Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Your name is Dave Strider, and you’ve just been rejected by John Egbert.

You don’t know how the fuck you could have let this happen. Too much grape soda and a fucking pound of Fruit Gushers between you and you guess the sugar had just gone straight to your head. John had initiated the bout of playful wrestling, and he always wins—half because he’s just that much bigger than you now and half because you kind of let him, lowkey loving the way it feels when he pins you down to your floor, really overpowers you—but then he’d been there, right on top of you, and the combination of your sugar high and it getting kind of late must have caused you to lose your goddamn mind.

You’d gone all swoony on him, let your eyes flutter closed, slid your palms up over his solid arms and tilted your head up to be kissed, offered him your lips. Seconds later and it had been like one of those moments in a movie where there’s a record scratch that alerts the main character to just how badly they’ve fucking misstepped.

That’s you. You are that dude.

And boy have you misstepped. John doesn’t even let his lips brush yours. When you open your eyes again you swear your heart bottoms out in your ass because he’s looking down at you with a mixture of confusion and disgust. He immediately clambers off of you and sits beside you on the carpet, resting his arms on his raised knees, his back to you.

He scratches his head, adjusts his glasses. “So, uh… Weird moment, huh? Was that weird? It felt weird. Was it weird for you? I dunno, maybe it was just weird for me. Maybe we should cool it on the wrestling, though. Just for a bit. My back’s kinda sore anyway. Did I hurt you? ‘Cause I kinda thought I squished your tummy and twisted your arm a little hard. You’re so dainty, Dave. Ha. Hey, you wanna watch a movie? I was thinking we could try watching Ghost Rider again ‘cause I know you said you hate it but we never even get to the middle and it gets so much better after that, I swear. It’ll be so awesome. Hey, you want dinner? I could go get dinner. You should probably eat. You feel like pizza? You always feel like pizza. Pizza’s cool. I’ll just put my shoes on. Damn it, where’s my jacket? It’s kinda cold for October...”

He’s rambling on like a complete lunatic because he’s so nervous, you know him and he’s nervous—and you did this to him; you’ve made him feel this fucking uncomfortable—and for once you are at a total loss for words. So uncool.

You sit up and run your hands through your hair, hug your knees. You’re not even going to address anything he just said because it was nothing but anxious filler, would take you all damn night to sift through that crap anyway, and so you just say, “John,” and that does it. He turns to you with this awful, awful look—like he’s really pitying you for what he has to do now—and you hate it, hate yourself for putting him in this situation all because you had to go and get all hot and bothered with him on top of you. Like you haven’t had a lifetime’s instruction on how to properly control yourself only for it all to come undone the second John Egbert gets between your legs. Your Bro would be so ashamed of you.

“Damn it. Dave.”

It’s times like these you wish spontaneous combustion was more of a thing, and that you were one of the handful of people lucky enough each year to just burst into flames on the spot. That would be so awesome right about now.

"It's not you, it's me?" John lets out a nervous, desperate little laugh but at the look on your face he just winces and mutters, “Sorry, that was dumb."

He puts his head in his hands. “Dave...” He sounds so very strained right now, and you suspect he’s holding in tears, which makes everything a million times more awful. “God, I love you so much,” he bites out, and he’s so beautiful and so fucking cheesy but shit, here it comes. “Just not like that. I’m sorry.” And yep, there it is. The death knell. He literally just ended you. Wiped the floor with you. You’re gone. You're history. Your heart’s nothing but a red smear on the underside of his shoe.

It’s not like you didn’t see it coming, either. The reasonable part of your brain knows how he feels about you. He sees you as a brother, someone so very dear to him just never, ever in that way. And yet still, every nerve in your body throbs with the pain of his rejection. The part of you that still dreams had hoped things would change, that you were wrong about him; that in time he’d develop similar feelings for you and you'd kiss and the two of you would be all romantic and sappy and embarrassing—the kind of couple who grossed your friends out when you looked at each other. Now you just feel sore, bruised, like you could curl up in a ball and not move for days. Isn’t that what wounded animals do?

“Dave, can you please say something?”

All you can offer him is a blank look. At least you’ve still got your poker face. He can’t see what his words have done to you and you’re glad for it, glad for his sake too because seeing people upset like this just wrecks him.

He edges up close to you, watching your face. “Can I just hold you?” He’s already putting his arms around you before you can give him the green light, and you gently push him away, duck out from beneath his arm. You're sorry for it all but you don't want his pity. 

“Listen, I’m gonna hit the shower, yeah? Kinda sweaty. Hit me up online later on.” You never take a shower at 9pm. He knows that. Going by the look on his face he also knows you’ve just effectively asked him to leave.

You get up and rummage around in your closet for clean clothes, just so you have something to do with your hands, so you don’t have to look into his eyes and be confronted with how badly you’ve screwed up. You feel his presence behind you and know he’s still there, uneasy about leaving when he doesn’t know where he stands with you, if you’re mad, if what you really want to do is yell at him. He can't bear to leave with something unresolved between you.

You don’t want to yell at him for something that isn’t his fault but you don’t have it in you to reassure him right now when you barely trust yourself to speak.

“Are we okay?” His voice is small, apprehensive.

“We’re so okay,” you manage to tell him, but it sounds hollow even to you.

“Can I have a hug?” You know this is his way of trying to make things right, of smoothing it over if you’re mad at him. You don’t know how to tell him no without hurting his feelings and so you just do the douche thing and act like you don’t hear him.

He gets the message eventually and leaves you be. You wait until your door clicks closed before you flop down on your bed. You figure you should get a head start on that whole curling up in a ball for days thing anyhow.

You lay on your side, face the wall. He’s left his hoodie on your bed. His side of the bed, the one he always sleeps on when he stays the night with you and his dad thinks he’s with Rose. Because John isn’t allowed to step foot inside your apartment because of your Bro, and yet he’d always found a way around that anyway, just for you. John, who never broke the rules, never lied to his dad because they actually had something called mutual respect for one another, had done that for you. Because he loves you, and you’re family, and it’s your fault he isn’t here anymore.

You bring his hoodie to your face, breathe in his scent, and curl up around it, comforted by its softness.

In your mind you replay the moment you tried to kiss him, over and over again, trying to pinpoint the precise point in time things went so wrong for you. You’ve always been careful. Even the few times you’ve been slightly buzzed around him you’ve been careful, never as remiss as you'd been tonight. And being careful not to show him how you feel hasn’t always been easy when John is the naturally affectionate type. An arm around your shoulders here, a tug at your fingers there; a hug when he sees you, a hug when you part. You’ve shared a bed with him since you were eleven years old, the first time he’d lied to his dad and spent the night here with you. You’ve felt him up against your back countless times, had his arm around you, felt the warmth of his breath on your cheek, and never, not once did you cross the line with him.

Until tonight. You don’t know what’s changed. Maybe it’s just getting harder and harder to hide your feelings when they only grow with each passing day. When all you think about is him, and what you think you need from him, other than his love. Him on top of you, holding you down, getting rough with you but in a way that’s still John; claiming you, making you his.

And then you think you’ve got it, hit the nail right on the head, because it was the fucking wrestling and you should never have allowed yourself to go there with him given the things you’ve been thinking about lately. Having him on top of you like that, grunting and huffing, pinning your wrists, feeling the full weight of his body against yours while you writhed against him, helpless to wriggle out from under his hard body, had been way too close to what you actually want from him. You’d been a total dumbass to think you could have hopped out of that one unscathed and you resent yourself for that now, for not thinking things through.

You pull your phone from your pocket and rest it on the pillow beside you, staring at it for the next hour and hoping he’ll call. At the very least you want a message knowing he got home safe. The area around your apartment block is sketchy at night and while you know John can take care of himself in a pinch, you still worry about him every time he walks around out there alone at night. Because he’s young and idealistic and always far too kind to people who don’t deserve it.

People like you.

Yeah, you're one of those. However bad it feels now, you know it would be so much worse if John actually knew everything, had somehow managed to read your mind rather than just dodge a kiss from you. While the cat’s maybe outta the sack on the whole you being in love with him thing, you know it could be worse. Way worse. Because he doesn’t know how twisted your love gets. Sweet, innocent John—your childhood best friend, the boy you know slept with his plushies until he was at least thirteen years old—doesn’t know the ways you’ve begun to objectify him in your mind lately, how gross that is.

He doesn’t know how many times you’ve made yourself come just thinking about him fucking you while you pump two fingers in and out of yourself. He doesn’t know about all the depraved things you want to let him do to you, because if he knew you’d probably lose him. If this is as bad as it gets, him just thinking you’re crushing on him, and you are, then it’s not the end of the world. A crush is something that fades with enough time.

He doesn’t love you back. But maybe the two of you can get past this. 

Chapter Text

You don’t think you can get past this.

Over the next few days, neither one of you contacts the other. John doesn’t reach out on Pesterchum, and you don’t initiate a conversation with him either, not via phone, text or chat. There’s no more good morning texts from him. No more messages in the evening telling you goodnight, to sleep well; things that let you know you’re cared about, that he’s thinking of you.

He’s probably just giving you your space, because John’s thoughtful that way, but the insecure little asshole inside your head insists it’s something more, that he’s grossed out, doesn’t want to talk to you or look at you anymore and why would he? You made a move on him knowing he wouldn't be into it. You pushed him into a corner by forcing him to have that Never Gonna Happen chat with you, and now things will probably never be normal again given the way John always seems to feel responsible for every slightly shitty thing that ever happens between the two of you.

Even this.

You understand him well enough to know he’s probably blaming himself already, wondering what he might have done that led you on, gave you the wrong idea, and that kills you. Because he did nothing. Nothing but care about you, love you in the decent, right way you don’t deserve. You’re the one who twisted it and made it wrong.

It’s hasn’t been radio silence between you like this since the last time you’d properly fought, back when you were both twelve years old and John had struck a sore spot with you about your Bro, pushed a joke a little too far back when you were still small and naive and hung on your Bro’s every last word, idolized the crap out of him like he was a god. And shit, you must have been so insufferable back then, snapping at anyone who criticized him like it was a direct criticism of you. Snapping at John when he’d been one of the first people in your life to want to defend you, to recognize that things weren’t always so peachy between you and Bro.

In the end the two of you had ended up working it out after a couple of weeks and John had been so understanding and apologetic about the whole ordeal, had never pushed quite so far when it came to joking about Bro again, not even when you did it. Because he’s a good friend and he loves you and oh god you’re such an asshole for putting him through this.

Over the next week you open Pesterchum several times a day, start typing a message to him, wanting to say you’re sorry first this time, as you should, but you can never go through with it. You don’t know what’s wrong with you, or what you’re so afraid of. You know John isn’t going to ignore you. He won’t reject your apology, say cruel things to you or push you away. You know this, and yet every time you think about talking to him again you start to sweat, shake, overthink every single word you type until you can’t do it anymore and end up tossing your phone away from you like it burns.

It gets worse the longer it goes on. You’re starting to dread the possibility you’ll never actually talk again when your phone buzzes late on Friday night and John’s handle jumps out at you from your notifications bar.

Shit.

-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

EB: hey dave

You click on his message, hesitating a few seconds before settling on:

TG: sup

EB: are you okay?

TG: sure

TG: why wouldnt i be ok dude

You regret that the moment you hit send. Playing games and being a smartass, trying to sidestep this shit, is too messed up, especially now considering you know what you have to do and it's anything but funny.

EB: it’s just i haven’t heard from you in a while. i was starting to get worried.

TG: its been a weird week man thats all

TG: im ok tho

TG: are you like

TG: ok

EB: yeah! i’m fine, just missing you is all...

TG: heh

TG: yeah

TG: i miss you too bro

There’s a few minutes where neither of you types a word and you know what’s going on. Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, one of you is going to have to bring up the ugly shit and neither wants to be the first.

Your door creaking open distracts you from this conundrum, and you sit up in bed to find your Bro standing in your doorway. He doesn’t move or say anything, just stands there staring at you, vacant-eyed.

“You need something, man?”

He won’t answer you. He never does when he’s like this.

At first it had freaked you out whenever he pulled this shit but it happens often enough now that you’re not scared anymore. You figure he’s sleepwalking, whatever the hell that really means, and he never hurts you when he’s doing it. Just stands there and stares. Sometimes in your doorway. Sometimes the hallway, or the kitchen. One time you’d caught him staring in the bathroom mirror and that had been the weirdest.

You let it go for a few minutes, just watch him, and then ask, “You want some water or something, big guy?”

You snatch your glass up off the bedside table and get up to give it to him, hoping it’ll redirect him. Sometimes that works. “Here.” He stares down at it vacantly and you gently push at his chest. “Go back to bed.” It takes a few moments but eventually he turns around and walks away, slowly, in a manner that can only be described as creepy.

When you get back to your phone John has left you several messages.

EB: dave

EB: dave

EB: daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaave!!

TG: shit

TG: sorry

TG: im here

TG: my bros doin that sleepwalking shit again

TG: had to get rid of him

TG: hes gone now

EB: again??

EB: god that is so fricking disturbing, dave.

TG: yeah man its wild

EB: you need to get that man on some pills or something! don't they make pills for that problem?

TG: sleepwalking? probably

EB: i mean it’s all fun and games when he’s just creeping around the apartment but what if he starts swinging swords around and you get up to go to the bathroom or something?! oh my god dave (/ω＼)

TG: he wont

TG: hes ok

And now you’re back to square one, wondering who’s going to bring it up first. It should be you but John somehow manages to turn you into the biggest pussy in the world.

EB: so dave...

TG: yes john

EB: i have to ask you something.

You guess this is it.

TG: ok

TG: shoot

You bite your fingernails as you wait for his response.

EB: i have to ask this, like just in case. so the other day when you made out like you were gonna plant one on me, were you just messing with me?

TG: ...

TG: ah shit

TG: fucking fuck egbert

TG: you are such a dumbass

EB: hey! how am i a dumbass?

EB: oh god, have i messed up? if i've messed up please just ignore everything i just said.

TG: cmon man

TG: its not that

TG: its just

TG: you always do that

EB: do what?

TG: give me an out when i havent earned it

TG: like you just gave me the perfect opportunity to be all like

TG: yeah man

TG: it was just a joke

TG: sick fuckin prank amirite

TG: no homo dude

TG: except yes homo

TG: you know that

TG: we both know that

EB: ...

EB: soooooo...definitely not a prank.

TG: can i still say yes

EB: i don’t think so man.

TG: mm thats what i thought

EB: wow. okay well thanks for being honest, i guess!!

EB: ...

EB: i hope i wasn't a huge dick about it. if i was a dick about it and i made you feel bad i’m sorry.

TG: shut up

TG: you were nice about it ok

TG: too nice

TG: youre nice about everything

EB: so we’re okay?

TG: we will be

TG: its just

TG: i have to ask you for something ok

Your hands are trembling now. You’ve been gearing up for this since the beginning of the conversation and know you can’t put off what you need to do any longer. If things are ever going to get back to normal, you need John away from you. At least for a while.

EB: yeah of course, dave. anything you need.

TG: i dont want you to take it the wrong way

EB: okaaaaaaaay...

TG: i dont think we should see each other for a while

EB: oh. really? ouch.

EB: listen dave i know what happened was a weird moment or whatever but i really really don’t want time apart from you. that is the last thing i want.

EB: i thought i was giving you space over the past few days. is it too soon?

TG: no like im glad were talking now but

TG: i need time to get over this ok

TG: cause i feel like if we dont do that

TG: maybe it wont be so great for our awesome broship

TG: you feel me

EB: i think so. i'm just sad about it. :(

TG: im sorry

TG: this is my fault

EB: no it’s okay. you need time away from me and i understand. how long are we talking, though. a few days?

TG: idk dude

TG: i feel weird putting a time limit on it

TG: at least a few weeks i guess

TG: lets just take it slow

EB: okay.

EB: what about movie night, though?

TG: i think im gonna skip out on that one this month

EB: but it won't be the same without you there!! you’re the only one who makes it funny...

TG: i know

TG: im awesome and hilarious

TG: but seriously just go without me dude

TG: its not forever just for now

EB: okay :(

EB: i guess i should probably just leave you alone and let you figure out whatever you need to figure out.

EB: i’ll be here whenever.

EB: but don't forget i'm your best friend.

TG: never gonna happen

EB: before you go can i just tell you one thing?

TG: sure

EB: i really do love you, you know. you’re like, the only person in the world i love as much as my dad.

Your bruised heart gives a painful twinge at this. You know he means it. He’s the only one who ever says that. You guess you won’t be hearing it for a while.

TG: i know man

TG: i do too

TG: you know what i mean

TG: the love thing

EB: okay...i guess i'll see you.

EB: bye dave.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist [EB] --

Everything hurts.

You switch your phone off in an effort to resist the temptation of sending another message, or else just obsessively reading through your past chatlogs with John and beating yourself up over them. You get up and toss his hoodie on the floor of your closet, because you’ve been sleeping with it for a week, and if you’re even kinda serious about getting past whatever this is then all this pining for him shit needs to stop. Now.

You make your way out to the kitchen to fetch another glass of water, and to check on your Bro, who’s sleeping soundly now on the futon like nothing even happened. You drain your glass and refill it before you tiptoe over to him and tug his comforter up over his body, pull his cap off and place it on the floor beside his bed. You pat his shoulder and leave him there, heading back to your room.

Chapter Text

Over the next couple of weeks you’re adrift, unsure what to do with this new, strange life that feels empty without John in it. It’s not until you’re forcibly separated that you fully understand how closely your life intertwined with his, how much time you spent wrapped up in him to the detriment of every other friendship you have. Like over the past few months you somehow forgot you had friends that weren’t him or something.

Now that he’s gone, it amazes you that you have any left, and that a few of them even seem to want to be there for you throughout this whole shitfest.

When you’re not spending your time half-assing your homework online, you’re with Rose and Kanaya or Jade, the latter two who seem to be taking it in turns making sure you don’t try to jump off an overpass. Some afternoons Jade ropes you into potting plants with her out on her sun-soaked balcony, tells you it’s soothing, healing, especially after the breakdown of a relationship. You’re not sure you agree with her on that front; you’re not feeling much of anything in the healing department and just seem to go home with your hands dirty a lot. And whenever you’re with Rose, you barely make it three feet in any direction without Kanaya offering you a pitying look and an awkward, stiff hug.

You prefer Rose’s blunter, less sympathetic approach, even if she tends to get everything about you and John wrong.

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TT: How goes the break-up, Strider?

TG: we talked about this before lalonde

TG: you can stop with that stuff now

TG: like har har

TG: jokes over

TG: its not a breakup ok

TG: were just taking time apart

TG: and fyi its goin great

TG: today i even put on pants

TT: Congratulations, that’s quite the milestone.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] is an idle chum --

TT: You’re not going to ask today?

TG: ask what

TT: Well, for the past seventeen days, on every occasion we’ve chatted you’ve asked after John. You don’t want to know how he’s travelling with said break-up?

TG: for the last time

TG: we never broke up

TG: there was no relationship to break

TT: I beg to differ. An emotional affair is still an intimate relationship; the presence or absence of sexual intercourse is of small relevance.

TG: yeah nope

TG: were not going down this road again today

TG: with the affairs n the intercourse or whatever other batshit thing you wanna pull out your ass

TG: youre insane

TG: emotional affair is just another word for FRIENDSHIP

TG: and were still bros ergo no breakup

TG: and you know what

TG: no

TG: im not gonna ask

TG: im good

TG: hes good

TG: im fine

TG: hes fine

TG: were GOOD

TT: Excellent. I feel like we’ve made a real breakthrough today, Strider. This is good. This is progress. Mark my words: you’ll be over this break-up in no time at all.

TG: yeah

TG: im going now

TG: later rose

-- turntechGodhead [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] --

It’s 6pm, and the apartment is dead silent.

With all your school-related shit out of the way, you’ve got a bucketload of free time on your hands that you no longer know how to fill. Before all this, you’d spend most Friday nights alone with John, at your place or his; horsing around, watching bad movies and eating too much junk food before passing out together on the bed in the early hours of the morning.

But You, John, Alone, and Bed, are four things that can never be allowed to co-exist again. You’d made damn sure of that when you’d blown this whole thing wide open in the dumbest way imaginable.

You’d kick back and try to jerk yourself off out of sheer boredom but you can’t even do that anymore. When you’re touching yourself you still only think of John, about him pinning you down and fucking owning you, giving it to you hard, rough. Only your fantasies about him have taken on a guiltier edge recently; you can’t even enjoy your own imagination now that you know, beyond any shadow of doubt, that he does not want you. You’d rather just not jerk off at all than rub out a sad one to the memory of a guy who’s not attracted to you, and so you push that right out of your mind as an option.

Getting over John means no more jerking off over John; it’s just that you’ve been doing it so long now that you think you might have messed yourself up. These days you can’t even work out what else you might be into apart from him, and it’s not until you arrive at that troubling conclusion that you feel as if this distance from John really is the best thing for both of you after all.

You suppose you could spend the night with Jade. She’d be over the moon to have you and it’d get you out of the apartment, out of your own head; but lately you’re feeling like you’re on some feminine energy overload, like you might just need to spend time around another dude for a hot minute.

John isn’t an option anymore, and your Bro is out for the night—not that he’d want to kick back and hang with you anyway. But you do know one dude who might be down to chill, and it just so happens you know exactly where to find him on Friday nights.

The Regal downtown is bustling on a Friday night. You spot Karkat behind the counter at the candy bar—he looks so funny in his uniform; black slacks and black button-down with the lamest little grey bowtie—and you smirk, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you join the back of the long queue.

When there’s only a couple of people ahead of you, and Karkat still hasn’t spotted you, you watch with interest as he deals with a lady customer and her small child. You can’t make out what she’s asking him but you recognize that look on his face as the one that comes right before an epic tirade.

Sure enough, moments later and he snaps. “Read the fucking sign, lady!” He jerks his thumb at a sign behind his head reading ‘Cell phones must be switched off. No recording equipment. No outside food or beverages’.

The couple in front of you gasp, mutter to one another and walk away in disgust, leaving you next in line. The lady in front of you raises her voice at Karkat in turn, demanding to speak to the manager.

He scoffs at this and just says, “Good! Go and get him. Tell him he’s a giant fucking asshole for me.”

The woman covers her little girl’s ears with her hands and calls Karkat a word you’ve only ever heard Bro use. He appears unruffled by it, and when the lady and her kid storm off he cups his hand around his mouth and yells at her back, “And tell him I want a raise!”

You step up to the counter while he’s still glaring after her. When his gaze lands on you his eyes widen fractionally before he quickly recovers and says, “Oh. It’s you.”

“Dude, that was so chill. Seriously, though, how are you not fired yet?”

He shrugs. “I’m cute, I guess.” You’re aware he’s being glib but it’s probably true. He gets away with a lot on account of being small and big-eyed and kind of adorable when his mouth is shut. It’s a trap.

There’s a silence then that stretches just long enough to become awkward.

“Uh, yeah. Right on.”

And now it’s officially weird.

You’re aware there’s a growing queue behind you and this whole thing is starting to feel like a dumb idea to you now. Karkat’s staring at you like he doesn’t quite know what to make of you, and you guess it’s been so long since the two of you actually spent time together that you’ve forgotten how to talk to him.

It also hasn’t occurred to you until right now that he might be pissed at you for that. Or that maybe you guys aren’t actually friends anymore.

Karkat breaks the silence with, “So anyway, what’s good, cooldouche?” and you relax slightly, because that’s the Karkat you know, and you can work with that.

You reply with a level, “Was in the neighbourhood is all. Figured I’d come catch up with one of my best buddy old pals.”

He snorts a laugh at this and shakes his head.

“What’s funny?

“Nothing, I mean, it's just—best buddies? Hardly. You never come in here alone. We never hang out just the two of us anymore.” You guess he's been working on his poker face because you can't even tell if he's actually pissed or just making an observation.

You know he’s right, though. Standing in front of him now, you start thinking about things you haven’t thought about in months. About the reasons you guys haven’t seen much of each other lately, and it’s not just that you were too caught up in John.

The last time you two had hung out on your own he’d bought you dinner from a sandwich shop and you’d talked about movies until the conversation dried up and everything got too quiet. You’d felt shitty for making him uncomfortable. After that you’d been under the impression you’d both reached the conclusion the dynamic between you worked best in a group setting. If he doesn’t feel the same way, though, you guess you’re the asshole here.

In an attempt to smooth things over, you say, “Listen man, I got to thinking about some shit today and I just wanted to see you. It’s been a while. I wanna know how you’re doing these days.” You leave out the part where this is mostly bullshit, and that you’re actually just here because you’re a selfish jerk and evidently weren’t thinking of him much at all, only yourself. But you figure if you can appeal to his ego here it might get him to stop acting so weird with you and it works.

He visibly perks up and says, “Oh. OK. I mean, whatever.” He fiddles around with the settings on the drinks machine. “So you wanna hang out? I finish up at eight. Oh, shit.” One of the nozzles starts spitting out orange soda all over his hand. You watch him wipe it all over his pants.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I can come back at eight.”

“Strider, wait!” he calls as you’re leaving. “You don’t have to go. I mean, you can come wait behind the counter if you want. Keep me company while I deal with this pack of even bigger morons than you. Hey, you want a soda or something?”

It’s busy over the next half an hour and so you observe as Karkat serves customer after customer with a filthy attitude that would be shocking if it weren’t so fucking funny. You help him out by filling up buckets of popcorn—slightly grossed out by the butter dispenser, every inch of which seems to be covered in a weird, greasy film that clings to your skin—and fetching snacks and candy bars from behind the counter.

When there’s a lull in customers and you’re sitting down again, sipping at the half coke/half fanta abomination he’d poured for you, he casually asks, “So where’s your man tonight?”

You choke on your soda but play it off like a cough. Wiping your mouth, you say, “Dude, shut the hell up, alright? He’s not my man.” You don’t even have to ask to know he’s teasing you about John. “Who told you, anyway? Kanaya? Rose?” Jade has more tact. There’s a flush creeping up your neck now and it’ll be seconds before it hits your face.

“Told me what? It’s just weird seeing you without your second head. But wait—does everyone know something I don’t? Again? Fucking fuck, why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” He bangs a fist on the counter and you stare at him.

“Uh, probably because you’re...like that. Look, just chill for a minute, alright? It’s not crazy important.”

“It’s about you and Egbert, right? What gives? John finally close the deal or something? Well shit. I mean, about fucking time or whatever. It was getting seriously pathetic watching you two break the guinness world record for longest game of gay chicken ever.”

“That’s not what happened. But if you stop flapping your mouth for like, five seconds I might fill you in on this shit. And trust me, it’s a good one.”

That works.

“Oh.” Karkat folds his arms and leans on one hip against the counter. “So go on then, let’s have it.”

When you finally get done telling Karkat the whole sordid tale he just laughs in your face.

“Oh man,” he says, wiping tears out of his eyes. “That’s good. That’s funny. You two are the biggest fucking dweebs, I swear.”

“Thanks. I feel so much better now,” you deadpan, even though you kind of do. It’s funny if he thinks it’s funny and if it’s funny it doesn’t hurt so bad.

“Ah, shit.” Karkat stops laughing long enough to check his watch. “Well I’m off for the night. You wanna just wait out in the lobby while I go get changed? I’ll meet you there in five.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“Cool." He narrows his eyes at you then. "But don’t fuckin’ ghost me again, Strider. If I come out and you’re gone I’m gonna come to your apartment and punch you in the face.”

“Dude, I'm not ghosting. Just go, I’ll wait for you,” you tell him, and apparently satisfied, he grabs his bag and leaves.

You go wait for him out in the crowded lobby, and even if you’ve got no idea where your night's going, you know it beats sitting alone in your room pining over someone who doesn’t want you. You wonder if maybe Rose was right and you really are making progress after all.

Chapter Text

Karkat reappears a few minutes later in ripped skinny jeans, a ratty black hoodie and scuffed-up Chucks.

“You’re here,” he notes, collapsing into the plush chair next to you and tossing his bag at his feet.

“Did you seriously think I was gonna pull a fast one while you were in the bathroom? C’mon, man. I said I’d wait, I waited.” You watch the steady stream of people, most of them couples, flowing in and out through the doors. A couple of times you catch a guy who looks like John drift past and your heart lurches.

You fiddle around with your phone, your hands stuffed in the soft front pocket of your hoodie, and suppress the urge to check it. There’s no point anyway when you’re out of data for the month, won’t get any messages until later on when you connect to the wi-fi back at the apartment, and besides: the one person who made you want to check your phone obsessively isn’t allowed to talk to you anymore.

“So what now?” Karkat says. You can see him in your periphery, sitting back and watching the side of your face.

“Dude, I was kinda hoping you had a plan. ‘Cause in case it wasn’t super fuckin’ obvious, I’m not so great at the whole planning ahead deal. I dunno, I’m down for whatever, man, s’long as it’s not sitting at home moping around like a loser again.”

“OK. Well, we could eat? I know where we can get really good fajitas.”

You’re feeling a little on edge after you thought you’d spotted John in the crowd, not once but twice, and you don’t think you’re stomach’s up for much in the heavy food department right now.

“Nah, I’m not too hungry yet. I’ll go with you, though?”

“I can wait. Look, whatever we end up doing, let’s just...not do whatever we did last time. ‘Cause talk about a fucking trainwreck, am I right?”

You look at him over the rim of your shades. “Huh?”

He leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his messy dark hair. His hoodie rides up a bit, exposing a wide swathe of tanned midriff. You find your eyes drawn to his belt buckle, because it just has ‘bullshit’ stamped on it in thick metal font, but you quickly avert your gaze. If he thinks it looks like you’re looking down there, you’ll have some explaining to do and you’d rather sidestep that whole situation if you can help it.

Then he says, “Well we never went on another date. So I figured you had a pretty shitty time with me when we went out. I mean, we never talked much after that either, so...you know. Trainwreck.” He won’t look at you, just casually glances around the lobby, watching people as they pass.

Your ears ring. Date. A fucking date? He thought that was a date? Oh shit, you are the asshole.

You don’t know how in the hell you missed that one. Karkat is a dude who is sometimes into dudes. You are also a dude who likes other dudes. Your love goggles for John must have been strapped on pretty fucking tight for you to have missed the fact that maybe he was into you. 

You search for the right thing to say, only there isn’t one. Whatever you tell him, there’s no way you come out of this not looking like a douche.

“Listen man, I don't know how to say this without sounding like a huge prick, but...I didn't know that was a date. I thought we were just hanging out as bros.”

His head snaps back to you and his eyes flash with something like aggravation. He’s always aggravated but you don’t like it when it’s real, and directed at you.

“Are you fucking with me?” he scoffs. “Like, is this one of your Strider irony gags, ‘cause if it is it’s not funny.”

You squirm around in your seat. “No. I really didn’t know, dude. I’m sorry.”

“Why have you been avoiding me, then?”

You’re starting to regret coming out here all over again but the least you owe him is an explanation.

“I wasn’t avoiding you, I was just... Look, you were real quiet that day. Quieter than I’d ever seen you. I mean usually we’d be rippin’ on each other and you’d be shouting at me, calling me names I have to fuckin’ Google, but you were just...quiet. I dunno, man, it wasn’t like you. I thought it was ‘cause’a me.”

He folds his arms and slumps in his chair, looking moody again. “I’m like that when I’m nervous,” he mumbles. “I’m a dumbass and thought I was on a date, not to mention competing with John ‘oh, everyone look at me, I’m so tall and handsome with pretty blue eyes and all the girls like me’ Egbert. No shit I was nervous.”

You have to laugh at the seething way he describes John, the most modest guy you know, who would never describe himself in those terms. You know John still sees himself as the awkward, clumsy little nerd he used to be.

“Look, man, you weren’t competing with nobody. Only relationship me and John ever had was in my head. Obviously.”

“If you say so,” he mutters.

You ignore that and say, “No dates then. Fuck the dates.”

“Oh,” Karkat replies. It doesn’t escape your notice that he looks almost disappointed. 

“I just mean we should hang out, chill for a bit, see what happens. No pressure. No weird vibes. Just bros. You’re not competing with anyone, anyway, so relax. He doesn’t see me like that.”

“Heh. His loss,” Karkat grumbles, “‘cause you’re hot as hell, Strider.”

Well fuck.

Heat pools in your stomach and you feel your face start to grow warm. You bite your lip and pull your phone from your pocket, resting the cool metal back against your cheek, but all it does is make your phone get hot too. 

Karkat breaks the weird silence with, “Well hey, if fajitas are off the table, how ‘bout cold, disgusting movie theatre popcorn with half-congealed imitation butter? Another soda with twenty-two different chemicals and loaded with high fructose corn syrup?”

You snort a laugh. “Sounds like dinner. Hit me with that shit, baby. You're lucky I’m a cheap date.”

He whacks you and you just say, “Kidding, kidding. No dates, for real.”

You lean over the counter of the candy bar and wait while Karkat loads himself up with free shit. You’ve got no idea if it’s actually allowed or not but there’s someone else working the counter now, a guy who looks way too young to be balding, and he watches with a wary expression as Karkat helps himself to the drinks machine.

“Shouldn't you be like, not here?” the guy wonders aloud.

“Shut up, Greg,” Karkat snaps without looking over his shoulder.

A few minutes later and you’re standing side by side with Karkat, staring at all the latest movie posters and chewing on really bad popcorn, when he says, “So, like, do you wanna actually see a movie? I know that’s edging real close to date territory but it’s free and there’s an awesome one out right now that—”

“It’s ‘What To Expect When You’re Expecting’, isn’t it,” you interrupt in a flat voice. You throw him a sidelong glance and he turns pink.

“I saw you looking at the poster before,” you explain. “You’re so embarrassing.”

You watch in muted amusement as his shoulders tense, his brows knitting together in frustration. “You know what? Forget it. Forget the stupid movie, it’s a dumb idea anyway.”

“Keep your panties on, kid.” You take a drag off the straw between your teeth and say, “I never said I didn’t wanna see it. When’s the next session?”

Karkat lifts his wrist to check his watch. “Five minutes?”

“Well alright, man, let’s go catch this bomb.”

After the—terrible, shitty, embarrassingly bad—movie’s over you sit out in the lobby together again, unsure what to do with yourselves next. Karkat sits close to you, his thigh pressed firmly to yours, and taps his foot against the carpet.

“You want me to take you home?”

You check the time on your phone screen. “I mean yeah, it’s nearly ten, I should probably get back before my Bro does. Unless you wanted to...”

“Nah, it’s cool. We can get dinner another time. Maybe later in the week if you’re free?”

“Yeah,” you say a little too quickly. “I mean, you’ve got my number. Hit me up whenever.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean we’re bros, right?”

“Right. Sure thing, bro.”

You follow Karkat out to his busted up Camry—the passenger door is all scratched up, the front bumper deeply dented—and when you both get in, that all starts to make more sense. Karkat drives like a maniac. He can’t control his temper; yells and cusses when anything even remotely irritating happens, and when someone cuts him off in traffic, all hell nearly breaks loose. You have to offer to drive just to get him to calm his tits, and you don’t even have your fucking permit yet, but eventually he settles down and you spend the rest of the drive home listening to some indie band Karkat raves about, tells you to add to your iTunes.

When he pulls to a stop outside your apartment block, you hesitate before getting out of the car because you know you should probably say something other than ‘thanks’ but there’s this weird, expectant kind of tension between the two of you now. You don’t think you’re imagining it.

You think about him calling you hot earlier, about the fact he wanted to date you once, and you don’t know what to make of it all. This is not a situation you were primed for when you left the apartment tonight.

You both sit there for a couple of minutes and Karkat turns the stereo down before saying, “It was actually really good seeing you tonight,” and the gentle tone of his voice throws you off guard.

“Yeah. It was awesome seeing you too,” you offer back. Your mouth feels dry. You take another sip of cinema soda and wash down your nerves with fake raspberry, then place your cup back in the holder.

He rests his arm around the back of your seat and shifts his body around so that he’s facing you. “Lose the shades?”

You reply with a composed, “Why? The shades are cool, bro, c’mon, don’t knock the shades.”

With a groan, he answers, “Okay, so number one, they’re not fucking cool, alright, you just look like an edgelord. And number two, I can’t have an actual conversation with you when all I can see when I’m talking to you is my own fucking face. That’s kind of off-putting. Let me see your eyes.”

“Fine.” You push your shades up into your hair and give him a ‘happy?’ kind of look.

He looks into your eyes for a couple seconds before his gaze slides down to your mouth. That leaves you with a weird, shivery feeling in the pit of your stomach so you glance away, pretend to be interested in the air-con controls for a minute.

“Dave.”

You look at him, and don’t even get a chance to respond before his mouth is on yours. You put your hand to his chest, your first instinct being to push him away, but he leans in further, eager, cupping your cheek in his warm palm and rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone.

You try to relax and yield a little, open your mouth a bit, and Karkat groans, slipping his tongue past your lips and stroking at your tongue. You move your hand to his shoulder and clutch at him, lean into him, your pulse throbbing in your ears.

The hand that was on your cheek pushes up into your hair and he grips at you, not hard enough to hurt but with enough force that he’s dragging you into him, nipping at your bottom lip when you draw away to breathe.

He barely gives you a second before he’s on you again, crushing your lips with his, and it takes a while for it to hit that yep, this is actually happening. It’s real. You’re making out with a dude in a parked car and not just any dude but Karkat. Fucking Karkat. Who’s apparently pretty confident, forward when it comes to all this shit, not to mention being an above-average kisser. The way he's tongue-fucking your face is actually getting you pretty hot, and you shift your hips up without thinking, wanting a little friction.

He drops a hand to your leg then and squeezes, his fingers briefly dipping between your thighs. It’s you who whimpers then, because you’re sensitive as shit right there, but he doesn’t linger or try to push further, just brings his hand to the back of your head again, gently tugs at the ends of your hair.

