[Karkat doesn't question the flinch or the tears; instead he tightens his hold, then adjusts it so Dave can get comfortable and he can begin stroking his friend's back. No matter what his motives, it feels like an indulgence, but since it also seems to be helping (is that the same thing?), Karkat doesn't stop.
Humans don't do quadrants anyway. It doesn't count.
His hand falters when Dave speaks again, though, and while he does recover, there's a new underlying tension in his frame that's impossible to miss. He hadn't needed the extra details, not when he'd seen Jade on LOFAF himself and there was only one way left for Dave to die, but hearing it puts a lump in his squawk blister anyway. How he's managed to avoid crying himself this whole time is anyone's guess, but with this sort of despair in Dave's voice and him apologizing over Karkat's shirt like either of them should fucking care—]
Shoosh, Dave. It's just a fucking shirt. It's not like your tears stain anyway.
It is just a fucking shirt. That's not really what he's sorry about, it's just...He wants to apologize. He doesn't know what for, exactly, but he feels ashamed and exposed and terrible, still, like something cracked or warped inside him the moment he started weeping like a preschooler, and the break has set but not yet healed. Dave feels bad for dumping it on Karkat, feels bad for crumpling like tissue paper under the slightest pressure. He feels bad for how fucked up he is.
But he doesn't feel stupid. Karkat got there so fast, had words to say so immediately, that it almost doesn't even feel like he's done something wrong. That bawling all over the best friend he's had for the past three years isn't messed up. Like it's natural to expect.
Maybe it's a leader thing, recognizing the breaking points, having a plan of action. Dave doesn't know. And the hand on his back is nice.
He finally uncurls enough to put his own unpracticed arm around Karkat, to return the support in kind. It's weird, not having to worry about those nubby horns digging into his neck. His hair seems different, too, and his skin...
Poor Karkat. He didn't deserve any of this bloated horseshit.]
Me too.
[It all reminds him, suddenly, of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #5. The bro hug bump. The memory of their JPEG-y, vacant faces and the incongruity with his and Karkat's current situation works a weak, watery half-laugh out of him. Or maybe he's still crying. Who the fuck knows, not Dave. He sniffs again and presses his sleeve against his leaking eyes.]
God, we're fucked up. Sorry. I just...I've been trying to make this shit work, being here, and it's just...I don't know. [Quieter again, but less desperately fragile, now:] I wish I could fucking sleep.
[—That laugh, sob, laugh/sob or whatever the fuck it was really isn't reassuring. The return hug is, but the two don't balance each out enough for Karkat to want to let go. Maybe if Dave could manage a real laugh or ramble on indefinitely about what he'd found so funny(?) in the first place, he'd be more confident, but this? This shit is not cutting it.
His arms constrict further when Dave brings up sleep again because what the fuck, no, they aren't done yet, but he forces himself to relax and... okay, no, he isn't moving.]
No one said you have to play the game, Dave.
[His voice is as quiet as it gets—quieter, actually, because his face is still planted firmly against his friend's shoulder. He'll lift his head in a minute.]
Don't do it just because you don't want to ruin it for others. That's not even how games work, why should anyone care if you're not into it? If it bothers them, they're selfish assholes.
[That's... assuming Dave had meant that it's the game he doesn't want to play when he'd talked about it earlier and not some other broader metaphorical "game" that fuck, fuck, fuck, he is not letting this idiot go, forget moving, moving is stupid.]
Don't make me make a fucking time pun, Dave, I swear I'll rip out my human trachea and nail it to the wall in the shape of a middle finger just so that you register my absolute fucking contempt for your existence every time you try shutting your eyes.
[The tighter squeeze is a surprise; he thought Karkat would let go now that it's clear Dave's not about to literally explode with self-pity. Grief. Whatever more emotionally competent people call this sucking-down dark hole in the pit of his chest, the thing that makes gravity three times as heavy whenever he tries to move forward. He thought they'd separate to talk it out, reestablish personal bubbles.
But with Karkat's head still tucked into his shoulder, Dave's okay to wait, because he's not gonna pry his friend off when it feels like he needs something, too. He just brings his other hand up, rubs Karkat's back once or twice. Leans into it again, lets the hug take more of his weight. This boy ain't going nowhere.]
I meant in general, numbnuts. I wish I could sleep in general.
[It's easier to talk about something more concrete, like his sleep schedule. Or complete lack thereof. There is so much sleep not happening, he's not sure the vacancy can get any more like a composite material composed of aggregate bonded together with a fluid cement which hardens over time.
