your face in your hands. "So…sex is a definite no?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, face threatening to catch fire. "No," you say, and it comes out sounding like an unholy hybrid of a groan and a whine. "I want it. I just… freak the fuck out about that part of me, like a fucking diaper shitting child because oooh sex is scary because I'm a Jesus fucking freak."

He presses a kiss against the side of your mouth. "Hey, no, shut up. It's okay. I can't pretend that I can relate, but I can at least sort of understand why. I don't want to force you to do anything that freaks you out." He pauses, eyebrows lowering, before adding, "and I don't want you to force yourself into doing something that freaks you out."

You shift to hide your face in his chest, mumble, "I just want to be normal. I just want to be a horny teenager like everyone else without losing my shit about every little fucking thing."

He hums sympathetically and you feel the vibrations of his voice deep in his chest. He presses his mouth into your hair, voice soft as he says, "I can't make it go away. I wish I could, fuck, I wish I could, but I can't protect you from that." His voice sounds strange, makes it hard for you to swallow past the sadness in your throat. You wish he wouldn't put so much on himself, wish he didn't feel like he had to be everyone's hero. "But," he says, "I can try to help, if you let me."

"How?" you ask, hating how miserable you sound.

"Just…let me know when things start bothering you. Don't just…push me away and not tell me why." He grimaces, rests his chin on your head. "Maybe we can figure this out together. Try a bit at a time, instead of going all at once and making you flip your shit."

You halfheartedly thump his chest with your fist, before turning up to press a kiss to his jaw. "Okay."

"Cool," he smiles, and cranes his head to press a short kiss to your lips, before laying his cheek against the top of your head.

You stay out there like that, stealing chaste kisses from each other, wrapped up in his arms, and watch the rain.

The storm eats up a lot of the thickness in the air, and as it starts to slow, everything seems cleaner, clearer. The streetlights and headlights of the passing cars reflect against the water on the roads, the orange looking bright against the darkening blue sky.

And you think to yourself, there's a certain beauty in the rain.

You're sort of surprised Dave doesn't try sexing you up right away after that.

Instead, you just do a lot of bro cuddling while he massacres you in Super Smash Bros. But all the tension that was there before is gone, and you're happy to just spend your time rage quitting and chucking his controllers across his bedroom.

A day or two after Kankri heads back to the University, you get a call from one of the places you applied to, asking you to come in for an interview. You spend forever in the bathroom trying to get ready, borrow one of your dad's ties, try to tame your wild hair.

The interview is awkward, you keep wiping sweat off your palms onto your pants, and you're never sure how to answer the questions to make yourself look good without sounding like you're just bragging. It only lasts for about fifteen minutes before the employer gives you a smile, says she'll call you back a in a few days with the answer.

You don't get the job.

You don't want to default to playing victim, assuming it's because you're trans. The interviewer told you it was because they found someone with past experience instead. And, you admit, you have a crabby face. Maybe you came off as rude? Besides, it was on your application, so it's not like she wouldn’t have known ahead of time. Why would she call you to an interview if she was already prejudiced against you?

But regardless how much you try to tell yourself these things, you still spend the next few days in a really foul mood, feeling like the entire world is working against you.

First day of school is pretty surreal. Just for the fact that this is going to be your last first day of school.

When class lets out, you, Dave, Kanaya, and John go buy ice cream and knock the cones together like toasting a glass of wine. Cheers to one last year together.

Just after a month of school has gone by, you get a three day weekend, which you naturally spend at Dave's.

You spend most of the three days shamelessly glued to him by your mouth. He doesn't seem to mind.

The second day at his house, you've gotten yourself overly worked up, breathing hard into his mouth, can't get enough of him, the taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him. He's got you under him on his bed, a hand under your shirt, another making its way up your thigh.

You're both down to your boxers (and in your case, binder), stripped down earlier to fight off the heat. There's skin everywhere, and it's like he's got electricity under his skin, charging you with every touch.

He's got his face in your neck, biting there in a way that has your breath catching in your throat. He's rocking heavily into you, pushing you back into the sheets. He never stops babbling about stupid things, and you're not even sure if he realizes it much, but it distracts you, so when his hand pushes up against your crotch you let out an ungodly yelp.