When you part to gasp in breath, Karkat looks at you through heavily-lidded eyes and lets out a nervous laugh. “Wow.” You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and your lips feel swollen. You’re kind of eager to get out of the car now, because the situation in your pants has grown a little urgent, but you try for a small smile first, just to let him know you’re good with whatever just happened between you, strange and unexpected as it was.

He lets his head fall back against the headrest, scrubs a hand over his face. “So much for not a date, huh? Fuck.”

“Yeah, we kinda messed that one up, for sure.”

It’s awkward now. You kind of want to get back to the kissing just so you don’t have to make your uncomfortable goodbyes. Eventually, you say, “Listen, I should prolly get inside.”

“Oh. Yeah,” he agrees, slapping his hands down on the steering wheel. “Will you message me when you get in?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Later, man.”

Before you can get out he ducks forward to give you another quick kiss, this one landing awkward and wet on your cheek. You shut the door and offer him a small half-wave, watching after the red glow of his taillights as he drives away.

After clambering up the stairs you twist your key in the lock and push the front door open with one knee. You’re not even over the threshold into the apartment when your phone, having automatically connected to the wi-fi again, buzzes in your pocket, over and over and over. Startled, hoping there hasn’t been some kind of emergency, you pull it out fast and check your notifications bar.

You see his handle just below Rose’s and your heart sinks, it all hitting you at once. Panic. Guilt. Mostly guilt. Cold, heavy and thick. It snakes its way around your heart, twists at it like a vice, and you almost drop your phone to the floor.

Those good, warm, exciting things you felt back there in the car with Karkat have been wiped out, extinguished all at once. John. John is a person who exists, and you can’t shake the insane feeling that you’ve done something wrong, somehow been unfaithful to him. That you shouldn't have kissed Karkat, or let Karkat kiss you, because you belong to John and shit, there’s clearly still a lot of things that are Very Wrong with you because that notion is as warped as it is deluded.

John had never felt guilt where you were concerned whenever he’d kissed or messed around with girls, then hung out with you the next day. It had killed you every time, having to pretend to be alright with that, act like you weren’t feeling jealous, betrayed or resentful when you were all of those things. But none of that had ever crossed John’s mind because John’s normal and you’re not.

You hurry to your room and flick the lights on, close the door, before laying flat on your belly on your bed and clicking on John’s message first.

-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

EB: hey dave

EB: i just want you to know you don’t have to respond to any of this, and that it’s totally fine if you don’t!

EB: i hope you’re doing good. rose says you’re doing good. that makes me really happy.

EB: she also said you’re catching up with vantas tonight. which is cool.

EB: i didn't even know you guys were still close, so yeah. super cool!

EB: um, so i don’t know if you’re home yet. i mean i hope he took you home already, it’s getting pretty late! :P

EB: but i hope you had a nice time with him.

EB: so uh, anyway, YEAH!

EB: i should probably cut to the chase, right?

EB: rose said some things to me the other day that hit pretty hard. things about me and you. things i’ve probably never considered.

EB: i’d love to talk to you about it when you’re ready. i think there’s actually a lot of stuff we should talk about but i’m going to leave all that up to you.

EB: you just let me know when you’re ready to talk to me again. or see me again. hopefully see me because i wanna see you.

EB: also i know i’m breaking the rules right now and i feel like a massive jerk about it but i just miss you like crazy.

EB: i really need a hug from you. :(

EB: when i finally get at you again i probably won’t ever let you go. i’ll just cling on like a barnacle or something :P

EB: anyway, i hope we can talk again soon.

EB: i love you a lot.

EB: bye, dave. sleep well, ok?

-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

-- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

EB: oh man, rose is SO MAD at me for talking to you.

EB: she’s right about everything she’s saying, though.

EB: it was really selfish of me to force myself onto you right now when you asked me for space.

EB: i’m so sorry, dave.

EB: i’m such an idiot!

EB: i hope you’re in bed safe and that karkat got you home okay.

EB: i’ll leave you alone again now.

EB: bye.

-- ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

TT: Dave.

TT: If you see this message first, delete the correspondence from John.

TT: You’ve been doing so well recently and I’m afraid this will only be a setback on your journey towards healing.

TT: If John has something to say to you, it can wait.

TT: Delete the messages.

-- tentacleTherapist [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

It’s too late. You should have clicked on Rose’s message first because she’s right about this; she’s right about a lot of things, no matter how often you give her a hard time.

She’d been right back at the beginning, too, when she’d suggested you block John. At the time you’d felt that was going way too far. With the sick feeling in your stomach that accompanies the sudden reappearance of his chat handle, though, you’re starting to think maybe she was onto something.

You don’t want to block John. You love John. But you can’t talk to John yet, because even if you’ve made a pitiful couple of inches in progress you know you’re still far from over him.

Every fibre of your being aches to type a message back to him, tell him you love him too, that you’re home, in bed, alone, and safe. That you want him to hold you too.

It kills you to have to leave him on read but you know Rose is right about this, and that you can’t let yourself get back into any of this with him. It’s still too sore, and if you open up the floodgates, let him nudge up against all your raw emotions again, you’ll be right back to where you started and all the agony you’ve felt over the past seventeen days will have been for nothing.

You do something then that you never, ever thought you’d do. You block John’s handle. After, you switch your phone off in disgust, toss it away from you, and crawl into bed, under your blankets to be alone with your guilt.

You wake again at 3am, parched and uneasy. You roll out of bed to get some water, and when you flick the kitchen light on you let out a gasp. Bro is standing still by the open fridge, his back to you. There’s a mess of swords at his feet. His hands are empty; he's not touching anything, nor is there any evidence he's touched anything, but John's words come back to haunt you in that moment and you wonder if maybe he wasn't right about this sleepwalking shit being a bigger deal than you’ve made out.

“Bro.”

He doesn’t turn around to look at you and there’s a nervous, swooping sensation in your gut now. Yeah, this is definitely way more fucked up than you’d let on. You let the back of your hand brush his hip, careful not to startle him, and just say, “Go back to bed. Come on.” You take his hand in yours and lead him back out to the living room, to his futon. When he’s back in bed, sleeping you think, you get your water and switch off all the lights in the apartment, heading back to your room before settling into fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

The next day, you wake up feeling like hot garbage. You switch your phone back on just long enough to make a call to your local doctor’s office, then log on to Pesterchum to talk to your brother, purposefully deleting your outstanding notifications before you can even look at them.

-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] --

TG: this wednesday 2pm bro

It takes him a full fifteen minutes to respond.

TT: what’s this.

TG: i made you a drs appt dude

TG: you keep doing it

TG: the whole walking around while not actually being awake thing

TG: its starting to freak me out

TG: i found you in the kitchen last night fuckin with the swords

TT: did i hurt you.

TG: no man you didnt hurt me

TG: but if you keep goin on this way you could hurt yourself

TG: or someone else

TG: ok me

TG: cause i live with you

TG: look just make it to the appt ok

TG: john says they have pills that help with this kinda shit

TG: ill even go with you if you want

TG: i know drs wig you out or whatever

TG: ill be home on wednesday so come get me if you want company

TG: or yknow

TG: dont

-- timaeusTestified [TT] is an idle chum --

You sigh as you log out of the app, switching your phone off and setting it down beside you. Most of your conversations with your brother tend to go this way: Him offering you a couple of barely-formed, emotionless responses while you ramble on aimlessly to yourself. You've got no idea what he's thinking, if he'll actually make the appointment or not, but it's a 30/70 chance if you're being realistic. The idea of Bro taking advice from you is basically laughable.

Still, you think you've done your part and at least brought it to his attention that things are getting a little out of hand around here lately. Whatever happens from this point forward is all on him.

You spend a good chunk of the rest of the day finishing up your school shit and then fuck around on your turntables, mixing beats until mid-afternoon. You never do end up switching your phone back on. If Bro needs you he'll call you on the landline—he always lets it ring twice then hangs up before calling again, just so you know it's him—and even though you've blocked John, he could still email, call, or text. You don't think he will—he'd seemed pretty contrite last night after Rose had apparently set him straight on your behalf—but you can't deal with even the idea of him right now; not without feeling gross and guilty.

You don't want to deal with Rose, either; even though she'd been right about practically everything; even if you appreciate everything she's done for you over the past couple weeks. You don't know how you'd have made it through most of this without her.

You make a mental note to leave her a nice, non-douchey message, light on the irony, later when you're less wound-up.

Then there's Karkat. When you think about last night, before things went south for you, your stomach knots up, but not in the sick, horrible way you've grown used to lately. You think about him kissing you, about him telling you you're hot, and each time a little thrill spikes through you all over again. You're so accustomed to feeling unattractive around John that actually being desired by someone is an entirely foreign experience. And you're pretty sure that's what that was. While your experience is limited, when his hands were on you, when he was kissing you, you felt it there, his desire for you. Something solid and tangible; something you didn't have to twist yourself into knots overthinking, wondering if it was real or not.

You wonder if he's tried to message you. All day, something keeps you from checking. You're not sure if it's because you don't want to hear from him yet, still too overwhelmed with all your John bullshit, or if you're just kind of worried that maybe you won't. That last night was some weird anomaly and now the two of you will go back to more or less ignoring one another, living your separate lives like it never even happened, ex-friends if you were ever really that at all.

Bro gets home later in the afternoon. You come out of your room to say hello to him when you hear him clattering around in the kitchen, and get nothing but his silence in return. Your first instinct is to resent him for that, because would it really kill him to give you a little attention? But that’s your insatiable neediness talking and so you pull your head back in fast, remind yourself he owes you nothing.

He doesn’t bring up the messages you exchanged earlier, and you don’t bring it up either. There’s no point nagging him about it; he’ll either make the appointment or he won’t, and if he doesn’t you guess you’ll just have to be extra vigilant from this point forward, maybe even start locking your bedroom door.

You sit next to him on the futon for a while and play a couple shitty knock-off FPS games together in chilled out silence, Bro giving you a whack upside the head when you start beating him and gloating over it.

At around 5.30 you figure you should probably get up off your ass and shower, change your clothes. You grab a fresh set from your closet but can’t find any clean towels, eventually just have to settle for the slightly damp, musty one Bro used and discarded this morning. You make a mental note to stop being so gross and actually get some laundry done later, because Bro hasn’t done any in a while and things are starting to pile up around here, the whole clean clothes situation becoming a little dire for both of you. Bro’s down to his last polo and your remaining clean pair of trackpants probably last fit you well back when you were eleven.

You scrub your body down under lukewarm water and try not to think of John in the solitary silence, though it’s pointless. He pops in and out of your head at random intervals throughout the day, and whenever he does you feel anxious, guilty, awful for blocking him. You know it probably broke his heart in two when he saw what you’d done, the same way it’d break yours if he ever did the same thing back to you.

You’re still desperately needy for him. All you want to do is talk to him, explain yourself, set his mind at ease and reassure him that it’s not him, it really is you. Briefly, you entertain the notion of asking Rose to do that for you, but you quickly nix that as an option. The overly convoluted way she explains things would probably only make things worse—especially for John, who struggles to understand the things Rose says at the best of times, and is easily confused.

In the end, you remind yourself this whole thing is down to you. If you just focus hard enough on getting past this, working your way up to a point where you no longer feel the way you do about John, so that it’s finally safe to be around him again, then everything can go back to normal. You won’t have to agonize over any of this shit anymore. You won’t have to hurt John the way you’re surely hurting him now.

When you’re dried and dressed, you open the bathroom door to raised voices filtering in from the front room. You reason it’s probably just one of Bro’s discarded one-night-stands come to give him what for, maybe even a disgruntled ex-client. Wouldn't be the first time. You’re making your way back to your bedroom, towelling off your hair, when a familiar voice jumps out at you and you stop dead in your tracks.

“Why don't you fuckin’ chill, little man.” That’s your Bro. His tone is low and even, deceptively calm, but you know him well enough to hear the warning in it.

“Why don't you fuckin’ chill, big man? I wanna talk to Dave. Is he in or not?”

Oh no. Oh fuck. Karkat? Shit.

You know your Bro and are acutely aware that you don’t have long to diffuse this situation before it turns ugly, before your Bro takes matters into his own hands, grabs Karkat by the scruff of his neck and puts him back in his place, fast. Your ass kicks into gear in a matter of seconds and you race out into the living room, skidding to a stop behind your Bro.

Bro continues holding the door open, staring directly at Karkat as he says, “Dave. There’s a mouthy little prick here to see ya.”

“Er, thanks.” You duck under your brother’s arm and mutter, “Sorry, man,” at him before grabbing Karkat’s wrist and dragging him to your room, shutting the door firmly behind both of you.

You don’t give him a chance to speak before you round on him, deadly serious, and tell him how it is.

“Just a word of advice, man. If you ever come here again—seriously? Chill.” You jerk your head at your door. “That out there is a dude who won’t think twice about whupping your ass. He’ll think he’s doing you a favor, teaching you some manners or whatever, but take it from me: That is some shit you do not want.” You let go of his wrist.

There’s a look of genuine surprise on Karkat’s face when he realizes how serious you’re being. “Damn, Dave.” He shakes his head and explains, “Look, I didn’t mean to put you in the shit with him or anything but he was playing dumb, saying he doesn't know you, and look at him—you’re obviously related! I mean, what the fuck?”

You roll your eyes, push your shades up into your hair before Karkat even has the chance to make a snarky remark about them, and reply, “He was just messing with you, man. He’s like that. But don’t fuck with him, alright, it’s just… a bad idea.”

“Um, okay. Kinda screwed up, but okay.” Karkat tosses his bag down on the floor by the bed and sits on your mattress. He’s dressed in his work uniform again, and you are definitely not thinking about how cute he looks in it. Nope.

You briefly make eye contact with one another and glance away again; you’re a little hot just thinking about last night, in the car when you were macking on with each other, tongues in each other’s mouths, and you know he’s probably thinking about that too. There’s a pink flush beneath his tanned skin when he looks at you.

After an awkward minute or two, Karkat opens with, “Don’t even ask what I’m doing here, mister ‘hey, I’m gonna show up to your work unannounced, make out with you in your car then not answer the phone all day’. Real classy, Strider.”

You wince at that. “Um. Okay. Solid point.”

“Seriously, though, what gives?” he demands, and the tone of his voice makes you want to shrink in on yourself. You fold your arms around your body, rub nervously at your bare upper arms.

He keeps on at you, doesn't let up.

“You said you’d message when you got in—you didn’t—and then I try calling you and your phone’s off.”

“Wow, you really have like, no chill at all, do you?” you tease him with a weak little laugh, and when he doesn’t even crack a smile in response, just looks at you like he’s wondering why you have to twist the knife, you mutter, “Yeah, look, I’m sorry ‘bout that, man. It was a dick move.”

“It was a dick move the first time. Now it’s just— You know what? I only came here to tell you face to face that you don’t have to go to that much effort just to curve me. Next time, I dunno, send a text saying ‘thanks, but I’m just not into you like that’. Bit less of a headfuck that way.” He makes to get up, grab his shit and, knowing him, make some dramatic exit. But you step out in front of him, put a hand to his shoulder and make him sit his ass back down on your bed.

You try not to get too distracted looking into his eyes the way you’re doing, because they’re big, and green, and fringed with the longest lashes you think you’ve ever seen on a boy.

Damn it.

He doesn’t speak, just waits for you to talk and looks up at you all expectant, which leaves you with the impression he doesn’t actually want to go anywhere. He wants to sit there and look at you and believe your lame excuses. It never occurs to you until right then that he might actually like you way more than he’s ever let on. Or maybe you were just too dumb to notice it before.

He brings a hand to your hip, rests it there, and you have to swallow hard for how intimate that gesture feels, the way you’re standing with him right now.

“Karkat. I wasn’t avoiding you, dude. Like, at all.”

“Ha. Well why’s your phone been off since last night?”

You let your hand drop from his shoulder. “’S’not you I’m avoiding,” you mumble.

“What?”

“I said it’s not you I’m avoiding, alright?”

“Oh.” And then it seems to dawn on him. “Egbert?”

“Nailed it.”

You rub at the bridge of your nose and sit down next to him on your bed, give him the short version of what happened, or didn’t happen, between you and John last night. You apologize again for forgetting to message him, and for acting like a jerk by leaving your phone off all day. You leave out the part where he’s half the reason for that; that you were wimping out is all, worried that he’d be the one to ghost you first. He doesn’t want to hear that you’re extra sensitive lately, that the thought of being rejected by anyone again is something you’re not ready to cope with so soon after all that shit went down with John.

You finish by saying, “We’ve never gone this long without talking before. I think this is just super weird for him and he’s freakin’ out a bit.”

Karkat lets out a soft snort at this. “Yeah. Or he was just panicking ‘cause someone told him you were out with me and he’s a jealous asshole.”

You bristle at that and say, “Hey. Watch it, man.”

Karkat shrugs. “Watch what?”

“John’s not an asshole.” He’s not jealous either but that’s a whole other bag.

You’re aware you sound wicked defensive right now but if there’s one thing you’re not cool with it’s having to listen to anyone, even Karkat—whom you know is probably just being facetious as usual—talk smack about John. No one gets to talk smack about John in front of you, whatever issues you two are currently having notwithstanding.

Karkat responds with an insincere, “Sure. If you say so, man.”

You make a face at him. “Don’t be like that, alright? Have you even met John? He’s like the nicest dude ever, you know that. And I know he’s always been nice to you, so just… shut up, yeah? Don’t talk about him like that.”

Karkat shows you his hands in surrender. “Fine. Touchy subject. Noted. Look, I’m just trying to move in on you here while the going’s still good. Can’t blame a guy for trying to slide in while there’s an opening. And I mean I’m kinda obligated to hate the ex, right? Isn't that how it works?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That’s real cute. Listen, I know you're just bustin’ my balls right now,” you start, to which Karkat interrupts with a deadpan, “Am I?” but you ignore that and finish with a distracted, “But no. He’s not my ex and you don't have to hate him, dipshit. No one hates John.” It’s true. If John was born with one gift in this life it’s that he’s kind of impossible to hate. You think even your Bro might like John, as much as it’s possible for Bro to like another human being. He’s always tolerated John and never kicked him out of the apartment, which coming from Bro basically amounts to a ringing endorsement.

“Fine,” Karkat grumbles in defeat. “John’s cool. I guess. Can we stop talking about him now?”

“Works for me.”

“Good.”

Karkat spends the next ten minutes eyeing up your room, asking after your collection of awesome dead things and giving you shit about your turntables, your posters, all your other belongings. You’d be willing to place bets that your room is way cooler than his, anyhow.

When you’ve exhausted all the banter left between you, Karkat slumps a bit, checks his watch and grabs for his bag. “Um. I guess I should go.”

You look him up and down. “Oh. Workin’ late tonight, huh?” You're pretty sure what you’re feeling right now is acute disappointment. Part of you wishes he could stay a bit longer, maybe give you a chance to get at those lips again. You don’t know what’s come over you but kissing him, having him touch you again, is suddenly all you can think about.

“Yeah, I start in like an hour.” He doesn’t seem too happy about it either. He nudges your foot with his. “Hey. When can I see you again?”

You chew at your lip. “How ‘bout right now? You’ve got an hour, right? Stick around for a bit.” You kick at your overflowing laundry basket. “Help me haul some’a this rank ass shit down to the laundry room.”

“Oh.” You get the sense he’s surprised by your answer. “Yeah. Sure, OK.”

You leave him sitting on your bed for a second and grab a spare basket from the living room, load it up with some of Bro’s dirty clothes then grab all the wet, musty-smelling crap up off the bathroom floor. You shove the basket at Karkat and he takes it for you without complaint. You heft your own laundry hamper up into your arms then and lead the way out of the apartment, down to the laundry room.

As you’re making your way down the stairwell together, Karkat remarks from behind you: “You know, your ass looks really good in those pants, Strider. Kinda tight, aren’t they?” You pointedly ignore that, grateful he can’t see your face right now, the way you’re blushing like an anime schoolgirl every time he says something flirtatious to you.

You want to tell him that your pants are tight because hey, it’s laundry day, and you’ve owned this particular pair forever. But you don’t trust yourself to speak without stumbling over your words, sounding like a complete moron. You’re not even sure you want to discourage his flirting with you anyhow because you think you might actually really fucking love this, being looked at like that, like you’re actually desirable to somebody. To him.

You don’t know what the hell is going on with you right now, but you get the sense you might be in trouble here. Big trouble.

Chapter Text

It’s a good thing Karkat’s here with you today.

You hate using your apartment complex’s dingy laundry room as a general rule, but when you’re on your own it’s even worse. At night there’s the huge roaches that skitter out over the grubby tiles from beneath the dryers, making your skin crawl. There’s the lady who stands there and jabbers at you in rapid Spanish, asking you questions about the machines, even when you’ve told her countless times “no hablo español!”

Then there’s the creepy old dude who lives a few doors down from you and your Bro, who stands there by the entryway and smokes in silence, leers at your butt as you bend over the dryers. When you’d told your Bro about that one he’d forbidden you from wandering around the apartment block on your own again, which was all well and good but for when he refuses to do the laundry.

If you want clean clothes you mostly just have to suck it up and come down here anyway, or wait and go with John. The thought occurs to you that’s probably why your Bro always liked John, or at least tolerated him. With John around, he never had to take care of you as much. John did a lot of that.

You wonder then when the questions will start, when Bro will ask, in the most insensitive way he can devise, why John hasn't been around much lately. Just the thought of telling him the truth makes your skin itch with shame.

Tonight the laundry room is empty but for you and Karkat, though you’re still glad for his presence. He dumps his basket of dirty laundry down by one of the machines and flips open the lid.

“This your Bro’s shit?”

“Yup.”

“Nasty. Smells like Axe and douche.” He lifts a pair of Bro’s boxers out the basket and holds them between the tips of his fingers, away from him like they’re diseased. He drops them in the machine and fakes a gag.

“You don’t have to touch that,” you say through laughter. “I can do his stuff.”

“As much as I’d rather touch your underwear, it’s cool. I’ve got it.” He dumps the rest of Bro’s crap into the machine, sprinkles some laundry soap over it and shuts the lid in disgust.

You end up having to borrow a few coins from him when you come up short, which he yells at you to just shut up and accept. When you’re finished with the machines he grabs two sodas out of the Coke machine, passes one to you and, just before you take it, yanks it away again. 

“It’ll cost you,” he says.

"Huh?" You blink at him in confusion.

He leans forward before you can spot this for the baller move it is—and who even knew Karkat of all fucking people had moves—and his lips are on yours again, kissing you soft and slow. He pins you between his body and the Coke machine, presses in close so that he’s flush up against you, then places the two cans down on top of the unit over your head. You think you must have worn out most of your nerves last night because the second he’s touching you, heat pools in your belly and you’re aroused.

Your lips tingle when he tilts his head, slides his mouth against yours. You push back against him, slipping your tongue past his lips and hooking your arm around his neck, pulling him into you. He makes a noise at that and catches your hand, rubs his thumb into the delicate skin of your inner wrist. He finishes things up with three or four pecks in quick succession and presses his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your face.

“Damn.” You actually feel woozy, stupid, like if he let you go you’d trip over your own feet.

“Mm. You’re warm,” he murmurs against your cheek. “It’s nice.”

He’s warm too. Houston winters are generally mild but by nightfall there’s a cool bite in the air. Now you want to stay just like this, warm yourself against him for as long as he’ll let you. He runs his hands down over your sides and tightens his arms around you, so that the two of you are now ensconced in a weird kind of cuddle situation. Which is nice. No one’s properly held you since John. You didn’t realize how desperate you were for that kind of contact until right now.

You’re disappointed when he lets you go, grabs the soda cans off the top of the machine and presses one into your belly, making you jump at the sudden cold contact. “So,” he says, cracking his and taking a sip. “You wanna go back up to your room, make out for twenty minutes?” He’s so casual about it that it makes you jealous. You don’t know where he gets off being this cool considering how high-strung, fucking uncool he is about everything else.

You try not to stutter. “Oh. Yeah. I mean, it’s just my Bro’s up there somewhere.”

“Yeah. S’why I said make out, not suck my dick.”

If you weren’t already blushing like a virgin prom date that ought to have done it.

“Uh… Yeah, okay, why not. Let’s go.”

You hold hands on the way back up the stairs, more so that Karkat can drag you along behind him. Your entire body thrums with nervous anticipation. When you get back to your room you shut the door and crack open your soda, take a little sip, just to stall for a minute. You’ve never really done anything like this before—not alone, in your bedroom, with the door closed. Do you sit? Do you stand? Where are you even supposed to put your hands? The only thing you’re sure of is that you’re physically incapable of making the first move on him, no matter how bad you actually want this.

It’s like your brain fucking hates you or something. Whenever you think about that—kissing someone, making a move on them, on him, your treacherous brain generously supplies you with HD extended replay of the last time that shit happened and you can’t. You can’t do it. Even if the conscious part of you suspects he’s actually super into this, would welcome any advances you made not shoot them down, you still just...can’t.

It doesn't help to remind yourself that he’s the one who pursued you. He kept calling—is totally slumming it by coming all the way out to this dive just to see you. He’s the one who wanted to date you. This entire thing was his idea and he’s not going to reject you, push you away, look at you like he’s disgusted at the thought of having to kiss you.

He crosses the room and takes your hand, pries the can out of your grasp and places it down on your nightstand. You hope he can’t feel the slight tremor in your fingers. He’ll probably get sick of this after the first two or three times, having to guide you through everything like you’re some wounded fawn, but with the way things currently stand, neither of you is getting any action tonight unless he’s calling all the shots.

God, you’re such a wimp.

You let him lead you over to the bed and sit on it, next to him, your fingers twisted around his. You can feel him watching the side of your face, probably waiting for you to give him the green light, and you wish you could say something, do something, act like you’re as cool as you pretend to be.

“You okay? You’re a little shaky, Dave.”

“Oh. No, I’m good,” you assure him, but the edge of panic in your voice is evident even to you. “Just kinda cold.” You rub at your thigh. “The heater broke and Bro still hasn’t fixed it yet.” True, but you’re not cold, just a liar and a total wuss.

“Oh. I got a spare hoodie in my bag if you want it?”

“No, that’s okay, I’m fine. I’m good.”

The silence after that is excruciating for you.

“You know we don’t have to do anything, right? If you want, we can just...talk.” And yep. He knows.

He knows you’re not cold just an anxious wreck and why, why do you have to sabotage yourself the second someone actually shows interest in you? With John, all he had to do was look at you, give you one of his goofy smiles, and you were ready to spread your legs for him. You don’t know why it has to be this complicated with someone who actually likes you.

You could talk, but then you think that might actually make you more nervous than getting hot and heavy with him. The majority of your conversations up to this point have consisted of little more than a bunch of teasing, obnoxious back and forth. You’re not sure you know how to be real with him for any length of time, even twenty minutes.

You take a couple seconds to collect yourself, get your shit back under control, and take a deep breath. You look at him. “No. I’m good. I totally wanna do...stuff.” You shift over so that you’re touching, your thigh pressed to his, and you guess that was the green light he was waiting on because he leans in and plants one on you, mouth hot on yours, his fingertips brushing the underside of your chin.

You don’t protest when he places a hand on your shoulder and gently pushes you back down to the mattress. He’s not shy about getting on top of you, and you hold him around the waist as he shifts around, gets into the most comfortable position. He braces his hands on either side of your head and stops kissing you long enough to draw back and look at you. His hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away without thinking.

“So. This is nice.” You don’t know if he means the kissing or the being on top of you but you’re digging both.

A weak, slightly breathless, “Yeah,” is all you can manage.

It’s different with him. He’s warm and solid on top of you but he’s slender, so much smaller than John. The two of you are probably pretty evenly matched physically and that makes you want to try something, just for kicks. You gather up the last of your admittedly dwindling courage and hook your arms under his shoulders, use your body weight to flip him over onto his back, so that he’s under you now.

You watch his face, worried for a second that you might have fucked up, that he’s not into that, when he makes an approving little hum and just says, “Hot.” That one word fills you with warmth, sets you right at ease, because he liked that, he likes you; something you did was hot, sexy.

You take that feeling and run with it, plant your hands on either side of his head and lean down to brush your lips against his. He makes a noise low in his throat, pushes both his hands up into your hair and yanks you down into him. You part your lips and he licks into your mouth, kisses you, your noses bumping together, teeth clacking awkwardly. He cradles your head as he pushes up into you, and you let out a groan when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, tugs at it, nipping you gently.

It doesn’t take long before there’s a definite shift from kissing to just out and out humping. You’ve been boned up since he kissed you down in the laundry room and when he bucks his hips up into you, groaning, you guess he’s in the same boat—you can feel the heat of his erection rubbing at the inside of your thigh. You’re no better the way you’re grinding your dick against his hip, and you’d be way more embarrassed about coming off like a desperate virgin if this weren’t so fucking hot.

When he grabs at your ass, tears his mouth away, you stare down at him in confusion. Your brain is foggy with lust, and all you can think about when you look at him—his face flushed, hair all messy, lips wet and swollen from your kisses—is that you need to reattach yourself to him fast, keep rubbing against him, ride this thing out to what seems like the obvious conclusion.

But then he says, “We should probably stop,” and you deflate like a pricked balloon.

“Oh. Is it not…?”

“No, it’s fucking awesome. It’s just…I have to work late in these pants, so.” He averts his eyes and it dawns on you what he’s trying to say.

“Oh. Oh, shit. Yeah. Sorry.” You roll over onto your side, try not to make your disappointment too obvious, and he throws an arm around you, lets his lips graze your jaw.

“Fuck,” he says into your skin. “Wish I could just call in right now but I’m like, this close to getting fired already. Kinda need this job.”

You place your hand over this and breathe in slow, try to calm your shit down. “No, it’s fine, I’ll um...I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah? I mean, I’ll call you after work. If you’re still up that is.”

“Sure. I’ll be up.”

“Cool.” He gives you a squeeze and raises himself up on his elbow. “Hey. C’mere a sec.”

You angle your head around and he gives you another kiss, lingering a few seconds before grunting and pushing himself up off the bed. You roll over and watch him straighten out his clothes, rearrange his hair and grab up his bag. When he’s at the door, he turns to look at you and says, “Keep your phone on?”

You roll your eyes. “I will. Just go or you’ll be late, man.”

A few seconds after he closes your door you hear him out in the living room, offering your Bro a clipped, “Sorry ‘bout before. Later.” You cringe just thinking about the near-certainty that Bro probably took one look at him and knew exactly what the two of you were getting up to in here.

When you hear the front door close and you’re sure he’s gone, you’re on your back and fumbling with the waistband of your trackpants, tugging them down around your hips. You push a hand inside your boxers, finding them damp, and wrap your fingers around your dick, tugging at yourself. You don’t think about anything but how hot that was, how good Karkat just made you feel with only a few sweet words and some frantic dry humping. You’re rough with yourself then, too desperate and turned on to make it nice, and in just a few seconds you’re coming, jizz spilling hot over your knuckles.

You wipe yourself off with a bunch of tissues and hurry to the bathroom to wash your hands, anxious to avoid the embarrassment of running into Bro right now. It’s not until you’re standing in front of the bathroom mirror that you realize you’ve barely agonized over John since Karkat got here, and that when you do think of him, you no longer feel gross or guilty at all.

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, work has Karkat by the balls and so you don’t see much of each other. You catch him briefly at the Regal on Monday night when you take Jade to see a movie— you hold up the line behind you for a few minutes while you lean over the counter and he teases you about your shirt, snatches your shades, leans in close like he wants to kiss you but doesn’t—but other than that your interactions with him remain limited to cringey flirting all day over Pesterchum.

And boy is it fucking cringey. There’s the fact that it’s so much easier to flirt and act like an idiot over chat—you’re actually capable of pretending to be confident through text, which tends to push your chats over to the flirty side of things fairly quickly.

You’re also well aware you’re acting like a middle-schooler experiencing baby’s first crush, but the more you talk to him the more you don’t want it to stop, whatever this thing is or how it pans out. Because it’s fun. You’re having fun with this. You’re smiling and laughing for the first time in weeks and it’s all because of him.

When you hear your phone buzz now there’s a jolt of excitement rather than pangs of crushing anxiety, and you rush to pick it up, open up your messages, hoping it’s him again.

-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] --

CG: SAVE ME STRIDER. GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE, THROW ME IN A GARBAGE BAG AND JUST HAUL ME OUT LIKE THE STINKING PIECE OF TRASH I AM.

TG: uh oh

TG: whatd you do this time dude

TG: if youre bein this melodramatic that means someones in trouble with the boss again huh

CG: YEAH. I JUST GOT OUT OF HIS ‘OFFICE’ AFTER GETTING THE KARKAT YOU’VE GONE TOO FAR SPEECH ALL OVER AGAIN ONLY IT FELT EXTRA SERIOUS THIS TIME.

CG: OH KARKAT I’VE GIVEN YOU SO MANY CHANCES, THIS’LL HAVE TO BE THE LAST. OH KARKAT YOU CAN’T CUSS AT THE CUSTOMERS WHEN THEY’RE BEING STUPID FUCKING SHITHOLES. OH KARKAT YOU CAN’T THREATEN TO SHOVE BUCKETS OF POPCORN UP PEOPLE’S ASSES WHEN THEY’RE GIVING YOU AN ATTITUDE. KARKAT KARKAT KARKAT YOU NAUGHTY, BAD BOY.

TG: um

TG: ok

TG: that got weird

TG: in all seriousness tho im amazed

TG: impressed

TG: appalled?

TG: that youre not fired like a year ago

TG: seriously what the hell is up with that

TG: i mean unless your boss is a total creep who just wants to stick it to ya

TG: its kind of a head scratcher

TG: youve literally got to be the actual single worst employee in the state of texas

TG: you know that dont you

TG: like if they were handin out awards for that shit youda cleaned up the last twelve months in a row

CG: OK FIRST OF ALL NO. NO. NO. MY BOSS IS LIKE FORTY AND MARRIED AND HE HAS HYPERHIDROSIS AND UNCONTROLLABLE DANDRUFF, DON’T BE FUCKING NASTY, STRIDER.

TG: you are pretty cute tho so theres that

TG: i mean

TG: if he did want to maybe id kinda sympathize before i kicked his ass into next century

TG: i dont think id fire you either

TG: probably just keep you around so i could watch you prance about the place all cute and angry and cute

TG: did i say cute

TG: i meant deranged

CG: PFFFF SHUT UP. I DON’T PRANCE. I STORM. OR STRIDE. OR SWAGGER. NEVER PRANCE.

CG: AND YOU’RE PRETTY FUCKING CUTE YOURSELF OK SO JUST...SHUT YOUR SMARMY, CUTE, LYING LIPS.

CG: HE HASN’T FIRED ME BECAUSE HE’S A COMPLETE FAILURE OF AN AUTHORITY FIGURE WHO PITIES ME AND CAN’T BRING HIMSELF TO JUST BE RUTHLESS TO MY FACE, IT’S SO PATHETIC.

CG: NO SHIT. HE HAS GONE TO DO THE DEED LIKE ELEVEN TIMES THIS YEAR AND EVERY TIME HE JUST CANNOT GO THROUGH WITH IT, IT’S LEGITIMATELY EMBARRASSING FOR BOTH OF US.

TG: oh

TG: ok

TG: but why would he pity you

There’s a short pause here before Karkat skips right over it like you never asked anything. Which you guess is a little weird but you ignore it, reason there’s things he probably doesn’t want to talk to you about, just like there’s a million and three things he doesn’t know about you.

CG: I THINK IF I HAVE TO WORK HERE ANOTHER YEAR I MIGHT ACTUALLY HURL MYSELF OFF THE ROOF OF THE FUCKING PLAZA.

CG: I’M NOT KIDDING.

CG: I’D RATHER SHIT IN MY HANDS AND CLAP.

TG: ok well if were being serious right now then dude just get another job

TG: leave if it makes you miserable

TG: thats not cool

CG: IT’S NOT THAT SIMPLE. I REALLY NEED THE FUCKING MONEY AND...THIS IS GONNA COME AS A MASSIVE SHOCK TO YOU ALRIGHT SO, SIT DOWN. BRACE YOURSELF. GET READY FOR WHAT I’M ABOUT TO DROP ON YOU.

TG: lame

TG: but ok

TG: consider me braced

CG: I’VE BEEN FIRED FROM EVERY OTHER JOB I’VE EVER HAD. THIS IS THE END OF THE ROAD FOR ME AND I CAN’T LEAVE SO I HAVE TO BROWNNOSE MY WAY OUT OF THIS SITUATION, WHICH IS WHOLLY OF MY OWN MAKING, ONCE AGAIN AND I HATE IT. I HATE EVERYTHING AND

CG: RIGHT NOW I WISH I WAS WITH YOU INSTEAD.

CG: FUCK WORK AND TAKING CARE OF MY RESPONSIBILITIES, WHAT THE FUCK ARE THOSE AND WHO THE HELL DO THEY THINK THEY ARE???

CG: THIS IS REALLY LAME AND STUPID BUT JUST DOING LAUNDRY WITH YOU WAS ONE OF THE BEST DAYS I’VE HAD IN A WHILE

CG: THE MAKING OUT AFTER DIDN’T HURT BUT I MEAN THE HANGING OUT BEING WITH YOU PART WAS PRETTY GOOD TOO.

Smiling this long feels so unnatural that your face actually starts to ache. You’re rubbing a finger into your cheek, trying to ease the tension, while you type out your reply.