Addressing the other thing would mean figuring out why he said that in the first place, and he has a sense it just came out automatically. He's not primed for any dismantling of his innermost machinery, not right now. He breathes out a shaky sigh.]
I always kind of had trouble...? But now, it's like. Every time I try, I jerk myself back to consciousness, so I'm just lying there for hours feeling like a total useless tool while Missy Elliott pretends I'm not waking her up every five minutes. And then when I do pass out, I dream--
[The words catch in his chest, and he freezes up for a second. Two. But, no. He managed to talk about this when he was thirteen, before everything, before he knew what was going to happen. He managed to get it out. He exhales again, eyes screwed tightly shut, and makes himself continue.]
I dream about dying, a lot. Or about other people. So it. Yeah, I'm not getting a lot of sleep. I thought it'd get better, but...
[Why is this so hard to admit?]
I think. I think it's just getting worse. Like the longer this goes on, the more my body just doesn't want to turn off, the more I just get worked up about it. So. Yeah. That's where I'm at with that.
[... Avant-garde. Why is he friends with this asshole. Why.
He lets out a small, incoherent grumble but doesn't interrupt, still wary he might say something that would make Dave close off again. They'd talked about all sorts of shit on the meteor, but most of it had been either inconsequential or only likely to set Karkat himself off. When it comes to heavier topics like this (even if don't think he didn't fucking notice Dave dodging the game stuff, they'll get back to that), he still doesn't know where the boundaries are.
Besides, being less upset about something than Dave is honestly sort of fucking with him. He's also weirdly okay with it for reasons, but he's not thinking about that.]
They say exercise is supposed to help.
["They" being the people in human romcoms who try to counsel lovesick protagonists. Obviously.]
Or milk. I don't know what else works for humans.
[None of which is probably new to Dave, but what the hell is he supposed to say? "You stop noticing it after the first two hundred hours?" He could share his own dreams (dream, singular, because like fuck would he go back to sleep and have others after that), but he doesn't know where to start or even if he should. ]
[Karkat's lucky Dave doesn't snort and launch sadness snot all over the back of his shirt. Instead he sniffs and makes a face that Karkat can't see.]
Oh, what? Ew. No. Gross.
[Dave Strider: will eat actual garbage, pooh-poohs anything remotely healthy for him. Congratulations on your friend, Karkat, he's a winner.]
I'll just carry on until I'm too exhausted to maintain open see portals anymore and drop unconscious, because that's obviously the strategy of an okay and rational person and has been working phenomenally for me for the past third of a year. No cow secretions necessary.
[Considering Equius, Karkat can't really hold it against him, but there's no reason to point that out. Maybe if Dave weren't still so plainly not okay, they could spend some time discussing the evils of dairy, but if this douchewagon is going to make stupid fucking jokes like that, it can wait.
He finally lifts his head and pulls away little—not enough to actually separate them, but enough that he can get a good look at him. The damn shades are in the way and probably never won't be, but it's something.]
Dave. You have to sleep. You're already a fucking wreck, someone else is going to notice eventually.
[Like, for instance, Jade. Or Penny. Or those other girls, whatever the fuck their names are, he's been avoiding them. It would be an actual brotrayal if Karkat told them that Dave wasn't sleeping, but Dave letting it slip himself? That can totally happen.]
[Dave starts to make another sour face, but You're already a fucking wreck stops him. His throat tightens and he has to swallow around it, but after a moment, he nods. Accepts it. Rubs the back of his hand over his drying eyes again, nudges his shades back into place when they threaten to fall.]
Jade probably already did.
[But, unlike some people he won't name, Karkat, she actually respects his privacy??? IMAGINE.]
Listen. I know I need to sleep, and you know I need to sleep, but the fact stands that I don't really know how to do that right now. And if I try working out like this I probably will pass the fuck out, and I don't think that's gonna help anybody, medically speaking.
[... Oh god. Does he have to look so defeated, it's. How is this not. ARGH.
Karkat forces his gaze away and, because he cannot do this anymore, peels himself off of Dave completely. No more hugging. None. He has to fucking stop, this is just embarrassing by this point. Why did he think this was a good idea?]
Are you sure about that? I mean, not the working out part, but do you think you might feel tired enough now? Usually if—you know, after this sort of thing...
[He gestures vaguely between them then drops his hand into his lap. If he has to be more explicit about any of this, it's fucking over, he just knows it is.]
