[Through what's left of his battered detachment, Dave starts to feel: His throat's a mess, his heart's wringing itself into knots; he kind of has to pee. He rubs Karkat's back like he's got to generate enough warmth to start a fire, to keep them both safe from the night. He's rocking them without even realizing when he started, he lays his head alongside Karkat's and breathes rickety breaths.]
I'm s-sorry for scaring you. I--I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, I just started remembering--things, and. And I wanted to make it stop. For a little bit.
[His voice goes high and frayed at the last word, like he's running out of air, and he swallows, tries to take a deep breath. It catches halfway through, making his shoulders jump. He holds Karkat more tightly.]
D-didn't want to feel...like that. Like the things I was f-feeling.
[Another cut-off, rattletrap breath, then another. Dave's back-and-forth motion has slowed almost to nothing, and the pattern of his shakes has changed--shivering stillness punctuated by little jerks, low noises stifled deep in his throat. One of them escapes, a soft, too-young sob, and he shudders, starts rocking Karkat again, more desperately than ever.]
Sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You're okay, we'll be okay. [Sniff. He curls tighter around Karkat, presses his nose into that thick hair.] Karkat, I'm sorry, i-it's my fault, I'm such a fuck-up, I don't want to do that to you...
[The refrain is familiar; the speaker is not. The speaker is also wrong, but Karkat can't muster the words needed to contradict him, forced instead to rely on shaking his head furiously and pressing closer, his bloodpusher plummeting. It's not Dave's fault, it could never be Dave's fault, not when it's something like this. If anyone's to blame, it's Dave's goddamn lusus for fucking him up this badly in the first place, then Dirk for setting him off, then...]
Sh-shoosh.
[It's not as loud as Karkat would like, but he makes up for it with sheer vehemence. Shoosh, damn you, no freaking out at the same time he's freaking out, they need to fucking coordinate, draw up some schedules, something, do all moirails have this problem? He hadn't with Gamzee, but then Gamzee was a self-absorbed, sanctimonious sack of shit and Karkat wasn't half as pale for him as he is for Dave now. If Dave needs him to, he'll put his fucking panic attack on hold and tend to him. Any second now. Just put that sucker off until Dave's shit is dealt with and then he can go back to blubbering uselessly. Yeah.
Karkat waits, but the only thing that changes from one moment to the next is the introduction of a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere in his bellow matrix. Fucking—fuck, shit, fuck, he didn't even know humans could make that noise, how the hell is it supposed to reassure Dave of anything? Answer: it won't and can't. How can someone as wonderful as Dave think he's the fuck-up when he has Karkat to compare himself to?
He cuts off the sound as quickly as he can, tries and fails to stifle another hiccuping sob, and tries to relax his death grip on Dave into something gentler, more calming, something to cradle this enormous wiggler before he can seriously damage himself again. Shooooooooooosh, he's got you. His sanity may be hanging by a thread, but he's not going anywhere.]
But whatever. This whole goddamn mess can't really get any worse--knock on fuckin' wood--and it's not like Dave can do anything about it right now, he is all hells of getting his weep on. Awesome. He can't wait to be a useless sack of shit all day and fall down all this snot. Like a Slip 'n' Slide of utter weaksauce bullshit.
He buries his face in Karkat's shoulder, not rocking anymore, just crying. Even if his noises aren't as notably distressing as Karkat's, they won't stop, he can't stop. Even when he traps them behind his teeth and muffles them into Karkat's shirt they just come out like nnnnhh-hnh-hnh-hnh which is almost as cartoonishly stupid-sounding as boo-hoo-hoo or wehhh.
Dave is half-naked in a bathtub and wet and sniveling and he made Karkat cry, and he sucks.]
I'm sorry...
[He wants to curl up at the bottom of the bathtub and never come out again, but that would super not address the problem. Any of the problems. Dave doesn't even know where to start, there's just too much. Everything happens too much.
He'd want to go home, if home ever made fucking sense for Dave to want. If there were anywhere safer and warmer and better than a cold bathtub where Karkat had him.
He finally shooshes, as much as he can shoosh, all weak hiccupy sounds that he can't even try to rein in. Dave can't deal with Dirk and Bro and being here and failing Rose and Terezi and everyone dying and not being able to save one person even once. Fuck everything, he never even had a handle to pirouette from, he can't juggle these knives without fumbling them so he's just gonna drop them all and sit there and bawl.
[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.
[Dave quiets, at least, when Karkat starts talking again, and even if what Karkat's saying is a little bit bullshit (he sees that flagrant hypocrisy, dude, he has eyes), it's comforting bullshit because at least Karkat's talking, at least it doesn't sound like he's winding himself up like a clockspring about to snap. The last bit even makes him snurfle a bit.]
...Gross.
[Gotta catch his breath, stupid hiccuping lungs, gotta turn it all down to an acceptable volume. It's mostly sniffles, now, sniffles and shakes, but talking is working, finally, Karkat's getting through.
Dave sniffs and brings one hand away only long enough for a quick swipe across his eyes, returns to folding around Karkat like origami, like a nightflower.]
Pale. S-so pale, paler than...than a, a thing. Shut up. [A soft, shuddering inhalation.] So fuckin' pale I want to g-goddamn tuck you in a burrito all safe, pale enough you can laugh at me, I want you to laugh at me so you'll be h-happy...
[It doesn't matter that sometimes, after sweeping Karkat's hair off his forehead, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss him. Doesn't matter that he aches a little sometimes, sleeping by himself. There is nothing more powerful than how much he cares about this awful, stupid, bitey, stubborn, self-destructive beautiful asshole, how much Dave wants him to feel comfortable and safe, finally safe with him, forever.
He turns his face into the crook of Karkat's neck, just stays there and lets Karkat pet him until he's calmer, until crying is mostly just water again.]
K-Karkat, I...'M cold, gotta. [Snff.] Pants. Pants and warm. And, and peeing. Not in that order, that's a bad order. Peeing and then pants.
[But Dave doesn't really, you know, make an effort to get up or anything, or even to lift his head from Karkat's shoulder. He just kind of stays there, unwilling to move until he has to, like the moment might dissolve again if Dave so much as stirs.]
[After everything Dave had said, all those stupidly sweet, wonderful things that had made his bloodpusher swell in his thoracic cavity, Karkat wishes he could laugh at him, but he just clings when Dave mentions moving, however indirectly. Anything that means being separated from his better half sounds like a fucking horrible idea, frankly, even if Dave peeing his pants is a valid concern. Just... not yet.
Time passes. Karkat has no idea how much, but it's just enough for his guilt over keeping Dave uncomfortably cold and damp and needing to use the load gaper to reach its peak. Fuck, what is wrong with his priorities today? Every day. Whatever. They can cuddle more once Dave is dry and bundled up in his blanket. All the blankets. Maybe Karkat should go and buy him some more, too, except that would mean leaving so never mind.
Heaving a sigh, Karkat lifts his head and begins wiping at his eyes. The least he can do is fucking pretend to have his shit together until Dave's feeling better. Neither of them are stupid enough to buy it, but maybe he'll develop something resembling actual competence in the process. Haha, no.]