TG: well first you were totally right

TG: im shocked you get fired from jobs where part of the job description is yknow face to face contact with the general public

TG: im scraping whats left of my jaw off the fuckin floor right now bro

TG: and second

TG: this is gonna sound like a wild suggestion but stay with me a sec k

TG: have you tried like

TG: not popping off every time you get a bee in your lil bonnet

TG: learning to shut your piehole could work wonders for you

TG: just throwin that out there

TG: but ok three...its not lame and stupid

TG: it was a good day for me too

TG: like really good

CG: GOOD. YES. GOOD.

CG: SO

CG: MAYBE YOU WANT TO COME ANNOY THE SHIT OUT OF ME AT WORK ON FRIDAY NIGHT, STOP ME FROM POPPING OFF AT ALL THE STUPID CUSTOMERS AGAIN. AND THEN WE CAN LIKE, GET DINNER OR SOMETHING. AFTER. I DON’T KNOW. YOU CAN FIGURE OUT THE SOMETHING. WE CAN DO ANYTHING. IT’S WHATEVER.

You’re in the middle of typing out a long-winded response that basically amounts to FUCK YES when your Bro appears in your doorway. He’s got his jacket on and his keys are in his hand so you guess he’s on his way out the door. You wait for him to say whatever it is he wants to say to you. When he doesn't, just stands there until you start to feel uneasy, you put your phone down and ask, “What?” Which you quickly realize could be the wrong thing to say if he misinterprets it; if you’ve done something to piss him off and he thinks you’re getting an attitude with him.

He stares at you like you’re defective in some way. “You made the appointment, dickhead.”

You’ve been so caught up in your near-constant back and forth with Karkat that you’d totally forgotten about the appointment, and are more than a little surprised that your Bro didn’t.

“Um. You want me to go with you?” You’re thinking he probably does given the way he’s just standing there, waiting, but he’ll never ask you direct and you don’t want to overstep by inviting yourself along if that’s not actually what he wants.

When he doesn’t tell you off you have to just take that as a yes.

“Shit. Sorry. Lemme just put on some pants.”

“Hurry the fuck up.”

He leaves you alone and you roll off your bed, quickly tug your jeans on, pull on your shoes, and follow your Bro down to the parking garage.

The two of you sit huddled close together in the waiting room. Bro’s filling out a form—it’s been so long since he’s seen an actual doctor that it’s apparently necessary for him to update all his details—and you busy yourself watching the people walking in and out of the door, tapping your foot against the carpet.

It’s been forever since you saw a doctor either; you can’t remember the last time Bro took you to get a check-up but you know it's been years. It was only when you were little and so sick you were pretty sure your Bro was worried you might actually die that he ever took you to see someone, always instructing you beforehand to keep your answers simple, your mouth shut; to lie about any scars or bruises the doctor might notice and question you about. Tell them you don’t have much of an appetite if they ask why you’re so small and skinny.

Even now you feel afraid just being here, like if you slip up, let Bro down and say the wrong thing, something bad will happen to you. Or him.

When you pull your phone out, open your messaging app just for something to do, you realize you never sent your answer back to Karkat. Shit. You quickly delete your incomplete message and, hoping he didn’t take your lengthy silence the wrong way, respond with an unusually direct:

TG: hell yes

TG: count me in

You try to keep your nerves in check when they call up your Bro using his actual name, which is still a little weird whenever you hear it.

It’s awkward already when your doctor—a short little lady with long grey hair and really thick eyebrows whom you vaguely remember from your childhood—extends a hand to your Bro to shake it and he just stares at it, sits down without saying a word.

You settle into the chair next to Bro and when she asks, “So what can I do for you today?” and is met with silence, you quickly understand why you’re here, what your purpose is today.

Your Bro has never been any good at talking to people and wants you to do all that for him, which makes you feel nervous but also weirdly affectionate. It’s always nice when he reminds you that you’re good for something, and that he needs you too; that you’re more than just a burden to him. But that’s a shitload of responsibility you weren’t totally prepared for today and so you have to take a minute to figure out how best to approach this.

Unlike him you can at least pretend to be functional when you need to be, and so you sit forward in your chair and give her the whole rundown on what’s been going on with Bro lately, careful of course to omit the scarier details—the parts where he comes into your room at night, stands in your doorway or stands over you. The night where you found him in the kitchen with all the swords at his feet. Hell, anything to do with the fucking swords because if anything warrants a call to CPS it’s an empty fridge full of deadly weapons, and a parent with a history of being violent towards you who sleepwalks around the apartment totally unchecked.

After that it’s just a series of questions on your Bro’s medical history—if he’s allergic to anything, if he’s currently on any other medications—and he manages to answer most of them while obfuscating things like how much alcohol he drinks, or the fact that he still uses whenever he’s got a gig on the weekend.

In the end you’re walking out of there with a print-out on strategies for keeping your Bro safe, trying to limit both the sleepwalking and the dangers it presents, as well as a prescription for Prosom. Mission accomplished.

You hold onto the print-out of advice, reading over the entire document front to back, as you wait in the truck for Bro to get his prescription filled.

You’re feeling good about this already, like a little weight’s been lifted from your shoulders. With this taken care of, it’s at least one less thing you have to worry yourself over.

Chapter Text

By the time Friday night rolls around you’re itching to get out the door but find yourself with the unprecedented dilemma of not being able to figure out what the fuck to wear. It’s not like you’ve ever given much of a damn about things like this in the past. John didn’t look at you the way you wanted him to—what you were wearing was always irrelevant.

In every other situation you’ve always been of the belief that looking casual and maybe even a little sloppy is just part of what makes you cool. But you don’t think you want to do cool tonight. Coming off all your flirting over the past few days, what you actually want is to make an effort, give enough of a shit to look good for him. You’re counting this as your first legit date and when he looks at you, you want him to like what he sees. Only your entire wardrobe is a fucking bust and you’re kicking yourself for not doing something about this earlier, maybe buying something to wear beforehand when you had the chance.

You can’t borrow any of your Bro’s clothes because he’s massive and you’d only swim in them, look even dumber than you do right now. Besides, his wardrobe probably doesn’t fare much better than yours. Neither of you have ever been the type to play dress-up for special occasions, especially when there are never any special occasions that warrant getting dressed-up for. Bro wears the same shit all the time, no matter what he’s doing, and you don’t think you’ve ever been anywhere that has a dress code. The last time Bro bought you something respectable to wear was for a funeral a couple years back, and thinking about that sees you rifling deeper through your closet in search of the navy button-up you remember wearing that day, because you don't throw shit out and so it's gotta be here somewhere.

You find it right at the back, buried under a layer of hoodies and cobwebby old sweaters. You put it on and roll up the sleeves, surprised it still fits, and hold the bathroom up for the next twenty minutes while you mess about with your hair, fuck around with some of Bro’s aftershaves and colognes that you find stashed under the sink.

When you finally emerge, Bro’s in the kitchen sewing an arm onto one of his gross plush puppets. He looks up briefly when he hears you, but if he notices anything unusual about the way you’re dressed he doesn’t show it.

You pick your keys up off the bench and hesitate a few moments before telling him, “I’m going out tonight.” When he doesn’t answer, you add, “I’m not sure when I’ll be home. I’ll call if it’s getting late.”

He does look at you then, eyes briefly sweeping you up and down before he responds with, “Goin’ out with New John, huh?” He turns his attention back to the smuppet and snorts softly. “Stick a muzzle on it if ya wanna get lucky later. Kid’s got a mouth on ‘im. ‘S’not so hot when you’re tryna get laid, I’ll tell ya that.”

A lump of ice settles in your stomach. You do your best not to show you’re thrown. You know exactly what he’s doing right now and you guess you should have seen it coming. He was bound to ask about John at some point given the fact that John has been a near-constant fixture not just in your life but in his by association, for almost ten years. He’s as close to family as it gets. Your Bro also has a penchant for picking inopportune situations to be a complete asshole and you’d bet anything he’s been biding his time on this one, waiting for the right moment to whip it out at you in the shittiest way he could. He knows all your weaknesses, which means there’s no way he didn’t go into this packing the full knowledge that that little dig about you replacing John with a new boy would hit you right below the belt.

You carefully school your expression into one of cool neutrality and say, “Look man, if you wanna know where John went, just ask.” The only option you had here was to flip it back around on him the way he always does with you. You just hope it pays off, doesn’t end with him getting pissed and lobbing that smuppet right at your face, ass first.

“Didn’t ask,” he grunts, sticking the needle between his teeth and tugging on the smuppet’s arm to test the stitches.

You watch his face. You don’t know how but you’re sure he knows, or has at least guessed, what happened between you and John that night—or rather, what you did to John. When it comes to you, your Bro is perceptive to a fault and anyway, it’s not like you were ever that slick in trying to hide how you felt. The only person who didn’t get the memo was apparently John himself. The likelihood that Bro never noticed you were crazy about him is virtually zero. Why he never teased you about it is another matter, and something you’ll likely never understand.

In the end you decide to just cop to everything so you never have to wonder, which is probably the last thing Bro’s expecting from you. You’re hoping that if you do, you won’t have to speak about this with him ever again.

“Yeah, so funny story. I came onto him—and not even a little, like tried to kiss him and everything—and he wasn’t feelin’ it. We’re doing this time-out kinda thing for a while, ‘til it’s not so fuckin’ weird anymore. Oh. Don’t forget to take your pills tonight; I left ‘em on top of the microwave. And you’re not ‘sposed to drink on ‘em either so just...take it easy after the gig tonight, yeah?”

To look at him, you’d think he wasn’t listening. But you know he is—you know he heard everything you just said—and when you’re satisfied that you’ve stood there long enough to know a reply isn’t forthcoming, you stuff your keys in your pocket and head out the door.

When Karkat spots you he can’t even hide the stupid grin on his face, which leaves you fending off a whole fucking swarm of butterflies teeming about in the pit of your stomach. It’s like all your dumb flirting over chat has built up to this moment, which all of a sudden feels stupid romantic to you.

He doesn’t talk for a while, just stares at you with that same dumb smile, and so you tease him with, “What? You got no smart-ass remark today, huh?”

“Actually, no. You clean up good. Like, really good.” He fiddles around with the buttons on your shirt. You watch his cheeks turn pink then, which really makes you want to put your lips on them, kiss him, feel that warmth up against your mouth. But even if you had the guts to try something like that, you know you probably shouldn’t kiss him at work.

He’s apparently thinking along the same lines because he doesn’t try to kiss you either, just opens his arms to you for a hug. You wrap your arms around him and give him a squeeze, thoroughly enjoying the way he fits against you, his clean smell, how warm he feels in your arms.

He’s quick to usher you behind the counter and you sit back, chew on Skittles you hope Karkat will pay for later, and watch while he serves a long line of customers, his attitude slightly less foul than it’d been the last time you did this with him. You sit on a stool next to him and help him out by filling up cups of soda, darting your leg out and kicking him in the ankle every time you get the sense he’s about to say something that’ll get him into trouble again with the boss.

Over the course of the night, trying to keep it strictly g-rated while he’s working seems to be an exercise in self-restraint for both of you. It does have the added benefit, however, of forcing you to get creative just to find excuses to put your hands on him, which right now is all you can think about. When he’s got his back turned to you, busy cleaning the nozzles on the soda fountain, you tease him about the way his hair sticks up and end up running your fingers through it for five minutes, pushing it back and forth.

Half an hour before the end of his shift and it’s finally starting to slow down, which means way less people around to watch the two of you acting like a couple of idiots together. You decide to kick the idiocy up a notch when Karkat accidentally steps on your foot and you catch him in a loose headlock, grab his wrist and force him to engage in a super mature game of ‘Make Karkat Slap the Shit Out of Himself As Many Times As You Can’ while he doubles over, kills himself laughing, begs you to stop because he can’t breathe. You don’t quit it until one of you accidentally knocks over the candy display and you then have to spend the next fifteen minutes painstakingly putting it back together.

Right before the end of his shift, as Karkat’s doing a surprisingly polite job of explaining to a customer exactly where the restrooms are—for what has to be the third time this evening—you snatch his phone from his pocket and make short work of making it way more awesome. And by awesome, you mean switching his wallpaper over to Burt Reynolds’ iconic Playgirl centerfold. Just as you click save, a flash of lavender text streaks across the screen and your own name jumps out at you.

Before you know it you’re doing the asshole thing, clicking on the message notification because hey, it’s your name! it’s about you! But you feel seriously grubby about it the second his chat app opens up. Because this is wrong, and you shouldn’t be doing it, and who cares if it’s Rose and they’re talking about you. What people say about you when you’re not looking is none of your business. You know that. Karkat can talk to whomever he damn well pleases, about whatever he wants, including you! and this...this is none of your business. Nope. Nope nope nope.

Your curiosity ends up winning out over your conscience, because your curiosity is an asshole and it hates you and has never failed to land you in hot water in the past. You let yourself scan just a few lines, then scroll up to scan a few more, and what you read has your guts flip-flopping around like landed fish.

You read Rose’s latest message first:

TT: I’m glad to hear things are going so well. You’re doing great with Dave.

Which is...kind of sweet, you guess. He’s obviously been talking to Rose about you, and he thinks things are going well too, and even if you’re currently in the process of invading the shit out of his privacy, it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy to know that he’s happy and feeling good about this thing. But then you’re scrolling up, skimming over their past messages, which all seem to be about you and how best to approach you, and...fuck. You’re a total douchebag for doing this and it’s a struggle to maintain your cool facade with Karkat standing innocently mere feet from where you’re sitting.

TT: Despite his carefully cultivated veneer of insouciance, Dave is timid, shy and easily startled. Think of him like a deer in the woods, flighty and elusive.

TT: Take it from me: He responds best to a more assertive presence. A firm hand, if you will.

CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS A FIRM HAND.

CG: DO YOU MEAN LIKE SPANKING.

CG: I’M NOT SPANKING DAVE.

CG: NOT UNLESS HE ASKS ME TO.

CG: I MEAN

CG: SHUT UP!! WHY ARE WE TALKING ABOUT SPANKING???

CG: YOU ARE A SICK, SICK INDIVIDUAL. WHAT KIND OF ADVICE IS THIS?

TT: Goodness me.

TT: Why are boys so insufferably stupid?

Your face is so hot you feel your pulse beating beneath your flushed skin. You close out of the app and click the power button, switching off the screen. You slip Karkat’s phone back inside his pocket and he turns around partway, brushes your hand in a way that feels deliberate, affectionate.

“Hey, I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick,” you tell him a little breathlessly, because you need an excuse to get out of here for just a second, get your shit back under control before he notices the guilty-ass look on your face.

“Yeah, sure. I’m just gonna finish up here then go get changed. Meet you out in the lobby in ten?”

"Yep."

As you’re turning around he grabs your wrist and looks you over a little too long. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yep. Good. Fine. Just like, gettin’ kinda hot in here, don’t you think? You should ask ‘em to turn the heating down a bit.” You flap your hands around in front of your face like a moron and haul ass before you can figure out whether or not he bought that.

When you make it to the bathroom, you splash some cold water on your face a few times. You fiddle around with the handdryer for a couple minutes, trying to dry off your shirt, then lean on your hip against the sink, pulling your phone from your pocket.

You open Pesterchum and click on your last chat with Rose, deliberating for a while on what you’re going to say to her. Definitely not “hey Rose, I just found out you’ve been meddling in my affairs by snooping around in my maybe-kind-of-possibly-but-not-really-potential-boyfriend’s phone and I’m mad about it!”. Yeah, no.

Because you don’t get to be mad about it and you’re not, at least not with him. What you read actually has you a little floored, though, and maybe even kind of sad, just thinking that he thought he needed a shitload of help from Rose just to make it work with you. Like you’re that much of a special fucking case that he required Rose’s taskforce of one just to get you to warm up. And you guess it’s true. Your skull is apparently so fucking thick you didn’t even realize you were on a date with him all those months back. Which you’re now understanding probably rocked his confidence a little. Or a lot.

You’re also feeling exceptionally called-out by Rose’s remarks about you, and even if they were loaded with more truth than you’d like to give her credit for, that shit’s going to stop. Now.

You want everyone out of it—Rose, your shit with John, fucking Bro. Whatever happens between you and Karkat from this point on, it’s going to be between you and him and that’s it. Period.

TG: rose.

You don’t even wait for her response before you launch right into it.

TG: stay the hell out of my dating life and stop fucking around with karkats head ok

TG: he doesnt need your help

TG: hes fine on his own

TT: I see.

TT: He told you about our chats.

Not fucking quite but you don’t correct her there.

TT: I appreciate your reluctance at having me meddle about in your private affairs, Dave. Particularly those of a more sensitive nature.

TT: But I’ll just ask this: It worked, didn’t it? If I'm not mistaken you are currently out, on a date, with a boy who likes you very much. Which beats moping around at home in your underpants, don't you agree?

TG: oh my god

TG: whatever

TG: go away

TT: You’re welcome.

TT: But yes, I’ll heed your advice and henceforth “stay the hell out of your dating life and stop fucking around with his head”.

TT: I am glad you’re happy, though, Dave.

TT: The two of you make a great match.

TT: Enjoy the rest of your date.

TT: Be safe. Use a prophylactic if you engage in intercourse. All of that.

TG: ugh

TG: bye rose

Chapter Text

In typical Strider fashion it takes Karkat noticing something is off with you and calling you out on it before you manage to speak what's on your mind.

You're sitting with him on the grass near the Waterwall uptown, picking at a tray of rapidly cooling fries. You're playing with them more than you're actually eating them, so preoccupied with your thoughts that everything you put in your mouth tastes like cardboard anyway.

The steady rush of water on cement makes for a welcome distraction, but you can only stare at the fountain for so long before it starts to look like you're avoiding something. And you are.

Karkat opens with: "So you're really quiet tonight. Is something wrong?" When you shake your head in response, he puts his hand on your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Come on, you're not even eating. Is it a weird food thing or something?" His tone is gentle now, like he's talking to a skittish little kid or something. It's unsettlingly discordant on him.

You tear your eyes away from the fountain for a minute to look at him. "A food thing?"

He shrugs and takes a sip of his coke, giving your mostly-full tray of fries a pointed look. "I just noticed you don't eat a lot. Like ever. I'm not pushing you on it or anything it just makes me kind of worried." He's being deliberately casual about this but he's way too easy to read. The way you're acting is freaking him out so bad he's making it about food and it's all your fault.

You set your tray down on the grass and and budge up a little nearer to him, so your knees bump. "Stop it, okay? It's not that. I don't have a weird food thing." It strikes you soon after saying this that actually, you do have a lot of weird food things courtesy of growing up with a dude who seemed to think feeding you was optional. That shit just happens to be wholly tangential to what's actually on your mind at the moment. It still embarrasses the shit out of you that he picked up on it, even by accident.

"Okay," he accepts in a subdued tone. "Sorry I said anything."

He goes back to eating and you watch him from the corner of your eye, the huddled little shape he makes, and it pricks at your heart. He might as well be alone for the shitty company you're making. You've got to be the worst fucking date ever.

You're sitting close enough that it's easy to just lean forward and plant one on his lips, for no reason other than that things might turn sour between you pretty soon and if it's your last chance to get a kiss from him, you want to take it while you can. It should be totally gross because his mouth is full of food but it somehow manages not to be.

He makes a little noise of surprise and snorts the cutest laugh you think you've ever heard. A smile tugs at your lips but is quickly wiped out by what you know you have to say next.

"Nice," he says. "Don't know what the was for, but nice."

You rest your cheek on your knee and look at him. "It's 'cause I'm an a-hole, dude."

"What?" He's still laughing, his mouth half-full. "How are you an a-hole? I mean other than the huge list of obvious shit I've already pointed out to you ad fricking nauseum."

You pick at the grass while you talk. "You know how I was messing with your phone before?"

"Yeah, I saw your choice wallpaper. Nice one, by the way. What about it?"

"Okay, well I saw a message pop up when I was on it. It was from Rose. I might've clicked on it and seen some shit I wasn't 'sposed to, which I guess explains why I'm an a-hole and I'm sorry." Every muscle in your body tenses as you wait for him to explode on you, really let you have it, but he doesn't. Just sighs then goes quiet.

When you look at him next his head is bowed and he won't meet your eyes. "How much did you even read, Dave?"

"Not much, I swear," you're quick to tell him, like that even makes it any better. "It's just... I saw you talking to her, and it was about me, and I guess my ego fucked me up good 'cause I should've known better and just put it down but... Shit. I should go, right? I'll go."

You plant your hands on the grass but before you can move a limb in any direction his head snaps up and he shoots you an incredulous look. "Really? You're gonna bail on me, just like that?"

"What? No, I'm not—"

He cuts you off with an angry, "Like, do you always do that? Just run away from people the minute shit gets uncomfortable?" There's an undercurrent of real bitterness in his tone now, and it's directed right at you. It makes you want to fold in on yourself, disappear.

"I... Dude, I'm not bailing on you, alright? It's just you're mad at me and I don't know what else to do." You cringe just listening to yourself, how weak you sound. You don't know how you manage it but if saying and doing the wrong thing every fucking time was an Olympic sport you'd have to be in the running for gold.

If you could go back and bitchslap Past Dave for putting you in this mess, you would. If it weren't for him and his dumbass choices you could be rolling around on the grass with Karkat right now, groping each other's asses and sucking face. Instead you're having to do this—and you're fucking awful at it. And as much as it stings, Karkat's actually right about you: Despite everything you've been taught, you can't cope with conflict. You always thought that just made you a disappointment to Bro, but you guess it's worse than that. Knowing Karkat's mad at you does make you want to pussy out of this and just bail, because doing your disappearing act always makes things easier.

"Who even says I'm mad at you?" Karkat grumbles. You want to say 'The look on your face' but don't. "I just don't want you to think any of that meant something it didn't."

"I don't think it means anything. Nothing bad, anyway."

"It's not like I was scheming behind your back or anything. It wasn't like that. I can explain."

You stare at him. "Dude. I don't think that." Briefly, you consider trying to be conciliatory in some way—holding his hand, putting your arm around him—but ultimately you decide against it. It could backfire and you're still too touchy about being rejected, especially now that things are up in the air the way they are.

All you can do is give him the opening to tell his side of the story to you, not that he even needs to explain himself to you but it's obvious that he wants to.

You start with, "So can I ask you something?"

"Yeah. You can ask whatever."

"Why her? Rose, I mean."

He just shrugs. "She knows you best, right? You guys have been friends for years."

"I know but I mean, she doesn't know everything about me. You know that, right? Some of that stuff was... It's not even me, or she's saying it all wrong, I... Fuck, I don't even know. I want you to get to know me, but not like...whatever ideas you have about me that someone else gave to you."

"Yeah," he concedes. "Looking back on it, it was dumb. I guess I just thought I needed help with you. Whatever I was doing wasn't working 'cause all I ever did was put you off. I wanted something to happen with you so bad I just went about everything the wrong way. You're gonna think I'm crazy but I swear, the first day I met you I knew you were for me."

You don't know how to respond to that because it has to be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to you. You have to say something though because he's looking at you like he's just waiting for you to finish him.

"It's not crazy. It's not. It's actually kinda nice." You wish you could lie to him, tell him you felt the same way about him when you met him but you can't, because you didn't. If you were honest you'd tell him that the first time you met him you kind of just thought he was a mildly amusing yet obnoxious douche who hated everything about you. You never would have guessed that any of his teasing meant that he was actually into you. Maybe he's even worse at this than you, which is a vaguely comforting thought.

"I could have asked John, right?" Karkat continues with a hollow little laugh. "I mean, he's probably the only other person who knows you better. Something told me he wouldn't have been so cool with that, though. I don't think I would've been cool with it either. Like, the way you looked at him... It felt like I didn't even have a shot with you anyway. I guess I'm just really persistent. Or really stupid. One of those."

You bump his shoulder with yours. "You're not stupid, okay?"

He puts his hand on your leg and shifts around, moves in to kiss you. You relax against him when your lips meet, push your hand into his hair and cradle his head. When he breaks the kiss he stays close so that you can feel his lips move against yours when he speaks.

"I was going to ask you something, before all this."

"So ask," you murmur, and your belly tightens when he angles his head and rubs his nose against yours.

"Well now I'm thinking you're probably gonna say no. You know, 'cause of all that douchey stuff I said before, 'bout you running away from things."

"Forget all that. Just ask me." It's not even like he wasn't dead right in the first place.

He brings a hand to your back, runs his palm up and down your spine. "You can say no, but... Do you want to come home with me tonight?"

You pull away to stare at him. "Oh."

"Oh?" he echoes with a worried look.

"I mean yeah," you tell him, way faster than you intended. It's not like you want him to think you're too eager to get your clothes off for the first guy who pays any attention to you, because it's not even that. Just the idea of being out of the apartment for the night and away from Bro, sleeping next to someone else and not being alone, sounds like your idea of awesome.

You think about calling Bro, because you told him you would, but if you do there's always the strong chance he'll say no to you staying out just to be a dick. And at the end of the day you'd rather just do it and ask for his forgiveness rather than his permission.

"Yeah?" His expression shifts from dejected to out and out hopeful and it's adorable.

"Yeah, why not. Your mom won't mind?" You're only asking because this is all foreign ground to you and you should probably know how to play it, whether or not you need to front like you're only bros or if his family is cool with the whole you being a dude thing.

"My mom?" He laughs. "Yeah, that's not gonna be a problem."

"Okay then, sweet. Let's get this slumber party started."

He pushes to his feet and offers his hand out to you. You take it and he yanks you up to stand but doesn't let go of your hand.

"Hey, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I didn't ask you that in a sleazy you-have-to-sleep-with-me-tonight kind of way. That's not what this is. I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

You use his hand to pull him closer to you. "You don't even have to. I know."

He ducks forward to kiss you and you meet him halfway. You can't help thinking it'd be the furthest thing from a let-down anyway if his plan tonight actually was to get you to sleep with him after all.

When you're standing outside Karkat's small, rundown apartment block, you try to keep a neutral expression in place, not give away that you're in any way surprised by where he lives. It’s not like it's entirely unfamiliar to you anyway. You recognize the neighborhood you're in as one of the roughest areas in the Third Ward. You remember coming out here a lot when you were tiny, Bro dragging you along with him whenever he needed to score. Because you were too little for him to leave you alone back then and there was no one else around to mind you. You remember clinging to his shirt and being scared when other grown-ups talked to you; him leaving you in unfamiliar houses while he disappeared for long stretches of time, laughing and swatting you away when you cried and wouldn’t let him go.

It’s been a long time since he did things like that, but those memories always make your stomach hurt when you dredge them back up.

Karkat gestures for you to follow him and so you do, weaving your way around broken furniture and a couple of old discarded mattresses left out on the front lawn. A guy sporting some mean face and neck tattoos passes you on the stairs, nods to Karkat but lets his gaze linger over you a beat too long. You twist your fingers in the back of Karkat's shirt until you're at his front door.

The first thing that hits you when you open the door is the smell of baking, which is pretty high up the list on last things you were expecting. You take a cursory glance around his bare, small apartment and fairly quickly surmise, judging by the multiple milk crates in use as furniture here, that this is not at all a family affair.

Before you can ask him about it, Karkat drops his bag by the door and snatches your hand up again, leading you through into a tiny kitchen, barely big enough to swing a rat let alone a cat.

Your vision is almost instantly assaulted by the view of some dude's underwear clad backside bending over the stove. When he straightens up you note that he's tall, with a tangle of unruly dark hair, and his back is almost entirely inked out with the most ghoulish clown tattoo you have ever encountered. You instantly think of Bro and how he'd rip on this guy but still think this was the sickest shit ever.

You shoot Karkat a look you're not sure how he'll interpret and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"Hey. Gamzee," Karkat says, announcing himself, and the dude whips around with the dopiest grin you've ever seen. And if this guy isn't steeped to his eyeballs in weed you'll eat your damn shades.

"Kat-Kat." Gamzee wipes his floury hands all over his underwear and approaches Karkat for a bear hug. You let go of Karkat’s hand, take a couple steps back and just stare at the scene unfolding before you.

You don't even blink at either of those ridiculous names because this is already approaching fictional levels of crazy for you and you just want to sit back and enjoy the ride. Something does start to nag at you, though, when this Gamzee guy lets his hug with Karkat linger on a bit longer than you deem personally acceptable. And wow, yep, you guess that means you're jealous already, which is dumb as hell but there it is.

When Gamzee finally releases Karkat, his gaze falls on you and you offer him a small half-wave. "'Sup."

"Gam, this is Dave," Karkat says for you. He steps back like he knows what's about to happen next and before you can move, dodge your way out of it, Gamzee's approaching you with his arm outstretched to hug you. The next thing you know, your cheek is smooshed to some dude's bare, clown-tattooed pec and his armpit hair is perilously close to your face

When he lets go of you, he stares at both of you like someone squinting trying to read too-small text, like he can't quite make either of you out.

"So," he says in a long, stretched-out drawl. "You two are like...?" He points his finger at Karkat, then at you, and back again.

"Yeah. We are," Karkat answers with more confidence than you think you'd manage if it was down to you to answer that loaded question.

Gamzee bestows both of you with a slow nod of approval and reaches out to mess with Karkat's hair. "Fuckin' awesome. Love is where it's at, yo."

"Yeah. Totally where it's at. So what's in the oven?" you ask him, eager to change the subject.

"You like brownies?" he asks, and you perk right up at that. Home-baked goods are like contraband in your household for how scarce they are. You pounce right on that shit whenever you get the chance, which is usually only when you're spending the night at John's and take the opportunity to stuff yourself with so much cake and cookies you just get nauseous.

"Hell yeah I do."

"Rad. I'll come get you guys when they're done?"

You and Karkat both speak at the same time:

"Gam, that's okay, we just—"

"Yeah, alright, awesome. I'm down for brownies, dude."

"Hm. Yeah. 'Kay, we're going now." Karkat grabs your hand again and drags you out of the kitchen, through the near-empty lounge and down a short little hallway.

When you're inside his room, the door shut behind both of you, you don't even get a chance to get a good look around the room before Karkat's in front of you saying, "Don't eat them." He looks so serious it just comes off as cute and you resist the urge to fuck with his hair the way Gamzee just did.

"What? The brownies? Why?" You collapse into a sit on the only thing available to sit on, apart from the carpet—a mattress on the floor. There's literally no other furniture in here, just a lamp, an open laptop next to the bed, some lame movie posters up on the walls and a bunch of clothes and assorted chargers scattered across the stained carpet.

Karkat slumps down next to you. "Yeah. It's just they're probably packed with enough weed to tranquilize a fucking horse and okay, yeah, that sounds pretty awesome, I'll admit, but I kind of just want to be with you. Actual, sober you. Is that okay?"

You shrug and just say, "Yeah. Totally okay." Mostly because you know exactly what he's getting at and why. You've had more than your share of experience with the whole wishing someone was sober when they're not thing, and you've never liked weed anyway, probably because of how hard Bro flogged that shit when you were younger.

"Okay. I should get you something to sleep in, right? Hold up a sec." Karkat rolls off the bed and rummages around in a laundry basket full of folded clothes. He pulls something out and tosses it at you.

You catch it against your chest and unfold it, holding it up in front of you. Your jaw drops. "Whoa. You've got to be shittin' me."

"What? It's just a t-shirt. Who cares what's on it, just get in it."

"This...cannot be yours. For a start it's way too fucking big, and...Insane Clown Posse? Really? Come on, man, I can't sleep in that dude's shirt, that's fucking weird."

"How is it weird?" Karkat's pulling his own shirt off now and you avert your eyes like he minds you looking, which you're pretty sure he doesn't. "It's mine now and it's not like I didn't wash it."

You heave a big sigh. "If I put this on, it's gonna absorb all my cool. Seriously, like, I will never ever be cool again and it'll be all your fault, Kat-Kat. I'll put it on if you're willing to accept those consequences."

He rolls his eyes at you. "Dude, just put the fucking shirt on already. And if you're teasing me with that nickname, you should probably try something else. Sounds cute as hell coming from you."

You undo the buttons on your shirt and slip it off your shoulders, tossing it on the bed. You unbutton your jeans, shimmying them down over your hips, then yank the t-shirt over your head, smoothing it down over your thighs. "How are you even attracted to me in this?" you wonder aloud, half-seriously, as you pull the shirt taut and survey the ridiculous, garish print.

"Probably 'cause I'd be attracted to you in anything," he replies, bluntly. "That's the thing about attraction. It's not actually dependent on superficial shit like good or bad clothing choices. At least not for me."

He's stripped down to his boxers now but might as well be fully naked for how much you want to keep staring at him. It feels weird but you join him on the bed and lay on your sides, facing each other.

"So," you say after a minute.

"So," he answers.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Where's your mom and dad? You're seventeen and you live with that guy? What's up with that?" You're aware these questions might not get any answers given what you've seen tonight—the only real possibilities are probably not good possibilities—but it's been on your mind since you stepped foot in his apartment and you want to know.

His brow furrows and you just hope you haven't messed up and upset him.

"I never knew my dad," he finally answers, his voice tight. "And my mom... It's complicated. My abuelita raised me, but...she's gone now."

"Oh. I'm sorry." You rub his shoulder in a way you hope is comforting and not weird.

"It's cool." He looks at you again. "I'm not sad anymore. Me and Gam, we take pretty good care of each other. It's working out fine so far."

"Yeah. About him. You never told me you live with this weird, handsome, tattooed clown guy. That's cool. Super cool. Yeah. Just so cool."

"Yeah. That was one too many 'cools', Strider," Karkat astutely observes. He places a warm hand on your hip. "Are you jealous or something?" he says it in a way that's teasing but also right on the fucking money.

"Should I be jealous?" You try to sound equally teasing but it's not really working for you. "I mean, is he your family, or...?"

"No. A friend. Just a friend. And he's weird, sure, but he's not that weird. You should be used to a truckload of weird anyway, right?" Karkat says with a snort.

You raise a brow at that. "Meaning?"

"Well your Bro's pretty fucking weird, right? I mean he owns a crapload of puppets that look like they were made for buttfucking." He finishes with a laugh but cuts it short at the blank look on your face.

"Oh. You noticed that, huh." A flush is creeping up your neck to your face and great, another awkward conversation about your psycho brother wherein you have explain him to someone not already initiated. It's definitely not the first time you're doing this conversation but it's the last one you want to be having right now.

"Shit," Karkat mutters, shooting you a rueful look. "I'm just realizing now that that sounded way less douchey in my head. It was supposed to be funny but you're not laughing and...dammit. Sorry if I crossed some line. It's just that weird porno puppets with huge butts and dicks for noses are kind of hard to miss, that's all."

"Nah, it's cool. Why didn't you say anything before, though? You've got enough material right there to bust my balls from here until eternity."

"I dunno. When's the right time to even bring up freaky dick puppets?"

"Well sure but now I feel like a jerk for ripping on clown guy out there. About the puppets though, I can explain."

"Why do I doubt that's even possible?" he says, trying and failing to suppress a smirk. "But okay, I'm listening."

You take a deep breath before you begin. The only people who know about this are you, Bro, John, Rose, and you guess Karkat now. John because he’s your best friend and Rose because she was nosy enough, and clever enough, to fill in the blanks and figure out your Bro’s profession for herself. You never told Jade because you didn’t want to creep her the hell out.

"So to cut a long story short, my Bro’s a professional pornographer slash...actor." You give Karkat a minute to let that sink in, for him to realize you're not fucking around, before you follow it up with: "Niche stuff, obviously, which explains the puppets—and seriously, you'd be fucking shocked at the shit some dudes beat off over—but sometimes the more mainstream stuff too. Whatever's trending and raking in the most views month to month. He's actually really good with the business side of things, but...yeah. Super weird way to grow up is putting it mildly."

You can tell it's hitting him like a dump truck because his mouth is literally open and all he can say is, "Uhhhhhhhhhh." When he's finally got his faculties back he says, "Whoa. That is a lot to unpack."

"Yeah." You shuffle a little closer to him. "Maybe we can unpack it later? Thinkin’ about my Bro’s pornographic exploits is pretty much the last thing I want to do right now." You hope he can read between the lines there.

"Uh, yeah. Seconded a billion fucking times. But like...we’re probably gonna have to talk about it at some point because holy shit, Dave. That is something else."

"I know. Just promise me one thing."

"Yeah. Anything."

"I know you're probably itchin’ with curiosity right now but promise me you won’t google any of it. I'm being serious, not even fucking with you. Just...please don't?"

"The porn, you mean?"

"His name, his porn, his websites, whatever. Just don’t do it. For me?"

Karkat pushes his fingers into your hair and grips the back of your head. "Trust me," he says, looking you dead in the eye now, "the only time I’m ever gonna do that is if I’ve swallowed poison and need a guaranteed way to make myself fucking puke. Gross."

"Okay. Good," you tell him with an approving smile.

He uses his leverage on your head to drag you closer and kiss you hard on the mouth. You melt against him almost immediately and shuffle in so you're nearly flush, tangling your bare legs together. It gets heated almost instantly because neither of you are even kidding yourselves about all roads tonight leading right to here—his hand gripping your hair, his fingers digging deep into the flesh of your hip. You groan, grind against him as he assaults your lips with his, pushes his tongue right into your mouth.

You put your arms around him, hook your legs over his and use all your weight to roll him over on top of you. You open your legs without thinking and he settles between them without skipping a beat. A second later and the way he's moving his hips, grinding against you, is giving you a pretty good approximation of what it might be like if he was actually fucking you. You can feel the outline of his hard dick through the flimsy layers of fabric comprising your underwear and his boxers and between that and thinking about the very real possibility that you might be getting fucked tonight, you're gearing up for a disappointingly early ending if you don't find a way to calm yourself down, pace yourself out.

When he slides a warm, dry palm up your bare thigh, slips his fingers beneath the elastic of your underwear and cups your ass, squeezes you, you let out a gasp and involuntarily squeeze him with your thighs, which makes him groan and tear his mouth away from yours.

