Chapter Text
> Be Karkat a few days later
You are now Karkat a few days later. You happen to be sitting in front of a computer, the one that happens to be yours, glaring impudently at a piece of paper with impeccable jade green handwriting.
John: ectoBiologist
Jade: gardenGnostic
You would like to pester neither of them. What would you even talk about? Is there anything you could even talk about? You don’t know how to talk to people! The amount of people you converse with on a regular basis that isn’t because you’re literally forced to by being in their presence you can count on one hand. Probably. You haven’t tried. The number of people you converse with of your own free will as in you initiate a conversation you can most definitely count on one hand. How do conversations even start? You don’t know! Who do you even talk to first? Why is communicating with people so goddamn hard?
> Karkat: Message John
Okay but do you really have to? You’ve got like an entire six hours before the month’s out. There’s time, loads of time! All the time in the goddamn world! Six entire hours to write out like, fuck, a script or some shit!
Yeah.
Awesome.
Why the fuck did you open a new chat and why are you slowly typing out…
Aw fuck.
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 16:13 ! --
CG: SO, HELLO.
CG: IT’S, UM. KARKAT.
CG: HELLO?
CG: ARE YOU EVEN FUCKING THERE?
CG: ANSWER ME YOU SHITHEEL.
-- ectoBiologist [EB] is an idle chum ! --
CG: GOD FUCKING DAMN IT.
CG: I’LL JUST SIT IN THE FUCKING CORNER FOR LIKE THE NEXT FOUR YEARS IN SOLIDARY MISERY NOW THEN SHALL I, CONSIDERING I’M THE KING OF ALL FRUITY ASSHOLE RUMPUS PARTIES THAT INVOLVE SHOVING ONE’S HEAD INTO ONE’S ASS.
-- ectoBiologist [EB] is no longer an idle chum ! --
EB: oh hi karkat!
EB: how’d you get my chumhandle?
CG: KANAYA GAVE IT TO ME LAST WEEK AFTER SHE DROVE ME HOME.
EB: you asked for it?
CG: OF COURSE NOT, THE WITCH BULLIED ME INTO TAKING IT AFTER MY DISPLAY AND MADE ME PROMISE TO MESSAGE YOU.
CG: YOU OR YOUR COUSIN, BUT I COULD THINK OF EVEN LESS THINGS TO SAY TO HER.
EB: kanaya’s not a witch! jade’s a lot more like a witch than she is.
EB: oh yeah speaking of that night, i wanted to apologize.
EB: jade and i were kind of assholes and it really wasn’t right of us to squabble over you and i'm sorry. you had every right for blowing up at us.
CG: OH.
CG: APOLOGY ACCEPTED, I GUESS?
CG: THAT’S PRETTY MATURE OF YOU.
EB: what, you think i can’t be mature?
CG: WELL YOU CERTAINLY DON’T ACT LIKE IT!
EB: i'll have you know i've been trying to apologize for like the last week! every day when i saw you at work i was going to say something.
CG: WELL WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU?
CG: ALSO, IT’S BEEN LIKE, TWO DAYS. TWO FUCKING DAYS.
EB: because you just gave me this really dirty look and i remembered that you hate people talking to you when you’re working so i figured i'd just like do it later or something.
EB: oh shut up i’m exaggerating for dramatic effect.
EB: and then i'd forget that i have literally no way to contact you or anything so welp guess it’s time to try the next day.
EB: and then the cycle repeated itself until now i guess.
CG: OH.
CG: WELL, THANK YOU I GUESS?
EB: hehehe no problem!
You stare at the chatlog, rubbing your eyes with one hand. You have no idea where to take this conversation next. How do you become friends with somebody you’re actively trying to become friends with?
Talking to people is hard. It’s hard and nobody understands.
Oh hey look you didn’t have to say shit.
EB: so uh i was thinking…
CG: SHOCKER.
EB: shut up i knew you were going to do that! bluh!
CG: MY RANCOROUS LAUGHTER WILL LAST FOR DAYS AT THAT ONE LINE. I’M A COMEDIC GENIOUS. ALL BOW DOWN BEFORE ME.
EB: you’re such a dork wow let me say what i was gonna!
CG: BE MY GUEST.
EB: …
EB: ANYWAY i was going to ask if i could make it up to you maybe? i dunno, treat you to something or another. kanaya said you’re always overworked so i figured something like that would be nice?
You consider it. What, though? Fuck, if he could take you shopping that’d be great, especially if shopping took place somewhere other than Skaia mall. Maybe you could go to one of the other districts, if he had a car? Obviously he has a car; he offered to drive you home. Christmas was coming up; you could get some shit done. And get the groceries while you’re out.
Or you could bully him into taking you to a movie; there’s still a few in theaters you’re dying to see before you have to settle for crappy internet bootleg version or wait even longer for the DVD (typically you watch the bootleg then actually go buy it because it’s just so beautiful you have to own it god damn it). You pull up movie times.
Oh hell yes Into the Woods. You are totally bullying him into taking you to a movie. And it’ll be so much better than when Sollux dragged you out because holy shit there aren’t any asinine idiots crowding all your personal space!
CG: THERE’S A MOVIE I WOULDN’T MIND A RIDE TO.
EB: a movie, really?
CG: WHAT? SO I LIKE MOVIES. I DON’T GO TO VERY MANY BECAUSE OF SCHOOL, AND WORK, AND THE FACT THAT I, YOU ASININE FUCK NUGGET, DON’T HAVE A CAR.
CG: DON’T FUCKING JUDGE ME MOVIES ARE AWESOME.
EB: oh no i'm not denying that! i love movies they’re totally awesome. what movie?
CG: INTO THE WOODS.
EB: what’s into the woods?
CG: IT’S A REALLY FUCKING GOOD MOVIE BASED OFF A PLAY. FUCKING MASTERPIECE.
EB: oh.
EB: so you’ve seen it already?
CG: WELL. NO. I JUST KNOW IT’S A REALLY FUCKING GOOD MOVIE.
CG: IT HAS MERYL STREEP IN IT THERE’S NO WAY IT CAN BE TERRIBLE.
EB: wasn’t she the bitch in devil wears prada?
CG: MIRANDA PRIESTLY IS A HARDENED BUSINESSWOMAN WORKING A TERRIBLE FIELD BUT IT IS HER PASSION, DO NOT EVEN CALL HER A BITCH TO ME SHE IS SIMPLY THE BEST AND WILL SACRIFICE ANYTHING THAT ENDANGERS HER MAGAZINE IN THE SLIGHTEST.
EB: rose liked the book more
Was there then a two hour debate on the merits of Devil Wears Prada, book versus movie, followed swiftly by the merit of book versus movie in general? Of course there was! You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t defend the movie with your dying breath because MERYL FUCKING STREEP.
But the conversation’s pretty boring for anybody who isn’t you, so the narrative is going to pull a fast one.
> ==>
He picks you up at work as soon as your shift ends. He’s been sitting there since lunch actually, coming in with Strider and waving the phoenix goodbye after about an hour. He’s been wasting napkins by shooting baskets and furiously playing on his (waterproof) DS. You’ve heard more than one “SUCK IT, TRAINER!” followed by a very embarrassed look, so you’re pretty sure he’s playing Pokemon and disturbing your patrons. He’s just lucky Meulin’s on shift today; Nepeta would have torn him apart.
You’re dressed in a sweater and grey jeans. He’s wearing a button up shirt you haven’t seen before.
“Ready to go?”
“Do I look like I’m itching to stick around?” You grumble as you wave goodbye to your boss. “Come on let’s get lost before the coffee fumes get to my head.”
“Okay, okay.” He laughs and nudges you slightly, a light tap with his gooey elbow. “You wanna go home and change?”
“Nah.” You brush off your sweater. He’s making a face at it, one with screwed up contemplative lips. It’s the sweater you’ve had since you were 13 and you love it, damn it, no matter what anybody (even Kanaya) says. “Don’t say a word, it’s an awesome sweater and nothing could be worse than that monstrosity of an apron I was wearing like ten minutes ago.”
John snorts so loudly a bubble pops in his neck. Ewwwww. “It was a perfect monstrosity. I had to beg Dave not to take a picture of it and put it on his stupid blog. Who even thinks of ‘Have a caffeinated Catmas?’ He tried to change my mind. ‘But dude,’ he pleaded, ‘It’s perfect. Why is it Catmas? Why is it caffeinated? Why was there an orange cat swimming in a Christmas mug? And why was it pink? It raises so many questions. Only the internet may know.’ But I convinced him not to because I’m pretty sure you’d punch us in the face if you caught that.”
“Most likely.” You’d noticed Strider trying to position himself, phone in hand as John kept schlooping his fingers around the device. You had figured they were just being stupid. Surprise surprise, they were, in fact, just being stupid. You win the fucking Nobel Prize. “Actually, it’s certainly. I would have punched you two so hard you’d be seeing righteous stars for the next four years and shitting sparkles out of your ass. What theater are we going to?”
