Chapter Text
You're trying to think of what the hell it is you could be doing with your time while you wait for Tavros gets here. You could clean the bathroom yet again. It's embarrassing to have an old friend over to fix the sink in your messy, messy bathroom. Dave insists that no one notices these things, but you're sure everyone is judging you. It's your job, okay, and you'd at least like to be good at this.
You mostly like being a house spouse okay. It gives you plenty of time to write the angry movie reviews that are inexplicably published in a local film magazine (apparently you have something of a fanbase?). It doesn't bring in much money, but you don't need to bring in much at all with the money Dave brings in with his bizarre movies. You have flat out refused to see the last three. Dave says the subtext is going over your head.
A knock comes on the door. You smooth down your dress and open the door and tack on a big smile. It's Tavros. Your smile falters.
Tavros looks quizzically at your face and then laughs. "Happy to see me, uh, Karkat?"
"Yeah," you say, awkwardly.
"Right," says Tavros as he wheels his way inside. He doesn't sound like he believes you. "So where's, the sink?" he asks.
"In here," you say, and close the door behind him then lead him deeper into the house.
"It's a nice house," Tavros says. You feel yourself flush. You feel like every comment about the house is a slight against you. You're so bad at this.
"Thank you," you force out and look back at him. You see him giving you that confused little look again, but he quickly looks away.
"Can I have a hand getting onto the floor?" Tavros asks as you arrive at the bathroom. You nod and move into the bathroom behind him. With his wheelchair it's a tight fit, but you make it.
You have plenty of time to work out, so it's no problem to help support him as he uses your arms to get out of his wheelchair and lower himself to the floor. His arms strain and his muscles stand out against his brown skin. You close your eyes and think of Dave. Tavros grunts as he lowers himself to the floor, and it's a good sound, and you try not to swear.
You sit on the toilet while Tavros works. Occasionally he asks you to hand him a tool and you pass it over to where he's lying on his back with his head under the sink. At first, you'd tried standing in the doorway, but realized he could probably see up your skirt from that angle and quickly sat down.
"So," Tavros says from under the sink. Something clanks. "How's things?"
You don't know what to say. "I don't know," you answer politely.
"No, seriously. Let's have, fucking, feelings time while my head is under the sink." He pauses, then adds, "If that's cool."
You think about it. It's been a long time since you've seen him, and it's been a long time since anyone but Dave asked how you were.
"Okay," you say at last.
"So," he asks, "Why are you pretending?" You're shocked.
"Pretending what?" you maybe shriek a little bit.
"That you're polite," he says. You don't know what to say. You are polite. You are polite to the neighborhood house wives. You are polite to their horrible husbands. You are polite to their dreadful children. At barbeques, at block parties, at the pool where you wear big hats and skimpy swimsuits and the wives look at you enviously and you feel embarrassed and wrong.
"I am fucking polite," you say through clenched teeth. Tavros takes his head out from under the sink and looks at you. "I'm so fucking polite," you continue, "I put up with this fucking neighborhood, and these fucking chores, and fucking CANCELLING my plans to fucking WAIT AROUND for a god damn GLORIFIED PLUMBER!" You're yelling now. You feel it. The only thing that stops you is the triumphant look on Tavros's face. "What?" you snap.
"There you are," he says, and he says it so ridiculously fondly you're embarrassed.
"What?" you say again, still annoyed.
"I'm not used to you, pretending to be polite," he says. "It was not, what I was expecting at all when I saw you this afternoon."
"Well of course I'm polite to my fucking guests." You've said 'fucking' so much. Now that you've started you can't stop. You're honestly offended Tavros doesn't think you're polite. You try so hard. Then, for some reason, you say as much. "I have to try so hard," you say at last. "For Dave," you say after a moment. Because he wears nice suits. Because the neighborhood housewives whisper about him when they think you can't hear, how attractive he is.
"I hate this neighborhood," you say at last. "This fucking neighborhood. It's like a suburban nightmare."
"I kind of got that vibe from the, uh, cookie cutter houses," Tavros agrees.
"The cars are cookie cutter too," you say. "The fucking families are cookie-cutter."
"Yeah," he says. "So why do you live here?"
You don't know. You haven't thought about it. It's where Dave wanted to move and you never questioned it, but looking back on it he asked you for your opinion multiple times. You've wanted to be good so badly, maybe you've skipped out on your own wants a little bit. Tavros goes back under the sink, and eventually asks for a wrench. You hand it to him.
He tinkers for a few minutes, and then announces, "All done!" and clambers out from under the sink, sitting up. You offer your hands and he takes them, and together you maneuver him back into his wheelchair. As he sits down, you fall forward and find yourself halfway in his lap. You flush and scramble backwards, and Tavros is blushing hard too when you pull away. Oh, you'd forgot how damned cute he was. Maybe it’s time you had something for yourself. You move back in and put your hand on his cheek. He doesn't pull away. You kiss him.
"My husband will be home in an hour," you tell him.
"Good," says Tavros. "He can join," and he pulls you into his lap again.