[After such a long hug, Dave feels weirdly cold after Karkat lets go, so he pulls his knees up to his chest again and links his arms around them, and...
Really.
Really, Karkat.
Dave looks at him for a couple seconds, closes his eyes for two more, and then endeavors to look the most put upon.]
You. Are the one who woke me up in the first place.
Hey, fuckstain, if you hadn't been such an evasive tool about all of this and, you know, actually talked to me like I told you to, then I wouldn't have had to!
[Y e s, he is dealing with the situation masterfully. Not.
He pushes himself up creakily to his feet, holding out a hand for Dave once he's fully upright. It has less to do with actually moving than getting this worthless human out of that... really, really, really pathetic-looking pose, but he won't say that ever. Just no.]
[He stares at the hand for a moment, then tips like an egg onto his side in his curled-up position, presses his hands over his face, and muffles a very long, very frustrated groan into his hands.
Why does he have the most aggravating friends in two universes.
But okay, yes, fine, up. He lifts his hand and waves it around without looking until it smacks into Karkat's entirely by chance, and then lets Karkat help him up. It's less for actual muscle than just balance, because while Karkat is a 5'6" ball of rage, Dave is a 5'10" noodle (and growing), but he's tottery on his feet, and it helps.
Dave mumbles something into his sleeve that could be "thanks" but could also be "fuck you" and stumbles towards his bed.]
[If Dave weren't being such a melodramatic wiggler, Karkat might have felt the tiniest bit remorseful for tearing him away from his precious rest. Maybe. As things are, he's rolling his damn eyes as he "helps" Dave stagger back to his bed (it isn't hovering, shut up). Fortunately for both of them, he doesn't stick around long enough to "help" with the next stage; instead, he's off to the ablutionblock.]
I'll be right back. Lie down before you hurt yourself.
[If Dave is listening, he may hear a quiet clink and the distinct sounds of a turning fluid flow manipulation device and a filling cylindrical beverage container before Karkat returns. And... you know what, fuck it, he's holding a glass of water and a box of tissues, both of which he sets down on the nightstand.]
[Dave is currently flopped like a de-boned fish face-down on top of the covers, so tired in general and drained after Karkat woke him up and made him cry that his brain feels all an almost pleasant fuzzy static blankness, but the noise of glass against the surface of the nightstand makes him turn his head. From there, he glances up at Karkat, then drags himself up into a sitting position, shakes his head, takes the glass.]
Nah.
[He's good, he thinks. He drinks the water, doing his level best not to look at Karkat at risk of wondering why, exactly, he's doing all this for him, besides broship, obviously, and the mutual understanding of being in the same floating maritime vessel.
...No, he should probably say something. Apparently people can't get along on just silent suggestion alone. He looks down at the glass in his hands and tries to think of the words.]
Karkat? Um...
Thanks. [Yes, that seems right. Dave nods. He's so tired.] Thanks, bro.
[He says it as normally as he can, which isn't very, and gives a dismissive shrug. All in a planetary axial rotation's monetarily compensated labor.]
Sleep well, bro. I'll get the light.
[He spares one last glance at Dave, frowns, and nudges a certain Pokéball a bit closer before turning to leave, making certain to flip the illumination modulation switch as he goes.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Humans don't do quadrants anyway. It doesn't count.
His hand falters when Dave speaks again, though, and while he does recover, there's a new underlying tension in his frame that's impossible to miss. He hadn't needed the extra details, not when he'd seen Jade on LOFAF himself and there was only one way left for Dave to die, but hearing it puts a lump in his squawk blister anyway. How he's managed to avoid crying himself this whole time is anyone's guess, but with this sort of despair in Dave's voice and him apologizing over Karkat's shirt like either of them should fucking care—]
Shoosh, Dave. It's just a fucking shirt. It's not like your tears stain anyway.
[Not like his used to. Not like his should.
He lets his forehead drop to Dave's shoulder.]
I'm sorry.
no subject
It is just a fucking shirt. That's not really what he's sorry about, it's just...He wants to apologize. He doesn't know what for, exactly, but he feels ashamed and exposed and terrible, still, like something cracked or warped inside him the moment he started weeping like a preschooler, and the break has set but not yet healed. Dave feels bad for dumping it on Karkat, feels bad for crumpling like tissue paper under the slightest pressure. He feels bad for how fucked up he is.