He stares at you, lips hovering just inches from yours, and you can tell he's asking how far you want to take this, as well as waiting for your permission. And so you answer.

"I want to if you do," you whisper. Your pulse throbs in your cheeks, which means you're probably rocking a next-level shade of blush right now, but you don't even care. "You could...fuck me? I want to," you're quick to reiterate, hoping you don't come off as too desperate but you guess that ship's already sailed and took with it the rest of your pride.

He stares at your mouth and bites his lip, furrows his brow like he's concentrating hard on something. "You wanna get fucked?" he bites out. His cheeks are stained red too and he's breathing so hard that his belly pushes into yours on every exhale.

"Yeah. I mean, do you want to? With me?"

He releases a shaky breath. "Are you kidding? Yeah I want to. I want to so fucking bad." He pushes his hips into you and you can feel it, how bad he wants to.

"But?" Because if he's saying that, it means there's a 'but'.

"I don't want to mess it up by going too far too fast. Doing that, it's kind of a big deal. At least I want it to be, with you."

You don't know how to argue with that and so you don't.

He slides the hand he's got on your ass up a little further and squeezes you again. Leaning into you, so his lips brush yours in a way that tickles and sends shivers up your spine, he says, "So. Handjobs and cuddle?"

You push up to kiss him because fuck yes and just hope he takes that as confirmation enough. When he removes his hand from your ass, he lets his fingertips dance around the waistband of your underwear; hesitating, you guess, in exposing you if you're not ready.

"Just do it," you urge him, and there you go sounding desperate again but at this point you're so past the point of caring it doesn't even matter what he thinks about your dick, which is usually something you'd agonize over but if he likes the rest of you enough it's not even worth dwelling on it. It's not like it's weird-looking or super tiny or anything.

He braces one hand next to your head and slicks up his palm, wastes no time getting a good grip on you. At the first touch of his hot skin on yours you freeze up, close your eyes, because the way he's gripping you, twisting his wrist to work you, feels so fucking good you want to lose it already.

"Look at me?"

You open your eyes and he's not even looking at your dick, just stares at your face, his own all flushed and his eyes boring into yours with what you can only assume is lust.

"Pull your shirt right up," he directs you, and his voice sounds lower than you're used to, rougher and different. You fumble to do what he asks, thinking it must be in the way or something, but before you can ask his mouth is on your nipple. He suckles at it, tugs it between his teeth until it starts to get sore, the pleasure mingling with the pain in a way you guess you really fucking like because seconds later you're bucking your hips and losing it all over his hand.

He squeezes you, firm and slow, until you're so sensitive you can't bear to be touched anymore. You tap at his wrist to get him to let up and open your eyes just in time to see him doing something that both shocks and titillates you, which is licking your jizz off his fingers. The rational part of you tells you that's fucking disgusting, and who would even want to do that because it's yours and it's gross, but it somehow manages to simultaneously be the sexiest thing you've ever witnessed and you don't even flinch away from him when he leans down to kiss you with that mouth.

He takes your wrist, guides your hand between both your bodies, reminding you it's your turn to take care of him now. You gather up your courage and shove your hand right inside his boxers. You feel his wetness smearing all over your palm when it bumps the head of his dick, and at that your own gives a weak throb all over again. He groans against your ear when you curl your fingers around him and offer him your best, no doubt weaker, imitation of what he just did to you.

He seems to like it well enough judging by the way he bucks against you, groans into your ear and slides his hand down to cup your ass again. When you swipe your thumb over the head of his dick a few times, smearing the wetness around, he tightens his grip on your ass and murmurs a strained, "God, I bet you feel so fucking good on the inside," and that's it, he's done.

He yanks at the hem of your shirt again, pulls it right up, and when he comes it's all over your bare belly. He leans over you, brushes his lips against your cheek, and lets the head of his dick bump up against your navel, dragging it through his own sticky mess. He kisses you once more before he rolls over onto his back and you both try to catch your breath.

For a while the silence is punctured only by the sounds of your breathing. Eventually, Karkat says, "Sorry about that, by the way. I didn't want to ruin your new favorite shirt."

You're too dazed even to offer him a weak laugh.

"I should get you something to clean you up, though. Hang out a minute, I'll be right back."

He returns a little while later with a bunch of wipes and true to his word, cleans you up himself, wipes the sticky mess off your stomach and even wipes your face and hands, like you're a little kid who went too wild with the cupcakes or something. When he's done he instructs you to get under the covers then opens up his laptop, puts on a movie and climbs into bed behind you. When he puts his arms around your body, pushes up all warm against your back, you settle into him, close your eyes and listen to the sounds of the movie and his breathing until you fall asleep.

Chapter Text

You wake up to the blinding Texas sun beating through the threadbare curtains, right onto your face. When you crack open your eyes it takes you a minute to register that you're not in your room back at the apartment, and that you're not alone. Karkat's laying on his side facing you and he's awake, staring right at you.

"Morning," he murmurs. He brushes the hair out of your eyes and gently rubs his palm up and down your arm. "You slept well," he points out. He's wearing an amused smile, like that's funny to him, and you're suddenly all self-conscious that you fell asleep on him so fast after the two of you got hot and heavy last night. You'd been so dopey and satisfied after he got you off that it hadn't occurred to you that he might have wanted to stay up and talk to you, maybe even go for round two.

You blink at him slowly, too groggy to speak.

"You want some water or something?" he asks. "I've got coffee but no milk. I don't know if you like it black. I could run out and get you some coffee, though? Proper coffee not that shitass stuff we've got in the kitchen."

You rub at your eyes and croak, "No, don't do that, it's fine; black is fine. I like it black. And shitty. Just dump a fuckload of sugar in it, okay?"

He's still looking at you with that weird little smile and you have to ask, "How long have you been awake, man?" You're not so sure you want to hear the answer. If he's been watching you sleep for any length of time, you'll only want to crawl out of your skin with embarrassment. John says you make little noises in your sleep sometimes, mumble and whimper and groan. If you were drooling on him or snoring that's even worse and you don't know why none of this occurred to you when you'd agreed to spend the night. Falling asleep in his arms was easy. You just wish the waking up part wasn't so awkward.

"A little while," he admits. "I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful. You're extra fucking cute when you're sleeping, you know that?"

You cover your eyes with your hand and let out a groan. "Ugh, no, just stop it. I'm not."

He laughs and takes your wrist, drags it away from your face. "Yeah you are. Stop being fucking cute and I'll stop calling you cute."

You give him a half-hearted slap on the arm which instigates a pathetically weak, on your part, round of playful slapping and shoving. Once you've both settled down, and you're just looking at each other again, he hits you with this:

"Dave... I really want to be with you."

It's way too early in the morning to be having what you're pretty sure is That conversation and so you stupidly respond with a glib, "You are with me. I'm layin' right here, dude. All in the flesh and everything."

He doesn't laugh at that which means that yeah, nope, there's not a chance in hell you're squirming your way out of this one. It's happening and you're going to have to participate whether you like it or not.

"You know what I mean," he responds, and his smile has vanished; he's deadly serious now. "I want us to be together. As in, you're with me and no other dudes."

This is really happening and it all feels a little surreal to you. He's asking you to be in an actual relationship with him and you don't know how to respond because you've never had to do this before. You don't know the first thing about being in a relationship, or about making someone else happy. You've never made anyone happy.

If you say yes, there's a good chance you'll mess it up sooner rather than later. You wish you could tell him that, warn him that he doesn't know what he's asking. But he's looking at you all expectant now, probably worried you'll reject his proposal, and doing that would mean the end of this and you don't want that because you like this and you like him.

You suppose this is just what normal people do when they like each other and enough time has passed and so you find yourself saying, "Okay. Yeah. I want to be with you too. No other dudes." And even if you're convinced he's making a mistake by choosing you, and that it's bound to end badly because it's you, and you mess everything up, and you don't know the first thing about being in a proper relationship, you mean it. You really do.

He kisses you and puts his arms around you, buries his face in your neck, and you hold him back tight as a warm feeling floods all the way through you.

Karkat makes you black coffee with a shitload of sugar, just the way you like it, and you spend the rest of the morning in bed with your arms around each other, swapping lazy kisses and listening to music on Karkat's laptop. When it starts approaching midday you figure you should get your ass back home, because Bro's probably been calling you and as much as you want to stay here, the longer you leave it the worse it's going to be for you.

Karkat lets you have the shower first, rustles up a towel and a spare change of clothes for you--trackpants with holes in them and a Fresh Prince t-shirt that looks like it's seen better days. He even offers you his toothbrush since he can't find a spare but you politely decline, opt to just use your finger; which is probably dumb since you've been making out with him all morning but sharing a toothbrush this early in the game is probably a little too weird for you. Do couples even do shit like that? You wish there was some kind of manual you could refer to, something like 'Baby's First Relationship' or 'Relationships For Dummies' but you guess you'll just have to learn all this shit on the fly.

When you're sitting in the car with him outside your apartment block he gets his arms around you and holds onto you tight, like he doesn't want to let go of you just yet. You don't want to let go of him either. If you could stay and just avoid everything except him, you would.

When he asks if he can see you later that night you have to sigh and tell him it's probably not going to work. He recoils at that and says, "Oh. You busy?"

"Not exactly. It's just I'm not 'sposed to stay out all night. Not without calling. And...I didn't. So it's probably easier if I just keep my head down and stay home tonight."

"Oh. Well shit. I should have reminded you to call him, Dave; I wasn't even thinking. Sometimes I forget other people have parents. You're a little too old to get grounded, though, right? That's fucking crazy."

"Nah, it's not your fault, man. I didn't call him on purpose. And ha. Yeah. Tell him that, I guess."

"Maybe I will." He looks vaguely pissed on your behalf and knowing him, you have no doubt he'd have the guts to tell your brother exactly what he thinks which is always going to be a terrible fucking idea.

Before he can elaborate on that subject you just say, "Forget it, it's fine. He'll get over it. Just call me later on tonight, okay? Maybe we can video chat when you get off work or whatever."

He perks up a bit then. "Okay, yeah. Maybe I'll see you Monday?"

"I hope so." You move in to give him a peck and he takes your hand, lifts it to his lips and kisses it.

"I'll miss you," he says, and he looks so sincere about it that you actually believe him.

You're blushing hot when you tell him, "Yeah. You too."

You stand at the curb and watch him drive away, try to quash the sense of foreboding that always accompanies the knowledge you've fucked up with Bro and have to find some way of making it right.

When you let yourself into the apartment, all hope you were holding onto that Bro might still be out is quickly shot when you see him laying back on the futon with his feet up. There's no way you can pass him and just go to your room without saying anything and so you force your feet out into the living room, stand at the foot of the futon, your arms wrapped around yourself, holding your elbows.

"Hey."

He doesn't say anything but acknowledges you by pausing the TV and looking up. His impassive face gives nothing away but you cringe when you realize you're wearing someone else's clothes and he's probably putting two and two together right this second. He knows they're not yours. He knows they're not John's. He's aware you were with Karkat and is probably right now filling in the blanks on what you were doing. Before he can say something harsh, something that lets you know he's disappointed or disgusted with you, you rush to tell him, "I'm sorry I stayed out. I should've called. I won't do it again."

You've apologized now but know better than to think that's the end of it.

"I tried callin' you," he says, and you swallow hard. His tone is quiet but you hear the subtle anger in it. He never even has to raise his voice to you--when he speaks like that it makes you feel five years old.

He picks up the remote, turns the TV back on, and looks away from you. "Next time you turn that fuckin' phone off," he warns, "I'll cut it off. Ya hear me, kid? You wanna stay out all night runnin' all over town, you pay your own fuckin' bill."

"Okay. You're right, I'm sorry."

When he doesn't speak to you or look at you again, you figure it's probably safe to go back to your room. When you open your door you're not at all surprised to see that it's not the way you left it. It takes you just a few seconds to realize that your computer, laptop and camera equipment are all missing, and if you know Bro you won't be seeing those again for a while.

When you were younger and you did something wrong he'd just whoop your ass with his belt and that'd be the end of it. Now that you're older and way past the age where that's even vaguely appropriate, it's the silent treatment, or him taking all the shit that's important to you. Usually both. Right now you can't help but think that having to cop whatever punishment he dishes out is totally worth it for what happened last night, and this morning.

*

Later on that evening when you're laying in bed, idly examining your nipple because it's still kind of sore and sensitive after Karkat went to town on it, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You had enough foresight earlier to turn it on silent. If Bro hears it going off he might remember to come in and take that away from you too and you don't want to have to explain to Karkat why you couldn't answer his messages or calls. He'll only get the wrong idea and assume you're avoiding him, or that you didn't mean it when you'd told him you wanted to be with him too. You don't want to be cut off from him either and even though the atmosphere in the apartment right now is icy as hell, at least when you have your phone with you, and you know you can talk to him and the rest of your friends, you don't feel so alone.

Your heart does a pathetic little leap when you see Karkat's handle, and you click on it with a smile.

CG: HEY SO I HOPE YOUR DOUCHEY BRO ISN'T GIVING YOU A HARD TIME.
CG: SAY THE WORD AND I'LL LEAVE WORK AND COME OVER AND BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM.

TG: hey man its cool
TG: all good on the bro front
TG: he took my computer and my camera shit but i still got my phone
TG: got to spend the night with you too so
TG: win/win right

CG: FUCK I MISS YOU.
CG: I WANT YOU BACK NOW.

TG: yeah
TG: you too

And you mean it. Already you miss his warm skin and his clean smell and the way he touches you like you're special. You follow that last message up with an ironic blow-kiss emoji which isn't actually ironic at all. All worry over whether or not that was too maudlin vanishes when he sends back:

CG: <3 <3 <3

When your phone vibrates again you're all giddy, assuming it's him again, but it's a notification from Jade instead. You click on it.

GG: hey dave!
GG: have you spoken to john at all today?

That just rocks you, because you weren't expecting anyone to bring up John tonight nor were you expecting to have to think about him at all. Not today.

TG: hey
TG: um no
TG: were still on that no talking trip remember

GG: yeah...
GG: i thought that might be the case! 
GG: listen dave i know you guys are in a really weird place at the moment and i dont want to step on any toes or push my nosey nose in where it doesnt belong 

TG: you dont really do that jade
TG: so i can only assume something is actually up 
TG: in which case its cool for you to say whatever you wanna say to me
TG: whats goin on 

GG: ok! well i really think you should talk to john today...
GG: rose might not agree with me. i dont know, i havent actually asked her!
GG: but im not going to either because shes not always right about stuff like this and...im thinking this is probably something youll want to know.

TG: ok
TG: whats up with john then like is he ok
TG: is something wrong
TG: cause youre being real cryptic right now and you know it makes me hella nervous when you do that

GG: oh no! im sorry dave, i didnt mean to make you worry!
GG: john is ok but...something happened with his dad today?
GG: i dont actually have all the details but i know hes pretty distraught over it 
GG: i thought you should know
GG: hes gone all quiet on me so im not getting much out of him at this point but i think he might need some moral support from his best friend :( 
GG: i guess hes being a little stubborn if he hasnt contacted you already but i know youre probably the one person he needs right now
GG: he doesnt want to talk to me or rose
GG: hes not even answering roxy :(

TG: fuck
TG: ok
TG: well hes not being stubborn
TG: i blocked him
TG: which suddenly seems kinda dumb and petty
TG: shit
TG: ok
TG: well thanks for the heads up anyway
TG: im on it

GG: thanks dave <3

Your hands shake as you open the settings on your chat app and go through the motions of unblocking John. This is not the way you wanted things to go down, and you weren't expecting to have to face him again so soon, but you know you have no other choice. John's still your best friend no matter what and you know how much he relies on his dad. Whatever's happened, you need to let him know that he can count on you to be there for him the way he's always been there for you, even if you are indeed still in a weird place.

TG: john
TG: whats going on
TG: is everything ok

The little green dot beside his handle indicates to you that he is, in fact, currently online. He's also read your message but is taking forever to respond which is not like him at all and only serves to make you feel cold and panicky inside. Whatever's happened you're already fearing the worst. John's dad has been a constant in your life forever and you know how much he means to John. The idea of something bad happening to him fills you with dread on John's behalf.

TG: hey
TG: i can see youre online
TG: talk to me please

EB: dave...
EB: i honestly didn't think i'd hear from you today.

You stare at the three little wriggling dots that indicate he's still typing something, for what feels like an eternity.

TG: why is it taking you a century to type dude
TG: its freaking me out
TG: are you occupied or just writing a really long response
TG: look if this isnt a good time ill try again later?
TG: i dont wanna get in your way right now if you have to focus on something else
TG: just let me know youre ok
TG: and that your dads ok

EB: please don't go anywhere dave.
EB: it's not that.
EB: i'm ok.
EB: i'm not occupied either, at least not right now.
EB: i guess i just want to be really careful about what i say to you. i'm thinking really hard about it before i type because i don't want to screw this up.
EB: you talking to me again, i mean.

TG: john dont
TG: dont do that
TG: youre not going to screw anything up
TG: forget about our stuff ok its not even important right now
TG: jade said something happened with your dad
TG: thats important
TG: so whats going on is he ok 

EB: i don't really know yet. i mean i think so. i hope so.
EB: they're keeping him in the hospital overnight for observation, and to run some more tests, so i guess we'll know more in the morning.
EB: i'm home now but...it's been a long day.

TG: holy shit
TG: well what even happened to him
TG: was it an accident or

EB: no. he had some sort of turn at work and just collapsed. they had to call an ambulance.
EB: i can't say for sure but i think it must have something to do with stress.
EB: work's been taking a lot out of him lately. he's under so much pressure and i'm not fucking helping.
EB: i need to do more around the house so that he has more time to rest. it's not like i'm a little kid anymore, you know?
EB: i've just been the worst lately. the past couple of weeks all i've been doing is thinking about me and you and everything i did wrong and i guess i just forgot about dad and how hard he's been working for us.
EB: from now on i'm doing everything. the house, the lawns, fixing stuff! i really need to step up and be a man.

TG: hey youre being really hard on yourself dude
TG: your dad knows you love him
TG: he wouldnt want you to take this out on yourself

EB: i know. he wanted me to come home and get some sleep, just leave him at the hospital but now i kinda wish i'd stayed. i feel like shit because he's there all by himself and he must be scared, right? i'm scared.

TG: i know
TG: i should have been there for you today
TG: i wanna be there for you
TG: tell me if theres something i can do

EB: you're here now. that's all i wanted.
EB: but dave?

TG: yeah

EB: do you think maybe we can start talking again?
EB: i mean outside just this conversation
EB: i'll try not to do anything stupid. anything that makes you upset.
EB: and if i do you can say 'john you're doing whatever that thing is again so fucking stop it you dumbass' and i won't do it anymore
EB: whatever the shitty thing is. there's probably a thousand of them because i'm dumb.

TG: stop it man youre not dumb
TG: and its not like that and you know it

EB: yeah it is
EB: and i am
EB: if i wasn't dumb none of this stuff ever would've happened

You choose not to ask what he means by that and instead just do the proper thing and ask again what he needs from you.

TG: what can i do to help

EB: like i said you just being here and talking to me, that helps.
EB: but maybe you could come by the hospital with me tomorrow?

TG: um
TG: yeah
TG: if bro lets me leave the apartment that is
TG: im not exactly in his good books right now so
TG: that might be tricky

EB: oh shit. why?
EB: actually you know what, yeah. can we talk about you instead?
EB: i could use a distraction right now and i bet i've missed out on a lot.
EB: you can tell me what's been going on with you, if that's okay?

TG: uhh
TG: yeah ok
TG: what do you want to know

You silently beg him not to ask you anything that might lead to you having to make some kind of admission about what's been going on with you and Karkat lately. You know you'll have to tell him and soon but right now doesn't feel like the best time.

EB: let's start with dirk.
EB: you said you're in his bad books again. why?
EB: is everything ok over there?

TG: its fine
TG: kind of a long story
TG: and can you please not call him dirk
TG: its fuckin weird man

EB: ehehehehehehe

Ugh. You wish he wouldn't 'ehehehehehehe' at you. You always thought that was adorable and you don’t want to be reminded of things that you found adorable on him. Thinking that way, especially now, will only land you in hot water and that road is blocked the fuck off for good now, no going back. And it’s not like Karkat had to spell it out for you to know that “no other dudes” includes John. Actually, probably especially John if Karkat's weird hostility towards him is anything to go by. There's actually a pretty good fucking chance that he only feels that way about him because of you--you are the common demonimator between them--and that makes you anxious as hell all of a sudden.

EB: it’s his name though!

TG: yeah but
TG: whatever
TG: and like i said man
TG: its a long story

EB: come on, i want the long story.

TG: well ill give you the short one
TG: i stayed out all night and didnt call
TG: switched my phone off and everything
TG: and you know he fuckin hates it when i do that
TG: so he took all my shit and even though he didnt say anything
TG: im pretty sure he doesnt want me leaving the apartment right now

EB: oh.
EB: you stayed out all night? with who?

You guess this is it. The part where you either tell him to mind his business, lie, or just come clean. The first one isn't an option because even though you probably should tell him to mind his business, you don't talk to John like that.

TG: karkat

Welp. The truth it is.

EB: oh.
EB: i guess you two have been hanging out a lot lately, huh? that's cool.

TG: yeah
TG: it has been
TG: cool

Fuck. This is so awkward you're starting to sweat and you don't know why it has to be this hard. John's not like you. Whenever he'd told you about dates he'd been on, or girls he'd messed around with, you'd always felt like you were dying inside, consumed by petty jealousy. John's not like that, though. You know if you tell him everything he'll probably only feel happy for you.

EB: can i ask you a personal question?

TG: um
TG: ok

EB: are you two just friends, or...?

TG: yeah
TG: i mean no
TG: i mean were friends but also
TG: friends who kiss
TG: so i guess theres actually a pretty good word for that

You stop short of spelling it out, because it just feels sort of stupid and juvenile for you to be even having this conversation, and wait anxiously for John to respond. It takes him a little while and with each second that passes you feel more ill at ease.

EB: huh.
EB: well ok.
EB: i guess i'm not really surprised. when rose told me you guys were hanging out i kind of figured we might be having this conversation soon.

TG: shit
TG: i mean really
TG: because like
TG: IM surprised
TG: its not like i ever saw this coming
TG: me and him i mean

EB: that's crazy. he's always had a thing for you.

TG: come again?

EB: i just mean that he's had the most obvious big fat crush on you since day 1.
EB: i'm not sure he could have made it any more obvious without writing "i love dave strider and i want him to be my boyfriend" right across his forehead in big red sharpie letters.
EB: you never noticed that?

Something twists in your stomach. You wonder how you ever could have been so oblivious that John, Captain Oblivious himself, noticed something that you didn't. You just hope your obliviousness never came across to Karkat as willfully cruel. You know how that shit stings and you never want him to feel that way again.

TG: no
TG: but now im kinda wondering why no one ever pulled me aside and told me
TG: you know
TG: gave me the heads up
TG: instead of just lettin me carry on makin a huge ass outta myself

EB: i'm sorry.
EB: i thought you could tell by the way he was acting, like with all that pulling your pigtails shit, and you just weren't into him. shows what i know, right?
EB: i mean the day we all met he asked if i was your boyfriend. i think he was hoping to get your number or chumhandle from me or something.
EB: dude was pretty fricking obvious!

TG: but you didnt give it to him
TG: my number

EB: ...no.
EB: like i said, i just assumed you weren't into him.

TG: ok

EB: are you mad at me or something?

TG: no im not mad at you
TG: shit was a long time ago
TG: not like it matters now right

EB: i guess not.
EB: can i ask you something?

TG: ok

EB: are you happy?

TG: yeah
TG: i mean i think so
TG: im happy

EB: ok. i'm glad.
EB: .....
EB: shit, the landline's ringing. i should probably get that in case it's the hospital.
EB: i hope i'll see you tomorrow?
EB: it's been so good talking to you.
EB: i can't wait to see you. you've got no idea how much i've missed you.
EB: goodnight dave.

TG: goodnight
TG: call me if theres any news
TG: and i hope your dads ok man
TG: i really do

You lay down on your side and place your phone beside you on the pillow, waiting for Karkat to call or message to let you know his shift's over. You just hope once you tell him about all this stuff with John that it won't make things weird between you.

Chapter Text

You wake early the next morning after having set your alarm the night before, a solid plan--or scheme--already in place for the day ahead. If you're going to get out to see John today it means getting past Bro first, and that's not gonna happen unless you butter him up good before you ask him for something, 'cause there's no way he's not still pissed at you for Friday night.

As much as he fucks with you about sex, cracks his douchey quips about you being a virgin or never getting laid, you are painfully aware of the expectations he has for you--that him joking about it and you actually going off-grid long enough to do it are two very separate things. He's disappointed in you and you don't even have to look at him to know that. Still, you refuse to tar what is already a warm, happy memory by being ashamed of yourself. If you could go back and change something, there's no way you would. As long as you behave in an appropriately contrite manner in front of Bro, though, it's not like he'll ever know the difference.

You wait until you hear the shower running before you get up and head out to the kitchen. You have to stand on a stool to reach the coffee-maker, which has sat up there neglected, gathering dust up in the top cabinet since the last time you dug it out. While you're up there you take the opportunity to check on your Bro's medication, relieved when you find a few of the tablets missing from their packet, which tells you at least he's been taking them. You hop back down, forage around for the filters and a half-empty container of French Roast you find hidden at the bottom of the pantry, and quickly get to work.

While the coffee's brewing, you dig around in your cluttered sink until you find two dirty mugs, scrubbing away all the crust and filth until they're shiny and clean again. Bro must smell the coffee because he comes straight out to the kitchen with his towel wrapped around his waist, his hair still wet from the shower.

You don't say anything at first, just fill both mugs, dump a shitload of sugar in both, and pass one to him. He doesn't thank you but accepts your offering without comment and doesn't immediately leave, which you guess means he's not directly opposed to hearing whatever you have to say.

"So I wanna see John today," you begin conversationally, blowing into your mug, the steam hitting you full in the face.

"John, huh?" You think there's something off about his tone and then you remember that oh yeah, that's right. He knows all about your John shit because you were dumb enough to tell him.

"Yeah, he's down at Houston Methodist," you say, ignoring the rising heat in your face. "I wanna go see him." After another lengthy stretch of silence, you say, "What, you're not even gonna ask if he's okay?" You're not sure why you're bothering wasting your time appealing to an empathy that doesn't exist. You know Bro better than to think him tolerating your friendship with John means he gives a shit whether he lives or dies.

It doesn't matter anyway because Bro just gives you a look you know means, 'nah, 'cause you'll tell me anyway'.

He's right. "Okay, well yeah, he's fine." You try to keep your tone disengaged; if you start getting frustrated he'll just walk out and leave you standing here, get on with his day while you stew away in impotent rage. "His dad isn't, though. I dunno, it sounds pretty serious and John's down there all by himself. I wanna go visit, maybe see if there's anything I can do to help 'em."

Still nothing. And god you hate these one-sided conversations with him because they're fucking exhausting but you know he's just waiting for you to spell it out, to grovel and beg him for exactly what you want. You were ready for that, though, and so with your most pitiful look you ask, "Can you please drive me? Please?"

A minute later he relents and says, "Tch. You jus' lucky I'm goin' that way, kid. Have your ass ready in fifteen." He takes his coffee and disappears back down the hall. Feeling pretty chuffed with yourself right now, you rush back to your room to get dressed.

In the truck on the way to the hospital, it's more of the same: You talking to yourself while Bro smokes with the windows rolled down, fucks around with the stereo, occasionally grunts or nods his head. You're determined to fill the long silences with your inane chatter, because you're so nervous about finally seeing John again that you want to be sick--at least when you're talking you're not thinking about hurling.

You'd been fretting over telling Karkat about all this too, because the last time he'd mentioned John it was in the context of you making lovesick puppydog eyes at him, how that had almost convinced him he didn't even have a shot with you. It had both surprised you and put you at ease when he'd breezed right over your plans with John like it was nothing, just told you to have a good day and to text him while you were out because he'd be bored at home watching Judge Judy re-runs with Gamzee.

You're grateful that's at least one less thing you have to worry yourself over--working yourself into knots wondering if he's gonna hate you for hanging out with some other guy when you're supposed to be with him. You think he's just too good of a dude. If the shoe were on the other foot, and it was him chilling with someone he used to wanna bone, you're not actually sure you'd be so cool with it.

In the end you keep your mind off all that by talking to Bro. You tell him all about Karkat's stoner clown friend, because it's a fucking whack story and you know he'll think it's funny even if he never laughs. The fact he doesn't speak back to you doesn't really matter. You know he's listening if he doesn't crank up the volume on the stereo or tell you to shut your mouth.

When he finally pulls to a stop outside the main entrance of the hospital, he lights another cigarette. Without all the fresh air flowing through the cab windows the thick smoke stings at your eyes and you try not to wince.

"Not sure how long I'll be but I'll call you," you tell him before you get out. "I dunno, maybe you can pick me up? Like, if you're not busy or whatever."

"I got some shit I gotta get done today," he answers, voice tight around a lungful of smoke.

You know that means he'll probably be shooting at the studio for most of the day and you don't ever linger on that--the way he makes his living, the things he does to put food on the table for both of you--so you move right past it and say, "Oh. Okay. Guess I'll get the bus then. Can I have some money?"

He holds his cigarette between his teeth and lifts his hips, digs around in his pocket for a second then slaps a ten in your lap. You pick it up and stare at it for a few moments, only briefly entertaining the idea of making some ungrateful remark. While you wish he wasn't so fucking stingy with you--ten bucks is barely enough for lunch at a place like this let alone a bus fare too--it's not like you want to push your luck when he could've given you nothing or worse, just left you at home.

You settle on, "Thanks, man. I'll see you at home later."

You've got your hand on the door handle, ready to jump out, when he says, "Hold up, lil' man. Call me when you get done, alright? If I'm not doin' nothin' I'll come get ya on the way through." He yanks your hood up over your hair and lightly smacks the back of your head, a signal for you to get on moving. You guess if he's in a charitable mood that means he's not so mad at you anymore. At this rate you might even get your camera shit and computers back before the end of the month.

"Alright... Thanks. I'll call you or text you or...something. Anyway, later."

Once you're inside the main entrance you quickly locate the elevator and jump in before the doors close on you. You hit the button for level four, where John says his dad is, and tuck yourself away into the corner. You pull your hood back and push your shades up into your hair, because wearing them inside a hospital just makes you look like a douche and you're sure John's dad won't appreciate it either.

When the elevator pings for your level, you step out into an empty white corridor and follow the signs for Cardiology. Your nerves are shot and you chew on the ratty sleeve of your hoodie as your heart bangs away in your chest. You've got no idea where John is, because he never actually gave you a room number or anything, and you're about to pull your phone out and call him when you round a corner and there he is.

He's got his back to you, leaning over the reception desk and chatting away to one of the nurses. When she looks past her shoulder at you, he turns around to follow the line of her gaze. For a moment he just stares, and you stare at him, and you swear to god you can almost hear yours and John's cheesy reunion track playing in your head.

A few seconds later he cracks the widest grin you've ever seen and then he's practically bounding towards you. Without a word, he grabs you and gathers you up in his arms, crushing you to his chest. The top of your head fits neatly beneath his chin and he wraps one arm around your back tight, puts his other hand to the back of your head and presses your cheek to his neck. You can feel the strong beat of his pulse at your temple.

Turns out he wasn't kidding about clinging on like a barnacle once he finally got hold of you. His grip is so tight, so strong, he's almost crushing the breath out of you. You stand there for what feels like forever and let him hold you, trying desperately not to let your emotions, all the hurt you've been holding onto over the past few weeks, overwhelm you. You guess it's the same for him because when he finally breaks the hug, puts his hands on your shoulders and holds you there in front of him while he looks at you, his eyes are looking pretty fucking wet and shit, you really don't want to do this. If either of you starts blubbing in public people are going to stare, will probably assume one of you is terminally ill or something.

He wipes his eyes with his sleeve and lets out a thick little laugh. "Jesus, Dave, you smell like American Spirits."

"Mm. Bro," you tell him by way of explanation, but he already knows that.

He wrinkles his nose. "Ugh. I wish he wouldn't smoke with you in the car. It's so unhealthy." You crack a small smile at that because he sounds so much like his dad when he talks this way, all disapproving and responsible, and that only serves to remind you why you're actually here.

"So how is he, anyway?"

John steers you out of the way of a group of passing nurses and takes your wrist. "C'mon, I'll take you to see him. He'll be so happy you're here, Dave."

You allow yourself to be dragged along behind him, ask a timid, "He will?"

John laughs at that and says, "Yeah, of course. You're like family."

It's not until you're approaching the room that your vague apprehension begins to coalesce and you understand why you're actually wary about seeing John's dad again; and it's not just that you're afraid of seeing him weak, and sick, although you are.

It's possible John might have told his dad about what you did--the real reason you haven't been around lately. John's dad is his best friend and it's not like he wouldn't have noticed something was wrong when John always wears his big heart on his sleeve. That idea is so mortifying to you that you want to sink right through the floor.

John's dad will look at you differently if he knows, you're sure of it, because the guy's always been a little on the conservative side. The whole reason John isn't allowed to step foot inside your apartment is because all those years ago John had let slip to him what your Bro actually did for a living, which means John's dad knows exactly what kind of dude he is, and you know he wouldn't approve.

He might like you, mostly in the pitying kind of way, but there's no way in hell he wants you harboring those kinds of designs on his pride and joy. You're not the right gender for a start and you're fully aware his kindness for you doesn't preclude him from believing, or knowing, that you and Bro are white trash. Or in other words, Not For John. It kills you to consider he might think you were trying to corrupt John or something, and that his demeanor towards you could change because of it.

If he knows, he's at least being kind about it. When you step into his private room behind John, the smile he offers to you is as warm as always.

"David," he says. He always calls you that, even though it's not your actual name. You've never had the heart to correct him.

John gives you a gentle little shove forward and you stand awkwardly by the foot of the bed.

"Hi, Mr. Egbert." You give him an awkward half-wave. "How are you feeling?"

"After yesterday? Better than ever," he cheerfully replies, planting both hands on the mattress and pushing himself up into a sit. Somehow you doubt that. You can't help but notice how weak that gesture is; how pale and old he looks. He's still wearing a hospital gown and it's loose around his chest. He's got those sticky little circle things attached to his chest hair, which means he must have been on a heart monitor at some point, and you feel so awful for John in that moment you don't even know what to say.

Bro is so young and physically fit you've never had to worry about him getting old and sick like this. The only times you've been afraid he might die were due to his own wanton recklessness, like the few occasions when you were little where he took things and you couldn't wake him.

"He's just gotta change some things around, don't you, Dad?" John helpfully supplies. He picks a newspaper up off the armchair by the bed and plops himself down. "No more pipe tobacco or red meat, right? And you've gotta lay off the sugar which means the baking's probably gonna have to take a backseat for now. Unless you want to find healthy substitutes for butter but then it's just like, ugh. What's even the point?"

"Indeed. It's a goodbye to all the better things in life, I suppose," John's dad agrees with a wan little chuckle.

"Better that and actually having a life," John mumbles in a somewhat parental tone, and his dad hums his agreement.

When John catches your eye again he says, "Hey Dave. Come over here and sit." He budges up in the armchair and pats the small sliver of space he's made beside him. You blink at him until it dawns on you what he's asking and you shake your head.

"Nah, man, s'cool. I can stand." You're impressed by your own ability to sound casual when you're freaking out. Because there's no way in hell you're sitting halfway across his lap right in front of his dad, who for all you know is already aware you made a pass at John.

Before, you wouldn't have thought twice about sitting that close, because it was easy to wave it away as nothing when sharing your affection was always innocent on John's side. It's not like you want him to act weird or different around you now but it can't be like it was before and you know it.

John just laughs at you. "Dude, c'mon. Just sit down. You don't have to stand there like that."

"Then give him the chair, John," Mr. Egbert interjects, a fatherly reminder to be polite, and John rolls his eyes.

"Fine."

He gets up to let you have the chair, sits down on the edge of his dad's bed and flips on the TV, asks what he wants to watch. He must be completely oblivious to how awkward he's just made you feel because he smiles and squeezes your shoulder as you pass him and you sit down in the armchair by the bed.

The three of you watch an infomercial for steam cleaners for a few minutes before John announces, "I'm gonna get some coffee. Dad, you want coffee? It'll have to be decaf, though. Sorry, doctor's orders. Dave, what about you?"

"I can go get it," you offer a little too fast. You don't actually have that much money but you'd gladly spend it just to get a few minutes on your own, if only to clear your head.

But John won't have it. "Nah, s'okay. I've still gotta finish filling some forms out at the front desk. Just some insurance stuff for Dad. Hang out with Dad for ten minutes, okay? I'll be back and then maybe we can get lunch together?"

"Sure."

Ten minutes turns into more like forty-five, which ends up being fine by you. You're more at ease without having to worry about policing your own behavior in front of John, and you and his dad actually end up having a decent time after you download a crossword app on your phone and teach him how to use it. You know he loves crosswords and the whole technology aspect of it seems to delight him.

When John returns with a tray of coffees, he sets his dad up with the wheelie table over the bed, puts his coffee in front of him, sets the newspaper down and hands him the TV remote.

"Dave and I are gonna head up to the cafeteria and get lunch, Dad. I asked the nurses and they said they're gonna bring you some food real soon, okay?"

John's dad waves the pair of you off and before you leave, you lean down and give him a brief one-armed hug, which he returns with a solid pat to your back.

"It was good seeing you, David," he murmurs, and you swallow around the lump in your throat when it occurs to you how close he may have come to actually dying yesterday.