He lifts his head up to look you in the eye, asks if it's okay.

You hesitate, lick your lips, nod.

You're surprised by just how sensitive everything is down there. It wasn't like that when you've touched yourself there. But the second he slides his hand under your boxers, your feet curl into the sheets and you can't help the strangled squeak that passes through your lips.

He grins and presses a kiss to your lips, one you immediately latch on to, because kissing is safe, familiar. Helps distract you from the way Dave's fingers dip between your folds.

It's hard not to make a lot of noise, and Dave fucking giggles at you, and it takes all your self control not to bring your hands up to your face in embarrassment. Instead you push your head back, try to breathe evenly, stare at the ceiling as Dave kisses his way down your jaw, neck, collar bone.

It's when he moves down to press a kiss to the hollow by your hip bone that your hands shoot up to clutch his hair, whisper, "No."

"Sorry," he mutters, moves back up to press a short kiss to your lips.

You shake your head. "It's fine."

His hand is still all up in your junk, a single finger dangerously close to slipping inside you, and it takes all you've got not to shudder.

It's so hopelessly infuriating. You feel like it'll kill you to stop. Because it feels good. It feels really, really, really fucking good and you don't want him to stop, you don't.

Except you do, because every little touch makes you hyperaware of that part of you that you aren't supposed to have, the parts that are missing, and it makes you struggle not to choke on the lump that builds in your throat.

And the worst part is, you're not even sure if you're genuinely afraid, or if you're building it up to be something scary when it's not. Not sure if you're just nervous about sex because that's who you are as a person, or scared because your body is wrong. Where does one reason start and the other end?

"Can we stop?" you whisper.

He pauses, and you can practically hear him swallow his disappointment.

"Sure," he says.

Later that evening, Dave leaves the room for a number of minutes before coming back with a heaping load of blankets and pillows that he can barely see over. He flops them on the ground, looking quite pleased with himself.

"All right," he says. "Let's fuckin' do this."

"Do what?"

"Build a pillow fort. Duh. Outside."

Your grin nearly splits your face in two.

You spend a lot of time failing spectacularly, and you wonder how the fuck you did this as kids. Or maybe everything just seemed a lot bigger and cooler when you were little. Regardless, you spend most of your effort bickering about the best way to get it set up, and laughing at each other when one of you trips over another blanket.

The end result is a dinky little thing that the two of you can barely squeeze into together.

"This is awful," you tell him.

"Nah, you love it," he says.

You do love it. You love it even when the god-awful thing collapses on the two of you, not even an hour later.

You continue to love is as you laugh your ass off, struggling to get the blankets off of you, continue you to love it even when Bro comes outside to tell the two of you to shut up, he's trying to sleep.

But as much as you love your shitty pillow fort, you're pretty damn sure you've never loved anything or anyone as much as you love Dave.

Honestly, school is pretty fucking chill. You'd figured it'd be harder, because well, senior year. But really, it's mostly electives now, since you've already finished most of your generals.

You take a lot of extra writing and literature courses, which makes you sort of hate yourself because, goddamn, could you pick a subject with more homework? But as much as it's a lot of work, you really do enjoy writing reviews and critiques for novels, almost more than you enjoy the novel itself. You like tearing the story apart to pick out its flaws but still find how it all comes together. Your teachers tend to tell you to tone down how aggressive your papers sound, though. Whatever.

Dave is taking an independent study for Audio Technology. Which means you end up listening to a lot of his new mixes whenever he has you over. He's actually pretty good at it, though maybe not as good as some of the stuff you've heard Bro mix. But you know Bro is sort of Dave's idol when it comes to that stuff, so he'll get there.

But the best part of senior year is how much you and your classmates just don't give a fuck anymore. Senioritis at its finest. As an extra bonus, people are finally starting to grow the fuck up. They don't pick on you as much as they used to. Between maturity and being old (and therefore uninteresting) news, people tend to just ignore you. You still get a bit of shit from people if there's something that brings it up, but you doubt that'll ever completely go away.

Dave turns eighteen a few weeks before winter break. To celebrate his official adulthood, he drags you to a gas station with him while he buys a pack of cigarettes and about $50 worth of scratch-offs (just because he can). He's wins only $3 of it back, so you - obviously - laugh at him and his disgruntled expression as he cashes it in.