But he doesn't feel stupid. Karkat got there so fast, had words to say so immediately, that it almost doesn't even feel like he's done something wrong. That bawling all over the best friend he's had for the past three years isn't messed up. Like it's natural to expect.
Maybe it's a leader thing, recognizing the breaking points, having a plan of action. Dave doesn't know. And the hand on his back is nice.
He finally uncurls enough to put his own unpracticed arm around Karkat, to return the support in kind. It's weird, not having to worry about those nubby horns digging into his neck. His hair seems different, too, and his skin...
Poor Karkat. He didn't deserve any of this bloated horseshit.]
Me too.
[It all reminds him, suddenly, of Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff #5. The bro hug bump. The memory of their JPEG-y, vacant faces and the incongruity with his and Karkat's current situation works a weak, watery half-laugh out of him. Or maybe he's still crying. Who the fuck knows, not Dave. He sniffs again and presses his sleeve against his leaking eyes.]
God, we're fucked up. Sorry. I just...I've been trying to make this shit work, being here, and it's just...I don't know. [Quieter again, but less desperately fragile, now:] I wish I could fucking sleep.
no subject
His arms constrict further when Dave brings up sleep again because what the fuck, no, they aren't done yet, but he forces himself to relax and... okay, no, he isn't moving.]
No one said you have to play the game, Dave.
[His voice is as quiet as it gets—quieter, actually, because his face is still planted firmly against his friend's shoulder. He'll lift his head in a minute.]
Don't do it just because you don't want to ruin it for others. That's not even how games work, why should anyone care if you're not into it? If it bothers them, they're selfish assholes.
[That's... assuming Dave had meant that it's the game he doesn't want to play when he'd talked about it earlier and not some other broader metaphorical "game" that fuck, fuck, fuck, he is not letting this idiot go, forget moving, moving is stupid.]
Don't make me make a fucking time pun, Dave, I swear I'll rip out my human trachea and nail it to the wall in the shape of a middle finger just so that you register my absolute fucking contempt for your existence every time you try shutting your eyes.
no subject
[The tighter squeeze is a surprise; he thought Karkat would let go now that it's clear Dave's not about to literally explode with self-pity. Grief. Whatever more emotionally competent people call this sucking-down dark hole in the pit of his chest, the thing that makes gravity three times as heavy whenever he tries to move forward. He thought they'd separate to talk it out, reestablish personal bubbles.
But with Karkat's head still tucked into his shoulder, Dave's okay to wait, because he's not gonna pry his friend off when it feels like he needs something, too. He just brings his other hand up, rubs Karkat's back once or twice. Leans into it again, lets the hug take more of his weight. This boy ain't going nowhere.]
I meant in general, numbnuts. I wish I could sleep in general.
[It's easier to talk about something more concrete, like his sleep schedule. Or complete lack thereof. There is so much sleep not happening, he's not sure the vacancy can get any more like a composite material composed of aggregate bonded together with a fluid cement which hardens over time.
Addressing the other thing would mean figuring out why he said that in the first place, and he has a sense it just came out automatically. He's not primed for any dismantling of his innermost machinery, not right now. He breathes out a shaky sigh.]
I always kind of had trouble...? But now, it's like. Every time I try, I jerk myself back to consciousness, so I'm just lying there for hours feeling like a total useless tool while Missy Elliott pretends I'm not waking her up every five minutes. And then when I do pass out, I dream--
[The words catch in his chest, and he freezes up for a second. Two. But, no. He managed to talk about this when he was thirteen, before everything, before he knew what was going to happen. He managed to get it out. He exhales again, eyes screwed tightly shut, and makes himself continue.]
I dream about dying, a lot. Or about other people. So it. Yeah, I'm not getting a lot of sleep. I thought it'd get better, but...
[Why is this so hard to admit?]
I think. I think it's just getting worse. Like the longer this goes on, the more my body just doesn't want to turn off, the more I just get worked up about it. So. Yeah. That's where I'm at with that.
no subject
He lets out a small, incoherent grumble but doesn't interrupt, still wary he might say something that would make Dave close off again. They'd talked about all sorts of shit on the meteor, but most of it had been either inconsequential or only likely to set Karkat himself off. When it comes to heavier topics like this (even if don't think he didn't fucking notice Dave dodging the game stuff, they'll get back to that), he still doesn't know where the boundaries are.
Besides, being less upset about something than Dave is honestly sort of fucking with him. He's also weirdly okay with it for reasons, but he's not thinking about that.]
They say exercise is supposed to help.
["They" being the people in human romcoms who try to counsel lovesick protagonists. Obviously.]