C-come on.
[Oh god, he's already failing. He sniffs and tries again.]
Up? Up, Dave. Uh, do you... sh-should I leave the room while you, you know...
[While he gets naked and relieves himself, fuck, how hard should that be to say? Not hard at all. Moirails aren't supposed to care about being nude in each other's presence; there is literally no reason for him to be flustered.
He tries taking a deep breath, falters halfway through, and tries again, trembling only a little this time. He still hasn't quite let Dave go, and it's beginning to occur to him that he probably should.]
I'm going to stand up, okay? You can stand with me, or—or I guess I can help you if you need it
[Assuming he can stand up unaided, but he wasn't the one fucking freezing his ass off in the ablution trap for an age and a half, so he can just deal with it.
Rubbing at his face one last time, Karkat releases Dave from the hug and starts to rise.]
[Moirails may not care about stripping to skin in front of each other, but Dave fucking Strider does, Jesus Christ, Karkat, please mind his prudish human sensibilities!]
I can't piss while you w-watch me, dude.
[...So it's fine as long as Karkat closes his eyes? Sure, why not. Dave's fucks are at an all-time low and plummeting, and the only ones he can really hold onto are the ones he gives about his people. Karkat. Jade. John. The girls.
He repeats it like a mantra--Jade, John, Karkat, Penny--as Karkat rises and he tries to get his feet underneath him, too. Unfolding had at least helped, and he's not as uncoordinated as he was, but his legs are a lot weaker than he expected and he ends up sitting hard on the edge of the tub when he gets out.]
Shit. One second.
[He laces his fingers together and covers his eyes and forehead with his hands, tries to will some power back into his shivering legs.
Okay, you know what. Fuck the pants. The pants are not helping, they are cold and wet which makes them the exact opposite of pants, since pants are for protecting people's legs from such unsavory elements. Dave unbuttons his jeans with cold, clumsy fingers and shucks them off with a grimace as they cling to his legs and make the whole process laborious. Agh but that's a hell of a lot of skinny white boy, too, thighs all goosebumpy.
At least his boxers are black today. As soaked as he is, white would be bad.]
Gotta...throw all this shit in the dryer, b-before it starts to smell...
[With a last effort, he manages to get the awful wet jeans past his knees and just lets them fall, then leans back to retrieve his shades. He is not leaving those in the bathtub, no sirree.]
[—He would have turned around or something, what the fuck, Dave, he is fully aware of your human hangups about stupid bullshit! Mostly. Kind of. Either way, he makes no secret of his concern as he hovers over Dave, waiting as he sits on the tub, discards his pants, etc., etc., etc. Should he be moving this slowly? Has he warmed up at all? Karkat would like to think that his movements seem less stiff than they were earlier, that maybe the hugging and petting had done some good, but he honestly can't tell. Dave had moved so little before that he has no frame of reference at all. And now...]
I'll take care of it. Shoosh.
[Seriously why is he fretting over this minutiae anyway? Leave it to the people who're more equipped to handle such bullshit, i.e., the troll who is damn well going to take care of Dave if it's the last thing he does. He's calm now, it can happen. He is so fucking ready.
He backs up a little to give Dave room, hesitates, then steps back in to give Dave a brief hug, kiss his temple, and shut up, okay, this counts as helping. He still doesn't want to be separated from his moirail, all right? That's all.]
Will you... I mean, do you need anything else? Anything.
[Dave looks up, looks back down at the sunglasses in his hands, and then just wraps his arms around Karkat's torso, presses his head to Karkat's stomach, breathes out. There, first contact on Dave's own initiative since this all started. He's getting there.
Karkat said not to apologize anymore, so he just mumbles something senseless into Karkat's shirt, something eloquent like "mmnrrhph." He shakes his head without letting go, mussing his own hair against Karkat's stomach, and stays there, shivering only faintly now.
What does he need? Nothing, he wants to say, everything Dave's made of understands that's the only answer there's ever been, the only one that's safe when he feels like this.
...But.]
J...juice? Probably some under the bed. And...leave the door open, n-not all the way but enough.
[So he can hear movement, so they both can, so Karkat will know he's okay. It takes weird double reach-around thinking, trying to guess what someone else would want in Dave's position because reading his own meters is impossible, it's like all labels are written in another language and then scrambled.
He turns his head so he can stare at the floor a moment, try to think if there's anything else, then looks up at Karkat. After a moment, he hooks his shades in the collar of Karkat's shirt.]
[... All right, maybe not such a brief hug. Karkat shouldn't read too much into the gesture, he knows, but for Dave to hand over his sunglasses like that, relinquish them when he's feeling this vulnerable—that means something, all right? Or... maybe he just wants it to. Fuck if he can tell the difference anymore.
He sniffs as discreetly as he can (he's not crying again, he's not), ruffles Dave's hair even more, then pulls reluctantly away. The door will be open. It's fine. Dave is just going to relieve himself, get dressed, and then join him. He isn't going anywhere.]
Got it. I'll... see you soon.
[Fuck was that unnecessary. Karkat can't bring himself to care as he finally makes his way out of the ablutionblock, though, inching the door just shut enough behind him to preserve Dave's human modesty. Now, about that juice...
Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, he shuffles over to Dave's bed and crouches down to retrieve a bottle. He's not sure how appropriate it is to initiate any sort of conversation at this point, but—]
Did you... should I get Missy Elliott for you? Or, uh...
[He trails off self-consciously, and in a fit of nerves, he grabs a second bottle of apple juice. He won't open it, but maybe Dave will wind up wanting two, who fucking knows. The options is there.]
First order of business is peeling his boxers off and rubbing the towel briskly all over. He sat just long enough not to be dripping wet anymore, which is also just long enough to start feeling gross and clammy instead of just wet. Fuuuuuck that.
Dave manages to get himself standing to more easily dry himself and his legs only feel a little bit jello-ey, a little bit stiff. He still would rather be lying down, preferably under about a million blankets with the TV on and the windows locked, his eyes on the door. All exits covered.
God, why is he like this?
He can hear Karkat moving, though, and that's a good enough non-silence for now, and then, oh, he's talking. Dave waits for him to finish his sentence, but when it trails off with hardly a start to it, he lifts his head.]
...Or?
[He wraps the towel around his hips and sticks his face in the gap between the door and the frame, holding both door and towel carefully in front of his poor cold naked man parts.]
[... Or Dave could not pick up on his meaning at all. That's fine, too.
Karkat fidgets with the bottle for a second or two, then sets it down well within range of a theoretical anyone who might be bundled up in Dave's bed. It's stupid to fear rejection, they've done it before, he has no reason to think Dave might say no, but...]
I could... stay with you. If y—I mean, if that's okay with you.
[Yes, well done, Past Karkat, good job not sounding like an oversensitive, unstable, desperate fool. Ugh, there isn't even anything flushed about it; he just needs to be close to Dave right now, needs to be sure that he's okay. They just... wouldn't be in a pile this time, but isn't a bed practically the same thing? He's pretty sure it is. It probably is.
