Chapter Text
“July?” Dave asked, his arm hanging limp behind the couch’s back. Next to him had been Karkat, of course, a bowl of popcorn in his lap.
They both lost track of time. Behind Can Town, the district blooming with the efficiency of Dave and Karkat as two extra workers, had been a box of VHS tapes. It came to a surprise to the both of them; the box had been hidden away behind a surplus of alien materials to which neither he or Karkat knew the use of.
Films both troll and human had been stacked upon each other, filling the box to its brim. The Godfather, Jurassic Park, Space Odyssey—many movies integral to popular culture on Earth had been mixed within piles of films with titles too foreign for him to read. To read through each title made Dave realize just how many movies he had watched, how it had been a hobby without his intention. With nothing but the consumption of pop culture to do in his home, he supposed he never truly had a choice.
Karkat took note of many of his culture’s movies too. Where most had been action movies, adults fulfilling a propagandist’s fantasy of fighting amongst the stars, a select few had been dependent on romance. Trolls, as it seemed, were very dependent on the idea of love. Dave would not want to watch Karkat’s favorite movies. Likewise, Karkat felt hesitation watching the movies that Dave frequented as a child.
Naturally, they decided to watch as many movies in the box as possible. It had been an agreement, one they were inclined to make anyway.
Dave wanted to watch E.T. first, asking him how many microaggressions the protagonists made within the movie. It had apparently been numerous. Karkat put on a movie that had been 50 First Dates. Adam Sandler delivered his stilted lines, the actress very honorably pretending to be in love with the man. It was only the color of their skin, the horns upon their head, and the continuous conversation about quadrant vacillation that made his head spin. He noted how their voices had been more forceful than Karkat's. Filled with series of clicks and purrs that he hadn't ever been able to hear from those he had been traveling with. He understood them all the same.
Next was The Wizard of Oz. Then another romance movie that most certainly had a human equivalent, though it was something he did not recognize. Dave attempted to play Zoolanders, though Karkat hadn’t been able to last ten minutes into the film. They were watching The Shining when he spoke. A compromise from Dave when Karkat had attempted to argue for his turn to come early. Karkat was invested in the idea of horror, thanks to Rose, so it would not be nearly as troubling to convince him to watch it as it would for Space Chimps (He thought the movie would be too young for VHS, yet lo and behold, it had been miraculously sitting in the box collecting just as much dust. Of course, he never watched it before. He just delighted in the abysmal).
So they sat, Karkat with his bowl of popcorn that had practically been charred, a consistency he insisted tasted better than it had smelled, and Dave with a bag he knew he had no intention of finishing.
“You think it’s July?” Rose asked from beside the couch. They had started watching just at the break of dawn, people retiring for the day and the entirety of the meteor theirs to share. To see Rose reminded him of just how long it had been.
“I don’t keep my eyes glued to the calendar,” he said simply. Karkat only sat, giving a stretch at the brief reprieve, his joints clicking as he did so. Jack stood savagely on the television, his smile twisted and eyes empty. “Actually, I was just thinking this the other day—it’d be so much fucking easier for everyone if I could just know the time. No time travel bullshit, no mobius time strip, just a Dave-Watch or something. Datch. Wave. Karkat, ask me what time it is.”
“What time is it, Dave,” he asked insipidly, reaching for the book that sat on the arm of the couch.
“No fucking clue,” he said exasperatedly. “I'm legitimately useless. Anyway, yeah I think it’s July. You just told me that it’s been three months the other day, didn’t you?”
“I must have told you that three months ago,” she said. Dave blinked. “It’s October.”
There was a brief moment of silence as Dave’s head turned. He tried his best to understand the joke, why she had decided to lie.
“Oh,” he said when he could not think of what to say.
Karkat tilted his head only slightly. “Yeah. Not a human, remember?” He waved his hand a little before turning toward the novel. “What the fuck is an October.”
“It’s the tenth month of the year—out of twelve I should say,” Rose said.
“Oh,” he said as well. He did not sound nearly as dumbfounded as Dave had felt. “I guess that makes sense. Time flies? What, does that mean we’re a sixth of the way done with this god awful ‘vacation’? Go us! I should note that the idea of a vacation doesn’t really exist in our culture, but I think scribbling on the walls of a looneyblock would make for a better means of recreation than whatever the fuck we’ve been doing for God knows how many perigees.”
“I have been doing… jack shit,” Dave said slowly, as if he had come to a crumbling realization of his torpor. “But, I mean—what have you been doing, Rose?” He asked, pushing down the hint of desperation that tried to cling to his tone. He would not be able to articulate a reason why the idea mattered to him, his sloth.
