Work Text:
Things were going well for the first month, you and Dave weren't... well, you weren't officially dating, not quite yet. While you knew that you wanted to, and you absolutely do, there was the aspect of getting to know each other that had to happen first. You’re determined to make this work, you refuse to end up with a broken heart that leaves you all hollow and empty inside. Not too different than what happened to you long before you moved to Chicago.
Dave sits next to you, the two of you were at your apartment, watching some weird, foreign film he brought over. He ordered dinner; pepper steak with fried rice for himself, sweet and sour chicken with white rice for yourself. As the two of you ate, you watched the movie, a comfortable silence between the two of you. Or at least that’s how it must seem on his end. Persepolis, some film about a girl named Marjane in Tehran running from the government to keep safe or something like that. To be honest, you're really only paying half of your attention to it.
At the moment, you’re too busy, shaking with nerves because at this point, it's been three weeks since the two of you kissed and you've been on a quite a few dates. Nothing has really happened yet, save for a few kisses goodbye, and you're certain that Dave wants to talk about it in some capacity. But the problem, isn’t Dave. No, the problem here is you. You're still not sure if you're ready to commit yourself totally to Dave quite yet. Well, okay... you know are but you're still freaking out just a little bit.
Dave yawns, a horribly obviously fake thing, and stretches to put his arm around you. The oldest and most cliché trick in the book, but you’d be a liar if you said you weren’t all about clichés sometimes. It’s too bad that you know he’s going to ask you what you and he are and you are not ready for that discussion just yet. "So... Karkat, I've been thinking-"
Shit shit shit SHIT. You have to act fast before you say something you don’t actually mean while you try to avoid this discussion. "This movie is really great, Dave! You said it's from France, right??" You feel yourself cringe at your word vomit. Ugh, Cupid would have your head if he saw you fucking this up so badly. He did his best getting the two of you together and you’re just fucking it up left and right. Wait… since when did you care about his approval over you?
“Uhhh… yeah. It’s like… some indie film or something, I dunno. Kanaya and Rose suggested it to me a while back and I ain’t never got ‘round to watchin’ it. Soooo, I figure, I got my boyf- er… I got you to watch it with so… imma watch it with you, y’know?” He rambles and you feel yourself wince when he trips, not knowing if you’re his boyfriend or not.
You wish Cupid’s arrows would make this part easy. All they do is give you the push to get together. They don’t fix the errors in communication and they surely don’t fix broken hearts like yours. Well, not that you need fixing. You just need to get over yourself long enough to trust Dave.
You love Dave, you know you do. You’ve been pining for him for well over three years and he’s been doing the same for you, apparently. You’re just… really fucking scared that he’s going to break your heart like you’ve seen him do so many times with all of his past relationships. You trust him not to, you really do, but you’re smart enough not to fool yourself into thinking that his eye won’t wander away from you if you’re not interesting enough for him. And if you’re being honest, you’re not really all that interesting of a person.
An uncomfortable silence settles over the room again and you quietly pick at your food. It went cold well over twenty minutes ago while you were wrapped up in yourself, trying to think of ways to avoid the topic. Not that it ended up doing you any good since you just fucking blundered your way into him thinking you don’t like him or something. And someone like you knows well enough by now that communication is so fucking important to a relationship. Because without it, there’s really no point in sticking around and wasting the other person’s time.
Once you’re out of your head long enough to take stock of your surroundings, you notice Dave’s fingers moving on your arm. They tap a rhythmic beat on your arm and you realize that he’s tapping out the beat to your phone’s ringtone. You also realize that he’s been trying to talk to you for a while while you were lost in your thoughts. Shit, Karkat, pay attention for fucking once in your goddamn life.
“-hone has been ringing for an awful long time now. You should probably go answer it once you get outta la la land.” He says and lets go of your arm. You shake your head and get up, your phone is sitting on the counter across the room in the kitchen so you unfortunately have to go get it. As you sheepishly walk in the direction of your phone, you frown. Immediately when you see the number, you huff in annoyance. What the fuck is he calling you for? You grumble angrily and pick it up, hissing, “Hello?”