He says none of this aloud; he just waits for... whatever Dave's answer might be. It shouldn't be a big deal if he turns Karkat down. No, it won't be a big deal, haha, what the fuck kind of pancracked moron would think that? Hahahaha. Ha. He should never have opened his fucking mouth.]
[Dave's eyes widen when he gets it, then soften, and he looks away before they can start to tear up again or anything, sniffs a little bit. He manages his most normal voice possible.]
Just get under the covers already, dumpass. I'll be there in a second.
[He disappears from the gap, but doesn't let the door go. After a moment, the mussed fluff of his hair and the tip of his nose reappear, and he adds in a small, sincere voice:]
...Thank you.
[This time, he retreats for real.
Peeing happens and then pants--Wart picked pajamas for Dave, for which he is both grateful and oddly annoyed about, because it implies Wart doesn't think he's going to do anything else today but laze around in bed and shiver off the shakes, but also they're comfortable and warm--and pulls the long-sleeved tee on, too. He's probably going to overheat egregiously, but he doesn't care, he wants to be fucking unreachable through the strata of clothes and blankets. Clothes and blankets and Karkat. God, the dude doesn't deserve this carnival of utter shit.
By the time he comes out (it takes no time, Dave doesn't want to keep Karkat waiting, but also he washes his hands because he's not gross), he's worked his way far enough back up the emotional echeladder to recover shame in full. Even as he pads his way to the bed, he can't quite make eye contact. Still can't apologize, either. Dammit, why does Karkat have to be so...
So good. To him.
It isn't fair.
He stops beside the bed and doesn't know what to say. Why does Karkat even want to be tied to a comically shattered piece of shit like him?]
Do I have the right to say sorry back yet, or am I still in the unapologetic doghouse, banned from acknowledging my sweet, sweet shame.
[The acceptance is so far from what Karkat had been expecting that he flinches, then glances up. Dave is... god, and thanking him, like he's done anything deserving of thanks, what the fuck. He's too stunned to call out this aberrant behavior for what it is, much less try a "you're welcome," because that would be fucking normal, but there may be the start of a disbelieving smile on his face when Dave peeks back again. It's really okay? It's okay.
... Cool.
Fuck, did he actually just think—whatever, Dave told him to get under the covers so under the covers he'll get. Karkat is keenly aware of the dampness of his sweater, though, along with the fact that he should probably do something about that, so before actually getting into the bed, he quickly changes, too. Warm, dry pajamas for both of them. Good.
He's only just gotten around to pulling back the covers when Dave emerges again, and more easily this time, he looks over once more, his smile reappearing... and then fading because what in the name of that human red chimney asshole is Dave even talking about. Sorry? For... god. Fucking. Dammit.
Karkat sighs, drops his gaze to the fluffy red blanket he'd been not-fondling, and tries to ignore the twisting sensation in his repulsive human stomach. If Dave is still bringing it up, then he can't really dismiss it, can he? Even if he really fucking wants to.]
Tell me how any of that was your fault, Dave, and I'll listen. But... I mean, I guess I can understand why you'd think it was. Because you're stupid.
[... How was that not dismissing it again? Argh, he's always so fucking terrible at this. How can he stop Dave from blaming himself for something he had no control over?]
[Dismissive or not, that happens to be the magic combination to get Dave both to look at Karkat and to shut his mouth, to eschew arguing his point. How do you protest "Because you're stupid," said in such a matter-of-fact tone? Like, words like that, they just feel normal. It's good. Like Dave's not irreparably broken, like this is all merely some facet of some incontrovertible Dave-ness that Karkat knew about when he signed up for this, even though Dave knows that can't be right, who the fuck would agree to the maggot-ridden horseshit of the last half hour?
He stays still for a second, as if an answer will strike him, but then just crawls into the bed with a little huff, lies on his stomach and pulls the covers all the way up to his ears.]
Well, it wasn't your fault, either.
[That much is fucking true. He doesn't like Karkat trying to blame himself for not being there, refusing to let Dave take responsibility for his own fucked-upness. Like...like Dave is some kind of natural disaster that can be measured and gauged and prepared for but can't control itself. Like Bro messed him up so badly as a kid he'll never be able to manage his own feelings like an adult, like all he'll ever be is the result of what Bro did to him.
Fuck. Bro.]
...Or--or Dirk's. [The name feels downright wrong to say aloud, and Dave cringes a little without realizing it, like he could somehow get away from the sounds of his own mouth. He clears his throat, though his voice remains at about half-volume.] He didn't do anything.
Edited (There was extraneous punctuation and I am a perfectionist) 2016-06-20 14:12 (UTC)
Karkat snorts but doesn't give voice to the (many, many, so many) protests he can think of to that particular bout of flatulent stupidity, instead climbing into the bed too and, because he's too fucking worried to feel self-conscious, immediately latching onto Dave's side again. He's not quite hugging him yet, more because he doesn't want Dave to feel trapped than because he doesn't want to, but he's definitely invading the fuck out of his personal space. Get used to it.]
Dirk isn't Bro. I know.
[It shouldn't need to be said and Karkat is more than a little worried about how Dave will react to hearing that name out loud, but he's hoping it will reassure him to have some kind of confirmation. Dirk isn't Bro. There's no need to be afraid.
... Fuck it, he's hugging Dave now.]
It's okay. Just get some rest? I'm here for as long as you need me.
[Whenever Dave needs him, even if he doesn't realize it. Karkat won't fuck up like that again.]
Dave thinks about saying it. He's not sure he wants to, when it's so...not needy, though it is, but in need, desperately; when he thinks Karkat wouldn't deny him anything right now, and it wouldn't--it can't be fair to ask for something so enormous, not when Dave himself doesn't understand what the asking would even be for.
Karkat didn't give "sorry" back to him yet and he already used "thank you." What does Dave even have if he doesn't have words? Nothing. His sword, his act, he left all of that on a stone slab on LOFAF, fading away as swiftly and unstoppably as his life had, leaving him the ghost of what Bro had made him.
No. Stop.
Dirk isn't Bro. Bro isn't here. Karkat's here, right here, and after a second to swallow, Dave lets go of the bedsheets, slips right through Karkat's arms to disappear beneath the covers completely, and folds himself around Karkat instead, bumps into his chest.]
Okay.
[He shifts so it's his ear pressing against Karkat's chest, so he can hear the rise and fall of his breathing or even his heart.
Dirk didn't do anything, and Bro's not here. But Dave will never stop watching for him now, never stop waiting for that shitty sneaker to drop, never forget that there's no such thing as safety.
But Karkat's here. If...if Bro does come, either Dave will be ready and that'll be fine, or...Karkat wouldn't even let Bro get near, would he. Bro doesn't go up against straightforward aggression, that's not his M.O., and if Karkat says he's not wanted...
Dave lets the muscles of his back and neck relax, slowly, curled into Karkat's shirt. He breathes out.]
We can watch TV.
[He doesn't want to sleep. Not when the aftertaste of fear still sits so sour in his throat. He doesn't want that kind of quiet.]