“Uhhhh.” John shrugs. “The closest one?”
“The one in this mall is shit.”
“The… second closest one?”
You do some mental mapping, because apparently John’s too dense to have figured out where the pair of you were going beforehand. “The AMC one a couple blocks down in the Meteron?” He shrugs emphatically. Your forehead makes contact with the heel of your hand. “Nice planning, shitlick.”
“I thought the one here would be fine!” He’s gone blue with a flush. “It seemed fine. I’ve been here.”
“The theater here isn’t even fucking playing Into The Woods, you shameful asswagon. Plus I asked you to drive obviously that meant we’re not going to the theater here.”
He does his weird-gross nervous laugh, following you towards the escalators. He walks alongside you, hands shoved into his pockets. The walk is mostly silent for the next block, with some choice commentary from you about the intelligence of most pedestrians and tourists in your city, but you do manage a glance or two back and see that his face keeps doing the strangest twists in something vaguely resembling nerves. Or constipation. Whatever.
There’s a restaurant area in front of the theater. You’re very aware of this, you’ve been here so many fucking times, but most noticeably there’s a Cako stand that you have to pass by. Every time you do pass it by, you usually stare at the macarons wistfully as you pass through, resolving to buy one next time when you can afford it. You can never afford it. As usual, you end up slowing down considerably as you walk by, eyes fixated on the things. They’re fucking delicious and you love them.
You even for a second forget that it’s actually pretty weird behavior and that you have company until John awkwardly clears his throat. “Do you, uh. Want some macarons?” You can see the slime stick together on his nose as he scrunches it. God, slime anatomy is so fucking weird.
“No, I’m staring at the fucking macarons because they’re fucking pretty. Of course I want one, you asinine fuckwit,” you say on autopilot, rolling your eyes. “Doesn’t matter, though, I’m broke.” There’s a watermelon flavored one with your name on it. Next time, you mentally promise it. Next time for sure.
“I’ll, uh, buy you some?” There’s a definite question mark there, and when you turn to fix your best “are you fucking with me” look at him, he just awkwardly shrugs. “If you’d like.”
You stare at him for a second longer in partial disbelief. He’s offering to buy you French macarons, basically heaven in a tiny pastry. Hell yeah. “Yes and please.” You turn to the lady standing behind the counter before he can change his mind. “Can I have… um, three of the watermelon ones and three of the lavender-mint ones?” You don’t exactly feel that guilty indulging (yes you do, you’re lying your ass off, but just this once you’re going to enjoy yourself god damn it). John fucking Egbert must be loaded. He has to be, he spends how much money weekly on coffee he doesn’t even drink?
He buys your ticket too. (He’d better; he offered to take you out. You still offered to pay for yourself, out of common courtesy.)
“So, the one in twenty minutes or the one after that?” He asks you, entering times in the self-serve ticket machine.
“Twenty minutes, dumbfuck.” You say quietly, or at least quiet for you. There are little ones around and you have macarons. “Why would we even go for the later one?”
“I dunno, less kids?” He shrugs emphatically. You stare at the way his shoulder squishes with the motion. It’s fascinating, that’s all. He has a membrane, not skin.
“What the ffffff-” you pause, noticing a kid no older than nine just a few feet away mid-word. “-ffflip are a bunch of kids doing at a theater on a Monday night?” Who even goes to theaters on Mondays? Well besides apparently you, because you have no life. You at and a metric fuckton of people, why is this theater so full, John and you end up sitting in crappy seats in that awkward almost-the-back row.
“So, uh.” John starts, stops, starts again. The fucking master of small talk, everybody. “How do you know Kanaya?”
You swallow the macaron you have stuffed in your mouth. “The Maryams have been basically glued onto my assfu- backwards family since before I was born. Kanaya’s mom’s only about five years older than my dad but she’s been his unofficial mother since like. I dunno, their high school?” You shrug, raising an eyebrow at the two liter of Pepsi he’s hauling out of his bag. “So ever since I’ve been little I’ve just known Kanaya. Like our respective older siblings, we’re like… I dunno. We’re family. She’s a saint and the perfect older sister.” You stuff another macaron in your mouth. Fuck, these things aren’t going to last through the previews, let alone the movie.
“I met her through Rose!” John says, too happily. As if you didn’t already know. “They met online, I think Rose said. And like, lived in the same city for ages before they realized that and could actually meet in person. I don’t know the details. Rose tells Dave more than she tells me.”
You know the story of how Rose and Kanaya got together. You were there, Kanaya excitedly telling you about this perfect girl she knows. Then suddenly they were dating. (It wasn’t sudden; you watched it grow like a perfect romance over years of feelings and heartsickness. It would bring a tear to your eye, if you were the sort of person to cry over your friends’ happiness.)
(You are.)
He keeps talking to you. When he’s not being an annoying assclown, he’s not bad company. You guess. You do, however, have to slap a hand over his (squishy) face to get him to shut up when the previews start. It’s rude to talk through previews and for the next few hours you don’t officially exist. It is you and Into the Woods and Meryl Streep as a witch and Anna Kendrick as Cinderella and uuuuuuuugh the most beautiful musical songs you’re going to fight not to at least hum along to.
Two and a half hours later it’s plain that the movie choice was great if only because John didn’t say a single word. There were kids talking (loudly and behind you and you did want to murder them), but everybody on screen was as perfect as you thought and you two only awkwardly tapped elbows a few times while wrestling for the armrest.
And then after you left (tears in your eyes, the ending touched you in your goddamn soul), John breaks your post-movie reverie. The bastard.
“Hey, you hungry? There’s a place a little ways away with really good burgers.”
You purse your lips, broken from memorizing every shot of that movie (you’re buying it you don’t even care). “I could eat,” you say with a shrug, “But I’m fucking broke. I’ll just scrounge when I get home.”
“That’s okay! I can pay for you. We can take my car; I’ll drive you home after.” His smile is bright and white. Damn him.
You shrug again. “Lead the way.” Cars are better than the bus system, even though you don’t care that much. You’re used to being around people you don’t like; that’s your entire fucking life.
He leads the way to a parking garage maybe a block away. (How much money must he have paid to keep is car in a parking garage by Skaia?? Probably more than you make in a week. What the fuck.) Then he leads the way up a few levels and- you do a double take. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re not even surprised.
“A Prius?”
“Shut up,” he whines. He’s going blue in the face, a crawling flush. “My dad got it for me, okay? It’s great on gas.” It sounds like this isn’t the first time he’s had to defend his car. You wonder what Strider has to say about John’s blue Prius. When you crawl in, you realize it’s a small little thing and Strider probably has entire books of shit to say about how unfriendly it is to people with wings. You wouldn’t be surprised to find the entire work stored under the front seat, actually.
The restaurant he takes you to is all the way out across the city in the hippie district, a place you’ve never been. You’ve lived here your entire life but between never having the cash and living out in the middle of suburbia you hadn’t had the chance to eat anywhere other than “home” and “select restaurants when it’s a special occasion.” You hadn’t even heard of the place.
He orders for himself, way too much food in your opinion. He’s got a bunch of small things that tally up to Too Much Money. “So, what do you want?”
You can’t decide. Not because you don’t know what you like, you’re quite aware of that. But the cheapest thing you can see is fifteen dollars and that hurts you inside. “How the shit can you pay for this crap?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He’s grinning again. “Just pick something, dude.”
You pick something. It’s expensive. He doesn’t even bat an eye, shelling out the cash and taking you to a table to wait out the food. It’s right in the middle of the room and really really high. You have to jump to get in the seat.
The silence starts to get awkward after about a minute of the two of you sitting around. You talk about movies. Somehow, much to your non-shock, by the time your food gets to you both John and you are having a very heated discussion about which is better, Ghostbusters or The Notebook. Ten minutes later, you’re loud and gesticulating with a quarter-eaten burger as John just kind of laughs at your rage, shoulders bubbling.
You get kicked out of the burger joint.
You can’t say you’re surprised. John laughs all the way home, shoving napkins at you as you scarf the rest of your burger in his car.
“That was great!” He says, following your directions right to his door. “That was so great! Ahhhh, the best.”
You don’t want agree. You want to keep arguing that The Notebook is better. But time has passed and also you’re getting out of the car and he’s pretty right about the entire escapade being pretty great.
He stops you before you open the door and gives you a look you can’t place. “So, uh. We should do this again sometime?”
You agree on the inside. On the outside, you say “Pester me sometime, okay.”
“Okay!” His smile could blind people, nervous and bright. “See you later, Karkat!”
“Later, John.”
You almost go immediately to sleep. You don’t, however, and instead you sit down at your computer. Not to code, holy fuck. You’re just going to unwind a bit, maybe watch some cat videos. Gamzee isn’t around to talk to, if you were going to do that, so you get to entertain yourself for a little bit.
You have a notification on your Pesterchum. Huh.