“KARKAT, MY HOMIE! I ain’t heard yer pretty little voice in for ever! How ya been? Didn’t think I wasn’t gonna check in on ya, didja? Huh, huh?” Cupid’s fake-peppy voice sings through the speakers and you hold your phone a good distance away from yourself as he grows louder with his enthusiasm. Once he quiets down again, you hold it back to your ear, “I had a weird feelin’ I was gonna be needin’ t’check on ya today. Why ain’t you an’ the Strider-boy together yet?”
“Because my-” you start to yell and then stop because Dave surely can hear you. You hold one finger up, as if to say “one second” and point to your bedroom and he nods knowingly. As if he knows you’re talking to the God of Love himself. Once you’re actually in the bedroom, you slide the door shut and walk to the far side of the room before continuing, “Because my fucking heart was broken really fucking badly and Dave is a motherfucking heartbreaker by nature, you fucking idiot.”
You hear Cupid sigh dramatically and groan, "Oh boyyyy. Karkat... Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment, then he goes on. He never shuts his mouth so you don’t know why you’re surprised by this. “Y'know, if y'think he won't stay with ya, you're probs wrong as fuck, my dude."
"How the fuck am I wrong? He's got a fucking track record and a path of disaster behind him. Who's to say that I won't be another one, huh?" You hiss between your teeth and ignore the swell of tears in your chest. They threaten to spill over if you don’t get some kind of comfort or reassurance soon and you do NOT want to be crying your eyes out when Dave is in the room right next to you. You want this to work so fucking badly but somehow you're fucking convinced that he's going to-
"How do you know it wasn't him who got his heart broken all the time? Didja even ask him who broke up with who? Because my records on him indicate that-"
"Hold the fuck up."
"Uh... alright?" You hear the absolute bewilderment in his voice at being interrupted by you. But you keep going, because this is fucking weird and, to be honest, kind of fucking creepy.
"You keep records on people?"
"Well yeah, s'just good bookkeeping, bro." He says as if it's a totally normal thing to keep tabs on people. You have the feeling he can tell you're weirded out by all of this because he pauses for a second, considering what to say next. "Karkat, what's my job?"
"You're Cupid? The God of Love?"
"Mmhmm. And what does Cupid do, Karkat?"
You roll your eyes and lean back against the bedroom wall, "He finds people, figures them out, and then pushes them together somehow. Like a fucking massive and stupidly cerebral idiot with his shitty system. He’s a real puzzle loving son of a bitch, so I’ve come to learn, however fucking unfortunately for me."
You hear him laugh a little, "What can I say, babe? I’m a puzzle lovin’ boy. But that’s besides the point. If that’s correct, and it is, it'd make sense that as a person who works with people, I'd have records on people, right, Karkat?"
You make an annoyed noise in your throat and mumble, "I fucking guess, yeah."
"So then, Karkat... Are you through with judging me for doing my goddamn job?" He grumbles that last part. If you were any less observant, you might miss how fucking tired and worn down he sounds right now. But you’re not and you decide to call him out on it.
“What’s got you all worked up anyway?” You ask and wait for him to yell at you for digging into his personal life like he always does. This is one constant of your weird ass work relationship you’ve come to expect. Only… it doesn’t come at all Instead, he’s quiet for a moment, so much so that you think he’s hung up on you.
But eventually, his voice comes through, all small and full of tears, “It’s nothing…”
Oh.
"That really doesn’t sound like it’s nothing, what's wrong, Cupid?" You're shocked to hear genuine care in your voice. That you actually care about Cupid's well-being, despite the fact that he yanked you around for three years and made you do his stupid job.
"Listen, it’s- it's really fucking nothing, alright? I'm asking about you so let's talk about you, okay? Don’t fucking ask about me unless you want an earful of shit that your little mortal brain wouldn’t understand anyway."
You take a deep breath, you really don't want to get into this right now. Not while you're on a date with Dave. But you also don't really want to leave him hanging, it’s kind of fucking rude to ask someone about how they’re feeling and then not continue off of that. You think for a moment about what to do, weighing your options and such. You ultimately decide that you'll just have to get back to him later because you have this weird feeling that his emotions are going to be a bit much for you right now. Well, weird feeling is one word for it. Knowing exactly how overwhelming his mountain of emotions can be is another and more accurate term, you think.
"Karkat?" Cupid's voice is a little stronger now and a little less full of tears, you hear him clear his throat, trying to sound more put together.
"Cupid- er... Kishi," you pause when you hear him gasp dramatically.