[He'd assumed the worst when Dave slipped away from him (because of course he did, when does he not fuck up?), so while he's quick to welcome his moirail back, petting his hair and arranging the covers more comfortably around them both, it takes Karkat longer than it should to find his voice again. Dave is still here. Everything is fine. Completely. Fucking. Fine.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to pretend that Dave couldn't completely destroy him with a word. Dave is here, Dave is safe, Dave isn't going anywhere. Calm down, for fuck's sake.]
Do you want me to read to you?
[The question is more careful than it needs to be, especially considering how many fucking hours they'd spent doing the same thing on the meteor, but Karkat is still feeling grossly uncertain about pretty much everything right now. With Dave settled on his chest, the world seems like it's starting to fall back into place again, but for as long as Dave is like this, unstable and in need of comfort, he can't lower his guard. He can't let Dave decline to that point ever again.
Maybe reading to him would be a good idea right now. All of his books are piled haphazardly around the other bed, but there might be one within reach that's suitably awful by Dave's standards to take his mind off of things. Fuck Karkat hopes Wart hasn't vanished somewhere so that he can ferry one over without either of them having to move; he is not leaving Dave right now.
... And, since that's decided—]
Because I'm going to fucking read to you. You said it was my choice, so that's what we're doing. Deal with it.
[Dave breathes a faint laugh into Karkat's chest. It's not really mirth or anything, but more like relief. Karkat's bossiness is good. It's normal.]
Sir, yes, sir. Dealing.
[He proves how well he's dealing by moving not at all, continuing his unstoppable evolution into a human limpet. It's dark under the covers and all he can smell is Karkat's pajamas, and he's warm. The whole world's just Karkat right now, and that's good. That's about what he can deal with: A universe narrowed to the safe parts, the parts that won't ever hurt him.
Wart, alert to the passing thought in his direction, pokes his head in curiously. It seems he's ushered some of the less mature Pokémon into the small living room/kitchen area (because if they're going to pay this much for lodging, damn if it isn't going to be a suite), but he susses out what's going on quickly enough and psychics the nearest book right over to Karkat.
Dave reaches up to engineer a small fold at the top of the bed covers over Karkat's chest. It lets a little light in and that's sort of unfortunate, but it lets air in, too, and he can almost sort of see Karkat, like this.]
Hi. Requesting light petting, sir. But only if you've got enough hands. Wouldn't want to compromise the mission, sir. [He curls his arm around Karkat again and nestles in.] The mission is book reading. Restricted clearance, top secret intelligence only. Ten-hut.
[Thank god somémon has their shit together in this looneyblock. Seriously, what would they do without Wart?
Doing his best to send a mental wave of gratitude in the Gallade's direction, Karkat picks up the book and begins searching for the first actual page, his hand only returning to Dave's hair once he's located it. This book in particular is... one he hasn't started yet, actually. He would have started from the beginning just to make sure that Dave knew what was going on regardless, but it's still nice to be reading something new.]
What the fuck are you vomiting out your word hole. Shoosh, Dave, or I'll read the acknowledgments, too.
[Or the cast of characters, which he'd barely glanced at, but it's probably not important, right? It sure as fuck doesn't help when reading aloud to someone, nor does the map. Karkat may have to take a closer look later, though. Just in case.
He frowns to himself and wastes a few more seconds finding the ideal position to read one-handed and with his moirail on his chest before beginning. Past Karkat probably should have thought that one through more, but it's too late now and he's not dislodging Dave for a stupid reason like personal comfort.
Anyway. What's this book called again?]
The Captive Prinplup. Prologue. "'We hear that your Prince,' said Lady Jokaste, 'keeps his own harem. These slaves will please any traditionalist, but I have asked Adrastus to prepare something special in addition...'"
[Not that Dave would've really registered being forced to listen to the acknowledgements, but he shooshes anyway. He spends the first few minutes only half-tuned in, eyes closed under the covers, more aware of the sound of Karkat's voice in his own chest than of the actual words he's saying. It vibrates differently against his ear than in the air, and it's nice.
He only starts paying attention when chapter one begins, and the description gives him pause, for a moment. Kinky, he almost says, but he vaguely remembers they're talking about slaves anyway so probably this is just part of the story and he doesn't really want to prod Karkat into an argument, he just wants to listen. So Dave listens, ignoring the hints here and there that ping him weirdly until the snotty blond prince gets all "Restrain him here in the harem" and Dave either has to snort or die on the spot.]
That sounds like a spectacularly shitty idea, man. He's gonna get all sorts of the wrong idea. Those messages are gonna be mixed to hell and not in a sweet jams gift tape way.
[Dave's not saying anything, but, like. Karkat. Bro.
Is he aware he's reading his moirail gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.
Because Dave's pretty sure Karkat's reading him gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.]
[By this stage, Dave isn't the only one with reservations, even if Karkat's are somewhat more difficult to put into words. The trouble is that by troll standards there's nothing wrong with the story at all; keeping people as slaves for any purpose is ludicrously commonplace and, as one might expect, a fairly common trope in certain types of literature (i.e., trashy romance, a.k.a. Karkat's grubloaf and tuberpaste, q.e.d.). From that perspective, of course memorizing the texture of Dave's hair and enjoying the relative quiet of the moment, the closeness, takes up far more of Karkat's attention. Between that and regulating his voice to something not shout-volume because even he can recognize when that might ruin a moment, yes, fine, even an undisputed authority on all things romance like Karkat can miss a few hints. A few.
It's a lot harder to ignore the potential awkwardness of reading what he's reading when Dave interjects with a comment like that, and after a too-long pause where Karkat does nothing more than stare at the last few lines and wonder what the fuck his moirail is talking about, he blanches, whips the book shut, and flips it over to inspect the summary written on the back. "Damen is a warrior hero who blah blah brother seizes power blah blah sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a" oh motherfucking hell.
Groaning, Karkat reopens the book to the page they'd left off, slaps the whole thing over his face, and slumps in place as much as physically possible for someone who's already lying down. How the fuck had he not. ARGH. Is he fucking braindead??]
Dave, if you pity me you'll agree right now that that didn't just fucking happen.
[The words are muffled but still intelligible, and if it weren't for how much it would probably hurt his cartilage nub, Karkat would probably follow them up with a facepalm x2 combob and then maybe defenestrate himself. Because.]
[Dave shifts under the covers so he can rest his chin instead of his ear on Karkat's chest, one arm slung around him, the rest of his body kind of at a diagonal across the bed so he's not twisting his neck weird.]
What didn't happen? We weren't doing shit. All I remember's being all cuddled up here discussing the fact that I can rec you plenty more works in that genre written way better than that one. 'Cause, you know. I work in a bookstore. I see the staff picks.
[And he's been supplying Penny with age-appropriate and educational literature for months, now. His recommendations may tend more towards ladies-on-ladies adventures than anything else, but it's not like Karkat will care, right? Dave doesn't even understand why trolls even have a sex binary, it's not like they use it for anything but telling people not to play games for girls.
