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“Hi, Karkat!”
Just as he turns to face you, you trip over a root and nearly faceplant at his feet. Instead of, you know- reaching out to steady you- he leaps nimbly aside. You go down on one knee like a total tool. Way to go John, best entrance right there. Well done.
“Right,” Karkat goes lifting both brows, crossing his arms. “You sure you want to do this? Or should we review walking for uncoordinated imbeciles one-oh-one again?”
Scrambling upright, you do a full body shake, brush some grass from your knee. “No, what? No, I’m fine, see?”
“Right,” he goes again and actually steps close enough to pluck a withered crumble of leaf out of your hair. To reach he has to rear up for a moment, standing on just his hind legs. It’s stupidly adorable and you want to ruffle his hair so badly. Won’t do that, don’t want to get kicked (and Karkat kicks hard, yikes).
So maybe you’re a little rumpled. You were in a hurry! (you completely overslept and dad was all ‘John do your chores’ and you were all daaaaad, give me a break I’ll do them later! Geez)
“I’m so ready, dude, you have no idea. Top form. You’ll eat my dust, just you wait!” you trot energetically in place per demonstration.
“We’ll see about that, you over-excitable pile of horse dung,” he retorts, flicking an ear dismissively. Lifts an arm and points into distance. “First one at the top wins.”
Top? Top of what? You peer along his wiry, outstretched arm, eyes narrowing until, oh. There. Wow, that’s kinda far. Nothing you can’t manage, but you’re made for running. Born to, actually. Karkat’s not. “You sure?” you ask. “Isn’t that too fa-“ you don’t get to finish your sentence, because Karkat lashes out suddenly. With his hind legs. At your rear.
Right against the meaty part of your hindquarters ow, ouch! Hey! You jump out of range with a hop-skip-limp. Ow! That’s going to bruise.
“Open your bucktoothed garbage processing orifice one more time and it’ll be my fucking hoof down your throat.”
Pretty sure he can’t buck that high. Not going to try and find out, though. Cranky asshole. At least he didn’t take off any hair. “Fine, wow, no need to be such an asshole about it,” you mutter, not pouting at all.
“You’re fucking fine,” he sighs. Rolls his eyes. “Besides, you’ve got a huge ass, lots of padding. Don’t be such a petulant prick.”
He pats aforementioned huge ass -right on the bruise! ow again!- but with considerably less force than he could have. More like a gentle there, there. You pivot away, blushing. Wow, okay, uhm. Now that spot feels all prickly warm from his touch. You swish your tail at it. “No touchy,” you mumble, sidling away until there’s at least an arm’s distance between you both. Sling down your pack to have something to look convincingly busy with so you don’t have to look at his face.
Karkat touched your butt. You need a moment to process that, okay?!
Strap into your splint boots and shrug out of your hoodie, make a wad out of it and stuff the thing away. Karkat watches this all with a rather unimpressed, bland sort of frown. You’re already wearing contacts -racing with glasses isn’t a good idea. Dad’ll skin you if you crack another pair.
Okay. Ready. You nod at him.
“Are you a pretty pony now, John?” Karkat sneers sarcastically. He’s not wearing anything at all besides a short sleeved, black shirt. Whatever, let him be a shit about it. Last time you were completely littered in scratches and your legs were sore for days after being whipped by branches.
“Prettier than you,” you fire back (total lie). Hop out of range before he can try to kick you again.
“Fuck you!” he growls.
“Buy me dinner first.”
Oh, that’s a blush. Haha, point for you.
Karkat clears his throat, a smear of pink appearing across the bridge of his nose. Changes the subject. “Okay, let’s just go. On three.”
You turn to face the remote peak of the hill. It’s barely a violet-green suggestion in the far distance. Between the both of you and it are acres of rolling green fields studded with shrubbery, patches of heather, some last lingering shreds of mist and… and- heeeywaitaminute.
“Is that a forest?” you demand.
It’s totally a forest. The kind with trees. Lots of them. Thick undergrowth. Fallen branches. Awful footing. Evil squirrels.
“Two -and what if it is?” Karkat goes, baring white teeth at you in a decidedly predatory fashion. He so shouldn’t be allowed to do that.
