callbacks | 5 ∅ [Anonymous Text]

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5 ∅ [Anonymous Text]

[You'd think Dave would have learned his lesson about anonymity, but maybe learning doesn't stick so well at ass in the morning when he can't sleep. At least it doesn't seem like he's really trying to mask his identity, here. It's just...a plausible deniability thing, maybe. Probably, given the content of his message.]

what was growing up like for you
like
how was your childhood
were you happy

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[... Oh. Or he could...

Karkat goes still, hardly daring to breathe. If Dave doesn't—no, what the fuck, he's acting like an entitled little bitch, who is he to demand that his moirail tell him everything, that there be no secrets between them? Maybe somewhere out there, there is—was some lucky pair whose moirallegiance functioned like that, but Karkat is a goddamn expert at this shit by now and should know that it doesn't always work like that. He's just—he's so fucking tired of secrets and skulking in the shadows and never being there, ever, but Dave has nothing to do with that. That isn't Dave.

And if he gets stubborn and insists on something even he knows is utter bullshit, no matter how much he wishes it wasn't, he'll only drive Dave away.]

I'm—I'm not—

[Fuck could he be any more transparent? He's so selfish, stupid, worthless, he wouldn't even blame Dave at this point if he just got up and left.

He tries taking a deep breath, then another. Come on, this shouldn't be such a federal fucking issue.]

I won't blame you if you don't. It's okay, Dave.

[Aw, nuh-uh. That's not going to fly.

There are a lot of things Dave doesn't understand. Nuclear physics, for one. How anyone could think Snoop Dogg isn't the greatest rapper--the greatest creative genius of any musical genre--of his generation. He doesn't understand a good two thirds of the things Karkat says to him because most of them involve either troll society or troll anatomy, neither of which he has studied extensively.

Dave doesn't know how to get meaning out of faces, out of the emotive layers of words. He doesn't know the language. But he does know how to read the particular stillnesses of a body.]

Karkat...

[Dave's holding him, there's no way he doesn't notice how Karkat stops, how long it takes for him to say anything. His palm is flat between Karkat's shoulder blades, and he rubs between them again, moves his hand up to cup the back of his neck before he shifts back to look at him. Lifts his other hand slowly to the side of his jaw.]

I'll try. I...don't say stuff you don't mean, Karkat, it's okay or it isn't but I don't want...

[He doesn't want Karkat to fuckin' martyr himself for his sake. He doesn't want him to say it's okay when it isn't.

He doesn't want to be Bro.

He searches Karkat's face, feeling like he's hiding even while he's right there. He doesn't look away. His voice stays hushed.]

Please don't go along with something you don't want to.

[Saying his name is all Dave needs to do to get his attention, but the hands at his face and neck don't hurt—shouldn't hurt, wouldn't if Karkat weren't being such a goddamn wiggler about this. Boo fucking hoo, his moirail doesn't want to tell him everything, shut the fuck up and deal with it, like any of this shit couldn't be worse? Even if Dave says—if he says...

... He's so fucking weak.]

I d-don't want you to hide things from me.

[The instant the word leave his mouth, he's cringing at them, flinching away from Dave's touch because what the ever-loving hell is wrong with him? God, he sounds so miserable, so pathetic, is he actually this fucking disgusting? Can't keep his own shit in check for a second, oh, sure, prime palemate material he is, who the fuck would trust him to look after them? Dave doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve to be trapped in a quadrant with him, why had he ever opened his fucking mouth in the first place?

He scrubs hard at his eyes and pulls back from Dave entirely, trying to retreat. This was such a fucking mistake, what had he been thinking?]

I just—I just wanted you to t—I kn-know that isn't it, it's just hard for you, you don't need to explain that. I just d-don't want to make you...

[He's not making any sense and he knows it, but every aborted half-sentence is just so awful and he fucking refuses to finish any of them. He doesn't want to control Dave or make him feel guilty or anything; none of this is his fault. It's all Karkat. It's always Karkat's fault.

He rises abruptly, not giving Dave a chance to react. Fuck this. Fuck everything.]

I should go, I'm not—I'm n-not helping you. This isn't what you need.

[He turns and begins to leave.]

[Dave flinches the second Karkat does, yanking his hand back as if burned--or worse, as if it burned Karkat, as if Dave had done something to hurt him. All he can do is listen with mounting alarm as Karkat stumbles through words he usually soars on, is stare up wide-eyed as Karkat stands without warning.

