Archive of Our Own ^beta

Everything, everywhere, right now is unanimously conspiring against you as to fuck you over via deep-freezing, if the temperature is any indication of that . You could be at home, warm and cocooned in a billion fucking layers of blankets, probably paying off the near criminal sleep debt you’ve had for fucking years, but no, you just HAD to go to Dave’s house every other weekend to watch movies.

You mean, you’re not complaining. In the rancid soup of misery that is your life on the brink of high school exhaustion and dehydrated tear ducts, movie night with Dave is one of the few sanctuaries that you’ve ever known.

Maybe it’s the fact that he has fluffy blankets and a memory foam bed, with a wall-mounted flat screen TV that immerses you straight into the movie, popcorn grease on your right hand and Dave’s hand by your left.

Alternatively, it could also be the fact that you have the universe’s most flaming, embarrassing crush on the guy. 

It’s probably both.

You don’t talk about it often. If you could you would, because trying to maintain composure for so long is about as excruciating as chugging tabasco-infused soda (fucking Nepeta. You’re never taking a dare from her again), and as much as you love your irrationally huge family, telling them shit is a one-way ticket to eight-way teasing at the dinner table. Needless to say, you would rather die.

Which is why you’re here, freezing your ass off, climbing up the not-so-sneakily placed ladder that leads to Dave’s window.

“Dave,” you place one foot onto the windowsill, struggling not to slip. “I fucking swear on the skin of your armpit that you better have some warm blankets laid out and ready for me to swaddle myself the fuck up in, or else I will use your skull as a fucking footbath-”

“Heya.” That...

That doesn’t sound like Dave.

You look up, face to face with someone who is definitely not Dave, unless he grew a few inches and got an undercut overnight.

Who the fuck is this!? Did you break into the wrong house- no, no way you couldn’t have, you’ve known this house since you were ten , and there was absolutely no hint that Dave’s family was moving and oh shit, they’re laughing -

“Geez, dude, calm the eff down!! I can see you mentally shitting your pants over there and you haven’t even said a word yet.” They take a few steps back, flawlessly collapsing onto Dave’s office chair and swiveling around.

“Lookie here. Roxy Lalonde, Dave’s older sib and your honorary in-law.” What the fuck? You thought Dave said he only had two siblings, and you’ve (unfortunately) met Rose and Dirk. Roxy shoots you a cheeky smile and finger guns, before reverting back to a look that screams the shovel talk.  “As for you , I dunno who the fuck you are, so why don’tcha give up all of your information before I give you a serving of these biceps. And I’ve cracked some thick-ass pumpkins with these babies, so don’t you dare think for a second of getting out of this.” 

The small shithead in the hollow you call a brain is dangerously threatening to slam down the “panic and cry yourself dehydrated” button right now. Despite it’s tempting hold, you manage to wrangle a hold of yourself and waver out a small question.

“I thought Dave only had two siblings? Rose and Dirk are by far in my top ten list of ‘People I would’ve gladly gone through life with nary a hint of their existence’, but they’re both clearly fucking related to the idiot I call my best friend.”

“Oh! That’s cute.” Roxy’s small grin of surprise stretches into a devilish smile, “We don’t consider Dirk our brother.”

They wave a hand around, making small and wide gestures alike. “Like, it’s an inside joke. Dirk’s in stranded family tree jail. He doesn’t get to be part of the bloodline until he shapes his shit up and stops being an utter baby that likes to be emotionally constipated and dramatic every chance he gets. Even if he totally claims otherwise,” they laugh, leaning back. 

“Lmao. C’mon,” Roxy pats a space on Dave’s bed, “I bet it’s rough chilling on that windowsill, it being colder than Santa’s nipple in the Arctic out there. It’s comfy over here, although you probs know that from experience. I won’t kill ya, I promise.”

With the help of months of experience, you silently hop down onto the wooden floor, closing the window and toeing your shoes off before you pad off onto the bed that awaits you. You immediately grab the nearest blanket and encase yourself within the warm arms of love, sighing. It’s been far too long.

One deep breath of pure, snug, cozy peace, and-

“So! What’s your favorite color? Flower? Animal?” FUCK , why is your peace always woefully short-lived? 

