Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Karkat didn’t ask for help. He hated the very idea of putting himself in such an infuriatingly pathetic position. However, he hated being trapped even more, and unless he called out to somebody to get him the fuck out of that Goddamn metal box, he would be stuck in a confined space indefinitely, the only source of light being those three thin slats in the door that served no purpose that he knew of. His shoulders were hunched and aching, his back cold from being pressed against the metal wall behind him, and he could tell that his hair was sticking up due to static electricity. His legs were pulled absurdly tight against his chest, his knees pressed against his throat and his heels touching his backside. He probably looked ridiculous and pitiful, and that made him even less willing to ask someone to let him out and let them see him like this, but pathetic was kind of par for the course with him. He doubted that it mattered anymore. Not at all.

So, gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to lower his hand, he rapped his knuckles against the metal door, half hoping that nobody was going to hear him. He didn’t know how many people were in the filthy, smelly room full of metal boxes like the one he had been shoved into, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding a dozen curious eyes land on him if he got out. He couldn’t hear anyone talking, though it may have simply been lost beneath the sound of running water.

“Can someone let me out?” Karkat called, hating the words even as he said them. He didn’t want help. Didn’t want anybody seeing him in this shameful position.

He didn’t get any response, but he heard a slight squeaking noise as the knob on the shower was turned and the water was cut off, leaving the room abruptly quiet. So there had only been one shower. Did that mean there was only one person? There was a set of wet footsteps, only one set, as whoever it was crossed over to a bench that Karkat knew to be nearby. Swallowing past the humiliated lump in his throat, Karkat knocked on the door again, a bit harder, and heard the footsteps pause.

“Um, can you let me out of here?” he called.

“What the hell…?” he heard the someone mutter.

The unknown boy had a deep voice that might have held the faintest hint of some kind of accent that Karkat could pick up on even if he couldn’t identify it.

“Please tell me that’s a ghost and not a kid trapped in a locker?” the voice said, but his tone implied that he was not stupid enough to actually believe that.

“Shut the fuck up and just let me out,” Karkat said, his temper flaring. Was the kid just going to stand there talking like a moron?

“You’ve got an attitude for someone stuck in a box,” the guy said, sounding vaguely amused. Yes, his voice definitely had a lift that was unusual in this area.

“Shut up, asshole,” he retaliated, definitely regretting his decision to ask someone for help. If he’d had his phone, he would’ve just texted Terezi or Gamzee to let him out, but the assholes that had shoved him in here had taken his bag and done who knows what with it.

“Alright, alright,” the guy chuckled. “Where are you?”

Karkat pounded on the door in front of him viciously, possibly denting it in his frustration. There was the sound of those wet footsteps again, smacking against the smooth linoleum floor as they moved closer to where Karkat was berating himself for his decision to ask a stranger for help. A slow whistle came from the boy on the other side when he stopped outside the locker, blocking what little light Karkat still had.

“Jesus, how the hell did you fit yourself in there?” the guy wondered, sounding almost amazed.

“Fuck you, I didn’t fit myself anywhere, idiot,” Karkat snarled. “What wriggler thinkpan are you using?”

“Wriggler thinkpan?” the guy echoed. “Quite a vocabulary you got there. And that attitude again.”

“Moronic dickfuck,” Karkat snapped, feeling increasingly ill-tempered. “Are you going to fucking help me out or not?”

“Bro, calm down,” said the boy, his voice softening a fraction. “Sorry if I pissed you off. Hang on a sec, I just need to figure out how to unlock this thing.”

“Those dickmunchers locked this fucking thing?!” Karkat exclaimed.

There was a slight pause. Then the stranger started to chuckled.

“Dickmunchers?” he repeated.

“Fuck off,” said Karkat, feeling inexplicably hot around the ears.

The boy chuckled again, and Karkat could hear him fiddling with the lock that had apparently been put on the door after he’d been forced unceremoniously in there, the metal clanking obnoxiously together. Karkat was spiraling further and further into humiliation, but there was nothing for it now. He would just have to wait and hope that, if this kid wouldn’t let him out, that one of his friends would find him.

“There wouldn’t happen to be any bobby pins in there?” said the boy, musing.

“The fuck are bobby pins?” Karkat wondered.

“You sure drop the f-bomb a lot,” the guy noted. Karkat fumed silently. “Bobby pins are those little things girls put in their hair to keep it in place.”

Karkat blinked. Feferi used those. At least, he was pretty sure that was what she used. He fumbled clumsily around the bottom of the box and found several small objects like those the boy had described underneath his backside. He pinched a couple between his fingers and pushed them through those little slats that now served at least one function.

“Perfect,” he heard the boy said.

“How is pinning up your fucking hair going to get me the fuck out of here?” Karkat demanded.

“Tsk, tsk,” said the boy, and a quiet clicking noise met Karkat’s ears. “You clearly don’t watch enough movies, pal. With some practice and a little luck, these things are the perfect skeleton keys.”

“Skeleton keys?” Karkat repeated. The boy sighed and the clicking continued.

“These things can open just about any lock if you’ve got the patience to stick with it until you--aha! Got it.”

There was a loud click noise, followed by the sound of something dense being tossed carelessly to the ground. The grinding noise preceded the mechanism in the door lifting up, and then the door swung outward and Karkat spilled out after it, completely prepared to crash gracelessly to the ground and complete the image of pathetic and pitiful kid. However, something caught him hastily around the waist before he kissed the floor, something warm and wet. Blinking in the sudden onslaught of those ridiculously bright fluorescent lighting fixtures in the ceiling, Karkat looked up and realized that the boy had caught him to keep him from falling. He pushed away hastily, his face burning with shame.

“...Thanks…” he said grudgingly, not looking at the boy.

“How did you get in there?” the stranger asked quietly.

“What’s it to you?” Karkat retorted.

“Well, I did just let you out,” the boy reasoned. “This is usually the part where you fall into my arms, crying and declaring your undying gratitude and eternal love. Or, you know, explaining why I just had to let a tiny kid out of an even tinier locker.”

Karkat bristled at being called tiny, but the boy wasn’t wrong. He was shorter than average, and incredibly thin for reasons that the boy had no right to know. In fact, he was pretty sure that the top of his head came up to the guy’s armpit. Still, he didn’t answer.

“Bro, who shoved you in--”

“NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS!” Karkat felt himself explode, but despite his rising voice, he felt like he was becoming smaller and smaller.

The guy was silent for a moment.

“Okay,” he said blandly, then he turned to walk back to the bench.

Karkat cautiously followed him with his eyes, noting amazingly white-blonde hair--or was it just white?--that shagged carelessly around the boy’s ears. His skin was incredibly pale, covering a muscular back and almost but not quite blending in with the white towel wrapped around his waist. That was when Karkat realized that the boy was basically naked and still wet from his shower. His throat closed off in his sudden discomfort and he looked away again, fidgeting with the hem of his overlarge sweatshirt.

“Name’s Dave, by the way.”

The boy started like a skittish cat and looked around automatically. The stranger still had his back to him and was rummaging through a bag sitting on the bench.

“Dave?” he repeated.

“Dave Strider,” the boy said, pulling black jeans and a pair of dark red boxers from his bag. “What’s your name?”

“Why the fuck should I tell you?” Karkat wondered, sure that the boy would recognize the name and start hating him immediately, despite the fact that he couldn’t remember ever seeing the guy before.

“I just saved you from a claustrophobic’s worst nightmare,” the boy said in a bored voice. Karkat tugged on his sweatshirt some more, before finally mustering the courage to mumble his own name.

“What was that?” said the boy, pulling something else from his bag--a case like the one that Terezi kept her glasses in on the rare occasion that she wasn’t wearing them.

“Karkat,” he repeated, feeling stupid. “My name...It’s Karkat.”

Strider nodded as though he found the name perfectly normal and not at all strange, his expression hidden from the smaller boy because he was still turned away. Karkat wondered what countenance he bore on his face.

“Nice to meet you, Karkitten.”

Karkat bristled again.

“Karkitten?” he blustered. “Don’t call me that!”

The boy just laughed--it wasn’t a horrible sound at all, not like those guys that had forced Karkat into that thing they called a locker--and shrugged his shoulders. He opened the case and pulled out a pair of dark aviators, unfolding the stems and raising them to his face. Karkat stared at that, unsure why he would be putting on sunglasses while he was still inside, but he didn’t have long to wonder, because just then the boy--Strider--took the towel around his waist and began to dry himself off. The boy hastily looked away. What was he doing? Why was he even still here? He should have left the instant Strider had let him out of that infernal device.

“Did you miss any classes while you were stuck in there?”

Karkat swallowed. Why was this guy making conversation with him? They didn’t even know each other.

“U-uh…English and History…PE is my fifth period class…” he answered quietly. “It ended a couple hours ago…”

The guy paused in toweling off to look over his shoulder at him; Karkat couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades, and it was a wonder that Strider could see him at all through the dark lenses, but his white brows twitched up over the lenses.

“You’ve been in there for a couple of hours?” Strider checked, sounding incredulous. Karkat nodded, tight-lipped. Strider blew out another whistle like the one he had given earlier and shook his head. “That’s so lame, bro.”

“FUCK OFF!” Karkat snarled, his anger igniting. It was difficult to tell with the sunglasses, but he thought the boy looked taken aback.

“I didn’t mean you were lame,” Strider said quietly. “Whoever did that to you was a pile of shit.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the help,” said Karkat icily, concealing the fact that his mistaken outburst had left him feeling even shittier than before. “But I have to go.”

He stalked past the boy who was definitely startled and confused now, his only goal the door to the locker room, and then his run-down little apartment. Just before his small pale fingers touched the door, he heard Strider say something, but he left in the next moment.

“Bye, then…”

Karkat didn’t pause to wonder why Strider had been showering alone in the locker room.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Strider, please remove your sunglasses. We are in a classroom, not on the beach.”

Dave sat in the back of the room and had been fiddling with his pencil until the teacher had spoken, saying the only thing that could have bothered him in the least. He looked up, feeling the entire class fix its gaze on him as if they could see the lump of ice that had just formed in his throat. Despite his discomfort, he grinned and leaned back airily.

“Bro, the shades are part of the look. Can’t take them off and shatter the illusion that I’m gorgeous and perfect in every way, can I?”

The teacher was not impressed. He raised a dark grey eyebrow imperiously at the young man, but he didn’t back down.

“Out in the hallway, Strider,” said the teacher. “Now.”

Dave made a show of smirking and taking his time rising from his seat, stretching languidly before slouching out of the room after the teacher, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. The teacher was waiting to close the door so that the rest of the class couldn’t listen in to the confrontation, but before he could get a single word of reprimand in, Dave cut to the chase.

“These babies are hella sensitive to the light, Teach,” he said, tapping the side of his aviators. “I have to wear these shades.”

“There is a dress code, Strider,” said the teacher, clearly not biting. “And you will call me Mr. Oman.”

“See, I get that you’ve got this dress code thing,” said Dave, fighting to for his voice to remain light and airy. “But my eyes seriously can’t do the whole bright-lights thing, so I can’t really--”

“I hear that story a dozen times a week, Strider,” said Mr. Oman. “And it’s a lie every single time, so excuse me if I don’t buy into you having incredibly sensitive eyes.”

Dave pressed his lips together, took a deep breath, and blew it out his nose.

“Mr. Oman, I need my sunglasses. I really, seriously need them, okay?”

Then he reluctantly raised them to the top of his head to show the teacher that he was being one hundred percent serious. It was like the teacher became an entirely different person. His own eyes widened, and his lips parted in an ‘o’ that would have been comical had it been for a different reason. The older man blinked, trying to regain some form of composure, then bowed his head to Dave, who felt very small.

“I understand. I’m sorry I put you in this situation, Mr. Strider,” he said stiffly. Dave nodded wordlessly and lowered his shades again, hiding his eyes that had already begun to sting slightly from the increased light. “Back into class.”

Dave took a deep breath and slipped his hands back into his pockets, pretending that nothing important had gone down and striding back into the room with the air of a guy who was so cool that he had managed to talk his teacher into letting him break whatever rules he wanted. The entire class stared openly as he made his way back to his seat in the back, still wearing his shades, but he just grinned at them and slid into place, somewhat relieved that the teacher had some semblance of decency and didn’t force him to remove his shades anyway. He’d have had to abscond the fuck out of there in a hurry.

Glancing around at the rest of the class, Dave noted that the students had quickly already lost interest in him and were back to pretending to take notes on Oman’s lecture about Achilles, one of the major heroes in The Iliad. A couple desks up and to the left, a girl was blatantly napping, her head resting on folded arms and her red-tinted glasses completely lopsided as she drooled. He suppressed a chuckle. A couple desks in front of her, a girl was copying down every word the teacher said intently. The chick’s long black hair was an absolute disaster, but at least her glasses were sitting perfectly straight on her face. Next Dave looked behind him, where closed windows made up the majority of the wall, and blinked in surprise. That guy from yesterday, the boy with the skinny legs and the massive sweatshirt that had been stuck in a locker, was sitting there, glowering morosely out at the watery grey sky and completely oblivious to the world around him. He didn’t have any notebooks or even a bag with him. Dave wondered if the assholes that had stuck him in the locker had taken his stuff.

The harsh sound of the bell interrupted Oman mid-rant about what a chicken-shit Hector was, and the class as one rose to their feet, eager to be free of the grouchy teacher. The girl with the red glasses started awake and grinned a sharp, pointed grin as she hastily shoved her things into her shoulderbag and skipped to the door. Dave followed suit a little more slowly, hoping to catch the other kid, Karkat, at the door. However, the teacher called Karkat back, and he figured it’d be pretty lame if the kid thought that he was purposely waiting around for him, so he took off for the locker room. English was his last class of the day and the hot water was broken at his bro’s apartment, so this was his only chance to take a warm shower. Since the last PE class was fourth period, which was a whole two hours ago, there wasn’t anybody else for him to worry about, and he kept all his stuff in his bag, so he went straight downstairs.

The locker rooms were in what the other kids described to him as the dungeon of the school, and he had deemed it a pretty accurate portrayal upon finding them, on the bottom floor that was half sunken into the ground so that crawling out a window on that floor meant pulling yourself up onto the ground. They were tucked in the back by a staircase that nobody ever used and the boiler room that no one knew the purpose for, as the building was pretty much always freezing except in summer, when the heat overpowered the puny AC. The plus side to the creepy destination was that because it was so out of the way, it wasn’t a popular place to just hang out in, the way it had been at his previous school.

“Hey, new kid.”

Dave kept walking, gaze fixed on the staircase that would take him to the locker room.

“Hey, you deaf? I’m talkin’ to you!”

He picked up his pace a little. This wasn’t the time. It wasn’t the place. He couldn’t let it happen here, too.

“What’s your deal, kid?!”

A rough hand grabbed his shoulder and forcibly jerked him around. His bag nearly slipped from his shoulder, causing him to wince as the strap cut into his collarbone. The guy talking to him wasn’t big, exactly. He was maybe a little taller than Dave, and he would’ve been scrawny, but what little meat he had on his bones was definitely muscle. There was a mean look to his face; the way his jaw jutted out gave a distinctly unfriendly impression, and his small, beady eyes were set deep into his face.

“Problem, bro?” he said cleanly, not letting on that the dude’s fingers were biting painfully into his shoulder. The guy cracked a smirk, but it didn’t make him look any less menacing.

“Bro?” he repeated. “You callin’ me bro?”

“Well, seeing as I’m looking at you and no one else is around right now, I’d assume the answer’s kinda obvious,” Dave snarked before he could stop himself. The guy raised his eyebrows.

“Wise guy, huh?” he sneered, leaning in until his rather unattractive breath hit Dave right in the face.

“Dude, at least buy me dinner before you get in make-out range,” he said, probably stupidly.

The guy snorted but otherwise ignored this.

“Listen,” he said, voice dripping with pseudo-amity. “Just gonna give you some friendly advice, seein’ as you’re new here. If you value that bleached-blonde head of yours, you won’t get involved with that rugrat, Vantas. Got it? What happens between my guys and that pussy has got nothing to do with you.”

“What’s a Vantas?” Dave wondered. “Kind of an ugly name for a chick, but I guess it’d probably fit your mom. Is it your mom? ‘Cause if it is, believe me, I have no intention of getting involved in anything that--”

The next thing he knew, he was being held up by the front of his shirt and his toes were just barely touching the floor. The fist holding his raglan shirt was pressing right against his neck, making his eyes water, but the guy didn’t notice behind his shades.

“You’ll wanna watch that smart mouth of yours,” the guy warned, and he could almost taste his foul breath. “I know you helped out Vantas yesterday, but it’ll be the last time unless you want the same treatment, got it?”

“I did what?” Dave said, fighting to make sure his voice didn’t rasp despite the knuckles digging into his throat. Then he realized. “You’re talking about Karkat?”

The dude snorted.

“So you’re not quite as dumb as you look,” he congratulated. Dave couldn’t help it.

“That makes one of us, then.”

He didn’t have much warning, but it wouldn’t have mattered if he had. A blunt object collided forcefully with his left cheek and sent him tumbling down the stairs to sprawl out on the first landing. On every few steps his head caught the edge of a stair, and his shoulders and hips managed to slam into every possible surface on his way down. His shades flew down the stairwell, and his bag followed them more slowly. Wincing, he slowly climbed to his feet, mostly glad that the dude’s knuckles weren’t obstructing his windpipe any longer.

“You’ll be getting worse than that if you keep it up, kid. Stairs’ll be the least of your problems.”

Dave at this point was smart enough to abscond, perhaps having literally had some sense knocked into him, and he left without another word, keeping his eyes fixed on his feet just in case someone else was coming up. The guy didn’t follow him, and he collected his fallen belongings in peace, praying to all the Gods he didn’t believe in that his shades hadn’t been broken when he’d been hit or when they’d flown down a flight of stairs.

Great, he thought bitterly. Just great. Second day of school here, and I’ve already got an enemy. Fan-fucking-tastic. And did he just warn me about stairs?

Chapter Text

Karkat was just hoping for some peace and quiet and a chance to look for his things when he inadvertently stumbled across a very nasty scene. It was that kid from before, Strider, being harassed by...Karkat swallowed and shrunk back into the shadows. Patrick. The lumpy dickwad that had shoved him in the locker yesterday and had tormented him consistently for the three years prior to this one. He was holding Strider by the front of his shirt and leaning in close enough to be obscene.

He almost shouted when Patrick reeled back to punch Strider, but held back out of sheer terror that he would follow suit if the bully realized he was there. Still, he could hardly say it was fun to watch the pale-haired kid tumble down half a flight of stairs, losing all his shit on the way down. Patrick sneered some parting advice that Karkat didn’t quite hear, then turned his back and strolled off, thankfully in the opposite direction from Karkat’s hiding spot. Relieved, the boy stepped out from his shadowy hole in the wall and looked toward the stairs. Strider hadn’t come back up, which meant that he was probably going to the locker room again. Which was where Karkat needed to go so he could look for his stuff.

Briefly he toyed with the idea of just waiting until Strider had finished whatever he was doing, but quickly decided against it. Gamzee’s last class was this period, and he wasn’t going to wait around for Karkat after school; he’d just leave him in the dust and the sophomore would be left without transportation. Heaving a sigh greater than his small body should have been able to accommodate, Karkat went for the stairs and began the descent into the dungeon.

He reached the landing right as the locker room door slammed shut with a kind of savage triumph, and he wondered if it was even a remotely good idea to be in the same room as the boy if he was in a state of rage. Of course, it was never a good idea for Karkat to be near anybody if they were pissed, because no matter how hard he tried not to, he just presented a very easy target for all kinds of venting. However, he really needed to get into that room and find his shit. So, steeling himself for the abuse that would surely follow, Karkat marched into the locker room.

The sound of running water met his ears, along with a surprising amount of steam. Just how hot was the water Strider was using? And did he make a habit of showering everyday in the locker room even if he didn’t have PE? Karkat thought he would have noticed if some white-haired dude was skipping off to soak his worries away in a school shower, but then, he tried hard not to notice things. If you didn’t see much, you couldn’t get blamed much, and that was the way he preferred it.

Karkat thought he heard a faint thrumming sound, one other than the water pelting the smooth floor, but he couldn’t place it. The noise stopped the instant Karkat let the door close loudly behind him. That familiar squeak as the knob turned echoed in the room, and there was a set of hurried footsteps smacking the floor. That was odd, Karkat thought. If he came down here to shower, why the hell did he already turn the water off? He’d taken a long fucking shower yesterday.

A suggestion popped in Karkat’s head, but he quickly dismissed it. Strider had had no problem with Karkat seeing him buck-ass naked, so whatever the problem was, it wasn’t a matter of him being self-conscious. With a deep breath, Karkat forced himself to walk into the main room. Strider was making a show of rummaging through his bag, though his clothes were sitting on the bench right beside it, and God help Karkat, but he was still wearing his shades! Who wore fucking sunglasses in the shower?

“Uh...hey…” Karkat said uncertainly. Strider paused in his movements and glanced over his shoulder. Upon seeing Karkat, he seemed to relax a little.

“Hey, Karkat,” he grinned. “Come to keep me company?”

“Ugh, fuck off,” he replied, turning his nose up in distaste. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I just came to look for my stuff.”

Strider’s face remained impassive.

“Your stuff?” the boy repeated. Then his smirk returned. “You mean that bag with the Cancer symbol on it, right?”

Karkat blinked, and Strider’s smirk grew into a full grin, and oh how he longed to smack it right off that stupid, half-visible face,

“I found it under that locker you were stuck in,” he said, and pointed at the wall of metal boxes near him. Propped against the dented and chipped doors was Karkat’s shoulderbag. “Apparently they didn’t think anything in there was worth dicking around with, so they just left it.”

Strider shrugged, then went back to his bag. Karkat tilted his head. He could have been wrong--he had never been very good at reading other people--but it seemed like the other boy was stalling for time. What for?

“Well go ahead and take it,” said Strider when Karkat didn’t move. “I didn’t look for it just so you could stand there staring at me like a maiden in love. I could totally picture you in a dress, though.”

At once Karkat bristled angrily and found himself stomping violently to snatch up his bag, trying very hard to ignore the smug look of triumph on that bastard’s face. As he turned, bag in hand, to leave, Strider smacked his backside and caused him to yelp in surprise and outrage. Positively fuming, Karkat stormed out, Strider’s laugh echoing behind him.

He hated that kid, he decided. He hated him and he wanted nothing to do with him. Which may have been why he didn’t notice that, as thin as the walls and doors were in this school, he should have still been able to hear the asshole laughing at him. But all he heard was the sound of his own breathing.

Karkat’s apartment wasn’t much, but it was all that Kankri could have afforded, and it was better than nothing, even if the heating system didn’t work and the hot water was only sometimes functional. He had a bed and working electricity and plenty of blankets, so he was okay. He was always okay.

He flung himself onto the lumpy bed in question and sighed, debating the merits of doing his homework now versus going straight to sleep. He was hella tired, and he knew why. This was the third day that he’d had to put up with that bleached-blonde moron in a row, because they’d been forced into pairs in English to work on a stupid presentation about that ridiculous “epic” The Iliad, and he had of course been left out of the mix. Only one other person was without a partner, and it was only then that Karkat realized that Strider was in his English class. Since when?

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Stupid shit trumpet thinks he’s so special. I don’t get it. And Terezi likes him!”

It was no secret that Karkat had had a huge crush on Terezi for a while, but she had made it very clear that they were just friends and that she would probably never see him as anything else. Therefore, it shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did that Terezi had been talking about nothing but the new kid all day. Nothing even close to the realm of dating or anything, but still weirdly fascinated with him. When Karkat asked what the hell was wrong with her, she’d just grinned that knowing grin.

“He smells different,” she said with an inelegant shrug. “There’s something off about him. It’s cool.”

Right. Because Dave I’m-so-fucking-great Strider needed some extra ego boosting.

It didn’t help matters in the least that Patrick had gotten a hold of Karkat again after class and had one of his routine let-out-all-my-frustration-on-Vantas beatings that nobody seemed to notice. His middle throbbed from a particularly vicious blow he’d received, and he cursed his pitiful existence for not being able to put up a fight. An ache entered his chest, an ache that had nothing and everything to do with the beating he’d endured, and he became aware of the heat pulsing in his palms, a prickling sensation that he was all too familiar with. He needed to let it out. The heat, he needed to let it out before it burned him alive.

Karkat grit his teeth and pushed up from his bed. His bare feet touched the old musty floor-covering that sent up clouds of dust every time he took a step and padded quietly to the bathroom, his fingers trembling. He reached the room and flipped on the light switch, which flickered to life, and then pulled out the nearest drawer. There they were. Just a little, just to get his mind off of this…

Vrrrrm!

Karkat yelped and leapt into the air, the object in his pocket having suddenly vibrated. Cursing profusely, he dug the phone out and checked the screen. Someone was pestering him. With a groan he opened Pesterchum, expecting it to be Gamzee, and was startled to find that he didn’t recognize the name. turntechGodhead? What the fuck of a name was that?

TG: yo, whats up?

Karkat stared at the screen for a minute, wondering if he should answer. With a sigh he slid out the keyboard and typed.

CG: WHO THE FUCK IS THIS?

Within seconds turntechGodhead replied.

TG: bro, im wounded. how could you forget someone as awesome as me?

Karkat felt his lip curl. He had a feeling he knew who this was, but how the hell did he get a hold of his Pesterchum?

CG: THE FUCK DO YOU WANT STRIDER?

TG: see, knew you couldnt forget a face as handsome as mine.

CG: I CAN’T EVEN SEE YOUR FACE, DICKMUNCHER.

TG: dickmuncher again. not cool man

TG: what are you doing right now?

Karkat looked down at the screen, wondering what fuck Strider was supposed to give about how he spent his free time.

CG: THE FUCK DO YOU CARE, STRIDER?

TG: we should totally hang out.

CG: HOW DID YOU EVEN GET MY ACCOUNT?

TG: ha, i checked your phone when i found your stuff. cmon, you know you want to hang out.

CG: I KNOW NO SUCH FUCKING THING.

TG: don’t be like that bro. i got nothin else to do.

Karkat glowered at the screen and, without really noticing, started walking back to his bedroom, absently flicking off the bathroom light on his way out.

CG: WELL I AM FAR TOO BUSY TO WASTE MY TIME DOING POINTLESS DOUCHEBAG ACTIVITIES WITH THE LIKES OF YOU

TG: harsh, man.

TG: they say love and hate walk hand in hand, you know.

Karkt snarled at his phone and jabbed away at the keys.

CG: FUCK OFF, STRIDER!

--carcinoGenetecist blocked turntechGodhead--

Karkat threw his phone onto his night stand and fell back onto his bed. He was asleep before he had time to wonder what he was doing in the bathroom a moment ago.

Chapter Text

Dude’s a little rough, ain’t he? Dave thought, pouting a little after being blocked.

Dave didn’t understand that kid at all. He’d been the one to let him out of that locker, the least he could do was be nice. Then again, he figured that a nerd that had been shoved in a locker once had probably dealt with a lifetime of bullying, which would obviously give anyone severe trust issues. Idly he wondered if there was any real reason that the kid was getting harassed, but he came up empty. As far as he could tell over the past three days, Karkat never started any shit, and he seemed to try very hard to keep himself in the background. He wasn’t the dweeb in class, even if he was pretty smart, and it wasn’t like he posed any competition in sports or anything.

With a sigh he piled his things back into his bag and slipped out of the locker room and the school. Bullies didn’t need reasons, this much he knew from personal experience, but it sure made more sense when they had one. With Dave they did. But nothing about Karkat seemed that different from anyone else, other than the fact that he was pretty small, so there really wasn’t anything to single him out.

“Hey, coolkid!”

Dave looked around. That girl from his English class, the one that was always napping, was waving animatedly at him, her red glasses flashing in the pale sky of early spring. He raised a cautious hand and she grinned, flashing the blinding white teeth that were so rare in this area.

“Yo,” he greeted, pausing as she strolled up to him.

“You’re new here, right?” she asked, throwing a careless arm around his shoulders. He blinked, but the action was lost behind his shades.

“Yep,” he nodded. “Last school couldn’t handle my awesomeness. Couldn’t wait to see the back of me.”

“Oh, ha-ha,” she said, tone biting, but she was still smiling. “Sight jokes already? You don’t even know my name yet, cool guy.”

“Uh, what?”

The girl lifted a hand to her glasses and lowered them down her nose so that Dave could see her eyes. Milky white eyes. Blind eyes.

“Dude. How the hell do you get around without a stick or dog or something?” he wondered, unable to stop his curiosity. She laughed and pushed the glasses back up.

“No tact at all,” she tutted. “I like you, Strider. We should hang out sometime.”

“Back at ya,” he said, then realized that he didn’t yet know the girl’s name. As if she could see the epiphany on his face, which obviously she couldn’t, the girl chuckled.

“Terezi Pyrope,” she introduced herself with a flourish. “Your lord and savior.”

Dave laughed. He couldn’t help, it was just so perfectly random that it was hilarious. Terezi grinned some more and smacked him on the back.

“See ya around, cool kid,” she grinned, then she skipped away cheerfully to join a couple of her friends that had been waiting for her. Dave smiled slightly and walked home with a new spring in his step. Maybe this school really would be better.

Or not.

Weeks passed, and Dave hadn’t been harassed by that douchebag since their initial encounter, but that didn’t mean that the guy was taking a break, and his favorite toy seemed to be that Karkat kid. What’s-his-name and his buddies would shove him into lockers on their way by, call him names across class rooms, and a couple times they tripped him as he was walking through the cafeteria, resulting in his lunch ending up either on the floor or on him. The kid let out long strings of incredibly creative profanity sometimes, but it only made matters worse for him, and most of the time he silently picked himself up and went on like nothing had ever happened.

Dave wanted to help. Really, he did. What those dudes were doing wasn’t cool at all, and he knew firsthand how hard it was to deal with the bullying and pretend to be fine the entire time, but what could he do? Every time he tried to talk to Karkat, the boy shoved him away or otherwise ignored his existence. Every couple of days he would find Karkat in the locker room again, and Dave would bide his time until he left, but they hardly interacted in those instances. Once after he met the guy Dave had found him in a similar position, except this time the lock was a combination lock and took him significantly longer to open. He got the same results, of course, from being awesome enough to get it open to getting cursed at for doing it. Never a thank you, never a hug, never even a hello. Not that it really mattered.

That Terezi chick turned out to be pretty chill, and he spent most of his time lately hanging out with her and a couple of her friends: a reject with a lisp called Sollux, and a girl with short, platinum blonde hair and a preference for dark clothing name Rose. They were all pretty cool, and it turned out that Terezi was as close to Karkat as it was possible to be with his attitude, one of his only friends. Rose and Sollux were fairly close with him as well, and they all agreed that he was fairly justified in his behavior, though they didn’t necessarily like that he was so angry all the time. Terezi said she scared off the bullies whenever she saw the shit going down, but she wasn’t around twenty-four seven and missed them as often as not.

Dave quickly came to identify Terezi as the crazy and protective, even possessive, friend that would go through hell and high water razzing anyone that so much as looked at her friends cross-eyed. On the rare occasion that she noticed someone giving him a hard time, she’d immediately jump in with quips about how their mothers were doing that day or how unfortunately small the IQ of the general public was in this day and age. Even if it irked him a bit to be taken care of like that, Dave couldn’t say that he didn’t appreciate having somebody that was so willing to do it. He’d never had all that many friends; just one as a matter of fact, since he was a kid. John, however, was going to a different school and couldn’t have his friend’s back all the time. Not that he would’ve been much help--the poor kid was more of a nerd than anybody had a right to be, and he was an easy target for it.

He had just left Terezi and the other two at the little coffee shop that they had started hanging out at and was walking down the street with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the sky that was finally blue instead of grey in preparation for summer. His hair was a disaster of white strands, but with the way the breeze was blowing, it’d be a pain to try and fix it now. A kid walking a dog twice her size skipped past him without a care in the world, and a little further ahead a group of middle schoolers were laughing raucously.

Idly Dave wondered if his Bro was home yet, although even if he was it wasn’t likely that he’d see the bastard. The time he spent not making his creepy smuppet-porn videos or doing strife with Dave he spent trying to freak him the fuck out with that goddamn puppet Lil Cal. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of the creepy smiling thing and shook his head in an attempt to clear it. He might love his Bro, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think the guy was crazy as balls.

“--FUCK OFF!”

Dave jumped, startled, and looked around for the person that had just shouted, but he didn’t see anything. That was weird. He definitely heard a snarled curse. It sounded almost like--

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME FUCKHEAD!!”

Dave looked around again. Yeah, that was definitely Karkat. But where was he grumping it up? Narrowing his eyes, he spotted an alley between two leaning buildings, mostly blocked off by a massive dumpster that was overflowing with garbage. Yeah, the town sure was classy, right? At any rate, he figured that Karkat was probably on the other side of it, along with whoever he was shouting obscenities at. With a sigh that was more of a groan, Dave set his bag down against the dumpster and carefully tried to squeeze his way between the overlarge trashcan and the building behind him, scraping his shoulders as he did. If he reeked of garbage after this, that little nerd was going to owe him big time. Cool guys did not smell like garbage.

When he popped out on the other side, he was met with a frustratingly familiar sight. A couple of guys that weren’t really tall at all but towered over shorties like Karkat had the kid trapped against the building behind him, snarling furiously. There was a bruise blooming on one side of his face, and his jeans were ripped and spotted with red. Before Dave could do much more than register the scene, one of the guys--it was the dick from before--pulled back and punched Karkat hard in the midsection, causing the poor kid to double over, retching.

“Hey, bro, not cool,” said Dave airily, sliding his hands in his pockets. He could diffuse the situation without violence. He could do it. This time for sure. “Leave the kid alone, man.”

What’s-his-name turned around to glare at the person that was interrupting his play time and smiled an ugly smile. His teeth were impressively crooked.

“Come to save your princess?” he jeered, grasping the front of Karkat’s sweatshirt and slamming him against the wall. Dave winced, but Karkat barely reacted. He was staring at Dave, and he looked…pissed. What the hell?

“Just let him go. I don’t see where you get a kick out of beating up some defenseless kid,” he said, his voice hardening a fraction. “Leave him alone.”

The second guy, the one that had been silent until now, grinned at him and stepped forward.

“The knight in shining armour act is cute, man,” he mocked, reaching out and grasping his chin painfully tight. “Are you hot for Karcunt over here?”

“Tch,” Dave clicked his teeth impatiently. “Bro, friends are allowed to stand up for friends in this day and age. Not that I’d expect you to know what friends do. You seem more of a dumb bodyguard that understands about every third word anyone says.”

The smirk dropped from the guy’s mouth.

“You talk a big game, pretty boy,” he said, pulling his chin up until it was straining his neck.

Dave was still smirking. Until What’s-his-name number 2 socked him in the jaw. He staggered backward, catching his shades before they fell off, and turned to face WHN #2, his smile gone. With a roll of his eyes that nobody saw, Dave gave up trying to play peacemaker. Idiots only learned one way. He should know. He was one.

“Try that again,” Dave dared. WHN #2 grinned and moved in, but he was too slow.

Dave ducked under his reaching arm and rammed his shoulder into the guy’s sternum, knocking him back and leaving him sucking wind. Years of Strifing with his Bro had made him a pretty rockin’ fighter, even if he couldn’t actually beat his Bro yet, and he was more than capable of taking down a couple of routine bullies. #2, still wheezing, bore down on him like an angry bull with about as much thought process, and Dave simply sidestepped him and allowed him to barrel straight into the dumpster at his back. What’s-his-name #1 scowled at Dave as his friend fell over, groaning pitifully.

“I warned you before, didn’t I? Don’t get involved,” he spat. “You do remember our little conversation about Vantas here, don’t you? The one that ended with you tumbling down the stairs?”

He caught a look on Karkat’s face that suggested that he’d just eaten something that tasted completely revolting, but his attention quickly shifted back to #1 douchebag.

“Did something like that happen?” said Dave, pretending to think about it. “I don’t remember that.”

“Why don’t I remind you, then?”

“Why don’t you?”

He tried. He failed.

Dave crossed over to where Karkat sat looking vaguely dumbfounded as he stared at the guy groaning on the ground. He offered the poor kid a hand, but Karkat just glowered at his fingers, so he sighed and crouched down next to him, running his fingers through his hair wearily. The boy didn’t look at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fuck off, of course I am,” said Karkat bitingly, but he raised his hand gingerly to touch the bruise on his jaw. “What the fuck are you doing here, anyway?”

Dave shrugged. “I was walking home and I heard your gorgeous voice singing praises of these fine gentlemen here, so I decided to come and join in on the excitement.”

Karkat snorted derisively.

“Well I’m fine, so you can go,” he said grumpily.

“Aw, c’mon,” Dave said, pretending to be wounded. “I just saved your life, and this is the thanks I get? Don’t I get some kind of reward for my heroic actions? A token of your appreciation, maybe a sloppy makeout on the roof?”

“Ugh, fuck off Strider,” Karkat snapped, moving to climb to his feet.

He cringed and stumbled, likely because of the injuries those assholes had inflicted, and he started to fall over. The taller boy caught him before he could meet the ground, and recalled that he’d done the same when the kid had spilled out of that locker. He started to chuckle as he shoved him away, spluttering indignantly, but he caught his elbow before he could scurry off.

“At least walk with me,” Dave wheedled, tugging the boy after him despite numerous protests.

“Fuck you Strider, let go of my arm!” Karkat snarled, trying to yank away from his hold, but Dave persisted, and he managed to tow him back onto the sidewalk with him.

“My place ain’t that far,” he promised as he picked his bag up and slung it across his shoulders. “Come on, most people would kill for a chance to see Casa de Strider.”

“The fuck is a casa?” Karkat demanded. Dave rolled his eyes. Of course. No habla espanol. Of course his totally wicked bilingual effect would be for naught.

“It means house,” he explained. “Just walk with me.”

Karkat huffed furiously, but at least he didn’t tell Dave to go fuck himself again, and when the taller boy started walking, he reluctantly followed.

“What were you doing down here in the first place?” Karkat asked after a moment. “It’s Sunday. There’s no school.”

Dave briefly wondered if he should educate Karkat on Sunday school, but quickly decided that it was definitely not worth the effort to explain that some people used Sunday to brainwash babies into spouting off other people’s beliefs like a song on loop. Instead he just shrugged and slid his hands into his pockets.

“I was hanging out with Terezi down at that coffee shop,” he answered. “Rose and Sollux were there, too.”

Karkat stiffened at Dave’s side.

“What the fuck?” he wondered. Dave’s pale brows quirked up over the lenses of his aviators.

“Problem?” he said calmly.

Color flooded Karkat’s face and he looked resolutely downward. Dave smirked because, quite honestly, he found it rather cute when Karkat got flustered.

“F-fuck off,” Karkat mumbled to lieu of a response. He just smiled and looked back ahead, being mindful to match his stride to Karkat’s shorter legs so that he wasn’t forcing his companion to jog to keep up with him.

Awkward silence followed, where neither boy was sure if there was anything they should say or even if there was anything they could say. The air of absolute resentment that emanated from Karkat wasn’t helping matters much, though Dave was starting to wonder if that was really how he always was or if he had some special reason to hate him specifically. This possibility bothered him, as he hadn’t done anything even remotely bad to the kid, but he figured that it was probably useless to ask if this was the case. Karkat had yet to give him a simple, straight answer.

“Why does that guy harass you so much?” said Dave after some time had passed and they were well away from that alley.

“What?” said Karkat distractedly.

“Why does What’s-his-name give you so much shit?” he repeated. Karkat’s face fell to a scowl.

“What does it matter to you?” he grumbled.

“You’re really bad at tossin’ the conversation ball, bro,” said Dave with a shake of his head. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with the kid, clearly. Whatever his problem with Dave was, it seemed that it was not something that he’d give him the chance to solve.

“Shut the fuck up.”

He shut the fuck up. For about four paces.

“Seriously though, man, what’s their problem?” he pressed. Karkat growled like a wild animal.

“Look, thinkpanless fucktard,” he said, which was an excellent conversation starter if one wanted Dave to pay attention. “I wouldn’t expect you to get it, Mr Dave I’m-so-fucking-awesome Strider, but douchefucking sniffnodes like Patrick don’t need reasons to be assholes. They just are. And they fucking enjoy being assholes to pathetic little me. Fucking good enough for you?”

Dave was quiet for a moment.

“You’re not pathetic.”

“What?”

“Bro, you’re not pathetic,” said Dave, his voice hard.

“What the fuck would you know?” Karkat snapped. “You know what, you piss me off. Do whatever the fuck you want, I’m going home.”

“Aw, don’t be like that Karkat,” he coaxed.

“Oh, fuck you Strider.” 

“Get in line.”

“Ugh.”

Karkat turned on his heel and marched away, not even glancing back at Dave, who was left standing alone on the sidewalk, looking both bemused and a little put out at his abrupt departure. With a shrug, he turned back around and continued towards the apartment, thinking about the fact that Karkat was really bad at answering questions.

Chapter Text

Those weeks turned into months, and Karkat couldn’t fucking get rid of that idiot Strider with his stupid fucking shades and his stupid fucking hair. Whenever he went to hang out with Terezi, Strider was there too, and he kept trying to make conversation with Karkat despite how many times he’d rebuffed the moron. The undulating douchewad just couldn’t take a hint.

However, as much as it pissed him off, there might have been a small, absolutely miniscule part of Karkat that did kind of appreciate having someone besides Terezi act like they cared, even if it was just an act. Still, he didn’t like people taking hits for him, and the dickmuncher was definitely doing that. Strider kept buffering Patrick and the other assholes, and the bullying drastically decreased. For Karkat.  For him, though, harassment became an almost daily occurrence, and even though he could have easily knocked the shitsomking grubfisters out like he had that one day, he never did. He just put up with them, grinning and making snide comments and just in general not reacting the way the dirtbags wanted. That made Karkat hate him even more. How the fuck could he be so nonchalant about the hell that Karkat had been through?

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had to deal with him at school and then Terezi’s house now that they were on summer break, those two and Sollux kept trying to force him to hang out with the shitsniffer on his own time. He’d been threatened under pain of death--which was only half a joke--to join everyone at a movie today. Yes, everyone including Strider. He’d replied appropriately with a sound fuck that, but that was rarely the end of it when Terezi was concerned.

Karkat tugged on the hem of his sweatshirt uncomfortably. It was summer, and his apartment was boiling hot, but he didn’t take off the oversized jacket. There was a reason he wore it, a reason he only took it off to shower or sleep. It was the same reason that the mirror in his bathroom hadn’t been cleaned since he’d moved in. He didn’t want to see himself. He didn’t want anyone else to see him. He used the sweatshirt in place of a shield, used it to hide his weaknesses: the body he hated.

A rap on his front door jolted Karkat from his thoughts and he looked around, confused. Who the hell would be bothering him here? It might have been the landlord, except that he’d been by a couple of days ago and shouldn’t have any new business with Karkat. Terezi and Gamzee were the only ones that ever came to his apartment, but they just let themselves in; the lock on his door was broken and his friends had little concept of personal space, so why not? That being said, someone was definitely knocking at his door now. With a groan, Karkat rolled off of his bed and trudged down the short hall to the entryway, glancing at the window next to his door. He caught a glimpse of red before whoever it was shifted and he lost his view of them, and he felt himself bristling immediately, though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure why.

With a disgruntled sigh he crossed to the front door, grasped the knob, turned and pulled, and came face-to-face with the second-to-last person he wanted to see.

“Yo.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Strider?” Karkat snarled, staring furiously at the taller figure. He was wearing a red raglan shirt again and those goddamn shades--did he ever take them off?!

Strider’s face was customarily impassive, but a single thick brow arched over the lense of his shades.

“Terezi sent me to grab you,” he said with a shrug. “Said you weren’t gonna come with us unless someone dragged you out of your apartment. Looks like she was right.”

“I already said I wasn’t going!” Karkat snapped, and made to slam the door, but Strider stuck his foot out just in time to block the door from closing completely. Karkat scowled and tried again, hoping to crush Strider’s foot in the process, but the guy just caught the door and held it where it was, leaving the boy no chance of overpowering him.

“C’mon, Karkitten,” he coaxed, his southern drawl rolling around his stupid pet name. Karkat snarled at him. “You really telling me you don’t want to spend some time with yours truly watching an absolutely horrible romantic comedy for irony’s sake?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you, Strider,” he snapped in reply.

“You know you can’t resist the Strider charm, Karkat,” Strider purred.

“What charm?” Karkat glowered.

Strider pushed the door open a couple more inches, just enough so that he could lean down and put his face obscenely close to Karkat’s. The boy felt his face flush with heat and he leaned back quickly, but there wasn’t far for him to go if he was still going to hold the door in an effort to keep the blonde bastard out of his apartment.

“Come on, Karkat,” he purred, that faint lilt in his voice thickening as his voice lowered. Goosebumps erupted down Karkat’s arms, but thankfully his sweatshirt hid the fact. “Come see a movie with us. If you really don’t enjoy it, I won’t make you go to the next one.”

“F-fuck off,” Karkat said, cursing himself when he realized he had stuttered.

With Strider leaning down over him, Karkat could almost, almost see over his shades. As it was, he could see the faintest impression of his eyes through the lenses, wide and...brown, maybe?

“You can’t turn down this face, Karkat,” he continued, his voice still quiet and accented.

“Like hell I can’t,” Karkat challenged, but his voice shook a little.

Strider’s eyebrow rose again.

What ensued was a pitifully one-sided scuffle that ended with Strider catching Karkat in a headlock and guiding him firmly out of his apartment, Karkat flailing and attempting to, as a last-ditch effort, bite the boy’s arm, but he couldn’t get to it because it was trapped beneath his chin. As such, he made due with swearing loudly and profusely at his pseudo-kidnapper as he was dragged down to Kanaya’s gleaming black Mustang with its obtrusive hood scoop.

He was still struggling when the back door flew open and he was quite literally thrown into Terezi’s lap, flushing to the roots of his hair at the cackles that spewed from her without restraint. Sollux was sitting next to her, but spared them barely an eyeroll before turning to look out the window. The door shut past Karkat’s feet, and the front door opened to admit Strider, chuckling to himself as he buckled up before turning to inform Karkat that, while adorable, Terezi’s arms did not actually count as a seatbelt in case of a crash. The smaller boy hastily scrambled upright into the vacant seat, still blushing furiously, and jammed the seatbelt into the buckle so hard that everyone else in the vehicle wondered if it was possible to break those types of things.

That was it. He was officially fucking done with Dave fucking Strider.

A quiet sound on Karkat’s right made him look around automatically. The lights were down in the theatre, but the movie itself hadn't yet started, so it took him a moment to realize what we was seeing, and another to comprehend that it was actually happening. Strider was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed loosely over his chest, and his mouth was slightly open. Was he seriously…?

Karkat’s unspoken question was answered almost at once as he heard that sound again, a light snore coming from none other than Strider’s pale throat. He was sleeping! The anger and resentment that burned in the Cancer right then was incredible. That damnable kid went through all the trouble to coerce him into joining them at the movies, and he had fallen asleep damn near instantly?! The sheer gall of this tempted Karkat to storm out at once, but something stopped him, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what it was. Strider’s sunglasses were hanging on the collar of his shirt, off of his face for the first time that he had ever seen, and that left the view of the boy’s face unobstructed. He had high cheekbones, something that the shades always hid, and his eyes were framed by long, translucent lashes that at first glance didn’t seem to exist at all because they were so pale. Karkat stared, and he was still staring when Terezi came back from buying popcorn.

“Take a picture,” she hissed into Karkat’s ear, causing him to jump in surprise. “It lasts longer.”

“Shut up,” Karkat muttered, and elbowed her.

"People will notice if you keep staring like that," Terezi warned sagely.

"I was no fucking staring!

“You so totally were, Karkles,” she giggled, pinching him in the side. "You were eye-fucking the shit outta that face."

“Like you would fucking know even if I was,” he responded, pulling her hair frustratedly.

She clouted him over the head in reply and, pouting, he jabbed angrily at Strider’s side, even though it was hardly his fault that Terezi was being an insufferable nooksniffer. The boy started awake and immediately whipped around to see what had just poked him. When he saw Karkat, a single eyebrow ticked up in an impressive imitation of Spock and he leaned back in his seat again.

“Putting the moves on me while I’m tryin’ to catch some z’s, Vantas?” he teased.

Karkat scowled at him.

“If you’re gonna force me to come to some stupid fucking movie, the least you could do is put up with the damned thing too. Falling asleep is fucking cheating, you braindead fucklick.”

“Where the hell do you come up with your insults?” Strider wondered, bemused. “Is there some kind of ‘Karkat Vantas Insult Generator’ on the internet somewhere, and you hit some button that says FUCK YOU instead GENERATE and it just spits out random words in a vaguely insulting manner? Probably in all caps?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up you rambling idiot,” Karkat snapped. “As if something so fucking stupid and useless would ever--okay, there have been worse things on the internet, but come the fuck on, Strider!”

“Hey, it was a legitimate question,” the self-proclaimed ‘cool kid’ said, but he didn’t sound overly defensive. “Hey, maybe I can make some bank if I make something like that myself. You never know when that could turn out handy. Like, if you’re some total dweeb that writes fanfiction all the time and one of the characters you’re writing about is supposed to have a totally foul mouth like yours, or if you just want more creative things to call your arch enemies. Oh, man, the possibilities are endless, dude.”

“You are so fucking weird,” Karkat said, shaking his head in utter befuddlement at his neighbor’s ridiculous tangent. “Who would ever fucking use something so goddamn pointless?”

“Don’t you have a friend that’s into all that shit?” Strider said. Karkat blinked.

“Uh, well, yeah, but--”

“Why don’t you ask her if she’d use it? I bet she would,” he said smugly. “Like, I fucking guarantee that what’s-her-name--”

“Nepeta,” said Karkat, a little sharply. “Her name’s Nepeta.”

“Alright,” said Strider, lips twitching slightly. “I would bet all of my savings--which isn’t really that impressive--that Nepeta would use the shit out of something like that, since she can’t really call you every time she needs creative cursing inspiration.”

“Oh my god, just shut the hell up you motherfucking moron,” he exclaimed, running an aggravated hand over his face.

“Shhhh, the movie’s starting!” Terezi hissed, throwing a handful of popcorn at the two of them.

“It’s just the previews, idiot,” Karkat said, sticking out his tongue even though the childish act was lost on the sightless girl. “Who fucking cares if we’re loud during those?”

“Wwe do!” said someone with a vaguely English accent from several rows back , and another few bits of popcorn hit Karkat in the back of his head. “So shut the hell up, coddamnit!”

Karkat was prepared to leap over the seats to confront his attacker, but Terezi cuffed him over the ear again and Strider flicked his shoulder. Karkat whipped around to glower at him, baring his teeth even though there was absolutely nothing threatening about a smaller-than-average boy showing a slight overbite of the flattest set of teeth to have ever existed.

The boy’s lips just twitched up into a small smirk and he turned his face toward the screen. Karkat narrowed his eyes, curiously trying to see what color Strider’s were, but between the dark theatre and the blue light reflecting on his face from the screen, it was impossible. Totally not sulking because he hadn’t solved the mystery, Karkat turned back to the film, expectations low.

Chapter Text

“Now was that really so bad?”

Karkat snorted irately, refusing to admit to anybody, least of all this ridiculous prick, that he had actually rather enjoyed the film, even if it was incredibly cliched. However, despite what he considered to be a perfect ruse, Strider just gave that infuriating smirk and folded his arms behind his head. He had replaced his shades the instant the film had ended, not giving Karkat the chance to see his eye color when the house lights came on and leaving him even more frustrated still. To make matters worse, neither Terezi nor Sollux was with them at the moment, Terezi having gone to call Kanaya for a ride and Sollux having needed to take a leak in the restroom. That left Karkat alone with the stupid idiot that made him want to tear all that white blonde hair right out of his head.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t like it,” Strider continued airily. “That movie sucked major ass, man. Bro’s probably gonna buy it the second it comes out on DVD, just to be ironic.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” said Karkat before he could stop himself. “Why would your brother waste his fucking money buying something neither of you even like?”