But the sight of his back bites through him like his first step into LOFAF (into the wicked cold, into those high, lonely stars, into the knowledge of that death takes everything) and Dave is past Karkat and pressed back against the door before he can think; he's speaking before he recognizes his voice.]

No, no no no. No, I...

[Dave stills, and the shame catches up like a second blow, but even that can't take out the leaden refusal in his gut, the absolute nonacceptance humming through his bones. Karkat can't leave, and how selfish is that, but Karkat can't leave, not when he looks so crushed.

Dave sags an inch down the door, tries to compose himself. It's hard. Finally, he raises his hands a little, turns them palm-up.]

If--if you want to go, for a while...or... [Karkat leaving for longer than a while doesn't even bear thinking about. Dave tries to swallow the hurt that wells up, but some of it reaches his face before he can cover his mouth and turn away, creasing his eyebrows, squeezing his eyes shut tight. Breathe. Breathe. He can't look at Karkat while he says this, as he moves his hand just far enough away to speak.] Then I won't. Stop you. And I'll be here when you come back, and--it'll be okay.

[If he comes back. If Dave hasn't scared Karkat off for good, made him feel weak and inadequate in the face of how fucked he is. He tried to warn him but Karkat always takes on more than could ever be good for him; Karkat would shoulder the whole world and snap at anyone who came close, even if it was to help him.

Remembering that doesn't salve the stupid little ache too deep in his chest to smooth away. The one that says, bitter, You opened me this much, and now you'll leave me like this.

Concentrate.]

But if--Christ, I. [Dave bites his knuckle until it hurts enough to focus him, until he can drop his arms and meet Karkat's eyes again, however shakily.] If it's about, about me? I've been freighting this bullshit around with me for eight sweeps. I only even started looking at it 'cause of you, I only...I only could 'cause you're here. So don't start saying shit like--like I don't need you.

[Blurting it out leaves him open, leaves him naked, and he doesn't look away. His eyes stay steady, his voice low.]

You said it was both ways. That I'd take care of you, too. What the fuck, Karkat, you don't have to--to earn the right to be with me.

[Karkat doesn't remember seeing Dave move, but whether that's a testament to the other's speed or just how fucking blinded by his own bullshit he is right now, he doesn't know. He rocks back on his heels regardless, sinking halfway into a defensive stance before remembering that this is Dave, he doesn't need to keep him out.

He regrets it an instant later but not because he'd been wrong. He just wishes he could have done anything to keep that look from crossing Dave's face, protected the fragile hope he'd heard in his voice earlier before he'd fucking ruined it, the way he always does. He shouldn't have—he should have—

There's something awful building in this throat, some wounded animal sound that he absolutely can't turn loose, and he strangles it in the only way he knows how, holding everything in until he can't tell if he's lightheaded from rage (at himself) or lack of oxygen. It doesn't help, he's a fucking mess no matter what he does, but Dave doesn't need to hear him screaming imprecations at himself on top of everything else.

Breathe. Fucking breathe, you sack of shit, then do something actually useful with that perfectly good air you just wasted and fix this.]

Dave.

[Oh, brilliant start, I am just fucking swooning over here with your mastery of all things romance. Why don't you try sounding a little more desperate, I don't think he got the fucking hint!]

Dave, I—please, I don't—I never want to leave you.

[His voice is as small as it gets, and furiously, he wipes at his eyes again, sniffs to try and stop—everything. Anything. Why does he keep fucking everything up? He's so tired of it.]

Never. Not if—not if I don't have to.

[He'll only make things worse. That's all he ever does, he's seen it.]

But you... you c-can't need me, I'm no good for anyone. I probably—fuck, you only t-took me as a moirail because you don't know any better, and I just—

[He breaks off, tries sucking in another breath, but nothing comes. He can't do this, he can't fucking do this, how was any of that supposed to help?

This time, he can't hold back his sob, and he buries his face in his hands, wanting to cry at his inability not to because that's a completely fucking logical leap to make, someone nominate you for the Troll Nobel Prize, it's a scientific breakthrough wait no that's just every septic tank in paradox space exploding from the sheer force of how BULGE BREAKINGLY STUPID YOU ARE, YOU SELFISH, SPINELESS LUMP OF GENITAL DISCHARGE.

A shuddering gasp finally makes it through, and with it, Karkat tries yet again.]