Rose shrugged at the question. “I have only been experimenting with the machinery littered about the meteor,” she said. “Vriska and I talk a lot about 'The Plan'; what will happen in two and a half years. We don’t have much of anything at the moment, at least not anything of note to say. And nothing you don’t already know. It’s been frustrating.” Her hobbies had been purposeful.
“You talk to Vriska?” Karkat asked in the same sort of bewildered tenor Dave would have used.
“I do on occasion. If you would look at my options, there are not many I really can talk to, considering how rare it is for anyone to see you two. And we only ever discuss strategies. Obviously we can’t discuss the weather.” She glanced at the screen that still displayed the scene from The Shining, slight flecks of static dotting the screen on occasion. “But all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, etcetera. I think you’ve seen that scene already, anyway. But while I make my coffee, maybe you should make your way to bed? I don’t think I want to know how long you’ve been awake, but unfortunately I’m sure I can make a damn good guess.”
Karkat only shrugged. Dave tried to do the same, but his shoulders felt stiff.
Dave hated time travel.
There was a time in which he enjoyed the prospect, feeling among the leagues of superheroes fortunate enough to be blessed with the ability. But in flaunting his abilities to Terezi, in getting shot, stabbed, splattered, torn, broken; he found himself unable to find that same energy that allowed him the courage to push himself forward or backward.
He should not say he hated time travel.
He had been told that the aspect was important. A natural balance to space. The pioneers to the creation of the universe. Jade, with her overwhelming patience, almost seemed like a perfect foil to what he could not be.
He did not know how to feel about time travel.
About time, as not just as an aspect, but as an idea. It would pass, as all things do, though where others would flow within its currents he would thrash, struggling to keep his head above water. Six months felt like years, yet that week had only felt like minutes. And where days felt only like hours, he worried. What happens when three years go by and it only felt like seconds?
And was this the fault of time travel? He would not deny that, just maybe, Dave’s mind was doomed from the start.
“Has time felt weird to you recently?” He asked Karkat one day.
“Nah,” he said after a sip of his coffee. Dave hummed. “...Has it for you?”
“Nope,” he lied. Karkat would not press further.
“No, I can’t say that it does,” Rose predictably gave the same answer. “Though, I think part of me understands.”
“How,” Dave sat on the couch as she spoke.
“Well, the days do drag on, I suppose.” Just beside the TV stand had been the box of VHS tapes. He did not realize that Karkat had labeled it curtly: ‘OUR MOVIES: DO NOT FUCKING TOUCH’. To know that everyone understood Karkat's scrawled handwriting, that they knew that 'ours' would mean 'Dave and Karkat' made his chest twist, igniting an emotion that he should have understood by now. He did not. “Sorry for saying so, but is it your aspect that is causing you this much grief?”
“My aspect—Time? The thing that I was abusing like a drunk dad for a whole damn year?” He asked. “That one? Because, if we’re being real right now, I should know how the fuck that works by now.”
“Isn’t it complicated?”
“Hell no, it’s not complicated. That’s just what people tell you to make it seem like it's a huge introspective thing that's bigger than it actually is.” Dave waved a hand in the air, conveying his frustrations with the gesture. Rose stood up, moving toward the kitchen nearby. “Time just moves forward. That’s all it is! It’s something that happens. There isn’t anything more to it, it’s not a deep philosophical debate, it’s just a line!”
“Doctor Who says—”
“Fuck Doctor Who!” Dave exclaimed. His voice was loud, louder than it had ever been. His emotion made him huff, rubbing a stilted hand across his mouth. “No—Doctor Who is fine. Sorry. I love that guy. Doctor Who is like a brother to me.” He’s never watched Doctor Who. There was a short pause before Rose took her seat next to him, handing him a fresh cup of coffee. He took it, but didn't have the strength to say thank you.
“Would you like me to give my honest opinion?”
“I kinda feel like you’re gonna give it anyway,”
“I am,” she said, setting her coffee down on the table in front of them, a knit coaster resting just below it. “I think you’re reading too far into this. It’s nearly been a year, yes, but it’s nearly been a year on a floating mass of space debris in the middle of nowhere.”
“But—”
“And if this truly has something to do with your aspect, when was the last time you time traveled?” She asked. There was a moment she gave him to think.
“I…I dunno. It must have been before we Kamikaze’d ourselves into the fucking sun.”
‘That’s a while,” she said.
“That’s a while…” he repeated. “But still, it just doesn’t feel right. Like, you are absolutely fucking positive that you don’t blink and Monday turns into Saturday. Or a day turns into a month.”