“Irony, man, it’s all about the irony,” Strider said complacently. “And the guy can afford to throw away his earnings on stupid shit, anyway.”

“What, is he some kind of fucking diplomat or some shit?” Karkat wondered, feeling a little bitter. Of course. Of fucking course Strider would also be rolling in cash, along with that stupid fucking popularity that he seemed to pull off so effortlessly and all the shitty praise he got during school. Of course he’d be loaded while Karkat was barely getting by.

Strider snorted and shook his head.

“Not even,” he said, and his tone was caught somewhere between amused and disgusted. “He sells these weird-as-all-fuck things called smuppets, and he does porn videos with them. Dude’s fucking raking it in for the weird shit, too. I don’t get it, but whatever.”

Karkat pressed his lips together and criss-crossed his legs on the bench, feeling thoroughly inadequate all of a sudden, though he wasn’t quite sure he knew why. As if he could read his thoughts written right on his face, Strider sighed and sat down next to him, leaning his elbows on his knees.

“There any particular reason you hate me so much?” he asked blandly.

Karkat started and looked around as though Strider had electrocuted him, but the other boy looked entirely at ease, even bored, just sitting there with that impassive look on his face and those stupid fucking shades that showed Karkat his own moronic reflection. He looked away.

“You piss me off,” he mumbled. Strider chuckled.

“Yeah, I got that,” he acknowledged. “But why?”

Karkat glowered balefully at the ground, twisting his fingers together in his lap, but Strider was patient. He just sat there next to him, waiting silently, but the boy was saved from having to respond when Sollux reappeared from the bathroom.

“Ith Terethi thtill on the phone?” he said when he saw the two of them just sitting on the bench. Karkat thought he heard Strider sigh quietly, but he was more than glad for the interruption.

“Yeah, and she’s taking for-fucking-ever to--”

“If that’s your attitude, then you can walk home, Karkles.”

Karkat closed his eyes and blew a long breath out his nose. That fucking nickname. He didn’t know why he’d ever had a crush on Terezi.

“Shut up, Pyrope,” he snapped.

Strider looked around at Terezi. “You guys got a ride, then?”

Karkat frowned as Terezi replied. “Yep. Well, maybe not Karkat, if he keeps up that ungrateful attitude.”

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for a change,” Strider laughed, and stood up from the bench. “Well, see ya guys later.”

“Aren’t you riding with us?” The words were out before Karkat had consciously decided to say them, and the moment they left his lips he knew that he would never have consciously said them at all. Strider spared him a surprised glance that he only identified as surprised because those eyebrows were once again visible above those stupid shades.

“Nah, bro,” he said, lips twitching. “I don’t live that far from here. I figured I’d just walk.”

However, Strider continued to simply stand there, looking down at Karkat, and the boy realized belatedly that he was frowning at him. Hastily he glanced away, ignoring that weird feeling in his chest.

“Good riddance,” he said coldly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was too distracted wondering what that feeling was.

“Love you too, Karkitten.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP STRIDER!”

The boy left without another word, and Karkat risked looking up at Terezi and Sollux, both of whom were staring at him curiously.

“What the fuck do you want?” he snapped.

“You’re cute when you’re in love, Karkles,” said Terezi, grinning her gleaming, mischievous grin. Sollux laughed. Karkat went rigid.

“WHAT THE FUCK--I AM NOT--THE FUCK ARE YOU--” Karkat sputtered indignantly, loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. “DON’T BE A FUCKING DUNDERFUCK PYROPE!”

“Why doeth he pith you off tho much, Karkat?” Sollux wondered. “Ith not that bad to like thomeone, you kno--”

“I DO NOT LIKE STRIDER, THE VERY IDEA IS REVOLTING!” Karkat blustered. “I PLATONIC HATE HIM AND THAT IS THE END OF IT! GET IT THROUGH THOSE RUSTED FUCKING THINKPANS OF YOURS!!”

Terezi and Sollux shared a look that thoroughly confused Karkat, as only one of them could actually be sure that they were looking at each other, and then looked back at him. Terezi shrugged.

“Whatever. Come on, Kanaya’s on her way.”

Karkat stood up, still fuming, and followed the two of them outside. Sollux spared him one last glance, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and started doing God-only-knew-what. He was just glad that the two of them left him alone after his outburst, though in retrospect he figured that it was a bit uncalled for, seeing as they hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just that those stupid fucking questions about Strider had struck a nerve for him, and he didn’t like it one bit. Why did he hate the kid? Maybe because he was arrogant and stupid and always wore those goddamn shades wherever he went and he had money and was a self-sacrificing shitsniffer that couldn’t mind his own business and he would never leave Karkat alone and he kept asking him all kinds of stupid pointless questions and...and...and…

The list went on and on and on. He should have been able to give any and all of those examples when Strider had asked him, and again when Sollux did. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, because in the instant that the question was asked, Karkat couldn’t remember any of those things.

Karkat had last seen Strider shuffling down the street some three days ago, his jeans ripped up and his shades cracked. He hadn’t said anything, hadn’t called out to him or discreetly followed him to find out what had happened because he knew. He knew as sure as day that Strider had been out doing whatever it was Strider did to pass his time, and he’d run into those shitsniffers from school, and they had done the only thing that they were any good at. They had ganged up on him and beat him within probably an inch of his life. And it was Karkat’s fault.

Pesterchum had been going off every few minutes over the past few days, the messages getting increasingly more panicky the longer they went ignored, but that was all Karkat did; ignore them. He ignored the people pestering him on Pesterchum, he ignored the near-constant state of ringing from his cell phone, he ignored it all. He didn’t want to see anybody, didn’t want them to see him. He was stupid and he was pathetic and nobody needed to talk to the kid responsible for getting another guy beaten up.

Several times Terezi and Gamzee had come by his apartment to force him into talking or at least coming out into the daylight, but he’d always pretended that he wasn’t home, and although Terezi at least probably knew better than to believe that he was gone, she never stuck around for long, clearly sensing that her presence wasn’t welcome. Gamzee would just stroll through the place, see nobody because Karkat was hiding under his bed, and then stroll back out, honking quietly to himself like the clown he was. Sollux had even come by once, and Rose and Kanaya visited the place, but none of them let themselves in like the other two, and they left when it became apparent that they weren’t going to be invited in.

And Strider had been pestering him every hour or so. Somehow, for whatever fucked-up reason, he had coerced Sollux into getting past Karkat’s block on him, and turntechGodhead was regularly setting off Karkat’s pesterchum to ask where he was, what he was doing, was he alright, and all the other garbage that he had no business knowing. What the fuck did he care what Karkat was doing? It was his fault that Strider kept getting into that kind of bullshit, so why did the guy even try? Surely he knew that the easiest way to make it all disappear was to just drop Karkat like the bad habit he was, then act like nothing had ever happened.

So why wouldn’t he just do it? Did he really think that he was helping Karkat? Making him feel better about himself? Because if he thought that, then he was very, very wrong. Karkat was a piece of shit and he knew it, and this situation was only serving to convince him further. Why did Strider care? What the fuck did he have to gain from playing the fucking hero for him? What?!

Karkat swallowed past the lump in his throat and tightened his arms around his sides, wincing at the stinging sensation that prickled all the way up to his elbows. No, he felt worse than ever, and as much as he wanted to hate Strider for it, as much as he wanted to despise him for making him feel so miserable, he just couldn’t, because he knew it wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault but Karkat Vantas’ that Karkat Vantas was such a pitiful excuse for a human being.

With a trembling sigh Karkat pushed himself up from his bed and trudged bleakly to the bathroom. He didn’t need to do that, as low as he felt, but he did feel dirty and disgusting, and he needed a shower. So, doing his best not to look into the dirty mirror, Karkat pulled his sweater over his head, cringing as the material brushed against his sensitive forearms, and then peeled off his old t-shirt. He paused then, because no matter how hard he tried not to look into the mirror, he could never fully ignore that it was there, that he was in it, reflected for all he was. His ribs were sticking out again, threatening to break through his pale skin, and his hip bones were jutting out so that his jeans hung off of them like towels on a rack, fitting his thin legs in odd and unflattering places. Karkat swallowed again and forced himself to look away before that feeling returned, clumsily stripping off his pants and boxers and kicking them into a pile with his other clothes.

He stepped into the shower and pulled the musty curtain closed before turning the water on. He winced when the hot water hit his sensitive arms, but didn’t react further, preferring to avert his eyes. For a while he just stood there under the stream of near-boiling water, revelling in the burning half-pain sensation of it and hating himself for that. He really was an absolutely disgusting existence, by human standards or even fucking infant standards.

It was just as he reached for his shampoo that he heard very loud, very aggressive banging coming from the front of his apartment. He stiffened, swearing internally. There was no way he had time to disappear in his apartment; if whoever was trying to beat down the door let themselves in, they would know he was there and they would know exactly where to find him. And they would not let him off the hook if they saw him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, scrambling to turn off the water anyway. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck!”

Another series of “knocks” attacked his door, sounding far more reminiscent of canon fire like in those pirate movies with that actor Johnny Depp, and Karkat yanked the curtains back and fell out of the shower, cursing as he landed with a crash to rival the sounds at his front door. Letting out another volley of fucks, Karkat stumbled to his feet and ripped his towel off of the rack, tying it hastily around his hips because he knew, he knew he wouldn’t have time to get dressed before the door burst open like he knew it would. He braced himself for Terezi or Gamzee to start shouting, telling him he was being stupid and he was seriously pissing them off, but the voice he heard didn’t belong to either of them. It belonged to…

“Vantas, damnit, answer your phone once in a while!”

What the fuck was Strider doing here?

Karkat didn’t have time to do more than wonder when rapid footsteps thundered down the hallway, and the bathroom door was flung open. Karkat yelped in surprise and staggered backward, heel catching the lip of the shower and sending him toppling back into it, landing painfully and gracelessly on the still-wet floor.

“What the hell have you been doing, holed up in here?” Strider demanded, stepping up to tower over Karkat.

Karkat flinched, and only one thought was running in circles in his mind, the single thought that only those that have dealt with years of continuous abuse could immediately jump to when someone hopelessly pissed-off was standing in arm’s reach of them: This is going to fucking hurt. Instinctively he raised his arms to cover his face, seriously hoping that Strider didn’t hit as hard as those assholes but not expecting any mercy. He braced himself. It was really going to hurt. If he had taken out Patrick while he wasn’t even all that mad, how bad would it be when he was pissed beyond all imagination?

The punch never came. The kick never came. When Strider made contact with the trembling boy, it was in the form of a hand closing around his raised forearm, fingers brushing softly enough to be a caress over the raised skin. Karkat flinched and tried to jerk away, but Strider’s grip tightened and refused to let him escape.

“Karkat, I’m sorry, I'm not mad at you,” he said, voice suddenly soft. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The boy grew still, and very, very slowly risked lowering his arms so that he could see the somewhat unwelcome intruder. Strider was--probably--looking him directly in the eyes, and in the dim lighting of the bathroom, Karkat could see his reflection on the boy’s shades. Skinny. Pale. Wide-eyed.

When Karkat stopped trying to struggle free, Strider knelt down, his fingers still around Karkat’s wrist.

“Everyone’s worried as fuck about you, man,” said Strider quietly. “That clown freak Gamzee even came to harass me, askin’ if I’d seen you. Won’t leave me the hell alone. Why the hell are you ignoring all of us?”

Karkat swallowed and looked away. Strider’s thumb slid over the inside of his wrist. And Karkat realized something. He wasn’t wearing his sweatshirt. Strider could see his scars. Strider was stroking his scars. And Strider didn’t seem even remotely fucking surprised that they were there.

Chapter Text

“FUCK OFF, STRIDER!” Karkat spat, and his free hand lashed out and grabbed the first thing it could find; the mostly full shampoo bottle. “GET THE FUCK OUT! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING DOING HERE?!”

And he threw the bottle right at Strider. It caught him on his left cheek and knocked him back, forcing him to let go of Karkat’s wrist so that he could catch himself. Karkat immediately scrambled to his feet, still holding the towel around his waist and glaring furiously at the boy, who was rubbing the injured spot gingerly.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Karkat bellowed, looking for something else to fling at him.

“Karkat…” Strider sighed, starting to climb to his feet.

“FUCK OFF YOU COCKLICKING TAINTCHAFING FUCKASS!!!” And he flung the bar of soap that also sat in the shower.

It clipped the edge of Strider’s jaw right over a fading bruise and snapped his head to the side. Karkat felt his throat close in guilt and fear before it even hit the floor, but Strider very calmly reached out and picked up the bar, climbing to his feet and setting it on the counter. It occurred to Karkat then that Strider was behaving similarly to how one would if confronted with a rabid animal, and a flare of resentment entered his chest again, but he didn’t have a chance to vent further because the newcomer had already let himself out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Karkat was left standing there alone in the bathroom, fuming with anger and at the same time dangerously close to breaking down and crying. What had just happened? Strider had barged right into his home, his personal space, damn near frantic to find him. He’d gone straight to the bathroom, done his level best to try and calm Karkat down, and he’d seen the scars and not been even remotely surprised. Karkat had thrown shit at him and shouted obscenities and Strider had, quite calmly, absconded.

Feeling ashamed, Karkat buried his face in his hands, a lump of ice forming in his throat. He wouldn’t cry, he couldn’t cry, not while that housebreaker was probably still here, waiting for him to come out. The floor was shaking. Why was the floor shaking? Wait, no, that was him shaking.

Fucking get yourself together, Vantas.

With a long, slow breath that hurt his achingly tight chest more than it helped, Karkat lowered his hands and started to put his clothes back on, finishing with the sweatshirt even though it no longer mattered. He left the towel hanging on the rack, barely damp, and tried to remember how to open the door. It took him four tries to finally turn the knob, and another thirty seconds to remember how to walk to the main room.

No surprise, Strider was sitting on the couch. He looked up the instant Karkat came in, and though it was hard to tell past the fucking shades, the Cancer might have thought that he looked concerned. Stupid, of course. Why would anyone be concerned for him after he’d thrown several dense objects right into their face? Why would anyone be concerned for him at all?

“Karkat…” said Strider when he just stood there silently.

“The fuck do you want?” The otherwise harsh words came out tired and weak, losing any venom they may otherwise have borne. “Why are you even fucking here?”

“Because I was worried,” he replied bluntly. “You were ignoring Gamzee, and you never ignore that freak.”

“What difference does it make to you?” Karkat asked, feeling very tired.

“What difference does it make?” Strider repeated, sounding disbelieving.

He rose to his feet and was across the room before Karkat could process what he was doing, and by then it was too late for him to slide away. The boy found himself caged between Strider’s arms against the wall, the boy unnervingly close to him, so close in fact that he could feel his hot breath on his face.

“Listen, Karkat,” he said quietly, and he sounded almost angry, but not quite. “You can hate me to the ends of the earth and back, it really doesn’t matter to me. But I don’t hate you, and neither does Gamzee or Terezi or Rose or Sollux or any of the others. We care about you, and whatever shit you’re going through right now, we want to help.”

Karkat tried to look away, but Strider caught his chin with one hand and forced him to maintain eye contact. Or, rather, eye-to-shade contact.

“Why?” Karkat mumbled. “I don’t get it. Why do you give a damn?”

“Because bros are supposed to give a damn,” he said immediately. “It’s kinda in the job description. Didn’t you read the contract?”

“What fucking contract?” said Karkat weakly. Oh no, oh fuck, his throat felt tight again. His eyes were stinging. Fuckfuckfuck he couldn’t cry now, not in front of fucking Dave Strider. Of course, the more he told himself he couldn’t, the more he felt that he was going to.

Strider laughed. He actually had the nerve to laugh, and that was what did it. His fucking low, fucking stupid, fucking wonderful laugh broke Karkat completely. His fingers caught the back of Dave’s scarlet t-shirt, curling into the fabric with a vice-like grip, and he was crying, crying like he hadn’t cried in years with his face hidden ashamedly in the curve of Dave’s neck. And Dave’s arms were around him, holding him like he was made of glass, and he hated, hated himself for liking that, for liking the gentle way that he handled him, and the way that he was leaning his cheek on the top of his head as he cried. His arms were wrapped so tightly around Karkat’s shoulders that they were all that existed in that instant, but it didn’t hurt, but there was this ache that had returned to his chest and it was swelling and he was crying and his tears were definitely staining Dave’s shirt and Dave was…

Dave was…

Humming?

Vaguely, some part of Karkat recognized the tune as something he might have heard on radio or maybe in one of his movies, but he couldn’t place it. It was soft and smooth, and sounded wonderful with Dave’s low voice. Karkat choked on another sob and Dave lifted a hand to the back of his head, combing his fingers through Karkat’s damp, wild hair, and that only made him cry harder. He never said a word the whole time he held the bawling boy, never said any of that bullshit that so many people always did because they thought that what they said would help. There was no shh, it’s alright, you’re alright, it’ll be fine, it’ll get better, it’ll make you stronger, and Karkat was glad. Those were pointless words, words that didn’t do anything and didn’t mean anything, words meant as empty encouragement that would never actually lift the weight from his shoulders. They were meant to stop a person’s tears, when sometimes the only thing they could do to truly feel better, even if just for a while, was cry and cry until they couldn’t cry anymore and their throats were raw and their eyes sore and their heads pounding from the headache caused by all the crying. And Dave let him do that, let him cry himself out clinging to the only person that, in that single instant, seemed to understand without judging him at all.

When at last Karkat had hiccuped himself into silence, Dave cautiously pulled back, hands on the smaller boy’s shoulders, and he stopped humming. He didn’t ask if Karkat felt better, or if he was okay, both of which would have been stupid-ass questions.

“Come on, Karkitten,” he said, lips pressed into a thin line. “Start talking.”

“Fucking hell…” the kid mumbled, but allowed the would-be-guest to steer him to his own couch and sit him down before sitting down heavily next to him.

“What happened, Karkat?” he said in a rare show of solemnity. “What’s wrong?”

Karkat swallowed--or rather, he tried to. He couldn’t get the motion past the block of ice in his air chute, and his eyes ended up stinging again. A hand touched his back carefully, rubbing gentle circles into the spot between his shoulder blades and just making him feel even worse for leaning into that touch. He took a long, slow breath. Blew it out tremulously. Tried to put the feelings into words.

“I…” he started, but his voice came out barely audible and he had to clear his throat and try again. “It’s just...Patrick and the other assholes…”

“Are they harassing you again?” The sharp tone of Dave’s voice made Karkat jump in surprise, and when he looked around, what he could see of the boy’s forehead was furrowed in a scowl.

“N-no,” Karkat mumbled. “But…that’s the problem, you fuckhead.”

He’d surprised Dave. The fair-skinned boy pulled back abruptly, though his hand remained on Karkat’s back, warm and light. Karkat looked away.

“How the hell is that a problem?” the boy demanded. “Shouldn’t you be tap-dancing the shit out of life right now?”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” Karkat wondered irrelevantly. Dave shook his head, brushing off his question.

“Do you want them to keep bullying you?” he said. “Because that is some fucked-up bullshit, bro.”

Karkat felt that it was entirely pointless to try and explain to the boy that he, himself, was too fucked-up for words, and that it didn’t mean much for Dave to point that out to him in this case. Instead he just drew his knees to his chest and circled his arms around them, feeling just a tiny bit safer wrapped around himself like that.

“I don’t...don’t want them to, but…”

“But what?”

“But now they’re fucking with you!”

The words forced themselves out of Karkat unbidden, and he wished he could take them back the instant he said them, because the look on the boy’s face made him want to cry all over again. Shock, disbelief, like he couldn’t believe what Karkat was saying, like he couldn’t believe that that was what was bothering the boy. Like he couldn’t believe that Karkat would care enough for it to wreck him.

“How…” Dave mumbled incredulously. “How did you…?”

“How did I know?” Karkat said, and his voice was bitter enough to cause Dave to flinch. “I have fucking eyes, Strider, I’ve seen you. I’ve seen you slinking home like nothing fucking happened, with your clothes all fucked up and a bunch of bruises all fucking over. I’m not fucking stupid.”

Dave swallowed thickly.

“Why do you...why would that lead to...this?” he asked quietly, and he reached out and touched Karkat’s wrist. He jerked away reflexively, but the boy’s point was made.

“I’m...I’m already fucking...just pathetic, alright?” he said, but his tone was pleading, like he was begging for someone to convince him that he wasn’t. “And when...when people try to fucking help...it just makes it worse. Like you, fuckhead, getting hurt now because you won’t just fucking leave it alone. I hate it.”

“Karkat…” Dave murmured, startled.

“I swear, if you fucking tell me it doesn’t fucking matter or that it’s fucking stupid, I’ll--” Karkat began, but he cut himself off abruptly, looking down in amazement at the fingers that had wrapped around his, warm and big enough to engulf his hand completely.

“It’s not stupid,” Dave said gently. “It’s not stupid, and it does matter, and you are not even remotely pathetic, understand, Karkat?”

Karkat meant to snort, but the sound came out weak and choked. Dave’s fingers tightened on his.

“I totally get it, I really do,” he said gently. “I know how frustrating it is, but--”

“Don’t patronize me shitcrisp,” Karkat interrupted, rage building in his chest. “Don’t you dare just fucking assume that you know what I’ve been through when you don’t know shit!”

“Karkat--”

“No, just shut the fuck up,” he continued, and he knew he sounded like an ass, but he didn’t care. How dare this guy just barge in and then act like he knew every fucking thing, as if he who was popular and cool and totally fucking perfect knew what it was like to live at the bottom of the massive, disgusting shitheap of waste that was Karkat’s metaphorical home.

“Karkat--”

“YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT, STRIDER!” Karkat felt the cry tear from his lungs, and his eyes were stinging again and his vision was blurry. “JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Shut up,” Dave said, his voice actually rising for the first time since he’d come raging into the apartment. “Shut up for, like, four seconds, you fuckin’ midget.”

Only that final word could have shut Karkat up as effectively as it did.

“...Midget?” he echoed. Dave closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“First thing that came to mind, shortstop,” he explained. Karkat started to puff up, but Dave covered his mouth with his free hand. “No, like I said, you need to shut up.”

The boy glowered balefully at him but made no further attempt to interrupt, and he cautiously lowered his hand again.

“You wanna know why I never shower right after my gym class? Why I wait until everyone’s definitely out of the locker room before I use it?”

Slowly, Karkat nodded, his eyes wide, and Dave pulled his hands away from him to grasp the hem of his own shirt, pulling it over his head in one clean movement to expose his pale chest. Somehow he managed not to catch it on his shades, and he set it carelessly on the couch beside him. Karkat’s immediate reaction had been to look away, spluttering about what an idiot Dave was, but he didn’t because he’d realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew what he was about to see.

“Ever heard the phrase don’t judge someone until you walk a mile in their shoes?” Dave said offhandedly.

“Why the hell would I want to walk a mile in your shoes?” Karkat asked, but he wasn’t really paying attention because his gaze was riveted on Dave’s flat stomach. More accurately, his gaze was riveted on the thin, barely there, parallel scars that climbed up his torso like silver ladders.

“It’s just an expression, Karkat,” said Dave, still with that same, bland, bored voice. “It means don’t judge a dude until you’ve seen shit from their point of view.”

Karkat swallowed convulsively and reached out a tentative hand, noticing as he did that his fingers were shaking pretty badly. Dave noticed this to and took them in his again, but he was shaken off almost immediately by the prior, who proceeded to trace the scar at the top of the boy’s ribs, so pale that it barely existed and had he not been looking for it, he wouldn’t even have felt it right beneath his touch. His skin twitched at the contact, and Karkat started to pull back.

“It’s fine,” he assured the boy. “Just...weird.”

With that, Karkat hesitantly returned to tracing the scars, one after the other, noticing that they were all rather old, and most had faded almost entirely. Unless you were looking for them, you would never have noticed that they were there. Every now and then Dave would flinch when Karkat touched a scar, but would then assure him that it was fine. Just weird. When Karkat reached the last ones, the scars several inches above the waistband of Dave’s jeans, the boy pulled his shirt back on over his head. Karkat couldn’t look at him.

“...I’m sorry.”

“Huh?”

“I’m sorry. For...for just assuming…”

“Bro, it’s cool,” said Dave quietly, patting Karkat on the top of his head. “You didn’t know. I’m not pissed. But none of this is your fault, alright? None of it.”

Karkat didn’t believe that. Not for a moment. But he knew better than to argue with Dave. So he just sat there quietly, looking at his interlaced fingers in his lap, until Dave reached over and covered them. His hands were too warm, really, and it felt to Karkat like touching an open flame, but he didn’t particularly mind.

“What do you want me to do, Karkat?”

He looked up, confused.

“Say what?”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave repeated. “I refuse to be the reason you feel like shit, so what should I do?”

Karkat let out a laugh that was much closer to sob.

“You dicklick, how do you say that fucking shit so easy?”

Dave grinned.

“Cool dude secrets, bro,” he chuckled. “You gotta hit a certain level on the cool kid echeladder before I can tell you that.”

Karkat clicked his teeth in aggravation. Of course, he hadn’t really expected anything less from the insufferable pustule, so he wasn’t as surprised as he might have been, but it was still fucking annoying.

“So?” Dave prompted when Karkat didn’t answer. The smaller of the two blew out a long, slow breath through his nose.

“Don’t fucking let them have their way,” he said, his words sharp as a whip. “You can put up a fight, so why the fuck don’t you?”

Dave was quiet for a while.

“There’s a couple reasons for that,” he said hesitantly.

“What are they?”

“Well, the main one is that I got expelled from my last school for fighting,” he replied reluctantly. “Bro was pretty pissed--not at me, at the principal--but I don’t really dig the idea of making him put up with finding me another school again, so...there’s that.”

“Why did you get in trouble for fighting?” Karkat wondered. Dave raised an eyebrow at him.

“Kind of a stupid question, Karkat,” he said blandly. “Same reason I’m not putting up with those douchebags giving you shit.”

Karkat blinked stupidly, unsure that he understood what Dave was saying. His immediate thought was that Dave meant he had been bullied, but that couldn’t be right, could it? No, no way. The cool kid had nothing to worry about, there was no reason for him to get harassed unless he got in the way of people doing the harassing.

“You’re not fucking serious,” he said bluntly. When Dave didn’t react, the boy stared. “You got bullied?! What the fuck?”

Dave shrugged. “It’s like you said before, right? Assholes don’t need reasons.”

“But...you…” Karkat mumbled, trying to find a way to put his disbelief into words. “You’re always so…”

“I’m always so...what, Karkitten?” Dave teased, his lips curving. “Are you finally falling for this perfect package of cool?”

“Ugh, shut the fuck up Strider,” he retorted in disgust. “I just…”

“I get it,” Dave answered, not unkindly.

For a while the two were quiet again, and all they could hear was the buzzing of the electricity in the walls and the humming of traffic on the street outside. Dave’s thumb brushed over the knuckles of Karkat’s folded hands, and their knees were touching through tattered jeans. He really was small, Karkat realized as he sat by the blonde boy, the top of his head barely reaching the boy’s chin even with the extra few inches his mess of onyx hair gave him. There was an unfamiliar smell in the air, a musky, heady scent, and after a moment of confusion Karkat realized that it was Dave. His nose twitched as he sniffed, picking up a scent like cedar trees and the undertone of the material of Dave’s jacket, on the rare occasion that he wore it. Leather, that was it. But he didn’t have his jacket, so why did Karkat still smell traces of it?

“You said there was more than one reason,” Karkat said when the silence continued to stretch on and his thoughts grew less and less focused. “Why else are you being a stupid self-sacrificing idiot?”

Dave’s smirk widened slightly.

“Self-sacrificing idiot? I am but a humble knight meant to rescue my lovely maiden from--”

“Strider, I swear to fucking hell--”

“Alright, alright,” said Dave, wincing when Karkat pinched his side. “Just keepin’ it light, bro.”

“Well knock it off.”

Dave smiled and leaned back against the couch, his chin lifting up toward the ceiling as he tilted his head against the back. The Adam’s Apple in his throat was more pronounced that way.

“If I ran them off, they would’ve gone right back to harassing you,” he said, and his voice was calm, but his hand tightened over Karkat’s. “I’m used to it, and I… Well, I figured you deserved better.”

“I really don’t.”

Once again, the words were out immediately, and Karkat hadn’t even realized that he had said them out loud until Dave whipped around to glare at him. Well, he assumed from the wrinkled forehead that he was glaring.

“Like hell you don’t, Karkat.”

He was silent, not feeling up to arguing with the damnable self-proclaimed cool kid. Recognizing that Karkat was shutting down again, Dave sighed heavily and sat back into the couch, thumb still running over the knuckles on his too-small hands. Karkat was reluctant to admit it, even and most especially to himself, but this was rather nice. Just sitting in his apartment with someone that wasn’t forcing him into conversation or else a locker, enjoying the quiet company and giving some amount of steady reassurance simply by holding his hand; it felt strangely wonderful, and in that one brief moment where time seemed suspended, he felt warm and light.

Terezi and Gamzee and Sollux were all his friends, and he cared about them in the weird, aggressive way that he cared about anything, but they’d never just...sat with him. Gamzee couldn’t really appreciate the value of silence, that damn horn-honking loon, and Terezi wasn’t much better. Maybe it was because she couldn’t see that she felt the need to overcompensate with talking and hearing or something. Sollux was just in his own little world most of the time, so even if he was letting the silence last, it wasn’t because he was actually present to acknowledge it. This, though, this was different. Quiet and warm and comforting, even though all they were doing was sitting on a musty old couch, holding hands and refraining of saying any of those cheesy things that so often popped up in Karkat’s rom coms.

Karkat closed his eyes, deciding just to bask in the little moment of peace that he hoped might last forever, and somewhere along the line, his consciousness drifted away and he fell asleep.

Chapter Text

Dave started from his light doze when Karkat’s head landed on his shoulder--or maybe it was his phone vibrating in his pocket that had startled him. Either way, however, it took him a moment to register where he was and that he was now being used as a really cool pillow. He shook his head, smirking, and looked down at what he could see of Karkat’s face, amazed to find that it was relaxed and not set into a scowl. Independent of any conscious thought process, Dave’s hand moved up to brush some hair out of Karkat’s face, and then lingered on his temple, where a slight imperfection of the skin made him wonder what those assholes had done to scar it here. His fingertips traced down the side of his face, splaying across his jaw and stroking his cheek with feather-light touches.

His phone vibrated again and Dave heaved a sigh, hand leaving Karkat’s face to dig through his pocket for the stupid object. When he extracted it, he noted that someone was pestering him. With a sigh he opened Pesterchum and checked it out. It was Terezi.

GC: H3Y, D1D YOU G3T 4HOLD OF H1M?

GC: C4US3 1F YOU D1DNT, 1 H4V3 B33N OV3R3ST1M4T1NG YOUR COOLN3SS

Dave smiled in spite of himself as he began to reply one-handed, his left hand having been captured by Karkat.

TG: what do you take me for? i am definitely the coolest guy youve ever seen

GC: OH, H4H4H4, BL1ND JOK3S 4G41N

TG: seriously though, i got him. hes alright. just pretty hella stressed

GC: ON MY W4Y

TG: i dont think thats a good idea. hes not really in a personable mood

GC: 1S H3 3V3R?

He spared her an amused smile.

TG: ok, you got me there. still, hes probably not up for more company right now

GC: JUST M4RRY H1M 4LR34DY 1F YOUR3 GO1NG TO K33P H1M 4LL TO YOURS3LF

TG: whatever. i doubt that any of this blindsided you

GC: YOUR3 NOT 3V3N TRY1NG 4NYMOR3

TG: nah, my cool comes naturally, i dont have to try. youre either born with it or youre not, pyrope, and i hate to break it to you, but you just dont have it

GC: OH R34LLY? WH4T DO 1 H4V3 TO DO TO G3T 1T, TH3N?

TG: are you requesting lessons from the master?

GC: 4ND 1F 1 W4S?

TG: then id tell you tough luck. i am otherwise engaged presently

GC: JUST CONF3SS YOUR3 UNDY1NG LOV3 4LR34DY

TG: baby steps, bro, baby steps

TG: how can you even type? does your phone, like, read the words out to you? cause that is like some serious irobot shit going on if it does and you should drop that program, like immediately.

--gallowsCalibrator ceased pestering turntechGodhead--

Dave chuckled to himself and sat his phone on the couch next to him. She really was pretty cool, even if she was also pretty crazy, and he was definitely glad that she was his friend.

“Hey, Karkat,” he said quietly, giving the boy’s shoulder a light shake. “Nap time’s up. We gotta pretend to do something constructive.”

Karkat mumbled and shifted closer to Dave, nuzzling his face into the crook of his shoulder and causing the boy to stiffen momentarily in shock. In the next instant, he was grinning a totally shit-eating grin.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the occasional cuddle time,” he said, shaking Karkat’s shoulder again. “But you probably should come to life before Terezi decides to barge over.”

The boy mumbled again and blinked open bleary eyes, sitting up slowly and fisting his eyes vigorously. Dave could pinpoint the exact instant that Karkat realized what he’d been using as a pillow, because he froze like a stone statue and his cheeks flushed dark enough that Terezi would have been able to see it. However, being the cool, upstanding guy that he was, Dave refrained from making any comment about it to Karkat and instead just stood up, making a show of stretching his arms and shoulders.

“Terezi was just pestering me,” he said conversationally. Karkat mumbled something that might have been an acknowledgement. “I told her she didn’t need to come over, but she probably will anyway. Just so you know.”

Karkat made a face but looked somewhat relieved that Dave wasn’t going to mention the accidental cuddle. Slowly, wincing as his joints protested moving from the unorthodox sleeping position, the smaller boy rose to his feet, raking a hand through his tangled black hair and sighing deeply.

“Have you eaten yet?” Dave asked, watching as Karkat made a show of straightening his sweater to avoid meeting his gaze. “I mean, obviously you haven’t, but I’m supposed to ask that before I drag you out to lunch with me, right?”

That got the reaction he’d been after: Karkat whipped around at once, eyes flashing crossly, and when Dave just smirked at him he developed such a glower that it could have turned a Gorgon to stone. The boy spluttered indignantly at Dave as he threw an arm across his shoulders, leaning in until his nose nearly touched the shortie’s cheek.

“C’mon, you’ll never get any higher on the echeladder of cool if you don’t have lunch with me,” he said, breath ghosting uncomfortably over Karkat’s neck. “You’ll stay a short little kid forever, and that’s not cool at all.”

“Shut up!” Karkat snapped, attempting to shove him away. Attempting and failing. “I don’t care about being cool, and even if I fucking did, you would be the last person I’d want lessons from. You’re as uncool as it is possible to fucking be!”

“See, you don’t even know how to identify it, bro,” Dave said, unfazed. “Come with me and take some lessons with the coolest dude around. Other than my bro, he’s pretty cool.”

Karkat glowered, and that impassive face softened somewhat.

“Karkat, have lunch with me,” he said, leaning down slightly so that he could look him squarely in the eye. “The next breath of wind will blow you sky high. You need to eat.”

He watched as the boy’s throat convulsed spasmodically and felt a twinge in his heart, compassion for a situation he was all too familiar with. Hiding his body, his secret shame, hurting it and hating himself even as he did so and then refusing to clue anybody else into the chaos. Oh, he understood. He also knew that unless someone else stepped in and showed the sufferer that he could move on, he never would. Which was why he vowed to himself right then to make sure that Karkat ate with him at least once a day, and that he was not leaving his apartment until that plan had been established.

“You’re fucking annoying,” Karkat mumbled, but instead of protesting further as Dave fully expected, he actually just close his eyes and leaned his forehead against his chest. “Really goddamn annoying. Did you know that?”

Dave grinned a grin that the boy couldn’t see and raised a hand to ruffle his already ridiculously tangled hair.

“That’s also in the contract, bro,” he informed him. “Man, you should probably start reading those things before you just sign up. One day that’ll come to bite you in the ass like a guy with no cards sitting in a high-stakes poker game and having to bluff.”

Karkat snorted.

“You’re not leaving unless I agree to eat with you, right?” he said, sounding tired.

“Nah,” Dave said honestly.

“Fine, then. I’ll go fucking eat lunch with you.”

“It’s a date, then--ouch! Bro, elbows don’t belong in ribcages!”

“Seriously fucking annoying.”

The days were still hot and long, though not quite so hot or quite so long as they had been, when the final week of summer was rearing its ugly head, and Karkat was sitting around and moping in his apartment, thoroughly dreading the return to the place of his torment. True, it was highly unlikely to be as terrible as the previous year, and would have to be better than his junior high and freshman years, but “less terrible” wasn’t generally something that would ever excite the masses. The only real difference was that this year, when he returned to Klamath Union High School as a junior, he would have more than Terezi and Gamzee to help him through the trials and tribulations.

Strider was still an annoying as fuck-all wannabe cool kid--one summer was hardly enough to change that--but Karkat had come to appreciate him all the same. After that day in his apartment when the moron had burst into his apartment like a rampaging rhinoceros, there had been a sort of unspoken agreement that blossomed between the two of them, an understanding reached without ever saying a word about it. They developed, if not a perfect friendship, a tolerable one. Once a day, Karkat would be forced to sit down and eat with the blonde airhead, and if there was ever a reason that Strider couldn’t make it, he enlisted one of Karkat’s other friends, usually Terezi, to take his place. They pestered each other continuously in their ludicrous amount of free time, usually with Strider being arrogant and too big for his pants and Karkat calling him out on his bullshit quite rudely as was his custom.

He was having fun. But summer was mediated company that was wiped from existence by the dreaded phenomenon called high school, where he would be tossed into the metaphorical shark tank and told to swim when it was all he could do to tread water. People other than Strider and Terezi and Gamzee would be there, and a great many of them enjoyed the Vantas Wheel of Misfortune show no matter how many reruns played. Karkat groaned and pulled a pillow over his head. The movement didn’t hurt at all. He hadn’t had an incident once since Strider had become much more actively involved in his life. He still couldn’t wear short sleeves, but it provided him a sense of freedom to traipse around without his sweater out of sure paranoia that somebody could see fresh marks through his long tees. He’d put on some weight, too. Nothing unhealthy and nothing very substantial, but his ribs no longer looked like knives poking out of his torso, and his jeans fit more like how they were supposed to now.

A creaking sound from the front of the apartment informed Karkat of a visitor.

“Karkat?” called a now-familiar voice, the tone lifted by that faint southern accent. “Hey, where are you?”

“Here,” the boy grumbled, lifting his head so that his voice would travel farther.

Footsteps came down the hallway.

“Aww,” said Strider, and Karkat could hear the condescending smirk. “Taking a catnap, are we Karkitten?”

“Again with that fucking nickname,” Karkat groaned, resisting when Strider tried to relieve him of his pillow. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“It’s a term of endearment,” said the other, his tone implying the obvious. “Come on, Karkat, Kanaya is waiting outside.”

“Kanaya can wait for fucking ever for all I care,” he grumbled. “I just wanna stay right the fuck here and become one with my bed.”

Strider laughed, and the pillow was jerked forcibly out of Karkat’s clutching fingers. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, aiming for the thief’s stomach and missing only because he quickly dodged to the side. Grinning like the idiot he was, Strider tossed the pillow aside and bent his knees. Karkat didn’t realize what he was doing in time and let out an almighty oath as the boy leaped on top of him, crushing him into the comforter and trying to wrestle him out of the bed. The smaller of the two bucked and squirmed, but they had established what felt like eons ago that he would probably never be able to overpower the larger, and he ended up landing with an anticlimactic fwump! flat on his back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. A moment later, Strider’s bleached blonde head peered out over the edge of the mattress, smirking that stupid smirk. Apparently his shades were anti-gravity, because they stayed right where they were on his nose despite the fact that he was looking straight down.

“Ready to go now?” he chuckled, sliding off the bed and offering Karkat a hand which went ignored.

“Douchelicker,” Karkat said, hoisting himself up and smoothing down his clothes.

“You say such sweet things, Kitten,” said Strider, pretending to be touched. “I never knew you cared so much for me, my princess.”

“One of these days I really might fucking kill you just to shut you up,” said Karkat through grit teeth, and he stomped out of his bedroom, a chuckling Strider following close on his heels.

“Give me some warning so I can put on my best plaid,” the blonde said. “Everyone knows dead men don’t wear plaid.”

“The fuck?” Karkat wondered.

“If you don’t know, then never mind,” he replied.

Karkat rolled his eyes, his fear for the upcoming school year temporarily forgotten.

Chapter Text

Patrick wasted no time.

It was only the second day back to school after summer vacation, and he’d tried to get a hold of Karkat at his locker on the third floor before lunch had even started. Unfortunately for him, Dave had been just around the corner on his way to spend his free period harassing the very same, and jumped in between them with all due haste, catching the hand that had been going for Karkat’s bag. The bully would’ve plowed onward had a teacher not chosen then to take one of their routine walks down the hallway, providing the perfect distraction for Dave to shoo Karkat the hell out of there.

“That’s right, run away you little fag!” his voice shouted down the hall. “Take Princess Vantas to his tower and get your gay on, you fairy!”

Apparently the asshole hadn’t used the summer to cool off and become an upstanding citizen. Shock of shocks.

Dave steered Karkat into the art hall on that floor, a little side-alley inside the building that nobody used unless they actually had art class. So, in a school like this, is was pretty much deserted. One side of the hall was covered end to end with eclectic works of various students from various classes, some of which were pretty good and some of which were just weird as hell. Of course passersby had felt that undeniable urge to deface the wall themselves and had graffitied over the “art” via sharpies with crude drawings of the male anatomy and scribbled words generally suggesting that some part of the mural had homosexual affiliations, but that just added to the overall effect of a colorful paint explosion. It was like a rainbow had barfed over the surface or something.

Presently Dave had Karkat standing next to a poorly presented but interesting concept of a woman made of water rising out of a river, next to which somebody had decided to scribble GAY. Stay classy, KU, stay classy.

“You alright?” he asked, rumpling Karkat’s hair.

“Idiot, I’m fine,” said Karkat grumpily, but his gaze was on the floor.

“If you’re fine then look at me.”

Dave chucked Karkat under his chin the way his bro had done to him many a time before, and the boy reluctantly lifted his head. His expression was bleak.

“What’s that look?” asked Dave with a smile. Karkat didn’t lighten up.

“Can’t help my fucking face now, can I?” he mumbled. Dave’s smile slipped. He knew what was going on.

“Karkat, come on, bro,” he coaxed. “You can’t give up already. It’s only the second day back.”

“It’s been like this since junior high, Strider,” Karkat said bluntly. “It’s not going to magically change just because I’m an upperclassman now.”

And he shouldered right past Dave into the throng of people in the main hall, leaving the boy to watch him go and wonder if he’d somehow done something wrong.

“Trouble in paradise?”

Dave looked around reflexively and wished he hadn’t. Patrick’s closest cohort Johnny was smirking at him, arms crossed over his thin chest. With a deep breath, he turned and made to walk away, but the bastard’s hand caught his elbow in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him back around.

“The fuck do you want?” Dave snapped, yanking his arm free and trying not to wince as he did so. The kid’s bony fingers could easily leave bruises. Especially on him. “Don’t you have some old lady to trip on her way across the street?”

Johnny snickered, probably recalling some fond memories, then shook his head.

“Nah, I’m just hangin’ out,” he said with a shrug. “Couldn’t help but notice your little lovers’ spat, though. He’s kind of a little bitch when he wants to be, huh?”

Finding no point whatsoever in pointing out to the idiot that the two of them were hardly dating, Dave hit the only point that mattered.

“Even if he was, you can hardly blame him,” he said coldly. “It’s pretty amazing he hasn’t done a triple-backflip-pirouette right off the deep end from all the shit you and your pals put him through.”

Johnny shrugged, unruffled.

“Maybe. Still, doesn’t change the fact that he treats you like shit, man,” he noted. “You really just wanna put up with that?”

It didn’t take a genius to sense dangerous territory ahead. As it was, Dave saw the WARNING: APPROACH WITH CAUTION signs from a mile away, complete with the caution tape and barbed wire and electrical fences. Whatever Johnny was about to say, there was absolutely zero chance that he was going to like it, and he would have to tread carefully lest he get too invested in not liking it.

“Why don’t you just drop the little bitch?” the kid wondered. “You’re actually a pretty cool guy, so why waste your time toting around garbage like that?”

Dave raised an eyebrow; it quirked up over his shades with more than enough attitude to make up for his hidden facial expressions. Johnny smirked at that.

“See, that right there is pretty sweet. I’ve never see a kid convince crusty old Oman to lay the fuck off before, then you show up and bam, no rules for Dave. It actually pisses Patrick off like you wouldn’t believe.”

“And why should I care about that?” he asked scornfully. Johnny shrugged.

“I’m just sayin’, you could do way better than Karcunt for company,” he said, and the ease with which those words left his mouth made Dave’s blood boil. “Just drop the little fag and--”

“I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, bro,” Dave said, voice low and his accent twisting. Johnny blinked in surprise. “But if you think you’re any better than that kid, you were probably dropped on your head as a kid. A lot. Because anyone can be a prick-ass bully, but not anyone can put up with those bullies in silence the way that he does. The fact that he still comes to school, the fact that he even still leaves his home knowing that he might run into you nasty sacks of shit means that he is a hundred times cooler than you can ever even dream of being. So step the fuck off, right now.”

He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving a dumbfounded Johnny in his wake.

There were no more attempts from the douchebags to separate Dave from Karkat after that, and the bullies seemed to slide right out of existence so that before they knew it, midterms had ended and Halloween was looming. Karkat had actually started to get into school now that his every day wasn’t punctuated with field trips into lockers and scavenger hunts to find the contents of his bag, and Dave enjoyed the amazement with which the others watched Karkat begin to open up. Gamzee got the privilege of seeing Karkat smile at school before he dropped out, Kanaya took great pleasure in seeing Karkat eat in the cafeteria with Dave and a couple of other kids that had started talking with the boys, and Terezi no longer gave him grief about never “seeing” him with any friends.

That black haired girl that had been in their sophomore English class leaned across the table to punch Dave playfully in the arm, laughing loudly even though he hadn’t actually said anything worth the effort yet. Her name was Jade Harley, she had large, black glasses and a slight overbite, and was absolutely crazy about dogs and space, in that order. Sometimes she would go out hunting with her grandfather, but she never really specified what it was that they hunted, and the boys figured that sometimes things were better left alone. A senior by the name of Jake English was actually sitting at their table as well, in the middle of sharing one of his crazy conspiracy theories that everyone enjoyed listening to even if they didn’t believe a word. Something that neither Jake nor Dave shared was that they already knew each other through Dave’s bro, because again, some things were better left alone. His classmates did not need to know about his older brother having a boyfriend still in high school. Sitting next to Jake was another senior, Jane--ugh, what was with all the fucking J’s, man?--a quirky girl with a bit of a sweet tooth. She reminded him fondly of John--he was the same kind of goofball as her--but he didn’t think that they would get along because John had a notorious hatred for baked goods whereas she would die for them. It wouldn’t help that her last name was Crocker and John had decided that Betty Crocker was his sworn enemy.

Everything was good. Really, it was, and they made it to the day before Halloween without a hitch. But that was when the trouble started, because someone had decided on his own that he was too mature to go trick-or-treating and would thus remain in his apartment with all of the lights turned out so that he wouldn’t get little kids at his door asking him for sweets. Of course once his friends learned of this asinine plan they objected vehemently and refused to allow him to carry it out, insisting that he attend Terezi’s party, but they couldn’t change the fact that he was without a costume on the eve before the great holiday.

“I am not dressing up in stupid fucking outfits to go to some stupid fucking party where I’ll just be surrounded by a bunch of drunk-as-all-hell shitsniffers,” Karkat exclaimed, trying to shove Dave out of his apartment even though they both knew that there was no chance of that happening.

“No, you’re dressing up in a cool-as-fuck costume designed by yours truly after hours of hard labor involving many a pricked finger and possibly even a tear or two,” Dave corrected him, easily resting himself free of the smaller boy’s grip. “And you are joining me at what probably will be a stupid fucking party with a bunch of drunk-as-all-hell...what did you call them? Shitsniffers? But you will have a blast, because it’s impossible not to when you’ve got someone as awesome as fire-spitting me keepin’ you company. I’ll even rap for you if it’ll make you feel--”

“Why in fuck’s name would you rapping make me feel any damn better?” Karkat interrupted, giving up on shoving Dave out of the apartment and storming off toward his bedroom.

“Why wouldn’t it?” the boy countered cockily, following him back. “My sick rhymes could bring puppies back to life, yo.”

“That doesn’t even make sense!” he said, flinging himself onto his bed and yanking several pillows over his head.

“C’mon, you know you wanna go,” Dave continued his coaxing, sure he was still audible even through the layers of feather and cloth now obstructing Karkat’s ears. “It’ll be fun, Karkat. You do know what that is, right?”

“Fuck off,” he mumbled into his mattress. “Of courfe I do. Juft don’t fink thif will be fun.”

“You sound like Sollux when you’re talking into the bed like that,” Dave snorted in amusement. “Do you pillow talk in code?”

Karkat threw one of the pillows at Dave. He caught it easily and tossed it back to the sulking kid, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Karkitten, what’s this really about?” he asked, prodding him in the side and taking some small pleasure in the way the boy yelped and wriggled away.

“Nuffing. Juft don’t wanna go.”

“Oh, bullshit.”

When Karkat remained unresponsive, Dave sighed dramatically and stretched out across the bed, being sure that he was on top of the fantastic conversationalist. Said conversationalist yelped and tried to buck him off, but it was to no avail. With an aggravated groan, Karkat abandoned his attempts to hide in his pillows and did his best to turn onto his back, what with a huge dead weight still being on top of him.

“I’m not gonna know anybody there,” he said reluctantly. “And dressing up is fucking stupid anyway. Why would I want to do it just to go to a party with a bunch of random fucking people that I don’t even know? I’m just gonna be alone either way. I’d rather stay home.”

“Didn’t I just say you’d have the coolest kid ever keeping you company?” the other boy challenged. “When a bro gives his word, he keeps it man. You’re hangin’ out with me all damn night.”

“You have other friends to entertain,” he grumbled in reply. “You’ll forget about me in no time.”

“Bro, there’s no way I’d forget you,” Dave said with a smirk. “And I’m sure you know even better than me that Terezi is more than enough to keep the entire town entertained if she so chose. I mean, shit, the chick’s crazy, but let’s face the simple facts here: on the echeladder of cool, Terezi’s got her own level, bro, and it is just barely under mine. I don’t need to provide any entertainment aside from yours at her kick-ass party.”

Karkat didn’t look convinced.

“But you’re not gonna have fun if you’re just babysitting me all night,” he argued. Dave made a show of stretching out across his stomach, smirking as the kid tried to wriggle free again.

“Nah, you’re probably right,” he said with a shrug. “It’d probably be way cooler to be the center of attention and be pulling dumb stunts right along with Ms No-Eyes and that hipster weirdo with the purple hair. But I dunno, bro, I’m just not in the mood for crazy stunts lately. I’m way more invested in domestic chores such as babysitting, and as such, I think you would be the perfect person to occupy my time while at that totally kicking party and-ouch! Bro, again with the elbows and the ribs!”

“You’re infuriating,” Karkat said in lieu of an apology, using his cringe to finally escape and bring his knees to his chest lest he be assaulted again. Dave smirked at him.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m a stupid, shitsniffing dickmuncher,” he said. “Did I say that right? I think I did. But seriously bro, you are hanging out with me at Terezi’s party. I will tie you up and drag you there if it comes to such uncool measures, believe me, but it’s way more romantic to hold hands and walk under the streetlights as the sun’s just barely starting to sink and--mph!”

Dave didn’t get to finish his tangent because Karkat had shoved a pillow in his face, effectively cutting off any more obnoxious speeches.

