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He’s just right there.
Dave takes a sip of his drink, eyeing the troll at the corner of the bar. He has lost count of the number of shots he has taken long ago, far enough off the drunk mark for him to chuck all the regards for his liver health out of the window.
The bar is pulsing today. Friday night brings more customers than usual, pressuring the staff to bring out the extra alcohol and more tables outside. A more-than-buzzed John babbles absolute bullshit about another movie beside him as usual, which he also doesn’t care. All he wants right now to move across the room to hopefully, possibly, talk to someone else in particular.
Looking at that certain someone takes effort, because it's not a stretch to say that Dave’s completely blind in this bar. The lights for the whole place looks like it's running on a single underpaid boy paddling desperately on an electric bike generator, and his shades don’t exactly come with night vision. Today they’re sitting relatively central, which he is especially thankful for this time because he can see Karkat Vantas is in the bar.
What are the odds? Most of the memory vaults in Dave's brain is drowned in alcohol, but he recalls Karkat's vivid hate for alcohol perfectly, equipped with quote on quote swearing. Something about being inferior to grub fermented drinks, fuck fuck shit fuck, etc. He pushes all of them to the side, focusing on his refreshing view.
The troll is leaning on the bartender’s table, chatting away with another person Dave can’t make out the face of. His hair is a mess as usual, but he’s wearing the tight black and red leather ensemble that goes straight to Dave’s dick whenever he sees it. The troll across says something, and Karkat throws back in laughter.
Something dark stirs in Dave, and the impulse to get closer to Karkat burns. He's just right there, whats stopping him? Oh wait, he knows.
He whines out loud instead, cutting John off mid-rant. The brunet gives him a muddled look before continuing his word vomit, letting Dave stew further into his pool of irony. Even after so many glasses of liquid courage there's still no resolve, no urge to steel himself to walk up to Karkat. What would Bro think?
A sunless, abandoned corner of his mind soaks up the question, rising like an awakened predator, but Dave stops himself. No, this is not what he wants. Karkat would never let him hear the end of it if he lets himself near those thoughts again. He wants Karkat to be happy, fulfilled, to have more smiling lines than wrinkles when he dies. Most of all, he wants to be the one who does it. He watches Karkat chuckle at something other troll says again, and grips his glass harder.
The idea of getting the troll a drink first flits into his thoughts like a snowflake, but he smashes it instantly. Striders don’t do foreplay. No sir.
He finally decides to order a stronger drink. The name of the drink becomes forgotten as soon as the waiter leaves, but he trusts his past self, downing the questionably black liquid they came back with. Fire falls like water down his throat, burning up the last traces of hesitation. All suddenly becomes well, the air sings of promise and victory, which is exactly what he needs in this situation. Yes, he thinks fiercely. This is what I’m talking about.
He slams the glass down, cutting John off again. He’s also pretty sure he heard the sound of glass breaking, but thats for Future Dave to handle. Present Dave is busy, busy, busy.
It takes him a few broad strides and a small stumble, and by the time he reached Karkat is already looking at him. Something about his frown tells Dave that he shouldn’t be proud of kind of attention he’s getting, but what the fuck-ever.
“Dave, what the fuck are you doing here?” Karkat says. Up close his features sharpen to reveal freckles, dotting his face like paint on canvas. The hazy egg yolk light from the bartender's isn't helping Dave's nerves either. His fingers tingle, urging him to touch them. So he does, placing both his palms on Karkat’s cheeks.
“Vantas, you’re so waaarm.”
“Yes, I am, Dave. It’s what being a living being is.” Karkat scoffs. “Don’t try to avoid my question.”
“Mmm, just there minding my own business before you had to come and fuck up my view.” Dave slurs. “Anyways, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. Yeah, like, Malaysian warm, y’know? You’ve got the middle aged white guy after McDonald’s fart warm, which is honestly the most pathetic warm ever, then you have that small range of warm from warm public toilet seat to spending a fucking millisecond in Dubai, which is my kind of warm, and you’re the tropical…areas. Dubai is a continent right? Right. Anyways. Tropical my dude. Pina coladas, killer tropical storms. Literally. Super, super nice place, y’know, Vantas. Maaaybe maybe maybe, you should maybe stop holing up in that small cave of yours.”
He lets out another hic, stroking his thumbs on Karkat’s face. His eyes are red, so red. He wish he’s as confident with his own eyes as Karkat is.
“No, I’m not going to wherever the fuck you’re trying to make me go.” Karkat eyes Dave warily. “You’re not even making any fucking sense.”
“Um, yes I fucking am. Shut the fuck up.” Here goes nothing. “What I’m trying to say is, whenever you’re free, I’m free.” His eyes widen, and in the midst of panic his mouth rips the reins off his muddled brain. It’s a free horse now, it shall not listen to any common rationale, nay(or neigh). “Wow that came out desperate. Fuck it. Maybe I am. Maybe I want to drink pina colada with you under the sun and get killed by tropical storms. Wow that came out really bad and wrong. I’m sorry, I wasn’t breastfed when I was a baby.” This confession is going really well in the worst way imaginable. Time for plan B.