You answer them anyway, because you’d rather engage in a terrifying spitfire questionnaire instead of throwing yourself right back out into the world’s natural freezer. Besides, there’s something about Roxy’s earnest smile that complies you to acquiesce.

A sharp prod pokes you way too close to a ticklish spot. “Fuck!! Hold on, give me a second- I don’t have a favorite color, I think they’re all superficial and dumb-” Ow, there’s the poke again-

“Wrong answer, bungus, you totes look like the guy who would love the color red-” 

“Could you be any more erroneous?” You interrupt. “I tolerate the color red, solely due to the fact that Dave indulges in the very thing. I mean, fucking look at his room.” You gesticulate at the wall in front of you. It’s a creamy pink, most of its surface buried under posters and covered with shelves of his dead animal collection (with red stands), 2 lava lamps (both red), red books (those are yours , how the fuck did he get those?), and his small movie collection (all covers buried under heart stickers. You have no idea what CD each case contains at this point.)

“Besides,” you continue, “I just happen to not have one. It’s not a fucking crime! I think I’m justified in relinquishing this question.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll let you go free for this one. What about the rest of them though?”

You think back to the other two questions. “I adore crabs, no fucking doubt about that. My favorite flower used to be the rose, but after I met your godawful mess of a sister I elected to not raise up her skyscraper ego any more than it needs to be, pun-wise or not-” 

“Coolio. Favorite food?”

You sputter. “Wait, fuck- don’t tell Rose any piece of what I just said, or I swear I’ll sew thumbtacks to your feet with nothing but a plastic needle.” Roxy blows a raspberry. 

“I won’t, I pinky promise! Now what’s your favorite food?”

“Adobo.”

“Filipino, right?”

“Holy shit, you’re the first one to ever get that correct.” You nod, stunned. That immediately places them higher than half of the people you know. And also higher than Dirk, “does Philippines exist” your fucking ass.

“I know some things,” Roxy hums. “It sounds tasty too, you gotta bring me some one day! Got any siblings?”

Ah, yes. You roll your eyes. The fucking nuisances you love and hate and call your family. “If you’re talking about the infuriating parasites that wail upon my already burdened psyche day by day, then sure , I have ‘siblings’. In fact, I have five of them, irking about my everyday life, in an utterly torturous attempt to destroy any semblance of privacy and dignity when there wasn’t much I could scrounge together with my bare hands in the first place.” Okay, that was a little bit mean. As irritating as they may be, you’d defend your family with all of your wits about you if anyone ever hurt them. 

With the exception of Kankri. Just maybe.

You sigh. “That’s not wholly true. Nepeta and Meulin are fun to talk with. And I suppose Sollux is only aggravating sometimes, I mean, you know how siblings are, right? It’s an exasperating kind of-”

Wait. Shit.
Shit.

SIBLINGS. DAVE.

“-H OLD THE FUCK UP, LALONDE, ” you crescendo. Roxy is unperturbed, raising an eyebrow and gently shushing you as a reminder that it’s well past fucking 11.

“Why are you asking me all of this? Where’s your sibling? You know, fucking Dave, the reason I’m here at ass o’clock at the risk of getting a needle to the throat by waking up Rose? We’ve been prattling about for at least ten minutes. Is he not coming?” A dreaded thought tickles the back of your head, and panicked, you whisper-yell, “Is he hurt??”

Roxy’s sharp whistle cuts you off, quickly quieting down to a calming shush. They lean forward, patting your knee. “Omg, no no, Daveys completely fine and healthy as a fuckin horse, don’t you worry about him. He’s just a bit busy for a teensy while, so he asked me to keep you company while he had to go do his business.”

The tension deflates out of you. “Could’ve fucking told me that earlier before I equally flipped my burnt shit everywhere.” You sigh with relief. “Thanks for telling me though, however much it’s worth. Is that really all?”

Roxy winks. “Oh, you know, I also wanted to see if my newly acquired info of you matches up with my knowledge of Dave’s crush.”

DAVE’S WHAT.

“Crush?” Roxy’s eyes are wide and inquiring. Fuck, did you yell that? You probably did. Fuck.

“You know,” Roxy continues, “when you have the flutteries for someone. Dave mentioned that you were a total romantic, like, you get what I mean. Unless you don’t know what I mean. Oh shit, did Dave not tell you he had a crush?” You manage to shake out a bewildered no.