“Will you shut the fuck up if I agree to go?” the boy wondered.

“Mmhmm,” said Dave through the pillow, nodding. Karkat sighed heavily and released the pillow; it fell into his lap and left him gasping far too dramatically for air.

“Then fine, you get your way,” he grumbled. “Stupid grubfondling rumpusfuck.”

“Bro, your insults are the best,” the other boy laughed. “They get me through the day, you know? Are you ever gonna tell me how you even come up with that shit?”

“I still don’t have a costume.” Karkat ignored the impertinent question. “And if you hand me a french maid outfit, I will fucking throw you out the nearest window.”

“Nah, man, I’ve already got an idea,” said Dave, though he looked speculative. “Although, I might not mind seeing you wearing one of those frilly dresses and an apron…”

“Strider, you must fart fucking rainbows, you are so gay,” Karkat observed. Dave chuckled.

“I think I would’ve noticed before now if I had something like that leaving my ass,” he noted. “Anyway, I’ve already got a costume idea. It wouldn’t be all that tough, either, but you’d need body paint.”

“Body paint?” Karkat repeated, his stomach clearly twisting with misgivings already. “What the hell for?”

Dave grinned and watched with no small amount of enjoyment as Karkat cursed himself for blindly agreeing to his nefarious plots.

Chapter Text

Alright, so the costume wasn’t as bad as Karkat had been anticipating, but the party was every bit as loud and fucking obnoxious as he had known it would be. Flashing lights everywhere, music so loud that he had no doubt the cops would arrive within the hour, and more teenage bodies gyrating in one space than should have been possible to fit. And, of course, it wouldn’t have been a true party without bottles and cans littering every flat surface, red solo cups scattered among them at random intervals.

Karkat tugged self-consciously at his sweater with grey fingers, wondering what the hell kind of comics Strider read in his spare time. He’d been allowed to wear his own clothes, but every inch of him that said clothes showed had been painted pale grey; even his neck and ears. Strider had also managed to force a weird-as-fuck headband on his head, from which protruded two candy-corn looking nubs a couple inches long that he insisted were supposed to be horns. He even had a set of false pointed teeth that fit over his own with denture glue and ended up giving him an impressive overbite of fangs. Apparently Karkat was spending this particular Halloween as a troll, some creature that Strider had pulled out of a webcomic that he read “for ironic purposes” but probably secretly got off on.

As for Strider, the idiot was parading around calling himself “the Knight of Time,” which also stemmed from that stupid comic. He looked like he was just wearing red pajamas and a cape, and Karkat wouldn’t have been surprised if that was indeed what it was, but it couldn’t honestly be said that it looked, well, bad on him. Damn the kid, but he could make just about anything look cool if he so chose. He still wore the shades, though, and his scarlet Vans sort of blended into the hem of his pants so that if one wasn’t paying attention, they might have mistaken it for a onesie or set of footie pajamas. He looked ridiculous. Karkat knew this for a fact. And he knew this for a fact because he had barely taken his eyes off of him since they arrived.

In a place like Terezi’s house and a scenario as out of control as the present one, a person like Karkat needed a lifeline, and he needed to keep track of it at all times even if it never moved more than a couple of feet away. Strider was said lifeline, and was indeed never more than arm’s length from Karkat’s side, but that didn’t stop the smaller boy from watching him non-stop since they had arrived, driven by Kanaya though she had no intention of staying. It was totally normal for him to be keeping a close eye on Strider, obviously. Totally normal for him to step closer if he felt that the other boy was getting too far away. Totally normal for him to have a miniature panic attack if he lost sight of the bleach-blonde for even a moment. Yep, totally normal.

“Hey, Karkat!” Strider called, his low voice cutting through the music even though Karkat was right next to him.

The boy snapped to attention at once, realizing as he did that Strider was talking animatedly with a dark-haired boy with blue eyes. His arm was slung carelessly over the stranger’s shoulder and he was wearing a grin that Karkat had never seen before, an authentic, truly enthused smile. Karkat wasn’t one hundred percent sure why that bothered him.

“Karkat, this is my friend John Egbert,” Strider said, elbowing the blue-eyed boy in the side.

The boy laughed and held out his hand to Karkat, who shook it more out of obligation than anything. Egbert was slightly shorter than Strider and was dressed entirely in blue. His outfit was actually quite similar to Strider’s, though instead of a cape he had a ridiculously long, pointed hood, and Karkat wondered if maybe he was dressed up as something from that same comic. There was a tug in the pit of his stomach, an unpleasant feeling that he wasn’t sure he recognized.

“So you’re Karkat!” Egbert said. His front teeth were somewhat overlarge, and the epileptic attack of flashing lights was glaring obnoxiously off the lenses of his glasses. “I feel like I’ve already met you!”

Karkat frowned and looked at Strider, unsure what that implied, and found that the cool kid was scratching the back of his neck in an almost embarrassed sort of way.

“Bro, shut up,” he said, voice controlled but with a hint of the same chagrin.

“Did I fucking miss something?” Karkat demanded, beginning to puff up indignantly at being left out of the loop. Whatever was going on, he didn’t like that Egbert and Strider knew while he didn’t, especially since it seemed to be making the latter quite uncomfortable and he would gladly take any opportunity to make that happen himself. Egbert laughed loudly--he seemed to do a lot of that.

“Dave talks about you all the time on Pesterchum,” Egbert elaborated, smirking at the pained look on his friend’s face.

Karkat tried and failed not to look over at Strider in shock, but he was very meticulously inspecting the cup of amber liquid in his hand and not looking at anybody, not that anyone could make sure since they couldn’t see his eyes. After swirling the contents of his cup around some more, Strider downed the rest in one go, tossing the empty container at Egbert’s head.

“You make it sound like I was swooning over the internet, Egderp,” he said coolly, his calm restored in that brief interlude.

“That’s sure what it seemed like, man,” Egbert chuckled. “I’m not judging you or anything, it’s totally cool with me, I was just saying that you--”

“You talk too much, bro,” Strider interrupted.

His large hand clapped down on Karkat’s shoulder, perhaps a little more forcefully than he would have preferred but not enough to hurt, and steered him away from his friend through the throng of gyrating bodies. The sounds of Egbert’s amusement were quickly swallowed up by the surrounding pandemonium, but Karkat couldn’t help but hear it bouncing around in the recesses of his mind. How did that kid know Strider? What was their relationship? And why, why did it feel so goddamn imperative that he knew these things?

There wasn’t much opportunity to ask Strider yet, as he was still towing him along through the house, up the stairs and down a less populated hall. Karkat could hear lewd noises coming from several bedrooms and shuddered, wondering what the hell the two of them were doing up there, but his companion passed right by all of the occupied rooms without so much as glancing at the closed doors, his long strides forcing Karkat into an almost-jog to keep up. At the end of the hall there was a window, outside of which was the sloping roof that hung out over the porch. And they were heading straight for it.

“Strider, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Karkat hissed, praying that nobody in the bedrooms heard his voice.

“I think,” said the bleached-blonde boy, hand leaving Karkat’s shoulder so that he could unlatch the window and thrust it up, admitting blast of cold Autumn night air that made Karkat shiver reflexively, “that I am going to the only sane place left in this building. The roof.”

“The roof isn’t in the building you fucking dumbass,” Karkat corrected, but he didn’t object when Strider slipped over the windowsill and landed like a cat outside. He didn’t even protest--much--when the guy offered him a hand to help him out, and together they found a relatively safe patch of roof and looked down at the lawn.

“Wow, this place is royally trashed,” Strider noted.

Karkat had to agree. In addition to the aforementioned confetti of bottles, cans, and solo cups, patches of vomit spotted the yard like revolting parodies of snow, and there was a mess of smashed pumpkin on the driveway. As they watched, some kid walked right through it, slipped, and fell flat on his back, knocking himself out cold just like that. Someone had TP’d the tree out front and it was waving in the breeze like party streamers. Several people were passed out already, at least one in her own puke. Gross.

“And you thought this would be fun why?” Karkat wondered, though he had to crack an amused smile at the kid who poked one of the fallen warriors with his foot.

“Nothin’s more entertaining than watching people make idiots of themselves,” Strider said knowledgeably.

“You must get plenty of entertainment in the mirror already, in that case,” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, Mr. Vantas is here to play, folks!” Strider laughed, clapping him on the back. Karkat smiled. A real smile, one that he’d forgotten he could muster until recently.

He sighed and wrapped his arms around his legs, setting his chin on his knees as he looked around. He could see groups of trick-or-treaters still going around collecting more candy, though by now their parents looked thoroughly tired of the whole affair, and there were straggling clumps of teenagers returning home after spending the evening scaring the younger kids. An absent shiver stole down his spine. The night air really was too cold this time of year to be out on the roof just for the hell of it.

“Cold?” Strider asked, noticing his little shudder.

“No,” Karkat denied at once, but was cut off by a more violent shiver that forced his jaw to lock or risk biting off his tongue.

Strider chuckled at his bull-headedness, and he heard a faint rustling sound at his side, but before Karkat could turn to see what it was, something long and heavy was draped over his shoulders, providing some relief from the chilly air. For the briefest moment he was confused as to the nature of the object, then he went stiff as a board as it clicked in his pitifully slow mind that it was Strider’s cape.

“What the fuck are you--” Karkat began, moving to throw the thing off of him despite the fact that it did help against the chill. Strider caught his hands before he could do it, and his throat spasmed at the feel of those long, warm, slightly calloused fingers wrapping around his again.

“We don’t want you catching hypothermia now, do we?” Strider said in a teasing tone, but the thumb that brushed over the back of Karkat’s hand was gentle. “Feel better now?”

Karkat sulked in silence, not wanting to admit this weakness, but not really wanting to get into a wrestling match with his friend on a sloped roof that would probably end with both of them tumbling off the edge and right into a pool of sick either. Also, though he wouldn’t say it out loud, he was rather reluctant to shed the cape just yet, because it did help against the cold, and it was already warm from Strider’s body heat…

“...Thanks,” he said, begrudging the word.

“No problem,” said Strider, and though Karkat wasn’t looking, he could hear the smirk in his voice. “Karkitten.”

“Stop calling me that!” he protested at once. Strider just laughed.

They sat there for a while after that in silence, looking out over the neighborhood and the fizzling party, laughing on occasion as another person collapsed gracelessly outside. At one point Karkat began to shiver even with the cape, so Strider cautiously moved closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders in an effort to warm him up. He didn’t protest, even though the action caused a flood of heat to rush into Karkat’s face, and a little while later he gave up on resisting altogether and leaned into Strider’s side, leaching his warmth unashamedly and burrowing farther into his cape, which instigated a bout of quiet laughter from him.

After a while of sitting there just like that, in comfortable quiet, Karkat remembered the boy from earlier, Egbert, and his questions resurfaced. He glanced up at Strider, who was looking out at nothing in particular and whose thumb was drawing feather-light circles on his bicep.

“Who’s Egbert?” Karkat asked hesitantly.

Strider jumped at the sudden break of the quiet, then looked down at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Any particular reason you want to know?” he wondered. Karkat felt himself flushing again and looked away.

“Not really,” he mumbled. “You two just seemed close, so I was wondering how you knew each other. If you don’t want to answer that’s totally fucking fine, I don’t care that much, so don’t--”

“He’s a good friend of mine,” interrupted Strider. Karkat fell silent, that nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach returning. “One of the best friends a guy could have. I’ve known him since I was a kid. Back at my old school, he was actually my only friend, ‘cause he didn’t--”

He fell abruptly silent, and his fingers tightened on Karkat’s shoulder. The shorter boy frowned, but he couldn’t make out anything from Strider’s perfect mask of poise. He didn’t like it.

“He didn’t what?” Karkat asked, pushing though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Strider took a deep breath and blew it out slowly.

“It’s...it’s nothing,” he said quietly. “Forget it. We’ve just been bros for a long time.”

Karkat scowled and jabbed at his side; he cringed and let out a noise that could have been a laugh, which caused the Cancer to stare. Was Strider…ticklish? Experimentally he poked at him again and was rewarded with much the same reaction. He smirked, but before he could manage it a third time, Strider caught his hands and refused to free them. He returned to pouting, hoping that silence might draw a better answer from the moron.

“Quit looking at me like that,” said Strider when he noticed that Karkat was still watching him adamantly.

“Tell me what you almost said then, shitdick,” he said bluntly.

His lips twitched. Then they straightened out again. His throat worked convulsively, and Karkat watched, confused and almost scared at the way his Adam’s apple bobbed. It was highly unusual for the blonde to show this much emotion.

“Fuck,” Strider groaned, pulling one hand away from Karkat’s to rake it through his disheveled, platinum hair. “This...oh, fuck, I really don’t want to talk about it, bro.”

“Too fucking bad, because you’re talking,” the smaller boy insisted, his lower lip jutting out slightly into a pout.

Strider let out a noise too shallow to be a real laugh.

“Egderp” he started off, but his voice was so hoarse that he had to clear his throat twice before he could continue. “He’s a cool guy. Like, really fucking awesome, if I’m being totally honest. Might even be cooler than me. Anyway, when I showed up at Mazama as this tiny, punk-ass freshman with a serious attitude problem, it was pretty obvious that I wasn’t gonna be making a whole lot of friends. I already told you, but I got bullied. Like, a lot.”

“With that attitude, hard to imagine it,” said Karkat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Strider didn’t crack a smile, and the hand that he’d just shoved through his hair reached up almost absently to adjust his shades.

“No, that… People just ignored me if that annoyed them,” he said, and his voice was getting quieter. “The, uh, the teachers over there are way more strict about the dress code… They wouldn’t let me wear my shades, so, well, there were some issues with that…”

He took a shuddering breath, and his fingers clenched around Karkat’s, a little too hard, but the boy didn’t say anything. He was too busy staring with rapt attention at his companion’s face, the face that was showing more emotion than he could ever remember having seen on it before despite the fact that he could only see half of it.

“Egderp...John was the only one that didn’t care,” Strider continued, and though he tried to clear his voice, the scratchy tone in the back of it was beyond help. “He never cared. We were friends as kids, before any other shit mattered beyond what video games we liked and which Pokemon we thought were the best. He always had my back, and it wasn’t any different once we got to high school. He made a point to hang out with me at lunch and before class, and we hung out sometimes after school when my bro was running late. He went out of his way to make sure he had the same schedule as me so that I had a partner for projects and shit...Must’ve been a real pain in the ass for him, but he never complained...shit, sorry, I just…”

Strider gave a loud, uncharacteristic sniffle, and Karkat realized that the cool kid was trying very, very hard not to cry in front of him. His fingers pushed his shades up briefly to swipe at his eyes, then they moved back and the glasses fell back onto the bridge of his nose. He took a long, shaky breath, and then continued.

“Egbert’s one of a kind, bro,” he said quietly. “You’d like him. He likes misfits, so you’re golden.”

Strider attempted one of his trademark crooked grins, but Karkat wasn’t buying it, his brow still furrowed in a frustrated frown. Whatever crap he heard about how terrible he was at answering questions, he was coming to understand that Strider was even worse at it. He was tapdancing around the actual answer, and Karkat wasn’t having it.

“Dave,” he said, and they both stiffened slightly when they realized that it was the first time he had said his name. His first name, anyway. “Why do you always wear those sunglasses?”

He looked away, throat working harder than it should have been again, and Karkat thought that his lower lip might have trembled ever so slightly. He squeezed his friend’s fingers automatically, and felt like his heart was squeezing as well.

“Well?” he prompted.

The boy gave a weak imitation of a smile as he said: “I don’t figure you could just forget any of this conversation ever happened, huh?”

“Fuck that,” Karkat said succinctly.

He let out a chuckle that sounded more reminiscent of a choking animal, but said nothing more, despite Karkat waiting quite patiently at his side. The longer they sat there, the closer the taller boy looked to breaking down, and he had no idea what he was supposed to do if that happened. Hug him? Tell him it was okay? Punch him and say he needed to man the fuck up? None of those seemed appropriate.

But Strider clearly wasn’t planning on answering Karkat’s question, and maybe it was simply because he couldn’t force the words past his constricted throat, but whatever the reason, the questioner felt entirely unsatisfied with letting it rest. So, gently resting his hands from Strider’s, he reached up and touched the frames of his sunglasses. The boy’s immediate reaction was to jerk away, but Karkat waited until he reluctantly turned back until he was half-facing him. Wary should the boy respond like that again, Karkat took the shades between his fingers and lifted them slowly off of Strider’s face. His eyes were closed, and when the stems of the sunglasses lost contact altogether, he turned his face resolutely away from the boy.

“Dave,” he said quietly, folding up the shades and setting them carefully on the roof behind him. The last thing he needed during this was for them to fall off the roof and into an aforementioned puddle of puke.

The blonde didn’t react, and when Karkat reached up and touched his chin in an effort to guide him around, he resisted.

“Dave,” Karkat said, more persistently.

With obvious reluctance, the boy allowed his face to be turned toward his only companion on the roof. His eyes were still closed. Far from getting impatient, which was what normally should have happened by then, Karkat felt his chest squeeze painfully again, and he found his thumb stroking Strider’s cheek although he remembered nothing of telling it to do so. The boy’s lip quivered again as, very, very slowly, Strider opened his eyes.

Karkat froze. Strider looked like he was about to be sick.

In the darkness on an overcast Halloween night, color could still be identified, but even if it couldn’t have been, the light shining from the window behind them would have been more than enough to show Karkat what, exactly, Strider was so afraid of. What he didn’t want anyone to see.

Pieces began falling into place faster than Karkat could imagine. Strider’s anecdotes of bullying at his former schools. His apparent knack for bonding with the oddities and the outcasts. The pale skin, the pale blonde hair that wasn’t actually blonde at all. The shades, his apparent sensitivity to bright light. The reason he only ever removed said shades when nobody could see. The reason that he could relate so immediately to those who had been ostracized and ignored and abused.

Karkat stared into Strider’s eyes for the first time since he had met him a year ago, and couldn’t find it in himself to look away. How many people had, he wondered. How many people had seen his eyes and then looked away, scared or disgusted or simply uncomfortable? Enough to make Strider dread it happening every time, clearly, because there was fear in his expression such as Karkat had never seen on another human being before, fear that he never in a million years would have been able to picture on the cool kid’s stoic facade. Because out of all the misfits, out of all the pariahs, he must have been at the top of the list.

Dave Strider’s eyes were bright, shocking scarlet.

Chapter Text

Maybe his entirely red outfit brought out the color more, but there was no denying the vibrancy of his eyes, the brilliant, burning red that looked so much like fire. The hard, clear scarlet of the most perfect ruby, cut and faceted to reflect every single bit of light that touched it.

Understanding hit Karkat like a wrecking ball as he fully grasped what he was seeing. Strider was an albino. His hair wasn’t bleached blonde, or actually blonde at all. It was pure fucking white, and his skin had the same lack of pigment, and his eyes were red as blood before they closed, pained, and his face was even paler than normal before it turned away, afraid, and Karkat’s hands were shaking worse than they ever had before when they reached up to touch Strider’s cheeks and pull him back around. The boy flinched when Karkat touched him, and he was reminded forcibly of that day in the bathroom, when he had been so sure that that stupid intruder was about to attack him and had been proven entirely wrong. Strider was expecting to be hurt, Karkat realized. He was expecting some kind of abuse, the kind that Karkat would never have believed he had gone through.

“Dave?” he said softly. The boy didn’t react. Didn’t even twitch.

Karkat’s chest was hurting him, but he didn’t really care. It felt nice, in a way, and in any case he had other concerns outside of himself. His thumb was stroking the skin just below Strider’s trembling lower lip and over the chin that had dimpled from the boy’s efforts to hold everything in. He didn’t really register what he was doing. Wasn’t fully conscious of the fact that he was leaning closer, eyes drifting shut. He could smell that unusual scent again, the cedar trees and leather, and it took him a beat too long to recognize that it was coming from the cape still wrapped around his shoulders, that it was a smell that was uniquely Strider’s, one he caught traces of on him every now and then when he was close enough.

He was inches away from touching Strider’s lips with his when he regained his senses and recoiled slightly, staring mortified at the boy. What the fuck had he been about to do? Had he really just been leaning in to kiss Strider? What the fuck had possessed him to do something so completely insane? And why the fuck did it not feel like it was, in fact, insane?!

Sensing as Karkat pulled away slightly and completely misinterpreting the action, Strider reached back without looking at him to grab his sunglasses, jamming them onto his face. Karkat could feel him closing himself off and knew that he had gotten the wrong idea. His heart leapt into his throat as he grabbed the boy’s elbow in an attempt to keep him where he was.

“My pity party’s over,” said Strider, and because the cool, nonchalant tone that he always had was back, Karkat knew how hurt he was. “Catch you on the flip side, I guess.”

“Dave, no, hold on,” Karkat said, struggling to hold him still. Strider shook him off and rose to his feet, his cape following and leaving Karkat suddenly frigid.

“You don’t have to coddle me,” he said bitterly. “Like I said, I’m used to it.”

“Dave, I just--”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve wasted enough of your time tonight, so--”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR LIKE FIVE FUCKING MINUTES!” Karkat exclaimed, finding that frustrated anger that had been so conspicuously absent up until that moment.

The boy was startled into silence, and he didn’t move from where he stood as the shorter boy clambered clumsily to his feet, muttering more curses under his breath. When he was standing next to the other boy, Karkat took a long, slow breath, and threw his arms around Strider, not knowing what else he could do. Being held had helped him. Maybe it could help Dave, too.

“Conceited fuckhead,” Karkat mumbled into his chest. “Not everything’s about you, you know.”

A strange noise left Dave’s throat.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” he asked, voice thick. Karkat shook his head and tightened his grip.

“No, I’m just fucking saying that I didn’t pull back because of your eyes,” he replied. “Why the hell should I care what color they are, anyway? It doesn’t make you any less of an insufferable douchedick, so who gives a flying fuck?”

A single, startled sob escaped the poor kid, and in the next instant he was clutching Karkat like he was his only anchor to this Earth, like if he let go he would be lost forever, and he buried his face in his neck, body wracking with silent cries. Surprised but no less compassionate, the shorter boy had the surreal experience of holding the other like he was a fragile doll, comforting him even though Dave needed to bend down to hide his face in his collar.

“This is so not cool,” Dave hiccupped into his sweater. “What the hell am I even doing?”

“Told you before,” Karkat said, smirking in spite of himself. “Quit trying to be cool, you suck at it.”

“Shut up,” he said, caught between a laugh and another sob. “You wouldn’t know cool if it danced the conga naked in front of you under a huge neon sign.”

Karkat pinched the back of Dave’s neck and had the satisfaction of hearing him yelp in pain. Smiling at his small victory, he continued to hold him, though the corners of his shades were kind of digging into his neck, and waited for the boy to cry himself out as he had done not so long ago for him. It all felt very odd to Karkat, being the one to provide comfort rather than being the one to need it. He liked it. He liked feeling like he was needed.

Dave sniffed, but slowly his shoulders stopped shaking and his breaths became less ragged. Very carefully, Karkat guided him back to a sitting position, as he felt rather unstable standing on a sloping surface and did not fancy slipping and tumbling over the edge. The boy followed him wordlessly, but once they sat down, he wrapped his cape around Karkat’s shoulders again, and he felt the strangest urge to cry himself. To hide this in case it showed on his face, he tucked his nose in the crook between Dave’s neck and shoulder.

For a short moment, one too short moment, they sat in comfortable silence, suspended in space and in time. But Karkat couldn’t relax, couldn’t forget what he had just witnessed, and it seemed that Dave couldn’t either, because though his hold on the boy was gentle, his shoulders were tight and his back bowed.

“So…” the smaller boy said hesitantly. The other recognized the change in his tone and grew tense. “You got bullied...because of your eyes?”

“Mmhmm,” said Dave noncommittally.

“And you wear those sunglasses to hide them?”

“Yeah. They really are sensitive, though, so that’s not a lie.”

Karkat huddled closer to Dave, pulling the cape more securely around his shoulders and finding in it a sense of safety, as though it were an impermeable barrier between him and the outside world. In response Dave tugged him over until he was sitting in his lap, still with Karkat hiding his face in his neck, and began absently tracing patterns across his back. Goosebumps erupted down his arms and neck.

“You’re still cold?” Dave wondered when Karkat shivered, but the boy shook his head. He’d never felt warmer.

Below them, the party had died out altogether, those sober enough to remain conscious hauling their less sober friends to their cars or inside the house. The music was no longer pulsing obnoxiously through the foundation of the entire block, and the lights had been turned off, leaving the warm yellow glow coming from inside the building to illuminate the unaesthetic scene on the front lawn. Terezi was sitting on the porch, cackling about the great time she had and probably not realizing that she would have to clean the entire disaster up alone, because there was no way in hell that Karkat or Dave would be helping.

Egbert still seemed relatively sober and was talking on the phone on the sidewalk, his voice maybe a little louder than was strictly necessary but hardly disruptive. Rose was hanging from his shoulders, giggling drunkenly and calling loudly for Kanaya to come pick her up. Apparently that was who Egbert was on the phone with.

“HEY, YOU TWO!”

The boys jumped and looked around, still huddled together, for the person who had shouted. It was Terezi down on the front lawn. How the hell she knew they were up there was anybody’s guess, but nobody ever questioned that Terezi had this odd ability to just know things, so they were pretty confident that she wasn’t merely guessing.

“QUIT ACTING LIKE LOVESICK TEENAGERS AND GET DOWN HERE!” she continued to bellow. “KANAYA’S ON HER WAY!”

Karkat was all set to shout down to Terezi that she could go fuck herself, but Dave pulled back without any complaint, swiping abashedly at his eyes beneath his aviators. Karkat gave him a cautious look, wary should he start to cry again, but he saw and just brushed it off with a small smile.

“I’m fine, Karkat,” he assured the boy.

Karkat raised a skeptical eyebrow. As far as he was concerned, “fine” generally didn’t include bawling into your friend’s shoulder while standing on a sloping rooftop away from prying eyes. Likely reading his thoughts on his face, Dave elaborated.

“What, you ain’t ever cried when you were scared? And don’t say no, ‘cause I’d know you were lying,” he said. Karkat gave a small smile that Dave returned.

“We should probably head down,” said the smaller boy, giving up his makeshift blanket with a small sigh of regret as he stood up, knees creaking angrily after being out in the cold for so long.

“Yeah,” Dave agreed, following suit. “Before Terezi decides to ‘help’ us down.”

Karkat laughed. Dave smiled. They slipped back through the window together, and trudged back down to the main floor, carefully avoiding the pools of sick and other bodily fluids that nobody wanted to observe too closely.

Chapter Text

It would have been nice to say that everything had gone back to normal after that night. It would have made things much simpler for Karkat. But the simple fact of the matter was that, since that night, all he could think about was that one instance of insanity in which he had very nearly kissed Dave Strider. No, scratch that. All he could think about was how much he wanted to kiss Strider since that instance, how much he still kind of wanted to. He couldn’t think back on that night without wondering what would have happened had he closed that last bit of distance. Would Strider have flipped his shit and stormed back inside? Would he have simply been startled and pulled away, telling Karkat he was sorry but he didn’t really see him that way? Or...or would he have kissed back?

Karkat shook his head vigorously, but it couldn’t dispel the totally strange, perverse thoughts bouncing around in his mind. They were friends. Friends weren’t supposed to think about stuff like that. It was just weird. More than weird, it was downright wrong, but then why did Karkat continuously find himself thinking like that anyway? Why were those weird feelings just getting stronger as the days progressed into weeks?

These feelings, these weird, foreign thoughts, were all bad enough on their own, but they were made a hundred times worse when he was in the same vicinity as the source of his inner turmoil. Oh, sure, he did a very good job of hiding it and acting like nothing was wrong, like nothing had changed--he was very adept at keeping things from others--but pretending nothing was there didn’t make all of the things go away. It was like closing the lid on something that stank; you were just hiding the bad smell, not getting rid of the problem.

“Karkat?”

The boy started out of his reverie and looked around wildly, but it was just Sollux staring at him curiously from the next desk over. They were supposed to be going through their study guides in US History, which meant that he wasn’t doing anything at all but sitting around and being bored. Karkat was positioned at the far end of the room against the windows, and he had been glowering morosely out at the dreary grey sky.

“What?” he said, a little too harshly. Sollux ignored his tone.

“I wath athking what you were doing during winter break,” he said, flipping a page over in his study guide and glancing down the list of questions.

“I was planning on hanging out with Gamzee,” Karkat said with a shrug. Sollux looked surprised. At least, he glanced away from his packet to look at him over the top of his goofy red-and-blue glasses.

“Really?” he said, as if unsure whether he had heard correctly.

“Yes, really, fuckhead,” Karkat said, confused. “There a problem with that?”

Sollux shrugged and went back to his packet, clicking his tongue and erasing an answer he had already written down to replace it with a better alternative.

“Not really,” he said in a tone of forced disinterest. “I jutht thought that you’d be thpending it with Thtrider, thince you have a cruth on him.”

The boy’s head whipped around so quickly that he got a burning pain in the side of his neck and clapped a hand to it, swearing under his breath.

“I do not have a fucking crush on Strider!” he hissed, glancing up to make sure that Mr. Croxford was still occupied in the office adjacent to the classroom. He appeared to be playing Solitare again and was paying the students no mind.

“Pretty thure you do,” the Gemini contradicted. “God knowth he hath a huge cruth on you.”

“Don’t--don’t be stupid!” the other boy choked, feeling color rise to his face.

Sollux snorted derisively and shook his head.

“Whatever you thay, Karkitten,” he snickered.

“What did you just fucking call me?” Karkat blustered.

“Karkitten,” Sollux repeated without looking at him. He seemed very troubled by one particular question in the study guide. “Thtrider alwayth callth you that, doethn’t he?”

“He--that’s not--fuck off!” he snapped, and whipped around to glare pointedly out the window. He heard Sollux snicker to himself before returning fully to his work.

What an idiot! There was no way in hell that he would ever have a crush on someone like him, with his hipster haircut and his too-cool-for-you attitude and those stupid shades--well, the shades served a purpose, as he now knew, but still. Who the hell would fall for such a total loser? A little voice seemed to speak up from the back of his mind, a voice with a suspiciously southern accent.

Who the hell would spend most of their free time thinking about what it might have been like to kiss such a total loser? it mocked. Karkat’s face grew uncomfortably hot, and his sweater was abruptly suffocating around his throat.

He didn’t have a crush on Strider. Nope. Definitely not.

He laid his head resolutely on folded arms, hoping to take a short nap before the bell sent them on their merry way home. Well, “merry” for those that had cars. Karkat was stuck walking through ankle-deep snow to get home, because Kanaya was busy all week and Gamzee was out of town for the time being. There was no way that he would get on the bus and subject himself to the close-quarters torment that always ensued on such methods of transportation, so he was left to make footprints in the gross, wet residue cluttering the sidewalks.

With a long, slow sigh, Karkat closed his eyes, but he was far too wired after his exchange with Sollux to have a hope of drifting off now. It also didn’t help that he was rather cold, and sitting next to the chilled glass window wasn’t doing him any favors at all. Croxford was also talking to someone now, and his voice was the kind that carried easily, so even if one didn’t mean to eavesdrop, you couldn’t really help overhearing.

“Don’t you have a class right now?” the teacher sighed, but he didn’t sound overly irritated.

Whoever he was talking to answered back too quietly to be heard from across the room.

“And Miss Crumrine knows you’re down here to turn in your paper?” Croxford checked, sounding skeptical. The newcomer laughed, and the hairs on the back of Karkat’s neck stood up. There was no way...What the fuck?

“Would it make you feel better if I said yes?” the student said, his voice a little louder in his amusement. Sollux snickered at the speed with which Karkat looked around.

Strider was standing in the doorway that connected the office and the classroom, grinning that stupidly cocky half-grin as he handed Croxford three pieces of lined paper stapled together. The teacher took them with a wry smirk of his own and shook his head.

“No, it probably wouldn’t,” he answered honestly.

One of the girls near the doorway looked over and giggled flirtatiously, flipping her hair over her shoulder when Strider glanced around the room, hoping to get his attention. Karkat would never admit to the satisfaction he felt when the white-haired boy passed right over the bimbo, but that feeling disappeared almost at once, because then his gaze found him, and he remembered again what he’d been thinking about nonstop and what Sollux had just told him, flushing to the roots of his hair and laying his head resolutely back down on his arms.

“Well, if that’s all, you can go now, Mr Strider,” said Croxford after a cursory flip through the essay.

“Aw, come on, Crox,” Strider coaxed. “There’s like, five minutes left in class. By the time I get up to Crumrine’s I’ll have just enough time to sit down before the bell rings. Can’t I just hang here? It’s not like I’m disrupting anything.”

Please say no please say no PLEASE say no, Karkat found himself begging silently. He couldn’t face Strider right now. Nope, he really couldn’t do it until he’d gotten himself under control again.

Croxford sighed.

“Just don’t be a pest, alright?” he requested.

“You won’t even know I’m here,” Strider promised, and Karkat could picture him winking conspiratorially from behind his shades.

“Sure,” said the teacher, not biting. Grinning at his easy victory, Strider strolled into the classroom and made straight for Karkat and Sollux’s corner, hands in his pockets like he thought he was something special. He was actually wearing a jacket for a change; a black leather one that hung open over a red t-shirt. It looked good on him.

“Hey,” he said, sliding into the vacant seat in front of Karkat. “Man, do you steal the window seat in every class?”

“Whenever pothible,” Sollux confirmed.

“Shut up,” Karkat grumbled, refusing to look up.

He could hear Strider frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, poking the top of Karkat’s head. He reached up and swatted his finger aside.

“Nothing. I’m fan-fucking-tastic,” he answered, his tone implying anything but.

“He’th jutht pouting becauthe he hath to walk home,” Sollux said. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re walking home in this crap?” Strider said, horrified. “Bro, wouldn’t anyone give you a ride?”

“Kanaya’s busy,” he mumbled. “And Gam is outta town.”

“What about this loser?” he wondered, and although Karkat wasn’t looking, he knew that he was gesturing at Sollux. “No offense, bro.”

“None taken,” said the lisping wonder with a shrug. “I have roboticth after thchool today, and I don’t know when we’ll be done. I don’t think Karkat wanth to wait here that long.”

“Damn right I don’t.”

“Huh. Well, that was easy.”

Karkat frowned and risked glancing up at last. Strider was smiling that evil smile at him, and he felt an inexplicable tightening in his chest at that, a tightening that he denied vehemently.

“What was easy?” he said warily.

“I was just wonderin’ how hard it’d be to coerce you into letting me drive you home,” he said, still smiling. “Looks like the cards are with me today.”

“What the fuck are you smoking, nimrod?” Karkat wondered, refusing to acknowledge the heat around his ears. “I don’t think I fucking agreed to go anywhere with you!”

Far from being put off, Strider’s grin only widened.

“What, would you rather walk home in that shit?” he asked with a gesture to the windows. “It’ll probably come up to your knees, shorty.”

Karkat bristled, but his retort was cut short by the obnoxious buzzing of the dismissal bell. A sudden explosion of noise sounded as people burst into conversation, shoving their books unceremoniously into their bags and thundering out the door, drowning out any snide remarks he could have made. Instead he made due with scowling viciously as he slid his own unopened textbook into his bag and stood up, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Do you need to go by your locker?” Strider asked, falling into step beside Karkat as he made a beeline for the door, adding over his shoulder: “See ya, Sollux!”

“Whatever!” Sollux hollered back.

“It makes no difference to you, because you’re not driving me home,” said the shorter boy adamantly. He didn’t need to go by his locker; he’d gotten into the habit a long time ago of keeping all of his things with him in case somebody broke into it and vandalised his belongings. It had happened before.

“Sorry, did I seem like I was giving you the choice?” the pushy boy deadpanned, flinging an arm around his shoulders and steering them toward the nearest door the led outside. “My bad. I guess I’ll be kidnapping you, then.”

“God fucking damnit Strider, you are really fucking annoying,” Karkat said, but there was no heat to his words. He was distracted by the sudden proximity to the other boy and the heat he could feel coming off of him as though he was a furnace. How was he so warm?

“Aww, you love me,” he teased, rumpling up Karkat’s hair.

The taller boy shouldered the door open when they reached it, and they were met with a blast of cold air as they stepped out into the worst excuse for a winter wonderland that anybody could have ever imagined. Filthy greyish slush covered the street and was sprayed onto the sidewalk, covering the mud-infused snow there with stone-colored freckles. There were several spots of yellow snow within sight of the doorway, but it was unclear what or who had left them there. The sky was an ugly mass of grey clouds that appeared to be threatening to split apart and cover them all with more of the gross, cold shit that would melt in their socks and matt their hair into clumps. A stiff breeze was blowing as well, giving the impression of a thousand invisible daggers pricking incessantly at Karkat’s nose and cheeks.

In the next instant, something was being wrapped around Karkat’s face, and though his initial response was to panic and recoil, he hesitated because that something smelled like Strider, and he knew that anything that smelled like him wasn’t going to hurt him.

“Feels better already, right?” said the boy in question.

Karkat reached up to touch the fabric that had been wound around his neck and the bottom half of his face; it was soft and thick. A scarf, he realized. Strider had wrapped a woolen scarf around his face and neck to keep off the biting cold. Without replying to the question, Karkat pulled the scarf further up to protect his nose more fully, glad that the material hid the color that flooded his cheeks when the other chuckled.

“C’mon, I’m parked down on the cafeteria side,” said Strider, nudging Karkat to turn left and begin walking down the steep hill that someone thought was an excellent location on which to build a school. The boy fell into step beside his friend, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket and his gaze fixed resolutely forward.

“Hey, cool guy!” somebody called. “Think fast!”

Karkat barely had time to look around before a couple of snowballs came whizzing through the air toward the two of them. He cringed automatically, waiting for the wet balls of slush to smack him in the face, but a hand caught his elbow and jerked him to the side. He stumbled and slipped on a patch ice, landing heavily on his ass with a grunt of pain, the cold already seeping through his jeans. Somebody laughed loudly, and he looked around, confused. Strider was standing over him, his hair soaked and his shades splattered. Despite that, he was grinning broadly, and he knelt down to gather a handful of crap himself, packing it and preparing it for launch. Karkat watched where Strider was aiming and saw that girl, Jade, laughing without restraint. She was bundled up in so much clothing that he had to wonder how the hell she had managed to throw anything.

Strider flung his snowball, and it sailed straight and true, hitting Jade square in the face and spattering her glasses. Laughing uproariously, the boy grabbed Karkat’s hand and hauled him to his feet, tugging him with all due haste down the sidewalk as more snowballs began to rain down upon them. Though it was difficult for him to keep up without slipping and falling down again, the smaller boy couldn’t help but smile a little.

They made it to the parking lot, Strider entirely soaked and Karkat cursing a huge wet spot on his hip where someone had managed to nail him, and the obnoxious idiot was still laughing as he pawed through his pockets in search of his car keys. Karkat watched as he extracted what looked to be a rather expensive key and hit a button. From a few spots away, Karkat heard a loud beep as the boy’s car unlocked, and he walked toward the sound. What kind of car did he drive? Honestly, Karkat would have half expected him to have a motorcycle, the weather be damned, but what he saw was far more fitting and yet at the same time completely shocking.

A gleaming, cherry-red sports car sat in front of him, the kind that Karkat had never even dreamed of seeing outside of movies. It was low-slung, had a sleek, streamlined body that screamed aerodynamics, and Karkat found himself staring quite openly at the doors that he knew instinctively opened upward rather than out. The rims were gleaming dark chrome, the tires pitch black and studded heavily to accommodate the nasty winter roads.

“Ain’t she a beauty?” said Strider fondly, running his hand over the roof of the vehicle. “Lamborghini Aventador, 6.5 Liter V12 engine, 432 PS per tonne. Oh man, she doesn’t purr, she growls.”

“How the fuck did you afford this?” Karkat spluttered. He was no huge car fanatic, but he knew that Lamborghinis were hardly common as a high schooler’s first car.

“Told you, Bro makes a shit ton of bank on those fuckin’ smuppets,” he said offhandedly.

“And he just bought you a fucking Lamborghini for your sixteenth birthday?!” he exclaimed.

Strider’s lips twitched, but he didn’t answer. Instead he popped the trunk and tossed his bag inside, gesturing for Karkat to do the same. He didn’t want to; it went against every fibre of his being to toss in his wet and dirty school bag. However, the alternative was standing out in the cold and looking like an idiot, so with a heavy sigh he followed suit. Strider closed the trunk and went to the driver’s side, flipping his door open and jumping into the black leather seat still sopping wet. Karkat reluctantly climbed into the passenger seat, staring at the door for a minute before remembering to close it.

He felt like he was going to ruin the expensive car just by sitting in it, or that by looking at the dashboard he would get it dirty, but the driver didn’t seem concerned about either of them dripping all over the black leather. He stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it carelessly behind his seat before turning the vehicle on; he hadn’t been exaggerating. The Aventador growled to life like an angry wildcat, setting the whole frame humming. Karkat jumped a little in surprise and Strider laughed.

“Told you,” he said smugly. “Buckle up.”

Karkat reached up and pulled the seat belt down and around his torso, clicking it into place while Strider did the same. The driver reached over to the radio and switched it on; Fall Out Boy started screaming something about a god damn arms race. Grinning, the white-haired boy turned the volume down enough to oblige conversation, and then put the car in gear. Karkat’s heart leapt into his throat at the prospect of tearing out of that icy parking lot like a bat out of hell, so he was more than a little amazed when he slowly and smoothly glided out onto the street like it was no big deal.

“What?” said the boy when he caught Karkat staring. “Did you think I was gonna just punch it and try to kill us?”

“Well…” he mumbled, not sure he wanted to admit that that was in fact what he had been afraid of.

Strider laughed. “Nah, bro. I got precious cargo on board. Gotta be careful with that shit.”

He patted the top of Karkat’s head as he pulled up to the stop sign ahead of the buses. Karkat swatted his hand aside.

“So, can I bribe you into hanging out at my place this weekend?” he said, making the turn to Karkat’s apartment. The boy blinked.

“Why would I want to hang out at your place?” he wondered, picturing one of the large, opulent buildings on Nob Hill, or perhaps a country-club style home like those that littered the Harbor Isles area down by the lake.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Strider countered. “I’ve got shit loads of apple juice, cheetos, and the best video games in the world. Not to mention you can meet my Bro.”

“The creepy puppet-porn guy?” Karkat said skeptically. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Aw, c’mon,” the boy needled. “Bro’s totally awesome, man. You’d like him.”

“Aside from the puppet porn?”

“Aside from the puppet porn.”

Karkat sighed and shook his head.

“Is there any point in telling you to go fuck yourself?” he wondered idly.

“None at all.”

“I should report you as a kidnapper.”

“But you won’t.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Fuck off.”

Chapter Text

Strider gave Karkat time to change into some warm, dry clothes and gather what he thought he would need for the weekend, watching cheerfully as he did. Karkat tried to offer him a change of clothes, but he pointed out that the boy’s clothes were unlikely to fit him. Flushing, Karkat had absconded to the bathroom and was currently staring at his reflection in the mirror, hands grasping the sides of the sink tightly.

Okay, this was a bad idea. He’d known it was from the moment Strider had broached the question, but he hadn’t been able to decline the chance to see how he lived, to meet his brother. They were still at his apartment, though. He could step out and say sorry, but he’d had a change of heart and didn’t really feel like going to spend more time with the moron and his brother in close quarters. He could do it. He should do it.

“Hey, sometime while we’re still young, Karkles!” Strider hollered, knocking on the bathroom door.

“Just give me a fucking minute, dickmunch!” Karkat snapped back, not even registering that he had used Terezi’s nickname for him.

“Just one?” he checked. “You’ve already had, like, ten.”

“Moron, I’ve been in here for maybe three!”

“Doing what, exactly?”

Karkat went silent.

“Awww,” said the other boy, and Karkat could picture the shit-eating smirk on his face. “You jackin’ off to all the happy memories?”

“Oh, fuck you!” Karkat snarled, ripping the door open to attack his companion, but the boy simply sidestepped him and caught him around the middle before he crashed into the wall opposite the door.

“You ready yet?” he asked after Karkat wrestled free of his hold.

With a huff as his only reply, Karkat snatched his bag from the floor in front of the sink and stomped resolutely down the hall and out the front door, hearing Strider’s laughter following him the whole way. The cold air outside bit at his now-exposed face, so he reached up and tugged the scarf up over his nose, trying not to think about the fact that he found comfort in the smell that clung to it, that familiar smell that he would never admit to appreciating. The door closed behind him and a hand clapped down on his shoulder.

“Shit, man, you took so long that God decided to rain his dandruff down upon us all!” Strider observed, pointing out at the sky. Indeed, cold, wet flakes that looked like the ends of cuetips had begun to drift down, sticking to the ground and to each other to create a mushy new layer over the already filthy sidewalks.

Karkat didn’t dignify this statement with a response and turned resolutely toward the stairs, bag slung over his shoulder and bouncing against his hip with every other step. His friend followed close behind, his wet Vans squeaking with irritating regularity on the floor and all the way down the stairs.

“Did you even check with your creepy brother before just inviting me over?” Karkat wondered as he tossed his bag into the trunk.

“Nah, but he won’t care,” he assured him. “Now just get in before your hair turns white. I can’t be seen toting around a crusty old man in this sweet ride. That’d ruin my cool factor forever, bro.”

“You talk way too fucking much,” Karkat accused, but he climbed in anyway, not particularly wanting to loiter out in the snow but still holding reservations about allowing that same snow inside the car that suggested the owner was wiping his ass with Benjamin Franklins.

“Don’t pretend you don’t love my sexy voice,” he said with a purr to rival the sound of the car starting up. Karkat looked resolutely out the window, refusing to acknowledge the heat creeping up his neck because he absolutely, without a doubt, did not love Strider’s low, rough voice at all.

“You blush redder than the car,” the driver remarked as he put the vehicle in gear. Karkat ignored him, but his body decided to confirm the statement and exceed expectations all by itself without any command from him.

If the boy noticed this, he thankfully gave no indication. He pulled up to the driveway of the apartment complex parking lot and checked both ways on the road. There wasn’t a car in sight, but he didn’t go just yet. First he glanced over at Karkat, and he waited long enough that the boy couldn’t resist glaring at him for taking forever. The moment their eyes met, Strider smirked. Then he threw the car into gear and the tires screamed. So did Karkat.

They were pressed back into their seats in the split second the car took to find traction on the pavement, and they were tearing off. There was no telling what scenery passed them by; it was all just one massive grey blur. The engine snarled as Strider floored the gas, whooping like a drunkard watching football in a bar and laughing maniacally at Karkat’s panic as the boy scrabbled frantically for anything, anything at all to hold on to even though nothing there would save him if they crashed.

“WHAT THE FUCK--ARE YOU TRYING TO FUCKING KILL US YOU FUCKING ASSLICKING RAINBOWSHITTING RUMPUSFUCKER?!?!?!” Karkat exploded. This just made Strider laugh harder. “SLOW THE FUCK DOWN SHITSNIFFER OR I FUCKING SWEAR I’LL--”

Well, the seat belts locked at sudden forward movement. Especially the kind caused by sudden braking. The goddamn death trap on wheels skidded to a halt on the empty road, driver still laughing uproariously and the passenger panting from a slight panic attack.

“Ahahaha, your face Karkat!” Strider howled, hand smacking the steering wheel in his mirth. “Oh my god, it was priceless!”

“You…” Karkat hissed, chest heaving and neck burning from whiplash. He was trying to think of a word bad enough to describe the other boy in that instant, but there were none that came to mind, so he settled for his age-old standby. “You goddamn fuckhead, you could’ve killed us!”

His laughter settled down by a fraction.

“Trust me, Karkat,” he said, making a brave attempt at a serious expression. “I wouldn’t have done that if I thought for even an instant that you might get hurt.”

“That’s not a huge comfort,” Karkat noted, trying and failing to ignore the way his chest tightened. “Considering you rarely think at all.”

“Ouch, man,” the driver chuckled. He put the car back into gear and started driving at a much more reasonable speed. Karkat was still trembling though. “That’s harsh. Seriously, I swear upon pain of death that I will at no time, ever, do something that even might put you in danger, lest my insides rot and shrivel.”

“Okay, that’s fucking gross, first of all,” said Karkat, shuddering at the thought. He’d never been fond of anatomy to begin with. “Second of all, I don’t think I trust your judgement about what is and is not safe.”

Strider shrugged. He’d finally stopped cackling like a hyena. “You can think whatever you want, baby.”

Karkat choked.

“What did you just call me?” he demanded, face blazing with heat.

“Huh?” the driver wondered, glancing over at him curiously. “There a problem?”

“You--don’t fucking--just--UGH,” Karkat finally groaned in exasperation. He turned to glower morosely out the window, ears and neck burning furiously. He had a feeling that the high pitched noise Strider had forced from him two minutes ago would haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Bro, don’t be pissed, alright?” the asswipe in question said after an uncomfortably long awkward silence. “I was just havin’ some fun, so...Sorry I scared you, I guess.”

Karkat spared him a look, but his focus was on the road and he didn’t notice. Overall his expression was impassive, but Karkat thought his lips were pressed into a hard line, which probably meant that Strider was actually legitimately concerned about whether or not Karkat would hate him after that stunt. He sighed.

“It’s fine, fuckass,” he said, insulting him to save some face. “What’s the point of having a car like this if you don’t show off every once in a while? Just don’t fucking try to surprise me again.”

“Can’t promise anything like that,” Strider chuckled. “But I’ll do my best not to scare the piss out of you in the car again. Deal?”

Karkat scowled. “You did not scare the piss out of me, asshole.”

The boy snorted. “I heard you scream like a little girl, Vantas. I’m callin’ your bluff.”

He bristled and decided that he was just not going to look at the albino ever again.

Chapter Text

“Wow.”

Strider was smirking again, he could feel it, but Karkat refused to check for himself. He was staring up at something he would never have expected after riding in a Lamborghini fucking Aventador: an apartment complex almost identical to his own, complete with a too-small parking lot and narrow-as-all-fuck-stairwells. The only main difference, aside from the location, was that it seemed that most of the rooms were accessible from the inside of the building as opposed to the outside.

He heard the passenger door close and heard the trunk open, but he stood rooted to the spot, very unsure what to do because unless Strider and his brother owned the entire complex and acted as landlords, the car most definitely did not match their living style. If that was the case, then somebody’s priorities were in serious need of questioning and reconstructing.

“Wait til you see the inside,” said a voice right beside him. “Even more gorgeous.”

Karkat yelped and leapt into the air, whirling around to glare at the boy who had been leaning over his shoulder until his lips were nearly touching his ear. He glowered, but Strider gave no response beyond that crooked smirk that Karkat knew too well.

“How the fuck do you have that car and then live in a crappy little apartment?” Karkat wondered, falling into step behind the other, who was carrying his dufflebag. Upon noticing this, he quickly snatched it away, only worrying after the fact if it would offend or otherwise bother him.

“Hey, that crappy little apartment is home,” he shrugged. “It’s got everything we need, and we’re only two people. Why bother getting some big house? It’s just a bunch of empty space you have to clean all the time. Empty rooms are boring. And lonely.”

“You sound like you know.”

Karkat didn’t mean to say it. It just sort of slipped out, the same way a lot of his thoughts tended to do, but just like all those other slip-ups, he couldn’t take it back once he said it. Strider looked a little surprised, but not offended, so he figured that he hadn’t messed up too bad.

“Not personally, really,” he said with a shrug. “Bro is pretty much always around, especially when I don’t want him to be. Back when our parents died, though, we were living in a sick little house out near Pelican Elementary. I was, like, five, so I don’t remember a whole lot, but apparently they died in a car wreck and left us without anyone we knew really well in the area. Bro was already eighteen, so he made sure he got custody of me. Took a while to find a smaller place for us--the house was too big for him, too many of those empty rooms, like I said--and he was working really hard to earn the money we needed to keep ourselves set up. So, he wasn’t home much for a while.”