It's only a few days later that you get an unexpected call from one of the places you applied to way back during the summer. They say that they need extra help for the holiday season, and would like to get you in for an interview the next day.

The interview is short, and to your surprise, they tell you that you're hired before the interview is even over. They say you're perfectly fine dressing and acting as a guy, and that they'll try to make sure the rest of the staff doesn't raise any problems about it.

You're absolutely fucking glowing for the rest of the week, and you have a pretty hard time shutting up about it at school the next day. Actually getting trained in is less than fun, and you get some costumers that make you want to tear out your own eye and feed it to them, but still. Money.

The biggest downside to having a job is that it eats into so much of your free time. It gets hard to find time to spend with Dave or Kanaya, and when you do have the time, you're usually pretty tired. But college won't pay or itself, and if you don't want to spend the next 30 years of your life trying to pay off student loans, it's probably a good idea to get some money ahead of time.

Dave has you over for a few nights during winter break. When you get there, he proudly informs you that Bro is going to be gone for the next few days and that he's been slowly stealing Bro's booze over the past few months so he wouldn't notice anything.

So you end up watching shitty cartoons and drinking beer and vodka. Beer tastes like someone's liquefied dead ass, and vodka tastes like drinking hospital disinfectant, but they make everything warm and funny and good feeling.

You don't even remember how you end up in his bed with him on top of you, you just know that everything is fuzzy and warm, and you sort of don't even feel like you're in your own body. That and the ceiling above you keeps moving, and you don't really think it should be doing that.

The alcohol in Dave's mouth makes his kisses sharp, his breath hot. When he starts jerking clumsily against you, the booze in your stomach sloshes around, setting every inch of you on fire, and you sort of kind of, no wait, fuck, really, totally feel like you're going to puke.

You tell him this, emphasizing it by burping on his face. He pauses, before his stomach heaves and he lets out a huge, long and nasty burp right back on you. You curse your ass off and shove him off of you.

"Never do that again," you say, words a little slurred. He snickers.

"You did it first, bro," he says, and wraps an arm over your chest, cuddles right up to you. It's too warm, you both stink, and your stomach is angry with you. All in all, you feel pretty fucking good.

"No more making out while drunk," you decide. "I swear on Jesus's own dick, if you expel any bodily fluids on me, I'll break your face."

"Any bodily fluids?" he says, wiggles his eyebrows. "Not sure I can promise that."

"Oh my god. Stomach fluids. You know what I meant."

He sniggers against your skin, and you let your eyes slide shut, the alcohol making you drowsy. You both fall into a comfortable silence, nothing but the sound of his and your own breathing. You can feel his heart beating through his shirt, and you marvel at the pace, how similar is to yours, yet different, changing at the pace of each of your breaths, movements.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbles out of nowhere.

You snort. "Christmas was two days ago, moron."

He grunts. "Fine. Happy New Year."

"Yeah. Happy New Year," you agree. "Think it'll be good?"

"If we want it to be," he answers.

You wrinkle your nose. "Life doesn't work like that, loser."

He shakes his head, his hair tickling your cheek. "Maybe not. But sometimes it helps." You fall silent. Maybe it's true. It's a bit too simple to think that way. But maybe the simplest clichés have some truth in them. Dave sighs contentedly. "Being with you will make it better."

"Cheesy," you tell him, but it makes your chest go all fuzzy-good just the same.

"Blame it on the vodka," he mumbles, and you think he's starting to fall asleep. You hum in agreement. Your body feels heavy, and you never want to leave this bed again. Sleep fills your head, makes everything feel distant, so distant you almost miss his murmured, "I love you."

You're too sleepy to do the obligatory teenage freak out at the words. Instead, you just smile and mumble back, "I love you too, asshole."

Between school, work, and hanging out with friends, time shoots forward at an alarming rate.

A panic about looming college sets in, and you're frantically looking for colleges to apply to. In the end, you settle on the cheapest college in the general area, and tentatively mark yourself down to be an English major. Your dad assures you that you can change it later on if you feel you need to.

