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He knows the melody by heart. What the lyrics mean, he has no idea. It seems Gamzee never sings to him in English anymore.
But whatever song it is (lyrics and translation and meaning unknown), it’s still his. Theirs. A thing between just the two of them.
So when he hears the unmistakable chords that mark the beginning of the song playing in the apartment while the musician is out, it makes his heart skip a beat.
For a moment he’s certain that it has to be a repeat of that one night from years ago: Gamzee outside under the balcony at their old place, high and serenading him with his ever present guitar.
But Gamzee’s at a gig and isn’t due back for hours.
And the words are in English.
Karkat is frozen on the couch as he picks up the meaning for the first time since he hears it, and he’s fucking livid. Unbridled anger rouses him to his feet and leads him to the source, throwing open the door to Tavros’ room.
"What the fuck is this?!"
The other boy - Gamzee’s goddamn boyfriend - looks up in fear, his stammer winning out as he tries to speak but can’t get a word out for nearly thirty seconds of trying.
"U-uh…it’s one of G-Gamzee’s CDs…his b-band, I mean."
No fucking shit.
"No fucking shit. I know what his shitty music sounds like."
He can’t help but add in the snide dig at his ex (he never did like the crap that band played), and he can see Tavros immediately reacting. Of course he liked Gamzee’s music. He was like a fucking puppy.
"He write this fucking song? Since when does he sing in that fucking band?"
"I d-didn’t ask." Tavros fights to pull his legs up to his chest protectively. There was a reason he tended to stick in his room when it was just the two of them left in the apartment, and the both of them knew exactly why.
"Whatever. You know what? Fucking whatever. But turn that bullshit down."
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he slams the door and storms back into the living room with his cellphone in hand.
> YOU FUCKING BASTARD.
Gamzee’s phone goes off in his pocket between songs while he’s waiting backstage and he flips it open with no expectation of understanding what the hell Karkat is going on about this time.
> I DEAL WITH A LOT OF YOUR SHIT, ASS CLOWN. BUT THIS IS GOING WAY TOO FUCKING FAR.
> WhAt’s tOo fAr bRo?
It’s always something with that kid.
> THAT FUCKING SONG YOU ‘WROTE’. OR SHOULD I SAY I WROTE.
Gamzee’s smile falters and his fingers hesitate over the buttons of his phone. But that’s no issue, as Karkat is more than willing to keep on going, as made evident by the way that his phone keeps going off even as his purple eyes scan over each of the incoming messages.
> THE ONE THAT YOU SING RIGHT TO MY FACE.
> EXCEPT THIS TIME I FUCKING HEARD IT IN ENGLISH. I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU.
> FIRST YOU FUCK AROUND.
> AND NOW YOU’RE WRITING SONGS.
> WITH SHIT YOU JACKED FROM MY FUCKING JOURNAL??!
Oh.
Buuuusted.
> WHAT ELSE DID YOU WRITE?
> ACTUALLY NO. DON’T TELL ME.
> I DON’T EVEN WANT TO KNOW.
> THIS IS WHAT I GET FOR GIVING YOU A SECOND CHANCE?
> I’M SUCH A FUCKING IDIOT FOR BELIEVING YOU.
> YOU’RE A FUCKING SHITTY BOYFRIEND.
> REAL FUCKING FUNNY.
> DO YOU SING THAT FUCKING SONG TO EVERYONE?
> AND I’M JUST THE ONLY ONE WHO DOESN’T KNOW WHAT IT MEANS?