This—this bullshit, it's—how? How am I s-supposed to... you shouldn't have to put up with me when you have so much to deal with already!

[He's not sure why it takes until Karkat starts crying for him to get it, but when he does, Dave finds himself sinking nervelessly to the ground with relief. Probably not the right reaction to have when his bro--his moirail--is standing there sobbing and spewing forth nonsense from his face, but, fuck.

He's not leaving. He doesn't want to.

Dave will take broken-hearted weeping over that. At least broken-hearted weeping's let him know what the problem actually is. At least broken-hearted weeping's almost familiar at this point--which sucks and is wrong, so wrong, but it's not leaving.

Dave will take a lot of things over leaving. Dave will die a thousand times before he lets Karkat go off alone.

Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the door with a muted bump, and his voice comes out soft and aching.]

God, you're so dumb.

[He is the palemeister.

He pats the floor next to him blindly, then, eyes still shut, holds his arms out like a kid asking to be picked up. Except there's no way Karkat can lift his long noodle ass, so...?]

C'mere. Sit. I'm not letting you go anywhere like this, Jesus. Do not pass Go, use my shirt as a tissue, I don't care. If you try to open the door over my head I will fucking haul you back by your ankles, don't test me, bro.

[Ah. It seems he is requesting hug time right here on the hotel room floor. Get down here, Karkat, he's tired and he can't keep playing this fourth of the YMCA forever. He opens his eyes, gentle now.]

Come here.

[God, you're so dumb.

The quiet declaration only receives another flinch at first, but while it initially resembles the ongoing Litany of Reasons Why Karkat Vantas Sucks, it also... doesn't. For one, it's too short, and for another...

It's too soft.

He dares to look up at the Dave-puddle on the floor, and. What. What the fuck is this. Hello, sorry, no, he does not speak your language, what is this thing you're doing, please? Hello? Dave actually wants him to—him!—to come over?

There has to be some mistake. But... fuck, even if this is just some act of platonic pity, something to get Karkat to shut the fuck up before whoever owns this temporary communal hivestem kicks them out, he's sick to death of fucking fighting, especially when the one he's fighting is—]

Dave.

[He'd been right, probably—Karkat, that is, and about himself. He couldn't possibly be more pathetic when it comes to this human.

He stumbles over his feet more than once on the way (why the fuck are his legs suddenly jelly, this is stupid), but soon, he's sinking to the ground right next to his moirail and throwing his arms around him. If Dave wants him to let go, he'll have to get a fucking crowbar to pry him off, end of story.]

[Fine by Dave. There is fucking nothing platonic about this bro hug bump. Dave's giving as good as he gets and then some, tucking his head into Karkat's shoulder, sliding both hands up and down his back with a "shhhhh, shhh" before bundling him up tightly in his arms, practically hauling Karkat up into him as he leans against the door.]

There you are.

[And he was where, before? Whatever. Dave sighs across the side of Karkat's neck, content with how right it is to hold and be held by him.]

My turn to be right about stuff. [He nuzzles the space behind Karkat's ear, noses along the line between his hair and his skin.] You don't get to disagree with me because you're automatically wrong. Your response options are 'Yes, wise and learned brainmaster Dave,' or 'massive incoherent crying, but only because I'm too touched for words, not 'cause I'm sad.'

[Dammit. Why doesn't he have three arms. He doesn't want to let Karkat go, probably ever, so he settles for resting the gentle pressure of his cheek alongside Karkat's cheek, for loosening one arm (and not the other, Karkat's not going anywhere) to run his hand in a slow, rhythmic path between his shoulder blades.]

You appear to have acquired some humongous misconceptions about things, which I suppose could be partially my fault for not articulating them properly. But, I mean, you already know I'm fucking junk when it comes to this stuff, it's all new: being pale, hearing nice things expressed about my person without some kind of jokey twist, learning how to be...open and honest about stuff that hurts. [He rubs his cheek gently against Karkat's face. Sorry. He's sorry.] So maybe in conversation I've been focusing a lot on that, on all the newness, and slacking on some of the other fronts.

[He wants to look at Karkat while he says this, but Karkat is a mess and also is very warm and huggable, so Dave just squeezes him again, cuddles up close.]

I may not know what to do with--with affection besides stare helplessly like a tottering fawn into the headlights as it makes emotional Dave pancakes out of my heart's ass--[What?]--but, Jesus, dunkass. [He lets another breath sigh past Karkat's ear.] I grew up knowing John and Jade and Rose. I know what fucking good looks like.