“Damn. Makes sense though, I wouldn’t exactly tell my crush I have a crush on them either, lol.” 

Crush? You? What? But-

“Anyway, are you two doing this as like, a movie date or something? Because lemme just say its cute as fuck, all sneaking off to each others houses in the night and cuddling up under the blankets getting totally smashed by popcorn grease and candy-”

Does Dave actually have a crush on you? He has a crush on you back, holy shit. What the fuck, is this even remotely viable?

“-if I can steal this for me and my gee-efs, it’s totes cute and Jade and Terezi would love this. So how about it?” Oh shit, you have to answer that. Something about doing the same thing and Terezi, right? Yeah, shit, you’d be an asshole if you said no. Just say yes.

“You’re dating Terezi?” Fuck your shit-stinking tiny slab of meat you gratituously call a brain, and the hollow cave of skull that houses it, and that pair of asshole lips on your face that refuse to say what you actually want to say. You fucking swear on your miserable love life and everything that encompasses it, you’re going to say nothing BUT exactly what you want to say for the rest of your life. Lest you die and wither in a sewer while rancid cockroaches adorn your corpse. 

Okay, you’re probably overreacting.

“I mean yes. Yes, you can steal the movie night. It’s not like there aren’t fifty thousand puerile teenagers doing the exact same thing, somewhere across the world. Besides,” you add, “you’re probably going to do it anyway under the justification of, and I quote, ‘height privilege.’” Roxy’s stifled giggle doesn’t escape your notice. 

“Yeah, you fucking know it, I’m used to all of Dave’s height flaunting, sauntering about like reaching the tops of doorways are such an accomplishment, wow, that big bastard.” You try to force your smile down, pointing at Roxy “Yeah, I’m onto you.”

“Oh my god, I wish we met sooner,” Roxy sighs, “you’re a fucking riot.”

“On that note: you’re part of Dave’s family and dating both Jade and Terezi, two of my oldest and closest friends. How the hell have I not even heard of you yet?”

Roxy hums, contemplative. “Well all things considered, we probably would’ve met way sooner if I hadn’t been all kinds of busy with last-minute college emails and stuff, K-kits. But hey! We’re meeting right now, aren’t we? It’s better to meet while you’re scared shitless at your crush’s house than not at all.” They wink and crack a cheeky smile, and it kind of reminds you of Dave.

Oh shit, speaking of which. 

“Not that I don’t cherish this near and dear newfound bonding, but when’s Dave going to come? If I’m going to laminate my ass between these blankets, I’d prefer to do it with some popcorn and the guy I’m actually waiting for.”

“Aww, young love-” “-aren’t you like, one year older than me-” “- YOUNG LOVE. Also listen, he is coming.”

Soft pads down the hallway, and true to their word, Dave walks into the door, hands woefully vacant of snacks.

“Just came back from the shitter bowl- oh shit, hey Karkat!” Dave walks right in, closing the door behind him. Did he just say he came back from shitting? Just why is he so obtuse with his feelings, but unbelievably fucking transparent with everything gross and supposedly private instead?

(It’s a mystery. Not even you can try to explain the inner mechanics of Dave Strider’s brain-to-mouth filter. You’re all just going to have to deal with it like mature pissbags, and try not to have an aneurysm the next time he shoves his foot into your face to check if it’s clean.)

Dave hugs Roxy from behind, and they reach up to pat his cheek. “Sorry to keep you waiting, by the way. I’d talk about my delay held up at the cross section between toilet and bowl, but you look like I just shoved my foot into your face again so I’m just gonna slide that baby back to the bottom of the to-do list for now. Did Roxy make good company? I didn’t want you to think I ditched.” 

Fuck, that’s actually really sweet. Dave’s hygienic TMI sins are hereby rescinded until further notice. Your heart’s already melting a minute after seeing him again. 

(You’re utterly helpless.)

But! Before you let yourself soften any further-

“Dave, what the fuck. I can’t believe you never told me that you just have an extra fucking family member who I had never heard of before, who just told me that Dirk APPARENTLY isn’t your second sibling, and to be perfectly candid that isn’t the most important thing I’m freaking out about right now, but really? ” You spread your arms wide for effect, and then immediately return to hugging yourself for warmth. It’s still really fucking cold. You continue.

