[If Dave is spouting (literal) inane horseshit like that, he has to be feeling marginally better... or he's fucking overcompensating again while he feels worse than ever. It's hard to tell sometimes. Still, as long as he's not pulling away, Karkat can't be too far off the mark, right? He has to be helping somehow. He can't fuck this up.
The more Dave speaks, though, the clearer it becomes that yeah, that was overcompensation, and Karkat gives his moirail a reassuring squeeze on principle, settling in easily enough to listen because like fuck does he have a single goddamn clue what else to do right now. He may not be as good a listener as the Mayor (no one is), but he's better at it than offering advice. That will have to do.
Unfortunately, he's no closer to knowing what to say to make this better by the time Dave stumbles through his apology, and quickly, the hand that had been semi-frozen at the nape of Dave's neck relocates to his cheek for a gentle pap. Why the fuck is he sorry, in what universe is that the correct response? What the hell—]
You aren't stupid. Shoosh, Dave, none of this is your fault.
[His thumb collides with the ridge of those damned, damned sunglasses, and with an exasperated huff, he gently lifts Dave's chin just enough that he can tug them off and set them aside. He should have done that earlier, but whatever, they're out of the way now.]
You didn't know how things were supposed to be, so of course you're going to need time to figure things out. It's not your fault.
[He smooths down Dave's hair again, rests his head against the one parked comfortably on his shoulder.]
You were fucking six sweeps old when I met you. If you only had those experiences to go on, then how would you know better? It's okay.
[Inasmuch as it can be okay, but Karkat stands by what he'd said. Dave had been fucking thirteen in human years and then he'd been stuck on a meteor full of aliens, none of whom had had anything resembling normal upbringings even by their species' standards. So, with only his own experiences and all that shit to go by... it makes sense that Dave hadn't put this together until now.]
[action]
The more Dave speaks, though, the clearer it becomes that yeah, that was overcompensation, and Karkat gives his moirail a reassuring squeeze on principle, settling in easily enough to listen because like fuck does he have a single goddamn clue what else to do right now. He may not be as good a listener as the Mayor (no one is), but he's better at it than offering advice. That will have to do.
Unfortunately, he's no closer to knowing what to say to make this better by the time Dave stumbles through his apology, and quickly, the hand that had been semi-frozen at the nape of Dave's neck relocates to his cheek for a gentle pap. Why the fuck is he sorry, in what universe is that the correct response? What the hell—]
You aren't stupid. Shoosh, Dave, none of this is your fault.
[His thumb collides with the ridge of those damned, damned sunglasses, and with an exasperated huff, he gently lifts Dave's chin just enough that he can tug them off and set them aside. He should have done that earlier, but whatever, they're out of the way now.]
You didn't know how things were supposed to be, so of course you're going to need time to figure things out. It's not your fault.
[He smooths down Dave's hair again, rests his head against the one parked comfortably on his shoulder.]
You were fucking six sweeps old when I met you. If you only had those experiences to go on, then how would you know better? It's okay.
[Inasmuch as it can be okay, but Karkat stands by what he'd said. Dave had been fucking thirteen in human years and then he'd been stuck on a meteor full of aliens, none of whom had had anything resembling normal upbringings even by their species' standards. So, with only his own experiences and all that shit to go by... it makes sense that Dave hadn't put this together until now.]