-- gardenGnostic [GG] started pestering carcinoGenesist [CG] at 20:27 ! –
GG: so howd it go??
CG: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?
GG: its jade!! hi!!
CG: HOW DID YOU GET THIS HANDLE?
GG: rose gave it to me
CG: AND HOW DID ROSE GET THIS HANDLE?
GG: kanaya gave it to her
GG: you were supposed to contact me you butt but you didnt so here i am contacting you
GG: i actually got your handle awhile ago but i was waiting :P
CG: FOR WHAT?
GG: your thing with john duh!! i wanna know how it went!!!!
CG: HIS APOLOGY? IT WENT FINE I GUESS.
GG: his apology huh
GG: thats what it was
GG: right
CG: OF COURSE THAT’S WHAT IT WAS. WHAT THE FUCK ELSE COULD IT BE?
GG: oh no yeah totally! yeah what else could it be
CG: WHAT WAS THAT FOR?
GG: nothing!
GG: a girl just has ideas you know
CG: IDEAS.
GG: yep!
GG: :)
CG: ARE YOU GOING TO EXPAND ON THESE IDEAS, HARLEY?
GG: nope!
GG: :D
CG: OF COURSE YOU AREN’T.
GG: so tell me about it!
You tell her about it.
> ==>
“Hey, Karkat!” John says as he leans over the counter a few weeks later. The shop is almost deserted, so you only give him your customary glare, rather than one attempting to burn his head off. “Wanna hang out today?”
“Busy. And didn’t I tell you to pester me?”
“I am pestering!” You want to smear creamer all over that shit-eating grin. In the background, you can see Strider taking pictures of/with his coffee. Was that a fucking duck face? “How about tomorrow, then?”
“I have class tomorrow.”
“After class?”
“I have homework.”
“Day after tomorrow?”
“Why don’t you just use the god-” You make a conscious effort not to swear when you’re on shift. “-dang-“ he snickers messily “-messaging program and stop bugging me at work?”
“I keep forgetting.” At least he’s honest. “And it’s better face to face, right?” He gives you that smile, the one that’s bright and white like he’d never been denied anything before. You want to punch it. Softly. (With your face. (No you don’t what was that.))
Meulin, who’s working with you this shift instead of Nepeta, is giving you a look. You know That Look. In fact you’ve known it since you were six and she learned that a girl may have had a crush on you and she thought it was the cutest thing. She tried to set you up, and it turned out that girl just wanted you for your crayons. That Look makes you extremely nervous and it’s often extremely misplaced.
“John, I’m working right now.”
“I can see that.”
God you’re thankful you’ve been doing this long enough that you can move on autopilot. Meulin’s still watching you, giving you a perfect “:3” face over the cup she’s holding. (Oh no, wait, sorry, a perfect “(`^ω^´)” face, you forget sometimes). “Can you wait?”
Karkat’s hip, meet cat butt. Hello cat butt. Your basically-step-sister is painfully close, one arm slung around your neck. “Karkat, don’t be rude!” She shouts in your ear until you motion frantically to turn the volume down. “Obviously this purrfured customer wants to talk to you, so talk to him you must!” She’s nudging you hard in the small of the back with her tail, giving you That Look, the one that screams unwarranted and completely misguided shipping. Holy shit you’re glad your shift ends before hers.
“Um.” John steps back a little, eyeing Meulin’s grin with slight apprehension. “So, you wanna do next week? Sometime? Like, Saturday?”
Saturday… Are you doing anything Saturday? You turn to ask if you’re working but Meulin’s already shaking her head emphatically.
“He doesn’t have work!” She says, dropping you and giving you the biggest grin you have ever seen on that feline face. “So he’s free! Have fun, Karkitten!”
“... Thanks?” You say, putting the cup down, but she’s already got her back turned to you. “Um, order for Alice?”
==>
And so, next Saturday, John takes you around the city again. He drags you to Chinatown and messes around in all the cheap souvenir stores. You feel like a tourist as he throws a dragon mask on you and parades you in front of the mirror with his slime slorping around your face.
You can feel his pulse when he stops mashing you around, holding your head to the mirror.
“See Karkat? You look great!”
You look like a culturally insensitive tourist in cheap plastic. It’s a garish thing, yellow and red and green with the strange eyes that stare into your soul.
He buys it for you as soon as you say so.
“Why the fuck did you do that,” you grouse as the elastic goes over your arm. You’d throw it out if there were any trash cans nearby; it’s an atrocity that should be burned in fire. “It’s hideous.”
“You looked awesome!”
“You’re hallucinating. We need to get your eyes checked. Those glasses aren’t working.”
He just laughs at you some more, the shithead. Laughs in that awkward way of his, messing with his glasses. “They work just fine, Karkat, you just have a thing!”
“A thing.”
“Yeah, a thing!” He bumps you. Why is he so comfortable touching you. Nobody’s this comfortable touching you except for Kanaya (and Gamzee for some reason). “The worst thing. Such a bluh thing. Why do you have this thing, Karkat?”
“You’re so helpful in enlightening me to the thing.”
His smile almost turns wicked. “A thing against being called good stuff! Like awesome! Or cool! Orrrrrrrr…” And he mooshes his hand into your hair and leaves parts of himself behind in it. “Cute!”
Your shouting gets you kicked out of that little tourist shop. John only laughs and laughs and laughs some more. You think he gets off on it.
You eat at a small Chinese restaurant and John pays for it all. Do you feel guilty about ordering one of the more expensive soups? Nope, screw that, wontons. Mmm.
“Sooooo,” John says slowly as you slurp noodles. You look up at him through your mop of hair and try not to make horrifically gross noises. “Your co-workers sure are. Um. Interesting.”
You swallow. “The Leijons are insane, you can say it.”
“I didn’t say nothing!” He raises his hands defensively and you quirk up an eyebrow. “Just. I’m just thinking about, um, the one with the longer hair? She was, ah. Interesting.”
“Meulin’s even more insane, you can say it.”
“Is she always so...” He gesticulates for a word. “Invested?”
“Yep.” Slup, more noodles, oh hey look, chicken. “Since I was maybe four.”
“You’ve known her for that long?” A perfect “o” with his mouth. You’re almost impressed. Instead, you just shrug and attempt to stab a wonton.
“Their mom’s dating my dad. I’ve known them my entire life, basically.” You tell him the whole story- he seems interested. You tell him how your mom just kind of left the picture (“nobody really told me the details; I was too young to know and now that I’m older I decidedly don’t want to”), how Kanaya’s mom (“everybody just calls her the Dolorosa, for reasons I really don’t know, I don’t even know if Dad knows her name anymore at this point”) consoled your father and helped take care of his ruffians. How he met Nepeta’s mom during a parent-teacher night at school, where students were encouraged to bring their family to talk to their teachers, and Nepeta had been in your grade and class. How they got along splendidly well immediately and started dating less than a year later. Not that you knew they were dating, of course, you were in first grade and nobody tells you shit. You make that a point, too.
“Nobody fucking tells me anything in this family,” you grouse. “Nobody! Nobody fucking told me they were gay, thanks for that bro, introduce me to your boyfriend when I catch you making out in the parking lot, that’s just great. Oh no, he says he’s taken a vow of chastity. I’m sure he has. I’d believe it too, if I hadn’t seen his ass getting groped on the goddamn couch!”
John accidentally inhales a chunk of broccoli. “Wait, what?” He croaks, forcing it down through water and some pretty impressive throat work. “Kanaya’s sister told me your brother was-”
“Porrim knows better than to believe his horseshit.” You don’t even bother mentioning that Kanaya’s sister is also practically your sister-mom and that you’re not surprised she’s been talking about Kankri. She does that. She practically dotes on him, if doting involved well-timed backhands and feminist rants. (You agree with everything she says.) “I’m sure she’s just keeping his secret. All the Maryam-Leijon-Vantases know Kankri’s a hypocritical fucknard.”
He snorts, dropping his head to the table. Oh would you look at that, it seems like he’s given up eating. You’re tempted to swipe his wontons. “Oh my god I can’t believe you just unironically used fucknard in a sentence.”
You flip him off. It was the first thing to come to mind, screw him. And screw him for watching you, while you’re at it, because you’re trying to eat but he’s making it horrifically awkward because he’s looking at you and you have enough trouble. He pretends he wasn’t when you mention it, but his eyes are very bright and it’s hard not to notice.
He asks for fortune cookies, if they have any. They do, and he gets them for you guys. (The servers were probably going to give the pair of you fortune cookies anyway, because that’s just what happens.)
“You should heed the advice of close friends,” yours reads. You sigh and roll your eyes. That’s not even a fortune, what the fuck. You crumple it without care and resign yourself to perfectly crappy wedges.
You expect him to take you home after dinner. Chinatown’s closing down already- it’s the latest area to open and the earliest to close, you’re almost convinced. It’s only eight thi- uh, nine, you’d expect at least a rest stop to be open. You guys were lucky that you could find and open restaurant at seven-thirty.