Whaaaaat? He didn’t! You squint. So very much a forest, bah. You turn to him indignantly. “ Because, shitface, it’s totally unfair beca-“
“One!”
And he’s off like a shot, leaving you standing there with your mouth hanging open in protest. Asshole! You’ll get him for that later, park your big equine butt on him until he squeals for mercy. Right now you have to concentrate on winning. Kick off hard enough the muscles in your hindquarters burn as you launch yourself straight into a gallop. Always have been a slow starter, but as you cover one, two, three paces you can feel your body smooth into it, becoming solid working muscle. Already you are going fast enough your shirt whips around your upper body, fast enough you have to shout out of sheer exhilaration as wild, unbridled happiness suffuses you. You love running, you love the wind rushing past your flanks and tugging at your hair, until your feet are barely touching the ground, until it’s like flying, until you’re free, until it’s just you and your heart and the sky.
But it’s so much more fun, so much better, to share it with a friend. Used to be you and Dave, but he’s always busy these days (and he’s gotten so fast you never win anymore). Now it’s Karkat. You remember when you asked him. Had been so so so sure he was going to turn you down flat at first, when you asked. Racing is for kids. This running for the sheer joy of it, with nothing to gain and nothing at stake -just because it’s fun. Of course he was going to laugh at you, right? Because you’re seventeen and it’s stupid. But he didn’t. Not at all.
And here you are, chasing after his slight brown form.
As fast as he is in the take-off, he’s not at all that impressive in a flat-out sprint. He’s stopped galloping and is bounding through the high grass, easy and elegant while you barrel past him at top-speed, hooves thundering.
“Boing, boing, boing!” you yell at him through breathless laughter, because it looks kinda silly -especially with his tail clenched down against his butt like that. He’s such a dork, wow.
“Yeah, yeah,” he goes, surprisingly calm for all that his exhales are fast and clipped. “See you later, loser!” and then he leaps high and arching, over a thick, thorny bush, slipping between two trees —gone. Into the forest. Uh-oh.
Brake, brake, brake!!!
You skid low enough your hind legs scrape through the grass. Your hooves leave deep gouges in the earth. Just shy of sitting on your ass you finally come to a halt. Phew, close one. Oh, that fucking cheater! Dammit, now what?
Cantering along the forest’s edge and muttering angrily, you search for a point entry. There’s none, everything’s all choked up with dead undergrowth. Eventually you just shove yourself through it, bumbling in the most ungainly way ever. Dammit, at this rate you won’t ever catch up with Karkat again. Going at barely a light trot you weave between trees and flounder through bushes, hating everything. Especially this bush here, wow, what an asshole. You kick it. Get stuck. Figures.
Why?
Forests are Karkat’s forte -you’ve seen him, it’s amazing. Slips through it like a shadow, all in duns as he is -dark skin, dark coat dappled with white, like spots of sun shining through gently swaying branches of a tree. Noiseless, too. It’s eerie, he can land with barely a rustle of leaves and already be up in the air before you’ve turned your head. Slink away to stand perfectly still so your eyes pass over him, unseeing.
Whereas you, you with your big stupid black dumb horse body and big stupid dumb huge ass and legs and tail that keeps catching on everything why why why it’s not fair, you’re a one-man crashing parade of utter failure, loud enough to terrify every single bird straight out of the trees.
Oh man.
“Oomph,” you go, clambering out of a thicket with your hair on end. “This sucks,” you announce loudly. There’s about a whole bush caught in your tail. Urgh. At least you’ve ventured deep enough the trees open up, giving away to towering trunks and brown leaves scattered underfoot, the canopy arching high overhead. Beams of sunshine highlight patches here and there, swirling specks of insects aglow as they pass through them. You’re all alone.
If you’re careful you might risk a controlled gallop again, you think. Slip into a different rhythm, testing, then more smooth and steady as you go. Good for slaloming between trees fluidly and jumping to clear the occasional fallen trunk. You desperately want to go faster, but you don’t dare. If Karkat has to come and scrape your face out of the bark you’re going to be so embarrassed.