“You could have just clued me in, Dave. I had no idea Roxy existed until fifteen or so minutes ago-”

“-Yikes. Dave, your babe kinda has a point,” Roxy interrupts.

“Thank you, Roxy. I am not Dave’s babe, but frankly, I appreciate your support.”

“Man, I’m sorry Rox,” Dave pouts. “I didn’t mean to let you go unknown like that. You know you’re my favorite under this roof on a 6-day basis.” Dave turns to look at you. 

“By the way, the last day’s reserved for you, Karkat. I got a little card set up on the table with tiny candles and rose petals and everything. And the waiter’s even there just waiting for you to say your name all grufflike and to guide you to your table full of half a weekend just for the asshole himself.” He’s probably winking under his shades, the dork. 

You snort. “Yeah, I know. You’re a prodigious sack of rectumized detritus, Dave. For what it’s worth, you’re my favorite under my entire household roof any time of the year.” 

Dave fistpumps, whispering out a small “hell yeah”. He and Roxy share an intricate fistbump, backward high-fives and trying to poke each other first before dissolving into shared giggles. You can see the resemblance; they have the same smile. It’s trusting and content, with squinted eyes and an exuberant grin that can’t help but be infectious.

A small part of you flutters knowing that Dave’s been showing that smile more often around you.

Roxy gently maneuvers Dave around and pushes him to the bed where you sit, standing up from the chair and stretching. “Okey dokey, I’ll leave you two doofuses up to your movie night. In the meantime, I’ll go back to my room and bring you popcorn in thirty. Sound good?”

Dave throws an arm around you, and you high-five. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” you both chime (in unison, no less).

“And who’s the best sibling?”

“You are!” Dave cheers. Roxy winks and shoots you both a pair of finger guns.

“You fuckin betcha I am.” They gently close the door behind them, and it’s a few seconds of silence before you turn to Dave. 

“I brought Ratatouille.”

“Man, you know the way to my heart.”

__________

Karkat took all of your blankets. That adorable bastard.

Fuck , it’s cold. You can practically feel your physical and spiritual ballsacks reaching subzero temperatures. At this rate, you might as well break them off and start a two-man one-round snowball fight.

Would Karkat get into a snowball fight with you? You know from experience that he’d have to be fucking bundled from head to toe before he’d every willingly set foot outside in snow. That one school day where he walked into class with 10 fucking layers on made you hit your head on the desk laughing, and then you both went to the nurse because Karkat tripped over the scarf that was twice his height in an attempt to catch you before you fell.

The next day, he arrived with seven less layers on his hunk of a body, complaining about the oncoming ice age. Provided, he was wearing a brand-new heavily-insulated winter coat, so you’re betting all your bucks that he just didn’t want to stop whining until he was fully toasted up under his own criteria.

Which is why you’re draping yourself against his side, trying to kick yourself through his wooly defenses. 

Once again- it is so fucking cold, what the fuck . 

You weasel an arm between two blankets and around Karkat’s back, leaning your head onto his shoulder. On the screen, Remy’s puppeteering Linguini around via hair reins. You would kill for some hot steamy warm French ambiance right now.

Wait, fuck. You swear you don’t mean it in that way. A guy just wants to get warm sometimes. Steamy hot insinuations not included in the paycheck, thanks, that small indulgent order is solely to-go right off into the warm asscrack between the cheeks of Never Mentioned Again and Forget About It.

“Karkat, bro, c’mon, let a guy into your cozy abode. I’m all out here in the cold.” Karkat hunches himself closer in response. “ I’m freezing and shit. Don’t leave me to get all comically blue and chattering.”

“Well today’s your lucky day, because I’m certain that you’ve never stopped wailing the second your doctor whammed you off your rump and into the harsh nightmare known as reality. As long as you’re still burbling about, I have confidence that you’ll survive the night.” Karkat huffs.

That was… oddly anticlimactic. He usually shares your blankets without too much pestering. 

… 

Did you do something wrong?

No, you probably didn’t. You’re here watching movies with your best friend. Nothing’s out of the ordinary.