"Aww, chickpea, you remembered my name. Bless yer heart." You can hear the smug smile in his voice.
"Shut the fuck up. Just- tell me about this later, alright?" You hear him start to refute and you stop him, "And no we're not going to not talk about it. We will. But I just need help right now."
"...Fine." He sighs and you swear you can hear the eyeroll in his voice, "So, Dave."
"Yes... Dave."
"Dave's gotten his heart broke plenty of times 'cuz he wouldn't spill his emotions t'just anyone. An' he wasn't willin' t'go all in for just anyone, y'know?" The sounds of a whistle being blown goes off in the background. What the hell? Where the fuck is he at anyway? "Oh, hold up, homie. My tea is all done. Imma put you on speaker though so don’t even worry about it."
The phone clicks and you listen to the sounds of him rattling around in his cupboards and hear the telltale sound of a mug clicking against a counter. He prattles on, "So, for someone who needs my advice, yer awful quiet."
"Why are you drinking tea?" You ask, to get him to keep talking to you. You’re not sure why you’re so invested in this, but you guess you do care just a little bit.
"I been told tea is perfect for when ya got a broke as fuck heart, dear. Now, what's the deal with Dave?" He says matter-of-factly, like he didn't just reveal exactly what was wrong to you. His heart is broken but you don’t remember him ever mentioning anyone important to him before.
"Dave is fine, mostly. I just-" Something crashes and you hear him yell "SHIT!" but you go onwards, "Did- umm, did you just drop something?"
"Um! No. Definitely did not drop the entire sugar canister on the ground. It's fine, it’s fine." He says, "Dave loves you, bro, you'll be fiiiine. You gotta start makin' moves soon, chickadee. Not that it matters how fast or how slow ya are tho, I guess. His eyes always been on ya so that's why he ain't interested in nobody else. It also explains why everyone was breakin' his heart. 'Cuz they knew he wasn't into them for realsies."
"'For realsies.' Right. Why was he dating anyone else in the first place?”
Another glass bottle or something clinks and it echoes through the phone. The sound of sugar falling and dissolving in hot water fills your ears, “‘Cuz, baby, he’s got abandonment issues. Hah. Don’t we all, in some way? Speakin’ of, ain’t he gonna be real nervous ‘cuz you ain’t out there?”
Shit. You didn’t think of that. “You’re probably right. Are you sure you’re fine and you’re not just saying that to chase me off, Kishi? Shockingly enough, I actually do fucking care about you. Even though I rightfully fucking shouldn’t after you yanked me around for so fucking long.”
“It really is okay you big stupid bitch.” He laughs gently and something that sounds like a spoon clinks against what you can only assume is the glass mug, “At least that’s what I’m tellin’ myself. You worry about you an’ I’ll worry about me.” He gets quiet again and the phone clicks. Then his voice comes through, soft and whispering, but full of emotion. “I appreciate that you asked though. That really does mean a lot to me, Karkat. Now. Go flirt with yer boy. You can call me later or somethin’. Not that you gotta but I’d appreciate it all the same if ya did. Later, chickadee..”
The phone sounds off with one final click into sterling silence, he hung up finally. You let out the breath you were holding, leaning back in relief and accidently slam your head back into the wall. You hear Dave yelp and it makes you stand up a little straighter, shit. You hope you didn’t freak him out too much with that loud ass noise. You’re more worried about him thinking his Bro is coming after him than your head that you just bashed on the wall. You feel like that says a lot about you and your priorities.
“Hey… Karkat, you okay?” His voice calls to you and he knocks on your bedroom door. You sigh, you guess it’s time for an apology in the form of actions. Because you were always better about showing how you feel rather than actually opening your gaping maw and actually saying it. “I can go home if you don’t wanna-”
“No it’s fine, I’m on my way out. It’s just-” You open the door and startle yourself with how close he is. You see him leap too and he takes a step back, giving you ample space to get around him if you want to. But you don’t really want to walk away just yet, you have to explain yourself. Not that he asked you or anything, you just think it’s nicer to say who you were talking to rather than making him guess. “It was just my old boss. You remember that dude you met in the coffee shop? That guy, he was curious how I was doing, I guess.”