[Softer, now.] ...It looks like you. You help people who never give anything back, and you're smart, and you listen, and, and you care...

[He trails off, momentarily overcome. Keeps holding Karkat. How does he not know how good, how precious, how immeasurably valuable he is, how important it is that he exists? Christ.]

I'll go on in a minute. But first, fuck you for implying I don't know what I'm doing here with you. You insult me, I'm insulted, gag on an entire carton of dicks.

[He doesn't sound insulted, not the way he hefts Karkat up against him like he's considering just gathering him straight into his lap, the way he rubs his nose into Karkat's shoulder again.]

That's, like, an egg carton, by the way. So twelve dicks. Eat twelve jumbo cage-free dicks, Karkat, I wouldn't have a moirail if it wasn't you.

[There's not much closer to get, but Karkat is just as keen as Dave is to try. He's already wound around his moirail's upper body like a particularly insidious strand of ivy, but between the hand on his back, the breath on his neck, and Dave nosing at him everywhere he can reach—fuck, okay, fine, he takes it back: Dave knows exactly what he's doing. He doesn't know what the fuck he's saying but that's probably true of anyone with any level of comprehension of the English language at all, ever. The few parts that aren't an unrecognizable mass of syllables farted out his mouth, though, those are...

He sniffs and hides his face against Dave's chest because fuck you, no, he is not going to cry because he's moved or whatever, who does Dave even think he's trying to fool here? He'd—do something ram the idiot's head into the door again because ~*Dave's heart's ass pancakes*~ alone deserves some form of retaliation, possibly of the extreme variety, but he's not moving for anything right now. Even if that would be satisfying. Holy fuck how can anyone be this bad at piletalk.

As for... the other parts...

He hugs Dave tighter still and sniffs again. He'll do more than straight up cling once he's no longer in danger of losing his shit all over the place, okay?]

You're either braindead, delusional, or your feeble, carbon-based human skull is so completely horrible at protecting your minuscule think pan that you somehow managed to give yourself a concussion from hitting that block aperture with insufficient force to kill a fucking marchbug.

[He pauses, then lifts his head just enough to nuzzle under Dave's jaw and at his throat before tucking his head back under his chin. Just. Give him a minute.]

... I'm sorry.

[Not about the concussion thing; Dave deserved that. He hadn't deserved everything else.]

Edited (reasons? idk) 2016-04-05 21:04 (UTC)

[That is neither agreement nor tears of gratitude, and Dave would take points off for that if the nuzzling didn't distract him entirely, enough that he forgets what he's doing with his hand for a moment. Petting, isn't it? He resumes it, but then moves up to stroke his thumb slowly through the last curls of Karkat's hair, right at the edge of his hairline.]

Mammalian bone mineral's mostly calcium, numbnuts.

[At least, he thinks that's true. Some kind of inorganic compound thereof, he's pretty sure, though there's organic material in there, too.

Man. Bones. Bones are cool.

With Karkat's head under his chin, he just rests his face in the rats' nest Karkat calls hair. Settles in comfortably. His heart rate's halfway back to normal now that Karkat's not going anywhere, thumping less wildly in his throat. It's going to be okay. He closes his eyes.]

Sorry for what. For being good to me? Dude.

[Karkat shrugs minutely and snuggles closer, appeased enough by the petting that he just might not eh fuck it.]

Like I give a fuck what chemical composition any of your anatomy has. But fine, the next time I insinuate I've seen behemoth leavings with a harder consistency than your cranium, I'll remember it.

[Asshole. He'd be so easy to hate if he weren't so fucking pitiable, which is really not the issue right now. Karkat just doesn't want to... ugh. It would be hypocritical beyond belief if he kept his mouth shut now, wouldn't it?

He tries to focus on the rise and fall of Dave's chest beneath his head, the way his voice resonates through his thin frame. Fuck, is he eating enough? Or argh stop getting distracted.]

... Sorry for freaking out at you. And trying to leave.

Edited (WORDS) 2016-04-05 23:41 (UTC)

Mmm.

[He hums it right into Karkat's hair. It occurs to Dave that it's really good he's already sitting down, because he's not even trying to do anything and yet his legs still feel like bean paste. Between everything this, what, ten minutes or so has been, between having to stare The Bro Shit right in the douchey shades and the tide of relief at getting Karkat to stay, he can feel the tension almost literally draining out of him. He has enough energy for an idle thought--how is he going to stand back up?--but it doesn't super matter, and he just concentrates on the steady weight of Karkat against his chest and times his own heartbeat. One two three. One two three. One two. One two.]