“Absolutely.”
Happy birthday, the text read. Dave stared at it for a moment.
tentacleTherapist [TT] began chatting with turntechGodhead [TG]
TT: Happy birthday.
TG: mine
TT: Yes.
TT: Sorry, I was not aware there was another birthday I had to keep track of today.
TG: what the fuck
TG: isnt it october
TT: No, Dave.
TT: It’s December.
TG: since when
TT: Since three days ago?
TT: I know you’ve been having trouble with dates recently.
TT: But are you okay?
TG: no yeah im fine
TG: it just caught me off guard
TG: i guess
TT: You guess?
TG: yeah i guess
TG: i dunno thats really all there is to it
TT: We can talk about it later if you’d like.
TT: I’ll pull up a chaise lounge for you to sit in while I solve all of your problems via “Hashing it out ‘Bromie’ style”.
TT: While we dine on chocolate cake with sixteen lit candles.
TG: vanilla
TG: karkats allergic
TT: The offer still stands.
TT: Genuinely.
TG: nah its fine
TG: im gonna sleep in a little bit
TG: because what the hell are you messaging me so damn early for
TT: It’s eleven.
TG: exactly
TG: god damn
TT: Dave.
TG: anyway gn
turntechGodhead [TG] ceased chatting with tentacleTherapist [TT]
But he did not sleep in. He did not close his eyes to attempt a half-restless slumber or use Karkat’s snores to lull him into a mediocre nap. It was eleven. He blinked. He looked at his phone. It was twelve.
The sight was devastating.
He stared at his phone for a little while longer, as if watching the time would prevent its sudden passing. Rose’s birthday was the day after, wasn’t it? And Jade— he had missed her birthday. What had she been doing that day, he couldn’t help but wonder. If she was doing anything at all. What would he have gotten her? What should he get Rose?
It was around one where he received another message. It was from Kanaya, her jade colors illuminating on the group chat they had neglected for half a year.
“Rose tells me it's your birthday today,” it read. “Well. I knew that already. I just figured it was an easier way to start the conversation.”
“Oh that’s right, it happens more often for humans,” Vriska sent. He would say thank you in his own way, avoiding the words 'thank you' entirely. Yes, he remembered his birthday today. He’s turning eight—No, sixteen. Yes, he’s fine. No, really, he’s doing okay. He wasn't in a bad mood, he just woke up late.
With each message, with each buzz from the phone across the room, he heard Karkat begin to stir.
“Today is just gonna be a me day.” His last message read. He turned off his phone.
Within a few minutes, Karkat finally managed to wake up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he groggily reached for his phone. Of course, he’d miss the first few times, his palm giving the bed an aggravated few soft thumps. But once he picked it up, he turned it on to see the latest few notifications.
“What the hell does that mean?” Terezi’s message read, a confused emoticon punctuating the message. And in going through the log, he gave a nervous pause.
“Today is your birthday?” He asked, looking toward the bed to his left. But Dave had not been there.
Karkat found him sitting on the kitchen floor. It was the first place he looked, really. He wasn’t surprised to see a bottle of water at his side. He half expected a look of exhaustion too, but his eyes had been covered by the large sunglasses that sat on his face.
In months of routine, Dave very rarely allowed himself the comfort of hiding his expression behind his eyewear. In fact, perhaps there was comfort to be had in its absence. To see Dave’s eyes light up in happiness, his annoyance when his eyes twitched; when not veiled behind his darkened shades Dave conveyed his emotions so vividly.
Dave gave a casual nod as Karkat walked forward. He didn’t spare him a glance as Karkat sat, his face tilted downward and his expression neutral. Karkat placed the wrapped box to the side leaning his back against the kitchen counter as he had done for months now. The air was quiet, the soft hum of the meteor providing ample white noise in place of their silence.
“I didn’t know it was your wriggling day today,” he said. Dave didn’t say anything, and for a moment Karkat didn’t think he would respond. Then he gave a small dry laugh, quiet and unsure.
“Wriggling,” he said very simply. He then shook his head. “I didn’t either. My bad.” Karkat didn’t know whether he would wish him a happy birthday. If he should continue the conversation as they always did, talking about the smallest things to pass the time. If they should sit in silence.
“What’s with the glasses?” He asked instead. Dave hadn’t moved an inch, his expression less so. His face still avoided Karkat’s.
“What about them?”
“I thought you didn’t sleep with them at night,” Karkat said. Dave shrugged at this. Although his mouth twitched at Dave’s obstinacy he would not be angry. He didn’t think that he could. “Take them off.”