“What’s even the deal with him?” Dave asks and you see him bristle with protective energy. It's giving you weird vibes of back in the café a month ago, when Dave ran into him the first time. You get the feeling that Cupid sets off those weird vibes of "look out, danger" for Dave like he did for you when you first met him. It’s for the best, really, since being on Cupid’s bad side isn’t something anyone should ever want to be. He can be kind of fucking seriously dangerous if he needs to be.
“He just really cares about his old coworkers, I guess. He’s like an old school guidance counselor, always calling you up to check on you and ‘See how you’re doing, sweetheart’ and that kind of shit.” You roll your eyes and huff with aggravation. “He’s fine though, I just take it to mean he cares.”
"Hah. I guess so, yeah. So like, does he think he's your therapist or some shit?" Dave laughs and runs his hand through his short, pretty, orangey-blond hair. You barely resist the urge to reach up and play with it but you manage to stamp down the urge. That would be pretty weird, especially since he still doesn't know if you two are boyfriends or not. You think it’s time to put your tiny little plan into action, you just have to get him back into the livingroom and move the topic away from Cupid.
"Nah, I think he's just being really fucking nice. Not that he really needs to be, but some people are just like that." You shrug and realize that you're still standing in your bedroom doorway. A place Dave has yet to see inside of but you know, there's hopes that he might someday... Okay this is a weird train of thought and you're making yourself blush now so you're better off getting back to the livingroom.
Dave seems to realize you’re ready to get back to the movie too and he steps back again to let you pass him. You smile at him and nod a thank you, stepping back over to the couch. You’re about to sit back down when you make a moments decision to grab the blanket off of the back of it first. Dave quirks an eyebrow up at you and you shrug, wrapping the blanket over your legs as you sit. You pat the other half of the couch and he seems to understand because he heads over to you. As he sits, he takes the other half of the blanket and wraps it over his legs as well.
You snuggle up closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder, you feel him untense next to you, success. He presses play on the movie and you listen to the sounds of Marjane’s voice as she narrates her life over the black and white film.
Your eyes start getting heavy, it’s pretty goddamn late and you’re pretty full from your dinner, even though you only ate half of it. You try to keep your eyes open, you swear you do, but the last thing you hear before you drift off is the sound of Marjane telling you about France and Dave’s laugh over her shenanigans.
When you actually do wake up, you’re all alone in your house, blanket wrapped around your shoulders and a pillow under your head. Your phone is next to you with the charger plugged into it. Oh jesus, Dave went into your room to get that. You hope he didn’t mind the mess or even notice it. You can only pray as much because you’d hate to chase him away with how much of a mess you can be. You swear you’ll get around to organizing, it’s just been a while and you’re too busy with work to really make the time for it.
As you pick up your phone to check it for messages or phone calls you might’ve gotten in the night, you notice a note stuck onto the back of it. You flip it over and see what it says, silently cursing Cupid for your fear of checking any and all notes. Who knew someone could have a phobia of handwritten letters? There’s bound to be a real and actual name for that and you’re nearly about to Google it when you remember you need to READ the damn note. Focus, Karkat. Focus.
Hey babe, figured you’d want this to be not dead in the morning. Hope it’s cool that I went in your room and got the charger for this. I didn’t touch nothing else, just looked for the charger and left. I love you.
Dave
He signed it, as if you don’t know it’s from him from the sloppy, yet angular writing in his signature red gel pen. Your heart flutters in your chest and you catch yourself hugging your phone to your chest, as though you’re hugging Dave himself. It’s so fucking sweet that he wrote “I love you” on it. It makes you want to message him and be honest with your feelings for once in your life. So, instead of hesitating, you take the chance and ride the wave of inspiration, even though it makes you nervous as all hell. You’re going to do it, you’re going to stake your claim on his heart and declare that it belongs to you in the best way you know how.
CG: HEY DAVE. LETS GO ON ANOTHER DATE SOON, I’M HAVING A LOT OF FUN BEING YOUR BOYFRIEND. MESSAGE ME BACK WHEN YOU GET THIS.
It’s painful, this feeling of intense loneliness. Your heart aches, the feeling of loss fills the hollow parts of your heart, as if someone you loved dearly has come and gone, taking their life with them. Not even a chance to say goodbye or a chance to apologize. In a flash, their life was gone, even your powers couldn’t bring them back. No matter how much you wanted them to.