He's almost content to let it stay there, but then a series of quick little breaths, like a burst of near-soundless machine gun fire, escapes his nose. Dave buries his face in Karkat's shirt but he's grinning, and--oh. Oh, he's laughing.]
"Pellucid blue eyes." Who fucking wrote this garbage, are they serious. I'd almost believe it was Rose except there's not enough goddamn beard-fondling or wrinkled assholes in dresses. Let me see that.
[He reaches up through his breathing hole and makes a grabby hand.]
[Oh fuck no. Karkat may not be fast or even very coordinated, but with Captive Prinplup already on his face and Dave in a significantly disadvantaged position, he just barely manages to swipe the book away in time and hold it just out of reach. Uh, for now. Dave's arms are still longer than his, but he's starting to sit up a little to try and compensate.]
This series was highly recommended! Shut the fuck up, Dave, it wasn't that bad.
[Except for the part where it's really not the kind of thing he'd read to Dave and especially not when his feelings for him are—it's just not something to read to Dave, okay?
His face is as red as it gets, at any rate, and he may just be contemplating hurling the offending book across the room if it weren't for the fact that he still wants to read it. Now that he knows exactly which book Wart had had picked for him, he's remembering how much blackrom potential he'd envisioned the first time he'd heard about it. It's written by a human, which probably means he's doomed for disappointment, but it's still his book, goddammit. End of literal story.]
Why were you looking at staff picks for romance?
[When in doubt, change the subject. Also, no he is not differentiating genre much besides romance and, uh, something about the rating. Because. He's seven sweeps old, this is normal.]
[Foiled, Dave just lets his arm flop back down across Karkat's shoulder and turns his face cheek-side to soft pajamas again. He is boneless as a fish fillet and feeling a lot better, if still painfully embarrassed and kind of brain-muzzy. Anyway, moving is stupid. Getting up is not a thing either of them should do, ever, obviously. He's not uncomfortable enough to remove himself from the space heater that is Karkat.]
Morbid curiosity, obviously. When do I ever pass up an opportunity to annihilate my own brain cells with the hottest new sewage, do you even know me.
[He taps one finger against the sheets for a second, then adds in a mumble:]
Also, I've been trying to help Penny with. Things. That's strictly off the record, though, okay.
[He trusts Karkat, of course, but he doesn't want to spread his friends' personal shit all over the goddamn place (except, of course, when it's hilarious, but this is not the case). But Dave would be flabbergasted if Karkat hasn't seen what's going on with D.J. Single Cent and her best friend, anyway. Completely gobsmacked.]
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[Through what's left of his battered detachment, Dave starts to feel: His throat's a mess, his heart's wringing itself into knots; he kind of has to pee. He rubs Karkat's back like he's got to generate enough warmth to start a fire, to keep them both safe from the night. He's rocking them without even realizing when he started, he lays his head alongside Karkat's and breathes rickety breaths.]
I'm s-sorry for scaring you. I--I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, I just started remembering--things, and. And I wanted to make it stop. For a little bit.
[His voice goes high and frayed at the last word, like he's running out of air, and he swallows, tries to take a deep breath. It catches halfway through, making his shoulders jump. He holds Karkat more tightly.]
D-didn't want to feel...like that. Like the things I was f-feeling.
[Another cut-off, rattletrap breath, then another. Dave's back-and-forth motion has slowed almost to nothing, and the pattern of his shakes has changed--shivering stillness punctuated by little jerks, low noises stifled deep in his throat. One of them escapes, a soft, too-young sob, and he shudders, starts rocking Karkat again, more desperately than ever.]
Sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again. You're okay, we'll be okay. [Sniff. He curls tighter around Karkat, presses his nose into that thick hair.] Karkat, I'm sorry, i-it's my fault, I'm such a fuck-up, I don't want to do that to you...
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Sh-shoosh.
[It's not as loud as Karkat would like, but he makes up for it with sheer vehemence. Shoosh, damn you, no freaking out at the same time he's freaking out, they need to fucking coordinate, draw up some schedules, something, do all moirails have this problem? He hadn't with Gamzee, but then Gamzee was a self-absorbed, sanctimonious sack of shit and Karkat wasn't half as pale for him as he is for Dave now. If Dave needs him to, he'll put his fucking panic attack on hold and tend to him. Any second now. Just put that sucker off until Dave's shit is dealt with and then he can go back to blubbering uselessly. Yeah.
Karkat waits, but the only thing that changes from one moment to the next is the introduction of a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere in his bellow matrix. Fucking—fuck, shit, fuck, he didn't even know humans could make that noise, how the hell is it supposed to reassure Dave of anything? Answer: it won't and can't. How can someone as wonderful as Dave think he's the fuck-up when he has Karkat to compare himself to?
He cuts off the sound as quickly as he can, tries and fails to stifle another hiccuping sob, and tries to relax his death grip on Dave into something gentler, more calming, something to cradle this enormous wiggler before he can seriously damage himself again. Shooooooooooosh, he's got you. His sanity may be hanging by a thread, but he's not going anywhere.]
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But whatever. This whole goddamn mess can't really get any worse--knock on fuckin' wood--and it's not like Dave can do anything about it right now, he is all hells of getting his weep on. Awesome. He can't wait to be a useless sack of shit all day and fall down all this snot. Like a Slip 'n' Slide of utter weaksauce bullshit.
He buries his face in Karkat's shoulder, not rocking anymore, just crying. Even if his noises aren't as notably distressing as Karkat's, they won't stop, he can't stop. Even when he traps them behind his teeth and muffles them into Karkat's shirt they just come out like nnnnhh-hnh-hnh-hnh which is almost as cartoonishly stupid-sounding as boo-hoo-hoo or wehhh.
Dave is half-naked in a bathtub and wet and sniveling and he made Karkat cry, and he sucks.]
I'm sorry...
[He wants to curl up at the bottom of the bathtub and never come out again, but that would super not address the problem. Any of the problems. Dave doesn't even know where to start, there's just too much. Everything happens too much.
He'd want to go home, if home ever made fucking sense for Dave to want. If there were anywhere safer and warmer and better than a cold bathtub where Karkat had him.
He finally shooshes, as much as he can shoosh, all weak hiccupy sounds that he can't even try to rein in. Dave can't deal with Dirk and Bro and being here and failing Rose and Terezi and everyone dying and not being able to save one person even once. Fuck everything, he never even had a handle to pirouette from, he can't juggle these knives without fumbling them so he's just gonna drop them all and sit there and bawl.
Inasmuch as Dave ever bawls, but.]
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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.
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...Gross.
[Gotta catch his breath, stupid hiccuping lungs, gotta turn it all down to an acceptable volume. It's mostly sniffles, now, sniffles and shakes, but talking is working, finally, Karkat's getting through.
Dave sniffs and brings one hand away only long enough for a quick swipe across his eyes, returns to folding around Karkat like origami, like a nightflower.]
Pale. S-so pale, paler than...than a, a thing. Shut up. [A soft, shuddering inhalation.] So fuckin' pale I want to g-goddamn tuck you in a burrito all safe, pale enough you can laugh at me, I want you to laugh at me so you'll be h-happy...