Up in the hospital cafeteria, John finds you both a table by a sunny window with a view to the buildings outside. After refusing your money and offers to pay, he leaves to order your food. You don't even bother telling him what you want because you know he'll come back with something you like, and you decide to seize the moment while you're alone to check your messages.

Karkat's left you a bunch and so you click on those first.

CG: HEY SO I'M WATCHING JJ RIGHT NOW AND THIS DUDE'S LIKE "YEAH SO I HAVE TEN KIDS"
CG: AND JJ IS LIKE "OK SO HOW MANY BABY MAMAS THEN" AND HE'S LIKE "HUURRR ABOUT FOUR"????!!!
CG: UMMMMM ABOUT FOUR? *ABOUT* FOUR? HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW. WHAT A FUCKING IDIOT!
CG: DAVE HOW ARE THESE PEOPLE ALLOWED TO BREED? I DEMAND A FEDERAL INVESTIGATION, STAT.

CG: ACTUALLY YOU KNOW WHAT MAYBE I'M NOT EVEN THAT MUCH BETTER BECAUSE I'M THE ONE SITTING AT HOME WATCHING THIS SHIT.
CG: IN MY UNDERWEAR. EATING PEANUT BUTTER OUT OF A FUCKING JAR WITH A SPOON. OR MAYBE JUST MY FINGER.
CG: SHIT.
CG: HOW DO YOU EVEN LIKE ME.
CG: WAIT...YOU STILL LIKE ME, RIGHT??

You smother your laugh with your sleeve as you type out your reply.

TG: well yeah
TG: obvs i like you even more now
TG: who doesnt love yellin at the tv in their underwear while eatin shit straight out the jar
TG: http://tiny.cc/qjfk8y
TG: clearly were meant to be dude

CG: HOLY SHIT. IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE US??
CG: HOW ARE YOU THIS FUCKING CUTE AND PERFECT.
CG: I LIKE YOU SO MUCH I HATE YOU.

TG: thanks
TG: i think
TG: i like you too man
TG: but i like you so much i...like you

CG: FUCK.
CG: I HATE TO INTERRUPT THIS DISGUSTING LOVEFEST WE'VE GOT GOING ON. BECAUSE IT'S AWESOME.
CG: BUT HOW IS EVERYTHING GOING WITH JOHN AND HIS DAD?
CG: ARE YOU OK

TG: yeah im good
TG: and i think his dad is ok
TG: for now
TG: im pretty sure its a heart thing tho so like
TG: not sure how serious thats gonna be long-term
TG: i think theyre gonna release him today
TG: so im just waitin around with john for a while

CG: OKAY.
CG: WELL TELL JOHN I'M SORRY ABOUT HIS DAD AND THAT I HOPE HE'S OKAY.

TG: sure man i will

CG: CALL ME LATER?

TG: you bet

When John returns with your tray he asks who you're talking to. You put your phone away in your front pocket and say, "Karkat. He says he's sorry about your dad and he hopes you're okay."

"Oh." John sets the tray down between you, plunks a soda down in front of you, cracking it open for you first, and takes the chair opposite. "That's real nice of him. Tell him I said thanks, I guess."

"Sure."

It's an awkward moment and you're glad John doesn't linger on it or ask any questions. You wish you could talk to him about this, because it's new and exciting to you, but it still doesn't feel right. You'd rather leave all that to Rose, or Jade, or basically any one of your friends you don't have a romantic history with, however one-sided.

"I got you the orange chicken with rice. You still like that, right?"

"Yeah. And thanks, by the way. You didn't have to. I would've paid."

John nudges your foot under the table. "Shut up, okay? I want you to keep your money. I know Dirk never gives you enough."

He digs into his fries and you pull your food towards you, picking up your fork and taking a bite. It's decent for hospital cafeteria food but that's not saying much. The next few minutes pass in easy silence and you pretend to have more of an appetite than you actually do; it's the least you can do in return for John's generosity.

He's too conspicuous for you not to notice the way he keeps staring at you like you're about to disappear, and eventually you have to give up and ask him what he's looking at.

He laughs and says, "Sorry. It's just kind of weird actually looking at you and not just like, I dunno, pictures of you."

"Pictures of me?" You let out a nervous laugh and put your fork down, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. "What's that mean?"

He shrugs and says around a mouthful of burger, "It's been a while for me, you know? I mean going from seeing you every day to not seeing you at all. Sometimes I'd just get really sad and go through my camera roll for ages, thinking about all our good memories. 'Cause we had a lot."

You don't know what to say to that but it makes you sad, and then guilty, to know he's been that sad.

"Here." He sets his food down and wipes his hands on his jeans, then digs his phone out of his pocket. "Come sit by me for a minute."

You hesitate a second before getting up and taking the chair next to him. He swipes to unlock his phone then brings up his camera roll, angling the screen so you can see it. He taps on a picture of the two of you together and you swallow hard.

"Remember this day?"

You do. John had wanted to visit the Nature Center only all of your mutual friends had given that idea a hard pass, except for you. The whole day he'd been so casually affectionate with you--putting his arm around you, hugging you, grabbing your hand to drag you around all over the place--and for you it had felt so close to what you wanted that you'd almost deluded yourself into thinking he was getting nearer to reciprocating your love for him.

But then he'd gone out that same night with Roxy, had gleefully told you all about it in excruciating detail the next day, and it had cut you so deeply you'd struggled to talk to him for days. You guess a lot of those memories are happier for John because he just didn't know how much pain you were in.

You still don't want him to know, so you respond with a clipped, "Yeah. It was a good day."

John puts his phone away after that and you can tell there's something heavy on his mind because he doesn't try to eat any more. Sure enough, a few moments later he says, "Listen... Can we talk about what happened between us?"

You were hoping he wouldn't bring this up today, and that if he did you'd be able to approach it in a level-headed way. Instead, it feels like someone's dumped a bucket of ice water over your head and you just can't speak.

"Dave." John places his hand over yours, gives it a little squeeze. "You're doing that freaky ice sculpture thing again. Don't freeze up on me, okay? You don't want to talk about it, we won't talk about it. That's all you have to say. Maybe some other time, when you're ready."

You want to tell him you'll never be ready; that there isn't anything about that night you want to rehash. You'd made a move on him and he'd let you know in no uncertain terms how he felt about it. You wish he'd let it go the way you're trying to, because while you appreciate he wants to talk about his feelings, you're pretty sure the sick knots in your stomach that don't seem to want to fuck off mean you're not ready to do that. You can't go there with him yet and be cool about it, not face to face.

You're grateful when he doesn't bring it up again for the rest of the day. You wait with him while he gets the rest of his paperwork done, talks to the doctors and nurses about the changes that need to be put in place when his dad gets home, and by the time the afternoon rolls around you can tell he's exhausted.

You lean up against the wall in the corridor outside his dad's room and ask, "You want me to stick around a bit longer? I can wait 'til they send you guys home."

John sighs and leans his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. He looks so tired you wish you could swap places, send him home so he could sleep instead. "Nah, it's okay, you've been here long enough. You wanna tell Dirk to come pick you up? I dunno how much longer we're gonna be stuck here."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." He rests his hand on your shoulder. "C'mon, I'll wait with you outside."

You pull your phone out to type a quick message to your brother as you walk.

TG: bro can you come get me now

TT: yeah.
TT: hang tight for 20.

TG: sure
TG: thanks btw

You wait outside the front entrance with John, who casually stands behind you with his arms rested on your shoulders, leaning heavily into you. You know that it's probably just that he's tired, struggling to hold himself up after everything he's been through, but you wish he wouldn't act like this around you, like nothing's changed. It's not like you hate it--he's warm and familiar and he makes you feel safe--but you know you shouldn't allow it to go on. You gently extricate yourself from his arms and tell him you need the bathroom, just to get yourself some space from him.

When you return, Bro's truck is parked illegally at the curb and John's got his head stuck through the open passenger side window, chatting away at him. You don't know how he does that, manages to claw actual words out of your Bro, and it hits you then that it'll probably never be like this with anyone else. Bro's probably always going to hate everyone but John, and any chance Karkat ever had of making it into his good books was shot the day he popped his mouth off at him, then followed that up by keeping you out all night and sending you home in his clothes. If he's going to be around for a while that's just going to make shit hard for you, and you wish things didn't have to be this way.

You gently nudge John in the back and he spins around to look at you. "Hey," he says with a tired smile. "I was just telling Dirk about Dad."

"Oh. Okay." You guess it's cute John thinks your brother actually gives a shit but maybe he knows he doesn't and just doesn't care.

You pass a glance over at your Bro, note he's showered again and is wearing different clothes, and that only makes you feel bad. John distracts you with a squeeze before you climb into the truck and says against your head, "You'll message me later?"

"Sure. You gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we'll be good. I'll let you know if anything happens, though."

He stands at the curb and waves you both off, and you spend the rest of the drive home in silence with your eyes closed.

Chapter Text

Over the next few weeks, things are better for you than they've been in years. John's back in your life, and even if you don't see him as much as you used to, now that you're splitting your time between him and Karkat and everyone else, at least you've got your best friend back. You can see him, talk to him, whenever you want, and sometimes, when you're happy and not thinking too hard, it's almost like he never broke your heart. Like all that ugliness happened to another you, one who doesn't really exist anymore.

Sometimes you're glad he did it. If he hadn't snuffed out all the shit you'd had riding on him, you wouldn't have been home alone that night, lonely and desperate for a little attention. You wouldn't have dragged yourself out of the apartment to see Karkat and if it weren't for that, you wouldn't be where you are right now. Which is happy. You think it's happy. You're never too sure when you don't have the greatest frame of reference but happy must be something close to this. It's happy when he makes every day better; when you think about him and always smile.

It's easy with him. So far you've only even had one fight, which was so low-grade that to you it barely even counts. And even then it's a good memory when you think about how it ended.

He'd been driving you home after watching a movie at Jade's, had lost his shit again when someone cut him off in traffic, was yelling and cussing and losing focus on the road. You'd quietly asked him to stop because yelling makes you kind of nervous and then he'd gone quiet, and you'd thought he was mad at you when he didn't speak to you again the rest of the ride home. Right up until he'd pulled to a stop outside your apartment block, yanked you into him and hugged you tight, told you he was sorry and promised he wouldn't do it again.

Lately the only thing you're aching for that you still aren't getting is sex, and that's only because Karkat always says he's waiting for the right time to give you what you want, like he really does want it to be some Special Moment between you. It's not like you ever get the time for anything other than quick encounters anyway; Bro's always home when Karkat visits the apartment, and going out and staying the night at his place again probably isn't the greatest idea anymore.

You don't dwell on it too much--whenever Karkat does get his hands on you he makes you feel good, and the things he's been showing you lately are off the hook.

When you'd sheepishly admitted to him one afternoon that you like getting fingerbanged, even if you've only ever done it to yourself, for a second you were worried it’d gross him out. That was until he got more excited than you'd ever seen him and had taken it upon himself to give it to you that way, your hand down the front of his pants as he'd worked you up on his fingers, given you the best orgasm of your life.

On the night of your seventeenth birthday you're hoping Bro will fuck off for a while and give you the space you so desperately desire, leave you alone in the apartment for the night so you can finally get what you've been asking for. You want to do it, and you want Karkat to be the one you do it with. It's all you think about when you're alone--him on top of you, holding you, kissing you while he rocks into you, tells you're something to him. But first you need Bro to stop riding you, leave you alone long enough for you to actually do it and make it count.

You know it's a tall order. Whenever Karkat's been over it's kind of an unspoken rule that you don't disappear for too long, act sketchy or shut your bedroom door for more than a few minutes at a time. Now he knows for sure that you're not just bros, he's gonna have his eye on you both and his smothering is starting to grate.

You're sitting on the futon in front of the flat-screen, holding hands as you make fun of the gnarly dudes on Duck's Dynasty, when Bro gets back in with the food. You would be kissing, because you always want to kiss, but you don't do that anymore if there's even the smallest chance you won't be alone for long.

Bro kicks the front door shut and tosses his keys and a stack of pizza boxes down on the bench. "Kid," he calls out to you. "Get out here."

You unlace fingers with Karkat and get up to meet him in the kitchen. He's eating pizza already and nods to a package wrapped in plastic sitting out on the bench. You grab it up and pick at it with your fingernails, ripping through it to find a stack of brand new games. One of them is the new Mass Effect, which you've been nagging him to buy for you for ages, and for a minute you're speechless. It's usually fifty-fifty on whether he even remembers your birthday or not, let alone makes a thing of it, and this year not only did he remember, he even got you something you wanted.

You're actually tearing up when you say, "Wow. Thanks, man. These are awesome."

He grabs a beer out of the fridge, cracking it open with a hiss, and before he can see it coming you're hugging him. Which with Bro basically amounts to you wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your cheek to his chest for a few awkward seconds while he stands there motionless and doesn’t touch you.

When you let go of him, you take the games, a couple of plates and one of the pizza boxes and head back out to the living room.

"What'd you get?" Karkat asks when you sit down, flipping open the lid on the pizza box and grabbing a slice. You show him the games and he raises an eyebrow, like he's surprised.

"Nice," he remarks through a mouthful of pizza. "Now I feel like my present was kinda lame."

You lightly whack him on the arm and say, "Shut up, man, your present was dope." It was. He'd got you new, good-quality headphones because he'd remembered yours were broken. Just the fact that he remembers things you say, sometimes even weeks later, means more to you than him getting you anything at all.

He'd also roped Gamzee into making you a plate of brownies, sans any weed, and that dude can bake because they were definitely the shit. You'd eaten four of them before Karkat had cut you off, made you put them in the fridge, which was just as well or else you'd have a mad stomachache right now as well as no appetite for dinner.

You lay on your side while you eat, rest your head in Karkat's lap as he idly rubs up and down your arm. Bro brings his six-pack out into the living room and sits beside you on the futon. He doesn't even change the channel, being nice for a change because it's your birthday you guess, and if it weren't for the whole wanting privacy later thing you don't think you'd ever want to move. It's already the best birthday you've had in years, and you were worried at first it wouldn't be because it's the first one you remember having without John.

When the episode's over and Bro's on his second beer, and both you and Karkat have eaten all the pizza you can stomach, there's a knock on the door. Bro gets up to answer it and second later you hear John's and Roxy's voices filtering out into the living room over the blare of the TV.

"Dave?"

You were expecting John tonight because he'd messaged you earlier and told you he'd swing by later to give you your gift. Still, you're a little nervous when you hear his voice, probably because it's the first time you'll have both him and Karkat in a room at the same time since you and Karkat got together.

Determined not to make it awkward, you sit up, pulling your head out of Karkat's lap, and brush crumbs off the front of your t-shirt. John's standing by the door with Bro, Roxy beside him, and she's all dressed up and wearing a full face of make-up so you guess they're going out later.

You hop over the back of the futon and hug Roxy first. She gives you a squeeze and a kiss on the cheek and you move on to John. He's holding a wrapped box in his hands so puts one arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him for a hug.

When he releases you, he says, "Happy birthday," with a grin and passes you the box. You lift it and it feels weighty in your hands.

"Hey. What's up, man?" You realize then that Karkat's up and standing next to you, and is holding his fist out for John to bump.

John gently knocks it away and steps forward for a big hug instead. And you guess it surprises the shit out of Karkat as much as it does you because he stands there still for a few seconds, arms hanging limply at his sides, before finally putting them around John and awkwardly returning the hug. It's weird as hell watching them do that, because they're acquaintances at best and have never really been friends, but you guess this is John's way of making an effort for you on your birthday and you appreciate it just for that.

Once that moment's over and everyone's feeling sufficiently awkward, Bro sits back down on the futon and flips the TV onto something else, dialing up the volume. John says, "So you gonna open it or what?"

"Oh. Yeah. Just come hang out in the kitchen for a sec, it's quieter."

Roxy hops up and sits on the kitchen bench, swinging her legs. You laugh when she calls out to Bro in the living room, asks if she can tax one of his beers, and he silently gives her the finger in response.

"Fucking stingy," she mutters at the back of his head. She turns back to you with a broad smile. "But come on, Dave, open it. I'm so excited for you to see this."

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hm. I helped make it and everything." Make it? Well now you're just extra curious.

You set the box down on the bench and get to work peeling away the wrapping. Karkat comes up behind you to watch and puts his arm around your waist. When you've ripped away all the wrapping to reveal a plain white box, you pull it open at both ends and slide the box away.

It's a big picture frame filled with photos of you and your friends. There's one of you with Rose and Jade last year at Rose's sixteenth. One of you and John at the Nature Center. A picture of all four of you when you couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen.

"Do you like the frame?" Roxy asks with bouncy enthusiasm. "We went walking at East Beach and just picked a bunch of 'em. Jade thought it was a neat idea."

You trace your finger along the edge of the frame, over the ridges and bumps of painted seashells.

"Yeah. It's fucking awesome. Thank you, both of you." You're a little overcome with emotion now, mostly because you don't have a whole lot of meaningful possessions and this is definitely going to be one of them.

You hug Roxy first and then John again, who squeezes you extra tight.

"Wish we could stay a little longer but we should get going soon," John says, checking the time on his phone screen. "We're catching a movie at nine but hey, can I talk to you alone real quick?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Roof?"

You leave Karkat alone with Roxy, who seems to want to annoy the shit out of Bro for reasons you suspect have something to do with that time she'd let slip she thinks he's 'hot', and follow John up to the roof. It's cold out in the open air and you wish you'd brought your hoodie up with you. You both stand by the ledge, overlooking the twinkling lights of the city, and lean up against the railing. 

You watch the side of John's face. "So what's up?"

He looks thoughtful. There's a crease between his brow that tells you something's on his mind.

"Nothing, really," he answers, unconvincingly. "Just wanted to get you alone for a minute. I wish I could stay but it's... Anyway, maybe we can hang out later this week. Just the two of us?"

"Yeah, we'll work something out. You know, Karkat can get us free tickets if you wanna see a movie?"

"You know what, maybe you can just come over to my place? Dad's still home on leave but he'd be happy to see you. We can watch movies and hang out and catch up on everything that's been going on with you. How is everything anyway?"

"With me? Good, I gotta tell ya. Real good, man. Too good, maybe? I keep wondering when a bomb's gonna drop down on my fuckin' skull and wipe me out or somethin'. I guess when you start thinking like that, means things are good."

"And with him?"

"Karkat?"

"Yeah. Everything's still going good with that?"

"Yeah, we're solid. We're awesome, actually." It feels weird talking to John about this but you want him to know you're happy; that it's cool for him to ease up and not feel guilty or sorry for you anymore, or whatever else has been bothering him lately.

"Good. I'm glad. You look happy," he points out, and you wonder if you really do. It's not like you study your own face in the mirror but maybe if you feel it you do look it.

"So what have you got planned later, anyway? Karkat staying the night?"

It's a pipe-dream at this point but you answer with a stupidly hopeful, "Maybe, yeah. I mean, I hope so."

"Oh," John says. He picks at his fingernails. "So like, is he staying the whole night, or?"

"Well yeah, if we can swing it." You're not sure why you're getting the Egbert Interrogation right now but it's starting to feel like there's an undercurrent of disapproval in his tone. You don't want to go there, not if he's gonna get all judgey on you like he hasn't been having sex right under his dad's nose since he was fifteen.

"But Dirk's not cool with that," he replies, like it's a statement and not a question.

"Pfff. If he's out tonight then what he doesn't know ain't gonna hurt him, right?"

"Oh. Well does he know you two are...?"

"Yeah, pretty sure he knows." You never go full-on PDA together but it's not like you ever bother hiding it either.

"Huh." John falls silent and it's a little awkward, talking about this. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering under your flimsy t-shirt, thinking longingly about getting back inside and cranking up the heater.

"Hey Dave? I know you're probably gonna hate me for saying this but in my defense, I'm only looking out for you."

You're a little taken aback by that, because when John says you're gonna hate him for something it's pretty much guaranteed that whatever he's about to say will sting you a little. You answer with a wary, "Uhhh, okay. Well cut the suspense, dude. What's on your mind?

John bites his lip and looks down at his hands. "It's just... I know you haven't before. I mean, you know. With anyone."

You flush, and with a surge of inwardly directed irritation say, "Okay. And?"

"You don't have to," John rushes to tell you. "I mean, if you're not ready or you don't want to or....you just wanna wait. That's okay. Waiting, I mean. It's probably good. I dunno. I guess I'm just saying you don't have to rush into anything if you're not ready. I think maybe it's even cool these days; you know, like...waiting. It's good if you're with the right person but you can always wait."

You stare at him for a while, oscillating between confused, and then annoyed, and finally stubbornly appreciative. "John. I can see what you're doing right now and I appreciate it and everything, but damn. You don't have to give me The Talk or whatever. I haven't needed that shit since I was like, four. And trust me, it's not like that with him." The idea of Karkat rushing you into anything is plainly ridiculous. If anything, it's you doing all the rushing. Every time you're with him and he's touching you, you find some subtle way of letting him know he can fuck you if he wants to. So far, he's the one who wants to wait and it kind of makes you nuts.

"Okay. Well I just wanted to tell you all that anyway. Had to get it out or I would've felt like shit."

"Thanks, but you don't need to go all Big Bro on me, man. I'm good. We're all cool here, alright? Fuckin' icy." You clap a hand on his shoulder and give it a squeeze.

"Good. That's...good." John pushes to his feet and extends a hand out to help you up. "We should probably get going soon before we're late. But you can call me any time, you know? Don't be a stranger. I get worried when I don't hear from you for days."

Once you're both standing, he pulls you in for another hug, and it's nice for a minute because you're cold, and can warm your body against him.

After John and Roxy leave, Karkat helps you find a good spot in your room for your new picture frame. You put it on your desk by your computer so you can see it from wherever you are in the room.

Later, you lay side by side for a while on your bed, while the TV blares out in the living room. Karkat mouths at you, "Is he ever fucking leaving?" and you smother your laugh in your pillow, offer him a hopeless shrug.

"It's just I kinda had something in mind tonight," he continues in a whisper.

"Yeah?" There's a burst of excitement in your chest now and you don't know why you're letting it get to you because at this rate no one's pants are coming off tonight. Still, you can't keep yourself from asking, "What'd you have in mind? Clue me in, dude."

"I had this whole awesome thing planned," Karkat admits, pushing up close to you. He puts his arm around you and you rest your hand on his warm cheek. "Was gonna be real nice," he adds in a murmur. "Candles, music, extra slow fucking. Super romantic.

"Shut up." There's no way he's serious and yet his words send shivers up your spine, make you throb between your legs. All you know is you hate Bro for cockblocking you right now.

"You don’t actually have candles, do you?"

Karkat shifts his hips up and digs around in his pocket, pulling out a couple of tealight candles and showing them to you.

You stare at them in amazement. "No way. You weren't kiddin', huh? Shit." You huff a laugh, because if you don't you'll cry.

He puts them away, looking vaguely downcast. "Guess I’ll just go home and jerk off. My car's still in the shop but Gam'll pick me up if I call him. Should I call him?"

"Not yet. But you know, you probably need to get rid of that thing. How many times has it broken down on you now?"

"Twice in a month. It's turning into a fucking money pit, I know, but I still haven't saved up enough to get a new one. Shit. You must think I'm such a bum sometimes." He laughs, but you throw him an incredulous look.

"How? You're the only one of us who lives on your own and has a fucking job. So screw that. You're winning."

He doesn't say anything to that but moves in to kiss you, rubbing his lips against yours a few times first. You keep it short and sweet, saving the full-blown make-outs for later when you're alone, but you guess you're shit out of luck in that department because Bro's looming in your doorway to ruin everything just a few minutes later.

"I gotta head out for a bit," he tells you, and your heart leaps in anticipation. But he stomps on it a beat later when he says, "Kid," and he's not addressing you, but Karkat. "You got someplace you need to be, or what?"

If you were brave enough, or stupid enough, you'd tell him to fuck off right to his face. You want to. You don't think you've ever wanted to more. You know you should be grateful he was so good to you today, that he even lets Karkat come over to spend time with you, but you're getting tired of his shit--this whole concerned daddy trip he's on lately when he's never been halfway fucked with you before. Not until the day you up and decided you were going to grow up and get a life outside your little bubble with John. And it's not like you ever got up in his business either, even when you wanted to; even when he never cared enough to hide shit from you and instead you learned things that made you sick, or distressed, or fucking scared.

"Not really. Literally don't have anywhere else to be," Karkat answers, and he's blunt but you know Bro will just think he's giving him an attitude.

"Well fuckin' find somewhere," Bro says, his tone leaving zero room for negotiation. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

He waits, until Karkat gives up and says, "Fine. Message received, loud and clear. Can I say goodbye?" Bro at least gives you that and disappears back down the hall.

"Why is he such an asshole?" Karkat buries his face in your pillow and you rub his back, wonder if he's half as sexually frustrated as you are when you're horny all the fucking time lately.

On a sigh, you say, "Some questions have really fucking long answers," and leave it at that.

He rolls over to face you and says, "Ugh. I really don't want to be alone in the car with him."

Instantly, that puts you straight on the defensive. "What's that supposed to mean?" You don’t want him thinking Bro's some weird pervert all based on what he does for a living. That shit always hurts like it's aimed straight at you.

Karkat must sense the tension in your tone because he lifts his head off the pillow and says, "Nothing? I just mean it’ll be fucking awkward. He doesn’t even like me. How am I 'sposed to talk to him for twenty-five minutes? What do I even say?"

You release a breath, some of the tension bleeding out of you, and say, "Nothing's your best bet. He likes silence anyway. I dunno, just sit there and let the awkwardness wash over you. The harder you try the weirder it’ll be."

"Damn it. Okay." He grumbles and sits up, then leans down to kiss you goodbye. You put your hands in his hair and hold him there for a moment, your lips lingering on his.

"This isn't over, I swear," he murmurs against you. "Next time we're gonna be alone, even if I have to kidnap you for the night." You only hope that's a promise.

Later, after you've frustratedly rubbed one out to the fantasy of Karkat doing to you exactly what he'd told you he’d been planning before Bro went and ruined everything, you're laying in the dark trying to sleep when your phone goes off under your sheets. You pull it out and unlock the screen, the sudden brightness making your eyes water.

CG: DAVE. THAT WAS SO. FUCKING. WEIRD.

TG: hey
TG: whats up
TG: everything alright?

CG: I DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW TO ANSWER THAT QUESTION. PLEASE DEFINE ALRIGHT.

TG: uh
TG: well presumably youre home safe and he didnt try to murder you so
TG: alright?

CG: YOUR BRO. HE HAS A VOICE. HE TALKS.

TG: lol what
TG: no shit
TG: youve heard him talk

CG: NOT LIKE THIS. FULL, COMPLETE SENTENCES. SEVERAL, IN FACT.

TG: youre making me really nervous
TG: god
TG: what did he say to you

CG: A LOT. LIKE HE LITERALLY JUST GAVE ME THE THIRD FUCKING DEGREE, FOR REAL.

TG: what the hell
TG: about what

CG: YOU, MOSTLY. FIRST HE'S ALL LIKE "SO WHERE'D YOU MEET DAVE?" ALL SUSPICIOUS AND SHIT? AND THEN HE'S ASKING ME ABOUT MY MOM AND EVERYTHING. IF I FINISHED SCHOOL. WHAT I DO FOR WORK. WHERE I'M FROM. OBVIOUSLY TEXAS, FUCKFACE!
CG: AND THEN WHEN I'M SWEATING IT OUT AND I'VE ANSWERED ALL HIS STUPID QUESTIONS HE'S LIKE "DAVE'S NOT LIKE THE REST OF YOUR DUMBASS FRIENDS, HE'S INNOCENT AND IF YOU TRY FUCKIN' HIM UP I'MMA BEAT YOUR SKINNY ASS".
CG: OKAY MAYBE NOT THAT LAST PART BUT SOMEHOW HE DEFINITELY IMPLIED I SHOULD KEEP MY DICK TO MYSELF IF I KNOW WHAT'S GOOD FOR ME.

TG: i...
TG: i dont even know what to say to that
TG: apart from sorry
TG: idk what his fucking problem is lately
TG: shits gettin out of hand
TG: its embarrassing
TG: i shoulda known he'd find some way to fuck with you
TG: im an idiot
TG: why did i let you go with him
TG: we shoulda just booked it for the night and slept under a fuckin bridge like trolls

CG: WAIT. I'M NOT DONE. SO AFTER HE SAID ALL THAT SHIT I HAD TO BE LIKE, "OKAY, SCARY, PHYSICALLY IMPOSING MAN I AM TRAPPED IN A MOVING VEHICLE WITH, WHO SPEAKS IN AN ACCENT THAT SOUNDS VAGUELY RACIST FOR SOME REASON:
CG: I'M NEVER GONNA PUT DAVE IN HARM'S WAY.
CG: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING.
CG: I ONLY WANNA TAKE CARE OF DAVE. I LOVE DAVE."

You're stuck on that last message, reading it over and over again like it might vanish if you direct your attention away for a second.

TG: wait
TG: you told him that?
TG: that you love me

You forget Bro for a second and your heart constricts in your chest. You want to tell him you feel the same way so he doesn't assume you're just sitting over here like you don't give a shit, because you actually give a lot of shits. It's your lousy luck though that you're unfortunate enough to share one of Bro's shittiest traits, which is an almost total inability to say those three specific words without feeling stupid, or so vulnerable you want to die. Even with John you always found some way to avoid saying it directly.

CG: NO.
CG: MAYBE.
CG: YEAH.
CG: OKAY. ABOUT THAT. I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU THAT TO YOUR FACE FIRST INSTEAD OF LIKE THIS BUT I ALWAYS WIMP OUT AT THE LAST MINUTE, PROBABLY BECAUSE I'M SCARED YOU'RE GONNA BE LIKE "WOW, CLINGY MUCH? SEEYA!"
CG: BUT YEAH. I LOVE YOU. AND I DO WANNA TAKE CARE OF YOU.
CG: I'M SORRY IF THAT FREAKS YOU OUT.

TG: no
TG: it doesnt
TG: i swear it doesnt

CG: YOU DON'T HAVE TO SAY IT BACK, BTW. ACTUALLY DON'T. IF YOU EVER WANT TO, JUST...DON'T BE A WIMP AND SAY IT TO MY FACE.
CG: ANYWAY. AFTER I SAID THAT HE JUST LOOKED KIND OF DISGUSTED. HE TURNED THE STEREO UP SO LOUD MY EARDRUMS BLED AND WENT BACK TO BEING THE SILENT KIND OF DICK SO YEAH, GREAT CHAT. BET HE HATES ME EVEN MORE NOW.

TG: wow

CG: YEAH.
CG: SOME OF THE STUFF HE WAS SAYING, THOUGH, IT KIND OF GOT ME THINKING.
CG: I WANT TO ASK YOU A THING. AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO ANSWER. TELL ME TO MIND MY BUSINESS. IT'S NOT SUPER IMPORTANT OR ANYTHING, I'M JUST CURIOUS.

TG: ok
TG: ask the thing

CG: AM I THE FIRST PERSON YOU'VE BEEN WITH?

TG: ok
TG: yeah
TG: but im not innocent
TG: thats the dumbest shit ive ever heard
TG: and its like
TG: he knows that too
TG: cause hes the one who took real good care of that
TG: you know what
TG: fuck him
TG: i dont wanna get on that whole moody teenage ooh i hate my dad vibe
TG: hes not my dad
TG: but fuck i hate him sometimes
TG: hes just trying to mess shit up cause thats what he does
TG: hes a miserable dick
TG: its like fuck you dave for trying to be happy
TG: lemme go ahead and fuck that up for ya good
TG: happy seventeenth kid

The more you type, the angrier you get. The temptation to get petty with him, fuck something up of his in return, grows stronger the longer you think about him purposefully interfering in something so important to you. Not letting you run wild under his roof is one thing. Trying to get Karkat to run away from you is a new low, even for him. But the only thing that ever gets under his skin is you being defiant, refusing to do what you're told, and when you do things like that it's only you who loses.

CG: SHIT. NOW YOU'RE REALLY PISSED AND IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY AND I FEEL BAD. STOP BEING MAD. WHEN I SAID GOODBYE YOU WERE HAPPY. I HATE SEEING YOU LIKE THIS. :(

TG: im not mad
TG: ok i am but not at you
TG: whatever he said it was fucking stupid ok so just
TG: dont listen to it
TG: forget it

CG: I CAN DO THAT. IT'S FORGOTTEN.
CG: I SHOULD LET YOU GET SOME SLEEP ANYWAY. YOU'VE HAD A BIG DAY.
CG: I'M SORRY IF THIS RUINED YOUR DAY BUT I JUST HAD TO TELL YOU ABOUT IT IN CASE YOUR BRO TRIED TO EMBARRASS THE FUCK OUT OF ME WITH WHAT I SAID.
CG: MAYBE I SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT ALONE BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS BETTER IF YOU HEARD IT FROM ME FIRST.

TG: dont sweat it
TG: but trust me
TG: he was never gonna tell me about any of that shit
TG: he barely talks to me
TG: you know you probably talked to him more tonight than i have all year

CG: DAVE. SOMETIMES THE THINGS YOU SAY WORRY ME.

TG: yeah well dont
TG: im fine
TG: its just the way he is i guess
TG: he cant help it

CG: I'LL TALK TO YOU IN THE MORNING?

TG: yeah
TG: gnight
TG: <3

You tuck your phone away under your pillow and roll over in bed, try to ignore how pissed you are at Bro and instead think about Karkat telling you you're loved by him, over and over. 

Chapter Text

It's still dark when you wake up with a killer stomachache. You kick your sheets off your clammy body and grope around for your phone. You press down on the power button and the screen glows to life, making your eyes strain with the sudden brightness. There are a few notifications from John, sent at two am, and it's four in the morning now. Which means Bro's probably home already unless his night was a complete rager. Thinking about Bro just makes you want to throw something and, while you want to tell him he's fucked up for what he did, the likelihood of him being conscious is basically nil and anyway, you're in no position to be getting into fights you've got no hope of winning.

You roll out of bed, groggy and disoriented, and trip over your mess of power cords on the floor. The hallway is as dark as the rest of the apartment, and you find your way to the bathroom using muscle memory alone. You grope around for the light switch and flick it on, staggering across the tiles to wrench the bathroom window up in order to get some fresh air. A cool breeze washes over you, carrying with it the sounds of the city in the early morning. You lean over the sink and splash cold water in your face, sucking in deep breaths as your guts roil in protest and your stomach cramps up.

You don't know why you let yourself go on like this, swinging between the two extremes of not eating enough or eating way too much. And four brownies and almost an entire pizza was bound to kick your ass on its way down and yet you did it anyway. You're not sure why you never learn your lesson and just quit eating like it's going out of style but you don't, and so here you are.

You search the cabinet behind the mirror for anything that might help and come up dry. The only shit in here is stuff you're not allowed to touch and while it'd probably help, it'd only be by virtue of knocking you unconscious. An empty zip-loc baggie by the corner of the sink catches your eye and you pick it up, open it and take a sniff. The shard-like residue and faint chemical odor tells you it's crank, which means Bro must have hit up the clubs tonight. It also means you'll want to avoid the hell out of him tomorrow unless you wanna get caught in his line of fire. He's always extra touchy on the come-down.

The fact it was your birthday last night apparently didn't warrant a little restraint but coming from Bro that never surprises you much. Weekends are always no-holds-barred. You only hope he had the decency not to touch this shit until after he got home, because the last time you saw him he was putting Karkat in his truck and you're pissed enough as it is.

You briefly consider waking Bro up, asking where the Pepto-Bismol is if there's even any in the apartment, but he doesn't like it when you do that and besides, you don't want to deal with him anyway; not after what he did and not when you know the most you're gonna get out of him will be him snapping at you, telling you to leave him alone.

You flip the toilet lid closed and sit down on it, try to wait for the ache in your stomach to subside. You miss Karkat so much in that moment it stings like a slap, makes you resent the shit out of Bro all over again for forcing him to leave, for taking him away from you too. You know if Karkat were here he'd get up and go to the drugstore without you even needing to ask, would buy you a whole fucking crate of Pepto-Bismol if that's what you wanted. He'd probably hold you until you felt better, kiss you even when you're sweaty and gross. Because he said he loves you, and even if it's hard to wrap your head around that, you trust him when he says he means it. He always tells you the truth, always says what he means when nobody else does.

You briefly entertain the idea of calling him. He wouldn't be mad. He'd talk to you and listen and tell you he cares but you're not going to be the asshole who wakes him up at four in the morning. You unlock your phone instead, open John's messages and are immediately confronted by a massive wall of blue text. He's probably long asleep but at least his chatter might take your mind off things, maybe help you feel less alone.