By the time you finally stumble out and into the open air again you look like you’ve been humped by a bush. Hell, you feel like you’ve been humped by a bush. You’ve been molested by nature. Oh, the indignity. But, hey, grass. You like grass.
And there, right in front of you, is the hill.
Oh man. You burst into motion, kicking up clots of grass and earth in your wake. Striking off hard you launch yourself over a dry riverbed choked with dead plant matter, whooping in exhilaration, and then up, legs working, muscles bunching, up, up, up the hill, the crest coming closer, until
HELL
YES
you’re totally first. You trot a small circle in victory, tail held high, scanning downhill for any sign of Karkat -none. Wow, you won so hard. Heheh. You’re the winner. It’s you. Aw yeah.
It’s a low, squat hill, but high enough to reduce the forest to a choppy green smear below you. You stick your tongue out at it. Eventually you wind down enough to stand still, hooves planted wide. You’ve conquered this hill.
Huh, Karkat really is a slowpoke, isn’t he? He totally entered the forest way before you and you just know that cheaty cheater McCheaterpants is way better at navigating one, but you don’t see a sign of him anywhere.
That’s, well. Kind of weird, actually. Hm. Should’ve at least be able to see him by now, it’s been a couple of minutes already.
You’ll just have to wait, you guess. Shrugging out of your pack you set it on the ground. Take off your shirt, too, shake it out, dislodging a flurry of leaves and some very confused beetles. Allow the sun to dry your skin —the extended hairline down your spine is slicked down with sweat, yuck. It’s going to dry all wavy and weird, you just know it. Pluck as much of debris out of your tail as you can. Put your shirt back on. Canter around the hill, a slow loop circling just below the summit.
Okay, no, this is taking too long.
Maybe he got into trouble. Oh no. Maybe he needs your help. Oh no oh no. Maybe he got hurt. Oh no no no. (you’re not thinking it, you’re not thinking it, no, you refuse, no! —what if it’s poachers?)
You’re already running, hooves striking the hard-packed ground violently enough your passage echoes through the air like threatening thunder. Gain more and more momentum as you race downhill, fast enough to steal the air from your lungs. Underneath you your legs extend completely as you sprint towards the fast approaching line of trees. Fear is like a cold hand rummaging through your belly, cruel fingers twisting your guts slowly. Just as you’re about to heedlessly crash into the forest you see him -just a little through your right.
Alive. But not unhurt.
You actually careen into a tree this time, banging your shoulder hard enough to make you hiss, but it brings you up short, allows you to gather yourself to jog towards him.
“Karkat!” you yell, voice cracking. He’s limping, hind leg up and slick. Slick with— you burst into a frenzied dash until you can reach out to him. “Karkat,” you go again, taking his wrist.
“Back off,” he snarls, but he doesn’t push you away when you lay your second hand on his shoulder, either.
“What happened?” Is it bleeding? It’s totally bleeding, oh no. “Let me see!”
“Whoa, what, John, no, fuck you gyaahh-“ he flails when you grab his hind leg above the knee and force him to stand still. Puts a warm hand on your flank for balance. The gesture sends a burst of something white-hot and blinding through you, deep inside where it is safe and hidden. But then you see the wound.
It’s not good. Bad, in fact. The tawny hide is ragged at the edges and Karkat’s legs aren’t even half as wide as yours, they’re so slender you can circle his lower leg with only your thumb and index. Just a handful of thin bones and skin and tendons. His hooves are tiny and cloven.
“Warn a guy, will you?” his voice is low-throated and gruff, but he’s still not pulling away. No, he’s close and leaning on you.
“What did this?” you ask, muted and horrified.
Uncomfortable shifting. “There was a- a noose of barbed wire.”
“A noose?”
Karkat nods.
Silence. Both of you are thinking it. You listen to Karkat exhale hard and fast with pain. Sickening dread floods through you.
“Shit,” you curse with feeling. You have some wraps in your pack. Get them out along with the water bottle to let Karkat drink. He tips his head back, throat bobbing as he swallows greedily. Beads of sweat slide down into the collar of his shirt. You look away. What’s left in the bottle you use to sluice his leg clean. He hisses and attempts to dance away reflexively, before visibly calming himself and going still. You bind his leg, forming even, winding loops the way Jane taught you.