Apology unnecessary on the first count, but accepted on the second. [A beat.] You can get me one of those fat, face-sized waffles for breakfast if it's gonna keep bothering you, I guess.

[The soul of magnanimity, it is him. He rubs his cheekbone somewhere above Karkat's temple and breathes out.]

I--I'm sorry for stopping you, too. Not because I think you should have gone, because do you see yourself right now, no, of course not. [He moves his hand from Karkat's neck to sling both arms around him again, cuddle him close. Careful, careful.] But it felt like trapping you, and that's. I don't know, it just feels grody. So. Sorry.

[Karkat actually smells kind of nice.

Maybe his nose has Stockholm Syndrome.]

You know it's okay, right? To need stuff back from me. Like, frankly, I don't know how else it'd be supposed to work, anyway.

Edited 2016-04-06 01:17 (UTC)

[... Face-sized waffle. Right. Like Karkat doesn't know Dave well enough to see the attempt at levity for what it is, much less the implicit acknowledgment that yeah, trying to bail had been a dick move. He is so glad that they can have this open dialogue between them, it's fucking magical.

As vitriolic as his thought processes are, though, they aren't the sort he'd want to share; he's been petty enough. Besides, it isn't Dave's fault that he has to tiptoe around Karkat's feelings like they're a rabid cholerbear. That's—ugh. Fuck, why won't his think pan just stop?

He curls into Dave a little more and shuts his eyes, more grateful for the arms around him than ever. He isn't even thinking about standing, shit's overrated anyway. Maybe next sweep.]

I'm glad you stopped me.

[It sounds stupid and doesn't address Dave's question at all, but he's building up to that, really. He just needs to make this clear before getting into anything.

Shifting restlessly, he adjusts his hold on Dave and stretches his legs out under him, trying to get more comfortable. Why do they keep ending up on the floor like this? No, god, stop procrastinating. Tell him.]

It's—I'm not good at it. At saying when I need someone. [Because that wasn't obvious? He shudders and tightens his hold again.] Or having a moirail who—who's actually around.

[To say the least. And, even if there had been that familiar jolt of fear, he'd managed to push past it, keep from completely fucking spiraling into his usual whatever-the-fuck those were when he thought of Gamzee. He's getting better.

He traces idle patterns on Dave's back for a second or two before concluding,]

I'll try to get better at—at telling you when I need you to, uh. To shoosh me or whatever.

[Was that casual enough. Say it was casual enough. Just lie, he doesn't care.]

[Dave hums again, softer, accepting. Good enough.]

I'll get better, too. At hearing when you say it. [He knows, he knows how hard it is. He'll learn the other ways Karkat says it, the cues he can mark.] ...Shoosh for a while, though. I want to tell you something, and if you stop me, you'll fuck me up.

[He strokes Karkat's back, gathering his thoughts, preparing himself for what he's going to try to do. Finally, he breathes in, exhales shakily across the top of Karkat's head.]

W-when Bro was there...I mean, I guess that was bad. [He breathes in deeply again and plows as far ahead as he can get from that small, raw admission.] But he'd go off a lot to play shows, or...I don't know, I guess. I don't know what he did when he wasn't there. But it was worse when he was gone.

I'd be left alone with--with all those fucking puppets. And it was fine when he was there, because when he was there, like--they were his, they belonged to him, everything in the apartment sort of oriented itself to him. Even...even me. When he was there, things just sort of happened the way he wanted, so even if it was shitty, at least, at least you knew what was up. Who was pulling the strings.

But he'd go, and, like...I'd tell myself it was cool, that he was treating me like I could take care of myself. And I had free run of the apartment and could mess with his shit if I thought I could handle it, like he trusted my judgment. But when he wasn't there, it was dead quiet in there, and all these dolls were just lying around with their eyes open at nothing and I...

[...Too far in. Too much. Dave comes back to where he is with a shiver, tugs Karkat closer, shakes his head to clear it and tries to will the chill and the sudden goosebumps away.]

I couldn't tell him I needed him, it'd...not just for that, even. Like if I didn't have enough food stashed up, or something broke, or I got hurt, I couldn't...he wasn't there. I had to just not need things until he got back, and then...I mean, if I could handle it on my own, then why should I bring it up later, either? I was, I was cool.