You close your eyes and recall their last words to you and your heart stings again with the feeling of chilled regret, ice cold and cutting on its way in and digging as it settles into your soul.
“It’s over, you don’t have to stick around for me anymore. You should go on with your life and forget I ever even existed.”
You feel yourself crumple, your soul seems to recede back into your body, accepting its cold and dark fate. The fate of someone who is destined to be alone for the rest of their pathetic and yet immortal life. The feeling crushes you and every single thought in your head rushes into the darkest recesses of your heart, the part that you haven’t touched since childhood. Well, whatever can even be childhood for an immortal figure like yourself. But it’s been so long since then, an absolutely incomprehensible amount of time for someone who has been around as long as a living being has been, that you’d forgotten you even had the ability to feel like that.
The tears come first, falling in thick streams down your cheeks, a river of warmth against your chilled soul.
“I’m nothing without you.”
The feeling of those words resonate in your ears, those are the words they said to you long ago. But you refused to accept it, to accept that they were really done with you, after all, they’d promised you forever. And even though you knew that their mortal body was incapable of such a thing, you really believed that if your attention was on them at all times, you would be able to keep Death at bay. To abate his job with your very presence around them. So you always watched over them from a distance, keeping your space but making sure that your being was . But in their final moments, while you slept away your sickness from watching over them, the life was stolen from them as quickly as it came, at least in terms of your immortal life.
And the worst part is that, as an immortal being, you can’t even die when you want to. So you have to go on with this feeling in your soul as it eats at you for all eternity, forcing yourself to go on, as they would want you to. But even then, you know you just can’t. There’s nobody that could ever hope to replace the love that they gave you. They made you feel so real, so adored, so loved and tended to. It aches and it burns, yet it chills and numbs you. This pain, this emptiness; it’s as much of a part of you as it has been since the day it happened, hundreds of years ago now. But sometimes, in the quiet of the night, you swear that you can still hear their voice on the wind. Their lips pressing to your cheek, their arms around your neck.
In those moments, more than ever, you miss them so much that your very bones ache to feel their warmth again, pressing to your side in bed. To feel their attention on you as they helped you grow and become more empathetic to the suffering of humans. To play music for them and listen to their lovely, siren-like voice singing you softly to sleep on colder, winter nights. You’re so hollow that you could just disappear. Well, that it were possible. But unfortunately, it is not and so you must live on for them. To keep their memory alive, as they chose to never care for any children, seeing as that they were busy tending to you. You’re the last living memory of their absolute grace and it stings worse than one thousand knives to the throat.
“I would give anything to have you with me again.”
You sit up in a cold sweat, reaching over to the other half of the bed, as if searching for something. No no, not some thing , some one long gone. Someone you know can’t be there anymore. You feel… empty and a sudden loss, a gaping hollow hole in your heart that nobody could ever hope to fill. It really fucking burns.
These feelings aren’t your own. You’re Karkat Vantas, you’re not the person you were in your dream just now. But… if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear you were some version of Cupid. Some version of him that was so much softer than the one you know now. You know he’s smug, you know he’s kind of an asshole. But you never knew he loved anybody that deeply. But… that can’t be right… can it? Cupid never mentioned losing someone like that.
Then again, Cupid never mentioned much of anything to you, not that you cared to ask. Now you’re the one stinging with regret because, just last night, you promised Cupid that you would call him back and you never did.
You didn’t know that his feelings would linger in you once the final arrow was shot, but here they are. You’re getting the full brunt of his emotions directly into your heart. It fucking hurts and, as much as you want it to stop for you, this must be what he’s feeling all the time. So you want it to stop for him as much as you want it to be gone from yourself. Maybe, if you help him feel better, this emotion won’t be so intensely cutting and cold.
You grab your phone and clumsily dial his phone number from memory, it rings twice before he picks up, voice cheery. “Hey there, Karkat, I’ve been waitin’ for your call. You make a promise to a god and ya stiff me? Rude as fuck, my dude. But uh… ain’t it like, three in the morning for you? It’s a little late to be up an’ about, ain’t it, dude?”
“Who were they? Who died?” You blurt out, demanding answers, and hear him gasp in surprise.
