[Caught. He's tense all over, taut as piano wire and practically singing with it, and maybe he would if he weren't so tired he could cry. He opens the drawer with his clothes in it, stares at the contents unseeing for a hot second, then shuts it again without taking anything, without dropping his hands back to his sides.]

I'm.

[He wants to move, to go anywhere that isn't right here, right now; but walking out on Karkat is just not going to happen. Not when he's asking like that. Dave's shoulders come up further, as if the next thing Karkat says might physically hurt him, but he turns his head towards him. Slightly. Not enough to actually look at him. Not enough to even pretend Dave's looking at him.]

All right. Look. I know I'm probably pretty fucked up, okay? I don't think anyone goes through like half a dozen meteor apocalypses just to get stabbed by murder dogs and comes out of it one hundred percent primed for a chill day in PokéJapan. But I'm not...I'm not acting like anything, okay? I just.

[He looks at the dresser again, then finally turns away from both it and Karkat, lets one hand fall. The other comes up, slips under his shades again, so he can grind the heel of his palm against his tired, aching eyes.]

There's just nothing else I can do, right? I'm handling it. Everyone wants to move on, no one's got time to slow up and take care of me.