Done, you straighten up. There’s blood under your nails and your hands are shaking. You lay them on Karkat’s back to steady them and study your surroundings carefully. Nothing. Birds. Insects. A gentle breeze. Karkat’s soft coat under your palms. You outline a white spot with you thumb absentmindedly. He’s trembling faintly. How far did he walk?
“Are you okay?” you ask, voice low and worried.
Karkat’s mouth fails to contain a small, dry smile. “Absolutely peachy. This is exactly like a merry picnic.”
You make a face. Yeah, dumb question. Good one, John.
“Urgh, don’t make with the pathetic pouting, I’ll be fine!” Karkat tells you, hip-checking you. “We should just head back, is all.”
He looks towards the sky. You do, too, biting your lip. The sun is low and bleeding pink into the bright blue. It’s a long walk home and even further to his village. “Can you walk?”
Karkat scoffs — his patented ‘John, you’re being extra special stupid today’— and proceeds with taking an awkward, hobbling step. One, two at the front, three being a hop of his hind leg. Big tough bambi. Not. Takes another step, arms going out for balance.
Yeah, okay no.
“Come here,” you tell him, beckoning. Drop smoothly down through all four legs.
Tired glare. “Yes, lie down. Take a nap, good idea. Like sitting ducks here anyway, why the fuck not? Let's just make it easy as hell for them. I know, I’ll paint a fucking target around my ass and stick my tail up. Shoot here for easy butchering.”
You snort out a laugh. “No, you dumbass. I’ll carry you.”
Blink.
An extremely weird -shocked- look flies across Karkat’s face. His eyes go wide, flash towards yours and his lips part. And then he just locks up. Like metal prison bars slamming down and caging the emotion, lips going hard and eyes hooded.
“No,” he says, lip curling.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I said no, John. Godfuckingdammit!”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because—“ he falters and actually goes through a flurry of vicious arm waving before going: “Because! Okay? Because!” like a total hack.
Whatever Karkat says about you, you’re not totally dumb. You know what his problem is. You do. “You’re hurt. You’re my friend. It’s fine.”
“No, it fucking is not, John, and you know it. We don’t- you don’t ever- You’re my friend, too, do you understand that, you miserable excuse? I don’t want, it’s just not- AUGH! You might be the greatest bumbling affront on four legs out there, but I respect you,” his voice shatters with fervor, a million hopeless, jagged things caught around the words. Anger and denial and a fierce, surprising sort of tenderness.
“I know,” you respond. You did, kinda, but you are glowing inside-out with a brutal type of happiness just from hearing him say it. “That’s why it’s okay.”
That shuts him up, breath going backwards and shoulders going vulnerable and surprised. Sighs, air whistling out through his teeth. A jerk of the head that’s probably meant to be a nod.
There’s resigned defeat on his face as he limps over. Puts sweaty, grimy hands on your shoulders -like two hot brands through the fabric of your shirt- and throws a hesitant foreleg over your withers. You stay perfectly still, try not to wince when he settles uncertainly over your back. Hunches down, and finally lets you take his weight. Wow, he’s surprisingly heavy. Heavier than you expected, he looks so lean and light.
Standing up is, well, really difficult. You try to keep your back level so he won’t slide off and Karkat tries to not completely crush your ribs as he hangs on, pouring a stream of spirited cursing against your bicep during it all.
You’ve done this before, actually. Only once. With Roxy. Completely different situation, because she was your girlfriend, as well as, ah, part horse. And yeah. Karkat is uh, well, yeah. Karkat. Centaur, true, but not horse. And you carrying him, on your back, like a beast of burden. Whoaboy. So not done. Bluh, whatever.
Also, his hooves don’t dig and scrape as painfully against your ribs the way Roxy’s did, not to mention he’s a lot lighter. All sinew and thin bones, delicate compared to your muscled bulk, you never noticed, he’s always so capable and confident but he’s small. The way he clenches his arms around you is all solid iron, though, ow ow.
“You good?” you ask, shifting your weight experimentally.