Is Karkat mad at you for arriving late? 

You didn’t want Karkat to be left alone for too long, and it’s just your luck that you have some fantastic siblings (+ Dirk) who are willing to cover for you and have awful sleep schedules. 

Roxy seemed to get along with Karkat when you entered your room, right? They probably didn’t scare him too bad. You still don’t know how those spare minutes of secluded conversation went. Although knowing Roxy, they probably just interrogated Karkat within a few inches of his life.

Maybe he’s berating himself for not knowing about Roxy sooner. Aw fuck, he probably is, isn’t he.

You lift up your head and take a small glance. His eyes are heavily focused on the TV, and yet his eyebrows are too furrowed for him to be casually passionate about Ratatouille . He’s biting his lip, and then blinks with a small shake of his head.

Oh, wait. No. He’s thinking. 

But about what?

You sit back up properly, retracting your one arm. Let it rest in peace, remembering the warmth of the honorary KAB (Karkat And Blanket), reminiscent of the last few rays of sunlight.

“Dude, you alright? You’re looking like you’re about to shit out some philosophical thought right out of your wisened ass.”

Karkat snaps out of his stupor with a wavering hm? “Oh. It’s nothing of your concern. I’m just overthinking shit.”

“I’m here if you wanna jam it out, dude. I promise I won’t laugh or skedaddle or anything. Even if it’s just a really fucking stupid and Googleable question like, I got my phone right here and fucking ready dude, if you wanna know if bees can sting other bees- they can by the way- we’re gonna get fucking educational under this roof. It’s like summer school if summer broke up with the season boy band members and turned a really fucking cold shoulder, and if school forcibly expanded its definition to include learning random crap under any roof for that matter-”

“-Dave.” Karkat’s voice is soft, but firm. His eyebrows are drawn together, in seriousness, and- is that amusement? Aw fuck, he’s definitely trying to stifle a smile there. 

(That’s so fucking cute, what the fuck, you’re helpless against this tiny shithead-)

You slowly cease your rambling, and try to scrub any glimpse of a blush from your face. Karkat continues, “-I’m fine, seriously, you prying jackass. Let’s just rewind the movie and keep watching.

Alright, he doesn’t want to talk about it. That doesn’t mean he won’t tell you eventually, but in the meantime you’re good enough just hanging back. You scootch back, and predictably, Karkat finally opens up one wing of his blanket and lets you settle against his side. 

Not even a minute later, he rests his head on top of yours. 

Hell fucking yes. Optimal movie cuddling poses achieved.

And if your pulse is a little faster than normal due to close proximity, you doubt Karkat will notice it.

The serenity doesn’t last long. Every couple minutes, Karkat shifts a little bit away from you before leaning back in, or pouts while looking at your door, or takes a deep breath before deflating with lost words at the top of his tongue. 

Or he gets that adorable fucking thinking look on his face once again, and your heart stutters one too many times for your own good.

It’s getting kind of hard to think about Remy’s culinary journey when you can feel Karkat’s buildup of emotion right next to you. But hey, he clearly doesn’t want to talk about it yet, and you’re far from being the penis-brain who asks if someones okay after they already expressed that they don’t want to talk about it.

But come-the-fuck-on, it’s Karkat. You gotta pry at least another time to make sure your best friend/best bro/hugely incapacitating crush is alright. He looks like he’s storing his words in his cheeks just to keep from saying them out loud.

“Okay,” you begin, a small whisper against the movie soundtrack, “so I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it-” 

“-DO YOU ACTUALLY HAVE A CRUSH ON ME OR DID ROXY JUST LIE FOR NO REASONABLE FUCKING EXPLANATION.” 

“Yes.” Oh holy shit did that actually just slip out of your mouth did you just say that oh fuck you did.

Karkat near immediately deflates in relief, before sitting back up ramrod straight and manhandling you face-to-face with his slightly panicked gorgeous visage. (Does that mean he likes you back oh shit you hope he likes you back-)

“...Yes?”

“Yeah,” you reply. He’s squishing your cheeks a bit tight there. His hands are really soft.

“To… which part.”

OH. Right.