[His voice drops, low and bitter.]

But I wasn't. [Dave lets it sit there for a moment, lets it sink into his own ears. It's true. He has to accept that, now. He rocks Karkat a little, slowly, his face in his hair.] So don't you do that to yourself. You need something, you come get it. You're allowed. I--I want you to.

You can need me. It's okay. ...It makes me feel like I matter. You know?

Edited (Don't even look at me right now I've been writing and rewriting this tag in between classes all day) 2016-04-06 17:16 (UTC)

[If it weren't for the fact that Dave had told him not to interrupt, Karkat would be stopping him in an instant to say that he'd better not have fucking decided to share this because he felt obligated to after that bullshit meltdown, but Dave's already beginning to talk and... god. This human is so...

He's not in an ideal position to do much besides listen, but wherever he can, whenever Dave's words fail him or his memories threaten to pull him under, Karkat is there with a gentle squeeze or a nuzzle to try and ground him. "You're safe now," he wants to say, or "I'm here," anything to reassure Dave that he isn't alone—god, leaving really would have been the dumbest thing ever, wouldn't it? Great fucking job with that one, Past Karkat, why not leave your moirail to face all his demons on his own, it's not like you'd have any idea at all how fucking miserable that is, right?

The constant self-recrimination is muffled by the need to fucking listen so he can help Dave in any way he can, but it's by no means gone. How is he supposed to be a good moirail if he can't turn it off?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it's Dave who manages to actually silence it, if temporarily. Trolls aren't typically rocked by their lusii, so Karkat doesn't fully understand what's happening at first, but it's... really, really nice. Calming. It gives him the focus he needs to make this better for Dave, and ultimately, that's all he cares about.

... On that note—]

Dave, you matter for so many more reasons than because I need you.

[It could have sounded sweet. It still does, to some extent, but only by virtue of the words themselves. The tone, on the other frond, is very much not because Calm Karkat is and always has been a blink of a glance nugget away from Angry Karkat and oh my god what is he even hearing right now?

He squirms a little in Dave's arms, not enough to free himself or even free Dave because fuck you he's still got more cuddling to do but enough that he can look him straight in the eye and, okay, maybe they're a little too close for him to glare properly and their foreheads are touching. He's still not moving away.]

My turn to talk, you're wrong, etc, shut the fuck up. Dave, do you—do you have any idea how many people I've met in this place who've told me you helped them or spoke highly of you? Do you understand the impact you've had on newcomers like—like Ashley, who were coming here from all kinds of traumatic shit, or other people you've helped get oriented and figure out what the fuck is going on?

And don't think even for a fucking second that you're just—useful or convenient or whatever the fuck, like oh, because you've finished serving some purpose, you stop mattering and they've moved on. That isn't how it works. You don't only matter because I need you and I'm pale for you and that somehow guarantees your place in the universe. You matter because you're the one who's good. You're smart and caring and—and so much stronger than I ever was.

[His eyes flick away for a moment, then back.]

I guess a lot of that stoic bullshit isn't something you could really help picking up with your insane lusus, but... you still dealt with all of that and Sburb and it didn't break you. You're one of the strongest people I know.

[He pauses for a fraction of a second, anger subsiding because this is important, dammit. The rest needs to be said softly.]

And needing someone doesn't make you weaker.

[Whoa, hey, Dave did not call this Turnabout Paletalk to court, he obviously does not need shooshed like Karkat did. He opens his mouth to interrupt a fruitless handful of times before finally giving up with a huff and staring at Karkat's eyes as well as he can from this distance. It's odd, him trying to look angry this close. It doesn't work at all. At most, Dave's just distracted picking out the different strands of color in Karkat's strange-but-human iris, the varying shades of red. They're brighter than Dave's, he thinks.

His distraction lasts about as long as it takes Karkat to get through half of his second sentence. The questions take him aback, the rest even more so, and he just sits there, blinking, with his forehead pressed to Karkat's as words continue to happen at him.

He only stirs at two things: '...So much stronger than I ever was' makes him frown and start to say something, but the quick return of Karkat's gaze and what he says next--'with your insane lusus'--knock the words out of his mouth, make his eyes tighten a little. He listens. He just listens. And when Karkat is done, when Dave's sure he is, he closes his eyes and bumps their foreheads together in the gentlest, palest headbutt ever witnessed.]