You are very, very wrong about the going home part, which you only discover through the drowsy haze of Chinese food when you come to a stop in front of a store.
“What the shit,” you ask helplessly as John jumps out of the car and races around to open your door.
“It’s a surprise, come on!”
“Egbert, how can you possibly move with roughly four ducks and a couple pelicans sloshing around your stomach?”
He shrugs, the little shit, and grabs your arm. The air is cold, considering the suns gone down, and you’re wishing you brought a jacket. You should know better than to go out without one at this point, really, you’ve been living in this city for how long? You survey the scene as you step-hobble out of the car, looking up at the Staples store you’re parked in front of.
“Staples,” you say blandly. He shakes his head and heads for the crosswalk.
“Follow me, Karkat!” You don’t have a choice. He’s got his hand around your wrist and you sort of stumble behind, not going red in the face at all. Nope. It’s not like you have a strange thing when it comes to your hands and your wrists and having them held isn’t slightly uncomfortably intimate. John’s stupid, so stupid, and just wayyyyyy too into touching people. He does it all the time, from what you can tell, and he’s got his hand around your wrist, almost around your own hand, and something secret and whispering is crawling down your back at that.
You also don’t have a crush on him, not even a tiny one, you have never once thought he was cute and the lamplight is not reminding you of that at all.
(on a different note, the yellow light shines a little through his skin and that’s fascinating)
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see!” he says, marching you up the hill. The entire city is made of hills, and he’s going at a strong pace that makes you whine loudly inside. You’re still full, god damn it, he’s made entirely of energy and determination. You resign to your fate, barely keeping up and tripping over your feet a bit.
You trudge a long up some more hills until you reach a park. It’s a large park from what you can tell.
“A park?” You question. What the hell are you going to do at a park at ten pm?
“Yep!” He says all smiles, with that familiar shit-eating grin of his.
He takes you through the park until you reach a large play-ground. You end up on the swings. He stands and watches you, smiling the whole time. Eventually you stop swinging and stare at John. It’s awkward and quiet for a minute before he pipes up.
“We should play Never Have I Ever!”
“Egbert that’s a horrible idea, for more reasons than one. I’ll break them down for you, 1. There are only two of us, 2. That’s a drinking game… We don’t have booze, and 3. There are only TWO of us.” You snort back.
“I dare you,” he says as he pokes your cheek. “I double dare you!” His fingers leave your face sticky, or at least wet.
“I’m not playing Never Have I Ever with you, are you five?”
“Twenty, close enough.” He shrugs and sits down on the ground crisscross-applesauce, looking up at you sitting on the swing. “Come on man. We’re doing this. We’re making this happen.” He says the last word funny and giggles to himself. You’d put money on it being a reference.
He doesn’t let you get out of it, not even when you point out that there’s no booze so it’s useless to be playing Never Have I Ever out in the cold at night at a park. He even tries to tickle you into submission when you let your guard down for a few seconds and somehow you end up sitting on the ground with him, slime oozing though your clothes.
“I’ll go first, and then you, until we hit ten. And thennnnnn, because we don’t have booze...” he looks around thoughtfully. “Loser has to tell an embarrassing story!”
“Hell no.”
“Too late, you agreed! Now, never have I ever... lived by myself!”
You keep your point. “Never have I ever gone to a rodeo.”
“Who’s ever gone to a rodeo?” He keeps his point. “Never have I ever... gone skydiving.”
“This game is going so many places. Never have I ever owned a fucking Prius. ”
“Hey! That doesn’t count! Low blow!” You raise an eyebrow at him, looking pointedly at his finger. He sticks his tongue out at you, putting it down. “Fine, never have I ever worked at a coffee shop!”
“Never have I ever caused a ruckus in a coffee shop with my bird friend!”
“Never have I ever- hey, that wasn’t a ruckus!”
“What about the time with the tables?” You eye him sideways, eyes narrowed a little. His cheeks puff up.
“Which time?”
“See? Put your fucking finger down.”
“Fine, fine! I’ve... never done drugs.”
You deliberate for a second- you’ve smoked pot before, sure, but only maybe one and a half times before deciding it really wasn’t for you. Unfortunately, it’s been a thing you’ve done. Shit. You put down a finger. “It was one time,” you insist. “And I’ve never shot a gun.”
John loses one. You raise an eyebrow.
“It was an accident. I was ten! My step-cousin has a shitton of guns around, and I was being dumb, nearly took off my own head.”
You raise the other eyebrow. “How are you still alive?”
“I’m lucky?” He shrugs emphatically. “Never met a drug dealer.”
Neither have you. You’ve both never snuck out of the house, either. You have gone skinny dipping, he hasn’t. You’ve never broken a bone, he has. You’ve been black out drunk, he hasn’t, and neither of you have paid somebody to get you booze. He’s never dated anybody younger than him, Terezi’s a few months younger than you. Neither of you have ever been fired (he admits he’s only ever worked for relatives before). He’s never been kissed on a dare, but you have, and he’s... gotten into a fistfight?
“How the fuck did that happen?” You ask, looking him over as he glances away sheepishly. He’s gone a bit blue flushed in the face. “You’re like the poster child of happy go lucky spring and sunshine!” Except, you saw that he’s not. Not entirely, at least, and you think of his skull showing through his slime as he threatens a harpy.
It’s hard to reconcile that with the boy who’s absently rubbing at his face and not meeting your eyes. “This guy was saying shit about Dave and Jade and I, uh. Kind of launched at him and pummeled his face into a reddish pulp?”
You level him the most deadpan stare and nod combo you’ve ever done in your life. Then you roll your eyes, decidedly not thinking about that. And they say demons are violent, yeesh- the most you do is yell so hard your throat gives out.
“I!” John announces, continuing the game, “Have never kissed on the first date.”
Terezi’s making you lose a good number of points here, you think as you put a finger down. You hadn’t meant to- you were going to do things properly, take her out on a few dates and kiss her sweetly on the doorstep when you returned her to her mom, the lawyer who could probably kill you four different ways.
You hurt just a little when you remember how she pulled you into her arms before the movie started and stuck her tongue in your throat without any preamble. She said the inside of your mouth looked funny. Sometimes you think about that.
It was a strange experience.
“I’ve never dumped anybody,” are the next words to come out of your mouth. John looks away and puts a finger down. You’re not surprised, somehow.
“Never turned someone down,” he says almost as an explanation. You put down a finger, remembering a fifteen-year-old Nepeta quietly confessing her feelings as you petted her hair and assured her that you loved her like a sister and you were sorry. She cried in your arms and you felt like the worst kind of person, even though you couldn’t help it.
“I’ve... “ you’re running out of ideas and out of fingers, shit, you’re down to two and he’s down to four. “I’ve never been kissed in the rain.”
“Me neither.” Shit. “I have... hmm.” His lip juts out from below his teeth as he thinks in an exaggerated pout. “I have never... gotten a lap dance... from a girl!”
“But you have from a guy?”
“Dave.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing. You nod, somehow understanding that it’s very obviously a “Dave Strider” thing to give your best bro a lapdance, and look back at your hand. Shit. One finger. Terezi cost you more points. Curse her and her propensity to do random shit.
“I’ve never...” And curse your inability to think of things you haven’t done, shit, fuck, dicks. “I’ve never been brought flowers.”
“Dave,” John explains again as he looks down at his hand and reduces his number. “Dave does shit like that for the ironies. This somehow made him a great and awful boyfriend at the same time.”
“Wait what.” You blink twice.
“Well, he’d do such nice romantic shit, right? But not because he thought it’d be romantic or anything, because it’d be funny. Which it totally was! And I was cool without any romo inclinations to him- I mean he has a hot butt, have you seen that butt, but he’s my bro. And has always been my bro. No romo, lots of homo.”
“You dated that buttmonkey?”
“He has a hot butt!” John protests, poking you. “And he was my best friend so I thought I was romo for him too? Because I liked his butt and I like his personality a lot and shit. But we did a lot better as friends- dating Dave was more like... friends with benefits, I guess. Not really dating. Lots of sloppy makeouts, though.” The things his eyebrows are doing are illegal.
“Please never mention anything you and Strider may or may not have done ever again. Ever. In your life. Not to anybody. Nobody needs that mental image.”
“I can imagine that in all CAPs, hehehe. And!” You swallow almost nervously. “Never have I ever... brought anybody flowers!”
“... Shit.” That puts you at zero and him at three, the backwards monkey snot. Curse your dedication to romance! (Not actually, you really do enjoy it even though it tears out your heart more often than not.)
“You gotta tell a story now, come on!”
“No I don’t.” You look away, arms crossed. “Not on your life.” Not that there isn’t an assload of material to tell. You’ve done some pretty embarrassing shit and you’ve had some pretty embarrassing shit done to you in turn. It’s just that you kind of really don’t want to talk about it. At all. Ever.
Are those puppy dog eyes?