EB: hey dave!
EB: just got home.
EB: we ended up seeing twilight 2 and fuck it was bad.
EB: like, barely even bad enough to be funny. just boring and so cringe, holy shit.
EB: still, would have been way funner with you there!
EB: i hope you had a nice night. even though it sucked i couldn't be there with you.
EB: but that would have been super weird.
EB: i guess because you have a boyfriend now and you need alone time.
EB: and he's really nice. he seems really good with you too and i'm glad you're happy.
EB: ....
EB: ha.
EB: i can imagine you saying 'buuuuuuuuuut?' and yeah okay, maybe there is a but.
EB: a really little one.
EB: i'm gonna be honest with you because jade says i should be more honest about my feelings. especially with you.
EB: first off i want to say none of this is your fault. you're not doing anything wrong. it's me and my dumb feelings again.
EB: i'm usually wrong about everything. probably all it'll take is you being all like "shut up John you're being a stupid ass, it's not like that" and it'll fix everything. maybe. i hope.
EB: so here goes.
EB: sometimes i feel like you don't want me around as much. like i'm boring now. or like we've lost something. i dunno.
EB: you're so much a part of my life and i don't know what to do without you sometimes.
EB: i know you can't hang out with me as much anymore and it's selfish of me to want you all to myself all the time.
EB: only child syndrome. ha.
EB: i want to give you space but i also don't want to...give you up. if that makes sense.
EB: i think what i'm trying to say is i feel like i'm losing you and i can't.
EB: or that maybe you want me to just...go away. because i over-complicate everything for you.
EB: so i guess this is me being desperate and needy for your reassurance.
EB: i want you to tell me i'm wrong and that we'll be okay, even though things have changed a bit.
EB: and i know you're under no obligation to give that to me so if you don't want to, i guess just...delete these messages.
EB: and we won't talk about them anymore.
EB: but we're not talking about a whole lot lately. just surface stuff. which is cool but i guess it feels like there's a lot of shit that went unsaid. at least for me. maybe you've said everything you needed to say.
EB: or maybe talking to me is still too hard for you. because things haven't been the same ever since...that.
EB: i understand you need time because you were hurt but it's like you've got this wall up now. you're trying really hard to pretend it's not there but it is. you're different with me and it hurts a little. i don't want it to be permanent.
EB: ....
EB: alright well that's probably enough to secure me a second block. i deserve it.
EB: technically i waited until after your birthday to throw up my feelings on you so i hope that counts for something.
EB: maybe reduces the douchiness by a really small margin!
EB: i'm gonna try video chatting you tomorrow at around 1. if you'll be busy or not alone or whatever just give me another time. or don't. it's up to you. i'll wait.
EB: i hope none of this woke you. and i really do i hope you had a nice night.
EB: i love you dave.

You swallow around the lump in your throat. You hate that he's been feeling like this for however long and just never said anything, only you wish he'd picked a different time to lay all this on you. Right now you don't have the energy to address everything he's said and so you type a quick:

TG: john
TG: youre bein a stupid ass
TG: its not like that
TG: there
TG: fixed
TG: ...kidding
TG: call me tomorrow
TG: well talk about all the weird shit if thats what you want

He's probably right anyway. You should talk about it. If only to let John know it's all in the past and he doesn't have to worry anymore, or do that thing where he convinces himself people hate him when you're pretty sure that's never been true of anyone, ever. The only reason things are different is that you're being careful, because even you know there's shit you just don't do when you're in a relationship. Being too cuddly and cozying up to other dudes, even if they're John, has to be one of them. You'll just have to find a way of telling John that while avoiding trampling all over his feelings, or making Karkat the bad guy. Karkat never once told you to cool it with John but you're going with your own instincts here and you want to think you're right.

You get up and brush your teeth, rinse your mouth out with water. As you're wiping your hands on your boxers, your ears prick up at the sound of movement out in the living room. Either Bro's still up, just got in, or you've woken him with your banging around in the bathroom. The alternative is something you haven't had to deal with in a couple of weeks, and the thought of seeing him like that again just makes you uneasy.

You keep your movements quiet as you flick the bathroom light off, step out into the darkened hallway. You pad out into the living room to check what's going on. You know you should leave it, just go back to your room and close the door; but there's always the niggling thought at the back of your mind that if he's sleepwalking again, he could hurt himself if he doesn't know what he's doing.

None of the lights are on but a thin sliver of yellow light spills in beneath the living room blinds, enough that you can make out Bro's hulking figure moving around in the semi-dark.

You can't make out his face but his movements look quick, agitated, which is already freaking you out for how unusual it is. When he's asleep on his feet he's always docile if a little confused, suggestible and easy to lead back to bed. He's on his knees by the futon now, muttering to himself as he yanks up the cushions, one at a time, checks under each of them.

He must be awake and so you decide to make your presence known.

"Bro."

He doesn't answer and so you take a couple of steps towards him.

You yawn and rub at your eyes. "Dude, what have you lost? It's four in the fucking morning, man. Check it when you wake up."

You move past him to flick on the lights, because he must be drunk or off his tits if he's trying to find something in the dark, and bang your shin on the edge of the coffee table, letting out a loud yelp.

He's on you before you even make it to the light-switch, first clawing at the back of your shirt, then grabbing you around the waist as he staggers to his feet. Cold panic pulses through you and on instinct you test the strength of his grip by shoving at his arms, pushing your body forward, but he's got you locked in tight. Pretty much zero chance he's fucking with you then. The sound of his rapid breathing sends your pulse racing.

"It's me," you tell him breathlessly, fighting to keep your voice calm. "Bro. S'only me."

He ignores that, keeps his hold on you. "Where is it?" he says above you, in a voice that makes you cower. You spend a few seconds running his words through your mind, trying to find some explanation for what he's asking you, but only come up wanting. You never took anything from him and even if you did, he wouldn't grab you like this or talk in that voice. He'd ask you for it and you'd give it to him.

He's obviously lost his shit. You're going to have to tread carefully if he's already talking crazy and getting physical with you.

In the calmest voice you can muster, you say, "I don't have it." Not 'you're crazy' or 'wake the fuck up' because maybe if you play along, at least for a minute, he'll let you go.

He doesn't.

His grip tightens, fingers digging bruises into your flesh, and he shakes you so hard it hurts your neck when he says, "Just gimme the fuckin' money and I'll go."

Your stomach drops out. He's after money and he's asking you for it, which means he's definitely off his fucking tree if he was ever on it to begin with. Your understanding of the danger you're in sharpens considerably. The thought crosses your mind that he's having some weird dream or flashback, just waking, and you think it's probably safest if you play along for a little while longer, enough for him to let you go. Then you can run, call Karkat or even John, and book it until he sobers up, sorts himself out.

"Okay," you bite out. "Okay, I'll get it. Just let me go."

The arm he's got clamped to your ribs eases up a bit and you release a breath, pain shooting up your left side. He grabs you by the scruff of your neck instead and pitches you forward, sends you staggering; grabs onto the back of your shirt and hauls you out into the kitchen with ease. He suddenly releases you and you fall to the linoleum on your hands and knees, at his feet.

You're aware of him looming over you, his posture betraying his pent-up aggression, and you don't want to know what he'll do when this fails to go according to whatever script's playing through his mind. And it will. You can't produce any money because you don't have any money; you don't know where Bro keeps his cash either. It's not like he leaves piles of it laying around the apartment and the most he's got in his wallet at any one time is a couple fifties and some loose change.

You're fucked.

You're going to have to make a snap decision here while his hands are off you. Making out like you're looking for something might buy you a couple minutes at most but he could flip like a switch at any moment, snatch you up again--it's not like there's any logic to this situation when he's acting crazy, demanding money from you that doesn't exist. Probably thinks you're someone else too.

You calculate the fastest route to the front door. You count to three in your head, willing your body to move, and then you're up and running. You've almost got it. Bro's fast as fuck but you're small and quick too when you want to be. You make it to the front door with a few seconds to spare only to find it deadlocked. You jiggle the lock around, kick at the door, as if it'll open for you if you just cuss at it hard enough. But you can't open it without the key and your set's still somewhere in your bedroom, too far away to be useful. Bro has the only other set and you've got no clue where the hell he might have put them.

It doesn't matter anyway because he's got you. When he grabs you, spins you around, you go limp in his grasp. No point fighting or you'll only make things worse. He says something to you but you're so scared it doesn't register to your ears. He shakes you so hard you're pretty sure that's your brain you can feel rattling around up there in your skull. When he hits you, it's with enough force that your vision flickers and you fall to the floor, tasting blood in your mouth.

He pins you there, straddles your hips, and then his big, paw-like hands are wrapping around your throat. You scratch at his forearms but don't have a hope in hell of throwing him off. He's too strong, you're too small, and even if you could move your hips, swing your legs around, his grip on your throat is like iron.

You open your eyes when he starts applying serious pressure, cutting off your air supply. You're hoping if he looks at you he might wake up to himself, realize what he's doing; but his stare is vacant in a way that's unfamiliar to you, empty in the way you imagine people look when they've died.

Which you're pretty sure is what's about to happen to you. And your last thought is going to be what you could have done differently. Maybe you shouldn't have run--should have just stayed and played along a little while longer. Maybe he'd have gotten bored, moved onto something else; even woken up. You'll never know now. Karkat will never know about the error in judgment you just made. You'll never be able to tell John you don't want to lose him either; that you'll never want him to go away.

Your lungs are on fire. Agonizing pressure builds inside your head. When black spots start dancing in front of your eyes, you know it's almost over. It strikes you how quiet it is. You're incapable of making any noise. Bro doesn't yell, or speak; just breathes. You can hear traffic outside and the hum of Bro's server tower but other than that, nothing. You never thought you'd go out this quietly but you guess it beats screaming, begging for your life.

He releases you right when you're on the precipice of losing consciousness. Your first lungful of air hits you like a punch to the chest and you cough and double over, your eyes streaming. When you open them again, no longer gasping for oxygen, Bro's leaning over you with a look you've never seen on him. It's like someone's flicked the lights back on and he's there again, him, not whatever the fuck that just was.

He's still trying to catch his breath, his chest heaving. "Dave," he says, a little desperately. He reaches out to touch your face and you flinch away from him, bat his hand away. You don't want him to touch you or look at you.

You roll away from him and push to your feet, stagger back to your room on unsteady feet. You clutch at your throat because you can still feel the pressure on it, Bro's thick fingers wrapped around it. You push open your bedroom door and shut it, sink down to the floor with your back against it.

The closed door is mostly immaterial. If Bro wanted to, he could kick it open, drag you out again. He doesn't.

You're in shock. When you try to think about what you should do next, you can't think any further ahead than the next ten seconds. You're not sure how much time passes but after a while you sense his presence on the other side of the door, and you know he's standing there. Waiting. Maybe even listening to check you're still breathing.

"What do you want?" Your voice sounds hoarse, scratchy, and it hurts when you speak.

"Let me in. M'not gonna hurt ya. Jus' wanna get a look at ya."

"No."

"Dave..."

"You tried to kill me." The words surprise you as they spill out of your mouth. But you guess that's what happened. He tried to kill you. He nearly succeeded. It's going to take you a hot minute to process that one.

It's been a while since he put his hands on you, gave you a proper beating. Even then it was mostly him spanking you with his belt; occasionally, if you'd really messed up, a backhander across the mouth or him pulling you around by your hair, smacking at you.

Never anything like this. You've never been sure he loves you. You were at least sure he probably didn't want you dead. You know it wasn't him with his fingers wrapped around your throat, choking the life out of you. But what if it was and you're just not seeing it? Maybe his subconscious mind knows something he doesn't and he really does want you out of his fucking life, wants things back the way they were before your arrival in this world heralded the ruin of his entire future.

He doesn't say anything else to you after that. You sit there on the floor until sunlight starts to creep in around the edges of the blinds. Eventually you hear the front door open and close and you know you're alone again.

Chapter Text

You don't get out of bed for the rest of the morning. Eating something is out of the question and so you leave your room only to use the bathroom. The first time you do that, catch sight of your own reflection in the mirror over the sink, you can't do anything but stare in a detached kind of horror.

It's the worst you've ever seen yourself. You look like hell--so bad there's no way you'll be able to show your face in public without people staring, asking questions. Your left cheek is mottled with fresh bruising, swollen and purple and tender to the touch. Your neck's a mess, littered with angry bruises fitting the shape of Bro's hands, the indents of his thick fingers. Your face is a total lost cause, but you might be able to cover up your neck depending on what you're wearing. It's your eyes that keep you glued to the mirror, unable to look away.

Your sclera are dotted with red, and examining them closely just sends you spiraling into a new fit of panic, wondering why in the hell your eyes are bleeding. You hurry back to your room and fire up your laptop, quickly pulling up Dr. Google. Typing "strangulation side-effects" into the search-box and hitting enter, the very first result that comes up is a website listing resources for victims of domestic violence.

You scroll on past it but the next few results are all in a similar vein--pages for a variety of domestic violence hotlines and non-profits. Finally, you find a page that purports to offer information about the dangers of manual strangulation, which is what you're after. A few minutes of reading later and you've learned the blood in your eyes is called petechiae, and is the result of capillaries bursting due to constriction. You also learn that in addition to having to think about your Bro with his hands around your throat each time you close your eyes, apparently the nightmare isn't over yet.

If you're lucky, you'll have trouble sleeping over the next few months, maybe even issues with your memory. If you're extra fortunate, you might even drop dead of a blood clot, which are occasionally prone to form in the carotid artery as the body tries to heal, before they break off and travel to the brain and then bam, just like that, it's lights out for you.

You have to stop reading or you'll drive yourself crazy. You're being dramatic as fuck and you know it, bracing for the most catastrophic outcomes when the reality is, you'll probably be fine. And even if seeing a doctor right now likely wouldn't hurt, it's not as if you and Bro have insurance. You're also pretty sure that any adult who looks at your injuries is going to question you, and what that'd mean for Bro is something you'd never be able to undo.

You close your laptop and slide it back under your bed. Dragging your comforter up over your body, you lay on your side and close your eyes, twisting your fingers around Karkat's dumb old Fresh Prince shirt as you bring it close to your face. It still smells like the brand of laundry soap he uses. You wish he was here to tell you everything's going to be be alright.

*

You wake again at one in the afternoon to your phone going off. You rub at your eyes, flinching at the unexpected burst of pain that action causes. You fumble around for your phone and squint down at the screen. It's John, who told you he'd call you around one. Somehow you'd forgotten all about that because already it feels like something that happened days ago. There's no way you can talk to him right now and so you reject his call, send him a quick follow-up message telling him you're caught up and will call him back as soon as you're free, just so he doesn't get suspicious. The last thing you need is him turning up at the front door.

You check your notifications and find a bunch of messages from Karkat. You swipe those away too, telling yourself you'll reply to them soon, after you've had time to think up a plausible excuse as to why you can't see him later. You know you'll have to tell him what's happened eventually but can't bring yourself to do it straight away; maybe in a few days time, when your face isn't so busted.

*

You spend the rest of the afternoon catching up on your schoolwork online, swapping snarky messages back and forth with Rose. You don't tell her anything about what's happened, because she'd only turn it into some massive ordeal, but she's good company and even makes you laugh a few times. It's a welcome change of pace to just chat with someone who only wants to shoot the shit with you.

By dusk there's still no sign of Bro, which doesn't come as much of a surprise. He fucked up last night, and he knows he fucked up, which means he's probably not going to show his face around here until at least the morning. You're secure in that knowledge, because thinking about him coming home right now, having to look at him, just puts a sick, lurching sensation in the pit of your stomach.

Right before you settle down into bed for the night, you send him a bunch of messages anyway, more to put your own mind at ease than his.

TG: hey
TG: dont know where you are right now
TG: hope youre ok and not doin anything dumb
TG: last night was kinda fucked up
TG: i dont even know if you feel bad
TG: but if you do
TG: just
TG: dont
TG: it was a mistake
TG: you werent even awake dude
TG: not like you meant it
TG: and im ok
TG: anyway
TG: i guess ill see you when i see you

You wait, staring at the screen until a little 'seen' appears beneath your last message. So you know at least he's read it all, even if you know better than to think he'll respond to any of it.

You open your conversation with Karkat next, just to tell him goodnight, and sorry you've been so caught up with your own shit today. He responds almost immediately to tell you it's cool and that he'll talk to you tomorrow. You send him a lame heart emoji in response then power your phone down for the night.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, genuine worry starts to set in. There's been no sign of Bro in days--he still hasn't turned up at the apartment, called or responded to any of your messages--and you can only put off seeing Karkat, John, and the rest of your friends for so long.

You can tell by the dejected tone of John's messages that he's convinced himself you're avoiding him because you don't want to be friends anymore, even if he's doing his best to avoid telling you that directly. And you can sense Karkat's hurt and confusion through his, although he's still trying to play it off as cool, pretending to swallow all your piss-poor excuses about being swamped down with school-work, whatever other stupid shit you can pull out your ass to avoid seeing him.

You're fucking up, and bad. If you let it go on much longer it's going to blow up in your face: Karkat's going to rightfully demand an explanation as to why you're being a dick, and you'll have to give him one. And sooner or later someone, probably John, is going to turn up at the apartment to check on you. You're just hoping if you can avoid it a little while longer your face won't look so bad; you won't scare the shit out of Karkat when he sees you. And if Bro comes home you might be able to breathe, relax enough to let things return to normal.

This isn't normal. Bro rarely left you alone longer than forty-eight hours at a time. He'd always come back even if it was just to check you were still alive, leave you some money so you could feed yourself. The longer he stays away, the more it starts to eat at you that maybe this time, he's staying away for good.

With that in mind, you send him a fresh string of messages, keeping your tone flippant so he knows you're not sitting here holding some grudge against him.

TG: hey
TG: so youre not back yet
TG: thats cool
TG: all good over here bro
TG: face is healing up real nice
TG: thanks for asking
TG: looks kinda kickass actually
TG: like i got into a sick scrap or somethin
TG: look you hulked out on me
TG: it sucked
TG: but it wont happen again right
TG: well go back to the doc
TG: switch your meds around or whatever
TG: well figure it out
TG: just come home

When he hasn't responded to all that by Wednesday night, you're so frustrated with him you figure it's high time you kicked your attention-seeking up a notch, force him to stop pretending you don't exist.

TG: are you ever coming back
TG: if youre bailing on me i guess ill have to sell all your shit
TG: start with your camera equipment i guess
TG: your sony camcorders gonna fetch a pretty sweet price on ebay
TG: bet i could feed myself for a year off that

TG: ...
TG: seriously?
TG: nothing?
TG: i thought thatd get you going
TG: you hate it when i fuck with your stuff
TG: whatever
TG: look im actually getting hungry tho
TG: there's no food in the house dude
TG: you gotta feed me
TG: like legally you gotta feed me
TG: dont you still have that lil piece of paper saying youre responsible for making sure i dont die
TG: least til im eighteen
TG: come on man im like a lil baby bird over here
TG: cant fend for myself just yet
TG: still confined to the nest
TG: ipso facto you gotta do something

This is mostly a lie. Even if you wanted to eat, you've still got a few packs of dry ramen hiding in your closet along with a mostly-full bag of Doritos.

A few minutes later, your phone pings. You drag the top-bar down and discover a notification from your banking app. You click on it, and your eyebrows nearly reach your hairline when you find your balance has shot right up from it's usual zero to three-hundred dollars. You swallow around a lump in your throat. He's never given you this much money before. You wish he was here so you could throw it back at him, tell him you don't want his fucking money. All it tells you is that he's got no intention of coming back any time soon. Three-hundred dollars is enough to feed yourself for at least a couple of months.

Him doing this feels like a gigantic 'fuck you', and for a minute you even consider sending the cash straight back to him, telling him to go fuck himself in the transaction description box. In the end you sit on your hands. If he's really gone for good this time, you're going to need that money to take care of yourself.

It doesn't truly dawn on you until Thursday afternoon that you've been abandoned.

He's still not answering your messages, your calls, and hasn't even come back to the apartment to get any of his shit. He's gone, and you're fucked.

You spend the next twenty-four hours in a weird kind of mourning. You keep your phone on silent, because you've long since run out of excuses for your shitty behavior. You fully commit to making your situation that much worse by ignoring your messages, and instead waste some time actually cleaning the apartment. It's been so long since you or Bro got off your asses to do anything that it's perpetually a mess.

You start with the kitchen, wiping down the benches, scrubbing all the dishes, drying shit and putting it away. You even clean the floors, mopping the linoleum with disinfectant first before cleaning out the gross, almost-bare fridge. After that you hit the bathroom, which hasn't seen bleach in a good couple of months. Scrubbing Bro's stubble out of the basin, scouring the toilet, is nasty as hell but it keeps your mind off of things to do something productive instead of just ignoring your phone, or staring at it in the futile hope your brother will actually think to message you, at least let you know he's not sacked out in a back-alley somewhere.

You throw his rusted-out razors and numerous aftershaves into a trash bag, because fuck him, it's not like he's coming back for them now, and then move on to the hallway closet, which you know is full to bursting-point with all his crap. When you open it, a bunch of smuppets fall down on your head. It offers you a vindictive rush of pleasure to rip the head off one and throw it straight in the trash. You bin the rest of them too, along with a bunch of his weird ninja shit, until there's enough space for you to fit all the folded sheets and towels.

A couple cardboard boxes tucked away on the floor of the closet catch your eye and you drag them out, reasoning that whatever's inside must be nasty as all hell if he's bothered trying to hide it from you. You're not sure if you're disappointed or relieved to find nothing but a bunch of paperwork for his businesses, receipts and monthly statements. You dig out a blue plastic sleeve, because it looks different to everything else, and are weirded-out to find a stack of photos slotted away inside.

Bro doesn't keep photos in the apartment, or at least you never thought so, and you don't even recognize any of the people in them. You study them one by one, curious and resentful that Bro's not here for you to ask him about them, only to stop dead in your tracks when you come across one that has you staggered.

It's him. You know it's him, although he's so young he looks almost like a kid to you. He's looking away from the camera, balancing a chubby blond toddler on his hip, and yep, you guess that's you. Your dimpled fingers are bunched-up in his shirt as you cling onto him, and you have to look away for a minute because there's a stinging hot pressure building behind your eyes. It strikes you as particularly shitty that he never shared this with you, and all you can do now is fill in the blanks for yourself as to why.

You pull your phone out, click the home button twice to pull up the camera, then train the lens on the photograph, snapping a picture of it to save to your phone's memory, so that at least now no one can take it away from you. At the last minute you decide to forward it on to your brother, because there's always the smallest chance it'll guilt-trip him into action, or at the very least get under his skin that you're rifling through all his private shit.

It does nothing. When he hasn't responded after two hours, you're so fucking angry you're seeing red. There's only one thing you haven't tried on with him so far, and it's the last thing you can think of that might get his attention before you're forced to give up on him for good.

TG: ok
TG: youre gone
TG: im on my own
TG: guess ill have to get a job real soon
TG: that three hundred aint gonna last forever
TG: might be high time i joined the family business
TG: how hard can it be
TG: got a dude coming over later
TG: might have to suck some dick
TG: thats worth at least a fifty right
TG: you tell me
TG: suck twenty and thats rent for the month
TG: but idk what the going rates are these days
TG: dont wanna undercharge
TG: i guess butt stuffs where the real moneys at tho huh
TG: might have to work up to that
TG: im thinkin ass has gotta be at least a couple hundred
TG: probably more if i can work the whole underage angle
TG: lotta perverts out there
TG: but i mean
TG: youd know right

For a good few minutes, it's satisfying as fuck getting the chance to rip the hell out of him like this. Until the guilt starts setting in and you feel so shitty about what you've said that it makes you sick. You know it sounds like you're making fun of him, trying to humiliate him for the shit he's done to provide for you, and while you wanted to cut him this is probably several steps too far.

You're not proud of it but it takes you less than fifteen minutes to backtrack.

TG: listen
TG: i didnt mean that
TG: im not doing that
TG: but you know what
TG: fuck you man

You leave it at that, a short and sweet 'fuck you', which is all you should have said to him in the first place. It's not like he gives a damn anyway. By nightfall there's still no word from him, and you're slowly coming to the realization that he's actually gone; you're going to have to accept it and come up with a plan as to what you're going to do next. And that plan is going to have to involve other people.

The self-imposed isolation is starting to gnaw at you anyway. Once there's nothing left to clean you lay flat on your bed in the still silence, desperate to hear someone else's voice; to be touched, held, or even just seen. You know it's time to start cleaning up the mess you've made over the past week, and so you open Pesterchum to read Karkat's latest messages first.

CG: I KNOW YOU SAID YOU'VE BEEN SWAMPED THIS WEEK. I GET IT. I'M TRYING NOT TO READ TOO MUCH INTO THIS BUT IT'S MAYBE KINDA STARTING TO FEEL LIKE YOU COULD BE AVOIDING ME.
CG: IF I DID SOMETHING WRONG, CAN YOU PLEASE JUST TELL ME?
CG: TELLING YOU I LOVED YOU WAS WEIRD. TOO SOON, I GUESS? IF IT PUT YOU OFF ME OR FREAKED YOU OUT, JUST BE HONEST WITH ME. IF YOU'RE OUT, THAT'S FINE. IT'S JUST I USUALLY PREFER TO BE TOLD WHEN I'M BEING BROKEN UP WITH.

TG: no
TG: im not out
TG: dammit dude
TG: like fuck no a thousand times
TG: im in
TG: all in
TG: im sorry ive been acting so sketchy all week
TG: please just
TG: believe me when i say it has nothing to do with you
TG: i wanna see you so bad
TG: come by the apartment tomorrow night after work
TG: ill tell you everything
TG: and dont worry about my bro
TG: hes not here anymore

CG: UM.
CG: I'M OFFICIALLY WORRIED ABOUT YOU.
CG: IS EVERYTHING OKAY?

TG: im ok
TG: i promise
TG: just come by tomorrow and ill tell you everything i swear

You exchange a few more messages with him, reassure him you're fine and that he doesn't need to worry, before his break's up and he has to put his phone away again, go back to work.

You open John's messages next and are unsurprised to discover how badly your almost total lack of engagement with him this week, outside a few brief responses, has hurt him.

EB: why won't you talk to me?
EB: i keep calling and you just don't answer.
EB: and don't tell me it's your school stuff again dave.
EB: that's bullshit and you know it. you're avoiding me!
EB: you can be honest with me about it, you know. if you can't talk or don't want to talk that's okay.
EB: just tell me and i'll leave you alone. kinda need to know where i stand right now.
EB: like...do i even have a best friend?
EB: i've never felt this sucky and fucking hurt.

TG: john
TG: im sorry ok
TG: im not gonna say i wasnt avoiding you
TG: i was
TG: probably not for the reasons you think
TG: ive been avoiding everything these past few days

Almost the second you hit send on that, John's calling you, trying to video chat with you again. You hit the call cancel button because you can't do that yet, not without turning this into some big thing. Your face still isn't right and you know it's going to be the first thing he focuses on.

EB: i take it you're busy or not alone.

TG: its not that

EB: so what's going on then? getting a little worried now.
EB: last time you rejected all my video calls we were thirteen and it was because dirk messed your eye up and you didn't want me to see it.

When you don't respond to that for a good five minutes, John's right back on you again.

EB: dave?
EB: tell me he didn't put his hands on you.
EB: ...
EB: dave?
EB: alright well i'm way past worried now and just starting to get straight up pissed.
EB: talk to me.

TG: its not what you think
TG: it was different this time
TG: i know that sounds like some dumb line
TG: like im trying to protect him or whatever
TG: but im not
TG: its true

This is evidently the wrong thing to say. John doesn't even give you the chance to further explain.

EB: you said that last time.
EB: i'm not buying it anymore.
EB: i'm coming over.
EB: i'm pretty much going to fucking kill him.

TG: dude
TG: you dont have to come over
TG: john?

He doesn't respond, and after a few minutes the little green dot beside his handle turns grey, indicating he's now offline. Which means he's on his way to you and there's nothing you can do now to hide from this.

Chapter Text

You hit the shower before John arrives, because it's been a while and you should probably scrub the days-old depression sweat from your skin before you're in a state to be seen. You take your time, and by the time you're done you barely have a minute to slip on an old tee, the Superman boxers Rose got for you one Christmas, before there's a loud knock on the door and your heart's hammering in your chest.

The idea that it could be Bro is objectively far-fetched, but that doesn't stop your mind from wandering. You've been hoping to hear him at the front door for days now although you know he'd never knock when he's got his own set of keys.

You don't keep John waiting long. You hurry to the door and unlock the deadbolt, slide away the security chain. When you open it you find him wired and agitated, hands stuffed in his pockets as he paces the worn patch of carpet in front of your door. The second his gaze falls on you he stops and his expression turns hard. He stares past your shoulder, into the apartment.

"So where is he?"

Before you can answer he bum-rushes past you, taking you by the shoulders first and setting you aside like you're in his way. You sigh and shut the door behind him, leaving the deadbolt unlocked but re-securing the chain, and passively follow as he charges his way through the apartment, evidently searching for Bro.

When he flings open the door to your room you duck around him and sit on the edge of your mattress, wait for him to calm his shit and sit down with you, actually talk to you. He stands in front of you instead, fixes you with a look that tells you he's not fucking around right now.

"Where's Dirk, Dave?"

"Dude, he's not here. You need to chill."

"No. When's he coming back?"

You shrug, pick at a loose thread on your sheets. "Probably never. Seriously, he's been gone since Sunday morning. Haven't heard from him since then either. Dude's not coming back, like, for real." You pat the space beside you.

You watch as John considers what you're saying, the angry tension in his posture ebbing away as he slowly comes to accept it. He sits down after a moment and lowers the hood of his blue sweater, pushes the sleeves up over his forearms and leans over his knees, breathing heavily. He glances over at you for a few seconds and then looks away again, shaking his head, like he can't do that for long.

"You don't look so good, Dave."

You let that hang there for a while. He's stating the obvious anyway and you know how bad you look, how bad this whole thing looks. Your eyes are almost back to normal; the bruises on your face and neck have faded to a muddy yellow-green but it's still obvious to anyone who looks at you that you've had your ass handed to you, and bad.

You break the silence by changing the subject. "Hey. Not that I don't appreciate this—'cause I'm real glad you're here and everything—but...what were you thinking just rushin' over here all gung-ho like that? If he was home and you'd ambushed him he'd'a kicked your ass and you know it. You gotta think, man. I don't wanna see you get hurt 'cause'a me."

You're pretty sure even you'd have a better chance holding Bro off than John ever would. John might be bigger than you, and he's on the wrestling team at school, but you've been roughhousing with Bro since you were old enough to talk. John doesn't know how to take a beating the same way you do. His dad barely ever raised his voice to him; the only brand of punishment ever employed in that household was John's dad taking his electronics away, grounding him for a week at a time. Just the thought of Bro laying John out in front of you, making you watch, puts a sick feeling in your guts and for the first time you're glad he bailed the way he did.

"Maybe I don't actually care about that, Dave. Maybe someone needs to tell him to back the hell off of you. And yeah, okay, he probably would've kicked my ass over it. I don't care; I'm not putting up with this anymore. Why can't he keep his hands off you? What the hell is wrong with him? I've tried so fucking hard with that dude, for you, and it's like...I just feel like some dumbass for thinking he'd changed or that things were any better over here. I should've forced you to come live with me and dad years ago."

You ignore that last part, because it's kind of a sore subject between you, and insist, "Things are better. They have been."

John just scoffs at that. "Come on. Look at you. He didn't do this to you?"

"He did, but I told you, it was...different."

John shifts around to face you, reaches out to touch your face, swiping a gentle thumb across the bruise on your cheek. You lean a little too heavily into his warm touch, because no one's laid hands on you in a week and you were getting kind of desperate for it; to be touched, seen by someone. When you're alone for too long, even just cooped up with Bro, you start forgetting what that's like.

"How is it different?"

You seize that opportunity to just come out with it, tell John everything that happened between you and Bro, start to finish. Instead of calming down, he only seems to get more and more agitated the longer you talk. By the time you're done his fists are clenched and there's a muscle working in his jaw.

"How does any of that make it better?" he asks you in a low, strained tone. You know he's working hard to avoid flying off the handle here, because it's not you he wants to yell at, but him being this mad is a rare enough occurrence that it still unsettles you some. "None of that actually matters. No one held a gun to his head and made him take any of that crap, Dave. It's like this: If someone heard something going on over here, right, and they'd called the cops—they'd haul his ass in. You think they're gonna care if he's all like, 'oh, but I didn't mean it, man, I was high'. Hell no. You did it, you're fricking guilty and you're going to jail. We should call the cops on him," he mutters as an afterthought.

"No," you say immediately. "I’m not calling the cops on him, dude. We’re not cop callers. No way."

"Yeah. I thought you'd say something like that." John rests his chin in his palm and faces away from you, his shoulders slumping.

You watch as he drifts into a thoughtful, brooding silence. You get the feeling he might be annoyed at you for failing to take more direct action here, because you always do this and he just doesn't get it. The mood between you grows sullen, and you can't help feeling a little responsible for it all. If you'd never got him caught up in all your twisted shit with Bro he'd be at home right now with his dad, happy; not here with you, pissed and looking for a fight he's never gonna win.

You take the unusual step of initiating the first hug with him. It's not the way you usually do things. Even when you were desperate to get your hands all over him any way you could, you'd always allowed him to make the first move, decide for himself how much or how little he wanted to give to you. Now you reach for him first, hooking your arm around his shoulders and gently pulling him into your side. He exhales heavily and rests his head against your shoulder as you rub at his arm. It's the only way you know to express your gratitude for him, for the fact that he's here and cares enough to be angry for you, because you sure as shit can't find the words.

After a while, John says, "I'm gonna head out for just a minute, get a few things at the drugstore, maybe grab some food. You hungry?"

You quickly realize that you are. Now that John's here, your appetite seems to have returned with full force.

"Actually, fuck yeah, I could eat," you eagerly admit.

"Okay, I'll get you something. I won't be long, and I'll have my phone on me. Twenty, thirty minutes tops."

You can tell he's anxious about leaving you, worried that Bro might blow back in at moment and just...attack you or something. You're reluctant to tell him that's not gonna happen, because it really wasn't like that, only you know John already thinks you don't take the shit Bro does to you seriously enough. If you can avoid upsetting him any further right now, you will.

He peels himself away from you with a heavy sigh, digs around in his pocket for his wallet and keys, and stands. When he's at the door, he turns to look at you again and says, with an edge of real concern, "How sure are you that he won't be back? I mean, how do you know? Did he actually tell you he's gone and not coming back?"

"No," you confess, "but...I'm telling you, he's not. If he's not back by now, he's not coming back. He's never left me like this."

Apparently satisfied with your answer, John offers you a brief nod and gets on going, and a moment later you hear the front door open and close.

*

You set up on the futon, first gathering up Bro's comforter and sheets and folding them, placing them down on the floor. As you're shaking them out you smell him, and a sick wave of grief crashes over you, the way it always does when it hits you that you've probably already seen him for the last time. There were no goodbyes, no chance to tell him any of the shit you've always wanted to tell him, good and bad. It's probably a fitting end for everything, if you really think hard on it. He's been silent and unreachable all your life. It makes a fucked up kind of sense for things to end that way too.

You flick the TV on and sit down, hugging your knees up to your chest. When you hear someone at the door again you twist around to find John kicking it closed. He's clutching a Walgreens bag in one hand and a clear plastic one in the other, stacked with what you assume is dinner. When the smell of Thai food cuts across your senses your mouth starts to water and your stomach growls.

"Antiques Roadshow? Awesome." John tosses his wallet and keys down on the coffee table, and before he even has a chance to set the bags down you snatch the one with the food in it and grab the first container you see.

You flip open the lid to reveal a pile of steaming veggies, noodles and meat smothered in peanut sauce. You pluck up a thick noodle between your thumb and index finger and suck it straight into your mouth, not even caring when it scalds your fingers, your lips, the roof of your mouth.

John stares at you. "Maybe slow down there, Dave." He digs around in the bag and retrieves a plastic fork, offering it to you. "Here."

You take it from him and dig straight back in, aware you're probably being rude as hell but so hungry all you can think about is piping the food directly from the box, straight to your stomach. John opens a can of Coke and places it on the coffee table in front of you, then sets about eating his own food in a dignified manner, like a normal, civilized person.

"I got you some stuff from the drugstore," he offers after a few minutes.

"Oh," you say around a mouthful of food. "What for?" You swallow and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, pick up the can of Coke and take a big sip, because the food's still too hot and your mouth is burning.

John sets his box of food down and picks up the Walgreens bag. "I asked the lady on duty how to treat bruising. Like, facial bruising. I swear to god she looked at me like I was beating my girlfriend."

You lower your fork. "Shit. Sorry."

"Nah, it's cool. She told me to get all this stuff, though." He digs around in the bag and tosses a pack of Advil on the coffee table, along with a bunch of vitamins and a tube of cream.

You stare at it. "What's all this?"

"I dunno. Supposed to help reduce the bruising, I guess. You could try it?" John peels away the plastic seal on the pack of Advil, pops two pills out of their foil casing and passes them to you.

You accept them, but tell him, "I'm not in pain, you know that, right? I'm mostly good now, I swear." You've had some shooting pains up the left side of your face the past few days but it's off and on and mostly doesn't bother you.

"Just take it, okay?" He unscrews the vitamin jars, shaking out one of each, and passes those to you as well.

You take them and toss them back without argument, because even if you're pretty sure none of this shit is actually gonna help, it's not worth it arguing with someone who's gone out of their way to try to help you. And vitamins never killed anybody; they'll probably only do you good.

When John picks up the tube of cream, untwists the cap, you eye it suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Not sure—some vitamin cream? Lady said it's s'posed to help with bruising—I dunno how, but it can't hurt, right? Come on." He squeezes a pea-sized amount onto his fingers and reaches for you. You flinch away on instinct.

"Oh. Sorry. Do you wanna do it yourself?"

You brush that off by saying, "Nah, it's all good." He'll be the first person to have touched your throat since Bro, and you didn't realize until now you were even weird about it. You pick your fork back up and resume eating while John gently rubs the cream into the bruise under your eye, then dips his fingers down to your throat. There's a tiny flutter of panic when he touches you there but you subdue it by running your mouth instead.

"You know most of this stuff's probably useless, right? S'just gonna make me smell weird. Still love you for it, though," you tack on at the end, because you're so overwhelmingly grateful for the comfort of his presence, the love and care he's always shown for you, that it just comes tumbling out.

John pauses what he's doing, a small smirk on his lips. "Ha. Finally said the L word. Nice one."

"What? I say the L word," you respond, a little self-consciously.

