[That is not shooshing. Karkat knows shooshing and that is not shooshing, okay, Dave is so far from being shooshed. How the fuck can he fix this? If he could just—calm down, remember how to breathe, stop feeling like someone's fist is closing around his throat, fucking talk to his moirail and convince him it's not his fault, then...
Karkat closes his eyes, takes as deep a breath as he can manage, and—fuck. Another deep breath. Another. Not too fast, slow the fuck down, spend a moment or two just hugging Dave and tugging the towel as tightly around him as possible without having to let go. It's no cape, not even close to the red blanket Karkat wishes that Dave were dry enough for, but it's soft and it's absorbent and it's here, which will have to fucking do.
With trembling hands, he makes a final adjustment to the towel before seizing one small corner in a white-knuckled grip and... breathing some more. Waiting. He thinks he might be starting to return to normal, maybe, but he's still so fucking distressed at basically everything (read as, "crying") that it's impossible to tell. Can he at least talk? He'll try to talk.]
... Dave?
[His voice is... not small, apparently even this much untrammeled bullshit can't make it small, but it's unsteady, uncertain. Careful. Scared, just a little (a lot), but full of resolve. He can... probably do this. He's going to try, but the thought of failing again, of pushing Dave into an even darker place, one even he can't reach—
He doesn't bite his lip this time, but only because with how fucking hard he'd do it, he would have cleaved clean through the soft tissue in his real body. Some facts are too hard to forget. Like, for instance...]
It's not your fault. Y-you couldn't— [He shudders, swallows. Almost done.] You c-couldn't have known. It's not your fault.
[Please let him believe this. Please. Karkat's issues are his own fucking issues, not Dave's, yeah they're moirails but since when does that mean having to be fully conscious of each other's emotions, thought processes, and tipping points one hundred percent of the fucking time? Especially when he's that fucking upset?
Karkat releases the damn towel from one hand and reaches blindly for the back of Dave's head on his shoulder, petting it carefully once found. He should never have left him alone.]
Pale for you. Shoosh. Not your fault. I sh-shouldn't have waited so long.
[He nuzzles Dave's cheek with his own, tries to stop the tremors still plaguing both of them. Holds him tighter.]
I'm okay. It's okay. D-don't apologize, fuck, you're starting to sound like me.
action
Karkat closes his eyes, takes as deep a breath as he can manage, and—fuck. Another deep breath. Another. Not too fast, slow the fuck down, spend a moment or two just hugging Dave and tugging the towel as tightly around him as possible without having to let go. It's no cape, not even close to the red blanket Karkat wishes that Dave were dry enough for, but it's soft and it's absorbent and it's here, which will have to fucking do.
With trembling hands, he makes a final adjustment to the towel before seizing one small corner in a white-knuckled grip and... breathing some more. Waiting. He thinks he might be starting to return to normal, maybe, but he's still so fucking distressed at basically everything (read as, "crying") that it's impossible to tell. Can he at least talk? He'll try to talk.]
... Dave?
[His voice is... not small, apparently even this much untrammeled bullshit can't make it small, but it's unsteady, uncertain. Careful. Scared, just a little (a lot), but full of resolve. He can... probably do this. He's going to try, but the thought of failing again, of pushing Dave into an even darker place, one even he can't reach—
He doesn't bite his lip this time, but only because with how fucking hard he'd do it, he would have cleaved clean through the soft tissue in his real body. Some facts are too hard to forget. Like, for instance...]
It's not your fault. Y-you couldn't— [He shudders, swallows. Almost done.] You c-couldn't have known. It's not your fault.
[Please let him believe this. Please. Karkat's issues are his own fucking issues, not Dave's, yeah they're moirails but since when does that mean having to be fully conscious of each other's emotions, thought processes, and tipping points one hundred percent of the fucking time? Especially when he's that fucking upset?
Karkat releases the damn towel from one hand and reaches blindly for the back of Dave's head on his shoulder, petting it carefully once found. He should never have left him alone.]
Pale for you. Shoosh. Not your fault. I sh-shouldn't have waited so long.
[He nuzzles Dave's cheek with his own, tries to stop the tremors still plaguing both of them. Holds him tighter.]
I'm okay. It's okay. D-don't apologize, fuck, you're starting to sound like me.