“Come oooooooon, it’s the rules. You gotta!”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I see your point, but consider this: No.”
He lunges toward you, fingers outstretched. On pure instinct you launch to the side, scrabbling wildly at the rubber ground until you’re standing, already in motion with arms pinwheeling and feet moving faster than your body.
“Hey!” John shouts after you, a splat on the ground. You don’t turn, you just keep running, scrabbling up the nearby rubber hill towards the top of the slides. “No fair!”
“All’s fair in-“ you grunt, scaling the monkey bars so that you’re standing on top of them. “-standard bullfuckery.”
“I don’t think that’s how it goes,” he says, patting his face back into place. Then he’s under you, looking up through squinted eyes before stretching his arms up- and up and up, christ, you forgot he could do that. You take off again with him hot on your trail, dashing under equipment and over rubber hills. He’s fast, for a slime, but it’s rather dark and you have demon eyes. More than once you hear a “ow, fuck!” from behind, but he doesn’t stop and neither do you.
God, your endurance is low, you’re out of shape. You’re already breathing hard as you clamber up the hill again, standing at the top of the slide. A little nervously, you might add, because you lost track of John a lap and a scramble ago. The cold bites into your clothes, spearing right through your whip-thin and now sweaty frame. You shiver.
“Got you!” Comes from below before you can react, your entire foot engulfed in a hand. The bastard was hiding under the slide! Curse innocuous playground equipment! You try to run, dashing back down the hill, but you slip on fog-damp ground and crash right on your ass, sliding down in the most ungainly fashion.
He laughs, the asshole, and proceeds with jamming his cold jelly fingers in your armpits until you shriek like a prepubescent girl, flailing madly. Your blows just bounce his skin, distend it a little, no unsettling cutting-through-the-slime-skin, for which you’re quite thankful, though he doesn’t even seem phased at how you’re thrashing about wildly with teeth and claws out.
Oh shit, teeth and claws are fucking out, you notice a bit too late. It’s hard to keep up appearances when you’re being fucking assaulted, and you try to say words to surrender (jesus fucking christ is this kid determined) but all that comes out is wheezing and howls of shrieking laughter. When you push past that, you find you also have to muscle through the clicks and snarls your voice box has become.
At least he pauses when you start chittering and buzzing at him.
“Are you... chirping?” He asks, his hands still dangerously places.
It takes a few swallows before you can easily do coherent words. “No,” you lie to his face. “Get off me!”
“Tell me a story.” His fingers twitch threateningly, though his smile only gets wider. You look at it for a second too long, caught between fear and awe, before smacking him away.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you your goddamn story.” You grouse, getting comfortable. Your ass hurts, your sides hurt, your face hurts, and you’re glad it’s dark because you’re pretty sure you’re starting to show some plating and you’d basically have to kill yourself if you did that. It’s bad enough he knows you’re a demon, bringing in the kind you are is something you’ve only done with maybe four people.
He looks on eagerly. Fuck your life with something hard and sandpapery.
You groan. “Okay, so, back in high school, I used to date Terezi-“he lets out this comically loud gasp that you promptly kick him for it. “And we went camping a few times, usually with a group of people because for some reason my dad has this tent big enough to hold the livelihood of at least four to six people and their pets. Anyway, this one time, she and I go out on our own with my dad’s blessing- be safe, use bug repellent, don’t get her knocked up, yada yada yada. And we went camping next to a river, slow moving, had a lot of pools here and there in the bends. She wanted to go swimming, sure, so I brought my suit, yeah? Except she got booze somehow, probably from her older sister, and brought enough shit to get thoroughly plastered. Halfway through the haze she drags me to go swimming, but I’m not so stupid. I go to get my suit. Except it’s gone. All of my underwear’s gone too, basically everything I’d use to swim with. She still wanted to go, and I was drunk enough to follow anyway. That’s how I went skinny dipping- it was one time!”
He waits as you think about how to phrase the next words without him laughing too hard at you.
“That’s not very embarrassing,” he goes finally, before you continue.
“Not done.” He nods and you sigh. Fuck, you hate this story. It rings something hollow in you. “That’s also the night we got black out drunk afterwards, and I have no idea what we did at all, but I woke up the next day with the hangover of a lifetime and Terezi nursing some heavy-duty painkillers. Still without my clothes, I might add. She reveals then, in headache and hangover, that she hid my clothes so that she could force me to skinny dip. And, during the night, I guess some critter got into it because when she went to get them they all had these huge rips and holes in them, what wasn’t absolutely filthy. It was all unwearable. I was forced to go commando the entire weekend, which sounds fine. Sure. If Terezi wasn’t evil and determined to pants me every five minutes.”
Snerk, he goes, trying to keep his cool face.
“Once she did it so suddenly that I actually fell down, bare ass in the air waving like a goddamn flag.”
Pfftsnnnnnrrrrk, he goes, and then just starts cackling. “Oh my god I can totally see her doing that! How old were you delinquents?”
You shrug. “Seventeen-ish.”
“Oh my god,” he says, and that’s that. You sit in weary silence for a while, still huffing a bit from the sudden exertion. Shit, you’ve gotta get some exercise done. Walking apparently isn’t good enough, time to see if you can get into the school gym without being on a team.
A yawn catches you off-guard. What time is it even? You fumble for your phone, blinking in its harsh light. Eleven thirty. Well then. You’ve definitely stayed up later, but fuck it, you’re tired.
“Home. Take me. Let’s go.”
“What? But why?” John says through his own yawn, looking up at you with puppy eyes as you stand. “We only played one round.”
“We’ll assume I won the second one and you can owe me an embarrassing story, I’m falling asleep on my feet.” You’re not, but you really do need to get home. You might not have any pressing homework (you worked double time to get it out of the way for today) but sleep is a thing that happens. Plus there are thoughts that you’re not having that’re trying to creep into your pan.
He complains, of course he does. Grabs you around the middle and whines like a puppy, still on the ground. Something aches a little when he does, and it must be that his eyes are just. Impossibly blue. It’s kind of annoying and you want to jab them out and keep them in jars how fucking creepy is that oh my god you don’t even collect dead things. You convince him to take you home though, claiming that Meulin scheduled you for tomorrow. She didn’t, of course, but he doesn’t know that. As much fun as you’re having – yes, you’re having fun, just because your laughs are sarcasm-only doesn’t mean you’re not having fun – something about the way you’re just interacting is setting off some strange bells. They make you feel things and you’re not sure what those things are but it’s not pretty.
(You have an idea and you immediately scrap it. No use dwelling on feelings you may or may not have; you’ve learned better not to think about it.)
He walks you to the door, waving enthusiastically as your incredibly high roommate as Gamzee opens the door. You guess he heard you. You wave back at John, make sure Gamzee’s doing okay, and curl up in bed immediately. With your computer.
You fall asleep on it.
> Be Future Karkat
YOUR ENTIRE LIFE IS A LIE. A LIE FILLED WITH SCREAMING AND YELLING AND YOUR DAD BEING WAY TOO EXCITED ABOUT INSIGNIFICANT THINGS; WHERE DID PORRIM GET THAT CAMERA?! SHE NEEDS TO PUT IT DOWN AT ONCE.
YOU’RE HAVING TROUBLE BEING FUTURE KARKAT, BECAUSE FUTURE KARKAT IS TOO EMOTIONAL FOR ANYONE TO BE RIGHT NOW.
> Uh. Be Karkat a little bit farther in the future??
You hate literally everything.
Your face hits the pillow with your entire weight behind it. You’re so tired and very emotionally drained. Perhaps someday you’ll look back on this night and laugh. Perhaps someday you’ll stick your foot in a blender just to see how it feels. Hey, you never know.
Your phone is going off. You check it blearily, looking at the texts. Oh joy, pesterchum notifications from Sollux.
TA: kk why ii2 my dad textiing me 2hiit like “YOU KNOW KARKAT?!” over and over
TA: kk why do you know my dad
TA: kk ii2 there 2omethiing you’re not telling me
Swipe right, hold phone overhead, do not take face out of pillow, start typing.
CG: YOUR DAD IS A DIRTY FILTHY LIAR THAT KEEPS SECRETS FROM US ALL.
TA: what the fuck
CG: I TRUST NO ONE ANYMORE.
CG: NO ONE.
TA: what the fuck
TA: doe2 thii2 have two do wiith the thiing he alway2 doe2 every year where he goe2 out for holiday2 wiithout u2
TA: iit doe2 doe2n’t iit
CG: NO.
CG: YES.
CG: MAYBE. I DON’T KNOW.
TA: plea2e enliighten me kk and a2 quiickly a2 po22iible 2o my miind doe2n’t 2creen2aver from the boredom of lii2teniing two your garbage
TA: ii’m haviing a hard enough tiime dealiing with hii2 “ΣOLLUX WHY DO YOU NEVER TELL ME ANYTH♊NG ABOUT YOUR L♊FE?”
