Chapter Text
He hasn’t talked to you much over the past few days. You’re not surprised. It makes your gut churn- you were stupid to think you ever had any chance. Everything has been upturned by a simple confession. The thought of Lalonde being wrong for once doesn’t even help.
You’re still hanging on to weeks ago, when he held your hand and pressed it to his cheek and everything felt alright. Now you’re not so sure things will feel alright for awhile, if ever. She fucked it all up. She’s not even around anymore and she’s still fucking things up.
But you can’t blame it all on her. That’s just not cool- not even on any levels of ironic is it cool to blame your problems on other people. Admittedly, if you had never fallen for him, you wouldn’t have this problem. So you’ll blame your own stupid heart- at least it’s a lot easier.
You sleep in later, not bothering to get up when you don’t need to. Karkat books you twice a week at Alternia now. Seeing John at all becomes a rare occurrence- you run on completely different schedules. The only thing you are concerned with is the rent, and it does get paid. Otherwise, you avoid him at all costs.
Being roommates should be awkward. You really wonder why he hasn’t moved out by this point. It’s very questionable indeed, but it’s the one thing, the last shred you hang onto- that maybe he’s sticking around for a reason. It’s laughable, though, that idea.
Twice he’s tried to start a conversation with you and twice you’ve frozen up and not responded. You fuck things up so much- you’re really good at that these days, fucking up.
“I can’t do it anymore Rose, I can’t I can’t…” Your voice comes out half-hysterical and half-unintelligible. You are significantly drunk, and Rose is, (out of the kindness of that black hole she calls a heart), helping you home.
“Give me your keys, Strider.” Blubber blubber blubber. She has to retrieve them from you in a fun game of keep away in which you insist on holding them up high and snickering at her as she only glares at you.
Your stomach is roiling- damn, you really must have drunk a lot. Rose gets the door open and dumps you on the couch, where you gratefully curl up to the pillows and mumble nonsensically. There is motion in the apartment you really don’t have it in you to give a shit about, and so you dose off as voices begin to trickle from the kitchen.
There are a few things you realize when you wake up. One; you have the worst hangover in your entire life. Two; something lukewarm and damp is pressed to your forehead. Three; there is a body pressing into your side, and that definitely worries you.
The latter two are quickly explained. John is asleep, lying next to you and half falling off the couch, his hand pressing a washcloth to your forehead. You groan softly, looking hazily around the dim apartment. Everything is quiet and normal, and John is fully clothed so you’re assuming nothing happened, (which you don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed at.)
All you want right now is a bottle of extra strength aspirin and three weeks of sleep. But you don’t want to disturb John; not when he’s so close. It’d be a real shame. Plus, you’re Dave Strider, and Dave Strider can handle a fucking hangover-
“Oh shit hnnnfgggghrkglgklh-” You expertly lean over John and vomit everywhere.
“That was pretty fucking gross, man.” John smiles a bit at you as he takes a seat on the coffee table, giving a glance down at the wet spot in the carpet. It’s been cleaned and scrubbed by this point, but you still feel horrible about it. You stare miserably at him and groan into the couch.
“It’s not that bad! It happens, you know? All good.” He waves his hand and you nod a bit.
Silence stretches between the two of you for several long moments. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know if you want to talk, anyway. However, John finally breaks the silence.
“Maybe it’s… not the greatest time… but maybe we should… talk about what happened?”
Fuck your life.