Cupid hesitates and goes quiet for a very long time. For nearly two minutes, you listen to the sound of his nervous breathing on the other end of the phone as he presumably waits for you to hang up. You’re not going to though, not until you get to the bottom of this and make him spill his fucking guts about this. You silently wonder how long he’s gone on with this feeling in his heart. Well, if you had to take anything from that dream, it’d be that there’s hundreds of years of grief he’s been hanging onto.
When you don’t, he finally asks, “How… um.. how do you know about that?”
“Call it a fucking feeling. Your emotions are still all up in mine, asshole. Not fucking cool in the slightest.” You sigh and rub the sleep out of your eyes, pulling your blanket tighter around your chilled skin. Not that you think it’s going to fix much, but at least the presence of them is a little comforting. If you close your eyes and pretend for a while, you could fake that it’s someone full-body hugging you in the night. Another one of Cupid’s hollow emotions, you think. It makes you all that much more determined to get to the bottom of this. “So. Are you going to tell me who they were or am I going to have to march over to wherever the fuck you live and force you to tell me? Because if you don’t fucking think I will, Cupid, you’re dead fucking wrong, alright?”
He sighs, a defeated sound, “Don’t do that. I’m on my way. Just- Just. Stay. Put.”
Before you realize it, twenty minutes have passed and Cupid is on your doorstep, knocking away at your front door. Luckily, you were already out of bed and dressed because you were expecting him, but you didn't know how fast or how slow he would be. You also didn't know that he knew where you lived but with his "people job" it doesn't shock you in the least that he knows that.
You've already got a pot of coffee going, semi ironically because the only times you've had the unfortunate circumstance of talking to him in person, it was always over coffee. So what's the use of having to see him again if the sweet, brown elixir of energy isn't there too? It’s a bit like a tradition at this point and you’re not one to make a habit of breaking something like that.
"Hi- uh..." You open the door and he marches right past you, tossing his jacket onto the back of your couch as he does so. You watch him, a little bit nervous that he’s going to scream or murder you. He doesn’t though, he just pulls open your cupboards, searching for something. It only takes you another few seconds to realize what he's looking for, "On the left, the biggest ones are in the front."
He nods, still not saying much of anything, and grabs the biggest coffee mug you have, it holds nearly thirty-two ounces of liquid. You honestly bought it as a joke from some gift shop at the aquarium when you went with Dave on your first date. But hey, at least it’s getting used by someone who seems to have a worse coffee addiction than Dave’s. He fills it up and moves over to your fridge, presumably looking for coffee creamer. He finds what he’s looking for, grabbing it, he tips it into the mug, filling it up until the coffee is a sickly pale colour. You watch as he pours way too much sugar into it and gives it a stir with your coffee spoon. You silently wonder if his old lover is the reason he likes sweet things so much.
He settles for a moment, sipping at the sickly sweet drink before taking a deep breath and looking over at you. You’ve never seen him look so… disheveled and out of place. Especially since, from what you’ve seen of him while hanging out in real life, he cares about his looks a lot. He’s always got his hair done up in nice braids and his clothing perfect. But right now, he looks like someone slapped him in the face and blew an industrial fan at his hair. His clothes are sloppy too, almost none of them fit him correctly. You think it’s safe to assume that they’re all borrowed from someone, or worse, stolen. But somehow you don’t think he’s going to steal someone’s clothes just for this. You also notice that he has a bit of a chest and you shift a little, trying not to pay too much attention to it out of kindness for him. He’s obviously very much not himself right now and the last thing you want to be doing is making him uncomfortable when he’s feeling so vulnerable.
“Yes, Karkat, I’m trans. Yes, I’m a fucking mess. Yes, I’m considering killing you for what you know, not that I fucking understand how or why you do in the first place.” He hisses between his teeth. You remember that he can read emotions so it makes as much sense that he can tell you know now. “I may be a god, but I was born one way and came out another about twenty years later. I’m much older than you could possibly even fucking comprehend, so I am long over it. Who fucking cares, Karkat? Ain’t Dave is trans too? Does it bother you when he exists near you or something? HUH?”
“I didn’t-”
“Ugh. Gods. I know, I know you didn’t. I’m just freaking the fuck out, okay? Nobody has ever asked about them. Not even- ugh. It doesn’t fucking matter, it does not fucking matter! Literally nobody knows about them and the people who do only look at me like I’m a fucking wounded animal who needs all of their fucking pity. But I don’t fucking WANT pity, I just want people to stop looking at me with those doe-eyes, like I need to be babied for what happened.” He squeezes his hand on the mug, so much so that you think it’s going to shatter under his grip. It doesn’t though and he tilts it back, gulping it down as fast as possible without pausing to take a breath. You take this as your chance to talk while he’s preoccupied.