“That…sucks,” Karkat finished lamely.

He couldn’t say he knew what that felt like, because he’d never really known his parents. His dad, Kankri, had died way before he would have been able to remember him, and his mom had died in childbirth. He’d been living with his best friend Gamzee all his life, until he finally got emancipated and used Kankri’s small bank account to rent the shabby apartment that he now called home. He hadn’t left because he didn’t like living with Gamzee. The boy was certainly dirtier and louder than Karkat would perhaps prefer in a roommate, and he had a pretty bad habit of drugs, but the guy was cool and he obviously cared about Karkat like his very own brother. The boy just hadn’t wanted to impose on his friend’s family anymore than he had already, so he’d gotten out of their hair as soon as he could.

That being said, Karkat did understand what it felt like to be lonely. What it was like to walk past empty rooms and feel the open doorways yawning at you, trying to pull you in and force you to recognize just how barren their insides were. Reminding you that no one was there, that in all likelihood no one would ever be there. That you were alone.

“Second floor, up we g--hey, are you okay?”

Karkat startled, realizing that he had stopped walking and was clutching an uncomfortable ache in his chest. He wondered what expression was on his face to make Strider look so worried.

“Bro, what’s wrong?” the boy asked, coming back to stand in front of Karkat and setting his large hands on his shoulders.

Wrong? Why would something be wrong?

“Hey, you look like you’re gonna cry, dude,” he continued, and he was starting to sound seriously worried.

“I-I’m fine,” Karkat said, startled when his voice shook. When had his throat gotten so tight?

“You don’t look fine,” the boy contradicted. “Look, I wasn’t tryin’ to make you feel bad for me or anything, alright? It seriously wasn’t all that bad--I don’t even remember any of that. So just...be happy, alright? Quit lookin’ like you’re gonna burst out in tears.”

Karkat swatted his hands aside, looking firmly over his shoulder.

“I don’t look like I’m gonna start fucking crying,” he denied. “You’re overestimating my compassion if you think I’d give a fuck about your sob stories.”

Strider cracked a small smile.

“That’s harsh, dude,” he said, amused. “You can care a little.”

“Nope, fuck you,” Karkat responded, finding some of his resolve again. “So, are we gonna see your trashy apartment or what?”

Strider shook his head with a smirk and gestured for Karkat to follow him up the stairs. They climbed to the second floor, Karkat definitely not noticing that his friend took the steps two at a time and reached the landing much sooner than he did. The fair-skinned boy waited for him at the top and flung an arm around his shoulders upon his arrival on the landing, leading him casually inside, where the air was warm to the point of stuffy, and down a well-lit corridor. The floors were carpeted, thank god, because Karkat didn’t think he could take much more of Strider’s squeaky shoes, and they seemed recently vacuumed.

“Here we are,” he said, pulling the two of them to a stop and rummaging in his pockets again.

He extracted a well-worn bronze key that hung on the same keyring as the damned lambo key, and stuck it into the lock on the door labeled 221. He had to jiggle it a little, but it turned and clicked open just fine. He pushed the door open on slightly squeaky hinges and then bowed to Karkat, making a wide, sweeping gesture as a footman would to their patron. Karkat made sure to hit his head with the duffle bag while he was down on his way inside.

“I could report you for domestic abuse,” Strider complained as he kicked the door shut behind them. “I totally could sue you for everything you own, and then sue the state, and I’d be fucking rollin’ in dough and meeting up with celebrities on talk shows and shit, talking about my horrible fucking life and how it all went to hell because I met some asshole in a locker one day.”

As Karkat was only half-listening, Strider’s tangent about talk-shows didn’t annoy him very much. He was too busy looking around the apartment, trying to take note of all the things that made it Strider’s and at the same time reminding himself that he didn’t care because he definitely had no reason whatsoever to care.

The apartment was messy, but he hadn’t really been expecting anything else. What startled him more than the mess was what made up the mess, because it had to be those things that Strider had been calling Smuppets. Weird, plush things with bulbous rear ends, skinny limbs and long round noses littered the area like confetti in different colors, all staring in different directions with googly eyes. He couldn’t believe that anybody would want to buy things that looked as creepy as those did, but then again, the world was full of freaks and weirdos, and if someone made them, someone would always buy them.

He looked around for something else to distract him, anything aside from those butt-puppet things, and noticed a plethora of empty doritos bags and plastic bottles with apple juice labels on some and orange soda tags on others. There were discarded CD cases from various bands that Strider had doubtlessly uploaded onto iTunes and listened to for ironic purposes, and DVD cases that had probably been through the same ordeal. The sparse furniture was well-worn and had a stain here and tear there, but overall it could have been much worse. Really, the only bad thing about the apartment that Karkat could see were those Smuppets.

“Is everything to your liking, madam?” said Strider ostentatiously, sweeping another low bow. “Should I perhaps bring the carriage in, madam? Would madam like that? FUCK! Dude, duffle bags were not made to bash people’s brains out! What the fuck do you even have in there?!”

“If you don’t want me to beat you up, why don’t you quit being so goddamn annoying all the time?” Karkat snapped. “Where’s your fucking room so I can put down this bag before I decide to hit you with the damn thing again?”

“Down the hall,” Strider groaned. “First on the left. Don’t even look at the door on the right unless you wanna be scarred for life.”

“Your Bro’s room?”

“Yeah.”

“Not even gonna think about looking, then.”

“Smart.”

Smiling a little to himself, Karkat lugged his bag in the direction Strider had indicated, deftly dodging mountains of creepy plush bottoms and old chip bags. The living area was small, and he reached the hallway in what would have been a few steps if the floor had been clear. After that it was a quick hop to the door of the indicated room, which stood ajar. He carefully nudged it further open with the toe of his shoe and stepped inside.

At once he was overwhelmed by the chaos that was Dave Strider’s bedroom. His walls were exploding with colorful posters from movies, bands, and even a couple musicals, namely Les Mis. Ironically, of course. Crumpled wads of paper covered the carpet and sat in strategically placed piles all over the floor, the odd pencil sticking out every now and then. What surprised Karkat the most, though, were the books. Books littered every flat surface, sometimes covered with loose bits of paper and other times seeming to spit them out. Leaves of paper were sticking out from random pages, all with varying scribbles on them. Karkat absentmindedly sat his bag down at the foot of the paper-strewn bed and picked up the nearest volume. The Rest Is Noise, by Alex Ross. Music, huh? Karkat set that one down and picked up another. Modern Recording Techniques, by David Miles Huber. More music.

Looking around, Karkat noticed other things this time. There was a remarkably uncluttered set of turntables against one wall, an acoustic guitar sitting on a stand next to them and a laptop sitting on the desk nearby. Karkat ran a finger over the touchpad, and the screen woke up to a password check. He hit the security question button.

Your favorite musical artist is?

Karkat stared for a minute, then took a shot in the dark. He typed in Fall Out Boy. He was denied. Frowning, he tried again with something else he figured Strider would like. All American Rejects. Denied. Okay, it was on.

Muse. Denied.

30 Seconds to Mars. Denied.

Neon Trees. Denied.

Coldplay. Denied.

“It’s Superchick.”

Karkat yelped and whirled around guiltily. Strider was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely and his expression relaxed around the shades. He nodded toward the laptop behind Karkat.

“The answer’s Superchick,” he said again. “If you actually wanted to get in.”

Humiliated but not about to give in just because he’d been caught, the boy turned and typed in Superchick as the password. The screen flashed, and a mixer came up on the screen, clearly having been left open from the last time it had been used.

“‘Ask and you shall receive’ and all that jazz, right?” Strider said as he strolled in, kicking off his shoes at the foot of his bed. “I’d apologize for the mess, but I don’t really care.”

“What are all of these?” Karkat wondered, pointing at the crumpled papers.

Strider gave a lazy shrug and nodded his head toward a pile in invitation. Hesitantly, Karkat reached out and caught a wrinkled sheet between his small fingers, attempting to smooth it out so that he could decipher the marks. It was sheet music.

“You write songs?” He couldn’t help his surprise.

“Sometimes,” Strider said, sounding bored.

“Sometimes?” Karkat echoed, looking at the sea of discarded paper. “Then what’s all this? ‘Cause this kind of shit doesn’t look like sometimes.”

“Raps, mostly.”

“Huh.”

Karkat looked back at the music in his hand. It was written in the treble clef, which he only knew thanks to all those bullshit mandatory music classes in elementary school, and scribbled on the top in barely legible handwriting was something that might have been a title. There were no lyrics beneath the music staff, but there was a plethora of notes crammed among the lines and spaces.

“I didn’t know you were into music,” Karkat said, looking up. Strider shrugged again.

“You never asked.”

It wasn’t meant to hurt, but the small boy felt a feeling similar to being punched in the gut nonetheless as he realized that his friend was right. He’d never really asked anything about him, hadn’t disclosed much about himself, and he’d never even thought about it. Karkat didn’t know if the two of them had anything in common aside from notorious unpopularity, didn’t know any of his friend’s hobbies. He didn’t even know when Strider’s birthday was.

“Bro, you’re getting that look again,” the pale-haired boy said, his brow creasing. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings at all--if I did I’m sor--”

“Shut up,” Karkat snapped. Then he jerked his thumb toward the acoustic. “Do you actually know how to play?”

Strider’s frown deepened. “...Yeah…”

Karkat moved to the turntables.

“Are you any good with this shit?”

He could tell the boy’s confusion was escalating, but that didn’t stop him from answering almost immediately.

“Yeah, pretty damn good.”

He moved to the mixer.

“What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Bro, what’s the sudden interest--”

“What do you listen to?”

“Hip-hop and techno, I guess. Seriously man, what--”

“When did you--”

“Alright, it’s your turn to shut the fuck up for, like, five minutes,” Strider said, talking loudly enough to be heard over Karkat.

The boy blinked and fell silent, wondering how he’d fucked up this time. Strider didn’t look angry, exactly, but he definitely didn’t look happy. He sighed and pushed his shades up to rub his eyes wearily. When he let his hand fall back to his side, he tucked it into the pocket of his jeans; his sunglasses fell back into place, and Karkat felt a sudden rush of frustration. He didn’t like that. He wanted to see Strider’s eyes.

“What’s this about?” the boy asked, bringing Karkat’s focus back.

“What, am I not allowed to ask fucking questions?” Karkat shot at him. Strider took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through pursed lips.

“This many questions are pretty out of character for you, Karks,” he said, with the air of one who was picking his words with great care. “What’s with the sudden curiosity?”

Karkat opened his mouth, intent on delivering one of his classic fuck you’s, but he stopped himself at the look on the boy’s face, the look that said that was exactly what he was waiting for. He swallowed the profanity and glowered at a pile of paper balls on the floor behind and to the left of Strider.

“I...Fuck, I really fucking hate you, you know that?” he grumbled.

“Yeah, I’ve got the memo a few times, I think,” said Strider impassively. Patiently. Waiting.

“I just...I don’t fucking know…” God, he felt stupid even thinking the words. Saying them was going to ruin him forever. “I don’t know anything about you...Like, not a single fucking thing, and--I don’t know. It just really--really fucking bothered me, okay? Hear what you wanted to hear?”

He was met with silence.

“Um…” he mumbled, glancing up though he was afraid to see Strider’s expression.

Strider was smiling. Actually smiling. Not that stupid, too-cool-for-you grin or his cocky smirk, but a sincere smile that pulled more at the right sight of his mouth than the left and showed just a little of his white teeth. He had dimples.

If he noticed that Karkat was staring unashamedly at the mind-boggling sight, the other boy gave no inclination beyond continuing to smile that goofy, honest smile. His hands were still in his pockets, his posture relaxed, and the smaller boy couldn’t help but think that he was a sight for sore eyes. With his fair hair and porcelain skin, he looked like he could have been a doll.

“Karkitten,” the boy in question said, shaking his head and reaching up to push his shades to the top of his head. “You really are adorable. It ain’t fair.”

Karkat felt his face flush, his cheeks probably turning the same color as Strider’s uncovered eyes. Those shockingly red irises sparkled in the overhead light, uncannily reflective in the unordinary light.

“Are you...Holy fuck, why are you crying?!”

Throat closing in panic, Karkat stared, unable to comprehend the moisture that was causing the other boy’s eyes to shine so unusually bright. What had he done? Had he said something wrong? What the fuck did he do?

Strider chuckled and shook his head.

“Karkat, it’s alright,” he assured his guest, setting his hands on his thin shoulders. Karkat stared up at him. “I’m fine, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But then why are you crying?” he demanded, pointing an accusing finger at a single drop of moisture that clung feebly to the pale lashes before breaking free to streak down the pale cheek.

“I don’t really know,” he said with a shrug. “I don’t really make a habit of crying in front of disagreeable midgets, but--hey, you are really violent, has anyone ever told you that? Now I’m crying due to pain.”

Karkat pressed his lips together, removing his foot from Strider’s bare toes.

“You just surprised me,” Strider continued as if the last transaction hadn’t happened. “People don’t usually show much interest. Or worry, actually, in your case.”

“Shut up! I was not fucking worried!” Karkat denied at once, making to stomp on his toes again.

Strider laughed and lashed his arms around Karkat’s waist, pulling him in so that he lost his footing and couldn’t crush his poor feet. The two of them tottered precariously, Strider laughing and Karkat swearing, and then landed in an uncoordinated heap on the floor amidst the crumpled papers in a tangle of arms and legs.

“YOU FUCKING MORONIC DICKSHIT, WHAT THE HELL?!” Karkat snarled, attempting to free himself from the knot of random limbs. Strider just laughed some more, hands finding his friend’s arms and pinning them down.

“Ha, pinned ya!” the boy laughed.

Karkat glowered.

They made eye contact.

They froze.

Chapter Text

Their noses were almost touching, and Dave could feel Karkat’s warm breath on his face. They were so close that he could feel the boy’s chest heaving, pressing momentarily against his own before receding again. His legs were straddling Karkat, knees on either side of his hips to keep him down.

Karkat’s eyes had blue in them. Dave had never noticed this past the grey before, but swimming like fish amongst a steely pond were flecks of dark, deep blue. They were hypnotic. Judging by the way that the boy was also staring at his eyes, transfixed, he wondered if he had come to a similar observation. Of course, there was no blue in Dave’s eyes. Just a freakish shade of red.

That thought had Dave pulling back and climbing off of Karkat, averting his gaze ashamedly and setting his shades back where they belonged on the bridge of his nose. He offered the other boy a hand without looking at him, but he didn’t take it, climbing up under his own power. An awkward silence followed, one neither of them knew how to break. Fortunately, neither of them had to.

“Hey, little man!” shouted a voice from the living room. “You could at least tell your bro hey when you get back from school!”

Dave’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Why the hell would I risk walking in on you just to say hey?” he demanded, looking toward his open doorway.

“Aw, come on, you’d know if I was doin’ anythin’ bad,” Bro wheedled, his voice moving closer.

“Your definition of bad is more loose than mine,” Dave said dryly. “And please tell me you have clothes on? I’ve got a friend over.”

“Ah, John’s finally around again, huh? Don’t worry, I’m decent.”

Bro came around the corner before Dave could inform him that no, the friend he’d brought over was not John. As such, he had the pleasure of watching his brother’s eyebrows arch well over those damned anime shades of his when the man walked in wearing a pair of bright orange boxers and nothing else and saw a complete stranger standing in his apartment. Entirely at ease, Dave threw an arm around Karkat’s slim shoulders and found the boy as stiff as a board, as if waiting to be yelled at for daring to enter someone’s home via invitation. Bro looked between the two boys for a moment, snorted, then leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms.

“You mean you actually managed to coerce someone other than John to share your disaster of a bedroom for the weekend?” he said. “This kid doesn’t really seem like the type to put up with your shit, little man. Did you have to bribe him?”

“Fucking kidnapped me,” Karkat mumbled.

Bro chuckled and pushed off of the doorframe to actually come into the room, his long legs putting him right in front of the boys in just two steps. The smaller boy cringed at the sudden proximity, and Dave thought he looked like he was going to be sick when Bro reached a hand out toward him. Karkat’s worries were put at ease at once, though, because all that outstretched hand did was rumple his hair the way Dave had taken to doing. Karkat made a noise of surprise.

“Welcome to the palace, kid,” said the older man with a smirk. “Help yourself to whatever you can scrounge up, and feel free to trash Dave’s room, if you can find part of it that he hasn’t beaten you to yet.”

“U-um…” Karkat mumbled, clearly confused. Bro just chuckled and then left the room, giving the boys a perfect example of why no one should ever sag boxers and making them wonder how the hell that was even possible.

“See? He’s not so bad,” said Dave, clapping Karkat on the shoulder.

The boy gave a hesitant smile. Then he looked around and brushed some papers off of the bed so that he could sit down on the edge, one hand absently stroking the wrinkled but soft comforter. Dave sat down next to him, heedless of the mess, and leaned back on his elbows.

“Shoot,” he said. Karkat looked around.

“What?”

“Shoot,” he repeated. “You wanna know more about me? Ask away. But I get to ask you questions after.”

“I don’t have anything worth sharing,” he said at once.

Dave let this go and prompted him with a nudge.

“Alright, alright,” Karkat sighed raking a hand through his mess of ebony hair. “Is your favorite musician really Superchick, or is that more of your irony bullshit so that nobody guesses your password?”

“I don’t know if they’re really my favorite,” Dave said with a shrug. “I do like their stuff, but yeah, it’s mostly so nobody’s just gonna jump on my laptop because they made a lucky guess. Who’s your favorite musician?”

“Um…” he said, frowning. “I don’t really know… I like Christina Perri, I guess. Her song Human is good, at any rate.”

Dave nodded. He’d heard the song on the radio a few times before. Not really his cup of tea, but it wasn’t all that bad, either. Christina Perri had talent at least.

“You said you lived down by Pelican Elementary when you were little, right?” Karkat said, pulling him back to the present game. “But you...You have a southern accent?”

Dave shrugged helplessly. “The fam used to live down in Texas before I was born; they all had the accents. Then mom had me and they decided it was time to move up north, for whatever reason. They had the accent, so I just kinda picked it up from them. Have you lived here your whole life?”

Karkat nodded.

“How did you meet John?”

A fond smile crossed Dave’s face as he remembered. They’d been playing on the playground during recess at Pelican, and a couple of kids knocked the nerd down while they were playing soccer. They hadn’t meant to, but of course when you were seven years old everything was on purpose, and Dave had yelled at them a lot and gotten the Elementary equivalent of detention for using some colorful language. John had come to talk to him afterwards to say thanks, and they had just sort of become friends in that way that only little kids could pull off.

“We just kinda started talking,” was all he said, shrugging. “How did you meet Terezi and those other weirdos?”

Karkat rolled his eyes, but Dave caught the flash of warmth that he couldn’t disguise and he hid another smirk.

“Kinda the same deal,” he said. “Weirdos attract weirdos, I guess, so we just gravitated toward each other. That sounded really fucking lame, oh my god. Okay, um, when’s your birthday?”

“December third, every year,” Dave replied. “When’s yours?”

“July twelfth. Favorite color?”

“Don’t have one.”

This seemed to surprise Karkat, who immediately looked around at the excess of red in every corner of the bedroom before looking back to Dave like he expected him to say April Fools, despite the fact that it was late November. The boy just shrugged, watching with some amusement as the ebony-haired kid gave him a look that said, quite plainly, bullshit.

“That’s a whole fucking lot of one color for someone who claims not to have a favorite,” Karkat noted blithely.

“Well, obviously I like red,” Dave allowed. He got another look, one that this time said no fucking shit. “But I never really felt like I preferred it over anything else. Honestly, it’s kinda compensation. What’s your favorite color?”

“Compensation?” Karkat repeated, apparently not catching the last question. “What, because of your eyes?”

Dave’s lips twitched down. “Sure. What’s your favorite color, Karks?”

“Why would you compensate for your fucking eye color? I don’t get it.”

“Hey, no fair, you can’t keep asking questions,” Dave protested, recognizing dangerous territory. He should have kept his mouth shut, he shouldn’t have said anything. Damnit, why did he always overstep his boundaries?

“No, that doesn’t make any fucking sense,” the boy said, voice rising to be heard over Dave’s complaints. “If you want your eye color to go away--which is fucking stupid to begin with, it’s fine the way it fucking is--then why would you get everything in your possession in the same exact fucking color? How the fuck do you compensate for eye color?”

“Karkat--”

“That’s like making the problem a hundred fucking times worse. And there wasn’t a fucking problem to begin with, by the way.”

“Look, it’s hard to explain, alright?” he said. “But like, okay, you’re not gonna like my analogy, so I’m telling you in advance to just shut the hell up. But you hate your scars, right? You try not to look at them because it just makes you hate yourself that much more. And when you see them, you just hit one of your low points and--no, I told you to shut up--and you add to them without even realizing that you’re doing it, because it lets out the tension for a little while, and you want to forget, but the second you do something goes wrong and you remember and it all just goes around in this huge fuckin’ picturesque circle that’s too perfect to actually exist by every law of science.”

“What...what the fuck does that have to do with your fucking eyes?” Karkat wondered.

“It’s just…” Dave closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, blowing it out through his nose. “A lot of the time, when I was little, it was easy to forget that my eyes were hella fucking not normal. I’d just run around tryin’ to be like everyone else because I didn’t get that I couldn’t do that, and then some other kid would point and laugh and remind me that I’m a freak, and it fucking sucked. I think it was more of a subconscious thing, really, but I started getting tons of red shit--clothes, shoes, whatever--because it reminded me. As long as I remembered, I wore my shades and I wasn’t parading around with my freak flag hanging out like that piece of toilet paper that you get stuck to your pants after a trip to the public bathroom, so...yeah…”

“I still...I don’t see what that has to do with…”

The boy didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t really need to. He was frowning at Dave, fingers wrapped around his own slim wrist. Dave sighed audibly and pushed himself up, reaching out to remove Karkat’s hand and replace it with his own. The smaller boy stiffened and started to pull back, but with visible effort refrained from doing so, allowing the former to carefully push up the sleeve of his sweater. Most of the scars were faint--the most recent ones were from that day during the summer--but Karkat still averted his eyes, a sick feeling turning his stomach.

“When you forget that something’s there…” Dave said quietly, fingers brushing over the raised skin and sending goosebumps erupting along Karkat’s arms. “And then you see it again…it startles you. When you’re surprised by something, you’re more vulnerable, and it’s more likely to bother you. If you do something that keeps you aware of that thing, something that helps you remember it’s there, it’s easier to contain it. It doesn’t feel so...out of control then.”

“But you still hide your eyes,” Karkat pointed out. Was his voice shaky?

“Yeah, I do,” he acknowledged. “But not because I hate them anymore. It’s just easier. I’ve come to terms with myself because I remember what I look like, but I don’t let the fact that I’m a freak rule over my life. That would be the most uncool, un-ironic shit ever, dude.”

“You’re not a freak.”

Dave paused in tracing over a particularly dark scar to glance up. Karkat still wasn’t looking at him or his arm, but his cheeks were flaming red and his eyes were almost completely closed.

“You’re stupid and obnoxious, but you’re not a freak,” he reiterated. “Having red eyes doesn’t mean shit anymore than having blue or green eyes does. Some people would kill to have that.”

“And some people would push you down stairs for it,” Dave said with a tone suggesting that he was talking about the weather. “Like I said, I don’t keep ‘em covered just because I don’t like them or I’m ashamed. It’s just easier than having to put up with all the stupid pricks that think my eyes equal an archery target. Besides, by all definitions, albinism is a freak of nature. I’m not using it as a slam, bro. Just a fact.”

Karkat pressed his lips together and gently wrested his forearm from Dave’s hand, tugging his sleeve down again.

“Okay, this has gotten way too fucking sentimental for me,” he said, trying and kind of succeeding at pulling a stink-face.

“What, got a problem with chick flick moments?” Dave responded, cracking a smirk.

“Only when they happen in real life,” he said without batting an eyelash. “In movies they’re great.”

“Alright then, in that case, we’d better watch a movie,” said the platinum-haired boy, leaping to his feet with sudden vitality and leaving his friend to blink at the sudden shift in mood. “As long as it’s not Con Air. Fucking Egderp ruined Nic Cage for me by never watching anything else.”

“Take me to your movie selection and I’ll choose whatever I fucking well please,” Karkat replied. Dave grinned and pointed at his laptop.

“My movie selection is limited only by how long it takes to download pirated versions from shady websites. Take your pick.”

Karkat felt his lips curl into a smile for the first time all day.

Chapter Text

How in the name of fucking hell did I end up sharing a fucking bed with this shitsniffing brainless fucktard?

Karkat had been running through questions like that for the past hour and a half, interspersed with the occasional curse on his generally fucked-up life, because despite multiple complaints and several threats to simply leave and find his way home in the dark, he had been tricked into sharing a double bed with Dave fucking Strider. It was one in the morning and Karkat had nodded off twice during She’s the Man, which prompted Strider to call it a night and inform Karkat that they would be sharing his bed. He had argued and obviously lost, seeing as his back was now just barely touching the other boy’s despite his greatest efforts to scoot as far away as possible on the twin mattress.

Of course, it was now almost three in the morning and Karkat was no closer to sleep than he had been at noon the previous day after drinking a huge coffee from Dutch Bros. As such, he was stuck listening to the other boy’s stuttering, irregular snores whilst he was trapped in his own endless cycle of stupid and useless thoughts. He was sharing a bed with Strider. Their backs were touching. Was it really that hot in the room, or was Karkat’s face unusually flushed? Were the sheets supposed to smell so much like Strider?

A sudden noise startled him out of his thoughts, which were quickly becoming quite convoluted, and Karkat glanced over his rounded shoulder, wondering if his unfortunate companion was also just faking at being asleep. No, he seemed well and truly out. Giving a mental shrug, Karkat started to turn back over and continue his not-sleeping, but another sound made him freeze.

“...Strider?” he said hesitantly. No response.

He carefully lifted himself up on his elbows and leaned over so that he could see the other boy’s face, free of sunglasses in sleep at least. His brow was furrowed in a frown, his eyes screwed too tightly shut as though he was trying to block out nonexistent light. Karkat prodded his shoulder uneasily and was again met with no reaction. The boy was definitely sound asleep. But…

It came again. That sound. Karkat stared at Strider, amazed and mildly horrified. He was whimpering in his sleep, crying out in--what? Pain? Fear? It wasn’t like Karkat had any idea. As he watched, the boy’s fingers--which were clasped together in a position like he was praying--convulsed and tightened. He was having a nightmare.

“Hey, Strider,” Karkat said, finding his voice hoarse. He jostled his shoulder, but the pale boy didn’t wake up. He tried again. “Strider, wake up.”

Strider’s only response was to twitch.

“Dave, c’mon,” he whispered, giving his shoulder a firmer shake.

Strider whimpered and drew further in on himself, so Karkat gave up on subtlety.

“Hey, fuckass, wake the hell up!” he snarled, and delivered a punch right to the small of his back.

Strider shot up as though fired from a canon, whirling around as his breath came in ragged pants. Karkat scooted farther away, wary should Strider prove to be as violent as Gamzee was when woken against his own volition. However, he needn’t have worried. Strider calmed right down after a moment, bleary eyes finding Karkat in the semi-darkness permeated by the screensaver from the laptop.

“What the hell, bro?” he mumbled, rubbing one of his eyes. “Do you need me to hold your hand on the way to the bathroom like a two-year-old? I live in a messy apartment, not a maze.”

“You were having a nightmare,” Karkat said bluntly. Strider fell silent.

Karkat peered at him through the darkness, curious and maybe even a little concerned. Not that he would ever admit it.

“Are you okay?” he asked to break the heavy silence.

“Did I wake you up?” Strider said in lieu of an answer. Karkat shook his head.

“I was already awake.”

“Oh.”

Silence again.

“Are you okay?” Karkat tried again.

“Just a dream,” he mumbled. “‘Course I’m okay.”

“Strider, you should fucking know by now that you can’t pass all that bullshit by me.”

The boy gave a snort of amusement and shook his head, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Karks, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Really.”

Karkat frowned at him. Noticing the intense scrutiny, Strider chuckled and reached out to rumple Karkat’s already tangled hair.

“Long as I’m not alone, it’s fine,” he explained. “You’re here, so...yeah.”

The look that Strider gave Karkat made all of the blood in his body rush to his face until he was certain that even in the dark, should Strider somehow not be able to see his blush he would definitely be able to feel it. It was a softer look than he would have ever pictured on the cool kid, and it didn’t help that he was sans sunglasses since they were in bed, so he got the full impact of that gentle expression. He shifted his gaze to an absolutely fascinating spot on his lap.

“Why were you awake already?”

“Huh?”

Strider sighed. “You said you were already awake. How come?”

If possible, Karkat’s blush intensified.

“I...I just couldn’t get to sleep,” he mumbled. “And you were mewling like some kind of fucking cat.”

“Right...Sorry about that. You should try to get some sleep.”

Karkat, still worried about his friend, didn’t want to leave it at that, but he had no idea what to say to express this. He didn’t want to just roll over and go back to sleep after he’d woken Strider up from a nightmare, that would be the epitome of shitty human being who had no right to ever talk to anyone or interact in any way with the rest of society ever again. How was he supposed to make sure that Strider really was okay, though? He wasn’t really experienced with that kind of thing, so he tried to think of times that somebody else had taken care of him.

There had only been two people in the entirety of Karkat’s life that had ever been able to bring him any amount of comfort, despite the various other friends he had that did their best, and Gamzee was one of them. Gamzee, if he ever had nightmares--which Karkat thought he might have been too drugged up for--never said a word, never gave even the slightest inclination that anything was wrong. When he was in one of his moods, meaning on the rare occasions that he was sober, he became a total unpleasant asshole, but that was the extent of his former roommate’s troubles while they’d been staying together. However, Karkat had been prone to nightmares, and sometimes he would wake up shaking so badly that it was a wonder the entire neighborhood couldn’t feel it. He would go to Gamzee for those, or Gamzee would notice and come to him. What had Gamzee done to calm him down? He couldn’t remember.

The other person was the one that he needed to help somehow now, sitting on the edge of the bed trying so hard to look cool and stoic and only succeeding at looking pathetic. Dave Strider, for all his annoying, obnoxious faults, just had a way with words that could make you spill your deepest secrets and somehow leave you feeling better than before. Karkat would never be able to emulate the poet’s mind, though, so he tried to think of something else, and immediately found other examples. As often as Dave talked, he spent almost as much time in silence waiting the other person out, because he did understand that sometimes words were superfluous and unhelpful. What did he do in those times?

Chewing on his lower lip self-consciously, Karkat reached out and uncertainly ruffled the boy’s hair with his own small fingers. Dave blinked, stunned, as Karkat continued to pet his ridiculously messy hair with an expression of deepest concentration, determined not to do it wrong. After a moment, Dave closed his eyes and moved his hand to cover Karkat’s, fingers wrapping around his and pulling them away from his hair. Terrified for a moment that he had indeed done it wrong somehow, Karkat looked ashamedly down at his lap again, ready for Dave to drop his hand and get up. Instead the hold on his wrist tightened and he was tugged over, almost into the other boy’s lap, and wrapped in a pair of strong arms.

“D-Dave?” Karkat said, startled. The boy sat his chin on the crown of his head.

“I don’t get you at all, you weirdo,” he mumbled into Karkat’s hair. “You act all damn socially inept and awkward, and then you go and act like, I dunno, like you actually care or somethin’. I have no idea what to do with you.”

“Do with me?” Karkat repeated. “You don’t get to fucking do anything with me, shitstain.”

“Hey, I just had a nightmare, have some compassion,” Dave whined.

The other boy fell silent. They sat like that for a while, Karkat’s face tucked into Dave’s neck, his eyes just able to make out the glowing numbers on the alarm clock that sat haphazardly on a teetering pile of books across the room. It was three thirty-seven in the morning.

“You should go back to sleep,” he mumbled, voice muffled by Dave’s t-shirt.

“Mm, yeah,” he agreed, and without warning he leaned back, dragging Karkat with him.

“H-hey!” the boy protested, but there wasn’t much he could do besides squirm, as Dave still had him trapped in his arms.

“C’mon,” Dave coaxed, keeping Karkat pinned against his chest. “You got something against cuddling?”

“I’m not a fucking teddy bear, Strider!” Karkat snapped, attempting to get a jab to his midsection. With no power behind the attack and no decent angle, his fist brushed harmlessly against the boy’s side.

“No kidding,” Dave agreed. “Definitely not a teddy bear. Still cuddly, though.”

“Uuugghhhh,” Karkat groaned, giving up in favor of fuming silently.

Satisfied that Karkat wasn’t going to make a run for it, Dave reached down and tugged the blanket back over them, jokingly pulling it clear over Karkat’s head. The boy retaliated by butting his forehead into Dave’s chin, nearly forcing him to bite his tongue off. Swearing, the paler boy tugged the covers off of his friend’s face, glowering at the smug look he wore.

“Violent little midget,” he accused. Karkat stuck out his tongue.

“Jackass,” he replied.

“Shut up. I like you better asleep,” Dave grumbled.

“The feeling’s mutual,” the nerd assured him.

With a lot of sighing and eye-rolling, the boys settled back into the mattress, Karkat finding his head resting on Dave’s bicep and Dave setting his chin on the other boy’s crown. Grudgingly the smaller boy wriggled closer until his fingers were pressed against Dave’s chest.

“Jesus!” the boy exclaimed, startled. “Your hands are freezing!”

“Well excuse-fucking-me for having cold hands,” he snapped, starting to pull back.

The hand that was just kind of hanging over his side suddenly pressed against his back, pulling their chests flush together and trapping Karkat’s hands before they could retreat. He yelped.

“It’s fine,” Dave assured him. “Just surprised me, is all. Wasn’t expecting you to have hands colder than Lalonde’s heart if she was spending a week in Antarctica. Shit’s below freezing point, bro, you have no idea.”

“I have a pretty good idea, actually,” said Karkat dryly. “I still think you’re just too fucking warm. You feel like you’re running a fever, Strider, what the actual fuck?”

“Hey, I can’t help it if my hotness leaks out through my body temp as well as my otherworldly looks,” he answered airily. “I don’t see why you’re complaining, since you get to use me as your own personal space heater pretty much whenever you want.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

Dave chuckled but said no more.

They were so close together, Karkat’s ear pressed against Dave’s chest, that he could hear the beating of the boy’s heart, a steady double-rhythm. His torso rose and fell slightly against his cheek as he breathed, his arm sliding across Karkat’s side with the action. He really was warm. Almost unconsciously Karkat scooted closer, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, finding himself surrounded by that woodsy, musky smell that was uniquely Dave’s. The boy’s arms tightened around him in response, and a quiet snore issued from deep in his throat.

“How the fuck do you do that?” Karkat mumbled, marveling at the ease with which the other boy could drift off to sleep.

Despite his incredulity, however, Karkat himself could feel the abyss of sleep tugging at his being, singing its elusive siren song and pulling him into its deceptively sweet embrace.

Chapter Text

Something heavy was pressing down on him, tangling with his legs and pressing him down.

“Ha, pinned ya!”

Karkat glowered morosely up at the albino and kicked outward in an attempt to unseat him, but he was unsuccessful. The boy just grinned down at him, eyes sparking mischievously and his unnaturally white teeth almost glowing in the dim lighting.

“Strider, you junglehumping footfucker, get the fuck off of me!” he snapped, pushing against the boy’s chest to no avail.

“Nah, you’re comfortable,” the other replied, his hands wrapping around Karkat’s wrists and pinning them down on either side of his head.

“You fucking shithead, what do you think you’re doing?” he grumbled.

Dave chuckled and denied him a reply, clearly preferring to watch him fume in silence with those burning red eyes. He was really close. Really, really, close. Karkat swallowed convulsively and looked away from that piercing stare, feeling inexplicably hot around his ears.

“What’s wrong, Karkles?” Dave whispered, his breath ghosting across Karkat’s face and neck.

The rough, almost gravelly quality of his low voice sent goosebumps down the smaller boy’s arms. He squirmed again in a half-hearted escape attempt, but what little strength he possessed seemed to be failing him; his body felt suddenly like it had been filled with lead instead of blood and bone. Dave’s incredible body heat was burning through their pajamas like the clothes weren’t even there, and where his hands wrapped around Karkat’s bare wrists there seemed to be an open flame. The boy chuckled again and his fingers began to rub light circles on the backs of his hands.

“F-fuck off,” Karkat mumbled weakly.

Then he made the mistake of glancing around. His eyes locked onto Dave’s and were trapped there, unable to look away from those bright rings of ruby. The look in those eyes… It was doing weird things to Karkat’s insides. Making them squirm and writhe like they had turned into snakes, and there was a fire that had started low in his stomach.

Abruptly, Karkat found his arms freed, but he had no time to appreciate this before Dave’s newly emptied hands ghosted across his torso, one climbing up his neck and the other sliding against his ribs as it found a place to support the rest of the boy’s lifted body. How he was balancing like that Karkat didn’t know, but he didn’t invest much of his time or effort in analyzing it either. He was really close. Really, really, close. There was even less distance than before.

And then there was no distance, because something soft was being pressed to Karkat’s lips, and something firm and hot was pressing him down into the mattress, and Dave was fucking everywhere. All Karkat could smell was that heady musk that always accompanied the guy, and all he could feel was the heat and Dave’s body, all hard planes and angles, and somewhere along the line his arms had slid around Dave’s shoulders and he had slotted his mouth entirely with the boy’s, not even thinking.

A moment later his lips were bereft, because Dave’s had started sliding down first his jaw, then his throat, where he kissed the joint between his shoulder and his neck. He shifted over Karkat so that his knees were straddling his hips, giving him a more stable perch, and his hands glided down his sides to find the bottom of his overlarge t-shirt. Karkat mewled in approval when the boy’s fingers slipped underneath, skating across his bare skin and leaving trails of fire in their wake. The smaller boy arched his back, and as he did so, his hips ground into Dave’s, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight through him.

Karkat was jerked into wakefulness so abruptly that for a moment he had the disorienting feeling of not having any idea where he was. It took him too long to recognize that he and Dave were wrapped around each other on a single twin bed, one of Dave’s legs bent between his own. That leg was brushing uncomfortably against a bulge at the front of Karkat’s sweatpants.

He flushed in mortification and struggled to separate himself from the other boy, understanding what had just happened and finding himself sick to his stomach at the thought. What the fuck was wrong with him?! In his rush to escape Dave’s impressively strong unconscious embrace, Karkat fell straight out of the bed, taking a pillow with him. He shakily rose to his feet, flinging the pillow carelessly back onto the mattress, and looked at the other boy for a moment. Dave was frowning now, newly without Karkat’s body heat, and curled in on himself.

A tightening in Karkat’s stomach had him scurrying to the bathroom, hating himself the whole way there and too preoccupied to even wonder at the creepy puppets that littered the floor.

Dave blinked open bleary eyes, noticing that he was freezing because the covers of the bed were almost entirely off of him and his makeshift teddybear was nowhere to be found. Shivering because his Bro always kept the whole damn apartment frigid, he reached down and retrieved the mess of blankets, pulling them over him and noticing that they still held a lingering warmth. Curiously, Dave felt the spot where Karkat had been sleeping. It was still warm, too. Then the nerd had just left.

Shrugging mentally, Dave tried to get comfortable again. The boy had left his sweatshirt and his shoes, so he didn’t feel the need to get up and look around for him; he’d probably just needed to take a piss. Besides, he was still way too tired to bother with getting up. Just before he dozed off again, he thought he might have heard his door creak open, but he wasn’t sure.

Chapter Text

When Karkat woke again, he was on the floor wrapped in a blanket he had pulled off of the bed, not trusting himself enough to try and share again. The apartment felt positively freezing after sharing Dave’s warmth earlier, and Karkat shivered, figuring that he would be awake for good this time and fumbling around in search of the sweatshirt he had discarded the previous night. He pulled it clumsily over his mess of bedhead.

Once sufficiently covered, Karkat looked around, wondering at the merits of waking Dave up to tell him that he was kind of hungry, but quickly decided against it. The boy didn’t think he could face his friend just yet, last night still very fresh in his mind. He considered sifting through some of the discarded papers that littered the floor and desk and were overflowing from the trash bin, but deliberated that no matter how blase Dave would act about it if he found out, he probably wouldn’t be overly thrilled. Karkat knew he himself would be pissed beyond belief if somebody walked into his home and started reading his discarded work, even if it was lying out in wait. With a vigorous shake of the head, the boy turned to the door. He kind of had to pee, and as long as he didn’t go into the older brother’s room, there was no harm in checking out the rest of the apartment, was there?

Satisfied by his most reasonable train of thought, Karkat padded on bare feet to the door and slipped carefully into the hallway, wincing when the hinges creaked and glancing back to make sure it didn’t wake the other boy up. Dave mumbled in his sleep and rolled over, but remained mostly dead to the world. Relieved, Karkat turned his attention back to the hall and spied the door that had been identified in a most compromising way the previous night. He quietly made his way over, inching the door open with his toe. The bathroom was better lit now, morning light creeping in from the warped glass of the window, and Karkat noticed what he had not last night; that it seemed to double as a storage closet as well. Was there an inch of apartment that didn’t have those fucking smuppets? Doing his best to ignore the creepy googly eyes of the inanimate objects, Karkat tended quickly to his bodily functions and hastily washed his hands. He had no plans of staying over at his friend’s house ever again. Those eyes everywhere were just too much.

He was closing the door behind him upon his exit when a voice sounded from down the hall.

“Mornin’ kid.”

Karkat jumped and spun around guiltily, though he had of course done nothing wrong. Well, not in the last hour or two. Bro No-First-Name Strider was running a hand through his messy dovetail hair and looking hazily in Karkat’s general direction.

“U-uhm, morning,” Karkat mumbled, scuffing his heel against the floor.

“Is the little man up yet?”

Karkat shook his head, and the older man sighed.

“Kid’s asleep as often as he ain’t. Oh, well, he’ll wake up if he smells food. You hungry?”

He blinked, unsure if he was actually meant to reply or not, and the man chuckled.

“You ain’t in a police interrogation, kid, you’re not gonna go to jail for confessing to your bodily needs,” he said, gesturing for him to follow. Karkat hesitantly trailed after him into the main space, where a kitchenette had been shoved like an afterthought into a corner.

“Never did get your name,” said Bro conversationally as he began rummaging through cabinets. Two more smuppets fell out onto the floor, one green and one orange, but Bro just kicked them aside and continued his search for cooking utensils. “Shit man, I really need to clean this place up, like wow.”

Karkat felt his lips twitch as he recognized the younger Strider in the elder, despite the fact that his accent was undisguisable and out there for even the dumbest of Klamath to recognize.

“My name’s Karkat,” he answered quietly. He thought he saw the other pause for the barest moment, but he returned to business so quickly that he figured he’d imagined it.

“Nice t’meet ya Karkitten,” grunted the man, reaching up on his toes to tug something from the top shelf in a cabinet. “You can call me Bro.”

Karkat bristled automatically.

“Your brother calls me that,” he grumbled, a little more sharply than he intended. “You two are definitely cut from the same cloth.”

Far from being offended by Karkat’s blunt analysis, Bro laughed, finally extracting a loaf of bread and throwing it triumphantly onto the counter.

“Well duh, you can’t be this rad and not be a Strider, kiddo,” he snorted, beginning to rummage around briefly before smacking himself on the forehead and going to the microwave. He opened the door and pulled out…

“Why is the toaster in the microwave?” Karkat wondered, staring as the older Strider set the object on the counter and plugged it in, tossing in two pieces of brown bread and putting them down to toast.

“Where else was I s’posed to put it?” Bro wondered, sounding sincere in his confusion. Karkat let that go, not wanting to initiate an argument with the man that had raised his classmate.

Bro shrugged at his silence and moved to the stove, which already had a pan sitting on it, and lit the fire underneath.

“You like bacon, Karkitty?” he asked when he turned to the fridge. “I mean, I’m s’posed to ask that, but who the fuck doesn’t? Shit came straight from heaven accompanied by a chorus of angels.”

Definitely the same cloth, Karkat thought wryly. Out loud, he simply said: “Yeah. Crispy.”

“Kid after my own heart,” the man replied, bringing out a huge chunk of thick-sliced maple bacon and kicking the refrigerator door shut. He pulled a knife from out of nowhere and sliced the package open, tossing several large strips of bacon onto the frying pan. “Don’t know where I went wrong with Dave; he likes the shit all floppy and half-done. You have any idea what it’s like to raise a kid that doesn’t have the same taste in food as you?”

“I don’t have any idea what it’s like to raise a kid like him at all,” Karkat confided. Bro chuckled, setting the package aside and setting down a small nest of paper towels that would receive the bacon as it cooked and soak up some of the excess grease. Then he leaned back on the counter and gave Karkat a crooked grin. It made him look at least a decade younger. Actually, what it did was make him look a lot more like his little brother. Karkat swallowed thickly and denied the sudden rushing sound in his ears.

“He wasn’t really so bad,” said Bro with a shrug. “I mean, I had no clue what I was doing, but at least I didn’t have to worry about toilet training him or nothing. He’s always been pretty quiet, never started any trouble. He’s a good kid.”

Karkat looked away, toward the door that he could just barely see standing slightly ajar.

“Yeah, I get that,” he agreed. Bro smiled. “Still, he had to be a pain sometimes, right?”

“Nah, I never thought of it like that,” the man said. “There were a couple times early on that he woke me up in the middle of the night, but no matter what I tell him, I’d rather he wake me up than try to deal with everything on his own. He does that a lot now.”

“What did he wake you up for?” Karkat wondered, trying to imagine stoic, impassive Dave Strider sitting bolt upright in bed and shuffling ashamedly to his brother’s room, maybe even crawling onto the bed with him. Bro’s smile faltered.

“He told you what happened to the ‘rentals?” he checked. Karkat nodded. “I never had all that great a connection with our parents; I was on my way out and glad for it. I didn’t hate ‘em or nothing, they just kind of existed and that was the end of it, so when they died...I really don’t know how I felt, but I think I was more pissed than anything. They had this tiny little kid that they doted on, and they left me to explain to him that they’d never be coming back from work because some drunk asshole ran a red light in his shitty Toyota pickup truck. I lost track of how many times he’d just wander through the house, looking in every room like he expected to find them there waiting to shout surprise. He hated all those empty rooms. That’s the main reason I picked us up and moved up here.”

Karkat blinked. “That’s...that’s not what…”

Bro’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t touch his eyes this time. The irises were gold, he noticed. Would Dave’s have been that color if he hadn’t gotten the albinism gene?

“I’m sure he told you he was too little to remember,” he said with an inelegant shrug, looking around to make sure the bacon wasn’t burning. “He was five. You remember shit from when you were five, right?”

“Yeah, I guess…But I thought…” Karkat said haltingly. What had he thought?

“Something like that leaves marks, kiddo, and on a little kid those things never really go away.”

Karkat watched in silence as Bro reached into the pan with his bare fingers and flipped the sliced of bacon over. The smell of it was already wafting through the apartment and making his stomach growl, but he wasn’t overly concerned with food just then. All he could think about was the nightmare last night. The silver ladders on the boy’s abdomen. The flippant I-don’t-remember remarks. The I-don’t-care-about-anything-I’m-too-cool-for-feelings attitude.

“The kid acts like he doesn’t care about anything,” Bro continued. “But the way I see, I think he cares more than most kids his age. You’re probably the same way, else you wouldn’t be here.”

Karkat blinked and felt his neck flood with heat.

“I-I’m just…” he mumbled. Bro chuckled and slipped the pieces of cooked bacon from the frying pan and onto the napkin nest, replacing them promptly with several more slices. Karkat’s mouth watered.

“Dave doesn’t take a shinin’ to people very often, Karkitty, he--oh, shit, the toast is done, hang on,” Bro cut himself off, going to pull the still-hot pieces of toast from the toaster and replacing them with two fresh slices.

He retrieved butter from the fridge and used the same knife he had to cut open the pack of bacon to butter the toast. He then tossed a couple of pieces of bacon on the stack and handed it to Karkat, who accepted it without complaint and inhaled the first piece of toast in one go, hungrier than he had thought at first.

“Anyway, like I was saying, you must be something pretty special if Dave decided he liked you enough to risk bringing you here,” he said, eating a piece of bacon himself in one massive bite.

Karkat’s blush deepened. “There’s nothing special about me,” he said quietly around a mouthful of toast.

“I’d bet everything I own that that, Karkitty, is the most wrong thing that you have ever said in your life,” said Bro bluntly.

“Now what’d he say?”

Karkat jumped, nearly dropping his breakfast, and looked around to see Dave shuffling out of his room, raking tired fingers through his hair and causing it to stick up at odd angles. He hadn’t grabbed his sunglasses before coming out, so Karkat had the privilege of seeing those red eyes fogged over from sleep. Bro raised an eyebrow at his little brother, possibly due to the lack of shades, but said nothing on the matter and flipped the bacon with his fingers again, not even wincing though it had to be hot and painful as all hell.

“Nothin’ to concern yourself with, little man,” he said. “Want some breakfast?”

Dave gave him a cagey look the likes of which Karkat had never seen, and he was more than a little confused by this.

“...What did you do to it?” the younger Strider asked warily.

“Nothin’ at all. Your friend over there’s eatin’ some right now. Ain’t it fine, Karkitty?”

Karkat looked between the two of them and then down at his food, not wanting to answer, not even wanting to make eye contact. The elder chuckled.

“You hungry or not, Dave?” he prompted.

Dave’s rumbling stomach answered for him.

“Awesome. Then catch!” and he flung a piece of bacon straight from the frying pan at Dave, whose hand lashed out automatically to catch it.

“Ouch! Jesus fuck, Bro!” Dave exclaimed, looking at his newly burned hand. He hadn’t let the bacon go, though. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Bro snorted unsympathetically.

Karkat looked between the older Strider brother, who looked incredibly disinterested in his younger brother’s discomfort despite moments ago confessing a certain amount of concern for the same boy, and Dave, who was nursing the most disgruntled expression to have ever graced the Earth, beating out even the Grumpy Cat meme that was sweeping the internet. He couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. Both Striders turned to look at him, eyebrows raised in identical expressions of curiosity and confusion.

“S-sorry, it’s just--pfffft,” Karkat choked.

“Think that hair of yours finally got to him, little man,” Bro chuckled.

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Dave snapped. “Like yours is any better you old fart. You spend all night fuckin’ puppets and then tossing and turning on your own bed. You think you’re immune to bedhead?”

“I ain’t the one tryin’ to get Karkitty into my bed, though.”

Both younger boys choked. Laughing, Bro clapped Dave’s shoulder and went to change the bacon again.

“Fucking sick, man,” Dave coughed.

Karkat didn’t say anything. He just sat in red-faced silence, staring resolutely down at the half-eaten piece of toast that was all that was left of his breakfast, feeling a sudden aggressive lack of appetite. His heart was pounding too hard for such a lighthearted remark.

“Cool your tits, kid,” the man snorted. “It was a joke. Not that I have anything against those relationships, man, whatever makes you happy--”

“Bro, shut up, just shut up,” Dave groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. “I did not bring Karkat over so you could weird him out with all your goddamn gay Rainbow Dash bullshit! Fuck, I think you already broke him!”

Karkat glanced up at that and found Dave gesticulating in his general direction, an almost comical look of incredulity on his face.

“I’m not fucking broken you shitstain,” Karkat snapped.

“Then why are you redder than a fuckin’ overripe tomato?” he demanded.

Karkat blinked and looked back at his toast.

“Jeez,” sighed Bro heavily. “Make one little joke and shit hits the fan. Gonna be one of those days, huh?”

Chapter Text

Contrary to Bro’s predictions, it really wasn’t “one of those days” at all. Dave managed to wolf down breakfast faster than should be humanly possible and took such a quick shower that it was like he hadn’t even turned the water on at all, then he was dressed and dragging Karkat back to his room, where he was generally safe from his brother’s shenanigans. Karkat put up very little fight, surprisingly enough, flumping onto his bed with no added pressure. Before Dave could join him and pull up some more movies on his laptop, however, Bro called him out. He was sorely tempted to tell his brother to piss off, but he didn’t fancy the aftermath of that while he had a friend over, so he grudgingly trudged into the hall, making sure to close his bedroom door behind him.