You send the application out at the beginning of spring break, and, fuck, you hope you're not too late, but there's not much you can do now but wait for a response.

An entirely unreasonable hot spell hits mid-spring break, and no matter how much ice cream you eat or how little you wear, you constantly feel like a sunburnt, sweaty pig.

At Dave's, the two of you play video games in your boxers, which leads to making out in your boxers. Naturally.

But the heat and sweat makes your binder cling uncomfortably to your chest, makes you have to stop to readjust it, pull it back straight, once, twice, three times. The fourth time, Dave leans back, sits on his heels, mouth pinched like he wants to say something.

"What?" you ask irritably, yanking the corner of your binder down.

"Did you," he hesitates, bites his lip. "Did you wanna take that off?"

You stare blankly at him for a moment. "You asking me to strip for you, Strider?"

He sputters. "What? No! I just thought, you know, you looked uncomfortable." You continue to stare blankly at him. "But, y'know," he wiggles his eyebrow at you, the rest of his expression completely straight, "I would totally love to see you naked." You sigh, unsure. You don’t even like to see you naked. "But seriously," he says, expression shifting back to, well, serious. "I'm not trying to pressure you. If you don't wanna that's fine."

You grunt. As much as you appreciate Dave's caution after that conversation you had back last summer, it sometimes gets on your nerves how delicately he treats you.

It's that very irritation that gets your hands up to the zipper of your binder, taking satisfaction in the hitch in Dave's breath as you pull it down.

You sort of just sit in front of him, binder open, before feeling ridiculous and shrugging it completely off. In some ways, having the pressure off your chest is nice, easier to breathe. But mostly it just makes you feel exposed. Fake.

But, you reason with yourself, he's totally had his hand all up in your cooch, so this really shouldn’t be any worse.

He totally stares at your chest, makes heat rise to your face and you want to cover back up and hide forever. Even if you did like having boobs, it's not like you have much to look at. You're lucky enough to have stayed small chested. Somewhere around a small B you think. But they're kinda floppy, broken down from being bound tightly against your ribs since the day you noticed them starting to form.

"Like what you see, Strider?" you say sarcastically.

"Yeah," Dave says automatically, and then goes completely red.

"Oh," you say. "I want to get them cut off."

He shrugs. "Then cut them off." He tilts his head a bit, "I mean, what does it matter if I like them or not? If you need them to go, then they need to go. I like you more than I like your tits, bro."

"Classy," you snort, duck your head, shoulders in. You don't want to talk about them. "This is awkward."

"Then let's make out instead," he grins. You roll your eyes, lean in to kiss him anyway.

It is admittedly way more comfortable to make out without your binder, though sometimes the missing pressure around your ribs makes you feel a little weird. The biggest difference is skin. It's a little jarring how much of a difference it makes, his chest bare against yours. All that skin on skin. He's nice about not fondling your chest at least. He largely acts like they're not there. Proof again of how awesome he is.

Maybe it's the heat, maybe the contact, maybe it's because you're both hormonal, horny teenagers, maybe just because this is Dave and you love him. Regardless of why, you end on his bed, face crushed against his and his hand down your boxers.

And you don't stop this time, can't stop. Don't even understand the force that takes over your body, but you feel if you stop touching him you'll just disappear altogether. So you cling to him tighter, kiss him harder, push into his every touch. And you're taken over by a sort of franticness you're not sure you've felt before.

And then everything seems to slow down, your legs turn to water, and then all at once your back is arching into him, a strange sound working its way from your mouth without your consent, and all you do is feel.

You can't even decided if you like it, if it's the best thing you've ever felt, or if it's just overwhelming. But before you can really wrap your mind around what's happening, your muscles turn to jelly and you just go limp on top of him, overwhelmed.

It's only a short moment before your brain starts working again, and he's still touching you, and you almost want him to stop because everything is oversensitive, almost painfully sensitive.

But then it's all okay, because when you lift your eyes to meet his, he's smiling wider than you think you've seen him smile before. Even wider than that time Bro gave him his first real sword. And then he's kissing you, little pecks all over your face and you can't help the bubbling laughter that pours over your lips. Because that smile is worth everything, feels better than any sort of physical pleasure he could ever give you.