CG: BECAUSE THAT REALLY MAKES ME WANT TO TELL YOU, DOESN’T IT.
TA: ye2
CG: OKAY, SO, I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE KNOWN YOUR DAD FOR THE ENTIRETY OF MY LIFE.
CG: IT’S A GROWING POSSIBILITY AND BY THAT I MEAN IT’S AN ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY AND PSII IS A HORRIBLE SECRET-KEEPING FUCKING TV.
TA: how the fuck do you know my dad and not put iit together that he’2 my fuckiing dad
TA: we’re both objecthead2
CG: OBJECTHEADS ARE PRETTY COMMON SOLLUX; IT’D BE RUDE TO ASSUME.
TA: objecthead2 wiith the la2t name “captor”
CG: IT’S A FUCKING COMMON LAST NAME!
TA: no iit ii2n’t
CG: YES IT IS. A LOT OF PEOPLE HAVE YOUR SHITTY ASS LAST NAME.
TA: ii ju2t looked iit up kk there’2 liike thiirty people wiith my la2t name iin thi2 ciity and thii2 ii2 a huge a22 fuckiing ciity
CG: DOESN’T MEAN IT’S MY FAULT FOR NOT PUTTING TWO AND TWO TOGETHER.
CG: ISN’T IT THAT YOUR GODDAMN THING, SHITTING OUT ONE LOUSY ASS NUMBER AND PUTTING YOUR UNMITIGATED FECES WITH MORE OF ITS KIND?
CG: DIDN’T YOU EVER ASK WHAT YOUR DAD DID EVERY SINGLE MAJOR HOLIDAY?
TA: ii diidn’t really care to be hone2t iit’2 kiind of boriing
TA: we never really diid holiiday2 at my place anyway even when he diid 2tay home
TA: wa2n’t a biig deal
TA: so thii2 ii2n’t on me
TA: ii can’t fuckiing beliieve you diidn’t get iit oh my god
TA: then agaiin iit took you how long to realii2e we know each other at work
TA: you’re really bad at thii2 kk
You block him. You’re too tired to think of a good comeback, mind still reeling. Psii. Uncle Psii, something Captor (it’s been so long since you’ve heard his first name you’ve forgotten it and you’re too prideful to admit that and ask him), the man you’ve known your entire life... is your shitty ass best friend’s dad. Your life is in shambles.
Oh hey John’s messaging you.
EB: merry christmas!
EB: karkat?
EB: it says you’re online, come on crabby pants.
EB: kaaaaaaaarkat
CG: HELLO DIPSHIT.
CG: MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO.
EB: how was the ‘rents?
CG: THE WHAT?
EB: you were at your parents’ place, right? how was it?
CG: A FUCKING DISASTER.
EB: ooooooookay then. what happened?
CG: CAN I NOT TALK ABOUT IT? THAT’D BE A THING I’D VERY MUCH LIKE NOT TO DO. EVER. IN FACT, IF YOU COULD JUST PLEASE LOBOTAMIZE ME THAT’D BE GREAT.
EB: what? no, i can’t do that!
EB: that bad though, huh?
CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA.
EB: we used to have some pretty intense christmases back at home, so i might.
CG: DOES YOUR GUARDIAN THINK THAT YOUR DINNER WENT WELL EVEN THOUGH MULTIPLE PEOPLE, NOT JUST ME THANK YOU VERY FUCKING MUCH, SPENT TWO ENTIRE HOURS SCREAMING, JUST BECAUSE, AND I’M QUOTING HERE, “well at least no+bo+dy go+t any black eyes this time. LOL!!”
CG: SHE ACTUALLY SAID THAT.
CG: OUT LOUD.
CG: AND I’M TALKING AN ACTUAL EL-OH-FUCKING-EL HERE.
EB: wow.
EB: your mom is kind of a dweeb.
CG: SHE’S NOT MY MOM. SHE’S MY DAD’S PSEUDO-MOM.
EB: what?
CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT KANAYA’S MOM HERE. THE DOLOROSA, WE CALL HER. FOR REASONS I DON’T EVEN KNOW; DAD’S BEEN CALLING HER THAT SINCE BEFORE I WAS BORN.
CG: ‘ROSA FOR SHORT.
EB: oh! i see how it is.
EB: well i can’t lobotomize you or anything, so do you want me to take you out instead? go do something to keep your mind off of whatever it was that happened.
CG: WHEN?
EB: i dunno. asap i guess. how about friday?
> Be Friday
It’s Friday.
He said he’d think of something. Something that is not stressful, something fun. Lots of fun! So much fun you’d forget everything that happened at Christmas, like you’re trying to with all of your might, he swore up and down. You had your doubts, which you voiced, but he insisted. He would.
You think his pan’s a bit broken.
“Egbert.”
“Yeah?”
“Why are we parked right in front of a bowling alley?”
He blinks at you innocently as you stare out the window at the building lit up on with bright LEDs smashed in between two plain structures. That’s the way of your city, mash buildings together and hope it goes well. It rarely works. You haven’t been here since you were eleven. “Because we’re going bowling, duh!”
“How does this qualify as a ‘fun’ and ‘not stressful’ activity?” You ask as you get out of the car, following him for some godforsaken reason.
“Have you ever been bowling? It’s so much fun!”
The bowling alley is freezing. “No it’s not,” you grouse as you pull your jacket on tighter. Oh god there’s a small gaggle of prepubescent children bowling, still small and squishy and not yet some weird mess of magic and feathers or scales or goddamn jelly.
“You’re being melodramatic. C’mon, let’s get shoes!”
There are no shoes that fit you properly. Your feet ache, but at least they have shoes for humanoids in your size. John’s got these waterproof atrocities that don’t look like they should work at all, designed for slimes. They’re neon orange.
You hate bowling.
> ==>
You still hate bowling but you’re fucking WINNING, SUCK IT EGBERT.
Both of you absolutely suck at bowling. Over half your throws have been gutters, some splits and spares. But you, you just got three fucking strikes in a row, suck it! You’re winning! Ha! You probably get glares from elderly men and women as you do a victory jump, pumping your hands in the air, and you only barely keep the “YES!” locked securely in your throat. But you don’t care. You’re the luckiest bastard in the entire building.
Of course you don’t hit more than three pins a roll for the entire rest of the game, but you don’t even care. Doesn’t matter. You got three strikes in a row. You won, barely, scraping out just a few points ahead of John (who maybe sucks just a little bit less than you; he got no strikes but managed mostly to hit more than five).
“I hope you know I’m going to rub this in your face later,” you assure him as you circle your victory number about two to fifteen times. “The second we get out I’m going to rub it all over your goopy face.”
He grins dopily up at you as he massages his wrist. He’d accidentally lost part of his hand on that last one, skidding on the bowling alley surface and sending his (extremely light, 8 pound, glittery neon pink) bowling ball into the gutter. God, he looks so dumb being happy for you. He cheered when you got your first strike, standing up and literally shouting “WHOO!”, much to the anger of the elderly people. He proceeded to ignore the elderly people, continuing with “You go, Karkat! Yeah!” Does he get off on other people’s happiness? Is that even a thing? It’s probably a thing.
Why is he still smiling at you, you are going to lay waste to his ass the second you get out that door and can unleash your full smug victory on him.
Except the second you step out and open your mouth, finally back in your own comfortable shoes and without ten pounds attached to your arm, John cuts you off with a “We should go get pizza!”
You stare at him, mouth open. “What?”
“Pizza. For dinner. We should do that. That’s a thing that people do, Karkat, pizza for dinner.”
“It’s not even five yet.”
“We could go back and play another game?”
“Pizza for dinner it is.” You’re not risking possibly losing.
Halfway to the pizza place, John swings the car around. “Actually, better idea. Pancakes for dinner. I’ll pay. No, no, I’m paying, just close that mouth. Unless you really wanted pizza?”
“Pancakes are fine,” you say a little bit weakly, confused at the sudden turn of events. John’s talking faster than usual, too. He grins at you, lopsided, and drives the two of you to IHOP, where you partake in the ancient art of stuffing your faces fit to burst with four different kinds of pancake (all at his request, but you’re not complaining, pancakes are fucking awesome). Surprisingly, dinner is uneventful. John doesn’t even start ribbing you once. His sudden acquirement of manners is... a little disconcerting, actually.
Eh, you shrug it off. It’s not that weird.
> ==>
Something’s definitely weird. You don’t know how to explain it. Something is definitely weird about the situation, but you can’t place it, and you think it has something to do with the way John’s standing on your doorstep, rocking back and forth. His hair does this little bounce-slosh with every rock, which is kind of distracting. He’s not talking, that’s what’s weird. You stare at him, vaguely frozen.
“Soooooooo,” he says, arms clasped behind his back. You blink.
“So,” you repeat, your hand on the doorknob. He’s giving you the weirdest look. “Uh, bye?”
“Oh! Yeah. Bye.” He looks nervous and... Expectant? He looks like he’s about to step toward you, kind of, his weight is distributed all wrong.