Can feel muscle flex against your spine as he balances along with you. “Yeah?” he goes, sounding unsure. The word is exhaled against your ear —ticklish!!— you flap it. Karkat might even chuckle softly at the involuntarily gesture, you’re not sure, but you grin anyway.
It’s slow going. For the first half an hour Karkat is a tense and uncomfortable block of squirming body draped along your spine, fingers clutching down where he’s clamping at you. The forest is dim, the beams of light gone with the setting sun. The both of you are vibrating with tension. Between the trees everything becomes shifting pockets of darkness and rustling bushes. While you concentrate on where to set your hooves, Karkat scans your surroundings. You find the barbed wire. It’s definitely a noose. Your stomach turns over at the sight of hair and little red globs of- no. No.
You don’t dare contemplate what’d happen if… someone came across the both of you now. With Karkat injured and you unarmed.
Quick as you can, you move on. It’s not quick at all.
Emerging at the other side, both of you relax. Actually start to pay attention to each other, until moving together becomes effortless. You’re warm from the exertion (you stink like sweaty horse! is the complaint), but Karkat is cold from staying still. You give him your hoodie. Stars wink into view, one by one, and you listen to him breathe, the patter of his heart, the soft breeze tossing dark hair that’s not yours against the edge of your jaw. By the time his village looms into view against the hazy backdrop of twilight, he’s even dozing off, lulled by the soft rocking motion of your gait, face tucked against the nape of your neck.
“We’re here, buddy,” you say, jostling him lightly.
“Hrmf.”
“Karkat,” you reach back and pinch something, probably his waist. “Get off. You’re heavy and my hips are cramping.”
An awkward moment where he attempts to slide down even as you are going through your knees again. He’s stiff and sore, you’re exhausted and in the resulting stumble there seems way more than twelve limbs involved. Karkat accidentally kicks you again and you’re pretty sure you grope him someplace you’re not supposed to. Oops.
Your face and neck are burning when you finally get untangled. Crickets buzz busily and the long grass sways as spring evening slowly takes over the land.
“So,” he grits out. His curls are on end. You can barely see the tips of his nubby horns poke out.
“Yeah,” you go, flicking your tail nervously.
“Thanks for that.”
“Don’t mention it,” you blurt quickly. “Really, don’t mention it!” you snortlaugh nervously, see an answering lopsided smile dart along his lips. “You should go see a doctor.”
Absentminded nodding. He’s too busy looking at you intently, dark brows drawing together and lips parting. “I’ll have Feferi look at it. John.”
“What?”
“Thank you,” he says again.
And then Karkat smiles. Crooked and out of practice, like the broken hands of a clock and it’s gorgeous. Incandescent glittering approval directed all at you, it is too much, too brilliant. You never want it to stop and the feeling that sinks into your bones is nameless, brushing the underside of your skin and settling raspy and swollen, filling you up to your eyes and leaking warm white bubbles along body.
“John,” he says, quiet and intense, a little like snarl and not at all. The shadows falling on his face make him look harsh, dangerous and you instinctively want to shy back, but you don’t, so you’re still there when he takes a limping step closer and curls a hand around the nape of your neck. A shiver runs down your spine.
You know this gesture, realize what he’s doing as soon as a second hand joins the first, cradling the back of your skull and tugs you down until he can press his face against yours, hard and close, fingers catching at the fringe of hair where it’s blending into mane. You don’t remember reaching back, but his cheeks are hot under your fingers and his hair is coarse and wonderful and his horns round points of unfamiliar, velvety contact and then you’re holding him the same way.
You’re hot and shivery in your heart and belly, stupidly, endlessly happy, fireworks sparkling behind your eyes and light in your veins.
“Be safe,” he says, soft and shaky.
You just nod. “Okay,” you promise, even though it’s beyond your control to guarantee it.
Karkat draws back, nudging at your shoulder pointedly. “Go on, you dumbface, go home.”
You wave and he rolls his eyes. You turn and flick your tail into his face and he yells. You laugh and he flips you off. And then you’re going, cantering away, legs high. Can feel his eyes on your back all the way and longer than that, until he can’t possibly see you anymore.
You run all the way home, heart soaring, faster than you’ve ever managed.
Like the wind.