![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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
what was growing up like for you
like
how was your childhood
were you happy
[action]
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.
[action]
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.
[action]
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.]
[action]
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.
[action]
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?]
[action]
[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.
[action]
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.
[action]
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.
[action]
... 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.
[action]
Karkat smiles like the sun, like he's the biggest thing in the sky, and Dave's never heard him so happy. He can't help but reflect some of it back, an incredulous half-moon smile he isn't even fully aware of as Karkat keeps pretending he's cool.
Karkat is happy.
Something tumbles in his chest in a giddy, breathless way, like rolling down a hill of fresh laundry under the clearest sky, light and warm and gold. He burns that smile into his bones, promises himself he'll never let it go.
(Uh-oh, some part of him thinks. Oh, shit.)
Still smiling faintly, he closes his eyes as Karkat's fingers graze his forehead, lifts his head slightly to follow the contact, just for a moment. He gets comfortable again, bunching the blankets in a tighter, safer cocoon.]
You sleep, fuckcroissant. You're the one taking me out tomorrow.
[He opens one eye a sliver for one more peek at that expression, feeling comfortable and warm and thrilled anyway, fluttery anyway, like the edges of a baby bird's wings keep brushing the inside of his ribs, soft and dreadful as flight.
(Oh no.)]
Good night, Karkat.
[action]
His hand trails down to Dave's cheek and lingers for a moment while he tries to remember what he was going to say next that was so important. There was probably something, but between that smile and the repeated confirmation that they're going out to dinner tomorrow, it's completely escaped him. It couldn't have been that important.
He hesitates, staring at Dave's face for an eternal second before reluctantly beginning to draw away.]
Good night, Dave.