“FUCK yeah right um. The first part. Yeah, the first.” Your mouth is really just baring all your secrets out and loose now, huh. Dave hashtag confirmed to pulling Karkat’s pigtails on the playground because he spends three hours every night giggling into his own personal diary about Karkat’s movie-worthy pout. 

Which is reasonable, you suppose. No use holding back the dam of utter shit and soggy valentines now that you chipped the lock loose, right? (Do dams work that way? There has to be some sort of locked door that keeps all the water in. You’ll google it later.)

“So…” Karkat goes about his words steadily, “you do have a crush on me.” 

“Only if you do.” Hell yes, high five for a last verbal defense attempt.

“Dave, you contemptible fucking potty mouth, this can’t be Schrodinger’s confession! Just tell me!”

“Well why can’t you tell me then?”

“Because I asked you first !” Fuck, he got you there. 

“But I don’t wanna deal with the aftermath of you saying no-”

“-Well, what if I didn’t?”

“Are you gonna say yes?”

“Well that depends, are you going to fucking consolidate what you’re actually trying to imply, or are we just going to have to continue going in circles like two loud, pompous ass-sniffers?”

You huff, looking down. You were getting kind of loud. Hopefully your siblings (and Dirk) weren’t disturbed by your noise .

Alright, weighing the mental scales- at this point, there’s pretty much no turning back. Like, come on, your face is literally fucking cradled in Karkat’s hands at this very moment. If you saying yes twice didn’t light up the giant sign pointing to you saying “HUGE FUCKING GOON HEAD OVER HEELIES”, the blood rushing to your face will.

Fuck, imagine if you even tried to brush it off at this point. Karkat’s probably gonna fuck off and be sulky for the rest of the movie because it’s just fart bomb levels of an unforgettable disaster. It would’ve been worse than when you were in fourth grade and he confessed to liking John in truth or dare and John pretended that the grape juice was spiked so he could pretend to forget the night and not directly turn Karkat down. Which, regardless, ended up making more of a fucking mess than if he just said it outright. (Fucking John.)

Besides, do you really want to turn back? It would suck shit (SO much shit) if he didn’t feel the same way, but trying to revert this is… another level of avoidance that you don’t want to stay in. It’s just the step forward that’s terrifying enough to make you hesitate.

Oh fuck, you’ve been silent for way too long. Say something, Dave.

“Why does Remy wash his hands when none of the other rats do?”

“Wh-What?” Karkat splutters, his hands falling from your face in surprise. 

“Yeah I do like, like like you a lot I mean my siblings and Dirk have been teasing me un-fucking-bearably about it recently which is a capital-L Laughable, because Dirk’s a riotous hypocrite considering he’s left the room whenever John walked into in it for the past 5 weeks after they’ve been incessantly hanging out together for 7 whole-ass months and that means his own feelings have become so piney he’d rather die than talk to John again, and now he’s been holing up in his room moping facedown for a week while John keeps asking if he did something wrong and now THAT’S a whole mess I’m fucking embedded into and one I shouldn’t be airing out considering Dirk’s probably eavesdropping right this second. Sorry Dirk, deal with your shit before you peep upon others and okay I’m done."

Deep breath. 

One, two, three.

Four, five, six.

Did you seriously just tell Karkat you like-like him in the middle of a rant about Dirks’ ineptitude?

Karkat lets out a high pitched whine of which you could only describe as a series of question marks of varying sizes. 

Okay, yeah. Yes, you did. 

"You actually have a crush on me?” He asks.

You flounder. "Um. Yeah." 

"Oh shit,” he whispers, “Me too."

A nod. “Okay. Cool.”

Karkat nods back. “Cool.” 

Silence. 

Damn, Karkat has some heavy eyebags. His eyes are wide in apprehension, open with wonder and disbelief. 

You feel the flutter of an earthquake. 

Fuck, this just has to be the emotional equivalent to having a heart attack. Or having spaghetti legs. The dividing line is pretty thin. 

You’re just staring at each other now.

“Shit,” you break the ice, “wanna watch a new movie?”

Karkat practically whips away from you, settling back onto you bed. “Finally, a decent fucking suggestion in this ceaseless, painfully vulnerable hour. We never really finished watching Princess and the Frog last time.” 

You huff out a laugh as you leap off the bed, kicking a few blankets out of the way while you locate the CD.