“That’s the kid you’ve been talkin’ about, right?” said his brother without preamble, jerking his chin toward the door.

“Yeah…” said Dave. “Why?”

“You talk about him a lot,” Bro noted.

“There’s a lot to talk about,” he replied with a shrug. Bro raised his eyebrows.

“I guess so.”

Silence. Then,

“You’re not wearing your shades.”

Dave blinked, then shrugged.

“I don’t usually wear them at home,” he said airily. “Not like you’ve never seen them before, right?”

“But Karkat isn’t usually at home,” Bro pointed out. He stiffened. “You’re comfortable with him seein’ them?”

“The little bastard didn’t give me much choice,” he snorted, a little bitter. “Fucking took my shades at Terezi’s Halloween party, and he wouldn’t give ‘em back til he saw. Not my fault.”

“I ain’t askin’ if you’re cool with him knowing,” Bro said exasperatedly. “John knows too, but you still usually have your shades on when he comes over. Why’s Karkat different?”

Dave swore internally. Bro recognized his hesitation and pounced.

“You can’t run around hidin’ for the rest of your life, little man,” he said. “If you like the kid, let him know, ‘cause he’s a lot like you. He’s gonna walk away one day if he feels like you don’t need him.”

“B-Bro!” Dave exclaimed, turning red enough to put his shirt to shame. “That--that’s not--what the hell?!”

The older man shrugged noncommittally and chucked Dave under his chin, lips turning into a crooked smirk.

“Nut the hell up you little bitch.”

“BRO!!”

Laughing uproariously, Bro pranced off to his room, where Dave would under no circumstances go to initiate a strife battle, leaving the younger boy to fume alone in the living room. That ridiculous manchild really was too much for Dave sometimes. That being said, that same ridiculous manchild was also right more often than not on his hunches, however weirdly he voiced them, and the younger boy found himself staring at his partially open door, wondering. What was he thinking, the boy on the other side of that door? What was he feeling right now?

With a shake of his head and a roll of his shoulders to throw off his sudden tension, Dave decided that for the time being he was going to simply pretend that the conversation with his brother hadn’t happened. He wasn’t going to disregard it, exactly, but he was going to postpone testing Bro’s theory until a later date. He was nothing if not a procrastinator of prodigious skill. After ensuring that his face was safely blank of any indication of what he’d been talking about--without his shades, it was harder to hide what he was feeling--he strode back to his room like nothing more than a routine who-ate-the-last-cookie argument between siblings.

Karkat hadn’t waited up and was lounging across Dave’s bed, scrolling through the movies that had already been illegally downloaded onto his laptop and occasionally clicking his teeth at one that he found particularly uninteresting. He barely flinched when the door creaked open, but he did scoot over as far as he could without falling off of the mattress to make room. Chuckling, Dave collapsed with artful gracelessness onto the bed beside him and leaned over to look at the screen.

“Do you have anything that isn’t slapstick comedy or totally fake action?” the boy grumbled.

“Sure, I’ve got loads,” he answered, wresting the laptop from his friend’s small fingers and moving the cursor to a genre filter. “For ironic purposes only, of course.”

“Of course,” Karkat said sardonically, but Dave thought he saw just the hint of a smirk.

As blandly as he could, he said: “I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

That got a true reaction out of the boy, who went rigid so quickly that he almost tumbled right onto the cluttered floor and only Dave’s quick reflexes saved him from that undignified end. As it was, being pulled almost into your friend’s lap wasn’t exactly the height of dignity either. He hastily scrambled free and began pouting due to embarrassment.

“Shut up you asshole,” Karkat grumbled. “Of course I’ve laughed before.”

“Not like that,” Dave said, jerking his thumb toward the kitchen. “I always get those mean little snickers, like you’re a vengeful poltergeist playing nasty, petty pranks on me and then sticking your nose in the air and pretending you didn’t see anything that happened. And those are only on a really, really good day.”

Karkat fumed in mortified silence, his ears flaming brilliantly. Dave almost smirked at that: at seeing his Karkat all cute and flustered.

“You should do it more.”

“What?”

“You should laugh more,” Dave said. “You’ve got a nice laugh.”

If possible, Karkat became even more red.

“Sh-shut up! How gay can you even be?!” he whined, flinging himself face down onto Dave’s pillow.

Amusement forced Dave’s lips to curve as he watched his friend try to disappear into the small black cushion, peeking out under his arm after a moment to see if he was still looking at him. Knowing that trying to get any more serious talk out of the incredibly untalkative munchkin of an eleventh grader, Dave heaved a great sigh and moved to close his laptop.

“I guess if you don’t want to watch a movie after all,” he said forlornly.

A small pale hand caught the device before it could close and lock down, and Karkat reluctantly resurfaced from cotton diving to glower balefully at him.

“Rainbowfucker, of course I still wanna watch a movie.” He said it like an accusation, his tone suggesting that Dave had brutally murdered his entire family of two loving parents and three sweet younger siblings right in front of his innocent little eyes. “Quit spouting nonsense outta that damned wind hole of yours.”

Eyes gleaming with undisguised humor, Dave made a grand gesture toward the laptop, and Karkat accidentally kneed him in the stomach as he shifted to get a better look at the screen. Well, the platinum-haired boy preferred to think that it was an accident, though this probably was not a realistic hope. With the search narrowed down just to Karkat’s preferred genre of sappy rom-coms, he found a suitable movie in no time and the two of them settled in, Dave wondering what the hell kind of person named their kid Hitch and didn’t expect him to make a living on training men to hook up with their preferred ladies.

Ten minutes into the movie, Dave had already lost interest and was instead watching Karkat watch the movie, which was marginally more entertaining. The boy’s grey eyes were riveted on the screen, his lips forming every line exactly as it was said in the film, and his fingers were lacing and unlacing at random intervals. When some stiff, upright, boring-as-hell looking chick showed up on the screen, he actually gave a knowing smirk that said all too plainly Yeah, hate him all you want, but by the end of the movie you’ll be fucking the shit outta that guy.

“What are you doing for New Years?” Dave asked suddenly, interrupting an obese guy in the middle of his failure of flirtation with a hot piece of ass that was way out of his league. Karkat jumped and looked around as if he had forgotten there was another person on the bed with him.

“Huh?” he said eloquently.

“I said: what are you doing for New Years?” Dave repeated.

Karkat narrowed his eyes suspiciously, with good reason Dave had to admit. Every time he’d asked the poor kid what he was doing at any given time, he had immediately swooped down and claimed said time as prime kidnapping opportunity. However, either Karkat really was a huge pushover, or he didn’t hate Dave’s company as vehemently as he insisted, because his shoulders slumped.

“No plans that I know of,” he groaned.

Dave grinned. “Sweet, now you have one. I figured you’d be hanging out with ClownBro for Christmas, but no one ever thinks to call dibs on New Years.”

“Call dibs?” Karkat repeated, sounding mildly affronted. “You do realize that I’m a person, right? Not an inanimate object?”

The fair boy ruffled his friend’s ebony hair.

“‘Course I do,” he responded with a chuckle. “You’re way too hot to be an inanimate object.”

Dave had enough time to register the cherry red cheeks on his companion before a foot slammed into his midsection and knocked him right off of his bed and into the chaos on his floor. The back of his head smacked against the carpet before he rolled onto his side, eliciting a sharp curse and prolonged groan from him whilst his so-called “friend” snorted in his aforementioned cruel and mean fashion.

“Can’t even give a compliment without being abused,” Dave whined pathetically, clutching at his midsection as though he had been shot rather than kicked.

“Maybe the day you give a sincere compliment you won’t be,” Karkat suggested, then went back to the movie.

“Whatever.”

Recognizing that he was not going to receive any sympathy or panicked I’m-sorry-I-didn’t-mean-to-kick-you-off-the-bed, the blond sighed theatrically and sat on the edge of the mattress, wary lest he be assaulted again, but his guest left him in peace. Left with nothing else to do, he returned to watching his friend watch the movie at a safe distance, smiling at the way he interacted with the screen, pulling faces and mouthing lines and even blushing when Hitch and his girlfriend played some serious tonsil hockey.

Karkat was tearing up at what Dave figured was supposed to be a very intense emotional scene when the blonde boy couldn’t handle the flick anymore and rose to his feet, wading through discarded raps to snag his headphones off of his desk. Without any warning, he clapped them down over his friend’s ears and watched his little spaz attack before plugging the cord in. The smaller boy gave him a curious look, but Dave just waved him off and he returned to the movie without complaint.

Shaking his head at the easy victory, Dave turned and moved back through the mess, wondering if he should clean up a little bit but quickly dismissing that ridiculous notion. It was just paper, it wasn’t hurting anything. He flung himself onto his desk chair and rolled over to grab his guitar, checking briefly to make sure the strings were in good shape and everything was in tune. Then he started plucking away, no real musical goal in mind. He did that a lot when he was bored and didn’t know what else to do. He liked just making little strings of notes that sounded good together, waiting for them to turn into something more all on their own. It was the only way he could have ever written any of the songs that weren’t littering the floor but were instead tucked carefully into a binder on a shelf above his turntables.

This time, the notes morphed into a song he already knew as they so often did when he was lacking inspiration, though it wasn’t actually a song that he had known for very long. He’d only heard it a couple of times on the radio the last few weeks, but he remembered enough of it to have an idea how to play it. As he played, the lyrics started rolling through his mind.

I can hold my breath. I can bite my tongue.

I can stay awake for days if that’s what you want.

Be your number one.

Dave didn’t know if it was a blessing or a curse that he could remember lyrics from songs that he’d heard sparingly and didn’t even like all that much, but it did make it easier to keep track of where he was in the song if he knew the vocals.

I can fake a smile. I can force a laugh.

I can dance and play the part if that’s what you ask

Give you all I am.

Damn Karkat for getting the song stuck in his head.

I can do it...I can do it...I can do it…

“But I’m only human,” he began to sing quietly. It was easier to keep track that way, even though the song was made for a woman with a slightly reedy voice, not a young man with a voice deep enough to strike oil. “And I bleed when I fall down. I’m only human, and I crash and I break down.”

His fingers, which were strummed away diligently, missed a note and he winced.

“Damnit,” he groaned. “It’s always there, too.”

Muttering to himself, Dave reset and started where he left off.

“Your words in my head, knives in my heart. You build me up and then I fall apart ‘cause I’m only huma--god damnit.”

He missed a note again and cursed, fingers pausing on the strings.

“You actually know that song?”

Dave jumped and spun his chair around to see that even though the movie was still playing Karkat had removed the headphones and was watching him with rapt attention.

“Kind of, yeah,” Dave said with a shrug. “I’ve heard it on the radio before.”

“And you just figured out how to play?” There was no mistaking the skepticism in his friend’s voice. He shrugged again.

“I’m good at guessing notes,” he said lazily. “And chord progressions in modern music have gotten really predictable anyway.”

Karkat gave him a cagey look as if deciding whether or not to believe him. Dave smirked and returned to absently strumming the guitar.

“The movie’s still playing, you kn--” Dave began, but Karkat interrupted him.

“You’re really good.”

The boy looked back up, surprised not by his friend’s red face, because the boy was blushing as often as not, but by the sincerity in his voice when he’d spoken. His lips ticked upward.

“Thanks, Karkles,” he said. Karkat stuck out his tongue and went back to the movie, though the color didn’t look ready to fade from his cheeks.

Still smirking, Dave went back to his guitar, trying to remember how to play the chorus without fucking up royally.

Chapter Text

“Karbro! I missed you, you little motherfucker!”

Karkat felt his face break into an authentic smile that he felt was the first in days at the stupidly huge grin on Gamzee’s face. He dodged his friend’s outstretched arm before he could catch him in a headlock and ducked into the apartment, dropping his bag unceremoniously on the floor by an uncoordinated pile of mismatched shoes and boots. The light in the kitchen was on, and Karkat wasn’t surprised to see Gamzee’s strange brother Kurloz sitting back in one of the cheap plastic chairs at the scratched dining table, reading a thick tome that Karkat didn’t recognize. It was a bit redundant to call anyone connected to Gamzee strange, seeing as the boy was a walking encyclopedia of weird himself, though.

“Hey Kurloz,” he greeted.

He responded with a lazy wave, not even looking up from the book. He wasn’t being rude by not answering; he was mute, and probably had been since birth. He could still laugh, and sometimes when he was high he would hum off-tune versions of songs he’d heard, but that was the extent of his vocality.

Breathing out a sigh of contentment at being in such a familiar setting, Karkat fell into a chair across the table from Kurloz and raked a hand through his damp hair. It had started snowing on his way to Gamzee’s house from school and had clumped up his hair and soaked right through his socks to leave his toes feeling very numb.

Gamzee tottered into the kitchen right behind Karkat and leaned in the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

“Why’s a motherfucker got to all up and take so fuckin’ long before he comes around for a visit?” he said, but his teasing tone ensured Karkat that he wasn’t upset and was just poking fun.

“As much as it might shock you, not everyone drops out of high school,” Karkat replied airily. “I still have shitty homework to do and I don’t have the fucking time to come around just because I feel like it.”

“Well, shit bro, school ain’t all that,” Gamzee said. “Shit like that ain’t natural at all. Shovin’ a bunch of horny motherfuckers in a crumblin’ old school building and forcin’ ‘em to learn stupid shit that don’t mean nothing? You don’t have to take that shit so seriously, man.”

“If I wanna graduate, I kind of fucking do, yeah,” he answered.

“We’re doin’ just fine without no degree,” his friend pointed out.

“You’ve been on your own for two months, idiot,” Karkat countered. “The sopor shit you have won’t bring in enough money to pay for this shitty apartment forever, you know that right?”

“You still gotta work on getting your motherfuckin’ chill on, Karbro,” said Gamzee sagely. “You as uptight as that hipster guy with the cape.”

“Oh fuck you, I am nowhere near as bad as fucking Ampora!” Karkat retorted, mildly insulted when he thought of the elitist asshole with the Harry Potter complex and the extreme likelihood to die a virgin.

“Nah, I guess not,”  he conceded. “But you’re still too motherfuckin’ tense my brother.”

“Whatever,” Karkat grumbled, hoping for a change of topic.

Kurloz chose that opportune moment to set his book down and sign something to Gamzee that Karkat didn’t understand, finishing by pointing to the main living space on the other side of the wall. Gamzee stunned Karkat--who would never have thought that the pothead would ever learn anything like sign language when he couldn’t even speak English properly--by signing something back. The clown grinned widely then and jerked his thumb toward the main room.

“Getting all excited I almost up and fuckin’ forgot. We actually got a Christmas tree this year. Decorated the shit and everything. It needs a lookin-at, brother, c’mon.”

“I don’t know if I want to see your idea of decorating,” said Karkat uneasily, imagining bundles of weed tied to branches and clown horns sitting wherever they would stay.

His reluctance didn’t deter Gamzee in the slightest, who grabbed his elbow and picked him right up out of his chair, causing him to shout in surprise. It was easy to forget that, as much time as Gamzee spent tottering around because he was stoned off his ass, he was also surprisingly strong. It was still a wonder that this was true, because Karkat did not know of him working out ever, but it made him downright terrifying on the rare occasion that he was sober, because he was a concentrated ball of rage in those times and incredibly prone to violent outbursts. However, there was no need to worry now because Gamzee was as high as ever and couldn’t even walk in a straight line, let alone throw a decent punch. Karkat’s only concern was that he was being half-dragged, half-carried into the next room.

“Look at that miraculous motherfucker, Karbro,” Gamzee sighed contentedly, dropping the smaller boy on the dusty carpet and admiring his handiwork.

It was pretty much as bad as Karkat had expected, sans marijuana bunches. Horns were scattered through the branches, some hanging haphazardly at the ends and just waiting for someone to knock them down and step on them accidentally. However, there were also actual ornaments hanging here and there, little round ones and ones in strange shapes that didn’t really fit in the space where they were placed. None of the decorations matched, there was no organization, and the tree was absurdly top-heavy because several larger ornaments were placed there whereas smaller ones were near the bottom, but it was wonderful all the same in its own convoluted way, and Karkat found himself smiling at the jumble as though it was an old friend.

“It was a decent effort, I guess,” he said. “I’m just impressed you actually got a tree this year. Where did you get all those fucking ornaments?”

“Ah, man, I’m not actually sure…” Gamzee mumbled, scratching his head. “Found some of ‘em when I was movin’, and some other little motherfuckers just kind of showed up like another fucking miracle.”

Karkat shook his head. Kurloz had probably gotten them while he was out without Gamzee.

“So what have you all up and been doin’ lately, Karbro?”

Karkat looked around and found Gamzee sitting on his musty old couch that sagged right down to the floor in the middle. He patted the cushion next to him and, with a self-suffering sigh, Karkat flopped down accordingly.

“Nothing, really,” he said heavily. “Homework, bitching about standardized testing, the usual.”

“Those motherfuckers still giving you shit?” his friend said in a would-be casual voice. However, Karkat could hear the dark undertone to his voice, the one that very rarely made it into his stupor of drugs, and he remembered that Gamzee was not only capable of beating those kids within an inch of their lives--or less--but also more than willing to do so. Hastily he dismissed his friend’s concerns, feeling that it wouldn’t be wise to let him go on a murder spree.

“No, no, it’s fine,” he said quickly, waving his hands in the air. “They’re not bugging me at all. They backed off, it’s cool.”

Gamzee looked surprised.

“They’re not harassing my brother?” he said, as if this was an incredibly complex concept.

“No, they’re not, I’m fine,” Karkat promised.

“Shit, bro, that’s one of them motherfucking miracles I’m tellin’ you about,” he said with the same air of wonder that he used when regarding that disgusting east coast drink Faygo.

Immediately Karkat thought of Dave laying every single one of the boys out, and his smile grew.

“You could say that,” he said fondly.

Now, Gamzee was many things, ranging from raging jackass when sober to clueless moron when high, but he was also incredibly observant for someone as smashed as he, especially when his best friend was concerned. He didn’t miss the fond smile that bloomed on Karkat’s face, or the soft tone of his voice when he spoke. Not knowing the boy to ever behave in such a way, Gamzee was immediately suspicious.

“Seems to me like you all up and got a motherfucking idea where this miracle came from, unless I’m very much mistaken,” he said shrewdly. His gaze narrowed at the color that immediately flashed across Karkat’s cheeks when he spoke, a definite indication that something beyond what he knew about had gone down.

“I-it’s nothing, really,” said Karkat hastily. “Just--remember that new kid? The douche with the sunglasses?”

Gamzee frowned, and his friend could see that he must be thinking hard to recall, because he looked like he was in some serious pain the whole while. Karkat wondered how much of that was for show; Strider had said that, during the time Karkat had tried to disappear and failed after three days, Gamzee had even stooped to asking the blonde if he knew where the kid was. Gamzee had a shitty memory, but not even he would usually forget something like that. Finally the clown nodded.

“Yeah, I remember him. Motherfuckin’ piss-off, if you ask me. What about him?”

Karkat fidgeted, suddenly unable to look Gamzee in the eye.

“Well...He, uh…” Karkat mumbled, realizing he had no idea what to say. What about Strider? What exactly had he done? “He got in a fight with those shit sniffers...because they were harassing me...Beat them all to hell, like, damn. Scared the living shit out of another one a couple months after that, apparently. Since then...they’ve been leaving me alone. Haven’t heard a word from them.”

“This Strider fella all up and stood up to them motherfuckers?” Gamzee checked, and it seemed almost like he was testing out the words to figure out if he liked the taste of them or not. Judging by his expression, Karkat thought that he wasn’t a huge fan.

“Y-yeah…”

“So are you two pals now?”

“I...I don’t really know, Gamzee,” he said honestly. What the fuck was Strider to him, besides a pain in the ass? He thought briefly of that fucked-up dream he’d had while staying at the boy’s house, but quickly decided against bringing that up. His neck felt hot from embarrassment just from thinking about that. “I mean, we hang out sometimes...and I think he enjoys it. Sometimes it’s actually kind of fun, I guess. We’re hanging out at New Years, actually, so…”

Chills went down his spine at the calculating look that his best friend gave him. It was such a clear, piercing stare that for a moment he seemed almost like Kanaya, without the fashion sense, and Karkat wasn’t prepared.

“You been puttin’ on some weight, Karbro,” he said after a moment. “Ya ain’t all skin and bones so much. That because you’re gettin’ your chill on with him?”

From a third party that didn’t know Gamzee near as well as Karkat did, the words would have sounded like an almost blatant challenge, as though what he really wanted to say was “That asshole can help you better than me?” Karkat, however, knew that Gamzee wasn’t one for subliminal messages, so what he said was one hundred percent what he meant, and he was honestly just asking if Dave had any reason behind why Karkat no longer resembled a starved African child. That didn’t make it any easier for him to answer, though, and he spent several long minutes in silence trying to decide whether or not that was the truth of it, but came to the conclusion that he was afraid he knew from the start.

“Yeah, that’s probably why,” he admitted, humiliated.

Gamzee leaned back on the couch.

“Karbro, if a motherfucker ‘sides me can make you feel better then it really is a motherfuckin’ miracle. Ain’t gotta be ashamed of that shit.”

“Sh-shut the hell up, Gamzee,” Karkat said half-heartedly.

Gamzee chuckled and nudged him with his elbow.

“Whatever you motherfuckin’ say, bro.”

Chapter Text

The week of Christmas passed, and while Karkat was absolutely thrilled that he got to spend time with his best friend for what felt like the first time in ages, he was not sorry to find himself back at home. There was only so much honking and laughing and weird joking that he could take, and the leftover fumes from drugs in the apartment that made the whole place smell like a garden of weed had given Karkat quite the headache. So it was with no small amount of relief that he trudged into his own apartment, flung down his bag, and collapsed on the bed.

The thing he was most thankful for from his visit was that Gamzee had not tried to give him a goose for Christmas again, and Kurloz hadn’t invited his girlfriend Meulin over. Karkat shuddered when he thought of all the times she’d spent the night while he was still living with them, because mute though Kurloz was, he could still make some incredibly loud sounds in the middle of the night.

All in all, Karkat was just looking forward to a few blissful days of quiet during New Years weekend before school started again, bringing the dull monotony along with it. He let out a long, contented sigh and settled deeper into his mattress, room unusually and blissfully warm. He was just beginning to drift off to sleep when he noticed something nagging at the back of his mind, something important that he had forgotten about. What was it?

Vrrrrrrrrm!

Groaning, Karkat propped himself up on his elbows and dug his cell phone out of his pocket, wondering who the fuck was bothering him and already kind of expecting it to be the idiot with the red text and the apparent aversion to capital letters and punctuation. Yep, no surprise, turntechGodhead was pestering him.

CG: WHAT NOW?

TG: are you ready?

Karkat frowned.

CG: AM I FUCKING READY FOR WHAT?

TG: oh come on dude. dont tell me you already forgot that you promised to spend the rest of life with me in holy matrimony? come on, i was really specific about the rest of your life part, too.

CG: WHAT THE SHIT ARE YOU GOING ON ABOUT NOW YOU STUPID BILGESMOKER?

Karkat shook his head at his phone and fisted one of his eyes. He was tired, and his eyes were still sore from the drug fumes. What was Strider bothering him for now, besides a falsified testimony that the two of them were married or were soon to be married forever?

TG: aw man, you suck. i had dibs on your new years celebrations. im outside your apartment now cuz i thought youd be ready.

Karkat stared blankly at his phone for a full minute, then yelped loud enough to wake his neighbors and tumbled off of his bed, cursing his shit memory and the leftover smoke in his friend’s house and the shitty carpet that broke his fall. His phone vibrated again.

TG: can i come in even though youre obviously not packed? jeez, its like youre a drunk prom date or some shit dude, like, wow are you unreliable.

Karkat through the device back onto the bed and all but ran to the door, recalling that it had been snowing when he arrived and somewhere in his weary mind registering that Strider was standing outside cold and probably wet. He skidded to a stop in his socks by the front door to see a red silhouette through the fogged up glass windows. Heaving a self-suffering sigh, he yanked the door open to admit the tall, slender, slightly damp boy inside. The guest stepped in and promptly kicked off his shoes to reveal mismatched ankle socks, one black with a white toe and heel, and the other orange with green zig-zags and purple polka dots.

“Nice socks,” was all Karkat could think to say, slamming the door shut before the apartment lost too much hard-earned heat.

Strider chuckled and ran his fingers through his hair, raking through the clumps that had formed due to snow catching strands and molding them together. Unsure what to do with himself, Karkat just watched him do that.

“Enjoying the view?” Strider teased when he noticed.

Karkat flushed bright red and stomped down the hall to his room to pile some clothes into a bag, definitely not noticing the laughter echoing after him and absolutely not acknowledging the goosebumps erupting down his arms. He dumped the dirty clothes from the main compartment of his overnight bag out onto the floor and started rooting around for clean clothes to toss in, grumbling under his breath that he probably wouldn’t even be allowed a decent rest when he was dead. The dresser drawer screamed when he pulled it open, but he was past caring about the obtrusive noise, barely wincing before reaching in to pull out a t-shirt and a plaid button-down long sleeve that he tossed carelessly into the previously vacated duffel bag. Retrieving a pair of dark jeans from the next drawer down and a pair of underwear from the one below that, Karkat turned to find that Strider had followed him almost silently and was leaning in the doorway, looking for all the world like he’d stepped out of a painting by one of the old masters. Refusing to admit to the warmth in his cheeks at this observation, Karkat made of show of packing his clothes without acknowledging his guest’s existence, rising to his feet a moment later with the bag in his hand.

“You’re grumpier than usual, man,” Strider noted as Karkat pushed past him.

“I’m not fucking grumpy,” Karkat snapped at once, stopping by the bathroom to grab his brush; he’d forgotten it when he was packing to visit Gamzee. “You’re just fucking annoying.”

“So you say,” he replied, unruffled. “But you look like you could use a nap, too. I know I always feel better after a good long nap.”

“Fuck you and your naps, Strider,” Karkat said venomously.

“You know, I still can’t really tell if you hate me or if you’re in love with me.”

The boy bristled.

“Why the fuck would anyone be in love with such a condescending fucklick like you?!” he blustered. “I fucking hate your guts you insufferable shit stain and that’s the end of it!”

“Then why are you blushing so bad?” Strider smirked, fingering one of Karkat’s too-warm cheeks. Karkat swatted him away, but he felt his face grow even warmer. “Wait, is your hate that kind of thing?”

“What--what kind of thing, you assmunch?” he said, marching towards the front of the apartment and pretending that he couldn’t feel Strider’s presence at his shoulder like a warm light bobbing along behind him.

“You know, like an angry-sex type of thing?” Strider elaborated. “I know people that’ve, like, hate-dated or whatever, but I’m not really into that sort of thing, so--”

“OH MY GOD YOU FUCKING IDIOT JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!!” Karkat exploded, dropping his bag so that he could cover his ears. “I WOULD NEVER IN A MILLION FUCKING YEARS EVEN CONSIDER ‘HATE-DATING’, DEFINITELY NOT A STUPID FUCKASS LIKE YOU!”

“Alright, alright, chill out man,” said Strider in a pacifying sort of way. “It was a legitimate question and a joke besides the point, so relax. Jeez, you really are wound up today.”

“Fuck you,” he grumbled.

A hand settled on the crown of his head and carded through his hair.

“Why don’t I just pick you up tomorrow?” the boy said, not unkindly. “After you’ve had a chance to chill out? It doesn’t look like you’ve been home for long.”

Karkat looked up at his words, and was met with his reflection off of those black aviators. Strider’s face was impassive, and oh how Karkat wished he could see his eyes, those incredibly bright, expressive eyes that showed his every thought no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His fingers twitched, and there was a scary moment in which he wasn’t sure if he was capable of not yanking those stupid things right off of his friend’s face.

“Uh…” he muttered, fighting that ridiculous impulse. “That’s not...I don’t…”

“It’s alright, Karkat,” Strider insisted. “You need some time to yourself to relax, it’s cool. Text me when you’re ready tomorrow, okay?”

He rumpled the boy’s hair, then moved away, making it as far as the door before Karkat’s brain kicked into gear. Strider had driven all the way here just to pick him up, in the snow on icy roads with the plethora of other asshole drivers that populated the town, and then had stood outside his apartment in the snow waiting for him. He was willing to go back home alone and then make the trip again tomorrow, after the snow from today would have been packed down into an even more unsafe, slippery surface to drive on. All on the account of giving Karkat some extra alone time?

“H-hold on!” Karkat said, darting after him and catching the sleeve of his friend’s jacket. The boy paused and turned back to him, his hand falling away from the doorknob.

“Karkat?” he said curiously.

Although he refused to look the boy directly in the eye, Karkat did his best not to look at the floor either. There was a happy medium to be found in looking at a point slightly above Strider’s right ear, and it was to that point that Karkat spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m not mad or anything, and obviously I don’t...well, hate you. I’m just a little…”

“Tired,” Strider finished, gently trying to pry his fingers away from his sleeve. He held firm. “It’s okay, Karks, I get it.”

“But you already drove all the way out here,” Karkat protested. “And I...I want...I want to hang out with you.”

Strider gave a small snort of amusement and his lip twitched into a small, slightly crooked smile.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “But it’s not like my apartment is goin’ anywhere overnight. I don’t mind coming by to grab you tomorrow, Karkat, really, it’s--”

“I fucking mind, okay?” he interrupted. “You came all the way out here to pick me up, and it’s not fine to just blow that off because I’m a little tired, so shove that self-sacrificing bullshit up your ass and quit spewing nonsense from that caliginous windhole.”

Strider arched an eyebrow well over his shades in an impressive imitation of Spock.

“I feel like I’m supposed to be insulted by that,” he said after a moment. “But I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

“Oh, shut up,” Karkat said wearily. “Let’s just go.”

“Your wish is my command,” he replied in a would-be-charming voice, if not for the obvious sarcasm dripping from every syllable.

Strider opened the door and gestured for Karkat to take the lead. He did, blinking against the glaring light reflecting off of the white snow outside and shuddering when a stiff breeze blew straight down the back of his sweater.

“Strider Manor, here we come,” said Strider, closing the door behind them and flinging a careless arm around his thin shoulders.

Karkat would have swatted him away, but it was too cold outside and Strider was far too warm for him to forsake the extra shelter from the elements, so he walked carefully down the stairs tucked against his friend’s side in silence, his bag swinging heavily from his arm. They walked without a word to the cherry red sports car parked ostentatiously in the lot and climbed in, Karkat still not quite over the amazement and the fear of tracking in water. The inside was still a little warm from being running not half an hour ago, and he settled down into the dark leather seat, barely thinking to buckle the seatbelt before getting comfortable. Next to him, Strider shut his own door and started the car. Though he wasn’t looking, Karkat could picture the childish grin on his face as the vehicle snarled to life, setting the entire block vibrating right down to its foundations, and he couldn’t suppress a little smile of his own. It was funny, the things that instilled true excitement in the stoic, obnoxious cool kid.

He yawned hugely and closed his eyes as Strider pulled out of the parking lot. His seat felt warm. Was it heated?

There was a light pressure on his head, and the tugging feeling of something running through his hair.

“Mm, what the fuck are you doing?” he mumbled, cracking an eye open just enough to look over at the driver, whose eyes were still on the road but who had one hand carding through his hair.

“Don’t worry about it,” he answered passively. “Go to sleep.”

“...Go fuck yourself.”

“If I did that, I might wreck the car.”

“Ugh...douchemonger.”

Chapter Text

It was quite the trick, getting Karkat out of the car and carrying him up the stairs to his apartment without waking the boy up, but Dave managed it in the end, though he had the kick the door several times so that Bro would come and let him in. His brother spared the boy in his arms hardly a glance before returning to his room, but that didn’t bother Dave, who preferred when his brother didn’t show much interest in his friends. The man’s notion of interest was very...unorthodox.

Dave had to tread carefully through the apartment so that he didn’t step on any stupid smuppets or trip over empty bottles on the way to his room. Finally, though, he managed to get Karkat to his bed and carefully set him down on the mattress, rumpling his hair. The boy mumbled incoherently and rolled onto his side, arms hugging his midsection.

“Are you seriously a junior in highschool?” Dave wondered, shaking his head. “Because you are too damned cute for your own good.”

He flicked the tip of Karkat’s nose and sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers through the boy’s hair and marveling at how soft it was. It would have been a lie if he said that he found hair-stroking to be a totally platonic action with nothing other than friendship behind it. Not even he could pass it off as an ironic gesture. With a sigh he laid back on the bed and rolled to face Karkat, wishing not for the first time that he could see into the boy’s mind to know just what he was thinking.

It had been a while since Dave figured out why he was getting that funny, burning sensation in the pit of his stomach whenever he saw his friend, why his chest seemed too small, too tight, when he saw that grumpy boy crack a smile. Oh yeah, he was fucking smitten with this tiny, angry nerd laying curled around himself right in front of him, and he had no idea what to do about it either.

Dave reached out and brushed some of Karkat’s wildly unkempt hair out of his face, then slid his hand down to his back and pulled him closer, so that he was cradling him against his chest with his chin resting on the crown of his head. The smaller boy grumbled in his sleep but shifted closer, tucking his nose in the hollow of Dave’s throat and causing him to shiver in pleasant surprise. He buried his own nose in the boy’s hair, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

“Damnit,” he groaned, curling more tightly around his friend.

He was pretty tired too. Bro hadn’t allowed him a decent night’s rest since the Christmas break start, either coming in to harass him personally or keeping him up with noise from his bedroom that he would have preferred to not be able to identify as his brother and the man’s boyfriend making the most of the night. Jake, however, was finally gone to visit some family, so hopefully there would be a few peaceful nights before school started again.

Just before he could drift off into a wonderful mid-afternoon nap, however, the body in his arms moved and groaned, and he pulled back before Karkat registered that his friend had been wrapped around him as though he were a massive teddy bear. He propped himself up on one elbow and watched as the boy slowly came back to the world of the living, fisting his tired eyes and looking around hazily. When he saw that he was in Dave’s room, he seemed to spark into alertness all at once.

“How the fuck--did you carry me in here?” Karkat spluttered, looking at Dave incredulously. “Why didn’t you just fucking wake me up?”

He shrugged and sat up lazily. “You seemed really tired. And honestly, I wasn’t all that thrilled by the prospect of waking up Crankykat Vantas without any protective gear.”

Karkat rolled his eyes.

“Whatever,” he said. That short nap had already improved his attitude. “So, do you actually have anything planned, or did you want to hold me captive just for the hell of it?”

Dave snorted and rose to his feet, stretching like a cat.

“Not really anything tonight,” he admitted. “But Terezi invited us both to her New Years party.”

“You’re joking?” Karkat exclaimed. “Her parents are going out of town again?”

“Apparently,” he shrugged. “You know, I think they leave as often as they do just so that she has a chance to throw those crazy parties. It’s not like they can’t know she puts them on.”

“That’s just crazy,” Karkat shook his head.

“Well, she had to get it somewhere, right?”

They shared a brief bout of laughter at their friend’s expense. Then Dave decided he should probably do something besides stare at his friend and rose to his feet, wading through the sea of papers to pick up the new guitar that he’d gotten for Christmas. It was pretty rad: black as pitch and glossy like glass, with a gear pattern embossed across the face like a shadow and a single, dark red gear near the bottom with his name etched in the middle. It was from his brother and Jake, and was the coolest Christmas gift he’d ever received. He picked it up from its stand and plopped down in his desk chair again, absently strumming it, once again with no real tune in mind.

“You can watch some movies on my laptop if you want,” he told Karkat. “Seems like you never get tired of those sappy chick flicks.”

“They’re the best kinds of movies!” Karkat said defensively. “The plots are way more intricate and intense than your generic blow-shit-up-for-two-hours bullshit or your weird random cartoons. What the fuck is a Pokey-man, anyway?”

“Oh, dude, you can’t hate on Pokemon!” said Dave at once. “It’s about a bunch of totally awesome animals with all these totally rad powers that go around battling each other for fun! What’s not to love?”

“It sounds fucking stupid,” Karkat said decisively.

“Man, it is the most emotional shit on this earth!” he argued. “It’s a thousand times more intense than fucking She’s The Man.”

“You are so full of shit.”

“That’s it, I’m making you watch the first Pokemon movie,” Dave decided. “If you don’t shed at least one tear, you aren’t even human, Karks.”

“Oh, whatever,” he replied. “I’m not gonna start fucking crying over some weird animal that can shoot fireballs out of its ass.”

“No, now you’re confusing Pokemon with some stoner that took a midnight run to Taco Bell,” laughed Dave. Karkat spared him a small smirk. “Plus, Billie Piper sings one of the songs in the first movie. I’d watch it just for her.”

“Billie Piper?” Karkat repeated, and for a horrible moment Dave feared that Karkat would not recognize the name of one of the hottest chicks to ever walk the planet. His concern was put to rest almost at once, however. “That’s the actress that played Rose Tyler in Doctor Who, right?”

“That’s the one,” he confirmed. Karkat gave him a considering look.

“She can sing?” he said hesitantly.

“Dude, that’s how she made it big!” Dave exclaimed. “Alright, yeah, you definitely have to watch the movie. Grab my laptop.”

Karkat shook his head aggravatedly, but reached out to the bedside table where Dave’s laptop was currently resting and pulled it to him, opening it and typing in the password. He watched as Karkat went to his preferred streaming website and searched for first pokemon movie. The very first result was the one he needed, which was good because he clicked it without double checking. Dave debated whether or not to toss Karkat the headphones, but then figured there was no point. He couldn’t play his guitar when there was such quality entertainment going on elsewhere, so he set the instrument back down and went to flop down onto the bed next to his friend.

He got an elbow in the ribs when he started narrating with the movie, and despite what Karkat said about not giving a shit about something so lame, he seemed riveted from the very beginning, staring with a sort of horrified fascination as Mewtwo was created and proceeded to kill all the scientists that had a part in said creation before being recruited by Giovanni, the leader of the infamous Team Rocket.

“Poor Mewtwo!” Karkat gasped in horror when Giovani revealed that his only goal was to use Mewtwo as his own personal tool. Dave hid his smile.

The movie progressed, and as it did, so did Karkat’s emotional investment in the characters, particularly in Pikachu, whom he found to be incredibly cute. He made a noise of confusion when one of the trainers that had accepted Mewtwo’s challenge presented his water-type team, and he saw a pokemon that didn’t look like it would be a water type in a million years. He was right, actually; the pokemon he was looking at was a Nidoqueen, which was definitely not a water-type. Karkat no longer seemed overly fond of Mewtwo at the point where he began stealing everyone else’s Pokemon to make “superior” clones, and when the clones began fighting with the originals he looked like he wanted to scream at the screen.

As Dave had promised, Karkat cried. He cried a lot. But then, who wouldn’t cry when watching innocent creatures fighting each other for no reason and then seeing a ten-year-old kid jump in between the two that had the power to stop it all to keep them from destroying each other and getting himself turned into stone? Come on, Pikachu tears were unopposable, and that poor electric mouse was shedding plenty of them, along with all of the other Pokemon when they realized that Ash had died to stop the fighting and his closest Pokemon was trying to shock him back to normal and telling him to wake up--you knew that’s what he was saying even though all he could actually say was “pika pika”.

“They just--” sniffle “--k-killed him?” sniffle. “What the--” hiccup “--what the actual f-fuck?”

Dave was getting a little misty as well, even though he knew that everything turned out okay, and he patted the top of Karkat’s head understandingly.

“H-how is this--” sniff “--a k-kid’s movie?”

Dave didn’t answer, and waited for Karkat to notice what was happening on screen. He knew exactly when the boy noticed that the Pokemon tears were all glowing and floating over to Ash because the boy gave an incredibly loud gasp and gesticulated wildly at the screen. Ash’s statue started to glow, and then in a flash of light, he was back to normal and got mauled by all his Pokemon, especially Pikachu. Then Meowth and Mewtwo proceeded to say two of the most profound quotes to have ever been said, and Karkat lost it.

“W-what the fuck?!” he sobbed.

Grinning unashamedly, Dave reached around his friend’s shoulders and gave him a hug, rubbing his arm in a comforting way. Karkat didn’t react at all, still crying at the movie.

“Told you,” he said, pushing his shades up his nose. They’d slid down while they were watching, and he hadn’t cared enough to fix them at the time. “Pokemon is the shit, dude.”

“W-whatever,” the boy hiccuped. “I fucking hate this movie. It’s bullshit. I want a copy, and I want to watch the series, and I want to see all the other movies, too.”

Dave laughed outright.

“I can probably hook you up,” he confided, getting off of the bed and going to a shelf full of books, CD cases, and large black binders that, when he pulled one down and opened it, proved to be full of sleeves that held DVDs. Most of them were various seasons of the show.

“Holy shit Strider,” Karkat exclaimed, perking right up. “You are such a fucking nerd!”

“That a problem?” he challenged. “You were all into Pokemon two seconds ago. I guess if you don’t actually wanna watch, then…”

Karkat glowered and held out his arms for the binder, which Dave gladly handed over with a set of headphones.

“Go crazy,” he suggested, then went back to his guitar.

However, after a few minutes of trying out a new chord progression for a song he was mixing, he noticed that a pair of eyes was watching him rather than the laptop screen. He glanced up.

“Problem?” he wondered. “You do know how to work the DVD on a laptop, right?”

“Idiot, of course I do,” Karkat retorted at once. “It’s just...”

Frowning, Dave followed Karkat’s glance downward at his guitar and quirked his head to one side. Karkat’s cheeks were darker than normal.

“What’s up?” he wondered when Karkat didn’t seem inclined to expand on his thoughts. “You want to play?”

Karkat blinked and shook his head.

“No,” he replied hastily. “I have no interest in playing that stupid instrument of yours. I just...wanted to…”

“Listen?” Dave finished, surprised.

Karkat’s ears went red, but he nodded.

“Okay,” he said with a shrug. “Any requests, my one-man audience?”

“Just play something already, asshole,” his friend said, exasperation dripping from every syllable.

“I don’t know that one,” said Dave, smirking. “Hum a few bars, though, and I’ll give it my best shot.”

Karkat ended up falling asleep around eight, after listening to Dave go through his entire repertoire of music while he occasionally hummed along.

“Your snores sound like purring.”

“Shut up.”

“C’mon, dude, it’s cute.”

“I like you better when you’re asleep.”

“Harsh, man.”

Smirking, Dave sat up and raked a hand through his disaster of platinum hair.

“What time is it?” Karkat wondered, fisting his eyes furiously and looking around for a clock. The one sitting on the desk read seventeen past eleven o’clock in obnoxious glowing numbers.

“Wow,” Dave said, following his friend’s gaze to the clock as well. “I haven’t slept in so late in ages. Sweet.”

“I always figured you as the kind of asshole that slept until two in the afternoon,” Karkat mumbled as he sat up.

“Wow, rude,” Dave snorted, but he wasn’t legitimately offended. He was more than used to Karkat’s unusual and backhanded way of showing affection.

“Whatever,” he replied.

With a lot of groaning and stretching, the boys managed to tear themselves away from the bed, their bare feet finding the paper-carpeted floor within moments of each other. Karkat started looking around for his sweatshirt, but before he could pull it on Dave caught his wrist.

“You might want to shower before we head over to Terezi’s,” he suggested. “Her place will stink bad enough without you contributing your own personal BO.”

“If you think I stink, just say so you shitbagel,” Karkat snapped, but he reluctantly dropped his sweater back onto the floor by his bag.

“Shitbagel?” he echoed, smirking crookedly at his friend although he refused to turn and look at him.

“Do I have to worry about your brother coming into the bathroom to do god-knows-what if I take a shower?” he wondered uneasily.

“Nah, just lock the door,” he replied easily, waving a hand in the general direction of the bathroom. “Don’t take too long, though. Terezi wanted us over around two to help set up.”

“Like hell I’m helping her set up her stupid shitty party. It’s just gonna get trashed within the first fucking hour anyway,” Karkat grumbled on his way out the door.

“I’ll tell her you said that,” the white-haired boy said with a smirk.

“Go ahead,” Karkat snapped. He slammed the door behind him.

Dave sighed and stretched his arms over his head, wincing as his back popped a few more times before flinging himself back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. Was he going to do it? Would he finally nut up, as his Bro had so eloquently suggested? Terezi and Sollux were both pestering him about it constantly, and Rose would talk of little else. The only one that he hadn’t gotten any grief from was Jade, though he thought that it was because she had a small crush on him and was reluctant to cheer on his actively seeking a relationship with someone else, though she would never outright condemn it either.

“Fuuuuuuck,” he groaned, rolling onto his stomach and burying his face in a pillow.

How fucking lame was he for getting so fucking worked up over something so simple? Cool dudes so did not freak out and feel like they were going to projectile vomit farther than the last space expedition at the prospect of asking someone out. Something that he had been hearing from every direction, sometimes with a lisp and sometimes with a mildly insane giggle.

As if on cue, his cell phone buzzed on his desk, signalling a message on Pesterchum. He hoisted himself up and waded over to it, flipping it open. Yep. GallowsCallibrator.

GC: H3Y 4R3 YOU UP Y3T COOLK1D???? >:]

Dave ran a hand through his hair and reluctantly engaged.

TG: no fuck you im still sleeping

TG: gotta get my beauty rest while i wait for my knight in shining armor

CG: 1 THOUGHT YOU W3R3 TH3 KN1GHT?

CG: H4V3 YOU B33N LY1NG TO US 4LL TH1S T1M3?

TG: i cant do all the heroics man

TG: sometimes a dudes just gotta sit back with a cold one and let someone else do all the work

TG: shits exhausting when youre the only one doing it

He smiled a little and sat his phone down for a minute, rummaging around the piles of clothes in his drawers for something respectable for a teenage party that would undoubtedly end in puke and various other bodily fluids. Ah, plaid shirt and ratty jeans. Very classy. Perfect for such an occasion. As he changed his boxers and pulled an undershirt over his head, his phone buzzed twice more.

“Jesus, hold your horses,” he said out loud, pausing in the act of pulling his pants on to glance at the screen. Someone else was pestering him now.

Everyone wants a piece of Strider, he thought wryly, finishing his skinny-jean-wiggle and almost falling into his turntables in the process. He left the plaid button-down hanging on the back of his chair for the moment and went to answer Terezi and see who else was bothering him.

GC: POOR COOLK1D, HOW DO YOU SURV1V3?

He typed out a quick reply.

TG: aj and doritos. lots of both

Then he checked the other pesterlog that had been opened.

“Ugh, great. What does that tool want?” he groaned even as he read culigulasAquarium’s message.

CA: Are you goin to the party?

A little less excited at the prospect of this conversation, Dave nonetheless answered.

TG: not like its any of your business you stupid hipster cape douche

TG: but yeah i am

CA: Do you knoww if Fef wwill be there?

Dave frowned. Did he mean that cheerleader Feferi?

TG: how the hell would i know that four-eyes?

CA: Excuse me for askin a fuckin question, asshole

CA: Half of your fronds wwear glasses, you knoww.

TG: the fuck are fronds

TG: oh jesus not more of your stupid fish puns

TG: no fuck that i dont care your jokes are fuckin pathetic bro

CA: If you don’t knoww, I’ll ask someone else that isn’t a total prick.

TG: you do that

Dave hesitated. It was no secret that the Ampora kid was totally head-over-heels for Feferi… He really didn’t need to make something like that harder for the guy, when the girl already went to great lengths to ignore him on her own. With a sigh, he added another message before he closed that log.

TG: i think shes going

~turntechGodhead ceased pestering caligulusAquarium~

He went back to his conversation with Terezi. She’d pestered him three times since his response.

GC: HOW H4V3 YOU NOT D13D Y3T W1TH TH4T D13T? >:?

GC: 4NYW4Y YOUR3 COM1NG OV3R SOON R1GHT?

GC: YOU B3TT3R S4Y Y3S OR 3LS3 YOUR3 GONN4 P4Y

He snorted.

TG: how do you know i havent died

TG: maybe youre talking to my ghost

TG: and me and karks will be down whenever he finishes his fucking shower

TG: how does he take so long to wash his hair when its shorter than mine anyway

He instantly regretted mentioning Karkat.

GC: YOU B3TT3R T3LL H1M SOON

GC: 1 D1DNT TH1NK COOLK1DS W41T3D SO LONG

GC: I D1DNT TH1NK COOLK1DS GOT CRUSH3S

GC: 1S TH1S SOM3 K1ND OF COOLK1D T4CT1C 1 DONT KNOW 4BOUT >:?

He groaned and tossed his phone onto the bed, finally putting the plaid shirt on and finding that the butterflies in his stomach had somehow acquired heavy artillery, like machine guns and shit. Fuck Terezi for reminding him and fuck Ampora for making him empathize like some sappy protagonist in one of Karkat’s romcoms. Fuck the world for playing such a sick and twisted joke on him, making him fall for some grumpy little dwarf that wouldn’t understand the truth if it danced naked in front of him under a neon sign.

“Hey Little Man,” came a voice from the doorway. “Is Karkitty in the bathroom?”

“Well if the door’s locked and you can hear water running, it’s either Karkat or a really weird burglar,” Dave replied without looking up.

“Think he’ll be done soon?” Bro said casually.

“He will be if you knock,” Dave grumbled. “Probably’ll just apparate into my room if he hears you at the door.”

“What kind of nonsense have you been fillin’ that kid’s head with now?”

“Nothin’. Just told him ‘bout those damned smuppets and your underage boyfriend.”

“Jake turns eighteen in two weeks you little brat.”

“But he’s not eighteen now.”

“You’re just bitter because I’m getting some hot highschool ass and you can’t even tell the guy you’re head over heels for that you like his face.”

“Oh suck my dick old man,” Dave snapped, bristling. “You try liking some angry little asshole that takes everything you say the wrong way. You fucking try it and then tell me it’s easy to tell the little prick.”

Silence followed his words, filling the room and making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Reluctantly he glanced up. No surprise, Bro was wearing those stupid anime shades of his.

“It’s just gonna get harder the longer you wait, kiddo,” the older man said.

“When you say that it just sounds like a nasty euphemism,” Dave accused. His brother snorted and then left the doorway, closing the door after him.

I am not going to survive New Years, Dave thought bitterly, hiding his face in his pillow again.

Chapter Text

The sun was already starting to sink by the time Strider finally managed to shove Karkat into his car and head to Terezi’s, though it was scarcely four o’clock. Winter in Oregon was bullshit. Karkat needed sunlight, specifically the warm sort, and while Oregon actually got a lot of sun, it was the cold, too-far-away-to-actually-be-appreciated kind.

“This is fucking stupid,” he grumbled as they pulled up to the curb a block away from their destination. “Why can’t you just park in her driveway?”

“And put my baby in the immediate path of a bunch of drunk assholes? No thanks,” Strider responded. “Don’t be so grumpy. Parties are supposed to be fun, man.”

“I must have missed out on the I-find-vomit-covered-lawns-fun gene then,” Karkat replied coldly.

Strider reached over and rumpled his hair, chuckling when he swatted the hand aside. He gave Karkat a chuck under the chin and then climbed out, crossing around to the sidewalk to meet the smaller boy as he shut the door. Possibly a little more violently than was necessary. He walked in stony silence at his friend’s side as they made their way to Terezi’s house, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the boy that had coerced him into attending what would doubtlessly be another writhing mess of bodies and sweat and cheap alcohol that would eventually end up regurgitated all over the place. Despite the silence he was treating Strider with, however, Karkat didn’t bother trying to shrug him off when he hung a careless arm around his shoulders. This was only due to the fact that it was chilly outside and had nothing whatsoever to do with the way his stomach flipped over at the action.

“You gonna be grumpy all night?” Strider quipped. “C’mon, it’s New Years, at least try for a smile.”