Dumbass.

[It's as soft as Karkat's last sentence.]

That's what I was trying to tell you. If you already knew that shit, why did you make me waste so many words when I could've gone back to mumbling inane horseshit and using your thorax as a pillow. Hella inconsiderate. I'm appalled at this treatment. I demand two face-sized waffles and an ice cream sundae. For breakfast. Five minutes ago. I'll find a Pokémon Denny's, don't think I won't. DeDenny's. It has to exist.

[He doesn't actually want to move, though. Not even for giant waffles. He still feels over-extended after that Tales from the Crypt confession, and kind of generally wrung-out, otherwise. And cold. He wants to go back to his blanket nest and at least zone out, if not sleep.

It makes his voice all quiet and mumbly. He rubs his nose against Karkat's nose, because fuck you.]

I wasn't saying any of that stuff. I don't agree with all of it, but I just meant--it's nice to hear. To, like. Know that I'm actually wanted around. And that I'm not just some big emotional sink that doesn't give anything back.

[An eyebrow shoots up at "That's what I was trying to tell you," but that, uh. Wait. Wait, fuck, what did he just—goddammit, that's completely different.

He makes a frustrated sound that very much wants to be a growl but falls so short of the mark that it might as well have been rocketing backward out the ass of an explosively diarrhetic musclebeast, which is obviously the ideal imagery to have in mind when Dave rubs their cartilage nubs together. Fuck everything, he wants a refund.]

You are the douchiest excuse for a sentient life form I have ever had the misfortune to meet and I regret creating the universe that spawned you.

[... and again, he's about as effectively grouchy as as a half-asleep Shinx. Not that he's referencing any Shinx in particular. That would be stupid, perhaps even stupider than Dave's face.

(The fact that he's returning the headbutt is also completely inconsequential.)]

You're still learning and you're already an incredible moirail, Dave. You give back plenty. Fuck, I'm not sure how the hell I—I mean, if I ever do manage to fill my other quadrants...

[Y e a h, maybe he should just. Leave that thought alone. Forever.

He sighs.]

If I'd thought you were going to be like—like Gamzee, then I wouldn't have started this.

[Fuck that guy.

Even in this state, Dave thinks it with enough rancor to vaporize concrete. Gamzee Makara can actually choke on twelve dicks and die, he's bad and he hopes Terezi jabbed him full of holes and noosed him.

He doesn't vocalize it. He doesn't have to be a good moirail to know Karkat must still care about him. About the Gamzee that Gamzee used to be, at least. Instead, he moves to nose Karkat's temple instead. He has so much hair everywhere, Jesus.]

I can promise that much. I'm not him.

[And that's really all there is to say on the matter.

...As if to back that up, he s l o w l y leans into Karkat until he's pretty much draping onto him and still he keeps going. There will be no survivors. Squishkat is imminent. His new name will be Karflat.]

Karkat, I'm cold. I'm cold and now my bed is cold because I had to go out of it. If you're not going to pull giant waffles out of your ass you should at least address these horrific conditions, how am I expected to function in any capacity, woe, bitching, and lamentations ad infinitum. Fix it.

[Karkat doesn't fully recognize what's happening at first, but one can only spend so long with a goddamn titanium noodle pressing down on them before they start to feel kind of fucking betrayed by gravity. Whose idea was that, anyway? It sucks.

He gives Dave a half-hearted nudge, then proceeds to lean on him right back. Serves the bastard right.]

You're the one who was talking about ass pancakes, Dave, don't fucking pin this on me.

["This" being dubious breakfast making duties, apparently??? God, why is his moirail such a moron. Karkat's laboriously beginning to drag himself off of the floor regardless, though, or at least into a better position to get up again, and impulsively, he kisses Dave's cheek to try and get him to wake up and fucking cooperate.]

Come on, we'll get you to bed and pile shit on top of you until you shut up. Rejoice, Dave, for tonight you shall be suffoblanketed at last.

[... HAHAHA... maybe he won't notice.]

[!

Well, it certainly wakes Dave up. It also turns him roughly the color of a cherry tomato, which takes care of some of the cold problem, too. Face burning, he groans and musses Karkat's hair two-handed to cover it up. At least he's sitting up again, though, so Karkat can esscape to the side.]

You just want me to stop talking. This is obstruction of the press, blockage of the First Amendment, I'm an American citizen and I have a right to free speech.