[It doesn't matter that sometimes, after sweeping Karkat's hair off his forehead, he thinks about what it would feel like to kiss him. Doesn't matter that he aches a little sometimes, sleeping by himself. There is nothing more powerful than how much he cares about this awful, stupid, bitey, stubborn, self-destructive beautiful asshole, how much Dave wants him to feel comfortable and safe, finally safe with him, forever.
He turns his face into the crook of Karkat's neck, just stays there and lets Karkat pet him until he's calmer, until crying is mostly just water again.]
K-Karkat, I...'M cold, gotta. [Snff.] Pants. Pants and warm. And, and peeing. Not in that order, that's a bad order. Peeing and then pants.
[But Dave doesn't really, you know, make an effort to get up or anything, or even to lift his head from Karkat's shoulder. He just kind of stays there, unwilling to move until he has to, like the moment might dissolve again if Dave so much as stirs.]
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Time passes. Karkat has no idea how much, but it's just enough for his guilt over keeping Dave uncomfortably cold and damp and needing to use the load gaper to reach its peak. Fuck, what is wrong with his priorities today? Every day. Whatever. They can cuddle more once Dave is dry and bundled up in his blanket. All the blankets. Maybe Karkat should go and buy him some more, too, except that would mean leaving so never mind.
Heaving a sigh, Karkat lifts his head and begins wiping at his eyes. The least he can do is fucking pretend to have his shit together until Dave's feeling better. Neither of them are stupid enough to buy it, but maybe he'll develop something resembling actual competence in the process. Haha, no.]
C-come on.
[Oh god, he's already failing. He sniffs and tries again.]
Up? Up, Dave. Uh, do you... sh-should I leave the room while you, you know...
[While he gets naked and relieves himself, fuck, how hard should that be to say? Not hard at all. Moirails aren't supposed to care about being nude in each other's presence; there is literally no reason for him to be flustered.
He tries taking a deep breath, falters halfway through, and tries again, trembling only a little this time. He still hasn't quite let Dave go, and it's beginning to occur to him that he probably should.]
I'm going to stand up, okay? You can stand with me, or—or I guess I can help you if you need it
[Assuming he can stand up unaided, but he wasn't the one fucking freezing his ass off in the ablution trap for an age and a half, so he can just deal with it.
Rubbing at his face one last time, Karkat releases Dave from the hug and starts to rise.]
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I can't piss while you w-watch me, dude.
[...So it's fine as long as Karkat closes his eyes? Sure, why not. Dave's fucks are at an all-time low and plummeting, and the only ones he can really hold onto are the ones he gives about his people. Karkat. Jade. John. The girls.
He repeats it like a mantra--Jade, John, Karkat, Penny--as Karkat rises and he tries to get his feet underneath him, too. Unfolding had at least helped, and he's not as uncoordinated as he was, but his legs are a lot weaker than he expected and he ends up sitting hard on the edge of the tub when he gets out.]
Shit. One second.
[He laces his fingers together and covers his eyes and forehead with his hands, tries to will some power back into his shivering legs.
Okay, you know what. Fuck the pants. The pants are not helping, they are cold and wet which makes them the exact opposite of pants, since pants are for protecting people's legs from such unsavory elements. Dave unbuttons his jeans with cold, clumsy fingers and shucks them off with a grimace as they cling to his legs and make the whole process laborious. Agh but that's a hell of a lot of skinny white boy, too, thighs all goosebumpy.
At least his boxers are black today. As soaked as he is, white would be bad.]
Gotta...throw all this shit in the dryer, b-before it starts to smell...
[With a last effort, he manages to get the awful wet jeans past his knees and just lets them fall, then leans back to retrieve his shades. He is not leaving those in the bathtub, no sirree.]
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I'll take care of it. Shoosh.
[Seriously why is he fretting over this minutiae anyway? Leave it to the people who're more equipped to handle such bullshit, i.e., the troll who is damn well going to take care of Dave if it's the last thing he does. He's calm now, it can happen. He is so fucking ready.
He backs up a little to give Dave room, hesitates, then steps back in to give Dave a brief hug, kiss his temple, and shut up, okay, this counts as helping. He still doesn't want to be separated from his moirail, all right? That's all.]
Will you... I mean, do you need anything else? Anything.
[Let him help. Please.]
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Karkat said not to apologize anymore, so he just mumbles something senseless into Karkat's shirt, something eloquent like "mmnrrhph." He shakes his head without letting go, mussing his own hair against Karkat's stomach, and stays there, shivering only faintly now.
What does he need? Nothing, he wants to say, everything Dave's made of understands that's the only answer there's ever been, the only one that's safe when he feels like this.
...But.]
J...juice? Probably some under the bed. And...leave the door open, n-not all the way but enough.
[So he can hear movement, so they both can, so Karkat will know he's okay. It takes weird double reach-around thinking, trying to guess what someone else would want in Dave's position because reading his own meters is impossible, it's like all labels are written in another language and then scrambled.
He turns his head so he can stare at the floor a moment, try to think if there's anything else, then looks up at Karkat. After a moment, he hooks his shades in the collar of Karkat's shirt.]
Won't take a minute. P-promise.
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He sniffs as discreetly as he can (he's not crying again, he's not), ruffles Dave's hair even more, then pulls reluctantly away. The door will be open. It's fine. Dave is just going to relieve himself, get dressed, and then join him. He isn't going anywhere.]
Got it. I'll... see you soon.
[Fuck was that unnecessary. Karkat can't bring himself to care as he finally makes his way out of the ablutionblock, though, inching the door just shut enough behind him to preserve Dave's human modesty. Now, about that juice...
Resisting the urge to glance over his shoulder, he shuffles over to Dave's bed and crouches down to retrieve a bottle. He's not sure how appropriate it is to initiate any sort of conversation at this point, but—]
Did you... should I get Missy Elliott for you? Or, uh...
[He trails off self-consciously, and in a fit of nerves, he grabs a second bottle of apple juice. He won't open it, but maybe Dave will wind up wanting two, who fucking knows. The options is there.]
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First order of business is peeling his boxers off and rubbing the towel briskly all over. He sat just long enough not to be dripping wet anymore, which is also just long enough to start feeling gross and clammy instead of just wet. Fuuuuuck that.
Dave manages to get himself standing to more easily dry himself and his legs only feel a little bit jello-ey, a little bit stiff. He still would rather be lying down, preferably under about a million blankets with the TV on and the windows locked, his eyes on the door. All exits covered.
God, why is he like this?
He can hear Karkat moving, though, and that's a good enough non-silence for now, and then, oh, he's talking. Dave waits for him to finish his sentence, but when it trails off with hardly a start to it, he lifts his head.]
...Or?
[He wraps the towel around his hips and sticks his face in the gap between the door and the frame, holding both door and towel carefully in front of his poor cold naked man parts.]
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Karkat fidgets with the bottle for a second or two, then sets it down well within range of a theoretical anyone who might be bundled up in Dave's bed. It's stupid to fear rejection, they've done it before, he has no reason to think Dave might say no, but...]