"You never say the L word," John argues. "You say 'thanks bro' or 'you too' or 'later'." He says all that in this dopey voice that sounds nothing like you. You lightly whack him on the arm. "Hey. I don't sound like that, man."

John just laughs and says, "Nah, it's nice to hear that. Not even messing with you. It's just...yeah. Nice."

He finishes up with the cream and shoves everything back in the bag, hands it to you. You place it down on the floor next to Bro's pile of sheets and John blindsides you with, "What are you even gonna do, Dave? I need to know. I can't let you stay here on your own."

You take your time answering. Finally, you reply, "Why not? I'm seventeen, right? Karkat's seventeen and he lives on his own."

"Oh. Has his own apartment and everything?"

"Yeah." You set your empty food container down and draw your knees to your chest again. "Look, m'not sayin' it's gonna be easy or nothin' but I can manage it. Far as I know, Bro's still paying the rent. All I gotta do is look after myself. I've been doing that a while now anyway, right?"

"But what if Dirk comes back?"

"He won't. I told you, the dude's split."

"Yeah, but what if he does? You can't just sweep this under the carpet, Dave. I have to be blunt with you right now: If he comes back, you can't stay. You just can't, not this time. You've gotta have a plan."

"I will, okay? I'll figure it out."

John must sense the frustration in your tone, that you don't want to talk or think about all this right this second, because he drops the subject and falls quiet again. You glance at him sidelong, study him a while, and your heart breaks a little for everything you've put him through. You know he probably could have avoided a whole heap of shit if he'd just never become friends with you in the first place.

John's led a mostly happy, comfortable life. You're a smudge of darkness in it, and sometimes you wonder if he'd be a different person now; a happier, more innocent version of himself if he'd never known you.

You nudge him with your foot and he looks over at you. "How's your dad?" you ask.

John lets out a sigh and rubs a hand across his face. "I dunno. Not the best. He's still resting at home. He keeps wanting to, like, get up and go back to work, or do stuff around the house, and he just...can't. He hasn't been the same since. He's weak, Dave. I've mostly been taking care of everything he used to do. Keeping on top of the house. Making sure the laundry's done. Mowing the lawns. Stuff like that. Kinda gets me thinking about all the things he used to do for me. Makes me feel like an ungrateful little shit sometimes, I guess."

"Or a kid," you offer gently. "Come on, man, don't talk like that. You always helped your dad out.

"Not enough, I guess."

"Hey. It's not your fault he's sick."

John shrugs at that, like he doesn't really believe you, and swiftly changes the subject. "You wanna watch a movie?"

You decide against pressing him any further about his dad and just say, "Yeah, go on. Your pick."

You're wholly unsurprised when John digs out one of the only Nic Cage movies in your Bro's DVD collection. You get up to retrieve your comforter from your room, throw it over both of you, and keep your mouth zipped when John clicks 'play' on the remote and the black screen quickly segues into one of the most cringeworthy movie openings in cinematic history.

What you're watching doesn't matter much because you're warm and safe for the first time in days. John is a familiar, comforting presence, and you could sink into sleep right now if you didn't think he legitimately wanted to watch this shit with you.

You lay on your side, John sitting at your feet, and prop yourself up on your elbow, forcing yourself to pay attention. Partway through the movie John's palm brushes across your bare ankle. At first you think it's an accident, but then he settles it there, and you don't want it to be weird but it totally is. You gently pull your foot back into yourself and the moment passes unremarked upon. It's not until the worst sex scene ever filmed starts playing that shit gets awkward again.

Your discomfort with watching people having sex generally extends to movies too, because it’s close enough to porn that it tends to gross you out. The sounds of skin slapping and loud, staged moaning fills the living room. A second later you're watching Charlotte Ross' tits bounce as she flails wildly in Nic Cage's lap. It’s too much, even if it’s so mind-numbingly stupid it should be funny. Right when Nic Cage starts shooting at bad guys mid-nutbust John must sense your inner-cringe, because he picks up the remote and pauses the movie.

"Sorry," he says, scratching at the side of his face. "I know you hate watching people bone on TV."

"S'cool," you tell him casually. "We can just fast-forward it or whatever. Or I can close my eyes real hard and count to a hundred. 'Cause that's some mad hetero action right there. Hate for you to miss it."

John doesn't respond for a few moments. When he does, it's to say, "Hey. Remember when we were kids and we'd play in my backyard and I'd always make you be the girl?" The bright glare of the TV reflects off his glasses, and he doesn't look at you.

"Um. Yeah?"

You do remember. You remember getting all annoyed because John always got to play the hero saving the day, and you always got stuck playing the girl in need of rescuing, and you didn't want to be the girl. You remember him insisting on sticking flowers in your hair, but they'd always have tiny bugs all over the petals. The bugs'd crawl down your face and itch at you, make you want to cry, but you'd never said anything because John was the only friend Bro let you have, and you never wanted him to stop playing with you.

You guess it's a nice enough memory, it just strikes you as strange that he's bringing it up right now.

"That was funny, wasn't it?" John ponders.

"Kinda." You jerk your head at the TV. "C'mon, let's finish this crapfest before I pass out."

John sets the remote down. "Actually, there's something I wanna talk to you about. I know this isn't a good time—it's probably the worst fucking time—but...I’m starting to feel like there isn't one, you know?"

You bite your lip. You have a feeling you know exactly what John wants to talk about, and even if it is the worst time, you don't think you can dodge it anymore; it's not fair on him.

You sit up so you're facing him and cross your legs. "Nah, you're right. We should do this. All on the table, man. Whatever you wanna say to me, you can say it." You know he’s been holding onto this for a while, trying to find an easy way to talk to you. You've been so focused on yourself and how hard things have been for you that you guess you forgot that maybe there were things he needed to say to you too.

He opens with, "So... You tried to kiss me."

It’s been a while but the sting of embarrassment, the memory of the way it felt when he rejected you, still makes your face flush hot when he says it like that.

"Yeah. I kinda did that."

"Okay... So when that happened I kinda freaked out, right? I didn't know what to do. You’re like family to me. I never had a brother but I figured you were like the closest thing." John stops there, and you guess he's thinking hard because his brow is furrowed and he's biting at his thumbnail.

You don't say anything, just listen.

"Maybe I made a mistake? Like... maybe I owed it to us to try. Or something. I never told you this but after all that stuff happened, Rose just ripped into me like the whole thing was my fault, saying I was messing with your head all the time because I kept acting all romantic with you, like I was leading you on or whatever. That I was the reason you felt confused."

Your stomach drops out at that but you try to keep your voice steady. "Come on, you know that ain't even half fair. I was there too. I’m the one who made things weird. You didn't do anything wrong."

"Well yeah, I mean, I kinda thought she was full of it at first, you know? 'Cause I didn't think I was acting like that. But maybe she was onto something. Why do I always wanna be around you when I'm not like that with anyone else? And when I'm not with you I just get all weird and mopey and depressed. I mean, that's weird, right? I dunno, it's been playing on my mind a lot lately. Pretty much all I can think about. Like, what if I'd just rolled with it and then maybe we could've... I dunno."

John's quiet long enough that you suppose he wants you to say something. You swallow around a suddenly dry mouth and attempt to choose your words carefully before you speak.

"Listen. I dunno how to say this to you, but it's like... You know what you are, right? You don’t have to try to know that, you just do. And if you have to force it with someone, then dude, it’s just... It’s not meant to be. I know you’re going through a lot right now. And so maybe you’re telling me what you think I wanna hear 'cause if you don’t we won’t be friends anymore. But that’s not gonna happen. We were friends first, right? We’re gonna be friends last. It's not like I wanted you to do me a favor or like, think you owe me shit. I wanted you to want me back. When you didn’t I had to just accept it and let that stuff go. And it’s cool. We’re cool, I swear. We're never not gonna be cool. Maybe we won’t be joined at the hip as much but like, that’s probably a good thing."

You hope even half of that makes sense, reaches him somewhat, because you hate this for him—that he's confused because of you now, thinking he should have forced himself into something he didn't want just so things didn't have to change between you.

Whatever you said apparently hasn't hit the spot for him because he's frowning. "Is it? Maybe for you. I don’t feel that way, Dave. And I get what you’re saying, I do, but... Ugh, damn it. Maybe I’m just not explaining this right." He huffs a little noise of frustration and rips his glasses off, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Why can’t I explain shit?"

Your eyes widen in alarm and you reach out to touch his shoulder. "Hey. It's all good, alright? Just take your time. I'm listening."

But the moment's over. Whatever moved him to finally unburden himself seems to have passed, and when he takes his hands away from his face he just looks tired, and a little embarrassed.

"You know what? Let's just finish the movie. I'm being stupid. I shouldn't be talking to you about any of this right now anyway. You've got more important things to think about." He picks up the remote and hits play, and you take that action to mean he's officially ended the discussion with you.

You watch the rest of the movie in silence, every so often throwing John surreptitious, guilty glances. You feel like shit now that you know you're the source of so much of his anguish, and you wish now you could say something that'd fix it but you don't even know where to start.

Once the credits start rolling you tell John you're wiped and ready to crash, get up to brush your teeth. Your phone buzzes while you're in the bathroom and it's Karkat, messaging to tell you goodnight, that he can't wait to see you, and hold you, tomorrow. You let your toothbrush dangle between your teeth as you tap out your reply, tell him you're eager as hell to see him too, and you mean it.

When you're finished in the bathroom, John's already in your bed. You stand in the doorway for a moment, your shoulder pressed to the frame, and look at him. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good." He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, shifting back on the mattress so there's a decent amount of space in front of him.

You try to ignore that, and let your hand hover over the light-switch. "You need an extra blanket or anything?" He shakes his head and so you bid him goodnight, tell him you'll talk to him in the morning then turn around to leave.

"Wait. Where are you going?"

You slowly turn around again, fighting to keep your expression neutral. "I'm gonna take the futon tonight. You keep the bed." It's what you'd planned on doing anyway. No way you were gonna ask John to take the futon, wrap himself in Bro's unwashed sheets.

The look he gives you makes you feel like an asshole, but you know you need to stand your ground on this, even if it hurts him. You'd promised yourself back when this whole thing started that you wouldn't share a bed with him anymore. Now that you're with Karkat, and that shit's not even moderately appropriate at this point, it's even more reason to put your ass down to bed elsewhere.

"You don't wanna lay with me?"

You bite down on the inside of your lip. You guess this is it, the moment where he forces you to get real and spell it out for him. And you have to, no matter how excruciating it is for you.

"Listen," you start, "s'probably not so cool for us to be doing stuff like that anymore. You know how it is."

"Oh. Yeah." His tone is light now but you can tell by the look on his face that he's stung. "Well that's cool. I'll see you in the morning, then, I guess. Night, Dave."

"Night." You flick the light off and head back out to the living room. You don't bother getting fresh sheets from the closet and just make up the futon with Bro's old ones instead, laying your head down on his pillow and wrapping yourself in his soft comforter. You're tired enough that even your guilt, your racing thoughts, can't keep you awake for long. Before you know it, you're gone.

When you wake in the morning, you're no longer alone.

John must have joined you on the futon at some point during the night or early morning because he's currently pressed up against your back, arm thrown wide over your chest, one leg draped around your thigh. He's so close you can feel his little huffs of breath against your cheek, and when you move to resettle yourself he stirs, mumbles, nuzzles into the side of your neck.

A cold sensation stirs in your gut, because you can't shake the feeling you're doing something wrong here, even if the rational side of you is aware you're more the unwilling participant in this particular scenario.

You rub at your eyes with the heel of your hand then tap at his forearm. "John," you croak. "John, wake up, man."

He stirs behind you with a groan, lifting his head up off the pillow.

"Shit," he mumbles. "What time is it?"

You grope around for your phone and press down on the power button. "Nearly eight-thirty."

"Crap. I should get home and check on dad," he says, voice still thick with sleep. "He's probably wondering why I never made it back last night. I didn't tell him where I was going, but anyway." He peels himself away from you for a brief moment, then flops back down again, burying his face in the cushion beside your head.

His hair tickles the side of your face. Unease pricks at you when you feel his morning wood bump up against the back of your thigh. You’ve shared a bed with him enough times to have felt his waking semi digging into you, but it no longer gives you a secret little thrill to feel it touching you. You don’t like it so much anymore and just want him to get up off you.

"Dude. You're lingering."

"Shit. Sorry, Dave." He pushes himself into a sit and glances down at you, rubbing a hand through his hair. "Must have got really cold last night."

You answer with a non-committal, "Yeah, must've."

"You mind if I hit the shower first?"

"Nah, go for it."

He gets up a second later and you relax a little once he’s gone, and you've got your space back. You lay there on the futon for a while trying to settle the weirdness you're feeling, and switch the TV over to mindless morning cartoons as you wait for John to get out of the shower.

Chapter Text

You hit the bathroom once John's finally out of the shower, wrenching open the window to let out all the steam before you brush your teeth, wash your face and hands. You wipe them dry on the back of your boxers and lean on one hip against the vanity, unlocking your phone to check your messages while you've got a moment to yourself.

There's still nothing from Bro. It's not like you were expecting anything from him but that doesn't stop you from hoping he'll prove you wrong each morning, at least let you know he's still out there somewhere breathing, not dead in a ditch some place you'll never find him.

You hesitate replying to Karkat's good morning text. If you respond like you normally would, all innocent and sweet, it only feels like you're hiding yet another thing from him. And if you're hiding something, that means this morning was something more than it actually was: John being cuddly when you said you didn't want to cuddle. But thinking about how you'd explain that to Karkat without it sounding gross and weird is only giving you a headache.

You fight back an unwelcome prickle of annoyance at John for landing you in a situation where you have to choose between keeping something from your boyfriend, or telling him the truth and having him potentially get mad at you over it—assume you welcomed John into your bed or something because hey, you were really fucking into him and not so long ago, right? Why wouldn't you jump at the chance to get into his arms, cuddle up with him?

You want to trust that's not him, that he'd never think those things about you. You want to trust that he'd trust you, without question, but if you were him you don't know if you'd trust you.

You hold off on making any decisions for now and resolve to deal with it later on, once you've handled the more important shit and told Karkat everything else you've been keeping from him this week. A couple weird moments with John are insignificant in the face of all that and you want to think Karkat would see it the same way.

When you come out of the bathroom, John is bustling around in your room. You stand in your doorway for a moment, just watching him, until it dawns on you what he's actually doing. Your overnight bag is open on your bed; your drawers are flung wide and he's stuffing a bunch of your things inside the bag.

You're still as you contemplate what to say. He sees you first and glances up quickly. "Oh. You nearly ready to go?"

A quiet, "What are you doing?" is all you can manage in response.

"What does it look like?" John replies, somewhat impatient as he grabs a fistful of your t-shirts and stuffs them inside the bag. He straightens and looks directly at you. "You're coming home with me."

At that, you gently remind him, "I know I told you I was staying here," although you can feel yourself starting to get upset with him already for grabbing your things without asking you first; for being pushy about this when you told him you didn't want to go anywhere.

"I know what you said," John answers, zipping the bag up and hefting it over his shoulder, "but I can't let you do that, okay? I can't. That's fucking crazy. So come on—you can come stay with me and Dad for a while. We'll take care of you. You don't have to worry about anything anymore, alright?"

Before you can even think about the consequences, you say, "Yeah I do. I gotta worry about you."

That stops John right in his tracks. "What does that mean?"

You didn't want this; a confrontation, an argument with John when he's the last person in the world you want to fight with. You know he's not trying to hurt you here but the opposite: He wants to protect you, make sure you're safe, but you don't know how to make him listen when you tell him you don't want him to do that anymore. That you can take care of yourself, and he needs to let you do that.

Still, your first instinct is to back down whenever he challenges you. "It's nothing, okay? Forget it." You hug your arms to your chest.

John takes a step towards you, wearing a curious kind of frown. "No, it's something. You look like you want to say something, so please, say it."

It feels like he's pushing you, calling your bluff. You had no intention of calling him out this morning either; would have just swept it under the rug the same way you do everything else if he'd just listened and gone home and left you alone to figure things out in your own time. But if you don't push back you'll only end up going along with whatever it is that he wants for you. And you can't do that anymore because you know what you want, and staying with him isn't it. There are a thousand and one reasons why but you know you only need to bring up one of them to get your point across.

"Okay. What was that last night?"

"What was what?" He's playing it off like he doesn't know what you're talking about but the subtle shift in his expression exposes that for a lie.

"Yeah, you do. You wanna cuddle up, I say nah, but I wake up this morning and you're drooling all over my tits. What gives, man?"

John folds his arms across his chest, which tells you he's getting defensive already, and presses his lips together tight. Looking at the floor, he says, "Right. So you're still mad about that."

"Yeah, I dunno if 'mad' is the word I'd use, dude." To you it's more like 'violated' but you're not actually going to say that shit in front of John like this is some stupid after-school special and you're trying to play the victim, 'cause you're not.

You're aware you probably acted your share of Way Too Intense around him sometimes too—staring at him a little too long; maybe letting hugs and casual touches linger a while longer than strictly necessary. A nagging voice at the back of your mind tells you it's different—he never asked you to stop—but you're not entirely sure that matters when your feelings for him were a hell of a lot less pure than the ones he has for you.

"Okay, well I'm sorry," John says, with a beleaguered kind of look. "I just didn't think it was that big of a deal."

It's not until he says that that you're actually pissed at him. You resist the urge to raise your voice and instead say, "Yeah, well, it kinda is. And someone else thinks it is, too."

"Karkat?" John guesses, and you want to think you're imagining the dismissive way John says his name, purely because you're annoyed, but you're not so sure you are.

"Yeah. I mean, most people care about shit like that, John. If it was him, I'd care. It's not like you wouldn't care too. If it was Roxy or someone and like, some other dude was layin' next to her with his hands all over her and his dick up against her ass, don't tell me you wouldn't care. I know you, and you'd care a whole fuckin' lot."

John looks at you like you've slapped him. You're already starting to think you've gone too far with that line about his dick when he says, "You seriously think that—that I was trying to do something nasty to you? I would never touch you like that and you know it. I only wanted to hold you."

Your stomach sinks like a lead weight. You know how hurt he is but no matter how you said it, he would have been hurt by it. And it's not like he was giving you a choice.

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm only trying to get you to see it another way, 'cause it ain't always about you. You know I love you, man, but sometimes you don't listen. You weren't listening then and you're not listening now. I don't wanna go home with you, alright? You gotta let me do things my own way, even if you think it's dumb."

John unslings the bag from his shoulder and dumps it back down on your bed. He turns his face away from you and rubs at his eyes. "Fine. You know what, I think I'm hearing you, okay? I'm listening. I'm gone." He sweeps past you then, his arm knocking your shoulder, and you want to run after him, apologize, ask what he means by 'gone' but force yourself to stay put.

He's upset now because of you, and none of this is getting resolved anyway until he's had time to calm down, consider what you actually said. The last thing you wanna do is start yelling at each other, or worse, crying like a couple of idiots, and so you sit your ass down on your bed and let him leave. You flinch a little when you hear the front door slam shut.

In the half hour before Karkat's due to arrive you busy yourself cleaning up your room, opening the window to air it out, and change the sheets on your bed in case he wants to stay the night. You're hoping he wants to stay the night. Once you've got your hands on him you won't want him going anywhere, and you're hoping he still feels the same.

Just after eight, your phone buzzes and it's John. With a little knot of apprehension in your chest, you throw your pillows back on your bed and flop down on your back, tapping on the notification.

EB: so. storming out like that today? dick move.
EB: getting into bed with you last night? even bigger dick move.
EB: listen if you told karkat about all that then i guess just let him know i'm an idiot and i'm sorry. that was not cool, to you or him.
EB: moving on for a minute: i just want to say some things and then i'll let you alone for a little while, i promise.
EB: i think we both know i need to take some time out here. figure out what the hell is going on with me and why i'm acting the way i'm acting around you.
EB: it's way late for explanations. still, you asked me for one and you deserve one it's just i'm not sure what to say to you when i don't really get it myself.
EB: if i was gonna try i'd probably say something like...
EB: everything in my life right now is really screwed up? i kept thinking about him killing you and i just wanted to be close to you? i miss you? i'm scared i'm losing you, so i freaked and got really weird?
EB: yeah. it doesn't actually matter. i didn't mean to disrespect you like that and i'm sorry. i hope you can forgive me some day.
EB: but i want you to know you can still count on me to be there for you. if you need anything, ever, just say the word and i'm there.
EB: money, a place to stay, whatever.
EB: i'm not gonna be bossy anymore and tell you what i think you need to do. you're old enough to figure that out for yourself.
EB: i just want you to know you're not alone.

You swallow around the painful lump in your throat and start typing out your reply.

TG: i know
TG: youre not alone either
TG: ever
TG: and youre forgiven ok
TG: well talk when youre ready
TG: take as long as you need

TG: i l word you dude
TG: like a lot

At eight-thirty-five there's a knock on the door, and you almost trip over your own feet in your haste to answer it. You don't even get it all the way open before Karkat's on you, his arms thrown around your neck as he crashes into you, making you stumble back a bit. You hold him back tight, burying your face in his shoulder and breathing him in. You don't even care that he smells like popcorn and syrup; if you could, you'd drag him down to the floor with you right now and just make out for an hour before you even said a word.

But he deserves an explanation, and sooner rather than later, and so with that in mind you gently let him go and take him by the wrist instead, leading him to your room, and then to your bed. You lay on your sides facing each other and he still hasn't said a word, just looks at you. You know he's noticed your bruises by the way his gaze lingers on the side of your face for a few seconds, then dips to your throat, but he stays silent; waiting, you think, for you to open up to him first.

Only now that he's here you're struggling to find a good place to start. You also don't want to acknowledge the latent fear you're holding onto that if you tell him, he'll leave you—because he didn't sign up for this; it's way past complicated, and what if he decides it's easier to just cut his losses early, find someone who's not carting around his own U-Haul of fucking baggage. But the fear is there no matter how hard you try to push it down, and every time you think about it your throat closes up and it prevents you from speaking.

You buy time messing around with the cute little bowtie on his uniform for a while, because it soothes the tension inside you just to touch him, but when his hand closes around your wrist you look up to find him watching you with a desperate kind of concern.

He opens with a quiet, tentative, "You look a little messed up, baby. What happened?" If it were any other time you'd probably snort a laugh at him for calling you that, because he hasn't before and it makes you feel kind of weird when he does; but none of this is even remotely funny and so you suck in a deep breath and answer him.

He listens patiently while you talk, doesn't interject, and when you're finally done he cups your cheek in his palm, slowly leans forward and gives you a kiss. He rolls over onto his back then, staring up at the ceiling, and you watch the sharp rise and fall of his chest for a few minutes. You can tell he's upset because he's chewing on his thumbnail, doesn't talk for a while, but he does open his arm up to you, letting you know you can lay your head on him if you want to. You take him up on that and rest your cheek against his shoulder, his arm curling around your back as he pulls you into his side.

You close your eyes and breathe him in. "Say something," you murmur.

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just thinking. Fuck. I don't wanna say the wrong thing."

"You won't."

"He hasn't been back since then? Like, he just left you here and hasn't talked to you since?"

"Pretty much."

Karkat lets out a low hiss of breath and mutters, "Man, fuck that guy," followed by a long string of words in Spanish which, judging by tone, you assume are profanities. Then: "The fuck was he thinking? No offense, Dave, but your Bro looks like the kind of dude who knows his way around illegal substances—"

"—he does."

"Right, so he probably knows bad things tend to happen when you mix a bunch'a shit with booze and 'scrips."

You shrug a little. "I guess he thought he knew what he was doing. He's like that."

"What, arrogant?"

"Uh, yeah. Like, a lot," you answer honestly.

"I get all that," Karkat says, rubbing your back, "Like, he's an arrogant douche and he made this gigantic fuck-up he can't ever take back, but—what I don't get is him leaving you for dust after. Where the hell is he? He wants to just give you money but nothing else—hasn't even apologized? That's just..." You lift your head up off his shoulder to look at him and he lets out an uneven breath, scrubs a hand over his face. "That's pretty unforgivable. Or it would be to me. What do you think?"

You lay your head back down. These are all things you've been dwelling on endlessly since the night it happened. All you can do right now is think aloud, share your theories on that with Karkat because he actually asked you, and you think it might help to talk about it with someone who wants to listen when you've been alone with your own thoughts for so long.

"I think he's out somewhere doing things so he doesn't have to think about any of this." You leave the 'things' up to Karkat's imagination but you have a pretty good idea what your brother might be up to right now, and it makes your chest hurt to think about. "He doesn't wanna talk to me because he doesn't wanna face it. When he doesn't know what to do he kinda just...does nothing."

You don't want it to sound like you're making excuses for him here, because you're not. Karkat was right about the whole leaving you for dead thing being the part that's unforgivable, not what he did to you in the first place. You probably could have got over that with enough time. But him bailing like this means the last shreds of trust you ever had in him—any hope you might've been holding onto that there were parts of him that were decent, and maybe even loved you—have been shattered to pieces and you know there's no fixing it.

Karkat lets that sit for a while before he says, "Do you hate him now?"

"No," you answer without thinking, and you don't know why but you don't. If you hated him you wouldn't have set your phone's wallpaper to that picture of him with you as a baby. You wouldn't stare at it sometimes at night before you go to sleep. "Like, I want to? But I still just...can't hate him. I wanna know he's good. If I had that I could quit worryin' about it every second of the damn day and just...think about what I'm gonna do next."

"Yeah. He's a selfish dick for not giving you that, Dave. But about that... What are you gonna do? You think he's gonna be back soon, or...?

"Yeah. Maybe. Eventually, when he's ready. I just don't think I wanna be here when he does come back." You surprise yourself with that, because it's the first time you've admitted out loud that you don't think you can live with Bro again, possibly ever. "And you know what, maybe he's just waitin' on me to leave first before he comes back; like, he just doesn't wanna be the one to kick me out 'cause he'd feel bad or whatever."

"Well fuck," Karkat breathes. "Okay, well... What can I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I wanna know how I can help you. This is big and like, way above my paygrade, but...I wanna support you any way I can. Just tell me what you need."

You weren't counting on him asking you that. You knew he'd be sweet about it, because he's always telling you he wants you around—that he wants to take care of you, even—but you were never really sure what that meant. Now that he's being like this you have to bite down on your lip just so you don't cry in front of him.

"You don't have to do that," you bite out.

"Do what?"

"I can figure this out on my own. I don't want you to like, think it's your responsibility to work this out for me. I don't wanna put that on you. I know you've got your own stuff going on."

You haven't been together all that long and the last thing you want him to feel is trapped by you, forced into dealing with the consequences of your sudden abandonment shit.

"Dave." Karkat twists around so he's facing you again. He wraps his arm around you and leans in close, pressing his forehead to yours. "We're together, right? That's what being together means. I don't wanna work this out for you, I wanna work it out with you. Your stuff is my stuff too."

You don't know what to say to that and so you kiss him, hard; try to put every last ounce of feeling you have into it because you're so grateful for him right now it's all you can do.

After, Karkat says again, "So...what do you wanna do?"

"I dunno, honestly." You throw your arm around him and shuffle down a bit, so you can press your ear to his chest, listen to his heart. "What do you think I should do?"

"I'm asking you. Look, you have options, right? We should go through them."

"I'm not sure what options I actually have, dude," you admit, heavily. "But yeah, okay, let's do that."

"You could stay here," Karkat begins, "but you said you didn't want to. And if your Bro comes back, it's just... I know you said he wouldn't hurt you again, like it was a one-off or whatever, but once is enough, right? How could you trust him again when he doesn't even try to fix his own shit?"

"Yeah. I couldn't."

"So that one's out. And I know you said you haven't told anyone but me and John, but...maybe you could. Like, I could take you to stay with a friend? Rose or Jade? They'd take you in in a heartbeat, I know they would."

"I don't wanna tell them yet," you mumble into his shirt. "I will, just...not right now."

"Okay, well there's a couple others."

"Hit me."

"We could try to find you your own apartment, or like, a sharehouse or something?"

"I don't even have a job, man. I could keep askin' my Bro for money but like, honestly, fuck that. He can keep it. And who's gonna rent an apartment out to some broke seventeen year old high school kid who has no job?" You heave a sigh. "What's the next one?"

"Me. You could stay with me." You lift your head up from his chest to find him staring at the ceiling. "I'm not asking you to move straight in with me, 'cause that'd be fuckin' crazy, but...you could stay for a while. As long as you want. It'd be like, an extended sleep-over or some shit. I could pick up a couple extra shifts at work; we'd have enough money, and we just got the wi-fi connected so you could keep up with your schoolwork. I mean—you don't even have to sleep in the bed with me if you don't want to. I could take the couch for a while, or we could set something else up... I dunno, I'm just thinkin' out loud here. Stop me at any time."

"Do you really mean it?" you ask softly. "I don't wanna come stay with you if that's not what you actually want."

Karkat looks down at you. "Are you kidding? It is what I want. I only said all that other stuff first so you didn't think I was coming on too strong, trying to force you into living with me or something. But it doesn't matter what I want, it's what you want. You've got other options and whatever you wanna do, I'll help you. But like, do you want to?"

"Tonight?"

"Yeah. I've got my car back. We can go right now if you want?"

You try not to get too carried away on the small wave of hope that crashes over you. When you think about it, actually getting out of here and being with him at the same time, your first instinct is to crush the happiness you feel by reminding yourself of all the things that could potentially go wrong with this plan. What if he starts getting sick of you after the first week, decides he doesn't like you so much when he has to be around you all the time? What if you start fighting over stupid shit, or getting all annoyed with each other's habits?

Karkat interrupts your train of thought by saying, "You're really overthinking this, aren't you? You've got that look on your face. Come on, we'll get some of your stuff together and you can stay the night. And if you wanna change your mind, you can, alright? Whenever you want you can change it and we'll figure something else out."

He shifts to push himself up and you stop him with a hand to his chest. Your ears are ringing and there's a warm flush working its way to your face but before you can talk yourself out of it, think of a good reason not to, you blurt, "Hey. I love you."

It's silent for a good thirty seconds, and you just stare at each other. Then he reaches out to touch your face, pushes your hair out of your eyes, and says, "Yeah. I love you too." He ducks forward to kiss you and you lean heavily into it, pulling him close to you with a hand on the back of his neck.

After that, you both get up and pull your overnight bag out again, set about packing it in comfortable silence like nothing even happened.

When you're at the door, keys in hand and almost ready to leave, Karkat says, "We don't know when you'll be back so we should probably clear out the fridge, right? Everything'll go rank."

"Nah, nothin' in there. Couple'a swords, but that's about it."

Karkat stares at you. "I'm sorry, did you just say swords?"

"Uh, yep."

"Wow. Okay, not even gonna ask. You ready?"

"I think so." You take one last look at the apartment and then follow Karkat out the door, locking it behind you.

Chapter Text

-- tentacleTherapist (TT) began pestering turntechGodhead (TG)--

TT: Hey. How are things going over there?

TG: oh hey rose sup
TG: yeah things are good
TG: swell
TG: peachy
TG: yknow just generally awesome
TG: how are you doin anyway

TT: I'm fine, thanks. I'm just having a hard time believing you are.

TG: heh
TG: how did i see that one coming

TT: I don't know, Dave. Maybe if you stopped offering sarcastic answers to serious questions we wouldn't have to repeat this conversation every other day.
TT: I think we both know you're far from peachy right now.
TT: We've been friends for what, nearly six years now? I know you well enough to know when you're hiding things. I know when you're not okay.
TT: All I want to do is help you but I can't do that unless you're being honest with me.
TT: And you're not being honest.
TT: So I'll ask you again: How are things going over there?

TG: i told you
TG: things here are good
TG: like ok maybe theyre not swell or fuckin peachy or whatever
TG: but when is anything ever

TT: You see, that worries me.

TG: er
TG: why
TG: i literally just told you again that things are good here
TG: stop worrying alright
TG: everythings fine

TT: You said "good". Not swell or peachy, just good.

TG: and?
TG: not really following whatever angle youre chasin here

TT: I'll remind you again that we've been friends for nearly six years.
TT: Over the course of those six years, I've asked you how things are at home at least once every single week.

TG: ok

TT: Every time, you'd say that things were "good".

TG: yeah

TT: Well, things were clearly never "good" when your brother was out of his mind, or assaulting you, or calling you names, or just plain neglecting you.
TT: So I'm not certain I can trust whatever passes for "good" in your eyes.
TT: Ergo, I'm worried, and you insisting things are "good" is hardly a comfort.
TT: I need to know more details about how you're living over there.

TG: im living just fine
TG: i have a roof over my head and a bed to sleep in and im eating ok
TG: no psycho older brothers to get into tussles with either
TG: so like from where im standing 'good' pretty much covers it
TG: and hey i thought you liked karkat
TG: the way youre talking makes it sound like youre worried im living in some kinda hovel or something
TG: like hed ever let that happen

TT: It's not that. I do like Karkat. He's a good person, and I know he's good to you. He's good for you.
TT: But he's seventeen, Dave. Over the last year or so he's struggled just to take care of himself. He has his own issues and honestly, I'm somewhat surprised this little arrangement of yours has lasted the two weeks already.
TT: Living together, especially under circumstances like these, is a lot of strain to place on a fairly new relationship.
TT: I'm concerned about how you'll cope if things fall apart. You've already been through a lot.

TG: hey if you guys are taking bets on our breakup you couldve been generous and at least given us a month
TG: like cmon
TG: be fair about it

TT: It isn't like that. No one is taking bets on your break-up, Dave; it's more my own skepticism that shacking up with your orphaned boyfriend at seventeen is something that's viable long-term.
TT: I don't WANT things to go sour between you because you tried to do too much, too soon. I know how much you mean to each other and that would be awful to watch.

TG: look were not shacked up
TG: that would imply this is some kinda permanent thing
TG: and its not ok
TG: so chill
TG: im just staying until i can work my shit out

TT: You mean the shit with your brother.

TG: no
TG: idk

TT: Speaking of Dirk, have you heard from him this week?

TG: uh not exactly
TG: i mean kinda
TG: he sends me money every few days
TG: and a couple days ago i got a call from a private number
TG: it was real fuckin weird
TG: no one said anything but i heard breathing and then the line went dead
TG: so yeah
TG: that was probably him right
TG: had to have been
TG: heh
TG: mustve been a weak moment for him

TT: I see...
TT: And really? At this point, actually reaching out to you and apologizing, or explaining, or saying anything at all, would be the least weak thing he's done so far.

TG: yeah
TG: i guess so

TT: While we're on this subject, it's probably a good time to tell you I looked into it.

TG: looked into what

TT: Your brother and his whereabouts. I don't know if you've tried calling his number recently but it's still active. And he's still working.
TT: As far as I can tell he hasn't actually gone anywhere.
TT: If we wanted to confront him, catching up with him would likely be a fairly easy task.

TG: wait how do you know hes still working

TT: I've been keeping tabs on his websites periodically. When you pay for a subscription, you receive email alerts whenever new content is posted.

TG: oh
TG: OHHHHH
TG: ok fuckin gross
TG: rose ew wtf
TG: tell me you havent been watching that shit

TT: Well, only enough to confirm that the content being posted is in fact new, and that he's in it. It's not like I'm deriving any pleasure from it. Quite the opposite, in fact.
TT: I called him on the weekend too.

TG: jfc
TG: how am i gonna look you in the eye ever again
TG: you really have meddling down to a fine fuckin art you know that
TG: but ok
TG: did he pick up

TT: He did.

TG: and?

TT: Well, once I was through telling him exactly what I thought of him and what he'd done to you, I told him he needs to call you and explain himself. Immediately.
TT: However he's rationalizing this, it's not acceptable for him to cut contact like this. You deserve an explanation. You deserve an apology.
TT: He needs to be an adult and take ownership of this situation. It's the least he can do to enable you to move on from this.

TG: ha
TG: ok
TG: im gonna guess that went over like a fuckin lead balloon

TT: Indeed. I'm sure this will come as no great surprise to you, but it did not. First he asked if you were safe. I told him you were, for the moment, and he proceeded to tell me to "fuck off and mind my own business" then hung up. When I tried to call back he'd blocked my number.

TG: yeah
TG: figures
TG: listen hes a dbag rose
TG: but maybe you should listen to him on this one
TG: this is between me and him
TG: i know you mean well
TG: and youre just lookin out for me and all
TG: but i got this covered
TG: i kinda just wanna stop talking about it for a while
TG: cause it doesnt actually help
TG: it just makes me feel shittier

TT: Alright. Noted. We'll leave it there for today.
TT: But if ever you want to talk about it, or do something about it, I'm here.

TG: i know
TG: thanks

TT: And I know I say this every time but the door here is always open, Dave.
TT: If things stop working out over there you're welcome here at any time, no questions asked. For as long as you need.

TG: i gtg real quick
TG: karkats about to leave for work
TG: but thanks rose
TG: i know that too
TG: means a lot

TT: Alright. Well pick up the phone and call some time this week, okay? I'd like to get together. We all miss you.

TG: yeah me too

-- tentacleTherapist (TT) ceased pestering turntechGodhead (TG)--

You glance up just as Karkat enters the living room, his hair wet and tousled from the shower as he fastens the bowtie around his collar. He plops down next to you on the couch and rests his arm along the back of it, inching up nearer to you.

Leaning in close, he nudges your cheek with his nose and says, "Who you talking to?"

"Oh. Just Rose." You quickly close out of the app and set your phone down on your lap, leaning back into him.

There's an awkward moment where you're aware of the way his gaze lingers over your phone's wallpaper, and the slight frown on his face doesn't escape your notice. You hate that feeling like you've been caught doing something wrong and so you kill the screen and stuff your phone down inside your pocket.

