Work Text:
You page through the book in your hands carefully, crossing your legs over one another and leaning against the edge of the sofa you’ve taken shelter on. Karkat sits at the other end, a bowl of popcorn in his lap, intently watching the film he’s selected that you will readily admit is disturbing your reading time, but you’d rather not make a fuss. You skim your eyes over the words carefully, doing your best to focus on the book instead of on the movie that is making an exorbitant amount of noise despite being a film dealing with the concept of “romance”.
“Hey, Karbro,” you hear after a few minutes have passed, and you continue to pretend as though you are reading your book though you are much more focused on the situation taking place on the other end of the sofa. Gamzee is hovering behind Karkat like some form of guardian spirit, angel, or whatever else you recall Rose referring to as a guardian of humans believed in their religious ideology. “What’s up?”
“I’m trying to watch a movie,” Karkat responds, voice slightly snappy despite the fact that you doubt he is actually mad. “What do you want?”
You’d hate to admit it, but you’re paying more attention to their conversation than you’re willing to admit. A second later, the sofa bounces a slight bit, and when you look over from the corner of your eyes you find that Gamzee has taken a seat on the sofa next to Karkat. They are pressed together, and you can practically feel the pale energy radiating off of them. You’d never admit it, but you feel a pang of jealousy at the thought of them still partaking in the pale quadrant with one another. You’d never purposely sabotage a moirallegiance, but you can readily admit that you’ve thought of doing so on a few occasions.
“To hang with my bro,” Gamzee responds. “What else could I want?”
You begin to tap your foot, keeping your eyes trained on your book to at least keep up the illusion that you are reading and not paying close attention to every word that leaves each of their mouths, or every movement they make, the way Gamzee swings his arms over Karkat’s shoulders and Karkat absentmindedly moves into them. “Are we bugging you, Kanaya?” Karkat asks, leaning forward to look around Gamzee and at you.
“Certainly not,” you say, despite the fact that they most certainly are. “You two just continue your pale bonding. I will just read my book in peace.”
Karkat nods in acceptance, leaning back into Gamzee’s embrace and continuing to watch the absolutely terrible and cheesy human movie he has playing on the television. You listen as they share quiet laughs, exchanges between moirails, and you hate to admit that the pang in your chest has become a crushing pain that feels as though it is preventing you from breathing in a proper manner. Your hands shake as you hold onto the book in your hands as though it is your anchor to the real world, and you breathe out slowly but surely. You can do this. You are Kanaya Maryam; the master of peacefulness.
At the other end of the sofa, Karkat cuddles further into Gamzee’s side and bumps his horns against his, a clear sign of a strong pale bond and relationship, and Gamzee returns the favor. You shift uncomfortably in your seat and fight away the tears you feel forming.
Maybe someday.