Your face is burning. But there’s a smile there too, as you press play, and as much as you try to school yourself into a poker face you can’t help but grin at Karkat while you shuffle back to your bed. 

Just as you sit your ass down on the comforter, Karkat heaves a heavy sigh. It morphs into an exasperated groan, and he pulls you down by the arm and before you can even fucking process the meaning of his sigh he’s confining you in a crushing hug.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him and squeeze him just as tight. It’s nice.

Karkat shifts under your arms, and turns his head and-oh. This is even fucking better, holy shit.

Your cheek is warm against his lips. 

Just as quickly as it begins, it ends, and Karkat hides his face into your shirt while the Disney logo plays on. This is euphoria.

“Aww, you like me. Swoon.” 

“Yeah, asshole, we literally just went through this.”

“I like you toooooo,” you coo.

“Fuck, shut up,” Karkat laughs. “You’re insufferable.”

“I’m your insufferable.”

“Insufferable isn’t a noun, idiot.”

“Well I’m your idiot-”

“Okay, fuck! I get it. You’re such a cocky dipheaded dickshit.” Your retort is cut short with an oof, courtesy of an elbow to the side. “-And no, I do not want to discuss the intricacies of a dickshit. Just watch the fucking movie, Dave.” 

With what muscle you have, you heft Karkat up and press your lips to his cheek in the closest unexperienced approximation of a kiss. He knows you so well. 

In a fit of limb jenga and cuddle initiation, you end up with Karkat sitting between your legs, with his head resting under your chin and your arms hanging loosely over his shoulders

and the absolute mountain of pillows behind you.

And if you so happen to press sporadic kisses to his head, and if Karkat grabs your head and clings onto it like it’ll dissolve if he lets go, it’s all totally chill. You’re chill. Karkat’s chill (in most cases). Look at you, being two emotionally capable dudes who share custody of each other’s uwus all intimate-like.

You’re not fooling anyone. You’re a sappy, gooey mess of hearts and smiles and you fucking adore it.

Karkat’s in the middle of mumbling along the lyrics to “Almost There” when Roxy, true to their word, knocks on the door before butt-nudging it open, tossing you two hot bags of freshly microwaved corn ambrosia. Like a pro, you grab two nearby pillows and cushion their fall into Karkat’s lap. 

“That’s a touchdown, Rox. I dunno how you perfectly manage to yeet hot projectiles like you’re aiming for a slam dunk, but fucking kudos.”

“Your sports metaphors are getting better! I’m proud of you Davey. Sorry I was late boys, I was busy muffling Dirk’s insomniac head into his pillow so he couldn’t eavesdrop on you shittalking him.”

Karkat grunts in appreciation, tearing open the popcorn bag. He leans over, breathing in deep and immediately digging in for the cheesy gold. (That hand was just holding yours a minute ago.) (Holy shit.) (That was the same hand you scratched your asscheek with an hour ago.) (Hm. You washed your hands, it’s fine.)

“All that aside though, enjoy your popcorn ya doofuses,” they wink. “Consider it a little celebratory feast.”

Fuck yeah, Roxy for president.

Wait, if they were muffling Dirk’s eavesdropping, and they were late on giving you warm two-minute microwave popcorn, and they said celebratory-

"Hey, wait,” you interrupt, “But doesn’t that mean you were eavesdropping on u-" -oh shit that popcorn tastes fucking phenomenal. Whatever you were going to say is gone now. You can only chew and marvel. In front of you, Karkat shovels another handful of popcorn into his own mouth and throws a kernel at Roxy, who catches it and closes the door with a giggle. They yell a muffled congrats! through the door, and now you’re back to Tiana and Naveen and their admittedly adorable romance.

“You know,” Karkat hums, “I think Roxy’s my favorite Strilonde. Second only to you.” He takes your hand and gives you a buttery palm kiss. In return, you pull him down against you and (after wiping your mouth on your sleeve, because you are nothing if not a suave gentleman) pepper kisses across whatever side of his face you could reach. 

And then your scrambling tears the popcorn bag, and then you pick kernels off your sheets while you sing along and off-tune to the soundtrack, and then it’s only when you finish off the crumbs and exchange ugly one-liners under the blankets that you both realize it’s not that cold anymore.