Karkat stuck his tongue out. Faster than he could have believed, the muscle was caught between two fingers that tasted grossly of salt and metal.

“Ack--et go you thucking--” he gagged, attempting to bite Strider’s fingers. Thankfully he whipped his hand away at the prospect of losing his digits, at which point Karkat withdrew his tongue and firmly clenched his jaw shut, feeling somewhat violated.

“Okay, maybe that was in poor taste,” Strider admitted, but he was very obviously biting back laughter.

“Asshole,” Karkat muttered, barely moving his lips now.

“Aw, come on,” the other boy whined. “You stuck it out like a freaking target bro. You couldn’t really expect me not to take advantage of that!”

“You are the only fucking douchemonger that would try something so fucking stupid,” Karkat responded. “Your hands taste fucking disgusting.”

Far from being offended, Strider smirked and ruffled his hair some more.

“Whatever you say, Karkitten.”

The two of them paused on the sidewalk and turned toward the large structure that was no more or less ostentatious than any other building on what others affectionately designated as Snob Hill, though the sign at the bottom of the neighborhood/hill read Nob Hill. Terezi actually had a pretty nice house when it wasn’t decimated my disgusting teenagers and the general mess that followed said teenagers. It was a two-story building with a well-groomed lawn and large windows in the front that looked in on a spacious living room and a kitchen that had more amenities than Karkat’s apartment. The front door was polished mahogany wood with a brass doorknocker that looked like a dragon head--the Pyropes had this weird fascination with dragons; it was almost like they thought they were real--and the pathway up from the sidewalk was usually lit by two-foot-tall lights, though those had been relocated in preparation for the looming party.

“For some reason I feel surprised that there aren’t already kids passed out on the lawn,” Karkat said, somewhat amazed at seeing the residence looking somewhat respectable.

“All good things to those who wait, Karks,” Strider teased.

“Hey you guys!” hollered a voice from somewhere above them.

They looked up at the same time and spied Terezi hanging out of one of the second-story windows. Her hair was straightened and she was wearing a bunch of colored clip-in extensions. How she managed that kind of thing when she couldn’t see what she was doing was beyond the boys, who wouldn’t have been able to do a girl’s hair with clearly written instructions and diagrams.

“How the fuck did you know we were here?” Karkat demanded.

“I smelled your irritation, Karkles,” she cackled. “I also heard the two of you grumping from down the block! Your voices carry wonderfully!”

“Nice to see you again, Rezi!” Strider hollered, putting extra emphasis on the operative word.

“Oh, ha-ha wise guy,” she snorted, sticking her tongue out at him. “I can still kick your butt seven ways to sunday, coolkid!”

“Keep dreamin’ Pyrope!” he laughed. “Can we come in, or do we have to talk to you like this all night?”

“The door’s open you felons,” she replied. “Sollux is already here, and that douche with the cape. I don’t know how he found out about this, but I figured it wasn’t worth the time to get rid of him.”

“You’re probably right,” Strider agreed, and his arm around Karkat’s thin shoulders, he steered them inside.

“Hey Captor, I heard you were in--” Strider started, but was cut off by an impressive volley of curses issuing from the kitchen, some completely unrecognizable through the lisp.

“Howw dare you talk to me like that you filthy uncultured scum?!” came an answering snarl.

Karkat shared an uneasy look with Strider. Maybe they shouldn’t go into the kitchen just yet; the last thing Karkat needed was to get involved in a heated squabble between an antisocial hacker and an overconfident hipster douchebag. Still, he also wasn’t really keen on standing around awkwardly in the entryway or sitting alone with Strider in the living room.

The coolkid made his decision for him.

“Hey nerds!” he hollered, and dragged Karkat after him into the room.

Sollux was standing nose-to-nose with a boy with spiked black hair and thick-framed hipster glasses. The second boy was half a foot shorter than Sollux at least, so he had to look up to glare the hacker in the face, which looked rather comical. It didn’t help matters at all that Sollux had a fistful of the guy’s scarf and was holding it so that he was standing on his toes to avoid choking. All in all, if it weren’t for the snarl on the shorter guy’s face and the scathing sneer on Karkat’s friend’s, it would have looked like a scene from one of his romcoms right before the main couple kissed.

When the two of them entered, however, Sollux dropped Ampora and brushed his shirt off like nothing had happened. The hipster glowered morosely at the side of the former’s head as he straightened his scarf.

“Thank gog, finally thome tolerable company,” Sollux sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets without a care in the world. “I wath about to kill one of uth.”

“Looked like you were about to kiss him from where we were standing,” Karkat quipped.

Sollux made a disgusted face, and Ampora actually made a show of pretending to retch into the sink, but Strider laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. His own lips twitched a little with pride for the fact that he had actually gotten a response out of Sollux beyond a raised eyebrow or a click of the tongue.

“Don’t be stupid Kar,” Ampora said when he came up from his theatrics. “As if I wwould evver stoop so loww, evven ignoring the fact that wwe’re both guys.”

“You thure about that?” Sollux retorted. “That’th a lot of jewelry for a guy, ithn’t it?”

“Oh fuck off you piece of shit,” Eridan snapped, but he clasped his hands behind his back in a subconscious attempt to hide the many gold rings decorating his fingers. Sollux smirked but said no more, waving his hand over his shoulder as he stepped out of the kitchen into the living room.

This left a very awkward silence behind him, because while Karkat and Eridan were at least pleasant with each other for the most part, they weren’t incredibly close either, and Strider had even less contact with him. As such the three were left standing without saying a word for several minutes, leaving Karkat to pluck at the hem of his sweatshirt and Ampora to shuffle his feet. For all the world Strider looked like he’d fallen asleep leaning against the counter, his expression as impassive as ever and lacking any kind of nervous tick. Karkat wondered if maybe stillness was his version of a nervous tick.

All at once the pale-haired boy started to laugh, causing Karkat to jump in surprise and Eridan to glower.

“Sorry,” he snorted, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “But you two totally looked like you were two point five seconds from shoving your tongues down each others’ throats!”

Karkat really did try to stifle his snort of amusement, but he did a very poor job and ended up half-choking on the sound, eyes stinging and his throat protesting.

“No one asked you for your glubbing opinion you asshole,” Eridan snapped, but he went a little pink around the ears.

“God, man, those fucking fish puns have gotta stop,” Strider groaned. “That’s a huge reason you’re still single you huge virgin.”

“Then wwhat’s your excuse?” Eridan replied, his color darkening. “Wwhat’s your secret to being in a relationship and wwhy is does it apparently not wwork for asshole ‘coolkids’ like you, you fucking jackass?”

Strider’s amusement faded and Karkat stiffened, curious and at the same time not sure he wanted to know how his companion would answer. The boy pushed himself up leisurely and touched the side of his sunglasses, and for the briefest, wildest moment, Karkat thought that he was going to take them off. However, the moment passed when Strider simply adjusted where they sat on his nose before tucking his hands back into his jeans.

“Unlike you, Princess, I don’t need one,” Strider said, and though his tone was bland, Karkat felt a shiver run down his spine all the same. “I’m not running around high and low shoving my desperation in everybody’s face like you are because frankly I don’t give a damn. It pays not to be pathetic. I have better things to do with my life than run around whining about how no one will love me. Unlike you, you moronic fishdick, I don’t believe that all of my problems are gonna be magically solved by getting a girlfriend or boyfriend. Romance isn’t some kind of magic cure-all, and only a jackass would think it is.”

Whether it was because of the blunt apathy of his voice or in spite of it, every single word was like a pointed blade. They were meant to shut Eridan down, and they achieved their goal absolutely. The Aquarius gave him one look of deepest loathing, took a bottle from the fridge, and stormed out of the kitchen, his cape whipping around the corner after him.

Strider blew a long, slow breath out of his nose and turned to face Karkat, clearly expecting some kind of snarky comment about how his coolkid act was totally stupid and he wasn't fooling anybody with that little speech. He stopped dead at whatever he saw on Karkat’s face. The smaller boy wasn’t sure what look he was wearing just then. He wasn’t really sure that he’d ever worn an expression like it before. All he knew was that he didn’t like it anymore than he liked the feeling in his chest, the feeling of an iron hand pressing him painfully against some invisible object as though trying to turn him into a two-dimensional comic character. Surely Strider hadn’t actually meant what he’d said?

“Karkat?” Strider said uneasily. “Are you okay?”

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?”

He didn’t mean to say it, he didn’t mean to say it, dear God please let him not have actually said it because he wouldn’t be able to take it back. Something about the tone of his voice this time made it impossible for him to brush off the accusation as just another case of Karkat word-vomit, something cold and hard and deeply hurt though he didn’t know why.

“You’re a fucking asshole and that was bullshit what you just did and you fucking know it. You can’t just shut someone down like that you arrogant sack of shit--what gives you the fucking right to say anything when you’re no fucking different from him? At least he’s fucking open with himself you fraudulent trash! He’s not running around trying to shove the real parts of himself down a big fucking hole to nowhere like you do with those goddamn eyes! What the fuck do you think you’re such hot shit for anyway, huh?”

Dear motherfucking God please let him not have said that either. Please let the last two minutes of Karkat’s ridiculously and angrily impulsive life have just been a worst-case-scenario scene playing back to him in his head! What the fuck?! He couldn’t have said that, there was no way he would ever have said that!

But he had said it out loud, and with every word he’d gotten angrier, and if he wasn’t sure before that there was no recovery, it was confirmed by the instantaneous shutting down that was visible on Strider’s face. Karkat had never really registered how much the other boy relaxed around him before, but seeing his mask of composure slam into place gave him the disorienting impression of being confronted with an entirely different person. His jaw tightened, his partially opened lips pressed themselves into an impassive line, the crease in his forehead smoothed itself away. A lump of ice seemed to stick itself in Karkat’s throat as he stared at the Strider that everybody else saw, the apathetic shell that was too cool to give a flying fuck about anything or anyone. This was the guy that had scared off Karkat’s bullies without even lifting a finger, without even glaring them down.

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that a time or two.”

God, even his voice was different. Cold and strange.

The doorbell rang.

“Alriiiiight, let’s get this party started!” came a cackle from the hallway.

Terezi poked her head into the kitchen.

“You kids ready to have some fun?” she leered.

“Where’s the booze, Rezi?” Strider said without preamble, still looking straight at Karkat. “This is going to be a long motherfucking night.”

“The coolkid wastes no time,” she replied, laughing obliviously. “Beers are in the cooler out back, whiskey’s in the cabinet above it, and the chick drinks are in the fridge!”

She whisked out of the kitchen to admit the first wave of teenagers, and Strider turned and retrieved the whiskey from the indicated cabinet. Karkat was out of the room before he turned around, eyes and throat aching already.

It was eleven o’clock, lights were flashing, music was blaring, teenagers were bellowing, and Karkat was smashed out of his fucking mind. He’d never drunk alcohol before in his life and after four Mirror Pond pale ales, it was all he could do to wobble from one chair to another. He felt unusually warm, his fingertips and toes tingling a little, and he wondered why he’d never tried drinking before when god knew that Terezi had forced him into plenty of situations that made it convenient. Also, he was starting to understand everyone else’s fascination with loud, thumping bass and those brightly colored lights. They were quite hypnotic.

After a while, Karkat found himself being pulled into the mass of writhing bodies by somebody he found vaguely familiar, and he clumsily escaped their hold and stumbled back to an empty corner. He might be hammered, but even in his hazy drunken stupor, there was no way he was getting out and “dancing” with the other teenagers, more content to watch passively.

“Someone’s enjoying themselves,” said a voice in his ear. He yelped and jumped backward, hitting the back of his head against the wall.

It was Strider, smirking slightly and pointing towards a space not too far away from where they stood with the hand that wasn’t holding a cup of dark liquid. Karkat followed the gesture, but he couldn’t really make sense of what he was seeing for a couple long moments. Two people were tangled together against the wall, faces smashed against each other like a dozen other people’s. One of them had a ridiculous disaster of black hair and a pair of two-toned glasses sitting crookedly across his face, and the other had a purple cape that was hanging completely on one shoulder like he was a matador.

“Tho?” Karkat slurred, turning back to look at Strider, who was suddenly a lot closer. “Who chareth? Evweryone’th doin it.”

“My my, are you drunk Karkitten?” the blonde purred, leaning down to look Karkat full in the face.

“N-nooo,” Karkat hiccupped. “I’m fine, h-I’m purrfctly fine, tho back--hic--off.”

“Hey, I’m not judgin’,” said the other boy. His accent was thicker now, maybe due to the booze he’d doubtlessly been ingesting all night. “I’m well on my way to growin’ a set o’ gills m’self. Just never thought I’d see you stoop so low, bein’ all high ‘n mighty ‘n shit.”

“Thut up,” Karkat mumbled. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure why he felt it, but anger was simmering low in his chest. It had something...something to do with earlier that day.

“Y’know Kitkat,” Strider murmured, his low voice resonating through Karkat’s tiny rib cage because of his proximity. “Y’ look good tonight. Givin’ me all kinds of ideas…”

Karkat shivered. He was starting to lose track of the lights and sounds a little. Rather, it seemed like they were just kind of fading away.

“Yer fuc-fuckin thtupid…” he mumbled.

“Yeah, I guess I’d have ta be,” Strider chuckled. He was still leaning in. Was his face always blurry like that? “Ta like a tiny little asshole like you, I’d have ta be outta my damn mind.”

He leaned in even closer, and that was when the entire world disappeared.

Chapter Text

Karkat was never drinking another fucking beer as long as he lived. He cracked his eyes open to a room that was vaguely familiar but wasn’t his, and even though the lighting was dim, it stabbed at his eyes like white-hot knives. He squeezed them shut, groaning, but it didn’t help. There was a disgusting, throbbing pain in his head, and his throat fucking ached and his mouth tasted like shit.

“Son of a biiiiiiitch,” groaned a low voice somewhere nearby. “My fucking head.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Karkat replied. “Your voice is the last thing I fucking want to hear. This goddamn hangover fucking sucks.”

“Shut up you dwarf,” Strider grumbled, and something prodded him in the back of the head, causing him to hiss as the pounding increased.

“I think--” Karkat started, his stomach turning over. “I think I’m--”

“You know where the bathroom is,” Strider said grumpily.

Yeah, he did, but getting up didn’t seem overly appealing either. Maybe he could just...hold it in…

“Go fucking puke, I’m not cleaning up after you if you spray all over my damn room,” Strider snapped, poking him again.

Glowering malevolently at the door, Karkat reluctantly rose to his feet, waiting for the room to stop spinning but giving up when it persisted for a full minute. He hobbled slowly out into the hallway and down toward the bathroom, clutching his stomach and praying to whatever was out there that he didn’t spill his guts on somebody else’s carpet. The bathroom door seemed like it was a mile away, but he made it there without incident and made to open it. But it was locked. As if to mock him, his stomach rolled again and he clapped a hand to his mouth, fighting to keep it down.

“Just a sec little man, I’m in the--”

“I seriously need to vomit,” Karkat interrupted, too distressed to be self-conscious. “Like, now.”

It wasn’t five seconds after he said it that he heard the lock click and the door swung open. He didn’t spare a glance to the person that had opened the door, staggering straight for the toilet through the steam-filled bathroom. The heat just made him feel worse, and he had barely made it to the toilet when everything that he’d ingested in the last ten years decided it would rather meet the porcelain king. Throat and eyes stinging, Karkat waited, kneeling on the tile floor, as his body spasmed and he threw up things he never remembered eating. A large, hot hand was rubbing circles into his back between his shoulderblades, water seeping through his shirt where the hand touched.

Bro must’ve jumped right out of the shower to let him in.

“Shit man, didn’t picture you as the drinking type,” Bro said conversationally during a lull in the puking.

“I’m not,” Karkat coughed, gagging a little at the sour taste in his mouth. He’d need to brush his teeth off to get rid of it. “This was my first time...and I am never doing it...again.”

The man chuckled and his hand left Karkat’s back. Dimly the boy was aware of the sound of a faucet running.

“Don’t exile alcohol altogether man,” the elder Strider said. “You just need to aclimatize. If you drink a lot at once, obviously it’s gonna make you feel like shit. What did you have last night?”

Karkat coughed again and his throat burned.

“Shit...I don’t...I don’t remember…” he mumbled, trying to think. What had he drunk last night? “A couple beers maybe?”

“Well, you’re pretty tiny,” Bro reasoned, returning to his side and guiding his left hand to a glass of water he’d just filled. “So your tolerance is gonna be really low. Swish that around in your mouth and then spit it out, it’ll get rid of some of the taste.”

Obediently Karkat did as he was told, taking a swig of the water and swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it into the defiled toilet. It helped. A little. He did it again.

“Alright, now drink the rest of that,” Bro said. “We got saltines out front. They’ll help.”

Karkat nodded to show that he understood, and then Bro got up.

“Must’ve been a crazy party,” he said.

“Probably,” the nerd mumbled, leaning back from the toilet once he felt sure that he was done puking for the time being. “I don’t actually remember.”

Bro hesitated before responding.

“Nothing?”

“Just a lot of fucking lights,” he said. “Is that normal?”

“Well,” Bro said, and if Karkat hadn’t been completely off his rhythm, he would have recognized the older man’s air as that of someone who was choosing their words with extreme caution. “Blackout drinking isn’t uncommon… But usually people can at least remember some things…You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”

“Yeah,” Karkat grimaced. “That’s probably a good thing, though.”

“Right,” said Bro. “Well, I’m gonna go dig up those saltines. Finish that water and then come on out. I’ll get the little man.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Bro left the bathroom.

“Hey little man, you up?”

“No, fuck off.”

A too-bright light filled the room, stabbing at Dave’s eyes and encouraging the furious pounding in his head. He cried out pathetically and pulled a pillow over his face.

“Bro, what the hell?” he whined pitifully.

“Get up you damn pussy,” Bro said blandly.

“Fuck that, I’m staying in my bed all damn day,” Dave retaliated. His stomach was twisted into so many knots that he didn’t notice the one that usually accompanied any attempt to back-talk his brother add itself.

His pillow and blanket was suddenly ripped away from him with such ferocity that he was sent tumbling out of his bed and onto the cold floor. The room continued spinning after he landed and his stomach heaved magnificently, though he managed to keep its contents down with a lot of concentration, which just made his headache worse. He gave another whining groan.

“You got five seconds to get your ass to its feet and start acting like a proper Strider.”

“Fuckin’ asshole…” Dave muttered, but he slowly and clumsily managed to gain his footing, looking up balefully at his older brother. “Happy now, dickhead?”

“You took long enough, what are you, two?” Bro said instead of answering. “What Strider can’t handle his liquor?”

“Fuck off,” Dave said grouchily. “I fucking drank myself under the table last night; you couldn’t have outdone me. Holy shit, why is the room spinning?”

“Jesus Christ you two are pathetic. What happened last night to spur you boys to grow a set of gills?”

“Hell, I don’t fucking know,” the younger boy replied, holding a hand to his clammy forehead. “Something about fucking Ampora...Shit, I don’t remember. Who cares?”

Bro frowned. “You don’t remember?”

Dave shook his head and immediately regretted the decision. The world spun even faster, and lights started to pop into his vision.

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” he challenged. “Now if you’ll wrap up your police interrogation, I gotta take a piss. Go ask Karkat what happened if you wanna know so bad.”

The boy trumped off, swaying incredibly on his way to the bathroom. Bro pulled out his cellphone and opened his messages. Dave’s friends Rose and Jade had both sent him the same message last night, which was what had spurred him to go pick up his little brother and his friend. He opened the attachment, ignoring the text entirely to look at the picture that he’d already seen a dozen times.

The quality was total shit, but that was no surprise seeing as it was taken on a cellphone in darkness interspersed sporadically with shitty colored beams of light. However, as bad as the photo was, the two boys hanging on each other with their mouths sealed together were unmistakable.

Chapter Text

Karkat’s phone had been going off non-stop all morning, and apparently had been going off nearly all night as well, but he hadn’t really cared to check it in his shit-faced state and still didn’t really feel like trying to focus on a small brightly lit screen to read stupid tiny text, so he had set it to silent and tossed it into the depths of his bag. However, Strider’s phone was going off just as often, and when he tried to unlock it the thing requested a passcode that he obviously didn’t know.

“Fucking hell, what do those shitsniffers want so bad?” Karkat groaned into the pillow on the bed when Strider’s phone dinged yet again, fueling the agony in his brain. “Strider, check your fucking phone!”

This last part was shouted out into the hallway, where the younger of the two should have been coming out of the bathroom from his shower.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” came an answering grumble.

Moments later, a still-wet boy with a towel wrapped around his waist came into the room, his damp hair dripping onto his shoulders and his shades, which were perched on his nose in an attempt to make the light more tolerable for his hangover. Karkat pointed wordlessly at the device buzzing on the desk--it was set to ring and vibrate, as if simply choosing one or the other was somehow not annoying enough--and watched as his friend trudged over. A long-fingered hand picked up the phone, swiped to unlock, and typed in whatever password a lame “coolkid” would use to hide away his precious contacts and his nude selfies. Karkat could see the reflection of Strider’s texts on his shades, but he couldn’t read the words backwards and didn’t really want to in any case, so he started to lay his head back down.

“Shit.”

It was said so blandly and so bluntly that Karkat for a moment was not actually sure if he had heard it or if it had been some kind of subconscious swear as a result of his pounding skull. However, when he looked up, Strider was no longer looking at his phone screen but at him, his mouth open in a dumbfounded expression.

“Just...just how drunk was I last night?” he wondered. Karkat frowned. “Do you remember anything I did”

“Why the fuck would I remember what you did last night when I can’t even fucking remember what I did?” he snapped.

Strider took a deep breath.

“Because everybody and their brother is asking me how last night was, how far it went, and was “he” any good. Also a fair few people are asking how long I’ve been gay?”

Karkat went still, and his eyes flicked of their own accord over to his bag, where his phone was now buried. If that was what was blowing up Strider’s phone, what were people texting him about?

“I’ve got like eight voicemails, too,” Strider said incredulously. “Two from Lalonde, two from Jade, one from Rezi, and three from Egbert. Holy shit what the hell happened?”

“Maybe if you listen to the voicemails you’ll find out you bucket shitting assclown,” Karkat suggested. “I’m kind of curious what the hell you did to make everyone think you like dick.”

Strider paused and glanced up, his eyes just peeking over his shades. That look gave Karkat a weird feeling, but it passed in silence and the other boy went back to his phone.

“Eight unheard messages. First message sent today at two thirty-seven a.m.”

Strider reluctantly let the message play, holding his phone out at arm’s length as though worried it would try to bite his ear off if he listened to it off of speakerphone.

“Heeeeeey coolkid, I see you finally grew a pair and confessed your undying love. I’ll be expecting a blow-by-blow analysis of everything, you know, so be prepared for the ultimate grilling whenever you’re brave enough to see me again! Hehehehe.”

Karkat frowned, and Strider pushed his shades up to the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. It was a gesture that Karkat had come to associate with confusion or frustration, though in this case it was probably both in hefty measures.

“Next message sent today at two forty-six a.m. Dave, hey, are you alright? I can’t find you anywhere, and I guess I’m a little worried? I mean, you don’t usually just disappear, so... Call me back, I guess.”

“Disappear?” Strider echoed his friend. “What the hell, how easy does John expect it to be to find one body among dozens of sweaty grinding teenagers?”

Shaking his head, he moved on to the next message. It was from Jade, who had clearly been smashed but not so much so that she couldn’t opperate her phone.

“Hey Strider, did you have fun with your -hic- new boyfriend when you went hoooome? You better share the detailth, I’ll be waiting.”

“Boyfriend?” Karkat echoed. “Did someone else come back with us?”

Strider pressed his lips together. Karkat thought he saw him swallow convulsively.

“No...no one else is in the apartment besides my brother,” he answered.

The next message was John again.

“Dave, everyone’s saying they saw you getting all hot and heavy with some dude. Are you alright? I didn’t think you were drinking all that much, but you never do that kind of stuff at parties like this. I’m panicking a little over here man, call me back. Like, soon.”

Strider’s jaw was working furiously, and Karkat could see that he really didn’t like the idea of making his best friend worry like that. He wasn’t sure why he felt a little stab of emotion at that, but it was almost...envy.

“I...I think I’m gonna call him back real quick,” Strider said.

“Shouldn’t you listen to the rest of the messages first?” Karkat wondered.

“The sooner I call him, the sooner I can rest easy,” Strider responded, and he hit the callback button on his phone.

Egbert picked up on the second ring, but Strider turned off the speaker before Karkat heart anything apart from “Dave, what’s going--”

Strider held the phone up to his ear, looking apprehensive.

“Hey John,” he said hesitantly. “I was just--”

He was interrupted by a lot of shouting from the other line, shouting that Karkat could hear from the bed but not distinguish as intelligible words. Strider winced but waited until his friend was finished before trying again.

“Alright, yeah, I know,” he said, nodding his head in response to whatever John was saying. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I know, I didn’t mean to--yeah, alright, but--John--yeah, Karks is with me. The last message? No, I haven’t played it yet, why?”

There was a pause. Then: “No, I don’t remember a single thing. I was well and truly fucked up last night.”

John said something else.

“Wha--why do I need to put you on speakerphone?” Strider protested.

Karkat raised his head a couple inches off of his arms. What was this?

“But that’s--oh, come on Egderp, you can’t be ser--well, no, but--oh my god, fine, whatever.”

Strider held the phone away from his ear and hit the speaker button.

“Karkat, have you checked your phone?” John asked on the other line.

“Uh...no?” he responded, confused.

“So neither of you have seen your texts. Or been on pesterchum. And you can’t remember anything?”

“No, I was smashed,” Karkat said bitterly. “I am almost positive that somebody put something in at least one of my drinks.”

“Oh please, you’re just a lightweight,” Strider disregarded.

“That’s besides the point right now,” said John impatiently. “Alright, you’re really not going to like this, believe me, but I’m gonna hang up and you’re going to play the rest of your voicemails on speakerphone. Then you are going to call me back screaming bullshit, and I am going to give you irrefutable evidence of what you will be in the process of denying. Okay?”

“Uh…” they said in perfect unison.

“Okay, great, now do what I just said.”

There was a click, and the phone let the two boys know that the call had been ended. They shared an uneasy look and then looked back at the device as if it had suddenly sprouted spiny wings and begun laughing demonically.

“I don’t think I want to do this…” Strider said. Karkat pressed his mouth into a line and nodded in fervent agreement.

“Let’s not and say we did,” he suggested. Strider made a face.

“I ain’t lying to Egbert, though, man,” he said uncomfortably.

“What, are you gay for him?” Karkat snapped. This earned him another of those odd looks.

“Excusing me for not really feeling like disregarding my best friend,” he said drily.

Karkat looked away, shame constricting his throat. Obviously Strider wouldn’t want to act like what his friend said wasn’t important. Why did he always have to get so touchy whenever Egbert came up? What difference did it make to him even if Strider was gay for John? He had no reason to feel like he’d been punched in the gut at the prospect.

“Next message sent today at three twelve a.m: David, I trust you have a good reason for drowning yourself in enough liquor to make my mother proud, and I look forward to hearing your explanation for your actions while you are recovering from your hangover from hell.”

Strider grimaced. So did Karkat. Rose Lalonde was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, and she was clearly not in the best of moods currently. Dealing with her would not be fun. At all.

“Next message sent today at three forty-six a.m: Hey Dave...whoa, the roomth thpinning a little...anywayth, I wath jutht calling to check up on you and -hic- make thure you got home alright...I hope you didn’t have too much fun with Karkat…-hic-”

The boys exchanged a startled look at the end of Jade’s second message. What did Karkat have to do with it?

“Next message sent today at three fifty-seven a.m: David Strider, I am going to think of new and creative ways to torment your already twisted psyche if what I am hearing is even close to what actually occurred at that party. You will call me the instant you receive this message and tell me what exactly you did with Karkat last night, and I will know if you lie to me.”

Strider didn’t want to hear the last message; John’s. Neither did Karkat really, because they were both quickly coming to their own conclusions as to what was going on, and for once they were on the same track. However, the final message was already playing back.

“Dave, okay, I’m like really freaking out now. People are saying you and Karkat got nasty and you guys just went home together and, okay, I already knew you were gay, but that’s a hell of a way to come out to everybody. What’s going on Dave? You never act like this. I’m really freaking out, so just...damnit, fucking call me you asshole.”

The voicemails stopped playing. The screen on Strider’s phone went dark. Both boys spent a very, very long time trying to look anywhere but at each other. Karkat found an absolutely fascinating speck on the lone sock sitting on the floor next to the turntables, and tried to figure out its entire story; where it came from, how it ended up here, did it have any family, anything to distract him from what he’d just heard. No, what he thought he’d just heard. He definitely couldn’t have heard correctly, however, because that would mean that he and Strider had gotten so drunk that they blacked out and...what? Kissed? Groped? More? He didn’t want to know, didn’t want to talk. However, the silence could only last so long.

“That’s bullshit,” Strider finally said, and his tone was the most pitiful, pleading sound that Karkat had ever heard. “Everyone else at that party was totally fucked up too, they probably just made a mistake and--”

“A mistake?” Karkat echoed. “How many kids do you think wouldn’t recognize an asshole wearing shades in the middle of a poorly lit mass of seething bodies, drunk or otherwise?”

“Well nothing happened last night,” Strider pointed out desperately. “Alright? Nothing happened, look around, there’s no proof that anything besides sleep went on.”

“Just call John back,” Karkat snapped, looking out the little crack that was visible of the window from between the curtains. “He said he had evidence that something happened.”

“Right…”

Strider hit redial on his phone. Meanwhile, only one phrase was going around and around inside Karkat’s pitifully slow mind.

I already knew you were gay, but that’s a hell of a way to come out to everybody. I already knew you were gay, but that’s a hell of a way to come out. I already knew you were gay.

“Did you listen to the voicemails?”

“Uh, yeah, and let me tell you right now that--” Strider started.

“No, shut up and hold on a sec, I’m sending you a text.”

“Then what was the point in me calling?”

“Just shut up and open it, and then try telling me that nothing happened.”

Karkat really didn’t want to look at the phone, but he couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere else as the device buzzed in Strider’s hand and he opened the message. The boys stiffened within seconds of each other as the text flashed across the screen. Well, it wasn’t technically a text; it was a picture. The scene was poorly lit by a cellphone camera flash, the faces fuzzy, and a red solo cup was in the corner of the frame, apparently having been thrown at the two people in the middle of the frame. Those two were so close together that at first they seemed to be a single person, but upon closer inspection two bodies could be distinguished, along with four arms tangled around the odd mass and two heads shoved together at an odd angle.

One person had a mess of disasterous ebony hair that was reflecting multicolored lights and the other had sleek platinum locks that seemed to be immune to the surrounding carnage and epileptic nightmare. There really wasn’t much else that could be discerned from the picture, other than a pair of pitch black aviators sitting awkwardly skewed on the blonde boy’s nose.

“Well?” said John on the other line when the silence stretched.

“That...that’s not…” Strider said hoarsely. “That’s not me. There’s no way I’d…”

“Like hell it isn’t you Dave, who else wears shades inside when it’s so damn dark?” John replied bluntly.

“But I wouldn’t...I wouldn’t have forgotten something like that,” Strider insisted.

His already pale skin had lost all color now, leaving him looking strangely translucent, almost gray. Karkat didn’t feel much better than his friend looked. He was fairly certain that he’d had a stomach when he woke up this morning, albeit one that he had thoroughly emptied into the porcelain throne, but now he couldn’t seem to find it at all. His head seemed strangely disconnected from his body entirely, in fact, and the room seemed to be spinning a little. Well that couldn’t be right. Someone had obviously gotten bored and done the douchewhale thing to do which was photoshop two friends into a scenario that would definitely never happen in a million years.

Could you photoshop someone that well though? Really, there was nobody at that party that would have been able to copy and paste even while referencing wikipedia on the how-to after all the drinks they’d had…

“Well you must have, because it definitely happened,” John said. “Dave, I don’t really know what’s going on right now, but is this really such a bad thing?”

“How in fucking hell is this not a bad thing you lackadaisical douchewad?!” Karkat exclaimed, eyes still on the phone even though the screen had gone dark from being idle for a few minutes. He could still see the picture all the same.

A sigh could be heard from the other line.

“Look, how you guys take care of it is up to you, I don’t really have an opinion on it, but this is a thing that happened, so you can’t really pretend it didn’t. Like, okay, you’re not gonna be able to go back to school like nothing’s changed. Alright, I gotta go, but...just work it out, I guess?”

“Talk to you later, John,” Strider said, and he clicked the end call button before John could say any more.

He looked at Karkat. Karkat looked away.

“Well,” Strider said, attempting an amused tone but succeeding only in sounding incredibly strained. “That was a hell of a way to come out, I guess, wasn’t it?”

Karkat didn’t respond. There was a very interesting crack in the wall near the window that he was studiously observing and perhaps wondering if it was somehow connected to a parallel universe. Maybe an alien prison or something. Silly, of course, that would be ridiculous.

“What do you want to do about all this?” Strider said, trying to pull him in.

Karkat pretended not to hear him, instead fancying that he could see a giant eyeball or something to that effect through the crack.

“Hey, dickmuncher,” the other boy snapped, and something solid and square hit Karkat directly in the middle of his chest.

He let out a startled yelp and looked down as the offending object fell into his lap; it was Strider’s phone. He picked it up gingerly as though it might bite him and finally turned to glower indignantly at his assailant. There was enough frustration emanating from the other boy to be apparent even though his shades were still covering a good portion of his face.

“You gonna say anything?” he demanded, but his anger was unconvincing, especially when his voice cracked.

Karkat swallowed convulsively. Was he going to say anything? What was there to say? He didn’t even know where to start, which was rather unusual. Did he shit-talk the losers that actually took pictures of two drunk kids making out? Did he jump right in by blaming it on the alcohol since there was obviously no way that Dave Strider could actually be gay? Did he voice how frustrated he felt without even knowing why he felt that way? Why did so much about this situation bother him, and at the same time why did so much about the situation not bother him? What was he supposed to say? What? What?

Should he mention that, while he’d never really been gay, he’d never really been anything? Attraction had always seemed like a simple thing to Karkat, a scenario where you either liked a person for who they were or you didn’t, and that was the end of it. He’d only recently begun denying that he would ever like a guy. Recently? Hell, if he was being honest with himself, he’d only been denying it because of one specific person.

No, there was no way he could say that. He’d just make a fool of himself.

“I…” Karkat mumbled. “What...what is there to say?”

“You choose now to be speechless?” Strider exclaimed. “How are you not going off in a long rant about how you’re not gay and would never even think of being gay for me specifically? All the times you freak out like that over jokes, and now this happens and you have nothing?”

The smaller boy blinked. There were two pink spots beginning to appear in Strider’s cheeks. Whether they were from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to say. Maybe both, but having never seen Strider blush before, Karkat found himself staring without really caring why those spots of color were there.

The boy should be embrarassed, Karkat thought. Caught at a party, drunk out of his mind, making out with the loser nerd kid of the school. Even if Karkat wasn’t a boy, it would’ve raised some eyebrows, but with things the way they were, it was a miracle that the cool kid hadn’t just thrown him out his window in shame. He was about ready to throw himself out anyway.

Strider groaned and pushed his shades up to rub his eyes furiously; the glasses fell back down when his hand dropped.

“Look, Karks,” he said. His voice...was it shaking?

Karkat didn’t want to look at Strider. He wanted to look anywhere else, but for some reason he couldn’t do it, couldn’t look away from the boy who was probably trying to find some decent way to tell him that he didn’t really swing that way and never would, especially for someone like him. Suddenly Karkat was inexplicably terrified of hearing that talk.

“I get it, okay?” he said hastily, moving to climb to his feet. “You’re not gay, we aren’t a thing, we were both drunk out of our fucking heads. Don’t make this into more than it is, I just--”

“I’m bi.”

Karkat stopped. Dave pressed his lips into an awkward grimace.

“You’re…” Karkat said slowly. “Bi? Like, bisexual?”

“Yeah,” Strider responded tersely. “Gender’s never been a huge concern for me. Just never really had much opportunity to date at all since most people spent their time harassing me. Not really into abusive relationships, you know?”

Karkat did know. But he wasn’t sure he understood the context.

“Why...why are you telling me?” he wondered, voice a little hoarse. Strider let out a chuckle that hardly sounded amused.

“Well I’d hate for you to think something false of me,” he said with an attempt at his crooked grin.

It didn’t look right.

“And, well…” he said when Karkat didn’t react. His hand reached up to comb through his hair, which was drying in clumps and curls because he had yet to actually brush it. “I was planning on telling you last night, but obviously something went pretty wrong and shit went wild, so…I like you, Karkles. Like, a lot. Probably too much to be healthy, really, but there you go.”

Chapter Text

There were about three minutes during which Karkat was fairly sure he didn’t breathe. He couldn’t quite remember how, and even though it was supposed to be an autonomous function, for some reason his lungs could not, in fact, function. He hadn’t heard right. There was no possible way that what he had heard had actually left Dave Strider’s lips.

But then why was Dave Strider looking at him? Why did he seem expectant? Like he was waiting for something, be it a rejection or acknowledgement?

Given the circumstances, it should not have come as a shock that Karkat said the stupidest thing imaginable, which also happened to be the first thing that popped into his head.

“That’s not funny Strider.”

The other boy’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t linger.

“For a change, Karkat, I wasn’t actually going for a laugh,” he said quietly.

“Then...what…” Karkat mumbled, trying furiously to force his thoughts into some idea coherent enough for him to say out loud that would make any amount of sense.

“I get it, a sincere confession from the most insincere asshole in the world,” Dave said, and he had the nerve to sound amused. “It’s quite the thing to take at face value, isn’t it?”

“You’re not…” Karkat mumbled, but what Strider was not, he wasn’t actually sure of himself.

“Serious? Yeah, I am,” Dave answered. “Kidding? No, I’m not. Intelligent? Obviously not.”

Karkat swallowed convulsively. Was the room swaying? They didn’t live in an area prone to earthquakes…

“Hey, Karks, you don’t look so hot,” Dave said uneasily. “Dude, I get it if that makes you feel weird or whatever, but all you gotta say is that you don’t feel the same and I’ll leave it al--”

“You talk too much,” the smaller boy grumbled, raising a hand to his forehead.

No, the room wasn’t swaying. That was him. He sat heavily on the bed behind him, feeling the mussed blankets crumple under him. Why was his heart beating so hard? Why was it so hard to breathe? Were his hands always this shaky?

“Karkat…?” Dave said uncertainly.

“Mm?” he mumbled distractedly. His neck felt far too warm.

“Are you...gonna give me any kind of answer?”

“Answer?” Karkat echoed, glancing up.

Dave was watching him cautiously, still as a statue. And as if by some miracle, his brain finally clicked and fully registered what it was that Dave had said, and that for an incredible change there was nothing but blunt honesty in his words.

The smaller boy rose hesitantly to his feet and crossed over to where Dave sat in his desk chair. The latter twitched slightly when Karkat reached out toward his face, but he just plucked the sunglasses carefully off the bridge of his nose and pulled them away from his face, folding the stems and setting the shades carefully on the desk behind the boy. Unobstructed now, a pair of brilliant scarlet eyes looked up at him, the pupils rather wide, and the texture a little damp. Karkat looked at him, unblinking, for a long time. Long enough that his eyes began to sting.

What could he say? That there was no way Strider could like him? That he was just deluding himself? There was nothing likable about Karkat. He was short and angry and a mass of self-loathing compressed into a skinny human-shaped...thing. He wasn’t funny or good-looking, he wasn’t even fun to be around, always sulking about something or another and always panicking a little because he was sure he had said or done the wrong thing. Yeah, he was self-aware. He knew he was a huge pile of steaming horse shit, unworthy of any kind of affection. How did Dave not see that?

“You know Karkat,” Dave said roughly when the silence continued to stretch. “You’re easier to read than you think. You think you’ve got this perfect wall of anger and indifference, and it’s actually a fucking window. I already know exactly what you’re thinking right now.”

“Like hell you do,” Karkat said, voice husky. Dave’s lips twitched again.

“You should let people decide for themselves whether or not they like you,” he said softly. “You have an incredible gift for seeing the worst in yourself and the best in everyone else, even if you don’t admit it. It’s really not fair. Especially right now.”

“It’s--that’s not--you shithead, what are you--” Karkat spluttered, somewhere between indignant and embarrassed.

“Amazingly enough, I’m quite the independant thinker, Karkat, and I’ve decided on my own without any help from you that I have a hugely massive crush on you. Like, big enough to make the state of Texas jealous.”

“Alaska is actually bigger than Texas,” Karkat corrected automatically, causing Dave to snort.

“Yeah, and Russia is the largest country in the world,” he countered. “You’re getting off-topic here, Karkitten. Yes or no question: will you go out with me?”

Karkat bit his lip.

Go out with Strider, notorious “cool kid” with his sunglasses and his horrible run-on sentences and his tendency to get on the wrong side of all the wrong people? Go out with Strider, the kid who never left well enough alone, who always stuck his nose in where it wasn’t invited, and actively destroyed every routine that a person had maintained? Go out with Strider, sudden ruler of the school, who could bend people to his will with a few carefully chosen words? Go out with Strider, the boy with the stupid and totally fake apathetic mask, who was really a huge dork and total loser besides?

He swallowed thickly.

Go out with Dave, the boy hiding behind his shades out of fear, who never took into consideration his own well being because he was too concerned with that of his friends, and who did everything he could to minimize the strain he put on his older brother? Go out with Dave, the guy who helped a total stranger out of a locker, who reached out to an undersized kid who was getting bullied, and who took it upon himself to give that same kid more attention than he had ever deserved? Go out with Dave, the boy who barged into a lonely, depressed kid’s apartment to find him collapsed on the floor of his bathroom with fresh cuts on his wrists and took this kid, this fragile, broken thing, in his arms and told him that he wasn’t in fact broken? Go out with Dave, the boy who made Karkat feel, for the first time in years, that he was human, that he was okay, that he was amazingly, perfectly human not in spite of his imperfections but because of them?

Unsure how much longer his legs were going to be able to hold him up, Karkat all but fell to his knees, hiding his face in Dave’s lap.

“I fucking hate you,” he choked, arms wrapped around himself. “You piece of shit asshole, god damnit I hate you so much. You--you fucking--you insufferable--”

“Hey, Karkat,” Dave started, sounding alarmed.

“Shut up,” Karkat snapped thickly. “Just--shut up. Yeah. Yes, I’ll--I’ll go out with you. Just...shut the fuck up for once. Get your ass down here. I can’t get up.”

In one fluid motion, Dave’s chair rolled back as he slid down to the floor in front of Karkat, and then his arms were around him, and all the smaller boy could smell was him. Musk and cedar and leather; the smell was everywhere, surrounding him.

“You’re still really bad at throwing the conversation ball, bro,” Dave said into his mess of tangled hair, but his arms tightened around Karkat’s shoulders all the same, and the smaller boy was hiding his face in the crook of Dave’s neck because there was no way he would be able to look this asshole in the eye.

“I thought I said to shut up,” Karkat grumbled. Dave chuckled.

“Alright, alright, I’ll shut up,” he said. “On one condition.”

“God damnit Strider, what--”

“Can I kiss you?”

Time stood still. Dave had a way of making that happen, almost like he could control time just to torture Karkat’s already damaged psyche. Suddenly his heart was in his throat, and there seemed to be an intense drum solo taking place in his head the likes of which had never been experienced in even the most hardcore of live concerts.

“That a no?” Dave said when Karkat was silent.

“N-no…”

“No, it wasn’t a no?”

“Yes…”

“So it was a no.”

“No--damnit Strider, I seriously fucking hate you.”

“Speak clearer and we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

That motherfucking asswipe was grinning like an idiot, Karkat could hear it in his voice. All at once the roaring in his ears vanished as he pulled back, caught the front of Dave’s shirt in a fist, and yanked him forward. He pulled a little too hard, and their teeth knocked together, which caused the albino to start laughing. Karkat started to turn away, humiliated, but the other boy stifled his amusement and reached up to bring his face back around. He followed reluctantly, and Dave’s lips touched his far more gently, a feather-light touch, as if it was a caress.

A shy sort of squeak escaped Karkat against his will, and Dave pulled back.

“First kiss?” he guessed, his lips quirked up just a little at the corners.

Karkat scowled at him, sure the answer was obvious, and slanted his mouth across Dave’s. He had no idea what he was doing, and the kiss was an awkward mashing of lips, but he found he didn’t particularly mind the inexperienced intimacy. It was still nice. Hell, who was he kidding? Strider’s lips were hot and chapped, and he tasted like peppermint, and his arms were so tight around Karkat, and he was kissing him back and everything was just becoming this massive blur of heat and red and spice as he clung desperately to the taller boy currently wrapped around him.

When they pulled back, lips somewhat swollen, Karkat’s face was more red than any single thing in Dave Strider’s scarlet explosion of a room and he buried his face resolutely in the aforementioned Strider’s chest. The boy chuckled and set his chin on the ebony-haired nerd’s crown. His thumb stroked Karkat’s arm softly.

Well, he did shut up.

Chapter Text

“I can’t go to school.”

“Yes you can.”

“No fuck you I definitely can’t.”

“Karks come on.”

“God damnit Strider I can’t do this.”

Dave raked a hand through his hair in frustration. It was the Sunday before school started back up after winter break, and Karkat was refusing to remove himself from beneath Dave’s blankets. He understood that Karkat was nervous; their phones hadn’t stopped going off all weekend because of that stupid party, and they knew that soon enough people would be pestering them in person. Their friends they could handle, even if they were annoying; Terezi, Sollux, Rose, all of them would be tolerable. But there were other people at school, people that wouldn’t be so obnoxiously kind and excited. People like Patrick, who wouldn’t be excited but would see another opportunity to bully, shame, and torment. Dave knew it, and so did Karkat. One of them was more prepared for the risk than the other.

“Karkat,” Dave said firmly, tugging at the covers that Karkat was clutching over his head. “Karkat, get your ass out of my bed right now you moron before I get you out myself.”

“Go ahead and try it dickmuncher,” Karkat threatened.

Dave sighed and rolled up his sleeves.

“You asked for it bro,” he warned.

Then he wrapped his arms around the lump that was Karkat in a hold like steel and, planting his feet, lifted him up and off the bed, flinging him to the floor blankets and all. The smaller boy let out one of his uniquely incredible oaths with enough volume to disturb the entire neighborhood and thrashed about in the tangles of blankets, finally sticking his head out to reveal even more disastrous bedhead than usual. Dave managed to keep his amusement to himself as he knelt down cautiously beside his volatile friend.

“How’s the floor? Comfortable?” he wondered.

Karkat struck out at him with a bony fist, but Dave caught his wrist and redirected the motion well away from him.

“Karkat, come on,” he said seriously, fingers curling around Karkat’s. “You can’t hide in bed for the rest of your life. You’ve got to go back to school tomorrow just like everyone else. Yeah, we’re both gonna have to put up with some shit for this weekend, but it’s your choice to let it get to you, and that is a really stupid choice to make when you could own it and make it your own thing and not let anybody else take it from you.”

“Easy for you to say,” Karkat grumbled, looking away.

“Easy?” Dave repeated. “What exactly do you think I find easy about shit like this? I know it’s harder than Bill Clinton to take someone else’s joke and roll with it until it’s not fun for them anymore. I know it feels almost impossible to take control of situations where everything and everyone is against you. I also know that if you don’t do it the stress will eat you alive, digest you partway before deciding that you’re not compatible with it, and then puke you back out into a pile of other half-eaten suckers.”

“Okay, that is just fucking disgusting.”

“Do you see my point though?” Dave pressed, squeezing Karkat’s hand. “Let the pressure crush you into dust, or hold out long enough for it to make you a diamond instead?”

“God damnit Strider you are the cheesiest fucking dork on the planet, you know that?”

Dave smirked, catching the blanket with his spare hand when Karkat tried to burrow back inside it to hide his face. Karkat glowered at him, cheeks a little pink while he chewed on his lower lip. There was a suspicion nagging at the back of Dave’s mind that Karkat was trying to wait him out to avoid giving a straight answer right away, but it didn’t really matter to him. He knew Karkat wouldn’t be able to stay silent forever.

He really did know the kid better than he gave him credit for.

“Ugh, alright,” Karkat said heavily, giving up on hiding in the blanket and sitting up, eyes on his lap. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. But this is going to be fucking miserable, you’ll see, and I’ll probably just kill you for making me go through with this.”

“I’m willing to take that chance,” Dave said, smirk growing.

Karkat snorted, and Dave released his hand to touch his jaw, bringing his face around and forcing the eye contact the Cancer was avoiding. When Karkat’s gaze met his, Dave’s expression softened.

“It’ll be okay, Karkat,” he promised. “I’m here for you. You’re not doing this alone.”

“Oh great, and you’re such a huge comfort,” Karkat said with heavy sarcasm, but he leaned forward and rested his forehead on Dave’s shoulder all the same.

“If nothing else I’m someone to complain to,” he replied, running his hand over Karkat’s hair.

“...Thanks. I guess.”

“No problem, Karkitten.”

“God fucking damn it.”

It was more or less as bad as the boys had expected. The instant Karkat stepped out of Dave’s ostentatious car he was surrounded, as if Terezi and Sollux had been standing by just waiting for him. Bombardments of “how far did you go?” and “are you a thing now?” and “I always knew you were gay” persisted throughout the entire day, and that was just from Karkat’s friends. Because of Dave, people that were total strangers to Karkat were approaching the two of them and giving them all sorts of grief. All in all, however, it wasn’t much worse than annoying, and Karkat was getting used to the questions to the point where he would throw out responses so rapid-fire that he left people blinking in confusion. It was irritating being constantly harassed when he was used to being quiet and left alone, but it wasn’t horrible. Sollux got bored pretty quickly with the shenanigans and returned to his laptop--which was hooked up to the school’s very protected wifi--but Terezi made kissy faces in their general direction whenever she realized they were around. Rose, as expected, rode Dave’s ass about his behavior at the party and how she could not believe that he would be so foolish and reckless but that she would be no less supportive of their relationship. Jade was as chipper as ever, if a bit disappointed--it was no secret that she had been crushing on Dave since he moved to their school.

All in all, the morning was hectic but not terrible, and Karkat actually found himself not only able to tolerate the constant teasing from his friends and the intrusive questions from other students but actually enjoying, to an extent, a certain amount of attention that did not involved getting shoved into lockers or having his belongings spread out across the entire campus. It helped that Dave was usually with him to take the brunt of the questions and jokes, the prying demands merely glancing off of him harmlessly enough. Karkat was thankful that while they were being open enough and not actively trying to keep what had happened that weekend a secret, Dave was not brazenly giving everybody with eyes a show of affection. He would set his hand on Karkat’s back right between his shoulders, maybe hold his hand, or sling an arm carelessly around his shoulders as he had been doing for a long time, but he wasn’t clinging to the boy and trying to make out with him for all the world to see. Thank god. Karkat would have had to kill him.

At one point some stupid, callous freshman saw the two of them sitting on the floor by Dave’s locker during break and said something to one of her friends. The two of them giggled, and the first girl strutted over in heels that she had clearly never learned to walk properly in.

“You’re Dave Strider right?” she said, popping her gum obnoxiously. Dave glanced at Karkat, then back to the girl.

“Yeah, and you are?” he said in a bored voice.

“I’m Dahlia,” she said proudly, as if her name was a title.

“Nice to meet you, Dahlia. What do you want?”

She looked a little taken aback by his blunt tone, and Karkat felt a sudden urge to laugh. She shook off her surprise and regained her composure.

“Are you really gay?”

Well, props to her for not beating around the bush.

“Nope,” Dave said easily, then looked back at Karkat as though he thought the matter over.

“What? But I--I thought you had a--” she stuttered, and confusion flashed across her face again.

“A boyfriend? Yeah, I do. Meet Karkat,” he responded, gesturing at the boy in question. Karkat flushed a mortified shade of red when Dave called him his boyfriend; that was the first time he’d used the word.