I could... stay with you. If y—I mean, if that's okay with you.
[Yes, well done, Past Karkat, good job not sounding like an oversensitive, unstable, desperate fool. Ugh, there isn't even anything flushed about it; he just needs to be close to Dave right now, needs to be sure that he's okay. They just... wouldn't be in a pile this time, but isn't a bed practically the same thing? He's pretty sure it is. It probably is.
He says none of this aloud; he just waits for... whatever Dave's answer might be. It shouldn't be a big deal if he turns Karkat down. No, it won't be a big deal, haha, what the fuck kind of pancracked moron would think that? Hahahaha. Ha. He should never have opened his fucking mouth.]
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Just get under the covers already, dumpass. I'll be there in a second.
[He disappears from the gap, but doesn't let the door go. After a moment, the mussed fluff of his hair and the tip of his nose reappear, and he adds in a small, sincere voice:]
...Thank you.
[This time, he retreats for real.
Peeing happens and then pants--Wart picked pajamas for Dave, for which he is both grateful and oddly annoyed about, because it implies Wart doesn't think he's going to do anything else today but laze around in bed and shiver off the shakes, but also they're comfortable and warm--and pulls the long-sleeved tee on, too. He's probably going to overheat egregiously, but he doesn't care, he wants to be fucking unreachable through the strata of clothes and blankets. Clothes and blankets and Karkat. God, the dude doesn't deserve this carnival of utter shit.
By the time he comes out (it takes no time, Dave doesn't want to keep Karkat waiting, but also he washes his hands because he's not gross), he's worked his way far enough back up the emotional echeladder to recover shame in full. Even as he pads his way to the bed, he can't quite make eye contact. Still can't apologize, either. Dammit, why does Karkat have to be so...
So good. To him.
It isn't fair.
He stops beside the bed and doesn't know what to say. Why does Karkat even want to be tied to a comically shattered piece of shit like him?]
Do I have the right to say sorry back yet, or am I still in the unapologetic doghouse, banned from acknowledging my sweet, sweet shame.
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... Cool.
Fuck, did he actually just think—whatever, Dave told him to get under the covers so under the covers he'll get. Karkat is keenly aware of the dampness of his sweater, though, along with the fact that he should probably do something about that, so before actually getting into the bed, he quickly changes, too. Warm, dry pajamas for both of them. Good.
He's only just gotten around to pulling back the covers when Dave emerges again, and more easily this time, he looks over once more, his smile reappearing... and then fading because what in the name of that human red chimney asshole is Dave even talking about. Sorry? For... god. Fucking. Dammit.
Karkat sighs, drops his gaze to the fluffy red blanket he'd been not-fondling, and tries to ignore the twisting sensation in his repulsive human stomach. If Dave is still bringing it up, then he can't really dismiss it, can he? Even if he really fucking wants to.]
Tell me how any of that was your fault, Dave, and I'll listen. But... I mean, I guess I can understand why you'd think it was. Because you're stupid.
[... How was that not dismissing it again? Argh, he's always so fucking terrible at this. How can he stop Dave from blaming himself for something he had no control over?]
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He stays still for a second, as if an answer will strike him, but then just crawls into the bed with a little huff, lies on his stomach and pulls the covers all the way up to his ears.]
Well, it wasn't your fault, either.
[That much is fucking true. He doesn't like Karkat trying to blame himself for not being there, refusing to let Dave take responsibility for his own fucked-upness. Like...like Dave is some kind of natural disaster that can be measured and gauged and prepared for but can't control itself. Like Bro messed him up so badly as a kid he'll never be able to manage his own feelings like an adult, like all he'll ever be is the result of what Bro did to him.
Fuck. Bro.]
...Or--or Dirk's. [The name feels downright wrong to say aloud, and Dave cringes a little without realizing it, like he could somehow get away from the sounds of his own mouth. He clears his throat, though his voice remains at about half-volume.] He didn't do anything.
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Yeah, does Dave wanna try that again?
Karkat snorts but doesn't give voice to the (many, many, so many) protests he can think of to that particular bout of flatulent stupidity, instead climbing into the bed too and, because he's too fucking worried to feel self-conscious, immediately latching onto Dave's side again. He's not quite hugging him yet, more because he doesn't want Dave to feel trapped than because he doesn't want to, but he's definitely invading the fuck out of his personal space. Get used to it.]
Dirk isn't Bro. I know.
[It shouldn't need to be said and Karkat is more than a little worried about how Dave will react to hearing that name out loud, but he's hoping it will reassure him to have some kind of confirmation. Dirk isn't Bro. There's no need to be afraid.
... Fuck it, he's hugging Dave now.]
It's okay. Just get some rest? I'm here for as long as you need me.
[Whenever Dave needs him, even if he doesn't realize it. Karkat won't fuck up like that again.]
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Dave thinks about saying it. He's not sure he wants to, when it's so...not needy, though it is, but in need, desperately; when he thinks Karkat wouldn't deny him anything right now, and it wouldn't--it can't be fair to ask for something so enormous, not when Dave himself doesn't understand what the asking would even be for.
Karkat didn't give "sorry" back to him yet and he already used "thank you." What does Dave even have if he doesn't have words? Nothing. His sword, his act, he left all of that on a stone slab on LOFAF, fading away as swiftly and unstoppably as his life had, leaving him the ghost of what Bro had made him.
No. Stop.
Dirk isn't Bro. Bro isn't here. Karkat's here, right here, and after a second to swallow, Dave lets go of the bedsheets, slips right through Karkat's arms to disappear beneath the covers completely, and folds himself around Karkat instead, bumps into his chest.]
Okay.
[He shifts so it's his ear pressing against Karkat's chest, so he can hear the rise and fall of his breathing or even his heart.
Dirk didn't do anything, and Bro's not here. But Dave will never stop watching for him now, never stop waiting for that shitty sneaker to drop, never forget that there's no such thing as safety.
But Karkat's here. If...if Bro does come, either Dave will be ready and that'll be fine, or...Karkat wouldn't even let Bro get near, would he. Bro doesn't go up against straightforward aggression, that's not his M.O., and if Karkat says he's not wanted...
Dave lets the muscles of his back and neck relax, slowly, curled into Karkat's shirt. He breathes out.]
We can watch TV.
[He doesn't want to sleep. Not when the aftertaste of fear still sits so sour in his throat. He doesn't want that kind of quiet.]
Or read a book. Anything you want.
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He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to pretend that Dave couldn't completely destroy him with a word. Dave is here, Dave is safe, Dave isn't going anywhere. Calm down, for fuck's sake.]
Do you want me to read to you?
[The question is more careful than it needs to be, especially considering how many fucking hours they'd spent doing the same thing on the meteor, but Karkat is still feeling grossly uncertain about pretty much everything right now. With Dave settled on his chest, the world seems like it's starting to fall back into place again, but for as long as Dave is like this, unstable and in need of comfort, he can't lower his guard. He can't let Dave decline to that point ever again.