You open the door and go inside without looking back, not entirely sure what was going on. Once the door was closed, you stand there for a few seconds, holding your leftover pancakes in both hands.
That was fucking weird.
You shake it off with a shrug. Whatever, his mental failings aren’t your problem. Now, kitchen. You have pancakes to store. You scrawl “PROPERTY OF KARKAT VANTAS; NO GAMZEE YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO EAT IT” on the top in sharpie.
That done, you scope out some space in the fridge. You’re college students, so it shouldn’t be that hard, but Gamzee somehow manages to fill the entire thing with half-baked pies all the time. You touch none of them, a little worried if you’ll end up high off your ass if you do, but there’s some interesting food tetris to play.
“Sup, best friend?”
You nearly drop a bag of apples, rounding to see Gamzee standing on the other side of the counter. He’s wearing fuzzy little indoor booties on his hooves. They’re purple.
“Don’t scare me like that!” you reprimand, shoving things back into the refrigerator. “I just got home, good to see you alive and well.”
“Good to see you all in one piece too.” He grins sloppily, eyes slightly unfocused. “I wondered what miracles you motherfuckers had all been up to out there today. Didn’t tell me where you were going, but that’s all right. I knew you were all okay. Like little butterflies came and told me you were good, you know?”
You do not. “No idea.” Okay, everything looks like it’s fitting. You start to close the door.
“So, best friend, did that motherfucker all up and get his mack on with you this time?”
You stop mid-motion, staring blankly at a precarious stack of pie. “Did he what?”
“Did that John motherbro-” he says John like Jawn, and you know he’s exaggerating it. “-get his mack on with you yet? All on the doorstep like right out of a fairy tale. Little miracles all wrapped up in a jelly filled- you okay there, bro?”
You’re not okay there. Your legs seem to have spontaneously given out under you, look at that. It’s the floor. You’re staring numbly ahead, hand on the open door. Belatedly you remember to finish closing it, save electricity. Ha. Electricity.
“Yeah I’m fine,” you lie out of your teeth. He looks over and down worriedly, scratching one sharp nail against his greasepaint-covered cheek.
“You sure you’re fine down there?”
“Peachy.” You stand up. “Going to my room.”
“Was that a no, then?”
“Going. To. My. Room.” And you do. Close the door behind you too, for good measure, turn on your computer. It takes too long to turn on, it always has. You’re this close to doing an acrobatic fucking pirouette off the handle, you can’t afford it to take five whole years to boot up.
So you open pesterchum on your phone in the meanwhile.
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering grimAuxiliatrix [GA] at 19:38 ! --
CG: KANAYA I THINK I’M IN TROUBLE.
CG: I MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE BEEN GOING ON SEVERAL.... UH.... **DATES** THESE PAST FEW WEEKS.
Oh god that’s what they were, weren’t they. They were dates. You had been going on dates. You totally had been- oh god. Oh god.
Fuck. God. What the.
You’re sitting dumbstruck in front of your computer, staring at the login screen. Holy shit, how can you be this dense? How the fuck could you miss something like that? He had even said, fuck, just two days ago, he’d “take you out” again. That’s. That’s date talk. That’s something somebody says when they’re going to take you on a date. And you completely misread the situation.
You spend about five minutes with your head smashed onto the desk, bonking yourself repeatedly with both closed fists for your stupidity. Then you decide you have to actually demon up and do something about it.
Okay. What’s the plan? You have no plan. Kanaya hasn’t responded yet, which means she hasn’t seen her messages, because with an opening like that she would have been all over you for all the details so she can either beat you or him into the right frame of mind. Okay, this will be simple.
You just have to never see John ever again in your life. Totally doable.
Oh god no it’s not, he comes into your work every single day. Oh god, you work tomorrow. Is he going to come in tomorrow? Can you call in sick? No, that’d be a disaster; Nepeta always knows when you’re faking. She grew up with you, she knows you better than that. You have to go into work.
You’re going to die.
CG: KANAYA?
CG: PLEASE SIGN ON, THAT WOULD BE WONDERFUL.
CG: ANGELS SENT FROM HEAVEN WONDERFUL AND ALL THAT HORSESHIT. THE BEST THING THAT COULD EVER HAPPEN.
CG: I COULD DO WITH ADVICE RIGHT ABOUT NOW. I’M SORRY I’M ASKING AGAIN BUT WHAT THE FUCK.
CG: WHAT IF I’M RIGHT AND THEY WERE DATES? HOW CAN I EVEN CONTINUE EXISTING IF I’VE FUCKED UP THAT TERRIBLY SOCIALLY? HOW CAN THEY LOOK AT ME AND NOT THINK I’M SOME SORT OF INBRED CRAB DRAGON MONKEY THING?
CG: IT’S NOT MY FAULT FOR NOT KNOWING. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW? HE NEVER TOLD ME.
CG: PLUS, WHO’D EVEN WANT MY CRUSTY DEMON ASS? THE MONIKER ENOUGH DRIVES BASICALLY EVERYBODY AWAY.
Oh god she’s not responding, what do you even do?!
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering gardenGnostic [GG] at 19:52 ! --
CG: HARLEY I NEED A MOMENT. YOU KNOW YOUR COUSIN BETTER THAN ME, AND YOU’RE PROBABLY IN ON THIS BULLFUCKERY.
CG: PLEASE ANSWER ME HONESTLY AND DON’T TELL JOHN.
CG: WERE THESE LITTLE OUTINGS DATES?
CG: OH GOD THEY WERE, WEREN’T THEY?
CG: THAT’S WHY YOU ASKED ME HOW IT WENT.
CG: ALL THE SIGNS WERE THERE AND I WAS TOO FUCKING STUPID TO EVEN SEE WHAT WAS REPEATEDLY JAMMED IN FRONT OF MY NOSE.
CG: WHERE *IS* EVERYBODY?!
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering conquerorsCutlass [CC] at 20:01 ! --
CG: YO PEIXES THE ELDER DO YOU HAVE A MOMENT?
CG: RHETORICAL QUESTION YOU ALWAYS HAVE A MOMENT, COME SIT DOWN.
CG: I HAVE THE JUCIEST GOS-SHIP FOR YOU IF YOU DO. IT’S JUST PACKAGED WITH A SMALL MENTAL BREAKDOWN, NO BIG.
CG: MEENAH?
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering caligulasAquarium [CA] at 20:09 ! --
CG: AMPORA, ARE YOU THERE?
CG: YOU’RE NOT THERE, ARE YOU.
CG: IN THE NAME OF CHRIST’S HOLY DICKSAUCE ON A CRACKER, WHERE THE FUCK IS EVERYBODY ON THE GODDAMN PLANET?! SIGN OUT OF PESTERCHUM IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO BE ON!!
Who decided that the entire world should be busy now of all times? What cosmic events have aligned to have everybody offline? And yet be signed on?! Who the fuck are you going to yell at, you’re running out of people to pound keys at, and you still have a lot of steam to burn off. Your brain feels like it’s going a hundred miles an hour, you’re freaking out that hard.
-- carcinoGenesist [CG] started pestering twinarmageddons [TA] at 20:12 ! --
CG: I THINK JOHN’S BEEN TAKING ME OUT ON DATES THESE PAST FEW WEEKS.
TA: wow no 2hiit kk ii thiink liiterally everybody’2 fiigured that out by now
CG: NEVER MIND FUCK YOU WHY DID I EVEN THINK PESTERING YOU WAS A GOOD IDEA ALL YOU DO IS TROLL PEOPLE BACK.
TA: that’2 why you love me kk
You block him again.
Right. Well. Nobody to help you with your sudden emotional and mental crisis. Guess you have to handle it completely on your own.
You definitely cannot handle this on your own. You need to go back in time and slap the living shit out of your past self. If you could send a message to yourself about a month ago, it’d just read “IT’S A FUCKING DATE YOU MORON. THEY’RE ALL FUCKING DATES. HOLY SHIT, HOW CAN YOU BE THIS FUCKING DENSE?!” But unfortunately, you don’t have that sort of technology or software. So you just have to deal with it.
Okay, breathe. That’s a thing you do sometimes. In. Out. In. Out. Not that fast what is wrong with you, you can’t even breathe right.
“Best friend?”
You jerk out of it. Gamzee didn’t even knock, just stuck his raggedy head in through the doorway.
“What do you want?” You snap, uncurling your hands from your hair and crushing the urge to violently punch yourself in the face at least until he’s gone. Gamzee just blinks at you slowly, the dopy smile usually plastered on his face replaced by what seems like genuine concern.
“You don’t sound all right in the head, bro.” He makes to come in but you throw a hand up in his direction and he stops, hovering right inside the door.
“I’m fine,” you lie again. “I just. I messed up, and now I have to deal with it.”
“Them’s the shits.” He takes another step, hooves sinking into the carpet. You don’t have the energy to tell him to get out. “Wanna talk about all that motherfuckin’ shit that’s rattlin’ around in your pan and throwing you so far down that nasty rabbit hole?”