[With Karkat making all the motions of getting up and removing himself from prime draping range, Dave just flops onto the floor, still groaning, and starts kind of half-dragging, half-rolling himself towards the bed. About a third of the way there, he just stops, prone, and pillows his head on his arms. He really could just sleep if he weren't so cold. Is this what Karkat meant, before, about trying to go back to sleep after a jam session?]

This is fine. Quilt me.

[Like mussing his hair really makes a difference? But okay, Dave, you go right ahead. Live the dream.]

You're not a member of the press, idiot, and we're not in America.

[Or live in reality, that works, too. Either way, Karkat is free enough to stand, not that he fucking wants to on any level, and while Dave rolls(???) his way bed-ward, he busies himself with gathering up the blankets in preparation for flinging them at his moirail's head. Because he cares.

Dave stopping before he even gets to his elevated sleeping platform is not part of the plan, and frowning, Karkat turns back to irritably regard his prone form. What the fuck is this.]

... I'll step on you. Or you'll wake up with an aching torso pillar.

[The first sounds like a threat, but when combined with the second... is Dave actually going to be comfortable there? And what if Karkat does accidentally stumble over him?]

You won't step on me.

[He says it with such perfect faith he could be describing the color of the sky. Statement of fact, proudly irrefutable.

After a moment, though, he turns his head to look up at Karkat waiting there for him, and yeah, okay, this is pretty stupid. He inches forward on his belly, then shifts up onto his knees, shuffles up to his bed, and somehow manages to slither up onto it with as much exaggerated grumbling as possible. Once he's reached the summit of Mount Mattress, he flattens his face into it again, almost completely sideways.]

Mmmhhhnnnnnnh cold.

[... It's unfair on every level that Dave can dispel his worry and anger with so few words. Just. Guh. <>]

Yeah, yeah, hold your hoofbeasts.

[He sounds so disgustingly fond of this loser, what the hell. Not that he isn't, but Karkat may just be getting to the whole piling-on-blankets phase of the operation more briskly than necessary to cover it (and Dave) up, dropping rather than hurling the blankets onto the sliver of Dave's face that hasn't merged with his bed. He doesn't leave the resulting mess the way it is for long, but hopefully the wait is still enough to prove that it's not like he likes you or anything.

And, uh. Right. Karkat clears his throat a little and affects his most casual voice, thus absolutely ruining any attempt at subtlety he probably would have fucked up some other way regardless.]

Did you, uh, actually want to go out and get waffles tomorrow? My treat.

[Without the last two words, Karkat's goofball delivery would have been a premium setup for some good old-fashioned ribbing. As it is, though, this dumb, corny-ass, fake-chill invitation for fucking waffles catches Dave in just the right spot to trip him up.

He realizes with sudden clarity that Karkat is the bumbling protagonist of this romcom, which makes him, irreversibly, the helplessly charmed girl next door.

Jesus. His chest shouldn't turn to mush over something this stupid. It's waffles. He shouldn't feel like the belle of the ball.]

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

[He murmurs it into the bedsheets, basically inaudible. He shifts onto his side so he can see Karkat, lightly tugging the blankets around his shoulders.]

Hell fucking yes, Karkat, I want waffles. I want waffles for dinner, even. Breakfast dinner. We are making this happen.

[The longer Dave goes without giving a response that Karkat can actually fucking hear, why do you always mumble you dickpimple, the more self-conscious he gets. Maybe it's a stupid idea, wanting to go out with his moirail, but they both really fucking need a moment to relax and just be together while not crying all over each other. Sharing space in a hotel room doesn't count, even if it's great in other ways.

... but Dave says yes, so maybe he shouldn't have worried. Doesn't mean he's not letting out a not-quite-imperceptible sigh of relief, though, or fighting back a grin wide enough to make his fucking face hurt. Argh, this is so uncool.]

Okay. Yeah, we can do that.

[Is that his voice? Since does he sound so—so bright and cheerful? Oh god, the smile is getting bigger and he can't stop it, this is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

He turns his head quickly away until he can get the damn thing under control and continues talking in what is probably the saddest excuse for a "normal" tone of voice in all of paradox space. He actually will smother Dave if he points this out, do not test him.]

Then, uh. Breakfast dinner. Tomorrow. Yeah.

[He glances back again and, after a slight pause, reaches over to brush Dave's hair away from his forehead.]

Get some sleep. You need it.

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