“Why?” Dave asked. He did not answer. There had been a considerable pause between the two of them. After a moment, Dave slid his fingers under his glasses. “Fuck." The laugh he gave was coated in misery. He couldn't help but slouch forward as his voice broke.
He pushed up his glasses to wipe his eyes. The eye wear that now sat idly on his forehead let Karkat see his crushed expression in full. It was a marvel to witness just how badly Dave seemed to want to remain neutral, how his mouth quivered in an attempt to stifle the weight of his overwhelming sadness that heavily pressed against his shoulders. How, despite the many tears, he attempted to steady his breathing and appear nonplussed. But it would be impossible to miss the misery in his eyes.
“Dave—”
“No, don’t,” he said. He was unused to hearing such emotion in Dave’s voice, his tenor now raw with sadness. He still laughed a little, though Karkat hadn't been sure if it truly had been laughing or his sobs sounded that way. “Fuck—I don’t do this. I never do this. I don’t even know why I’m doing this; I just need a minute.”
“Everyone does this.” Karkat tried to show his sincerity, though his voice conveyed more irritation than he meant to. “Anyone who says they don’t is a fucking liar.”
“I haven’t cried like this in years.” The words tumbled out of his mouth like a confession. As if he had any real reason to feel guilt at the prospect. He wouldn’t feel pity, but it made Karkat’s chest churn with a reaction much more potent. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” In the brief pause in their conversation, Karkat realized that he didn’t know what to say. Out of his friends, it was very commonly him that they would go to for emotional advice. Whether it be for relationships or otherwise. But as he sat there now, watching Dave gracelessly wipe the tears that seemed neverending, he had no real words.
He could tell that Dave hated the sound of his own misery, each short sniff causing him to curl even further into his self contained ball. He looked so small.
“Come on,” Karkat said finally. “You know you can talk to me.”
Karkat wouldn’t admit how much the look Dave gave him made his heart lurch.
Dave steadied himself before speaking. “The days—they’re blending together now,” he admitted, desperately scrubbing the tips of his fingers against the tear stains that marked his cheeks. “I’m wasting so much time. God, it's felt like this for so long. It doesn’t feel like my birthday. It doesn’t feel like anything.”
“Dude you’re an eight sweep old on a dusty ship full of fuck all,” Karkat said. “Of course you’re going to feel that way.”
Dave shook his head. “It’s not like I’m losing track of time.” He still tried to steady his voice. “It’s just that time doesn’t mean anything anymore. I can’t understand it. It’s only been eight months, but I know only a few days will pass and it’ll have been a year. And soon this whole trip will be over and I’ll have done nothing for three years of my life.
I’m fucking… I’m terrified. That time is moving so quickly. That I’m wasting so much of it. And that, even after all of this is over, I'm going to just watch the time go by. Watching everyone else, they seem to get it. But I can’t. And I think maybe it's more than just the time thing. And fuck, I’m telling all of this to you, I doubt I’m making any sense.”
“...I might not understand metaphysically, but I think I get the gist."
“But—it just doesn’t feel… I’m not wasting time if it's…” He tried to parse the words together as he spoke, Dave’s hands smoothing the hair that frayed messily on his head. “If it's with you.” They stared at one another.
It was then that Karkat realized that Dave loved him. Karkat wouldn’t know it, but it was when Dave realized the same thing.
A fickle thing, the emotion had proven for him. What trouble it seemed to get him into. Because Karkat loved with all of his heart, so passionately, and so recklessly. Never had he seen someone feel the same for him. So to feel that same raw infatuation placed so abruptly upon his shoulders was a different feeling entirely.
The responsibility made him queasy.
“I guess we’ll have to spend more time together, then,” he said simply. Despite the muddled emotions that overwhelmed him, he would be placid. Dave hid his face in his hands, covering that vulnerable expression that made Karkat weak. Idly, he tossed the shades that sat on his head to the side.
“No, dude, I’m not gonna fucking guilt trip you—”
“Trust me, man, you’re not guilt tripping anybody,” he said, allowing himself the false annoyance that plagued his natural intonation. “If you were, I’d find a shitty excuse to leave the conversation. Have you considered, Dave, that I’m a part of this shitfest we call an interstellar trip too? That I enjoy passing the time with you?”
“I guess,”
“Don’t ‘I guess’ me, Strider,” he said vexedly, pointing an accusing finger. “I’m gonna follow you the hell around now—how couldn't I? You’re going to think I’m an annoying piece of shit by the end of this emotional ‘three year’ meteor bullshit bonanza; mark my fucking words.”