Or milk. I don't know what else works for humans.
[None of which is probably new to Dave, but what the hell is he supposed to say? "You stop noticing it after the first two hundred hours?" He could share his own dreams (dream, singular, because like fuck would he go back to sleep and have others after that), but he doesn't know where to start or even if he should. ]
no subject
Oh, what? Ew. No. Gross.
[Dave Strider: will eat actual garbage, pooh-poohs anything remotely healthy for him. Congratulations on your friend, Karkat, he's a winner.]
I'll just carry on until I'm too exhausted to maintain open see portals anymore and drop unconscious, because that's obviously the strategy of an okay and rational person and has been working phenomenally for me for the past third of a year. No cow secretions necessary.
no subject
He finally lifts his head and pulls away little—not enough to actually separate them, but enough that he can get a good look at him. The damn shades are in the way and probably never won't be, but it's something.]
Dave. You have to sleep. You're already a fucking wreck, someone else is going to notice eventually.
[Like, for instance, Jade. Or Penny. Or those other girls, whatever the fuck their names are, he's been avoiding them. It would be an actual brotrayal if Karkat told them that Dave wasn't sleeping, but Dave letting it slip himself? That can totally happen.]
no subject
Jade probably already did.
[But, unlike some people he won't name, Karkat, she actually respects his privacy??? IMAGINE.]
Listen. I know I need to sleep, and you know I need to sleep, but the fact stands that I don't really know how to do that right now. And if I try working out like this I probably will pass the fuck out, and I don't think that's gonna help anybody, medically speaking.
no subject
Karkat forces his gaze away and, because he cannot do this anymore, peels himself off of Dave completely. No more hugging. None. He has to fucking stop, this is just embarrassing by this point. Why did he think this was a good idea?]
Are you sure about that? I mean, not the working out part, but do you think you might feel tired enough now? Usually if—you know, after this sort of thing...
[He gestures vaguely between them then drops his hand into his lap. If he has to be more explicit about any of this, it's fucking over, he just knows it is.]
You should try again.
no subject
Really.
Really, Karkat.
Dave looks at him for a couple seconds, closes his eyes for two more, and then endeavors to look the most put upon.]
You. Are the one who woke me up in the first place.
[THE MOST PUT UPON.]
no subject
Hey, fuckstain, if you hadn't been such an evasive tool about all of this and, you know, actually talked to me like I told you to, then I wouldn't have had to!
[Y e s, he is dealing with the situation masterfully. Not.
He pushes himself up creakily to his feet, holding out a hand for Dave once he's fully upright. It has less to do with actually moving than getting this worthless human out of that... really, really, really pathetic-looking pose, but he won't say that ever. Just no.]
Come on, time to get up.
no subject
Why does he have the most aggravating friends in two universes.
But okay, yes, fine, up. He lifts his hand and waves it around without looking until it smacks into Karkat's entirely by chance, and then lets Karkat help him up. It's less for actual muscle than just balance, because while Karkat is a 5'6" ball of rage, Dave is a 5'10" noodle (and growing), but he's tottery on his feet, and it helps.
Dave mumbles something into his sleeve that could be "thanks" but could also be "fuck you" and stumbles towards his bed.]
no subject
I'll be right back. Lie down before you hurt yourself.
[If Dave is listening, he may hear a quiet clink and the distinct sounds of a turning fluid flow manipulation device and a filling cylindrical beverage container before Karkat returns. And... you know what, fuck it, he's holding a glass of water and a box of tissues, both of which he sets down on the nightstand.]
There. Do you, uh, need anything else?
[FUCK]
no subject
Nah.
[He's good, he thinks. He drinks the water, doing his level best not to look at Karkat at risk of wondering why, exactly, he's doing all this for him, besides broship, obviously, and the mutual understanding of being in the same floating maritime vessel.
...No, he should probably say something. Apparently people can't get along on just silent suggestion alone. He looks down at the glass in his hands and tries to think of the words.]
Karkat? Um...
Thanks. [Yes, that seems right. Dave nods. He's so tired.] Thanks, bro.
no subject
Yeah.
[He says it as normally as he can, which isn't very, and gives a dismissive shrug. All in a planetary axial rotation's monetarily compensated labor.]
Sleep well, bro. I'll get the light.
[He spares one last glance at Dave, frowns, and nudges a certain Pokéball a bit closer before turning to leave, making certain to flip the
illumination modulationswitch as he goes.]