You never want that sort of euphoria to go away.

The school won't let you and Dave go to prom together. Something about no same-sex couples, which is weird because you're not the same sex and what the hell, you're glad the school treats you like the boy you are, but why be supportive of one thing but not the other?

You can technically still go to prom so long as you don’t buy couple tickets and just go 'as friends' but Dave is too pissed off by the whole thing and says if he can't go as your boyfriend then he doesn't want to go at all.

In the end, you, Dave, John and Kanaya decide to have your own Senior Sendoff of sorts. You insist John and Kanaya don't have to, but John just shrugs and says he doesn't have anyone to go with anyway, and Kanaya tells you that she's already going to Rose's Prom at a different school.

You all dress up in fancy clothes and Dave drives the four of you to this secluded little lake a good hour out of town. It's more of a pond, but it's still pretty novel. John brings this huge picnic basket his dad packed, and Dave brings a little battery powered iPod player for the four of you to dance too. John dances like he's doing his best impression of a monkey having an aneurism, while Kanaya does this graceful little two-step, and Dave dips you, a cattail in his mouth which he claims is way more romantic than a rose could ever be. John laughs pretty hard when you push it into his mouth and force him to eat it.

You have way more fun than prom could ever hope to be.

It comes in the mail a few days after your private prom.

At first, you don't even realize it's for you. You see the Mr. Vantas on the front of the envelope and hand it to your dad along with the rest of the mail. When he comes back a few minutes later and hands it back to you, a smile on his face, you peer down at it curiously.

It's when you see the university's name on the return address that your stomach leaps. Because holy shit, this is it, your hands shaking as you open the envelope.

You can barely contain your excited yell the moment your eyes land on the word 'accepted.'

Your dad is smiling, eyes a little red, and gives you a strong clap on the shoulder, says he couldn't ask for a better kid, that he is so happy to have two great sons that make him proud every day.

You have to read the letter three times before you can finally manage to take it all in, your eyes a little watery and your head so full of joy that you have a hard time focusing on the words on the page. It tells you the basics, when to sign up for classes, when freshman move-in is, that kind of thing.

You're given an extra letter, written by the university's head LGBT director. It explains that you'll be given a suite-type dorm that's reserved for students in special situations, that you'll have one 'roommate' that you'll share a private bathroom with (along with your future roommate's name - Something Captor. It's a strange name that you're not sure how to pronounce). It explains that there will be free LGBT counselors available, ones that can help you gain access to treatments like hormone therapy if you choose to.

And you're glowing. You're actually glowing. You don't think the biggest, nastiest storm cloud could rain on you now.

Dave takes you back out to the lake on Senior Skip Day, only two days before graduation.

You don't do much at first, just sit curled up together, watching the waves hit the shore. The air is bittersweet, a happy sort of melancholy deep in your chest. It all went by so fast. If feels like just yesterday the two of you were in Kindergarten, clacking sticks together like proud knights. The world seemed so small then, just this town, just you and Dave and your silly adventures.

"I can barely get my head around it," you tell him, carefully watch the way the light refracts off the nearest wave, before it breaks and washes up to shore. "It feels like we should be in school forever."

His chest rumbles against you as he laughs. "Do you really want to be?"

"Fuck no," you say, grimace. "But it's not like I hate everything about this godforsaken place, much as I probably should." You take a slow breath in. "It just feels weird, that we'll be leaving everything behind now."

He hums. "It's not so much about leaving it behind, as moving forward, yeah?"

You shake your head. "Everything you say sounds like a bad cliché."

"Maybe," he laughs. "But there's a reason they're cliché. Because there's truth in them."

"Not always," you say. "I feel like half the time, all they do is force you to believe something everyone else does. Like all it does is force you swallow a bunch of bullshit that's not even going to make your life better."

"I suppose," he replies. "But I think it's more finding the ones that fit with you. Someone's burden will be someone else's greatest bit of hope." He grins. "'One man's garbage is another man's treasure' kind of thing."

"Right," you snort. "But I guess." Another short, but peaceful silence falls over you, before you say, "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," he says, voice a little tight. The arm he has around you pulls you in closer. "But it's been one hell of a ride getting here, right?"

"Well, hell is the right word for it."