“But I--if you have a boyfriend--”

“You do realize that there are more sexualities than just gay or straight, right?” Dave said, and his amusement was starting to wear thin.

“Well I--yeah, obviously,” she huffed. Two bright pink spots were starting to appear on her cheeks. “So you’re bi then?”

“Wow, good job, he didn’t have to spoonfeed you the answer or anything,” Karkat congratulated. She shot him a filthy look, but he wasn’t cowed.

“Okay then, prove it,” she said, looking back at Dave. “If you’re bisexual, kiss me.”

Dave and Karkat looked at the girl like she’d sprouted a second head, then looked at each other.

“Uh, why would I kiss you?” Dave wondered.

“What, if you like guys and girls, it shouldn’t be a problem, should it?” she challenged. God, she looked so proud of herself.

“If you’re a bisexual slut, then yeah, it wouldn’t be a problem,” Karkat snapped before Dave could counter. “But if you’re in a relationship generally that means you’re fucking faithful to whoever you’re with you nooksniffer; you wouldn’t say that to a straight guy if he was dating another girl, that would be bullshit. Besides, he literally just met you Delilah, so--”

“It’s Dahlia,” she snapped. Those pink spots were getting darker,

“Whatever. That has to do with your fucking ethics as a decent human being, not whatever genders you happen to be attracted to. If you’re going around kissing total strangers to prove your sexuality, you’ve got some other issues going on upstairs.”

“Besides,” Dave added. “It’s not like I’m interested in every guy or every girl I see, and you’re really not my type.”

Dahlia stood there like a statue, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water even though no coherent sound left it. Finally, face now flushed a brilliant pink, she turned on her heel and stormed off, nearly falling flat on her face in her shoes.

The boys looked back at each other and broke into loud laughter.

“That was fucking priceless,” Dave snorted, clapping Karkat on the shoulder. “Thanks bro, you just made my day!”

“Well she was being an ignorant puss-filled sack of feces,” Karkat said in defense. “Someone had to set her straight.”

“Did you see her in those heels??! She’s gonna break an ankle before the day is over!”

All in all, the day was going surprisingly well.

Until sixth period.

Karkat didn’t have seventh period US History with Dave. He did, however, have it with Patrick and Johnny, and Sollux was hardly an intimidating deterrent to them. Crumpled bits of paper were hitting the side of Karkat’s head every few minutes, and though he had only read the words on the first few, he knew they all said something similar. Faggot. Fairy. Karcunt. The classics. He could hear them muttering two rows over, and while he couldn’t distinguish most of what they were saying, he heard his own name clearly enough each time, as was probably their intention. His ears were burning from shame, and as the minutes ticked by he was sinking farther and farther in his chair.

However, with seventeen minutes left in class, the classroom door opened and Karkat knew instinctively who was interrupting them even before the pale-haired head popped in.

“What do you want now?” Croxford groaned comically, but his eyes crinkled with good humor. “I’m in the middle of giving an important lecture.”

“You were just talking about your nuclear fallout plan,” Dave contradicted with a smirk.

How he knew that was anybody’s guess, but he was correct. Croxford smirked and gestured for him to speak.

“I’m bored,” he said with a shrug. “Crumrine has a sub today and he has no idea what he’s doing, so I thought I’d come crash the party in here.”

“You should be in class,” Croxford said sternly.

“I was,” Dave shrugged. “For the first half hour man, but I finished the assignment she wrote up on the board and I’ve got nothing else to do. The sub was cool with me leaving after I turned in the stupid worksheet.”

“What a fucking nerd,” someone nearby snickered. Karkat immediately bristled.

“Just because he’s not flunking underwater basket weaving like you douchelords,” he hissed under his breath.

“You’re not going to go back to class if I kick you out of here, are you?” Croxford sighed, oblivious to the tension forming in the back of the classroom.

“Nope,” Dave said, his “p” popping rather rudely. The teacher groaned and waved him on.

“Just don’t be disruptive,” he said wearily.

“Am I ever?”

“Only when you’re awake.”

“Ouch.”

“Sit down and be quiet.”

“Can do.”

“First time for everything.”

Karkat watched Dave’s feet as they made their way toward his row and down the aisle, moving to the desk behind him.

“How’s it going?” the boy said quietly as Croxford returned to his “lesson.”

“Oh, fan-fucking-tastic,” Karkat growled.

“I figured,” Dave sighed, then poked the back of Karkat’s head. “Cheer up, bro, it’s gonna be alright.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll kiss you right here and now if you don’t lighten up a little,” he threatened.

Karkat immediately went stiff as a board and whipped around to snap at him, but his retort died in his throat when he made eye contact. Actual eye contact, directly over the top of Dave’s shades. No one else could see them, but the fact that he had lowered the sunglasses enough for his eyes to be seen at all was like a punch to the gut for Karkat. Dave’s expression was soft, softer than it had ever been any time other people could see him, and seeing that much openness from the terminally apathetic cool kid, Karkat reigned in his frustration.

“There you go,” said Dave with a smile when he noticed the tension release from Karkat’s shoulders. “Much better.”

“Oh shut up,” Karkat snapped.

“I’m taking you home after class.”

“I can wa--”

“I can drive. Your point has been invalidated.”

“Ugh…” Karkat groaned, dropping his head onto his desk.

Dave reached up and ruffled his hair; he swatted the offending hand aside.

Chapter Text

TG: happy valentines day karkles

“Oh my fuck, what a dork,” Karkat sighed, shaking his head as he tossed his phone back onto the bedside table.

He flung his legs over the side of his bed and stood up, groaning as his back popped and his joints creaked. Yeah, it was Valentine’s Day, but the weather outside was hardly romantic, and the dreary cold was seeping into his poorly insulated apartment, making him shiver despite the fact that he was wearing sweatpants and an overlarge sweater over a t-shirt. A hot shower would probably make him feel a little better.

Rubbing his arms, he made his way to the bathroom and started the water, which would probably take forever to warm up as per usual. He hesitated before stripping, wondering if he should have pestered Dave back. He dismissed the thought; the boy would probably be at his door soon enough anyway, so why bother? He’d been picking him up every day since...since they’d started going out. Karkat pulled his sweater over his head, blushing furiously at his thoughts. Over a month after the fact, he was still embarrassed by the terms “boyfriend” and “relationship” and anything else related to the topic. It didn’t help matters that Dave seemed to slip into it so easily, not at all flustered by the sudden change of direction their lives seemed to have taken. Granted, if what he’d told Karkat was even kind of true, he’d been working up the nerve to make that turn for a while…

Goddamnit, those thoughts were doing nothing to lessen the heat in his face. Karkat shook his head like a dog dispelling water and hastily disposed of the rest of his clothes, pausing reluctantly to glance at himself in the mirror. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be. He’d filled out a little, mostly because Dave was forcing him to eat lunch with him every day and usually brought a bagel or muffin or something in the mornings, but he was still skinny. There was something to be said for the fact that his bones were at least not threatening to break through his skin anymore, but he was a far cry from average. The biggest difference, the one that Karkat tried very hard not to notice, was his arms. At first glance, they looked...normal. The old marks were fading, and no new ones had replaced them. If you were looking, you could see the lines of raised skin, but they were no longer glaringly obvious.

Karkat swallowed thickly and looked away, hastily hopping into the shower as if that would soften the impact of what he had observed. It didn’t, and as he reached out to grab his shampoo he couldn’t help but see his arms, see the way they were almost smooth the way they hadn’t been in a long time, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the reason was Dave. The boy hadn’t cured his undiagnosed depression--that wasn’t how that kind of thing worked--but he did provide a healthier outlet. He did make Karkat feel better, and he offered a shoulder to lean on as well as an ear to bitch to. It helped, too, that Dave just seemed to know what Karkat was thinking and would beat him to the punchline consistently, soothing a problem before it escalated.

It was probably because at one point, Dave had dealt with the same kind of thing, and he knew what he himself had needed during all that. Experience could carry you miles, especially in an area as sticky as this, and it was clear from Dave’s behavior that he had a certain amount of it under his belt. Karkat wondered exactly how much.

Then another thought seemed to hit him like a freight train.

He still didn’t know much about Dave at all. How he got those scars, how he managed to stop making them, what finally brought him around. Karkat didn’t know anything important.

He sighed. Well, at least he had time to ask, and a multitude of opportunities at this point. He’d just have to wait for a good one.

“Taking one of your incredibly lengthy showers I take it?”

Karkat jumped and knocked over his shampoo. He hadn’t heard Dave let himself into the apartment.

“Oh shut up!” he shouted back.

“Man, hurry up, school starts in half an hour and the roads are so icy they’d make Jade’s imaginary world look like a tropical paradise.”

Karkat snorted but did concede to bring his ablutions to a close.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ll never understand the point of this supposed holiday,” Karkat griped as he and Dave walked through obnoxiously decorated hallways so full of red and pink that it gave one the distinct impression of being trapped in a rom-com anime. “I mean, if you wait until February fourteenth to treat your boyfriend or girlfriend or whoever like they’re special aren’t you just royally fucking up every other day of the year?”

“Nah, man, see this is the day to go all-out and pull out all the general romantic shenanigans that would be branded creepy if used every day. I mean, you could get away with stalker-esque activities on this glorious day--and people do all the time--and nobody would bat an eyelash,” Dave said immediately. “Which is what I would tell you if I didn’t agree wholeheartedly. Anybody that thinks massive amounts of pink and red streamers and paper heart confetti is romantic was dropped one too many times on their head after falling off of the infamous bandwagon and assorted caravan of familiar company. The holiday’s sexist and heteronormative and just all around a huge hot load. I am a little surprised that Mr. RomCom himself is knocking the fabulous holiday though.”

“Again, it’s totally backwards for how romance should go,” Karkat said pompously. “Besides, like you said, it’s sexist and heteronormative. All this shit about how the guy always has to give his girlfriend all this fancy stuff and all she’s gotta do is smile and say thank-you and then have sex with him later is a bunch of shit.”

“Well how about that, you actually have your own opinions on romance as well as the stuff you see in movies,” Dave snorted. Karkat jabbed him in the side, causing him to cringe and let out a loud, unintentional noise of...laughter? He remembered back to what felt like years ago at Terezi’s Halloween party, when something similar had occurred.

“Are you actually ticklish, Strider?” Karkat asked, the gears in his head beginning to turn.

Dave seemed to become suddenly deaf, so Karkat poked him again and was rewarded with the same reaction.

“Ha! I knew it!” he crowed, and started poking insistently at Dave’s sides until the boy was a laughing, writhing mess on the floor.

“Hey you two, keep it child-appropriate, this is a public place!” came a shout from down the hall. Rose was smirking at them. Karkat flipped her off, but Dave used the distraction to worm himself free of his boyfriend’s hold and made a mad dash for his next class. Karkat let him go with the knowledge that, once seventh period was over, he could torment the boy to his heart’s content.

Chapter Text

“Why the fuck am I down here?” Karkat growled, looking around the gymnasium with fierce resentment.

Most of the student body was sitting comfortably--not--on the bleachers, blabbering away about whatever nonsense they filled their lives with, but Karkat? Oh, no, he was down on the court for some shitty Valentines day assembly that he definitely would have chosen to skip had he not been captured and literally dragged through the halls by his one and only shade-faced jackass. Said jackass was comfortably leaning back against the wall opposite the bleachers, looking thoroughly bored but at the same time very alert lest Karkat make a dash for the door.

“Because you volunteered,” he said blandly.

“Like hell I volunteered!” Karkat snarled furiously. “You all but threw me over your shoulder like a sack of fucking flour and carried me down here! Forced participation is not the same as volunteering, unless I’m very much mistaken!”

Dave’s lips twitched.

“Well, according to certain students in the ASB class, who are in charge of these activities, you signed up to play.”

“Oh really?” he retorted, venom dripping from every syllable. “Would any of these certain students happen to wear stupid hipster sunglasses that haven’t been in style since the fucking fifties?”

“Okay, first of all, I have no idea to whom you may be referring as I don’t know anyone at all that fits that description, seeing as the only shade-wearing hottie around is yours truly and my shades are the shit and always have been and will always continue to me,” Dave said airily. “Secondly, I actually have no idea who exactly signed you up as I’m not in that class, but whoever it was put my name down too, otherwise I would’ve already booked it out of here. This kind of shit is lame.”

Karkat cast a suspicious look over the other boy, but either he was a very good liar--which Karkat knew to be false--or he actually didn’t know who had put their names down. He sighed and his shoulders slumped forward.

“Well, whatever it is, I just hope it’s over fast,” he grumbled. “I just wanna go home.”

“I feel you there, man,” Dave said, shifting so that he could sling an arm around his shoulders.

“Alright!” someone shouted, snapping them out of their conversation.

The ASB teacher was looking at the handful of kids who had “volunteered” to play whatever dumb games they’d put together, grinning broadly and fakely. Karkat suppressed a shudder; he’d never liked Ms. Mateos all that much.

“Everyone get in line, and I want you to count off,” she said, ushering them into a line when nobody seemed inclined to move.

Karkat was shunted several people down from Dave and didn’t hear what number he called, but the boy next to him was seven, so Karkat called eight, and they continued down to twelve. He glanced back up the line, counting from himself to Dave, who was number three.

“Okay, odds over here, and evens over there!” she instructed, pointing them in the right directions.

Karkat felt a sliver of panic enter his chest. Oh hell no. How exactly was he supposed to do whatever stupid shit they had planned without Dave? Oh god, if he somehow survived this, that kid was going to die by his hands, and then heaven help the person that signed them up if he ever found out who it was.

Ms. Mateos stayed with the evens.

“Alright, all of you are going to sit on this side of the wall,” she instructed, gesturing at the hastily-erected structure that divided the court more or less into two sections. “Someone will ask the people on the other side some questions, and they’ll answer, but they’ll have a voice-distortion machine working so you don’t recognize them. You have to try and figure out who is who based on their answers. You get a whiteboard with a marker, and after every contestant answers, you’ll write who you think it is and hold it up for me to see. If you’re right, you and the other person are removed from the game and are partnered for the next bit. Got it?”

“Uh…” Karkat said, confused. “What exactly does this have to do with Valentines Day?”

Ms. Mateos seemed not to hear him.

“Okay, places!” she said, shooing them off to their designated spots on the floor.

Karkat sat between Jade and some senior that looked like he’d stepped right out of the movie Grease. Something about his jawline reminded Karkat vaguely of Ampora.

He sighed and settled back, tuning out the useless blather that was the introduction for every assembly ever as well as the explanation of the game. This was so stupid; what if you didn’t know any of the other people? You sure as fuck weren’t going to just pull their names out of your ass, so if you weren’t an overly social person, as he himself was not, you were more or less fucked. Fueled by some of his earlier insecurities too was the doubt that he would even be able to pick Dave out of the lineup simply because he still didn’t think he knew all that much about him. Ugh, this was going to suck.

“Contestant number one,” Mateos said into her mic, jerking Karkat to attention. “Your first question is: What is your ideal first date?”

“Oh, well, that’s a rather broad question, isn’t it?” the person responded.

Karkat winced; the voice distortion thingy definitely worked. He couldn’t even tell if the speaker was male or female.

“But I think anything would be fun as long as we could have meaningful conversation. Maybe walking around town or going to get coffee,” the person continued.

If only because of the proper way that the person spoke, Karkat’s best guess was Kanaya, but he could see her on the front row of the bleachers recording everything. Damnit. The guy next to him smirked, however, and scribbled something on his board. A couple others out of the six of them wrote something, but Jade didn’t seem to have any more of a clue than Karkat.

“Alright, question number t--we already have an answer?” Mateos cut herself off, surprised.

The guy on Karkat’s left smirked and held up his board. His handwriting was shit, but legible enough for Mateos to read.

“Contestant number one is Aranea Serket,” she announced, bemused.

She gestured for the guy to stand up; he did, swaggering over to her like he thought he was hot shit. He walked around the barrier and reappeared moments later with a senior wearing a short blue dress and white-framed glasses. The two of them waved, and then walked to the far side of the gym to wait.

“Contestant two!” Mateos said. “What would you say is your favorite movie?”

“Ah hell,” the voice said. Karkat narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know if I have one.”

“Can you pick two then?”

“Ugh, alright,” the second contestant sighed. “Let’s see...probably...Hitch and...Pokemon the First Movie. You guys laugh all you want, that one was an intensity I had never before encountered at my tender age the first time I watched it.”

Karkat closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. His earlier fears were put to rest at once, and he hastily scribbled his answer and held it up.

“Alright, are any of you going to let me get to a second question?” Mateos asked. “Come on up.”

Very aware that suddenly everyone was staring at him, Karkat tossed his board and marker down and shuffled up.

“Contestant number two is Dave Strider,” she said, waving the fucking nerd up as well. Karkat refused to watch his approach, but he could see it all the same; careless, loping strides, like some douche who thought he had all the time in the world.

Dave slid an easy arm around his shoulders again, and before he realized what was happening, Karkat was forced into a bow with the insufferable douchelord. He elbowed the boy in the gut to the general amusement of the crowd, and then they hurried to the far side of the gym.

“Aw, you know me so well Karkitten,” Dave teased, flicking his ear.

“Shut up,” he mumbled.

Dave chuckled and leaned back against the wall, arm still around Karkat.

“...Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You actually liked Hitch?”

“Like the actual movie? Nah, it didn’t really do anything for me. It was alright.”

“Then why’d you say it was one of your favorites?”

“Because I really got a kick out of watching you watch it.”

Karkat flushed bright red and regressed into himself. His embarrassment ended up losing them the next game, “Lover’s Leap,” because he was so flustered that he forgot what to do and ended up jumping on Dave’s toes and accidentally kneeing him in the jaw. Needless to say, they didn’t win anything but an impromptu trip to the nurse's office for some ice.

Chapter Text

Karkat’s chest was burning. It was hard to breathe, as though he’d fallen suddenly face-down and been unable to catch himself with his arms first. His head hurt, too, a steady, throbbing pain, and his neck burned a little in the back. As if he’d suddenly snapped his head forward. His nose was stinging, full of the acrid scent of smoke. Smoke? Why was there smoke? Was that screaming? His ears were ringing too much for him to be entirely sure.

He groaned; his throat rasped painfully. When he tried to open his eyes despite the vapor making them water and sting quite as much as his nose, all he could see was a haze of grey. There wasn’t even that much smoke, actually, but there was enough to make everything fuzzy. Was he looking through...a windshield? Why was it cracked? It was like a spiderweb had been spun inside the glass.

Confused, he turned his head around to look out the side window. That one was fine, but there was more smoke outside, and people running around in a panic. Were those police lights? Those flashing red and blue things on the side of the road? Why were the police here? And was that a fire engine?

He looked around at the driver’s side of the car. A boy was slumped in the seat, the safety belt apparently the only thing keeping him from collapsing over the steering wheel like a limp doll. His pale hair was dirty and matted with something red. The red stuff was on what Karkat could see of his face, too. His right arm, the one closest to his passenger, was badly bruised and swollen, as if it had experienced a serious impact.

Impact.

Smoke.

Broken glass.

Screaming.

Police.

Dave.

Reality slammed into Karkat like a second crash. Whether it was the fear or the smoke that closed his throat, he didn’t know and frankly he couldn’t give two fucks about it either, because suddenly only one thought was on his mind. Dave. Help Dave. He started scrabbling frantically at his own seat belt, tearing at it, trying to undo it, and in his panicked state it never occurred to him to press the button, but he must have hit it by accident because the belt did release, and then he was nearly in Dave’s lap, tearing at the other boy’s seatbelt while he just sat there, passive, unmoving. Unconscious.

Blood was dripping onto Karkat’s hands as he fought to get the belt off of Dave, and he didn’t know whose it was or if he was even injured beyond some soreness in his torso. All he knew was that the belt had to get off, he had to get Dave out. He had to.

He thought he heard a door opening, and he knew that he felt a pair of hands wrenching him out of the car, away from Dave even as he kicked and screeched obscenities. He had to help Dave. They had to help Dave. Somebody had to help him.

He didn’t remember what state the car was in later, wouldn’t even have remembered the color if he hadn’t known before. He just remembered the old warehouse it had encountered about four feet off the road, the decrepit building that was somehow still standing despite the mass that had plowed into it nearly head-on. There were other people swarming the car, using some kind of tools he couldn’t identify to cut into the vehicle. Were they trying to get Dave out? If they weren’t then what the hell were they doing?

“Hun, it’s okay,” someone was saying as he continued to struggle. “You’re alright. Do you know what happened?”

“Get the fuck off of me!” Karkat snarled. “I have to help Dave!”

“Was Dave the driver?” the person said.

“He’s still in there!” he shouted past the pain in his throat. “Get him out! He’s hurt!”

“We’re getting him out now, it’s alright,” the person insisted. Their tone of voice was calm. Very much so. “He’ll be alright. Your friend should be okay.”

“Don’t placate me you monumental grubfisting dollophead!” Karkat roared. “He’s hurt! Get him out! Help him!”

“We are, kid, that’s our job,” the stranger said. “Calm down, both of you are going to be alright. We’re getting him now. Look, see? They’ve got him.”

Karkat relaxed enough to look around, and he managed enough focus to see the stretcher with a young man’s body on it, the pale skin and hair splattered with red. He was being rushed to an ambulance.

“Alright?” the stranger said.

He looked back around. The person was tall, he noticed that right away. She had long-ish black hair tied back in a hasty ponytail, and a black tattoo was peaking out from the uniform shirt she wore, which was unbuttoned far more than would usually be considered professional.

“Can you tell me your name?” she said. Karkat swallowed convulsively.

“U-uh...Karkat...Karkat Vantas?”

The woman did the smallest of doubletakes, but recovered so quickly that Karkat figured he’d imagined it.

“And your friend, the driver,” she continued as she sat him down on the curb and pulled a small flashlight from god-knows-where to shine in both his eyes. “You called him Dave? What’s his last name?”

“St-Strider,” Karkat mumbled. “You are taking care of him?”

She smiled gently and tucked the flashlight away; he averted his gaze.

“Yes, I promise we’ll do everything we can for him. He will be okay, Karkat.”

Her manner of speaking seemed somewhat familiar.

“Now, can you tell me what happened?” she asked gently, setting her hand on the top of his head. “I know it’s hard, but we will need to make a report.”

Karkat looked away and said nothing. The woman sighed and sat down next to him.

“You said your name is Karkat?” she said. He nodded and she leaned back casually. “You look like you’re still in school. What year are you?”

“I-I’m a junior,” he said quietly.

“Oh? I have a sister that’s a junior. She goes to KU. Is that where you go?”

He nodded, not really in the mood to ask whose sister she was. The ambulance had already zoomed off. Was it at the hospital yet? Would Dave be okay? How serious were his injuries?

“She actually talks about a friend of hers quite a lot. Has some anger issues, some trust issues too, but she figures he’s a pretty sweet kid once you get past all the bitching. Diamond in the rough, as it were.”

“Mm…”

“His name’s Karkat too. Would you happen to know him? I hardly think that it’s a common name.”

Karkat was aware enough at this point to stiffen and look around. The woman was smiling softly at him, her pale, jade green eyes crinkled just a little at the perfectly lined corners. Did people actually allow first responders to wear lip rings? How was she able to break so many protocols?

“Who…”

“Hm? Oh, my name is Porrim, sweet thing,” she said offhandedly. “Porrim Maryam.”

“Maryam?” Karkat echoed. “You’re Kanaya’s sister?”

“Ah, there we go,” she congratulated him. “Yep, that girl didn’t get all the good looks or fashion sense. There was too much to go around, she just got the leftovers.”

Karkat wasn’t much in a mood for amusement. Porrim sighed.

“Look, Karkat, I’ll take you to the hospital myself after you tell me what happened, alright?” she offered. “I’ll even keep you company in that shitty waiting room filled with the smell of antiseptic until they let your cute little ass in to see your boyfriend.”

Karkat swallowed and looked away.

“I...I don’t know if I remember…” he said honestly.

“Try,” she suggested. He bit back his snarky retort and closed his eyes, thinking.

“He was driving me home after school…” Karkat muttered. “We’d just gotten out of some stupid assembly…”

Dave was still bitching about the foot Karkat had stepped on, and the spot on his jaw where he insisted a bruise was forming despite there being no discoloration whatsoever after Karkat accidentally kicked him. Every time he thought his passenger was watching--which was actually one hundred percent of the time--he would “absently” rub the wounded spot gingerly, clearly trying to elicit some sympathy. Unsurprisingly, Karkat didn’t take comply.

“Quit your fucking whining, you’re perfectly fine,” he snapped. “God, you pampered princess, you had to have had worse than that being raised by your older brother, right?”

“Nah, man, we avoid face shots,” he shot back. “Besides, with him at least I’m prepared. I wasn’t ready for my boyfriend to assault me. That’s domestic abuse you know, and I could sue you for--”

“Yeah, yeah, you went over that for-fucking-ever ago,” Karkat interrupted. “If it really hurts so goddamn bad just pull over and lay your jaw on the road; it’ll numb you right up.”

“You got me there Karks,” Dave said with an inelegant shrug. “These roads are icier than your heart today.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Seriously thought man, these roads are more treacherous than any level of Mariokart ever,” Dave said. “I’d take Rainbow Road for a thousand.”

Karkat smirked, and leaned his elbow on the console. Dave glanced down at it for a moment and then reached his right hand over like he was going to grab it. Karkat’s hand darted out then, fingers catching Dave right between the ribs and earning a startled yelp of a laugh as he swatted the offending appendage away from him.

“Hey man, didn’t you hear me?” he chuckled. “The roads are slick like whoa, don’t be screwing me up right now.”

“I have no idea what you’re insinuating Strider,” Karkat said impishly, going in to get him again and this time grabbing his whole side. The boy jumped, but kept the wheel steady.

“Seriously, Karks,” he said, still laughing from being tickled. “Knock it off, I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“Just try it Strider,” Karkat suggested. And he did it again.

“Come on man!” Dave laughed, looking over at him.

Karkat saw the truck’s headlights first, and they were in their lane. The blood rushed from his face and he pointed frantically, unable to articulate his sudden panic past the blockage in his throat, which was possibly his heart. Dave looked around just in time to yank the steering wheel around, swerving to miss the oncoming collision and drifting magnificently on the icy asphalt. The last thing Karkat remembered was Dave shouting, and an arm flying out in front of him, then a searing pain in his chest as the Aventador slammed not into a truck in the wrong lane but a dilapidated old building, and Karkat’s seat belt cut into him, preventing him from flying through the windshield. The airbags deployed, but his hit him with less impact than it should have. Then he woke up to the smell of smoke and Dave’s blood dripping everywhere.

“...Karkat! Hey, Kitkat!”

His shoulder was being shaken. He jerked around and found Porrim rattling his shoulder like she thought he was a maraca.

“Knock it off,” he mumbled, waving her hands away.

“You were having an episode,” she said bluntly. “Couldn’t hear a word I was saying for maybe five minutes. But I think I got the gist of it, and it sounds like it was mostly the other driver’s fault. They did stop after the crash. They’re still here actually, if you want to talk to them.”

“Talk to them?” Karkat repeated. “Like hell I want to talk to them. You said you’d take me to the hospital. Take me to the hospital.”

Porrim sighed and pushed a few stray bits of hair out of her face.

“Sure thing, hun, just come with me,” she said, helping him back to his feet.

“And you’re taking me to see Dave?”

“I’m taking you to see Dave.”

She was not taking him to see Dave. She took him into the hospital, where he was promptly carted off to put up will all sorts of tests and check-ups, and at one point he had to piss in a cup so they could test for drugs, and he was so done with it all that he didn’t even care. After it was over, he kept telling himself, after it was over he would find Dave. He could see what he’d done. The damage he’d caused.

Damn it all, this was completely his fault. If he hadn’t been so stupid, this wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn’t kept harassing Dave while he was driving on icy roads, after the boy told him to stop, they wouldn’t have had to pull a failed Fast And Furious stunt and totalled the Lambo. If Dave had been paying proper attention to the road, he would’ve had plenty of reaction time and wouldn’t have had to do some last-minute maneuvering to compensate for some asshole in the wrong lane. And who was distracting the driver? Yours truly, Karkat Vantas, premium fuck-up extraordinaire.

“Alright Karkat, you’re all finished.”

He looked up. Porrim was back.

“Do you want to see Dave now?”

He hesitated, then nodded. He needed to see what he’d done. He needed to see it with his own eyes, so he knew exactly what he was hating himself for.

“Karkat, honey,” Porrim said as they started walking down the sterile hallways of the hospital. “None of this is your fault, understand?”

He ignored her.

“He’s going to recover,” she said. “I’ve been keeping tabs on him while you were having your piss analysed by those morons with too much time on their hands. He’s going to be okay.”

“But he’s not okay right now,” Karkat said bluntly.

“Well...no one’s really okay right after a car accident,” she said evasively.

“He’s in pain.”

“Technically, no.”

“If he wasn’t higher than a kite, he would be?”

“That…is probably an accurate assumption, yes,” she said reluctantly. “But it isn’t your fault, Kitkat. He was avoiding a head-on collision with some jackass in the wrong lane on icy roads. There’s no one to blame but the drunk pick-up driver.”

“Whatever.”

She stopped trying to pacify him. Porrim, like her sister, clearly knew when silence was preferable to placations.

Porrim stopped outside a room with a closed door; the curtains to the windows were drawn shut.

“He’s still under,” she warned him. “But he should wake up soon. You can stay the night if you want. I’ll pull some strings.”

Karkat said nothing, and reached for the door handle. His fingers were trembling, but they turned the handle anyway. There was a soft touch on his shoulder, but by the time Karkat looked around, Porrim was walking to the nearby desk with a lazy sort of grace. He turned back to the door, took a deep breath, and pushed in.

The lights were off, but there was enough residual ambience that Karkat didn’t have too much trouble making his way to the side of the hospital bed. The curtains were drawn around it, and briefly Karkat toyed with the idea of leaving them like that. He didn’t want to see Dave, not like this, drugged to unconsciousness, probably bandaged, bruised, and bloody. Her was supposed to be strong. Untouchable. It was stupid of Karkat, but he’d always thought of Dave as someone...something that was above mortal injury. If he sat there with the curtains closed, he could pretend that it was just one of Dave’s stupid irony trips, that he was simply trying to mock The Wizard of Oz as the man behind the curtain.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t pretend, not when it was his fault Dave was there to start with. His foolish, childish illusion of having an invincible friend, boyfriend, or whatever had already been shattered, and now he had to educate it. Cautiously, fearfully, his fingers still shaking, he fumbled around for the edge of the curtain and jerked it awkwardly aside, revealing the boy behind it.

Dave had never looked worse. He didn’t even look like Dave. Both of his arms were bandaged in makeshift casts, his left arm wrapped up all the way to his shoulder and collarbone, his right arm up to the elbow. That was the one he’d thrown in front of Karkat, whether a knee-jerk reaction to keep him from flying forward or an attempt to lessen the damage of the airbag, Karkat couldn’t say. What he could say was that that injury especially was all his fault. The rest of Dave Strider wasn’t much better off. His forehead was heavily bandaged, and there were deep cuts around his eyes, probably from his shades. The misshapen lump under the blankets led Karkat to guess that his left leg was also in a cast.

Every observation was a blow to his chest, his gut, his head. The bruises around his eyes from what was clearly a broken nose. Wham. The thin trickle of blood that managed to escape the bandage around his forehead. Wham. The bandaging around his torso where his ribs had probably been at least bruised if not popped out of place or broken. Wham. Every single thing beat him down, smaller and smaller, until all he wanted to do was curl up on the floor and cease to exist. This was his fault. All his fault. He had no right to be okay, to only have minor scrapes and bruising, while Dave was lying in a drug-induced sleep with more of his body bandaged than not. It was his fault Dave had been distracted, his fault Dave had swerved last minute, his fault that Dave’s right arm was bandaged from taking the brunt of Karkat’s airbag in an attempt to keep him from getting hurt further. His fault. He shouldn’t be okay. Not when Dave wasn’t. He should be the one on the hospital bed, not Dave. Fuck, the crash should have killed him. Karkat should be dead. It would have been better if the crash had killed him; if the airbag had snapped his neck, if he’d flown through the windshield, if the impact had hit his side of the car and crushed him. It would have been better. It would have been right. That’s what should have happened.

But that wasn’t what happened, and now Dave was unconscious and nearly unrecognizable after his car had slammed into a warehouse driver’s side first. Because of Karkat. Because he was stupid and ignored Dave’s warnings against distracting him while he was driving on slippery streets. Because he, Karkat Vantas, was stupid, foolish, and was destined to fuck up any and every good thing that would ever happen to him.

He collapsed into the chair at Dave’s bedside and, unable to touch Dave for fear of breaking him even further, cried himself to sleep.

Chapter Text

Dave didn’t wake up soon. He didn’t even wake up the next morning. The nurses kept him hooked up to an IV that was steadily feeding drugs into his bloodstream, but those shouldn’t have been enough to keep him under by themselves. His breathing was irregular and shallow, and he’d been given an oxygen mask to try and counterbalance that for the time being. It made him look even more pitiful, and made Karkat feel even smaller than before. He was trapped in his own head, barely noticing the nurses that came and went through his own inner turmoil. It was half-past noon before anything at all happened. Karkat was jarred out of his personal hellhole when someone that he could never explain anything to burst into the room, in an incredible and uncharacteristic state of panic.

“What happened?” Bro demanded, staring at his motionless little brother. “I get a call from the hospital and all they say is my little bro got in a car wreck. Nothing else. What happened?”

Karkat stared, throat working convulsively. What happened? He fucked up, that was what happened. He fucked up and landed Bro’s little brother in the hospital with two broken arms, a broken leg, what the nurses suspected was a collapsed lung, and damage to his spinal tissue.

But he couldn’t get the words past the ice in his throat. All he could say was:

“A truck…”

Bro looked around at him, startled to actually find another person in the room. He hadn’t noticed Karkat sitting like a stone statue near the bed.

“A truck?” he repeated. Karkat nodded woodenly and tried to articulate further.

“He swerved...to avoid it...He swerved into a...a warehouse or something,” he choked out. “It...my fault...I…”

“Your fault?” the elder Strider echoed.

“He--I was--dicking around,” he mumbled. “I distracted him...He didn’t--couldn’t see...the truck was in the wrong lane...Dave didn’t see it--It’s my fault he didn’t--that he…”

Bro was silent for a long time after Karkat had lost his ability to speak. When he eventually did break the quiet, Karkat at last found out that the two Striders had more than a stupid sense of humor in common: their stupid inability to understand how fault worked in the real world.

“The truck was in your lane?” he repeated. Karkat jerked his head. It was the best nod he could manage. “Were you driving the truck?”

Karkat tried to shake his head.

“Then it wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly. Karkat looked away. He couldn’t win a simple argument with Dave; there was no way he could handle his...Dave’s older brother.

“Vantas, look me in the eyes,” the man said sharply.

Karkat winced, glancing over briefly. The man removed his pointy shades and fixed a penetrating gold gaze on him.

“Do you think blaming yourself is gonna help?” he said hotly. “I could argue with you til the sun turned fucking green about whose fault this was--believe me, it’d be a piece of shitty cake--but would it accomplish anything? This wasn’t your fault, but if you wanna make it so that it was, then your only option is to move past it. Acting like a victim isn’t going to help my little brother; hating yourself ain’t gonna make his injuries go away. When he wakes up, he’s gonna need more than me to help him recover. He’s gonna need you too, but you won’t be much use if you’re wallowing in your own self-pity.”

Karkat stared at the older man, his mouth hanging open in stunned disbelief.

“What?” Bro challenged. “You expectin’ me to hold your hand and bottle-feed you shit about how it’s all gonna be okay? Well it’s not unless you get off your ass and make it happen yourself. No one’s gonna be able to help, even if they want to, if you’re not even ready to help yourself kid. When the little man wakes up, he’s gonna spend all his energy takin’ care of you. Don’t let him waste that energy for nothing, ‘cause he’s gonna need takin’ care of too.”

“What can I do?” Karkat exclaimed. “I don’t have a medical degree! I don’t have jack shit that can help Dave! I’m useless!”

“You don’t need to have a medical degree to help him,” Bro shot back. “Talk to him, make sure he knows you’re here if he needs something. Talk to him about stupid shit, things you don’t think matter at all, things that have less than nothin’ do do with the situation right now. All the things I know he’s done for you.”

Karkat had no words, no snappy retort ready on his lips. Bro didn’t seem to expect any kind of response, though, and sat down at Dave’s bedside without another word, replacing his shades and propping his elbows on the edge of mattress. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in the same room with Dave’s brother, but he was very sure that he couldn’t bring himself to leave unless Dave was with him, so he retreated to the seat right against the window and pulled his knees to his chest.

Make it happen himself? What did that mean? What could he do, as useless as he was? All he was good for was fucking up good things and creating problems where there were none. How was he supposed to help himself?

A sharp, irregular set of beeps jerked Karkat out of his reverie. The heart monitor had just spiked. He looked over at Dave to see his eyes screwed up, whether in pain or because of the bright lights, it was hard to say. But he was conscious. Karkat noticed Bro reach over and hit the button that paged whatever nurse was on duty.

“Ugh…” he groaned, cracking one eye open. He started to reach up toward the oxygen mask but stopped when he felt the tubes tugging at his hand. “What…”

“God little man, it’s about time,” Bro growled, reaching over to swat Dave upside the head. “I was gonna start carving up your tombstone if you were out any longer. Here lies Dave Strider, defeated by the fucking weather. Don’t follow his stupid example.”

“Show some compassion,” Dave whined. “And quit hitting me, I feel like I was hit by a train.”

“Eh, a building, actually. You met your match in a motionless wall. Quite impressive,” Bro said, thoroughly unimpressed.

Karkat was so confused, watching the brothers battle back and forth like a verbal tennis match. Which “Bro” Strider was the real one? The concerned, almost panicked tough-love guardian? The nonchalant, unsympathetic roommate? Or were they both somehow equally real, coexisting impossibly in the body of a brother and a parent?

“Alright, you’re finally awake!” said a nurse cheerfully as he bustled in, immediately going to check the equipment, the IV, the monitors.

“Can you fix that?” Dave grumbled. “So I don’t have to listen to his shit?”

The nurse pursed his lips.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to deal with him for now,” he informed him. “I bet your friend is glad to see you awake, though. He hasn’t left since the two of you got here.”

Dave frowned, and before Karkat could figure out how to turn invisible--there had to be some way--the boy had looked around and spotted him at the window. The grin that split across his bruised, scratched face pierced Karkat like a knife. How could he smile like that? How could he look at Karkat, eyes shining, and not be filled with anger or resentment? How?

“You’re okay,” Dave said, the relief in his voice twisting that dagger in Karkat’s chest. “Thank God.”

He tried to remove the mask again, but the nurse brushed his hands aside.

“You have a collapsed lung, kiddo, you need to keep the mask on until you recover,” he said sternly. Dave made a face.

“I feel fine,” he said, and promptly cringed when he prodded his chest.

The nurse looked at him with a raised eyebrow until he reluctantly returned his gaze. Karkat swallowed convulsively when the man stiffened and hastily broke eye contact, making a show of turning back to the machines. The bedridden boy pressed his lips together and glanced around, trying to appear nonchalant as he searched for the shades that weren’t there.

“Have you really not left?” said Dave in an effort to distract from the sudden discomfort.

Karkat shook his head, longing to look away but knowing that he couldn’t, even though it wasn’t because of Dave’s eyes. There were dark shadows under his eyes, painful-looking cuts around them from his shades, but despite that, he was still… He was still the most amazing thing Karkat had ever seen. And he couldn’t stand looking. He couldn’t stand looking at the most amazing person that he had ever known after he had landed that person in the hospital with serious injuries all because he was a moron.

“Aw, you do care,” the boy in question chuckled. Karkat noticed that his smirk didn’t quite touch his eyes, though. Dave knew something was wrong. But he wasn’t going to bring it up with other people around.

“Well, seems like you’re doing alright,” the nurse said, returning to his bedside. “I’ve just got a couple tests I need to run.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I’m going anywhere,” Dave said easily.

“No, I guess not,” the man said wryly.

He reached out, a small needle in his hand, and stuck Dave in his left shoulder, causing him to yelp loudly.

“What was that for?” he demanded.

“Alright, so you can feel it,” he noted, reaching over to stick his other arm. He yelped again.

“What are you stabbing me for?”

“Get over it little man,” Bro said.

“You took some damage to your spinal tissue,” the nurse said, moving the needle farther down his arms. “Nothing too major, but it could have caused some temporary motor control problems, maybe slight paralysis.”

“Right…” Dave said reluctantly, wincing with each poke.

Satisfied that his arms were fully functioning, the nurse moved farther down, poking him at apparently strategic points down his torso.

“Why don’t I just wiggle my body for you?” Dave wondered. “That’d go a lot faster, wouldn’t it?”

The man chuckled quietly and pricked him just above the hip.

“Well? You gonna finish up or what?”

Karkat went cold. The nurse hesitated and then pricked him again in the same spot, a little harder. Bro pressed his lips together and Dave glanced down.

“What’s the deal?” he wondered. “Prolonging the torture ain’t gonna--”

He noticed the needle stuck in his side, far enough in to draw a single drop of blood.

“Alright then,” he said, flopping back down. “You said temporary, right?”

“In all likelihood, yes,” the nurse said, checking the other side in the same place. Dave winced slightly, and he checked farther down. Nothing. “Nothing to do but wait, though. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until your body fixes itself up.”

“And how long should that take?”

“Oh, a couple of weeks. Your injuries, while plentiful, aren’t particularly severe.”

“Right,” he said dryly. “Just three out of four limbs broken and two completely useless anyway.”

The nurse’s lips twitched. “Actually, your right arm isn’t technically broken. There’s a hairline fracture in your radius, but it’s mostly just bruising. We wrapped it up as a precaution.”

“Oh, awesome,” Dave said. “That’s a huge load off.”

The nurse smirked, patted him on the head, and pointed at the tray he’d brought in with him. On it was a bowl with some kind of green broth that Karkat would bet anything tasted disgusting, a brown-ish gray roll, and a paper cup with some kind of juice in it.

“Try to get that down, alright?” he said. “We’re gonna start off a little carefully at first, nothing too exciting. Someone will be back at around six to bring you dinner.”

“Well, now that I know you’re not dyin’, I should probably get back to work,” Bro said, rising to his feet and casting Karkat the briefest of looks as he followed the nurse out. Karkat didn’t miss that this decision left the two of them alone.

“Karks,” Dave said quietly. Karkat looked around. “C’mere.”

“I-I’m fine,” he said roughly. “You need some space, I’ll just--”

“Come. Here.”

Karkat reluctantly rose to his feet, noticing as he did that his hands and knees were trembling violently. Don’t be nice, he pleaded silently. Don’t be nice, don’t be understanding, don’t tell me it wasn’t my fault. He prayed stupidly and uselessly that Dave would be angry, that he would yell or throw something, as he dragged his feet to the side of the bed. Of course the boy didn’t. He patted the space on the mattress next to him, looking up patiently until Karkat sat down, and then he pushed himself up into a sitting position as well.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against Karkat’s shoulder.

Karkat said nothing.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong, or am I gonna have to guess?” Dave wondered.

What’s wrong is that I have no idea how to take care of you, Karkat wanted to shout. I don’t take care of people! They always take care of me, and it makes me feel useless! I don’t know what I’m supposed to do to help you!

“Karkat, I’m gonna be okay,” Dave promised when he remained silent. “It’s pretty standard stuff, just watch. I’ll be walking out of here in a couple weeks good as new. Scout’s honor.”

“You’re not okay right now, though,” Karkat said in spite of himself.

“Sure I am,” the other boy said easily, nudging his side. “Look at me, I’m obviously the picture of health here right now man. I’m alive and breathing, my heart’s beating, it’s all good.”

“You’re wearing an oxygen mask,” Karkat said bluntly. “You have a collapsed lung, two broken limbs, you’re apparently paralyzed from the waist down, you have a fracture in your right arm because you had to be an idiot and try and block my airbag from smashing my nose in--”

“Karkat, that’s not important,” Dave cut across him. “Those things heal. Like I said, I’ll be as good as new in a couple weeks, and until then I can harass you and make people wait on me hand and foot. Livin’ the dream, man.”

You’re here because of me, Karkat screamed internally. Don’t act like this was a stupid coincidence, you’re hurt because of me!

But he couldn’t say that. He couldn’t share his thoughts right now. Bro was right. He had to be here to take care of Dave, and while he had no idea how to do that, not dumping all his own baggage on the boy was a good start. So he took a deep breath and blew it out slowly through his nose.

“Dave…” he mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“You...I…” He had no idea how to articulate what he needed to get across. “Ugh, fuck...I’m, uh...here if you need me, I guess. I mean, I’m not gonna wipe your ass after you go to the bathroom or anything, but for other stuff.”

He was met with silence. Unease pricked at Karkat’s chest, and he slowly turned around to look at his boyfriend. Dave was watching him with the strangest expression he had ever seen, his eyes shining wetly and his lips just kinda turned up at the corners even though his forehead was creased deeply enough to make the Grand Canyon envious.

“What?” Karkat panicked. “What’d I say?”

“Nothing,” Dave said quietly, holding out his arms. “Just...come here, alright?”

Gingerly Karkat scooted closer and leaned into Dave, cautiously wrapping his arms around his waist. He was enveloped in Dave’s warmth, which was elevated because of the current strain on his body, and he buried his face in the injured boy’s neck. Dave couldn’t hug him as tightly as either of them would have liked right then, but he did enclose him in his arms.

“Dave?” Karkat wondered, unsure what to make of his actions.

“Don’t worry,” the boy said. “I’m...I’m okay.”

“Really?” Karkat said before he could stop himself. Dave was a liar, and a really bad one, and they both knew it. “Is that why you’re clinging to me like you think I’m some kind of cuddle machine despite the fact that we’ve established I am not and will never be a personal teddy bear for the likes of you?”

“Shut up,” Dave grumbled. “I am fine.”

“No you’re not,” Karkat snapped, tightening his hold on the boy slightly. “We both know it, so drop the cool guy bullshit and just admit for one second that you’re a poor fragile human boy that just got in a fucking car wreck and that you were and still are kind of scared by that.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Lalonde,” Dave accused. “Psychoanalyzing everything I do, huh?”

Karkat didn’t say anything, but pulled back slightly so that he could look Dave in the eyes. Without his shades, his face was an open book, and Karkat was amazed that there had been a point when he had no idea what the boy was thinking. He wondered if Dave had always found him so easy to read. Probably; Karkat was hardly a complicated individual.

“You really are something,” Dave said, and from his tone of voice it wasn’t necessarily a compliment.

Still Karkat refused to respond. He was going to wait the idiot out.

Chapter Text

Dave’s throat was so thick that it was impossible to speak. That stupid little asshole. What did he think he was going to accomplish with this? What did he think he was gonna get out of saying that?

Scared? Fuck yeah he’d been scared, and yeah he still was a little bit. No one gets excited at the prospect of sudden death, and Dave certainly was no exception; he didn’t want to die. But that wasn’t why he was scared then, or why he was scared now. He wasn’t afraid for himself--he rarely was. His only thought when he’d seen that motherfucking truck in the wrong damn lane was to get Karkat out of the way. He couldn’t let Karkat get hurt. He’d lost enough people, people he couldn’t protect no matter how much he might’ve wanted to, and he couldn’t go through that with Karkat. He didn’t know anything about the boy, and he needed time to learn absolutely everything. He needed time, years preferably, to get to know that angry nerd and everything that made him who he was, and he had to learn it on the boy’s terms. Of course he’d been scared at the thought of losing him. At the thought of losing the chance to know him. And yes, he was still scared for much the same reason. Karkat withdrew into himself during bad times, and when he did that Dave couldn’t coax him back out, couldn’t get near the boy that he’d fallen for because he had all this plated armor around him like a steel carapace.

“Shit,” he managed to choke.

Then he tore the mask off his face and jerked Karkat forward into a hard, clumsy kiss, thinking that maybe he could convey the confession that boy was seeking this way instead of through words. The other boy squeaked in surprise as he nearly fell on top of Dave, and it hurt a little--okay, a lot--but he didn’t especially care. Karkat’s lips were chapped and hot, but his own probably weren’t much better, and that was okay, it was fine, because the smaller boy’s fingers slid into his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp, and he kissed back just as needily.

Dave leaned back entirely onto the lumpy hospital pillows, pulling Karkat with him, and it didn’t matter to him that he couldn’t breathe properly because he could taste Karkat on his tongue and feel him wrapped in his arms and god he was so warm, and he was here, and he was okay. Their arms were around each other, their lips locked together, and even though his chest was beginning to burn already he didn’t want to let this stupid, angry, absolutely adorable nerd go because even though he had no idea what he was doing, he was trying to the best of his ability to do something.

“Dave, you need to keep that mask on,” Karkat mumbled, turning away for a moment.

“Why would I do that when I’ve got you trapped here?” Dave wondered breathily.

“Because I’ll fucking leave if you don’t do what you’re supposed to.”

Dave made a face that Karkat didn’t see, and though he was quite confident that Karkat wouldn’t be able to follow through with that particular threat, he didn’t want to risk any other kind of punishment that he would have less issue with. So, sighing as heavily as his partially-functional lungs would allow, he rolled Karkat off of him and pulled the mask back over his nose and mouth, pouting quietly.

Karkat sat up, straightening his sweatshirt, and turned so that he could kick his shoes off onto the floor before folding his legs on the bed. Dave reached out and batted at his elbow like a cat because the boy’s hands were folded tightly in his lap where he couldn’t reach because of all the stupid tubes and needles. The boy seemed to get the message, because one of his tiny hands appeared and laced its fingers through Dave’s.

“So…” the bed-ridden boy said hesitantly. “Was Bro...okay?”

Karkat hesitated and his fingers tightened a little in Dave’s.

“Yeah…” he said. “Yeah, once he figured out you weren’t dead as a doornail he calmed right down.”

“He didn’t give you any shit?” Dave checked, wondering what kind of horrors could have befallen his boyfriend due to Bro while he lay unconscious.

Karkat shook his head.

“No, he just talked about you,” Karkat said. “As if a fiery ball of metal and doom would be enough to get rid of your stubborn ass.”

“Hey, this ass is prime,” Dave chuckled. “Top quality plush rump right here. I’d be doing the world a disservice by allowing it to be removed too easily.”

“Fucking jackass,” Karkat sighed, shaking his head.

“How did Bro know?” the boy continued. “Did you call him?”

“No, the hospital did when you came in,” Karkat answered. “I lost my phone in the car, and if you had yours, it was been smashed to pieces.”

“Oh, okay,” Dave said easily. It made sense. But then, did anybody know that Karkat was okay? “Okay, so I know you’re not hooked up to half a dozen beeping machines or anything, but did they call anyone for you?”

The other boy shifted where he sat and made an attempt to withdraw his hand. An attempt that Dave shot down immediately despite his bandaged hand being rather difficult to clamp down with. Karkat tugged for a moment, but gave up when it was clear that he wasn’t freeing himself without a fight.

“There was no need,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders.

“No need?” Dave echoed. “What, you don’t think anyone’d care that you just got in a car wreck because there were two idiot drivers on the same road?”

The other boy’s shoulder bowed a little bit and Dave frowned, his chest tightening for a different reason when he realized that he didn’t know anything about Karkat’s family, or his situation with them. Seriously, high school kids didn’t normally live in a shitty apartment all by themselves after all. Maybe they were raging douchelords that were better off not existing in Karkat’s already difficult life at all. It was pretty clear, thinking back, that Karkat was emancipated and Dave felt more than a little stupid at never realizing this and never questioning one of his best friends living alone. Still, Karkat was hardly the forthcoming type, so if he hadn’t said anything about his personal situation, it was because he had no desire to share.

“Hey man, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s cool, alright?”

“No, it’s fine,” Karkat said roughly. “It’s just not really the kind of shitty small talk word vomit you bring out in casual conversation. And a really depressing subject for someone trapped in the blanket-covered stone slab that passes for a hospital bed.”