“No. And I’m not down.” You look away as he sits at the edge of your bed, like a large and vaguely ugly water puppy. You’re not down, not really. Mortified is a better word. Abso-fucking-lutely mortified. Embarrassed beyond belief, too. Definitely not sad, though. “Actually,” you say as you dig through the emotional slop that makes up half of your most important internal organs, “I think I’m actually. Maybe. I mean, a little bit-”
“What is it?”
“Happy.”
He beams at you as you stare ahead in shock. Holy shit. Okay, you fucked up, granted, but they were dates. You, Karkat Vantas, were going on dates with somebody that you may or may not have had a vague thing for these past few months because his face was cute and although insufferable he’s really kind of endearing? He tries, and the dates were actually some pretty good dates. If you’d known they were dates, anyway.
“God, I messed up. I messed up, they were dates and I totally misread the entire situation. But they were dates! I haven’t been on a date since...” Since Terezi. “forever,” you amend. Gamzee nods, probably with no earthly clue what you’re going on about. You tend not to talk about anything regarding your personal life to... well, anybody. And he has no idea what’s been going on between you and John. “But, holy shit. The person I may or may not have had an interest in was taking me on dates. My life is ruined, but. Oh my god if I can salvage this- ugh, I’ll never be able to salvage this, but if I could this would be... fucking...”
“Miracles,” Gamzee says slowly with a grin. You look at him and swear very hard that you’re not smiling, not at all.
> ==>
What the fuck.
You came in to work today with determination in every core of your being. You were going to do your work, act like an adult, not have a nervous breakdown, and behave like you didn’t just royally fuck up every chance you had when John and Dave make their customary appearances. If they make their customary appearances. (And if they didn’t, you weren’t going to go home and cry in disappointment about it.)
Imagine your surprise, then, when John comes in with determination in his eyes, completely alone, and shoves a huge bouquet of moon flowers and red roses in your face.
“These are for you,” he says. You blink once like an intelligent, free-thinking character.
“Um.” You say, because you’re brilliant.
“They are for you because I’m asking you out. Romantically. Without any way that it could be misinterpreted. If that’s okay.”
“Uhhhh,” you say again. He shakes the flowers at you a little so you grab them, just for their safety.
You suddenly acquire about sixty extra pounds on your back. “Karkitten,” Meulin purrs loudly into your ear, “I think it’s about time for your break! You’ve been working hard, so take some extra time off! It looks like you need it! Just have a seat in here, okay?”
“Okay,” you echo. She can’t hear you.
“Right over there!” she adds, pointing emphatically at a nearby table. She’s going to read every word you say, you know it. “Do mew want anything to drink, John?”
You don’t hear what he says as you shuffle out from behind the counter, holding the bouquet in your hands like it could break. They’re just flowers wrapped in plastic, They’re perfectly safe, but somehow you handle them so insanely delicately you’d think they were made out of glass. You sit facing the counter, knowing you’d rather watch Meulin furiously “eavesdrop” than have John see her staring at his lips. He sits soon after, fidgeting in his chair.
You put the flowers down, fingering the petals softly.
“I asked Kanaya,” he blurts. You pointedly don’t look up, afraid that you’ll start staring at him in astonishment if you do. “Your favorite flower. I asked. So.”
“Thank you,” you say. Ugh, you can’t keep looking down. Breathe, act like an adult. It’s hard to remember that you’re an actual independent adult when you look up and see him fidgeting like a high schooler in the seat opposite. “It’s the first time I’ve been brought flowers.”
“I know.” And then he smiles, this nervous thing that lights up his eyes and flashes his teeth. He’s blushing terribly. It’d be awkward if it wasn’t so fascinating. “I, ah, realized I wasn’t very forthcoming with my motives. I mean. Kanaya told me, yesterday, after I’d gone home- she was over, with Rose, and asked me how it went and I told her, and she said I have to tell you. Personally. And explicitly. Without any sort of way you could see it any other way. Those were her words exactly,” he adds, looking at you intently. You try very hard to meet his eyes, fail, and end up awkwardly staring at his nose-slash-right cheek.
“I’m kind of stupid sometimes,” you say. You try not to scowl. You scowl anyway, ugh, what is wrong with you? You’d slap yourself if you were at home behind the comfort of your computer where nobody could see you. This is the most awkward conversation you have ever been in, hands down. He’s not saying anything. You’re not saying anything. Meulin is staring intently at you, gesticulating wildly. Then she starts signing, rapid-fire signing, and you can only barely catch the say something!! that she’s throwing at you.
Okay.
Something.
“All the time, actually.” WRONG SOMETHING. “I mean, I’m really dense a lot, I’m everybody’s fucking relationship guru but I can’t for the life of me tell when somebody’s hitting on me, in hindsight I mean it’s extremely clear because wow look at that fan-fucking-tastic 20/20 backwards vision, but going into it? Not that you made it clear you overcooked french fry, you’re actually the literal worst at asking people out, wait no I take that back, I bet Strider’s worse than you, but you didn’t even spit out that you were expecting anything other than the bro-iest activities. I mean the movies are pretty dubious but Chinatown? Who takes a date to Chinatown? I still have that stupid mask, darn you; the fraudulent piece of crap is in my room on my desk, and then the park? Running around apeshit isn’t a date. Dates are like movies and cuddling and hand holding and walking through the city talking about ourselves and dinners where we both smile…. God those were dates and the best secret dates but I had no idea they were—”
“Karkat!”
You shut up as he tries to look serious. He fails at it, of course, breaking into a wry smile as his eyes sweep over you. Then he leans forward, putting his hands over your clenched, twitching ones. “Will you go out with me? Romantically. I’m asking you on several romantic dates, plus being my boyfriend please. I have been attempting to woo you since about September but I think this is easier.”
You’re blushing terribly, a little overwhelmed. There’s something in your eye. With a shaky laugh, you nod. “Yes, John. I will go out with you. Romantically. On several romantic dates, plus being your boyfriend maybe. Yes this is much easier.”
There’s a moment where the two of you grin at each other with the dopiest faces you’ve made in the last few years. It’s a sweet moment. You almost expect him to kiss you.
And then Meulin ruins it by squealing exceptionally loudly. “Oh god, my SHIP!” she cries dramatically, fanning herself behind the counter. “Oh my GOD I pawsitively thought I was going to DIE before you two got together!”
Karkat’s head, meet the table. Spectacular faceplant, 10/10, encore, encore! You bang your head there several times quietly as John starts, turning. You don’t see what’s going on, your face is busy being smashed into the glass.
“Right?!” Oh god he’s talking back. “I mean, oh my god, yes. YES!!” You look up long enough to see him throw his hands into the air like the biggest dweeb you’ve ever seen. Ow your head. Banging it back down on the table might have been a little too violent.
“I’m so happy for you!!” She’s squealing to him. To his credit, he hasn’t run away from your insane boss yet. “Can I get you anything? Complementary, totally on the house! Our sweetest coffee or tea orrrrr some of Jane’s pastries? They’re the best, literally the best thing you can chew!”
“Thank you! But no, that’s okay. I’m good. I have enough of my sister’s baking at home.”
Blink. Blink.
Your head snaps up so fast you might have whiplash. “JANE IS YOUR SISTER?!”
> ==>
-- ectoBiologist [EB] started pestering carcinoGenesist [CG] at 18:12 ! –
EB: so i was thinking...
CG: SHOCKER.
EB: you’re not allowed to do that every time i say that i was thinking!
CG: I DON’T SEE IT WRITTEN ANYWHERE THAT I CAN’T.
EB: i just wrote it. right there. it’s in writing now, karkat, it is law.
EB: anyway i was thinking that i should take you on a date. soon.
EB: as soon as possible because i have three whole dates to make up.
EB: if that’s okay?
CG: THAT WOULD BE... WONDERFUL, ACTUALLY.
EB: oh good!
EB: so, are you doing anything on new year’s eve? because if you’re not you should be. with me.
CG: I DON’T HAVE ANY PLANS YET AS FAR AS I KNOW.
CG: WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING? OR PLOTTING, AS IT WERE, BECAUSE YOU NEVER PLAN SHIT.
EB: ice skating! :D
CG: REALLY?
EB: yea! it’ll be great, i promise. so romantic. so sweet.
CG: I HAVE MY DOUBTS.
EB: oh come on!
CG: OKAY, FINE, FINE. I’M NOT DOING ANYTHING BETTER, ANYWAY.
EB: awesome! okay it’s going to be a blast. there’s fireworks and everything.
EB: you’re going to love it.
CG: I’LL TAKE YOUR WORD FOR IT.
EB: oh good! you should.
EB: by the way, karkat?
CG: YEAH?
EB: <3
CG: ... YOU PANDERING SHITBAGEL.
EB: :D
CG: FUCK YOU.
CG: <3