“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” You try to reassure him and reach forward to pat him on the shoulder, a show of trust. You don’t think he’ll hurt you, he might be upset, but he won’t hurt you. He relaxes just a little bit before straightening up again, you assume he’s ready to keep talking.
“No, you need to know now. Besides… it’s high time I was fucking honest with you about some shit, Karkat.” He slams the mug down on the counter. You jump a little and he flinches at your reaction, but he keeps going despite it. “It’s been six hundred and thirty one years since they died. Tonight, it’s exactly that, today is the anniversary of it. It- It was sudden. The second I wasn’t watching over them, the God of Death had to do his job, you know? That fucker was just waiting for me to stop watching them. But even a god needs to sleep sometimes, Karkat. I’d already been awake for ten years at that point and their time had passed long ago. But as long as I was watching, Death wouldn’t do anything.”
“Hah. Even the God of Death didn’t want to incur my wrath. He can’t kill me in battle and I can just fuck with his emotions to make him leave me alone. But you know, every has a job they need to do. Everyone has a job, Karkat. And I slacked on my job for ten fucking years to be with them every waking moment of their pathetic little mortal life. But damn if I wasn’t willing to put myself in danger to keep them safe and happy. I wasn’t so much dying as I was getting really fuckin’ sick from being awake for so long. The week I took off to rest, they...”
He stops for a second and paces around your living room, looking at the decorations on your shelves as he walks. You keep a few records that Dave gave to you and a few that were gifts from your dad once he heard that you were collecting them. He grabs the needle on the record player and drops it on the record you had last been playing. It’s Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 14 , one of your personal favorites. The slightly somber tones of the piano fill the room and you sigh sadly for his sake. But Cupid looks as pleased as you’ve ever seen him look.
“They would’ve loved this piece, if they’d been around to hear it. They used to love it when I’d play the harpsichord for them on late nights. Once they left me, I used to… I used to sneak into their house at night and play little tunes for them while they slept. They probably never even realized it but, you know, playing music for them kept the God of Death at bay because that’s how he knew, you know? That’s how he knew that I was there, watching over them.” He continues, tapping his fingers against his leg to the sounds of the piano.
They loved music, that’s why he loves music. It all makes so much sense now. He listens to music to be closer to them, even in death. So that way he always has a piece of them with him at all times. “What did you play for them?”
“My... own songs. I… I stopped writing music not too long after they died. At least it was peaceful, you know? In their sleep at the very least. They were probably in a lot of pain, they just weren’t awake to realize it. And I never really got to say goodbye, so I’m kind of…haha. I guess you could say I have regrets.” He stops again, brushing wild hair back behind his shoulders. “Does that answer your question?”
You’re not really sure what to say but you know you want him to keep talking. Because if he’s talking, then he’s letting it all out instead of bottling it up until he explodes like you’re sure he’s used to. You only know the feeling so well because you used to do the same thing when you were younger. “Were they sick or something?”
“Yeah… a little bit. I uh… I think the modern term is tuberculosis or something? I dunno. I haven’t done my research on it in years. S’not like it matters if I know now. I’m the God of Love, not of Time. I can’t turn back the clock and save them. They’re dead and gone, long fucking gone. It’s been well over six hundred years and I just- I have to go on. It’s what they would’ve wanted anyway. At least, that’s what I tell myself every morning.”
He looks out of the window and into the early morning light, watching the green skyline over the lake. Cupid take a deep breath and finishes off his thoughts, “They would want me to go on without them. They needed to die about eight years sooner than they did and really, I was just putting off the inevitable for selfish fucking reasons. I never accounted for the fact that you could even fall in love like that without one of my pathetic fucking arrows to BE the catalyst for that. But I suppose that even the God of Love is susceptible to loving someone. I just had the most unfortunate circumstance of falling in love with a fucking human.”
You stare at him for a few minutes, watching the sullen look in his eyes as he takes a few more deep breaths. You can tell he’s still holding it all in, keeping his emotions at bay for you. Some part of your soul stings and you have the crippling feeling for some sort of physical contact, some form of comfort. You know for a fact that these emotions aren’t your own, but they’re Cupid’s emotions that are still tied up in with yours.You hate that you’re about to do something that could possibly get you shot or worse.