He snorts. "Naturally." He turns to press his lips to your cheek and whispers, "It went by fast, college will be even faster. Don't worry about it." He rests his chin on top of your head. "It's not an end. It's a beginning."

(Cliché.)

You talk until the sky turns red and the fireflies start to skim the surface of the lake. And then he suddenly stands up, trots to his car, and comes back with a big blanket, spreads it on the ground and tosses a string of condoms to you.

"You can't be serious," you groan.

"Of course I am," he grins. "First time. Graduation. Under the setting sun. Classic."

"Fucking cliché, Strider."

"You love it."

And god damn you, you totally do.

The whole thing in itself is pretty quiet. Your nerves get the best of you at first - you still have that part of your brain that whispers 'girl,' like you're doing something wrong, being something wrong. But you trust him, it's Dave, you'd trust him with your life. And it's not so bad as it used to be. Maybe you've just been psyching yourself out this whole time.

It's a little awkward in some moments, a little funny others. But mostly it's just warm. Warm deep down in your core, like a little sun has been infused with your soul, and with your closeness, you swear you can feel Dave's burning right along with yours.

And it's the way he's warm against you, his arms wrapped tight, secure, safe around you. It's the way he breathes deep in your hair, the way you can feel his heartbeat in his throat when you press your face into his neck. It's the way your heart swells almost painfully against your ribs, like it's trying to break free and join his, his heart beating against the empty side of your chest.

It's the way he sighs your name.

It's the way you get lost in his eyes, his radiant smile. It's the way he kisses your cheeks until you're smiling back, laughing when he blows air against your skin.

It's the way he makes you feel like you're worth something. The way he presses his face to your shoulder as you run your fingers through his hair. It's the way he gives you the strength to be strong for him when he needs you, when things build up too fast, too hard. It's the way you've found a safe place within each other.

It's the way his breath feels against your face in the morning as he sleeps next to you. It's the feel of his skin under your fingers as you take him in and realize, he's yours, yours.

All your life you never thought you'd be so lucky, never thought you'd find someone who could chase your nightmares away, put up with your violently dark moods, your foul mouth. But he does, like a beacon of light, he puts the breath back in your lungs, makes you strong enough to move forward again.

Never in a thousand lifetimes did you think you'd get to have what you have with him, and never in a thousand lifetimes would you trade that away. It's a scary thing at first, to realize that your life is no longer only yours, but also his. It's scary the way your emotions feel too large for your body, like you'll burst. It's amazing the way, when he's pressed against you, desperate and sure, you feel as though you'll melt into him, like you've become the same person.

You weren't sure if you actually believed what your movies and books always told you. Weren't sure if any of that existed. But then you got what you have with him.

And you realized you were right. The movies and books did have it all wrong.

Because the way you feel, what you have.

It's just so much more.

The whole thing happens in a flurry of graduation gowns and lots and lots of photos.

Kankri is absolutely beside himself when he finds out that you're the top student in your English classes, says he knew it all along, after all, it's a Vantas trait to be good with words! You just roll your eyes and are privately really glad that all his bragging he does about it to Meulin is in sign language so you don't have to hear it. Kanaya gets student of the year, Dave gets an award for best music student, and John, of all people, is Valedictorian. You always knew the dumb fuck was smarter than he let on.

A lot like Kankri's graduation, it feels more like watching a movie, like it's not really happening, but you're just playing the part. It doesn't really start to sink in until you get called up on stage to get your diploma, and only really settles deep into your gut when you're tossing your hat up in the air.

Outside the gym, where everyone meets up with their families, there's lots of tears, lots of laughter, lots of hugging and picture taking. Your dad gives Dave a big hug, and when you find Bro, he fucking lifts you right off your feet, twirls you around and sets you back down, his face straight the entire time while Dave and John laugh their asses off.

After things begin to calm down, you and Dave sneak away to the Elementary school playground, stand in the spot you always had your swordfights as kids, and steal quick, short kisses while nobody's around.

It's warm out, dry and nostalgic. Perfect when Dave bends down to pick a dandelion, puts it in your hair, just like he used to when you were so little. But everything's different now, only it's not, because it still feels just the same.

And now the only way to go is forward.

fin.