Maybe reading to him would be a good idea right now. All of his books are piled haphazardly around the other bed, but there might be one within reach that's suitably awful by Dave's standards to take his mind off of things. Fuck Karkat hopes Wart hasn't vanished somewhere so that he can ferry one over without either of them having to move; he is not leaving Dave right now.
... And, since that's decided—]
Because I'm going to fucking read to you. You said it was my choice, so that's what we're doing. Deal with it.
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Sir, yes, sir. Dealing.
[He proves how well he's dealing by moving not at all, continuing his unstoppable evolution into a human limpet. It's dark under the covers and all he can smell is Karkat's pajamas, and he's warm. The whole world's just Karkat right now, and that's good. That's about what he can deal with: A universe narrowed to the safe parts, the parts that won't ever hurt him.
Wart, alert to the passing thought in his direction, pokes his head in curiously. It seems he's ushered some of the less mature Pokémon into the small living room/kitchen area (because if they're going to pay this much for lodging, damn if it isn't going to be a suite), but he susses out what's going on quickly enough and psychics the nearest book right over to Karkat.
Dave reaches up to engineer a small fold at the top of the bed covers over Karkat's chest. It lets a little light in and that's sort of unfortunate, but it lets air in, too, and he can almost sort of see Karkat, like this.]
Hi. Requesting light petting, sir. But only if you've got enough hands. Wouldn't want to compromise the mission, sir. [He curls his arm around Karkat again and nestles in.] The mission is book reading. Restricted clearance, top secret intelligence only. Ten-hut.
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Doing his best to send a mental wave of gratitude in the Gallade's direction, Karkat picks up the book and begins searching for the first actual page, his hand only returning to Dave's hair once he's located it. This book in particular is... one he hasn't started yet, actually. He would have started from the beginning just to make sure that Dave knew what was going on regardless, but it's still nice to be reading something new.]
What the fuck are you vomiting out your word hole. Shoosh, Dave, or I'll read the acknowledgments, too.
[Or the cast of characters, which he'd barely glanced at, but it's probably not important, right? It sure as fuck doesn't help when reading aloud to someone, nor does the map. Karkat may have to take a closer look later, though. Just in case.
He frowns to himself and wastes a few more seconds finding the ideal position to read one-handed and with his moirail on his chest before beginning. Past Karkat probably should have thought that one through more, but it's too late now and he's not dislodging Dave for a stupid reason like personal comfort.
Anyway. What's this book called again?]
The Captive Prinplup. Prologue. "'We hear that your Prince,' said Lady Jokaste, 'keeps his own harem. These slaves will please any traditionalist, but I have asked Adrastus to prepare something special in addition...'"
[And on it goes.]
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He only starts paying attention when chapter one begins, and the description gives him pause, for a moment. Kinky, he almost says, but he vaguely remembers they're talking about slaves anyway so probably this is just part of the story and he doesn't really want to prod Karkat into an argument, he just wants to listen. So Dave listens, ignoring the hints here and there that ping him weirdly until the snotty blond prince gets all "Restrain him here in the harem" and Dave either has to snort or die on the spot.]
That sounds like a spectacularly shitty idea, man. He's gonna get all sorts of the wrong idea. Those messages are gonna be mixed to hell and not in a sweet jams gift tape way.
[Dave's not saying anything, but, like. Karkat. Bro.
Is he aware he's reading his moirail gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.
Because Dave's pretty sure Karkat's reading him gay noncon bondage Greek history smut fanfic.]
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It's a lot harder to ignore the potential awkwardness of reading what he's reading when Dave interjects with a comment like that, and after a too-long pause where Karkat does nothing more than stare at the last few lines and wonder what the fuck his moirail is talking about, he blanches, whips the book shut, and flips it over to inspect the summary written on the back. "Damen is a warrior hero who blah blah brother seizes power blah blah sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a" oh motherfucking hell.
Groaning, Karkat reopens the book to the page they'd left off, slaps the whole thing over his face, and slumps in place as much as physically possible for someone who's already lying down. How the fuck had he not. ARGH. Is he fucking braindead??]
Dave, if you pity me you'll agree right now that that didn't just fucking happen.
[The words are muffled but still intelligible, and if it weren't for how much it would probably hurt his cartilage nub, Karkat would probably follow them up with a facepalm x2 combob and then maybe defenestrate himself. Because.]
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What didn't happen? We weren't doing shit. All I remember's being all cuddled up here discussing the fact that I can rec you plenty more works in that genre written way better than that one. 'Cause, you know. I work in a bookstore. I see the staff picks.
[And he's been supplying Penny with age-appropriate and educational literature for months, now. His recommendations may tend more towards ladies-on-ladies adventures than anything else, but it's not like Karkat will care, right? Dave doesn't even understand why trolls even have a sex binary, it's not like they use it for anything but telling people not to play games for girls.
He's almost content to let it stay there, but then a series of quick little breaths, like a burst of near-soundless machine gun fire, escapes his nose. Dave buries his face in Karkat's shirt but he's grinning, and--oh. Oh, he's laughing.]
"Pellucid blue eyes." Who fucking wrote this garbage, are they serious. I'd almost believe it was Rose except there's not enough goddamn beard-fondling or wrinkled assholes in dresses. Let me see that.
[He reaches up through his breathing hole and makes a grabby hand.]
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This series was highly recommended! Shut the fuck up, Dave, it wasn't that bad.
[Except for the part where it's really not the kind of thing he'd read to Dave and especially not when his feelings for him are—it's just not something to read to Dave, okay?
His face is as red as it gets, at any rate, and he may just be contemplating hurling the offending book across the room if it weren't for the fact that he still wants to read it. Now that he knows exactly which book Wart had had picked for him, he's remembering how much blackrom potential he'd envisioned the first time he'd heard about it. It's written by a human, which probably means he's doomed for disappointment, but it's still his book, goddammit. End of literal story.]
Why were you looking at staff picks for romance?
[When in doubt, change the subject. Also, no he is not differentiating genre much besides romance and, uh, something about the rating. Because. He's seven sweeps old, this is normal.]
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[Foiled, Dave just lets his arm flop back down across Karkat's shoulder and turns his face cheek-side to soft pajamas again. He is boneless as a fish fillet and feeling a lot better, if still painfully embarrassed and kind of brain-muzzy. Anyway, moving is stupid. Getting up is not a thing either of them should do, ever, obviously. He's not uncomfortable enough to remove himself from the space heater that is Karkat.]
Morbid curiosity, obviously. When do I ever pass up an opportunity to annihilate my own brain cells with the hottest new sewage, do you even know me.
[He taps one finger against the sheets for a second, then adds in a mumble:]
Also, I've been trying to help Penny with. Things. That's strictly off the record, though, okay.
[He trusts Karkat, of course, but he doesn't want to spread his friends' personal shit all over the goddamn place (except, of course, when it's hilarious, but this is not the case). But Dave would be flabbergasted if Karkat hasn't seen what's going on with D.J. Single Cent and her best friend, anyway. Completely gobsmacked.]
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