He drops to one knee in front of Karkat.
“KARKAT VANTAS!” Dave hollers. "WILL YOU HAVE THE PLEASURE OF BEING MY MATRIMONIAL NON PLATONIC BOYFRIEND?"
All becomes silent for a second, but Dave is only looking at Karkat. He looks back, his mouth an ‘o’ shape and a scarlet red spreading through his grey skin. Dave gulps hard.
“Hello Dave.” A harp-like voice makes him turn around, and lo and behold, it’s the troll that made Karkat laugh. She gives him a smile, green lips cocking up, elegant pose wrapped in an dress too stylish for just a bar visit.
All the tension leaves Dave’s shoulders. He clears his throat, stands up and turns his body properly to face his rival, only stumbling slightly as he does. “You.” He points at her. “Have some nerve, Broseph.”
Her smile widens, revealing fangs. Wow, definitely Rose’s type. “Why is that so?”
“Well, firstly, it’s *hic* bro code to not hit on someone your bro’s planning to hit. Fucking courtesy, get that shit written down in your bro lecture notes. Don’t want yourself to get detention off bro fucking code, else consider jacking off to Trump’s elbow for the rest of your life.”
“What’s the second thing?” She says happily.
“Shhhhhhsshhhshhh.” Dave removes a hand reluctantly from Karkat’s cheek and covers the other troll’s lips. “Point is, Vantas is taken now. But," He flattens his tongue at the 't', "I've got a great lesbian who's single. Rose I-know-your-deepest-darkest-secret-Lalonde. If you like goth girls who uses psychoanalysis books for dildos, obviously. Go home, knit her a stiletto or something, get married. I’ll give you the address later, bye Felicia.”
She opens her mouth as if to say something else, but Dave pinches the flame by shushing her louder. “Don’t fucking interrupt me.” He hisses, and thinks enough is enough. There’s simply just too much time spent with this troll. Time to finally indulge himself in the finer counterpart.
He turns around painstakingly once more to face Karkat. The troll looks like he’s deciding on looking fondly exasperated or a few drops away from bursting into laughter. The overall expression makes Dave’s heart melt like butter.
“You’re drunk, Dave. Really drunk.” He says, getting up. Dave’s entire body freezes for a split second, thawing only to latch onto the other’s smooth leather jacket. He cries,
“Nooooo no no no. Why are you leaving? I’m sorry, I didn’t want to scare you away I’m just so, so fucking tired of just looking at your ass and not able to grab it, and I like your megawatt smile and your fucking hair that looks like Chewbacca had sex with a cactus and—“
“Dave, I’m bringing you home!” Karkat snaps.
Dave blinks. “How the fuck do you know where I live?”
“God, you’re fucking insufferable like this. Kanaya, be right back!” Karkat huffs, taking Dave by the arms and dragging him towards the exit. He spends a few thoughtful seconds on how he was supposed to walk John home, and decides that he's more comfortable with this. John will definitely be fine. Time to settle on the more important thoughts, like how warm and solid Karkat's arms are under him.
“You know where I liiiiveeee.” Dave fucking giggles. “You like me.”
"Ugh." Karkat says, rolling his eyes. "Of course I like you, Dave. Why else would I put up with shit like this?"
Dave gasps a high pitched gasp and wraps his arms around Karkat's neck. "Bro, you gotta give me some warning before pulling a confession like that. Can't just dump it on a poor white dude and his soft gay heart."
"Shut the fuck up." Karkat growls. Dave doesn't care. The words had left him bare and warm on the inside, chests fit to burst and a scream of joy caught in throat. He brings up a finger to tangle it in Karkat's hair, sighing dreamily to himself. Karkat mutters a something unintelligible and before Dave could react, his arm goes to his legs and scoops him up in a heave, carrying him bridal style into the night. He lets out a loud whoop, making Karkat's claw dig into his skin.
"Ooooh, Mr Vantas." Dave says, like he's not enjoying the cocoon of troll skin and leather he's snuggled in. After a brief moment of consideration he shamelessly wraps his arms tighter around Karkat's neck. "I've always wanted to know how short people see the world. Absolutely beautiful."
"This is a mistake." Karkat mumbles.
"Mmm, you like it." Dave hums, kissing his jaw. The troll blushes furiously, chewing on his own lip.
They reach a familiar looking car, a silver Prius glinting in the moonlight. Karkat opens the backseat door and dumps him in before slamming the door shut.
*
Consciousness unfurls slowly, like a shy flower blossom in the start of spring. Tentative, gentle.
Then the sledgehammer descends and crushes everything in one swift hit.
The first thing that Dave senses before the light is pain. His skin hurts, his head hurts. Hell, even his hair is aching. He’s definitely never drinking anymore.
After a few minutes of dilemma he finally forces himself to open his eyes. He's back in his own house, and more importantly, the curtains aren't drawn, because at this level of suffering there's honestly no reason he wouldn't go blind with the addition of the texan sun. After laying down for until the pain had settled into an annoying buzz at the back of his head, he realised he's thirsty.