You know it's that he doesn't approve of anything to do with Bro, or else just thinks your lingering attachment to him is super weird, but he's way too nice to ever say that to you. You're not sure what you'd even tell him if he did because it is weird, and you're weird for feeling like this, and if you could wipe your brother from every crevice of your memory and feel nothing about it, well you'd do that, and in a heartbeat.

You don't want to be clinging on to any part of him, reminiscing on good old days that don't even exist, because you're no longer some little kid who needs his daddy to wipe his ass for him. You're handling shit just fine on your own. He left you, and this is your life now, and that reality should be enough for you to let things be.

You just wish he'd make all that easier on you by outright telling you how it's going to be, removing all desire from you to speculate. You wish he'd stop sending you his fucking guilt money, or obligation money, or whatever the hell else he thinks it is because it's not helping when it only tricks you into thinking that maybe he still cares.

Karkat lets his arm drop from the back of the couch and rests it around your shoulders instead, squeezing you the way he always does when he can sense you drifting away into your own thoughts.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm cool. Was just kind of a heavy talk with Rose."

"About?"

It only takes you about three seconds to decide you'll just be honest with him. You shift around so you can look at him while you talk. "All the usual stuff she goes on about. You know. Me. You. How us stayin' here together is never gonna work. Bro, and just... Ugh."

Karkat frowns again. "First of all, we're proving her wrong already, yeah? This is going good. I mean, you think so, right?"

"Yeah." You pick up his hand and hold it in yours, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Yeah, it is goin' good."

"You'd tell me if anything was actually bothering you about it, wouldn't you? 'Cause I want you to talk to me if something isn't working here. We can work it out, whatever it is. I just want you to be happy here. And happy with me."

"Hey, come on. Stop it, I am. I'm happy." You want him to believe it but you know he doesn't. Despite all your assurances, every time you start getting down about things again he wants to think it's him, and what he's not doing for you, when already he's done more, given you more than you ever wanted or expected.

It's everything else that's still wrong, all the messed up things you brought with you, things Karkat had nothing to do with and can't ever fix.

"You mentioned your Bro. What about him?" Karkat's tone is gentle now but there's an undercurrent of tension beneath it, like there always is when he talks about Bro. Like he's afraid just speaking his name will set something off in you.

"Nothin', it's just...she called him. Told him to call me."

"And he answered? Wow. Okay." Karkat looks down at your intertwined hands, his brow furrowed. "It was probably him then, right? When you got that weird call and no one said anything."

"I mean yeah, probably." The phone call makes more sense in light of what Rose told you, and you don't know how to feel about that--that maybe he tried to reach out to you and just...couldn't.

You've never thought your brother was afraid of anything, but maybe he is. Maybe this is him being afraid and it's on you to find some way of letting him know he doesn't have to be. You thought you'd done that right after everything happened but maybe he didn't believe you then, or just wasn't ready.

You suppress the urgent desire to grab your phone and try calling him again, because it's pointless. He never answers and besides, Karkat's already looking at you like he wants to say something, is just fighting it, and you know what that means. It means he wants to talk to you about the Bro stuff, maybe have you reassure him you're still thinking sensible about all that shit; but he thinks it's not his place, or he shouldn't go there, and you don't want to put him in the position of feeling like he's lecturing you, or needing to talk you out of doing something you already know you shouldn't be doing.

You take his wrist and lift it, checking the time on his watch. "Yeah, I know," he mumbles, taking a glance at it himself, "I gotta get going, I'm already late. You want me to pick anything up for you on the way home?"

"Apart from all the expired candy you can stuff in your pockets? Nah, I'm good."

He lets out a sigh and you can tell he doesn't want to go, still feels weird about leaving you here on your own, and sure enough a second later he says, "You sure you don't want me to drop you off at Rose's or something, least 'til I'm done? You don't have to stay here on your own if you don't feel comfortable."

"Dude, we've talked about this. I don't need a babysitter, alright? I'll finish up my school shit, maybe watch a couple movies or something, just...go before you get another write-up, man."

"Yeah, you're right." He gives your a hand a squeeze and gets to his feet, snatches his keys up off the coffee table. He leans down to give you a kiss, then says, "There's leftover steak and salad in the fridge if you get hungry. If Gamzee comes back baked and tries to eat it, tell him to fuck off and eat dog shit. That's yours."

You snort a laugh and pick up the remote, switching the TV over to the local news. "Got it."

Karkat pauses when he's at the door and says, "Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll be awake when I get back, right?"

On any other afternoon you'd assume this is just some sly way of asking if you wanna get boned down later, and that's a given, but something about the look on his face tells you it's something else this time.

"Yeah, I'll be up. Why, what's up?"

"I just need to talk to you about something, that's all. It can wait, though. I'll be back real soon, okay?"

You stare at the closed door for a few seconds after he leaves, sure you weren't imagining the way he looked a little shifty after he said that. You try not to dwell on how uneasy that makes you feel, because you trust him--trust that if whatever he has to tell you was actually serious he definitely would have told you already--and try to focus your attention back to the TV instead.

You lounge around on the sofa for an hour or so, only half paying attention to what's been going on around Houston this week, until you hear Gamzee at the front door, and judging by the feminine sounding giggles on the other side of it you're pretty sure he's not alone. Not wanting to stick around for another gross PDA fest between Gamzee and his rotating roster of strange girls, you book it straight back to Karkat's room and shut the door behind you, flopping down onto the mattress with a heavy sigh.

You take a look around the room and try to figure out what you can do to pass the time now that you're confined in here until Karkat gets home. You could have taken him up on that offer to drop you off with a friend, probably should've the more you think about it, but you don't want him thinking you need that. You want to prove to him you're more than okay staying here on your own without a babysitter--that you can function like a normal person just fine.

You suppose you could mess around on the internet for a while, procrastinate on actually completing any of your school work, but once you start hearing questionable noises filtering in from the front room, you don't think you could concentrate even on that.

You pull your phone out and settle on pestering John in a weak attempt to take your mind off whatever's going on out there. It's a gamble on whether or not he's actually up for a chat because he's been a little reserved with you lately, but you know Jade's busy and if it's a toss-up between Rose and John, you'll have to go with John every time. The way John's been with you recently, you know he isn't going to get too heavy with you, make you talk about anything you don't bring up with him first. 

TG: sup man
TG: you around tonight

EB: oh, hey dave.
EB: yeah i'm around. just at home watching afv with dad. you good?

TG: yeah im good
TG: karkat went to work like an hour ago tho
TG: ive locked myself in the bedroom til hes back cause clown dude has a date
TG: and by date i mean hes out in the only communal area porking some broad on the couch
TG: and apparently shes a screamer
TG: i left my ipod back at bros too so im kinda desperate for a little distraction here
TG: i already tried burying my head under a pile of pillows but i nearly suffocated myself
TG: so
TG: you up for a chat?
TG: i mean feel free to call and get an earful of this
TG: itd be rude not to share

EG: yeah, dave, as awesome as that sounds that's gonna be a HARD PASS from me. that dude sounds gross as all hell.

TG: nah hes actually pretty ok most of the time
TG: just super weird honestly
TG: karkat keeps losing his shit at him for walking around the apartment naked in front of me
TG: its hilarious
TG: i swear the way those two yell at each other im genuinely surprised no ones called the po9
TG: but none of the folks round here seem like the cop calling type if you catch my drift
TG: like this place is probs sketchier than those sandwiches you buy at gas stations
TG: you know where the breads all dry and crusty but not in the good way
TG: and whatevers inside doesnt even remotely match the thing thats on the label
TG: its just kinda mooshy and grey and gross
TG: and you know if you eat it youre gettin some mad diarrhea later on but youre so hungry you dont even give a shit until you GET the shits
TG: actually you probably dont know
TG: thats the kinda thing thatd keep your dad awake at night
TG: anyway im like weirdly desensitized to all the 'surprise, its a dick!' naked stuff already
TG: ive lost count of the amount of times ive seen that dudes deal
TG: and his balls
TG: and ass
TG: like for real one night i copped an eyeful of actual wholesale asshole when he was bending over getting something out of the fridge
TG: it was just there
TG: staring at me
TG: i dunno i think he must get a kick outta floppin that shit around all over the place
TG: its almost like having a third roommate at this point
TG: only that roommates a huge flaccid dick nestled amidst untamed pubes

EB: okay dave! gonna have to stop you right there while i throw up in my mouth a little.
EB: that is so deeply uncool.
EB: like does this dude need underpants? if he needs underpants i'll buy him some fricking underpants.
EB: no one needs to see that shit.

TG: i appreciate the gesture but im pretty sure a shortage of underpants is not the issue dude
TG: idk weird hippie clowns are like
TG: religiously against underpants
TG: and clothing in general
TG: im no expert but that seems to be the rule

EB: okay well it's super gross and i wish you hadn't told me.
EB: now all i can think about is that dude's hairy nutsuck.
EB: thanks for being so generous, i guess.

TG: youre welcome bro

The conversation fizzles out after that, and you're not quite used to that, having to push to get John to talk. John's always been the chatty one, has always found something to say to you even if it's just to crack a joke, or tell you a funny story about his dad, or say something kind to you.

You're not expecting him to do that now, especially after you more or less told him he was too clingy and needed to fuck off. It's no wonder he's being a little short with you, and you know you have no right to be pissed about it when essentially, you asked for it. He's only doing what you requested of him, backing off and letting you do things your own way, without any interference. You suppose learning to navigate this new dynamic between you, whatever it is, is just another thing you'll have to suck up and get used to.

TG: john

EB: dave.

TG: do you wanna like
TG: stream a movie together or something
TG: anything you want
TG: i dont even care how lame it is

EB: that sounds like fun but i kind of promised my dad i'd hang out with him tonight, just the two of us.

TG: oh
TG: yeah
TG: no that's totally cool man
TG: sorry

EB: don't be sorry. it's all good.

You click out of your conversation with John and scroll through your active contacts. You could pester Rose again, but that'd only lead to another conversation about all the Heavy Stuff and you think you've had enough of that for one day. Karkat's idle because he's busy working and the rest of the people on your contact list, you're not quite sure how to strike up a conversation with out of the blue.

You find yourself thinking about Bro again, and wanting to call him, but if you do that you'll only end up telling Karkat about it later. And you don't want him looking at you again like he's disappointed and trying to hide it, because that'll just put a damper on the whole night and you know that's not fair to him, especially when he told you he needs to talk to you about something.

You're weighing whether or not you should stealth-ninja it out to the kitchen to heat up that food in the fridge when your phone buzzes again.

EB: hey, you want to play words with friends or something?

You smile to yourself and fumble around with your phone as you hastily tap out your reply.

TG: heck yeah i do

You spend the next couple of hours kicking John's ass with words, so wrapped up in the game you forget you're hungry, barely even register the off-putting noises coming from out in the living room.

Chapter Text

You're swaddled in Karkat's soft comforter, halfway through watching a movie on his laptop, when there's a soft knock on the bedroom door. You know by the familiar sound of it that it's just Karkat letting you know it's him, even though you've told him a dozen times already that he doesn't need to knock on his own damn door—you're not scared of Gamzee, and he doesn't have to be so kid-glovesy with you all the time. You can't fault him for that, because this is just his way of letting you know he cares about you, being all gentle and attentive like this, but sometimes you think he's a little too considerate for his own good.

You clear your throat and call out, "Yo." The door creaks open and you pause the movie, push the comforter down around your waist and twisting around to sit up.

"No, don't get up," Karkat says in a hushed tone, closing the door gently behind him. He tosses his bag down and starts undressing immediately. You lay back down and prop yourself up on your elbow, facing him.

"How was your shift?"

He shrugs, undoing the buttons on his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders before getting to work on his belt. "Shit. Always totally shit. But I was a good boy," he informs you with a small smirk, before you can even ask. "Every time I wanted to lose my shit at some dumbass with a superiority complex I'd just think about your cute lil' face being all disappointed in me and it made me shut my mouth real fast. Works like a charm." He kicks his pants away and jumps onto the mattress next to you, throwing an arm around your back and closing his eyes.

"How was your night, though? Quiet?"

You open your mouth and then close it, pausing a few seconds. If you tell him anything about Gamzee fornicating all over the apartment he'll only lose his shit over it, probably barge down the end of the hallway and make it a whole big production, drag him out of bed and make him disinfect the sofa using every cleaning product they own. In the end you decide it isn't worth the stress to tell the truth right now—Karkat's beat from work anyway, and also apparently wants to have a Talk with you—and so in the interest of keeping the peace you just say, "Yep, pretty quiet. Dicked around playin' some games with John for a while and watched a couple movies. Everything was cool."

He lets out a long, tired sigh and snuggles in close. "Good, I'm glad. I hate leaving you by yourself with that idiot. Like I love the guy and all but fuck dammit, he can be such a dick sometimes. I swear we're not even living on the same planet."

You don't say anything to that, just yank the comforter out from where it's wedged underneath your body and tug it up over his shoulders so that you're both covered by it. He inches closer to the heat of your body, tangling his legs in yours and rubbing your bare feet with his.

"It's kinda cold tonight," he mumbles against your neck, and you shiver just feeling his lips move against your skin. You've got a pretty good idea what you can do to keep warm, and so you decide to give him a hint by tugging at the waistband of his boxers, letting your fingers delicately brush his hip.

He bucks up into you and you take that as encouragement to keep going, pushing your hand all the way down into his boxers and curling your fingers around his half-hard dick. It doesn't take much—a few lazy pumps at most—to really get him going, and while he's still lost for words you duck underneath the covers and pull his boxers down to mid-thigh. There's a guilty kind of silence when he twists his fingers in your hair and gently pushes your head down toward his dick. You're not about to point out that yeah, you remember he wanted to talk, because you're a seasoned pro when it comes to procrastination and if it's a toss up between a potentially uncomfortable exchange of words and sucking his dick, you're definitely going to suck his dick every time.

You take a firm grip on the base and close your lips around the head, swirling your tongue in a way that makes him swear and groan and buck up into your mouth. You tighten your lips around him and slide down, careful to mind your teeth, taking in as much of him as you can. You're definitely not ready to deepthroat the way Karkat can but you feel like you're improving and the desperate kind of groans he's making only increase your confidence there. You're getting a good rhythm going, bobbing your head up and down on him, when he grunts, "Dave, stop."

He slips out of your mouth and you flip the comforter off your head, staring up at him. "What's wrong?"

"We need to talk." The way he's staring at your lips has you thinking talking is the last thing he wants to be doing, though.

"Seriously? Are you like, fundamentally opposed to talking after? 'Cause I'm kinda on a roll here." You feel like you should point out that you've already started blowing him, and his hard-on is rubbing up against your cheek in a way that tells you he really doesn't want you to stop. Maybe the dissonance here means this is actually kinda serious after all.

"I know, I'm sorry," he says in a strained voice, and you know there must be some serious conflict brewing inside him by the way he's grimacing at you. "But the thing I have to talk to you about is... Look, there's a chance you're not actually gonna be in the mood to suck my dick after we talk and I feel like getting mine before I come clean is probably a pretty sleazy thing to do. So can we just... Please?"

"Oh. Yeah, okay." You sit up and cross your legs, wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Karkat tugs his boxers back up and tucks himself away, sits facing you and nervously scratches the side of his face.

"Dude, what is it?"

When the silence starts to grow painful, you say, "Come on, you're killin' me here. What's going on? Talk." Worst-case scenarios begin to skitter through your mind like rabid mice. Scenarios ranging from a break-up, to him telling you he wants you to go, to him confessing he's been with someone else. All of these things seem crazy to you in light of how much trust you've placed in him but crazy doesn't mean impossible. And it's probably not even crazy to think someone who says he loves you would hurt you but you're staunchly resisting wanting to consider that as a real possibility.

He must sense the way you're panicking because he quickly offers, "It's something I didn't tell you. Something I kept from you 'cause I told myself it was the right thing to do, and I was protecting you, but the more I think about it the more I feel like a jackass and... I can explain all that. I should probably explain."

"Tell me what you're keeping from me first."

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." He swallows hard and reaches for his phone beside the mattress. He unlocks the screen and fiddles around with it for a second before offering it to you.

It takes a few moments for you to register what you're seeing on the screen.

is my kid with you

Your pulse starts to race and you frown, struggling to make sense of it. You tap on the message to see when it was sent. Almost a week ago.

"Okay." You pass the phone back to Karkat. "So you didn't tell me 'cause you thought I'd freak out or something? Or you're scared of him?" You wouldn't blame him if that was the case. It's weird enough that your brother sent a message to your boyfriend instead of you. It's weirder still in light of the fact Karkat never gave him his number.

"No, I'm not scared of him. The way I was thinking was just... It was better if you didn't know about it. I've been trying so hard to let you work through all this shit on your own, and I know it's complicated in a way I can't even begin to understand, but the truth is I don't actually want him anywhere near you. He's no good for you. Every time we talk about him something comes over you, it's like this dark fucking cloud, and I just want him to stay the hell away from you so he can't ever hurt you again. But..." He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

"But what?" you ask in a small voice. Part of you is relieved he's finally letting it all out, everything he's been holding in for weeks. The rest of you is just ashamed that he even has to say these things to you at all. He must think you're a totally broken nutcase and to be fair, maybe you are.

"I'm wrong," he says, and that just gets your head spinning even harder.

"What?"

"I'm not gonna be the person who tells you what's good for you. Like yeah, I'm kinda worried you're just gonna go running back to him the second he comes calling and that scares the shit out of me. I don't want you to do that. But I can't force what I want onto you. I want you to be safe but at the end of the day, you get to make your own choices. So I should've told you. I'm sorry."

You lay down on your back and stare up at the ceiling for a while, trying to organize your thoughts.

"Are you mad?" Karkat lays down alongside you but doesn't try to touch you. "If you're mad, I get it. I can sleep on the sofa."

"Yeah, probably not the best idea," you mutter.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. I'm not mad, okay? I get what you're worried about but I'm not gonna go running back to him. Like yeah, I wanna talk to him but I know I can't be around him anymore. Least not for a while." You want to reconcile, you do. Some days it's all you think about. But it's becoming clearer with time and distance that what you want and what's good for you are definitely two separate things. You wish there was an easy way to explain that to Karkat, but every time you try it's like the words evaporate on your tongue and now he's thinking all the wrong things.

"Should I reply to him, then? Could just tell him the truth or...not. It's your call. Like, is he gonna come kicking down doors or what? That's the only thing I'm worried about. I want you to feel like you're safe."

"It's not like that. Look, I don't know what game he's playing right now but if he wanted to, he could figure out where I'm at in a couple seconds. He probably already knows I'm here."

"Then what's his deal?"

"You know, I'm pretty sure he's just an asshole." The more you think about it, the more it feels like mind-games, like all those times he'd try to psych you out about something, only this time there's not even the veneer that it's for your own good and honestly, you are so done with that shit. You grab for your phone and start typing a message before you can talk yourself out of it.

TG: you know where im at
TG: if you wanna talk then talk
TG: what are you so afraid of anyway
TG: like i always thought you were the strongest dude in the world but HA
TG: why dont you man up and quit being such a fucking coward
TG: this whole thing is way past pathetic and honestly so are you

You hit send and try not to regret it. You're using his own rhetoric against him now, things that once he might have said to you: That you need to quit being a bitch all the time, man up, just be stronger for your own good. If there's one thing he hates it's being seen as weak, and even if you're pretty sure he doesn't give a shit what you think, it's a last ditch effort to put a stop to all this.

Minutes pass. You're so caught up in your own thoughts that you don't even notice Karkat's been watching you this whole time. His palm is on your shoulder, gently rubbing soothing circles, and the worried way he's looking at you makes you feel all kinds of guilty.

"You okay?"

You rub at your eyes and nod your head. "Yeah, I'm cool. Sorry, I guess I spaced out a bit there. You wanna, um...?" You leave the rest of that sentence blank and hope he understands what you're trying to get at.

You'd feel kind of shitty if you didn't at least offer to finish what you'd started earlier—you'd hate to leave the guy hanging, after all—but he was probably onto something about the whole Bro thing being a total mood-killer. It is. Still, you're not about to back out if it's something he wants. It wouldn't take you long to get into it and anyway, he always makes you feel good.

Karkat makes a surprised kind of face. "Do you want that?"

"Uh..." Karkat studies your face intently while you flounder for something to say. After a few seconds he just closes his eyes and shakes his head. "You don't," he says, like he's reading your mind. "Relax, it's fine. I know you've got a lot on your mind and honestly, I feel the same way."

"Oh. Was there something else?" A pang of anxiety spikes through you because you thought that was it, and you'd been building it up all night in your head, and now there's something else and what if it's worse?

He cracks an eye open to look at you, almost ruefully. "Maybe?" At the look on your face, he quickly adds, "But we don't have to talk about it now. Screw that. Maybe we can just cuddle and finish the movie and talk more in the morning?"

He's already winding his arms around you, trying to bring you into him, when you gently push at his arms. "No. No way, dude. I mean yes to the cuddling—I'm all over that, we're gonna do that so hard—but no at putting anything off 'til tomorrow. If you wanna say something, we're doing it now. So lay it on me, whatever it is."

Karkat makes a low noise of frustration and rolls onto his back. "Fine." He stretches the word out in a way that sounds a little petulant (and a lot cute) but it's satisfying that he's so quick to give in to you when you ask him for something, as stubborn as he can be with most everyone else.

"Remember how we were talking before work? And you said you'd been talking to Rose, and she's like...firmly not on team Karkat and Dave and thinks we're just hurtling towards a whole-ass dumpster fire here?"

"Uh-huh. But I wouldn't say she's not on team Karkat and Dave. I think she's like, tentatively on team Karkat and Dave? She just kinda feels like she's rooting for the underdog."

"Yeah. Well that really pissed me off, okay?"

"No way," you interject in a monotone.

"Shut up, I'm not done. It pissed me off 'cause she's implying I don't have my shit under control, or that I'm a mess, or that I can't take care of you right and that's..."

The crushing insecurity in his words gets to you and you find yourself pushing your fingers through his, squeezing his hand, trying to comfort him. "Come on, man, that's crazy. I don't even think she thinks that—I mean, at least not in the way you're takin' it—but even if she does, like, I don't. And that's what counts, right? I believe in you, you believe in me, all that sappy, lame Hallmark junk that makes us so awesome."

"Yeah. I mean, we're definitely awesome, but..."

"But what?"

"What if she's right? I mean, the more I think about it the more I think she probably is. Minus all the lofty, pretentious bullshit, obviously. Like, is this the best place for you? I know I'd do anything to provide for you and make sure you have what you need but what about all the other stuff?"

"What stuff? Do you actually want me to go? Is that what you're saying right now?" There's a harshness to your tone that takes even you by surprise.

You're less angry than you are frustrated by your situation, wishing you had it in you to explain to him the way it makes you feel to hear him question your presence here. It's a stinging reminder you're unanchored, like you've had your roots ripped out from beneath your feet, like you don't belong anywhere anymore, you're unwanted.

You know it's not his fault and not even what he's trying to get at here, you just wish things didn't have to be so complicated.

As expected, he looks horrified by your suggestion. "No. God, no. Dave, I don't want you to go and I think that's half the fucking problem, honestly. I want you to stay way too much."

"What does that even mean?"

"Can I be honest with you?" he asks, looking wary.

"I don't want you to be dishonest with me so yeah, go ahead, I guess."

He sucks in a deep breath and says, "Before you, I was kind of a mess. With other people, you know? Is it cool if I talk about that?"

You hear yourself mutter a non-committal, "Yeah," even if every fiber of your being rankles at the thought of listening to him talk about any of his prior relationships. You manage to keep your lips zipped, though, because he doesn't need to know about your dumb jealous streak, or the fact it's prone to growing stronger the longer you're together with him. It's dumb, and you know it's dumb, and it's just something you're going to have to learn to live with.

"I fucked a lot of things up in the past just by being way too intense, or wanting to control every single thing in a way I thought was good and helping but...really wasn't?"

"Okay."

"And I tried so hard to learn from all my mistakes but then there's you, and I... I've never felt like this about anyone before." He pauses there, and a blush rises under his skin. "I've never wanted anyone like I want you. You're it for me, Dave. I love you."

When you've finished repeating those words back at yourself in your head, over and over, you have to ask, "How is that a bad thing?" You can't understand how there could be anything ugly in what he just said.

"Because I love that you're here when I wake up and here when I go to sleep. I love that you're always here when I want you. I guess the shitty part of me is thriving on that, getting to keep you all to myself like this, but I know deep down you need more. Does that make sense?"

"What do you mean by more?"

"I mean what if you got to have both? Your friends—and Rose is like a sister to you, right?—and a mom stand-in to help you out with everything that's going on with you. And I dunno, maybe you could even finish school at like, an actual fucking school. With schedules and classmates and lame extracurriculars and everything. And in the afternoons and on the weekends, you could be with me. Any time you wanted, you could be with me. I'm not going anywhere, trust me. I just don't want to do that thing where I try to make myself your whole life because that's what's gonna mess this up, and not being with you scares the shit out of me."

"Wow. Fuck," is all you can say while you try to take it all in. It's been a long day and your head is throbbing with all the things Karkat's just dropped on you. "Can I think about all that for a while?"

"Yeah, of course you can. Take as long as you want."

You try to roll over on the mattress but Karkat stops you with a hand to your sternum. "Take this off?" He tugs at the hem of your shirt.

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." You pull it over your head and toss it onto the carpet. Karkat reaches over you to hit 'play' on the movie and puts his arms around you, settles in so close that his chest is pressed flush against your back. The hot skin-on-skin contact is instantly pacifying, and when he presses kisses your shoulders, the side of your face, you crane your neck around to meet his lips, let his kisses reassure you everything is still alright between you.

"Aren't you worried you're going to like, drop that?"

You hold your phone carefully above the bubbles and water, sliding your thumb across the screen to unlock it.

"Nah, I'm a pro at this shit. If it slipped outta my hand I'd just use my ninja speed to grab it before it hit the water," you tell Karkat, holding your lip between your teeth while you bring up your chat with Rose.

Karkat lets out a groan and nudges your thigh beneath the water. "Dave, you're not a fucking ninja."

"Yeah? That's what a real ninja would want you to think," you answer, as you begin typing out your message.

TG: hey
TG: listen is it still cool if i come stay with you and your mom for a little while

Rose answers almost instantly.

TT: Yes. Absolutely.

TG: really? youre not even gonna ask why the sudden change of heart?

TT: No. I did say no questions asked, so... No questions asked.
TT: When can we pick you up?

TG: i dunno
TG: tomorrow morning maybe?
TG: i think im gonna stay here tonight

TT: Great. How does ten suit you?

TG: yeah ten sounds good
TG: thanks for being so cool about this
TG: thanks for everything actually

TT: No worries. I can't wait to see you.

TG: yeah me too

TT: <3

You stretch your arm to set your phone down on the bathmat.

"You done?" Karkat asks.

"Uh huh."

"Good. Get over here." You haul up on your knees to slosh over to him, knocking a large mound of blueberry-scented bubbles out of the way as you put your arms around his neck and plant your knees on either side of his thighs. The hard surface of the bathtub kind of hurts, and you don't think you'll be able to stay in this position for long, but when Karkat slides his hands down your back to grab your ass you don't actually care if it's uncomfortable as long as you're kissing him, being touched by him.

A few minutes later there's a loud rapping on the door and you tear your mouth away from Karkat's to let out a groan.

"What the fuck is it?" Karkat yells, so close to your ear that it's painful.

There's no lock on the bathroom door and so of course a second later it opens, and you're both exposed to Gamzee's weirdly vacant gaze.

"Sup," he asks neither of you in particular.

You don't even have to look at Karkat to know the expression he's making. "What do you mean what's up? What the hell do you think is up?"

"Nothing now that he's here," you mumble quietly, and Karkat growls.

"Why are you asking what's up?" Karkat shouts. "You're the one who knocked on the fucking door, you dipshit!"

"Oh. Right. Door," Gamzee says slowly. You can't help thinking in that moment he'd make the perfect anti-marijuana PSA to scare little school kids off getting into the devil's lettuce.

"There's some dude at the door?" Gamzee says, squinting at both of you. "Like all big and scary and shit? I dunno, looks like one mean-ass motherfucker if you ask me."

"No one's asking you," Karkat snaps. "Take a message and tell him to hit the bricks. We're busy."

"Cool." Gamzee slowly turns around and shuffles off down the corridor, forgetting to shut the bathroom door behind him.

"Fucking idiot," Karkat grumbles. You're getting up when he mutters, "Don't worry about it, baby, I'll get it."

"No, it's just... That kinda sounds like my Bro. I should go check, right?" Your ears are ringing and your stomach feels like it's dropped down to your knees.

"What?"

"Big and scary and shit? Mean-ass motherfucker? Ring any bells?"

"Oh fuck. Wait, I'll go check."

"No," you say quickly. "I mean, I wanna do it. Just let me." You heart thuds heavily against your ribcage.

"Dave..." Karkat warns, but you're already up and grabbing for the towel, snatching your clothes up off the bathroom floor and hurrying to dry off and dress.

By the time you wrench the heavy front door open, you're not even a little surprised by what you find on the other side of it. Your brother's looking down at you like the last few weeks never even happened, and you've always hated him for that, for the way he's able to give nothing away. It must be so nice to be able to do that, you think, always bullshitting like you're in control when you're not. You know you mustn't be hiding anything right now with the sharp rise and fall of your chest and your pale, clammy skin.

"I asked for you," he says in a flat tone. "Some whacko answered the door, never said if you was here or not. Guess I felt like waitin'."

"Okay." You feel dazed, like someone's whacked you over the head with a two-by-four. It's Karkat's voice that brings you back to yourself.

"Dave." You whirl around to look at him. His shirt's on inside out, like he got dressed in a hurry, and his hair's dripping wet. Shit. Yours is too. The thought crosses your mind that this is exactly what it looks like, nothing slips past your Bro, but you bury that thought quick, along with the old anxiety it brings, because none of that shit's been his business since he up and bailed on you.

"Are you okay?" He's not looking at you but past your shoulder, at your Bro. You don't think you've ever seen him look so stern.

"Um, yeah. I think so." You scratch the back of your head, then shake it. Turning back to Bro, you say, "Can we do this outside?"

He steps back to allow you room to pass and Karkat says, "Dave, wait." You turn to look at him again and find him wild-eyed, panicked. "Do you want me to come with you?"

You don't know how to put his mind at ease without saying some real private shit you're just not willing to share in front of Bro and so you say, "I'll be back real quick, alright? Just a minute. It's fine."

You step outside, closing the door behind you, and sit down on the top step just outside Karkat's apartment door. You bunch yourself up close to the railing, leaving as much space as possible for Bro to sit by you without having to get too close to him. He sits down and leans heavily over his knees, staring straight ahead.

Now that he's actually here, real and in the flesh, close enough that you could touch him, you have no idea where to start. You've spent so long pining for the idea of him, and hating his guts in equal measure, that you're not sure if you want to punch him or hug him. You're definitely not going to do either of those things and so you just look at him, take him in, not even caring if it makes him uncomfortable. He doesn't look the way he does in your nightmares, which helps dissolve at least some of your anxiety. He looks a little tired but well, not like the gaunt, sick mess you've been imagining.

"What are you doing here, man?" are the first words out of your mouth. You think that's a decent place to start. It should be on him to explain himself; he's the one who came here to see you.

He digs around in his pockets, waits until he's halfway occupied rolling a cigarette before he answers you. "Thought it was time to put all this shit behind us," he says, sticking the perfectly cylindrical rollie between his lips and lighting it.

"Seriously? Sounds like bullshit," you mutter under your breath, but you know he hears it. So he's playing it like this was his idea, and not a direct result of you calling him out for being the world's biggest coward or anything.

"Say what you wanna say, Dave," he advises, and you gulp, because nothing's changed and he still has that way of making you feel like a scared little boy with just one sentence. You have to push past it.

"Fine," you say in an unsteady voice. Now's your chance, to say all the shit you've wanted to say to his face for weeks. He's here, and he's actually going to let you do that, and even if it feels a little unreal, like a dream, you can't pass it up. When he leaves, there's no telling when you'll see him again.

You start with, "You really hurt me, man." You wait a minute, anticipating his reaction. He doesn't like you using the H word in any context because it makes you sound like a wuss, but you don't even care anymore. You're pretty sure all that stuff is bullshit anyway.

When he doesn't comment, you add, "I'm not even talkin' about that night. That was bad, I mean it was really fucked up, but you cuttin' me off was worse. I didn't know what to do after that. It was...messed up. Like way more messed up than any of the other shit you've done." You don't have to elaborate on any of that with him, because he's the only person in the world who shares that history with you. He knows. Even if he doesn't regret it, he knows.

"Wasn't cuttin' you off," he says. "I was—" Heavy footsteps behind you cut his sentence short. You look around to see one of Karkat's scarier neighbors standing behind you, a sour look on his already sour face.

The dude mutters something in Spanish, then says, "Man, get the fuck outta the way." You try to smoosh yourself further into the railing, make your body smaller. Bro doesn't bother. He rises to his feet and turns around, completely dwarfing this guy when he stands over him. He must have been too busy looking at you, because he's seen you around the complex a few times, to get a good look at your Bro, who is so physically imposing it makes him back down real fast. You guess your Bro is still good for something, even if it's only scaring off other douchebags.

"Sorry, man," the guy mutters, hurrying past both of you. When he's gone, Bro sits back down and stubs his cigarette out beneath his boot.

"You said you didn't know what to do," he says.

"Yeah. I didn't. That's why I'm here."

"Maybe I didn't know what to do either." He scratches the side of his jaw. You wish he'd look you in the eye but you know he won't.

You don't think he's looking for sympathy but if he is he won't be getting any from you. "You could've talked to me at, I dunno, literally any fucking time. You could've gone and got help. Actual help, with all the sleeping shit. This has been goin' on for years, man. Do you ever even think about why you can't sleep? What's so bad that it keeps you up all night?" You're not actually expecting an answer on that one and it's just as well, because he doesn't offer one.

"M'sorry. S'what you wanna hear, right?"

The way he says it makes it a great contender for actual shittiest apology of all time but still, it's the first one he's ever offered. If he's stretched himself hard enough to say that word for you, it's got to count for something.

"Yeah," you say quietly, "I guess so. Maybe I just wanted you to be there."

"You wanna really stay here, then?" he asks, after a long and awkward silence. The 'cause this is a fucking dump and beneath you and I don't approve' is all implied.

"Is coming home even an option?" you reply, and it's supposed to be a rhetorical question but he answers with a serious, "You can come home when you want, kid. I know you took your key."

You clear your throat and tell him, "Actually, I think I'm gonna go hang out at Rose's for a while."

"Rose," he says. "Lalonde girl with the bangin' mom, right?"

"Er, right. Probably best 'til things settle down more." You hope that's a gentle way of letting him know that things are still way too fucked up, probably irrevocably fucked up, and you don't think you'll ever be able to live with him again. Still, you can't bring yourself to torch your entire relationship with him when it's hanging on by a thread. If there's the smallest chance it's salvageable, you want to keep the door open, no matter what.

"I should get outta your hair then," Bro announces, standing up and dusting off his jeans.

"Wait," you say, looking up at him. You shield your eyes from the sun. "If I need you..." The words dry up in your throat and you lose your train of thought fast. You wish you hadn't opened your mouth without really thinking it through.

"If you need me," he repeats, in a way you can't quite work out is skeptical or mocking.

"Yeah, if I need you—and I'm not sayin' I will, 'cause at the moment I don't. I'm doin' awesome, just like the pinnacle of fucking awesome right now, you got no idea, I'm—"

"Shit or get off the pot, Dave."

"Right." You were gearing up for a long-winded ramble there, and he's one of the only people in your life direct enough to not let you get away with it. "What was I saying? Oh yeah. If I need you. For something, or anything, if it's, um...important? Can you like, answer the phone? Not just disappear on me and leave me hanging, wonderin' if you're dead or alive. That'd be the best."

"Right. Sure, kid." He lights another smoke and you say, "Cool. That's basically all I wanted from you. And hey, if you need me, you know you can like, call me or whatever. If it's actually important."

He nods slow and takes a deep drag, taps his temple, as if to say he'll keep that in mind.

"Great. Cool talk. I'll see you, I guess." You get to your feet and back up, stumbling a little. Part of you wants to go back in for a hug, just hug it out with him like that'll actually make things better, but you don't think you're ready for that yet. Instead you watch him leave.

When you push open the door to the apartment, Karkat's right there in the living room, pacing and biting his nails. You don't even get a word out before he launches himself at you, crushes you to his chest.

"Dave."

"Yeah," you wheeze out, because he's squeezing you so hard you can barely pull in air.

"Are you okay?" He draws back, takes you by the shoulders and searches your face. "Dave?"

You don't know how to answer. You're still a little dazed.

"I don't know. That was...a lot. I think it's gonna take a while for it all to sink in. But yeah, I think I'm okay." Your heart hurts, because everything is painful when it comes to your brother, but you also feel like a weight's been lifted from your shoulders; that you can actually breathe again now, start looking forward and not back.

Karkat drags you down to the couch with him, and you try not to think about any traces of bodily fluids that might be remaining here. You wind up settled into his side, your head pressed to the crook of his neck.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" he asks gently.

"I do, but maybe later? My head's a bit of a mess. Can we just sit here like this for a while?"

"If that's what you want, then yeah. We can do this for as long as you want. I'm just glad you're okay." He tightens his arms around you and you lean your weight into him, letting him hold you as you breathe in his clean, comforting scent.

It dawns on you that you know where you stand now; you don't have to keep wondering. And even if you've got a million things left to worry about with every change coming your way, there's a path forward, even if it looks anything but simple. You're not alone anymore—Karkat's going to be there with you—and you're pretty sure as long as that's true, you're right where you belong.