You walk over to him, cautiously. He turns quickly, “What? What do you fucking want? Are you here to pity me? To tell me how fucking sorry you are? I’ve heard it a million fucking times, Karkat. I don’t want to fucking hear it from you. Besides, I know how much you fucking hate me. You’re better off that way anyway, at least then you can’t get wrapped up in my bullshit. Because if you get too close to me, you’ll die. Every single shred of evidence points to that fact. Anyone I get involved with leaves or dies eventually.”
“Hey, umm. Don’t kill me for this, alright?” You wince as you say it and he rolls his eyes, preparing to fight you off, you assume.
“What. What are you-”
You wrap your arms around him, his short torso pressing into yours. You hear his breath catch and within an instant, his arms wrap around your shoulders, pulling you closer and closer. He takes a big gasp of air first before you hear his whimpering cries, “It hurts so fucking much, Karkat. Your- your mortal mind can’t even fucking comprehend how long I’ve grieved them. It’s been so fucking long and it still fucking hurts so badly.”
“It’s alright. You’ll be alright.” You whisper soothingly to him, reaching up to rub his back while he sobs. He holds onto you for a while, sobbing like that. The entire left shoulder of your sweater is positively soaked in his tears before he pulls back. He wipes at his eyes and takes a deep breath, staring you down. He’s still crying but he wipes at his tears. You feel bad for him of your own volition. His emotions are just vague feelings of sadness right now. But he’s right, you can’t comprehend over six hundred years of grief. It must really mess him up inside to have to go on like this. You almost want to hug him again but you refrain from that and instead, you just sort of rub his arm to show him that you care.
“Sorry for… for coming over and crying like this. I drank a fuck ton of your coffee too, bro. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He laughs while he cries, wiping away the last bits of dampness with his shirt sleeve, “You’ll- you will forgive me, right? You don’t gotta but I’d appreciate it if you did.”
You smile softly at him and a genuine warmth spreads through you. He’s actually not really all that bad once you get him to open up and be honest with his feelings. It makes him that much more understandable to you. He has emotions just like anyone else and, just like anyone else, he needs actual fucking comfort when he’s depressed or upset. “Yes, Cupid. I don’t think I can stay mad at you anyway. Even though I should.”
He smiles back at you, hugging you this time. You hear him laugh slightly before he pulls back and looks you in the eye, “Umm… why don’t you call me Kishi. It’s- It’s what my friends call me. And we’re friends, aren’t we Karkat?”
You kind of are at this point, aren’t you? You might as well just accept it. Besides that, it doesn’t feel bad to accept it at this point. Not when he’s done nothing but be kind to you at every step of the way. “Yeah. We’re friends, Kishi.”
“Lit... I mean, ugh whatever. You get the point. Now, as your friend I have to get out of your hair and let you sleep. Real friends don’t let each other stay up all fuckin’ night when they should be sleepin’ after all.” He starts to gather his things, first depositing his used mug into the sink. As he grabs his jacket, he gasps and it startles you. “Oh shit I almost forgot.” He reaches into his jacket pocket from the couch and hands you a letter with a wink and a nod, “This has a few spells in it. Consider them a gift. You’ll need them in the future, if my calculations are correct.”
He’s at the door before he turns around again, grabbing onto the side of it as he speaks to you. “Thanks again, Karkat. Good luck. Not that you’ll need it, trust me. You’re perfect and Dave loves you, he really does. Congratulations on the boyfriend by the way, don’t think I had the chance to say that when I first barged in here like a madman on a mission to murder some fools. Y’all’re so fuckin’ cute and I’m hella elated for ya.”
Not everyone can say they’re friends with a god, but hey, not everyone can say they got shot with a bow and arrow three times and lived, now then, can they? Either way, you’ve got to get this dork out of the door before he lingers any longer than he really should be lingering.
“Goodbye, Cupid.” You roll your eyes and start to close the door behind him. He laughs and moves out of the way, standing back so you can close it properly. “Seriously, head on home, Kishi. You should get some rest after all of that.”
“Goodbye, Karkat.” Kishi signs off with a kiss and waves goodbye.