Correction: his throat feels drier than a department of engineering students’s sex life combined, screaming and clawing at him to get off the bed and head to the nearest place with drinkable water. Hell, even toilet water sounds great now.
He braces himself and rolls out of bed, trying to ignore the sharp pains coming from every joint. As he hobbles his way out of his bedroom a sharp waft of food hits his nose, and he takes a long (stinging) whiff. Breakfast, hallelujah amen.
The rest of the journey downstairs is a blur. It’s muscle memory at this rate, the house a maze he has mapped down like stars in a constellation, a pattern he knows at the back of his hand. It helped with the walking, but when he finally arrived at the kitchen every inch of his body is ready to lie down and light itself on fire to end the pain.
Karkat hovers over the stove, dressed in a thin white shirt and sweatpants. His fingers, thick and rough, moulded for rough work and fighting, are dancing over a cooking pan instead, working on something Dave’s trying hard to zoom into. When he accepts the fact that he’ll just see it later, he steps in and slams headfirst into a welcome sign just below the door.
“FUCK!” He says loudly. He brings a hand up to his forehead instinctively. His arm, having absolutely none of that, detonates a lance of pain through his body. “FUCK!” He says again.
“That welcome sign was your idea, by the way.” Karkat says. He turns around and the morning light falls into his sides, framing his jaw and revealing the hazelnut highlights of his hair. Dave is suddenly reminded of one of the paintings from the gallery Karkat makes him go to, where a bruised man in a pool of blood staggers before an angel.
“Good morning, sunshine.”
“Water.” Dave croaks.
“Mmhmm.” Karkat turns around to fetch a glass and fills it up. Instead of walking towards Dave and offer it like a good samaritan he plops it on the kitchen table, few steps away from Dave. He glares.
“Dude, I'm having the hangover the century. I'm expecting at least a smidgen of respect. Some autographs or maybe just a sweet fan letter, because one is going to have a hangover this bad ever.”
“You have to come here if you want pancakes anyway.” Karkat cocks his head at the table, mirth etching on every corners of his face. He doesn't let himself have a second thought about that, clinging to the word 'pancakes' to help him survive walking three steps across the pantry and finally, finally, close the distance between him and the glass. He grabs it with a predator grip and takes a big swig. Water tips into his mouth like a miracle and he he closes his eyes in sheer relief, feeling the sandpaper in his throat melting off. Some dribble off his chin and he probably moaned in the process, but nothing listed in the worst things he's done in front of Karkat.
“Oh god, that was the best water I've ever had.” Dave gasps, putting the glass down. "Like that time we finally had sex after a three week ban because we had to stay at your nun brother's house."
“Please don't remind me of that.” Karkat sighs as he brings two plates to the table. Dave's mouth waters at the sight of pancakes and bacon.
He's reaches forward for the fork when the first rational thought of the day downs on him like an ice bucket. He looks up, alarmed.
“Shit, I didn't do anything dumb last night, did I?”
Karkat glances back up at him, his smile getting wider. It usually fucks Dave up in weird, intimate places in his chest but this time the dread is stronger.
“Well,” Karkat taps a manicured claw against his chin in mock thought. “You were acting like a amplified bulgesucker of yourself. You also interrupted my meeting with Kanaya. Abandoned John to Kanaya so I can get you home, some friend you are. He’s safe back in his apartment, by the way. You’re fucking welcome.”
The words pull at him and the memories come trickling back like a small leak in a barrel. He remembers trying to introduce Kanaya to her own fucking wife, then trying to ask Karkat out like an absolute idiot. He remembers Karkat carrying him back to the car and leaving him there for the rest of the night until he came back to drive them both home. He remembers John—
Father son and the holy shit, John. Dave completely forgot about him. The fear of to check his phone triples.
Karkat must’ve noticed his visibly paling face, because he leans over and grabs one of his hand. The gentle, familiar pressure is there, humming through Dave’s body like a lullaby for the pain. He holds on to it, using the energy to shun the darker, more embarrassed thoughts. Some of his muscles relax immediately. It still stuns Dave sometimes, how much control Karkat has over his own body and how naked he is willing to be with him, onhsicallpand mentally. He slumps onto his other hand to hide his blush.
“I went on my fucking knee and asked you out.” He says hollowly.
“Hey, not going to lie, that was the adorable.” Karkat’s eyes crinkle further. Man, he's old. They're old. “I mean, you made half the bar sober with that scream, but it was still really fucking adorable.”
“Sweet Jesus fuck, I'm never leaving my DJ booth ever again.”
“Debatable option.” Karkat says. His thumb is stroking Dave’s hand in soothing circles. “The jazz replacement was so much better.”
That pries a laugh from Dave’s mouth. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, fuck you. Thirdly, have you considered? Fuck you.”
“Been there, done that.” His husband smiles, lifting his hand to kiss it. The silver band on their ring fingers gleam. “Now eat your breakfast.”