“Oh contraire, this is the perfect place for morbid bedtime stories the likes of which would make even the Brothers Grimm quake in their hand-carved wooden clogs,” Dave responded automatically. “But you don’t have to talk about it if it bothers you.”

Karkat shrugged noncommittally.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he said. “I just don’t think it’s all that important.”

“You never think anything about yourself is important,” Dave pointed out. “I on the other hand am thoroughly intrigued by anything that impacted my boyfriend in some meaningful way in order to make him the raging, grumpy, totally adorable nerd he is on this day.”

Karkat twitched, and Dave suspected he had just barely caught himself from elbowing him in the side.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” he grumbled. The blonde smirked at him. “Ugh, whatever. You know I live alone, obviously.”

“I wouldn’t say I knew,” Dave contradicted. “More of an educated guess, since you never actually told me. But now I know. Continue.”

He could hear Karkat’s eyes roll at his splitting of fine hairs.

“Up until recently I was living with Gamzee,” he said. “But I always felt like I was just imposing on them, so I moved out as soon as I was approved and rented that shitty apartment with some savings money from my dad.”

“Why were you living with Gamzee?” Dave wondered. Karkat shrugged.

“His family took me in after my parents died,” he said. “Our dads knew each other, and when my mom died in childbirth they apparently hung out a lot, trying to figure out how to take care of this squishy pink thing as a single dad. Only problem was my dad was really sick, and he died not that long after.”

Dave blinked, and tried to launch into an apology that Karkat stopped almost immediately with a hand over his mouth.

“I wasn’t even a year old, Dave, I don’t remember them at all,” he said. “It’s not like I can miss them.”

“But still, growing up without your parents--” Dave began, tugging the hand away from his face.

“Just shut up, alright?” Karkat cut across him. “I’m just telling you there’s no one they could call. I don’t have any siblings or parents, and I haven’t seen Gamzee’s parents in for-fucking-ever, so...yeah. There’s no one.”

Dave frowned, then leaned into Karkat, setting his temple on his shoulder.

“Nah man, you got loads of people,” he said. “There’s Kanaya, and Sollux, and Rose, and Eridan actually kinda likes you and he never likes anyone, so that’s kinda crazy. Plus Terezi, even though she can’t drive...John’d be here in a second if you asked...Gamzee too, I’d bet, even if he was stoned off his ass when he got here.”

“Dave, that’s not really--”

“You’ve also got me, although I’m already conveniently here,” he interrupted, smirking. “And Bro actually likes you, too. If you needed something he’d definitely pull through. Plus there’s always Jade. I think she has a crush on you a little. You’ve got a lot of people that’d like to hear from you more. Especially if you were in trouble.”

“Dave…” Karkat sighed, leaning back into his boyfriend. “I’m supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“Yeah well we ain’t in one of your stupid romcoms, so pardon me for not following a script,” he retorted. “I’m fine, man. You’re alright, and as long as you don’t regress back into the grumpy old troll who lives under the bridge, I’ll be alright.”

“Grumpy old troll my ass,” Karkat snapped, pulling away abruptly so that Dave fell sideways and flumped gracelessly to the mattress. “At least I’m a recognizable human you shitstain; you just look like a failed kindergarten arts and crafts project.”

“Hey, what happened to comforting me?” Dave protested, struggling to right himself.

“That ship has sailed,” Karkat decided, smirking at the ridiculous pout on Dave’s face.

The injured boy chuckled as well, sliding an arm around Karkat’s shoulders again and pressing his lips against his cheek. Karkat sighed and shifted closer to Dave, turning so that he could slide his arms around the boy’s relatively uninjured waist and tuck his face into his neck. Though a little surprised by the smaller boy taking the initiative for some much-needed cuddles, Dave was no less quick in his response, hugging the boy right back, still not as tightly as either wanted but still with the contact both needed.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said into Karkat’s hair. “I mean, I know you’re too fucking stubborn to actually die or anything, but still...I’m glad you’re not hurt.”

Karkat mumbled something that sounded a lot like shoot the duck cup, though that was probably not an exact translation, and he smirked and set his cheek on the top of the boy’s head. He really needed a haircut; his mess of black tangles was tickling Dave’s nose and tangling with his eyelashes.

“You haven’t slept at all, have you?” Dave wondered after a moment.

“Don’t be stupid, of course I have,” Karkat denied at once.

“Aside from accidentally dozing off in that shitty plastic lawn chair?”

Silence.

Dave sighed and, arms still around Karkat, laid back down. The boy of course protested loudly, but he gave up quickly enough when Dave wrapped himself around him, heedless of the tubes and needles.

“Go to sleep, Karks. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Chapter Text

It was too hot. There was fire everywhere, his body felt like it had shattered, his chest was burning painfully, he couldn’t breathe. Dave tried to scream but choked on smoke. He was in the driver seat, the car was on fire, Karkat was unconscious, he was bleeding. He wrenched at his seat belt, but his fingers just seemed to glance right off, refusing to get a good hold on it. He snarled in frustration, tearing furiously at the thing and getting nowhere. If anything it was getting tighter, squeezing him, trapping him against the back of his seat. The more he fought with it, the tighter it got, until even without the smoke he wouldn’t have been able to breathe. Smoke was filling his vision, turning everything a gross dark gray and making his eyes sting. He gasped for air that he couldn’t get, writhed for the freedom he was being denied, reached frantically toward the passenger seat, trying to catch Karkat’s arm to wake him up, to help him, to get help for himself. The seat was swallowing Dave, pulling him in, and it was hot and dark and he couldn’t breathe and--

“Wake up!”

Someone was shouting.

“Dave, you’re okay!” someone was saying. “Fuck, I’m right here, you’re right here, you’re alright!”

Dave’s eyes snapped open, and instead of being met with the smoldering wreckage of the car he saw the white walls of a hospital room with nary a wisp of smoke inside. There was still something wrapped tightly around his chest, but it wasn’t a seatbelt; it was a pair of arms, and they were crushing him not to the back of a burning seat but to somebody’s hard, heaving chest. He froze, trembling, and tried to remember how to move so that he could look around at the person holding him.

Karkat was watching him with wide eyes, his face the color of old ash and his bottom lip bleeding. Had he bitten his lip? Had Dave accidentally split it during his fitful sleep?

“Are you back in the real world?” Karkat asked cautiously.

“Y-yeah…” Dave mumbled.

His heart was still threatening to burst right out of his chest and he was covered in a cold sweat, but he was back in the hospital room, Karkat with him, both of them fine. He reached out to touch the other boy’s cheek to assure himself that he was real, that he was actually laying there with him and not stuck in a flaming ball of twisted metal. Karkat raised an eyebrow at him, then shook his head and, rolling his eyes, slid his arms around Dave again to tug the larger boy over. Dave stiffened for the barest hint of a second, thoughts of the seat belt strangling him popping up in his mind, but he shoved them aside and wrapped himself around Karkat as much as his IVs would allow.

“Are you okay?” Karkat asked.

“Mmfine,” he mumbled into the boy’s hair. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for fucking nightmares, you know,” Karkat said. “It’s your subconscious, it’s not like you have any control over--”

“I’m not apologizing for having nightmares,” Dave interrupted, lips twitched in spite of himself. “I’m sorry I woke you up; you look like you haven’t slept in years, and here I go helping out those sandbags under your eyes.”

Karkat sighed and grumbled incoherently into Dave’s shirtfront.

“Go back to sleep,” Dave urged him. “I’m fine.”

The thin arms around his waist tightened and Karkat mumbled again.

“Yeah yeah, I’m stupid, I’m a jackass, blah, blah, blah,” he chuckled. “Aren’t you glad you get all that and more all to yourself?”

The other boy fell silent and Dave knew instinctively that he was blushing like an anime school girl. He smirked and buried his nose in the boy’s wiry black tangle of hair, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The adrenaline had already gone, leaving him more exhausted than ever, and sleep wasn’t far away. The last thing he remembered was Karkat mumbling something into his chest, something he didn’t quite catch, and then the arms around him had tightened, and he was gone.

Dave wasn’t fine. Well, physically his injuries were recovering at an impressive rate. His right arm was tender but quite usable, his left arm was healing remarkably well--there had been several breaks, but as it turned out the bone hadn’t shattered into shards but into clean sections that, once reset, began mending quite nicely--and he was regaining slowly some sense in his lower extremities, though using them was still beyond him. No, physically Dave wasn’t only fine but a model for recovery. His mental and emotional health was an entirely different story.

Almost every night he would start awake at least once, but often more, from a nightmare. Almost every day he would lose focus, start staring at nothing, and he would enter a horrible state of panic, hyperventilating and even clawing at his chest at times as though something--like a seatbelt--was cutting into him. Shadows were forming under his eyes, he was barely eating; soon he’d be too thin to be allowed to tease Karkat anymore. And it was driving his boyfriend fucking crazy in the worst way.

Karkat was so stressed out trying to figure out how to help the boy that never needed help that he was probably at risk for becoming bald soon from a combination of shedding his hair and tearing at it. Every time Dave entered one of his fits Karkat fell into a blind panic because he couldn’t do anything, he had no idea what might help pull Dave back, so all he could do was talk. Once he tried to hug Dave, but it just made the situation worse, so he’d refrained from doing it since, resorting to touching the boy’s face or cautiously running his fingers through his hair. That seemed to calm him down a little, and usually he snapped out of it fairly quickly, but his panic attacks left him weak and exhausted. The nurses had managed to miss them each time, and while he knew that Dave preferred it like that, Karkat felt like he should tell them. It was their job to help him, right? If they knew it was going on, they could do something for him, but he didn’t want to upset Dave.

Right now he was asleep--peacefully so, thank god--and Karkat was sitting in the chair at his bedside, knees tucked tightly to his chest.

This whole situation was reminding him of just how useless he was. He didn’t help people. He didn’t know how. What did an angry little asshole have to offer in the ways of comfort and support? “Tough love” could only get one so far, and though he didn’t know what Dave did need, he knew what he didn’t need, and that was at the top of the list. He wanted to help. He needed to help, so badly that it caused him physical pain to understand that there was very little he could do besides simply be there for the boy.

Then even that was taken away.

“Sweetheart, you can’t stay here forever. You’ve got school, don’t you? Friends that are probably worried about you?”

“They’ve come by,” he mumbled to the nurse on duty. She had short auburn hair and a stern face, and she didn’t appear to be having any of his shit.

“Be that as it may, we can’t allow you to continue staying here,” she told him. “You’re perfectly healthy and he needs alone time to rest without any distraction.”

“Alone time?” Karkat repeated, astounded. “A teenager almost dies in a fu--in a car crash and you think what he needs is alone time?! Are you kidding me?”

She gave him a stern look that might’ve made others less stubborn back down, but this bitch was bass ackwards and he was not going to stand for it.

“People in situations like these need constant company,” he continued, his frustration increasing as the nurse gave no sign of caring what he said. It didn’t help that he was trying very, very hard not to swear at her because he knew that would be a surefire way to get him thrown out. “If you leave someone alone after something so d--traumatic happened to them they’re gonna go insane!”

“That’s what we’re here for, and I think I know a bit more about healthcare than you, dear,” the nurse said, smiling with sickening sweetness that did not cover up the condescending tone she was using. Karkat bristled.

“You could’ve fooled me,” he snapped, unthinking. The woman’s demeanor hardened, and Karkat felt his stomach drop like a stone. Shit.

“You need to leave, young man,” she said coolly. “I’m afraid you’ve overstayed your welcome, and if you continue to undermine my experience and authority I will call security to escort you out.”

He clenched his jaw and crossed his arms tightly across his thin chest, digging his fingers into his biceps to hide the fact that they were shaking. He couldn’t leave Dave here. He wouldn’t. As much as he wanted to say it was only so that he could continue providing support and comfort to the boy and for the boy, Karkat knew his desire was more selfish than that. He liked feeling needed, even if he knew there wasn’t really anything he could do, and he liked feeling like Dave wanted him here, that he liked having him to hold and talk to. He liked feeling important to someone, and he didn’t want that to go away upon leaving.

He also didn’t want to be alone himself. Back in his apartment with its shitty heating system, its stifling quiet, its dusty surfaces, its empty rooms. He didn’t want to return to the empty rooms, didn’t want to go back to being by himself. As loathe as he was to admit it, Karkat had grown accustomed to always having someone--Dave--with him, and he didn’t know if he could go back to being on his own.

There was no way he could tell the nurse that, though. Not that he had a chance.

“Karkat, hey!” someone hollered from the hallway.

The boy and the nurse both jumped in surprise, and Dave grumbled in his sleep and rolled over. When they turned around, they saw a slender young man peeking in through the doorframe, his dark brown-black hair a windswept disaster.

“Egbert,” Karkat said, startled. “You’re...what are you doing here?”

He gave Karkat a small, weak smile and patted his hip, where a cell phone-shaped bulge was protruding in his pocket.

“Bro called me a while ago,” he said uncomfortably. “I would’ve come before, but I haven’t been able to get out of the house until today. How are you doing?”

Karkat opened his mouth to respond, but the nurse cut across him.

“He was just leaving, actually,” she said quickly. “Dave is asleep, so there’s no need for company.”

“She’s kicking me out,” Karkat corrected, taking some small victory in the aggravated look she shot him.

John raised his eyebrows, then gestured for Karkat to leave the room with him. He hesitated, sure that the door would be closed and locked the second he was out of the room and uncertain what the newcomer could have to tell him that was of any importance. But the boy looked so earnest that Karkat couldn’t help but feel himself cave in, and he reluctantly trudged out after John, throwing the nurse a pointed glower on his way. She ignored him and went to check Dave’s monitors.

“What do you want?” Karkat said bluntly when they were out in the hall.

“Nothing, really,” John said. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“Your best friend is in a hospital bed and you’re asking me how I’m doing? What the fuck, were you dropped off a truck as an infant?” Karkat wondered incredulously.

John chuckled, but his amusement didn’t linger.

“You might as well be bedridden yourself,” he said. “You haven’t left once, have you?”

Karkat looked away.

“I’m fine,” he bit out. “I’m doing just dandy. I’m just here for Dave.”

“Really?” John said skeptically. Karkat scowled at him.

“Yes, really, assmunch,” he snapped. “If you’re gonna psychoanalyze me like Lalonde you’re wasting your time because I am perfectly fine. I am the fucking epitome of o-fucking-kay.”

“Right…” said John, clearly not believing a word.

And why should he? Karkat was entirely full of shit, he wasn’t fine, it was glaringly obvious, but damned if he was going to admit his weakness to anybody that wasn’t wearing stupid shitty aviators and entirely too much red. John was someone he barely knew and who barely knew him; he had no reason to divulge all his stupid emotions and thoughts to the bucktoothed wonder at all.

“How’s Dave doing?” the boy asked.

Karkat glanced back at the door. The nurse had closed it--big surprise--but the image of Dave in the hospital bed was branded into his mind anyway. What did he tell John? How was Dave, really? Karkat wasn’t sure; he just knew that Dave had a long way to go before he was “okay.”

“He’s...healing,” Karkat said vaguely. Dave didn’t want anybody to worry about him. He didn’t want anyone besides Karkat to know about the problems outside of his physical injuries.

John blew out a long breath.

“That’s good,” he said, relieved. “His brother said he had a collapsed lung and a bunch of bruising and breaks. Really I don’t know how serious any of that stuff is, but I guess that’s kind of why I was so worried. ”

“Yeah, he’s off the respirator, which is supposed to be good,” Karkat said. “And they’re saying that the breaks were clean, so there aren’t little bones shards causing any more damage.”

“That’s good to hear,” said John, and his tone was so reassured that Karkat felt a pang of possessiveness that he tried very hard to stifle.

John was Dave’s friend; he was allowed to worry about the idiot. That didn’t diminish Karkat’s significance, it just meant that Dave was important to more than one person, and he was glad for that. Dave deserved to have people care. That knowledge didn’t necessarily mean that Karkat wasn’t going to feel threatened, though. Codependent as he was, he needed constant affirmation that he still mattered, and when other people that mattered to the same person turned up, it shook his foundation a little.

“I don’t know what Bro would’ve done if Dave had--” John cut himself off suddenly, swallowing convulsively and looking away as though he couldn’t even bear to say the word. “Just...after losing their parents...This has gotta be like deja-vu for him.”

“But Dave’s gonna be fine,” Karkat said bluntly. He has to be.

John looked back at him and smiled. “Yeah. Well, if Dave isn’t allowed to have visitors, should I take you home?”

Karkat shook his head.

“I can walk,” he told the other boy. “It’s not far.”

He shrugged.

“Okay, cool. See you around then?” he said as he turned and started walking down the hall.

“See you around…” Karkat mumbled, watching him go but not really seeing his back. He was still seeing Dave thrashing in the throes of a nightmare.

Dave would be fine. He would be.

Chapter Text

Going back to school was worse than ever. Having become accustomed to having his stupid blonde buffer whenever he was in the halls, going back to walking alone with an armful of books while other people talked and laughed was miserable. Karkat had been reacquinted with the walls and lockers and floor already, and though Terezi and Kanaya cracked down on the assholes responsible whenever they saw it happen, they weren’t effective permanent deterrents. Patrick had a lot of time to make up for, and he wasn’t wasting any more. Dave might as well have never happened for all Karkat was going through now. The last two years were wiped away just like a poorly written calculus equation one of the math department’s shitty whiteboards, and Karkat was back to where he’d started high school. In more ways than one.

The weather was beginning to get notably warmer, and he was still wearing his heavy, overlarge sweater. His stomach ached, his arms stung when he carried his books, and he barely noticed. He hadn’t been to see Dave in a couple of days because he’d had to catch up on all the stupid homework he’d missed, and he crashed the second it was done, so all he’d been doing in his spare time was worrying about Dave and feeling sorry for himself. Was Dave okay? Were his nightmares easing up? Had he had another fit today?

Karkat shoved his history textbook into his bag with enough force to damage a seam that he would never fix and rose to his feet just as the bell rang. He should be with Dave at the hospital, his schoolwork be damned, but his friends wouldn’t hear of it; they thought that passive updates would be enough to keep him pacified until he was caught up. They didn’t get it. Dave needed him, now more than ever, and it was his duty to be there and take care of him the way Dave had too often done for him.

“Hey queerfuck,” someone hissed in his ear. “Is it true your fuckboy is in the hospital ‘cause you gave him AIDS?”

“What is with your obsession with sexuality and STDs?” Karkat wondered curtly. “Need more information to build your steamy fucking fantasies upon? Because if so, I suggest returning to your gay porn for references, it’ll get you farther. I mean, not in life, but farther into the gutter for fucking sure.”

“I ain’t a fucking faggot,” Patrick said, firing up at once. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

“So is tobacco but I don’t give you shit every time I see you pull a fucking cigarette out in the V-lot,” Karkat snapped, evading the foot aimed for his ankle and darting toward the door.

Something caught the back of his sweater and jerked him to a halt, catching him sharply around the throat and forcing a choked noise out between his clenched teeth. Grip lost, his bag fell to the floor and the seam that he’d just torn burst open, spewing loose papers and pencils that nobody cared to evade as they walked along.

“You got a lot of nerve for a tiny punk,” Patrick hissed in his ear as Karkat struggled to pry his fat fingers free from his sweater. “You forgetting your bodyguard ain’t here?”

“Oh fuck you, Dave isn’t my bodyguard,” Karkat snapped.

“Really?” the other boy scoffed, tugging him closer. Karkat let out a strangled noise as the sweater pressed harder against his throat. “What’d you call it then?”

“He’s my friend,” he rasped. “He sticks around because he wants to, not because he has to like your pack of insufferable douche nozzles. As if any of them actual like you?”

Karkat really didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish with his smart mouth, but for a change he didn’t regret the words that had impulsive left his mouth. Instead he felt a surge of bravado--probably ill-founded but present all the same. The hold on his shirt vanished and he straightened up, whipping around to scowl at the idiot that took such pleasure in harassing him. His glare was returned, but Karkat wasn’t going to back down. Not from this one. He was beyond finished with being everyone’s plaything, and he had other things to worry about without trying to explain to Dave that everything was totally normal at school while sporting a black eye or missing his school back or whatever the fuck else might arise from the usual harassment. Dave was in the fucking hospital dealing with physical and mental trauma, and Karkat was not going to give him anything else to worry about. So fuck Patrick, fuck Johnny, fuck all the assholes that wanted to make Karkat another problem for Dave.

“Who’d want to be friends with you?” Patrick sneered. “You’re just a tiny little prick with no family and people that only talk to you ‘cause they feel sorry for you. Anyone that keeps you company is just doing it out of pity. You’re useless.”

“Go fuck yourself sideways,” Karkat snarled. “What’s useless is going around starting stupid petty issues between people and harassing people smaller than you. You think that’s gonna get you anywhere in life? The only thing that’s useless here is you and your superiority complex you motherfucking bilge licker!”

Silence. The entire hallway had frozen in time. The students around them weren’t moving, weren’t talking, weren’t laughing. There were at least a dozen stares fixed on Karkat in incredulity, because all these people had become accustomed to one thing, and that was Karkat bowing his head and tucking his tail between his legs whenever Patrick harassed him. Karkat might have exploded into unintelligible obscenities every now and then, but never had he retaliated like this. Never had he defended himself. He was standing with his shoulders thrown back, and he was staring Patrick full in the face as if daring him to come any closer, to say anything else. And Karkat was damn proud of the confusion on Patrick’s face, damn proud that he had actually struck the jackass dumb.

“Good luck manning the garbage truck for the rest of your sad, unfulfilling life,” Karkat finished, kneeling to quickly grab his things and shove into his bag so that they wouldn’t fall out again. When he straightened up, Patrick was gone, and most of the students had returned to whatever useless drivel they were talking about, leaving him to turn and stalk outside with his bag cradled in his arms to prevent any more things from spilling out the newly made hole or the premade opening.

The weather was turning deceptively warm, but nobody in town was stupid enough to think that it would last; Klamath had at least ten false starts before spring actually came, and then another four before summer, so nobody expected the sun to stick around for more than a week or two. Still, it was a nice reprieve to walk home without being pelted with rain, snow, or hail since Karkat was already trying to keep all his things together in his torn bag and couldn’t spare a moment to defend himself against the weather as well. The sun felt kind of nice on the back of his neck, and it was preferable not to have the wind blowing his hair into his eyes because he hadn’t bothered to cut it for weeks bordering on months.

Karkat slowed down and glanced over his shoulder; he’d walked far enough to where he could only see the very top of the school building, so that was where he looked. Had it been smart of him to go off like that? A couple snarky words in the heat of the moment were all well and good, but Patrick wasn’t one for slinking off after a slap on the back of his hand. What was Karkat in for tomorrow?

He shook his head furiously. No, he was being stupid, he was in for nothing tomorrow. He wasn’t going to give Patrick the satisfaction of thinking that whatever Karkat spat out while he was pissed didn’t apply after twelve hours. He could back himself up, and he would.

Karkat’s hip started to vibrate, jerking him out of his thoughts with a yelp as he dropped his bag to scramble for his phone. Pockets became magically more difficult to work when you were trying frantically to get something out of them, but he did manage to pull his cell out and hit the ‘answer’ button with enough force to make the screen temporarily change color. He didn’t need to check the caller ID because only one person would be calling him right now, and every instinct in Karkat’s body was screaming that they weren’t calling about anything good.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey Karkat,” said John’s voice on the other end. “You’re out of school right?”

“Yeah genius, that’s why I’m on my phone,” Karkat snapped. “What’s up? Is Dave okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dave’s great,” John said hurriedly, noticing Karkat’s unease. “Awesome, actually. He’s going home today. Just, uh, thought you’d wanna know.”

Karkat froze.

“He’s going home?” he repeated. “They’re letting him leave the hospital?”

“Yeah!” John confirmed cheerfully. “He’s gotta use a wheelchair for a while, but everyone’s totally sure that it’s only temporary. He’s already wiggling his toes again, so I think it’s just a precaution, but he should be good as new soon. Isn’t that great?”

Karkat felt heart leap into his throat. Dave was going home. They were letting him out of the hospital, he was going home, he really was going to be alright. He was going home.

“Karkat?” John prompted when he didn’t reply. “Are you there?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’m here,” he said, shaking his head. “Are you at the hospital?”

“No, but I saw Bro earlier today and he told me.”

“Okay. I’m, uh, I’m gonna go now,” Karkat told John. “Talk to you...later, I guess.”

“Cool,” John answered. “Smell ya later!”

A click preceded the dial tone, and Karkat absently shut his phone off and knelt to pick up his things, a huge weight seeming to have lifted off his shoulders. Dave was okay, he was well enough to leave the hospital, and Karkat was going to go right over there and see him. He’d wait on the doorstep if he beat the Striders to their apartment, but he was going straight to see Dave.

Chapter Text

Dave was not looking forward to going back to school, for more than one reason. The building was a disaster of staircases and narrow hallways that would in no way shape or form accommodate the wheelchair he was being forced to use, never mind the single elevator that no one ever seemed to have the key for. However, seeing as he couldn’t properly walk at the moment, due partly to some lingering lack of sensation and mostly due to the broken leg, he didn’t have much choice on the matter. What he was more put out over was the fact that he wasn’t allowed to wear his shades until the injuries on his face healed up because they’d caused a fair amount of damage when they tried to meet his fucking brain in the crash, and even though it was mostly superficial--save the broken nose--the nurses wouldn’t hear of him wearing them until the injuries were healed up, since they’d be sitting right on top of the superficial damage. Dave couldn’t believe that Bro was actually going along with it, especially since the shades were kind of necessary because of his eyes and without them he’d get pounding headaches, light-induced pain, and a ton of shit from the kids at school. But somehow Bro was adamant that Dave would go without the sunglasses until his face healed.

He also hadn’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in two weeks. When Karkat had been with him, he’d done...okay. The nightmares were there, but so was Karkat, and he’d helped calm him down until he could doze off. But the nurse had told Karkat to leave, and then Dave had no one. Every night he’d woken up sweating and thrashing, still in that stupid car, still trying to take the entire impact and keep his passenger from getting hurt, and it could take hours for him to get his heart rate down from a nearly singular, prolonged beep. The nurses had noticed the monitor going haywire and had given him drugs to “help,” but they didn’t make the nightmares go away; they just made it harder for him to wake up, harder for him to shake it off, and several times since they put him on the drugs he’d experienced what he could only assume was sleep paralysis. Even when he woke up, he couldn’t move a muscle, though his body was still taut from fight-or-flight mode.

Needless to say he wasn’t in the best of spirits.

But the one thing that seemed to help was back. Karkat had been sitting in front of the door to their apartment when he and Bro arrived, his school bag sitting, ripped, next to him, and when he looked up and saw Dave wheeling down the hallway, the way his face fucking lit up made Dave feel for a moment like he’d jump up like Charlie’s grandpa in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. He didn’t, obviously, but it was like a dark shadow had finally removed itself from above his head, and he reached out and hugged his boyfriend while Bro unlocked the door and told them to take their romantic reunion to more private quarters.

Karkat hadn’t left since then and had been making due with wearing some of Dave’s old things, rolling up the legs on the pants and tucking in the shirts so that they didn’t hang down over his ass. Dave wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he got quite a kick out of seeing Karkat wear his clothes. The boy took to curling up on Dave’s bed with him every night, falling asleep watching stupid movies, and it was as if he was some kind of magic charm, because that first night back home he slept clear through. The nightmares started to fade out, and he could go days without having them. It was fantastic.

The first day back had been the hardest thing yet. Lacking his shades, Dave did got crippling headaches and spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office with the lights off, trying not to throw up and insisting that Karkat go to class because he was fine, it was normal for him. However, when the pain didn’t go away, Dave gave up and went back to dealing with it in class. He got a lot of vampire comments, a lot of cripple jokes, and a couple people that took the humor too far, but he found that he wasn’t very good at steering his wheelchair yet and “accidentally” ran over a few sets of toes. Completely by mistake. Nothing intentional.

The person he expected the most grief from, however, didn’t do more than throw him a dirty look here and there. When Dave asked Karkat about it, the boy actually swelled just a little and said that he “took care of it,” whatever the hell that meant. Dave couldn’t complain, but it did feel a little strange to be the person taken care of rather than the person doing the caring. Especially since it was Karkat taking over.

“Wow,” Karkat said, sitting on the floor and leaning back against Dave’s legs. “We made it to lunch and we’ve only gotten a dozen people making Tiny Tim jokes and asking if you’re gonna fucking sparkle. Maybe Gamzee’s right and miracles are a thing that happen every once in a blue moon.”

Dave snorted, running his fingers through Karkat’s hair and trying to work out some of the tangles.

“I’ll consider the possible existence of miracles when I’m finally allowed to wear my shades again, because god damn I am in too much pain right now to believe in any kind of magic, especially something preached about so regularly by a stoner.”

Karkat gave a bark of a laugh and reached up to catch one of Dave’s hands, lacing their fingers clumsily together.

“If you weren’t so fucking sensitive to the light I’d say the lack of girly sunglasses was a definite improvement,” the boy said. “As it is, though, you need those style hazards to function properly, so I guess I’ll be seeing those travesties to decent clothing soon enough.”

“Hey, my shades are the shit,” Dave fired back at once, though his lips curved into a smile that Karkat couldn’t see. “Just because you can’t appreciate actual fashion doesn’t mean everyone else is blind to how awesome my sunglasses are.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Karkat responded airily. “All I’m saying is that you look better without them, not that they look bad.”

Dave pressed his lips together and, having no words, leaned down to set his forehead on Karkat’s crown, closing his eyes and just breathing in the smell of his own shampoo. Karkat gave him a lot of shit for saying sappy things with nary a twitch of the eyebrow, but then he went and did the exact same thing so easily it was like he was a trained professional. He didn’t like his eyes, and he’d never given any indication to the contrary; they were weird, abnormal, and they couldn’t even function correctly on their own. That wasn’t to say he was ashamed of them, but had he been given the opportunity to ditch his condition, he would’ve taken it faster than Ben Stiller had taken every role he could get his grubby paws on. Other people weren’t big fans of the freaky eyes either, solely because they were freaky. Whether they called him a vampire or an accident of nature didn’t change the fact that  he was harassed for his biological makeup on the regular. The shades were as much a defense mechanism as they were a health requirement. Even if he didn’t need them to mediate the light attacking his weak eyes, he’d have worn them to keep the general populus from going ape-shit moron on his poor white ass.

And here was some lame little nerd who somehow didn’t give two shits about Dave’s incredible abnormality, who actually went a step beyond not caring and said he liked it. How? How the hell did he do that? All he’d said was that Dave looked better without his shades, yet those words meant more than if the rest of the entire student body had gotten on their hands and knees and begun worshipping him for his abnormality.

“Dave?” Karkat wondered, fidgeting a little as if trying to look around without dislodging Dave’s head. “Are you okay?”

“Duh, obviously I’m okay. Really I’m a thousand times better than okay,” Dave replied. “‘Okay’ is actually an insult to my level of chill and is akin to telling Sollux that he’s a “nerd” when we all know he’s the biggest fucking coding dork in the universe and quite possibly several other universes as well. There is not enough space in existence that could handle my amounts of heaping better-than-okay should it ever somehow escape from its steel enclosure that is my physical form.”

“Now what did I say wrong?” Karkat sighed, leaning his head back in Dave’s lap and forcing the latter to sit up and make eye contact with him.

“Nothing, didn’t you hear me?” Dave said with a shrug. “I’m absolutely perfect, you didn’t--”

“You know, I can tell when you’re lying with the shades, but without them I think even Gamzee-Mirthful-Messiahs-Makara could pick up on your steaming ton of horse shit,” Karkat interrupted, giving Dave the most Spock-like eyebrow lift.

Dave rolled his eyes--groaning internally as it agitated his headache--and slid his fingers into Karkat’s hair, playing with the strands absently.

“Really Karkat, I’m fine,” he said honestly. “You just have an irritating habit of surprising the notoriously steadfast and un-surprisable Dave Strider.”

Karkat snorted and closed his eyes, leaning into Dave’s touch.

“Yeah, well, someone has to knock you off your high horse every once in a while,” he said imperiously. “It’s just too bad that you keep climbing back on it. It’s a lot of fucking work trying to keep you grounded with the rest of us more sensible people.”

“Sensible my ass,” Dave said, amused. “Ampora’s been ducking doorways and running up and down stairs avoiding our favorite computer geek ever since the fiasco that was Terezi’s New Years party. That doesn’t sound sensible to me.”

“There are exceptions to everything you jackass,” Karkat snapped. “But you don’t get to be one of them.”

“Aw, that’s no fair,” Dave whined. “How come I can’t be a lame douche lord with their head so far in the clouds that NASA tried sticking a flag in it?”

“You already are that,” Karkat retorted. “I’m just keeping you from getting out any further.”

Dave chuckled and rumpled Karkat’s hair, making sure he pushed a fair amount of it over the boy’s eyes.

“Fair enough I guess,” he said, laughing as Karkat swatted at him while simultaneously trying to shake the hair out of his eyes.

He sighed and leaned back down, touching his forehead to Karkat’s and closing his eyes in contentment. Yeah, he’d be really glad when he could wear his shades again--honestly he was thinking that he’d probably just take them with him to school and remove them just when Bro was around--but it wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. KU didn’t seem to give a shit one way or the other about how you looked or what your preferences were beyond a few jackasses, but those were to be found everywhere, and all in all he hadn’t had half of the hard time he had any one day at Mazama. All in all, not too bad. He might even miss this school when he graduated.

“You’re thinking stupid thoughts again,” Karkat observed.

Dave snorted, shifting so that he could kiss his boyfriend’s temple.

“No thoughts that pass through the glory that is my skull could ever be mistaken for stupid, Karkitten,” he said informatively.

“As if,” Karkat replied. “Actually, no, you’re right. They’re not stupid, that’s too simple a word. The things that go through your head are the equivalent of an uncultured, uneducated civilization of moronic dickfucks who would try to carve a pumpkin with a plastic spoon and then attack each other when the spoon broke.”

“I...have nothing to say to that,” Dave said, lips twitching. “Except that you could’ve just said Keno, and I would’ve got the general idea.”

Keno was a section of the Klamath Basin just outside of town, and was everything that Karkat had just described with the added bonus of having collectively maybe fifteen teeth and twelve different chromosomes between the entire population. A lot of people called Klamath Falls “Klam-tucky,” but if that was the case, then Keno was the Arkansas of the Basin. Karkat clearly got the joke, because he laughed so suddenly that his forehead smacked into Dave’s, forgoing amusing and leaping straight into pure agony as Dave’s throbbing cranium got a fresh dose of nociception.

He reeled back, cringing and groaning pathetically in the wheelchair, as Karkat leapt to his feet, the blood draining from his already pale face. Past trying to suppress the pulsing haze in his brain, Dave waved a weak hand in the general direction of Karkat, trying to calm him down but probably only freaking him out more. He couldn’t really tell; the white noise that had been pressing against his ears seemed to have exploded with that little bit of contact.

“Karkat,” said Dave quietly. “It’s fine, I’m alri--”

“Fuck shit okay should I got get the nurse or--fucking hell I’m so sorry I didn’t mean--fuck I fucked up shit shit--”

“Karkles,” he said, a little louder, reaching out until his fingers touched Karkat’s shirt. “Chill, it’s fine.”

“But you’re the one with a migraine and I just go and--”

“Karkat, this is pretty normal,” Dave said slowly, trying to tug Karkat into his lap with his eyes still closed. “It’s not your fault. I’m a freak of nature, remember?”

He said the last bit with a smile, but he knew without looking that Karkat wouldn’t lighten up at that.

“I’m used to it,” he sighed, tugging a little harder on Karkat’s shirt; he reluctantly moved closer, so he was standing right next to Dave. The fair boy reached out and slid his arm around Karkat’s waist in an awkward half-hug that was reciprocated by Karkat settling his arms cautiously around Dave’s shoulders. Something soft pressed against the top of Dave’s head.

“Telling me you’re used to it doesn’t stop me from freaking out,” Karkat mumbled into Dave’s hair. The other boy smiled.

“I know.”

“Should I take you to the nurse’s office?”

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“That’s the word you go with? Fine?”

“Well I’m as fine here as I would be in her office.”

“Idiot.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah.”

Dave went still. So did Karkat.

“...Really?” Dave said quietly.

“Of course really,” Karkat huffed, trying to his usual bluster and failing when his voice hitched. “Are your listening channels not functioning or something?”

“Just wanted to double-check,” said Dave, lips curling slowly. “You say stuff you don’t mean all the time. I wouldn’t put it past you to be that dude that says it cuz he thinks he’s supposed to.”

Karkat groaned spectacularly and broke away, turning so that his back was to Dave and sitting resolutely on the floor. He was blushing, Dave knew it, and he was probably chewing on his lip. The boy reached out and slid his fingers through Karkat’s hair, taking amusement in the way the boy visibly tried to not press into his palm.

“Me too, Karks,” he said. “Me too.”

The other boy stiffened for a moment, and Dave feared he had said the wrong thing, but then he scooted back a little and rested his head on the arm of the chair.

“Well I think you’re both groth.”

“No one asked you Sollux,” Karkat snapped. “You might wanna hide; I see Eridan.”

Dave and Karkat both snickered as Sollux whipped around in a frenzy. When it was clear that Karkat was just messing with him, he turned back around, slightly red around the ears, and flipped both of them off.

“You guyth are dickth,” he grumbled.

“Why don’t you two just figure that shit out?” Dave wondered. “You’re obviously hot for each other, so why--”

“That’th fucking dithguthting,” Sollux interrupted, temper flaring even as his blush darkened. “There’th no way I’d ever like--”

“Wwho? Me?”

Dave and Karkat stiffened, looked at each other, and then quickly looked away, lips twitching madly as they fought the incredible urge to burst into uproarious laughter at the look on Sollux’s face as he slowly forced himself to look around. Standing a yard or so away from him and creating somewhat of a traffic block in the hall was--no surprise--Eridan, holding his books and glowering morosely at the skinny boy that had just been lisping up a storm of disgust.

“Could’vve fooled me wwith the wway you wwere hangin onto me at the party,” Eridan said snidely, hoisting his books up a little more comfortably in his arms.

“The wonderth of alcohol,” Sollux retorted. “No one with half a brain thell to thpare would drape themthelveth over you thober.”

“Speak for yourself,” Eridan snapped derisively. “At least I havve a personality. You’re as dull drunk as you are on a regular day.”

“I dunno if I’d call ‘raging douchewhale’ a perthonality tho much ath a perthonal shortcoming,” Sollux said, his ears growing rather pink.

Dave and Karkat looked at each other again, and hastily made their escape, managing to suppress their sniggers until they were around the corner and hopefully out of earshot. Karkat in particular was nearly crying with mirth, and he just couldn’t resist voicing his thoughts once he had enough air in his lungs to do so.

“Watch them be voted ‘cutest couple’ for the yearbook next year.”

Chapter Text

Another school year. Another year almost, almost done. The weather was getting warmer again, the booty shorts and bro tanks were making their comebacks, the teachers were frantic in trying to enforce the dress code while simultaneously trying to explain how they weren’t perpetuating rape culture by insisting that girls dress modestly or else accept whatever comes their way. Less homework was getting finished with each passing day as the clock ticked down until summer. And someone was relearning the mechanics behind walking.

Dave had spent a week and a half in the wheelchair, regaining his mobility a little bit at a time, and had moved to crutches two weeks before the summer holidays were set to begin, and he had this to say; the crutches made him feel less helpless and at the same time more useless. At least with the wheelchair he could carry all his own shit--and everybody else’s because what else were friends for?--in his lap or hanging on the back. With his crutches he needed somebody with him at all times who was willing to carry his bag with all its books and notepads and pencils, who would get the doors for him when possible, who would refrain from kicking the crutches away from him. Still, he was regaining mobility, regaining feeling, so he was getting better. Soon he’d be able to walk like normal again, and everything would go back to how it was.

With some minor pleasant adjustments. Whatever Karkat had done to Patrick, while probably not that severe, had made the boy leery of harassing either of them since Dave’s return, which was a huge relief what with all the other shit going down. Rose, along with her sister Roxy and their mom, was going to France for the summer. Something about her mother wanting to do some firsthand research for her next novel. Jade was going on a trip with her cousin Jake and their grandpa; they were going to hike the Pacific Crest Trail along the mountain range on the west side of the US. Bro was trying to get in touch with his and Dave’s cousin who still lived in Texas, with no success. Dave couldn’t say he was displeased--he’d never met the kid, so it was hard for him to feel disappointed when the pattern continued without pause. John on the other hand had gotten in touch with his Nanna and was going to visit her with his family in July.

Karkat would be spending the summer with the Striders. He didn’t have anyone else to do it with; Gamzee had kind of fallen off the radar, though he was probably still around, and Sollux had declared himself busy with a coding seminar in Eugene. Like hell it would take up his entire summer, but Karkat let the boy bow out somewhat gracefully, knowing part of his reason for avoiding everyone and everything was that he and Eridan still hadn’t resolved...whatever it was that was going on between the two of them. Kanaya had offered her home, but that was before she’d been invited on the Lalonde’s trip, and while Karkat believed her wholeheartedly when she said that Porrim would love to have him over, he just wasn’t sure how comfortable he was at the prospect of seeing that first responder from...well, he wasn’t sure he was ready for any reminders.

“You’re gonna give yourself an aneurism,” someone hissed in his ear. Karkat yelped and whipped around, arms flying in front of him automatically to shield his face. It was just Terezi though, grinning her cheeky, somewhat evil grin.

Karkat rolled his eyes and suppressed a yawn, cursing the school’s failure of a ventilation system and the consequential smothering heat inside the building that made him so drowsy that he could’ve fallen asleep standing up. Terezi continued to grin from her seat behind him, her milky white eyes gleaming behind her scarlet glasses.

“We’re almost out,” she crowed as Mr Martin fast-forwarded through the commercials on the recording of his time on Jeopardy. “One more class, and then we’re seniors~”

“Hm…” Karkat mumbled noncommittally.

As far as he was concerned being a senior wasn’t going to be all that great; the senior projects and portfolios had brought some of the graduating class this year to tears with frustration, and both of those things were obviously required for graduating. The only saving grace of year twelve would be a much kinder class schedule, their one sort of compensation for the grueling and tedious work that would take up their free time.

“Karkles, you’re suppose to be excited,” she pouted, prodding him in the cheek.

He glowered at her and made as if to bite her finger. She just retaliated with flicking him on the forehead.

“Oh, I get it,” she said, lips curling again. “Sumer’s not gonna be much different for you now is it? Just some extra time with your boyfriend, as if you don’t already live in his apartment already?”

“Shut up,” Karkat snapped, ears growing hot. He turned back to face the front of the class, folding his arms tightly across his chest.

She snorted. “Make sure you give him a big kiss right on his dumb dorky face after school Karkles, right in front of everyone. Or maybe I’ll tell him to do it to you.”

“Oh my god just shut up,” Karkat groaned, sinking lower in his chair.

“What?” she said innocently. “Isn’t that what boyfriends do? Have sloppy makeouts in front of the entire student body?”

“Like you would kn--” he started, but he was cut off by the bell and, thanking his few lucky stars, quickly snatched his very light backpack and scurried from the room, pretending he couldn’t hear his friend’s childish chanting of “Dave and Karkat sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I--”

Nobody seemed to be paying her or him any attention, though, and he squeezed through the throngs of sweaty teenagers whose hormones seemed to have been thrown into overdrive by the warmth and light of early June with relative ease, sliding into his History classroom with nary a teasing comment thrown his way. Dave hadn’t been wrong. The school had gotten bored of the whole sordid affair pretty quickly, leaving Terezi as the only one to openly address their relationship in any capacity.

Karkat was actually a little worried about Dave, though...He’d left the school after second period, sending Karkat a text telling him that he was supposed to go to the hospital for whatever reason and that the boy didn’t need to tote his shit around for him. He hadn’t said why he had to leave early on the last day of school, or why Karkat couldn’t come with him, so it was natural for him to be worried, right? The boy was hurt and on crutches, then he just up and ditches the very last day? What was that important, really?

He heaved a grumbling sigh and pretended to care about Mr. Croxford’s fishing plans if the nearby volcano were to erupt in his lifetime for the duration of the shortened class period. There was an incessant buzz throughout the students the entire time the teacher was talking, mostly excited humming made up of people who were sooooo excited to go swim in the algae-rich lake the second school was out and people planning their alcohol-soaked parties. Karkat rolled his eyes and folded his arms on the desk, laying his chin down on them and looking at a fascinating doodle of nothing that was carved into the wooden surface.

A vehicle growled past the window, and Karkat remembered his irritation with whoever  thought it would be a good idea to put classrooms right against the street; half the time the students couldn’t even here the teacher’s lectures over the sound of lifted trucks and shitty mufflers. He shifted in his chair, setting the side of his head down on his arms now instead of his chin in an attempt to block some of the noise by pressed his right ear directly against his forearm until the vehicle passed. The growling persisted. He tightened his arms as if that would make the idiot driver go away faster, but still the noise didn’t dissipate. Had they really parked right outside the goddamn classroom?

Scowling, he lifted his head to glare out the window. A fucking motorcycle, of course. That was the douchebag ride, especially in a place like Klamath where the weather was decent for about three months out of the year. At least it wasn’t a tacky looking Harley with an engine designed for the sole purpose of being obnoxiously loud. It had a more sleek, sporty design, definitely streamlined for speed. If a motorcycle could look elegant, this was probably about as good as it would get, Karkat figured. It was a deep, glossy black, and he could see the chrome thing that said what kind of bike it was, but he was too far away to read it.

The rider hit the kickstand as Karkat watched, settling the bike before cutting the engine and climbing off. The driver was dressed head-to-toe in legit riding gear from what Karkat could tell. They were wearing sturdy jeans, an obviously padded but well-fitting jacket with sleeves that ended right at the wrist to give way to leather gloves, and a serious heavy-duty helmet complete with a tinted face mask. Everything was black, but there were dark red accents here and there on the jacket, and a dark red geometric design on the helmet. Karkat had a brief moment where he wondered what jackass would go out like a damned storm trooper when it was so damn hot, and then his heart plummeted.

Oh hell no. That wasn’t--that couldn’t--

His sudden expletive was drowned out by the bell and the chattering of twenty students at once as he realized even before the helmet came off who the douchebag biker was. He grabbed his bag and legitimately sprinted out of the room and out the doors right next to it, shouting before they could swing shut behind him.

“Are you fucking shitting me right now Strider?” he exclaimed, throwing his bag in the direction of the bike. The boy turned around, tugging off his helmet as he did. Yeah, it was him alright, all blonde hair and red eyes and cocky little smirk. “You nearly die in a fucking CAR ACCIDENT and the second you’re almost back to normal YOU GET A MOTHERFUCKING MOTORCYCLE?!”

Dave hardly seemed put out by Karkat’s outrage. In fact, his lips quirked up into a slightly wider smile and he reached out to snatch at Karkat’s wrist, tugging him forward very much against his will.

“I’ve actually been back to normal for a while,” Dave snorted as Karkat continued to glower at him furiously. “Just been keeping the crutches around so I could surprise you. Looks like it worked.”

“A FUCKING MOTORCYCLE!” Karkat snarled, smacking Dave in the chest. “HOW GODDAMN DEAD IS YOUR PIECE OF SHIT BRAIN THAT YOU THINK THIS IS SOMETHING EVEN RESEMBLING A GOOD IDEA?!”

Still chuckling, Dave pulled Karkat into a forced hug.

“I don’t have good ideas Karkat, as you’ve made obvious through your many and various tirades,” he pointed out. “However, this bike is the shit, that accident was a fluke, and I’ll be damned if I pass up the chance to own a Ducati. This wasn’t the worst investment I’ve made, though I’m thinking in retrospect a better investment would’ve been a shitload of vicodin for you.”

“I don’t fucking need medication you taintchafing--” Karkat started, but Dave did what he always did when Karkat started to ramble and kissed him quiet.

Karkat was still glaring when he pulled back, but he did refrain from more rants on his boyfriend’s incredible stupidity.

“I’m gonna guess you haven’t gone by the office,” Dave said. Karkat frowned. “Well, no, why would I need to? I don’t have any fines to pay or--”

“Just go to the office. I’ll meet you around front.”

For a split second karkat was confused, but it didn’t take him long to comprehend what Dave was insinuation.

“Oh you are batshit crazy if you think for one measly millisecond that I am getting on that death trap that passes for a mode of transportation,” he said bluntly.

Dave’s lips twitched and he raised his eyebrows. “We established a very long time ago that I am indeed batshit crazy,” he said easily. “Though I mean really, if a person’s truly crazy they don’t know it, they don’t wonder whether or not they’re crazy. Anyway, just go to the office and meet me in front of the school.”

Dave pressed a quick kiss to Karkat’s forehead, then jammed his helmet back on and turned abruptly back to the motorcycle, leaving the shorter boy to wonder what the hell was going on. As the bike growled to life, Dave gave Karkat a thumbs-up, which he replied to with a hand gesture of his own, and the bike glided away, back onto the road that would take him around to the front of the school.

Unsure what else to do, Karkat retrieved his bag from where it had landed and went back inside to see why he needed to go to the office so badly. He wasn’t sure he liked what he found.

A black and gray helmet and a matching padded jacket were sitting neatly on the desk of the secretary, a note taped to the helmet reading VANTAS in spiky handwriting that wasn’t quite Dave’s. Maybe Bro’s? Whoever wrote the note, one thing was very clear: they were definitely expecting him to ride that metal monster.

He picked up the items without really meaning to and scrambled out of the office, and then out the front door. There was a flock of people just standing by the road at the bottom of the steps, and Karkat didn’t waste the energy wondering what they were looking at because he already knew. Callously he started shoving his way through the overexcited kids to reach the stupid bike and its rider, brandishing the gear he’d been given as though it were something dirty and obscene.

“Well, put it on and hop aboard!” Dave said, voice muffled by the helmet.

“Like hell I’m getting on this machine of doom!” Karkat exclaimed.

“C’mon Karks, one ride?” Dave cajoled, and even though it was hard to tell through the glare on his face shield, Karkat was willing to bet every dollar he had that the boy was batting his eyelashes right now.

He stuck his chin out stubbornly.

“If you don’t want a ride I’ll take it!” someone shouted. Another person actually grabbed Karkat’s arm, though their hold was hardly strong.

“C’mon Karkitten,” Dave coaxed. “It’ll be fine.”

The thing that had Karkat shoving the stupid helmet on his head wasn’t the puppy-dog eyes from Dave--he was pretty adept at ignoring those--but the looks from several of the girls that said all too plainly that they would love to be the ones with their arms wrapped around Dave’s waist while he drove. He was possessive, and no one else was getting that close but him.

“There we go,” said Dave smugly as he climbed onto the back of the seat. “Hold on tight, and lean with me when we turn, alright?”

“Shut up,” Karkat grumbled, but he slid his arms around Dave’s waist without further complaint and locked them around his middle. He was fucking glued to the boy’s back the entire way to the Striders’ apartment.

“By the way,” Dave said, kicking off his shoes as he entered the flat. “The bike’s not mine. So you can relax about me buying myself a death machine.”

Karkat looked around sharply. “Then whose is it?”

“My cousin’s,” he smirked. “Bro finally got in touch with him, and he drove it all the way up here. Keep it down though, he’s sleeping on the couch right now.”

“Sleeping is a weird concept,” came a voice from the main area, causing Karkat to jump. “But I am not currently partaking in that particular bodily function.”

Dave rolled his eyes at the thickly accented voice and gestured for Karkat to follow him to his room.

“Laying down and resting his eyes, then,” Dave amended. “Apparently he’s the family insomniac.”

“You make it sound like it’s normal for every family to have one,” his cousin said in a bored voice.

“Shut up and go back to pretending to take a nap,” Dave responded.

Karkat pressed his lips together. This was clearly going to be a long summer. Probably not in a good way.