Relief hit him in waves when he saw a smile. It was slight, barely noticeable due to his frustrating habits of monotony. But Karkat saw it. “Hard to do that when I already think you’re annoying,” he said. Although his breaths had been uneven, his eyes reddened, and his face hidden only slightly by his palm, Dave had still looked at Karkat with that expression that told him everything.
Dave spent so long concealing his emotions behind flat expressions and stilted jokes. But then, as they sat in the kitchen, in their space, Dave’s unrestrained feelings electrified the room.
“Yeah, well, I guess I’m pretty good at my job so far. Its your fault for choosing me out of all people to bother.” Dave still sniffled, but laughed quietly at the sentiment. Karkat hid his smile. “You done?”
“Yeah just about. You see a man cry and ask if they’re done often?” He asked as he wiped stray tears with the base of his palm. His voice was still so weak.
“Yes, constantly,” he said. “Here.” He placed the box in Dave’s lap. Snowmen littered the wrapping paper, though Karkat wouldn’t understand that humans would not use Christmas wrapping paper just because it had been their favorite holiday. It was wrapped messily, paper ripped at certain angles. It covered the box in multiple layers.
“Wow…” Dave said. “You wrap this yourself?”
“Shut the fuck up. Take that mouth of yours and, for once, consider zipping it. Do you understand how much I slaved to wrap this present?” He said. “The fucking things I do for you, that I have done for you—”
“I’m opening the gift, don’t have a tantrum and ruin the moment,” he said. He sounded so tired. But even through that, he gave his small smile and gently tore the paper from the sides of the box. His smile faltered slightly when he opened the box, grabbing the gift that sat on its inside. “...A walkman?” Dave said dazedly, tracing the lines that indented each piece of plastic. Karkat couldn’t help but blink at the statement, his familiarity inciting some surprise within him.
“I’ve never heard of the term,” he admitted. “But I’m surprised there’s a human version of it. I never listened to music much growing up, but I used to at least have one. That one, actually.”
“My brother grew out of the analog scene quick,” Dave said after a moment, his eyes steady upon the gift. It was rare that Dave ever mentioned the man. “We both got phones from Apple and shit as soon as it came out. I never got one of these.”
“Well. Now you have one,” he said. “And there’s a tape in it too.”
Dave opened the walkman. Dark gray writing had been scrawled onto a label. ‘SHITTY SONGS - DAVE AND KARKAT'S MIX’. He stared at it for a long while. As seconds ticked by, Karkat felt unease drip into his chest.
“I know you already have a portable soundbox. And this one doesn’t have everything,” he began, uncertainty coloring his voice. “But this… It has songs that I like too. Which I guess defeats the purpose of a personal birthday present. It honestly paints me as an egotistical tool; putting my favorite songs in a list of things to listen to that I don’t completely hate on there. I thought I knew what I was trying to accomplish, but I guess I don’t. Actually, give it back, it’s dumb.”
As Karkat reached for the walkman, Dave very defensively moved it out of his reach. “No, no, don’t,” he said. “I love this.”
The phrase made Karkat pause.
“You do?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of like…” He stared at the back of the player, his eyes softening at the sight of it in its entirety. “It's ours.”
Karkat didn’t know what to say to that.
“Does it have Drop it Like it’s Hot?” He asked pathetically, cradling the tape gently in his hands. His voice still shook from weeping while tear stains marked the sides of his cheek. He looked quite sorrowful, yet the question had been delivered like a punchline. Karkat wasn’t sure if it had been a joke or not, but it nearly made him laugh anyway.
“Yes, it has Drop it Like it’s Hot,” he repeated patiently. Dave sniffled, very clearly struggling to fight the smile that twitched on his mouth. He stared at the mixtape in a strange sort of wonder. And after a moment, he placed his forehead upon Karkat’s shoulder.
“Thanks,” he said. It was all he could say. His voice had been low and quiet, but it held the greatest sense of genuinity that Karkat had ever heard from him.
Humans were much more physically emotive than trolls were. They greeted each other with handshakes, held hands with those that they loved; they expressed casual affection with a peck on the cheek and grieved with mournful hugs.
Out of the humans he had met, Dave had been the most like a troll. Karkat was the opposite. But as they sat there, as Dave sniffled with his forehead against Karkat’s shoulder, he realized that there would be a point where they could meet halfway. Neither troll or human, they could just be them. And Dave made him feel safer in his own skin than he ever wanted to.
“Yeah,” he said after a while. “Happy Birthday.”
What should he do?