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It’s the worst time of the year. The sky is cloudless, cicada’s are chirping, cute little bumblebees are pollinating gorgeous fucking flowers, and the South Peixies High boys are swimming today in gym class.
Which means you’re skipping by hiding out in the locker room shower.
You’re not like the rest of those assholes, flashy and pompous about their bodies. You’d rather keep yours stored away where it belongs beneath your thick, loose sweater like a sane person, thank you very fucking much.
You’ve been skipping the swimming portion of gym since freshman year on principle. No proper, government funded establishment should be forcing their students to strip in front of one another for a class. It’s inappropriate and not to mention completely, illegally inhumane.
And maybe, a tiny bit… embarrassing.
Your body is just so weird. It’s too frail and too pudgy all at the same time. It’s abnormal and shouldn’t be seen by other human eyes. You’re doing the world a service by hiding in solitude where no innocent bystander’s retinas can undergo permanent damage at the sight of you in nothing but a school-issued bathing suit.
Truthfully, there are certain people’s eyes you really really couldn’t bear to have land on your shirtless torso. To see the unfortunate mass kept hidden beneath layers of fabric. Certain people like-
“JESUS! FUCK!” cursing and stumbling and crashing from the neighboring shower makes you yelp and flinch hard with surprise.
At your yelp, the movement in the other shower abruptly stills.
“Hello?” A voice calls out hesitantly and holy shit, you know that voice. God, first the worst gym class of the year, and now this? The cosmos obviously elected you as their sadistic, fucked up entertainment for the day.
The voice speaks again. “Is someone else… is someone else in here?” Yeah, you’d recognize that voice in an instant, but you’ve never heard it sound quite so... small.
You close your eyes and slow your breathing and try not to allow a single muscle in your body to so much as quiver. You don’t want him to know you’re in here. You don’t want him to know why you’re in here. Shame is already settling in your gut.
The curtain of the shower next to yours is whooshed open and almost imperceptible footsteps approach your hiding spot. How come he’s so goddamn light on his feet?
You hunch your shoulders and scrunch your eyes even tighter. Your curtain is ripped open and light floods your stall.
You crack an eye open and yup, yeah, there he is. Dave Strider. Fuck your life.
“Karkat?” His voice pitches high and he abruptly steps back and pushes the bridge of his shades up on his nose. A nervous habit you’ve noticed.
Before you can even think about how atypically on edge he is, Dave seems to remember who he is and how he's supposed to be. His stance shifts, and his entire posture goes excessively nonchalant; his face resumes it’s unaffected veneer in an instant.
It’s off putting. You can never understand how he does that.
Words finally return to you in the form of mockery. “Did you fall in there dumbass? What the fuck was all that noise?”
“Oh, what? That clanking and shit?” Dave feigns flippancy. “No yeah, actually that was just the sound of me doing a routine shower inspection, you know how it goes,” he gestures at you as if there’s even a single, solitary chance in hell that you actually might know “how it goes.”
Dave verbally steamrolls over any interjections rising in your throat. “The water pressure in that other shower seemed preeetty solid- guess I can check how yours is doing since I’m in here,” he nudges you out of the way and reaches up to start absently fiddling with the shower head.
You know there’s no stopping Dave's verbal onslaught now, so you settle for crossing your arms and rolling your eyes and groaning as dramatically as possible. It’s disgusting how overt his posturing is, but he seems a little off, and so whatever, you’ll leave it be. The focus is off of you like this anyways.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why I'm not in gym,” he continues, “up there getting all wet and shirtless and shit with the rest of ‘em. Yeah, I fucking love getting naked in front of my classmates as much as the next guy, letting a bunch of pubescent, sexually budding young men oggle my bod, but,” his face is turned away from you and you can see his ears turn red, “unfortunately my work as a handyman takes priority.” He lowers his arm to start messing with the shower knobs, still absolutely not looking at you.
“My manual dexterity and propensity for having any pants that I wear hang slightly lower than my asscrack make me a savant in the plumbing community.” Ok wow, he’s still going.
His grasp on his unbothered affectation is obviously slipping, and his voice picks up speed. “So yeah, Karkat. Yeah. I’m just here ‘cause of that. Uh. If you wanted to know, which I’m one hundred percent sure you did. I really did wanna be up there, but a man’s got obligations. Plumbing duties to uphold,” at this point he’s just standing there fucking facing the wall.
“Why are you just standing there facing the fucking wall?”
"So anyways," he ignores you "I’ll just do a final check of this-” he roughly turns the cold knob all the way to the right.
“HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! STRIDER WHAT THE FUCK?” you squawk as freezing water rains down you. “WHAT IS ACTUALLY WRONG WITH YOU! WHY DID YOU JUST TURN IT ON?”
“To TEST it!” Dave yells and whips around. You take a step back as freezing water drenches both of you. You stare at one another in shocked silence. Dave just yelled. He doesn’t yell. The fucker doesn't even like to inflect his voice if he can help it.
“Uhh...” Dave starts folding in on himself, shoulders raised to his ears and face bright red. His hair is soaking wet, and droplets are falling in his face.
He looks unsure and miserable. Maybe more miserable than you are. You grab his arm and pull him out of the shower and into the brightly lit locker room.
Your sweater is sopping and heavy but you ignore it. Dave’s looking around at the showers, not speaking, pretending he didn't just commit the biggest character break of his life.
“Strider,” you start.
He pretends to be counting showers under his breath.
“Dave,” you yank on his arm that you’re still grasping and he jerks to face you, looking… nervous? Scared?
You soften your voice as much as you’re capable of. “Hey, hey. It's fine, okay? Just, were you like, fucking hiding in here? Because obviously the plumber thing is one of the biggest loads of bull I've ever heard you spew.”
Dave opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He seems paralyzed.
"I mean because," your voice is barely audible when you softly mumble, “I was. Hiding."
You have to force out that last part. Now your face feels warm. This is humiliating and everything you absolutely did not want today.
“Why?” Dave croaks.
You weigh your options. On the one gross, sweaty hand, there’s the objective fact that your body is inherently undesirable and unlovable, and coupled with that is the humiliating fact that you’re so dreadfully ashamed of it. You’re ashamed of being so ashamed. It’s all just a big fest of shame and self loathing surrounding Karkat Vantas’s chubby little body. So you better shut your big, moronic mouth now before you let Dave Strider know even more things about you that you never wanted Dave Strider to know, right? It’s not cool to be insecure, and Dave Strider loves cool. Wants cool.
Well that’s what you thought, but.
On the other also sweaty hand, Dave is looking at you like what you’ll say next determines whether he lives or dies. Like he needs something from you. His lips are pressed into a thin line and is he even breathing?
You’re mortified but god, look at Dave. He’s clearly hurting, maybe in the same way as you, and you don’t have it in you to jerk him around over this. You feel like there’s something very fragile in the balance, and if you fumble and fuck up, you might actual murder Dave Strider. Or like, probably not, but something almost as bad maybe.
There’s no easy way to say this.
“Why!? My body is fucking disgusting!” spills out of you.
Hm. Maybe there is actually. You- hm.
It keeps coming. “I mean come on Dave. It’s no secret that I’m pretty fucking unattractive, and something really cool and great for me is it’s actually not just my face. I’m fucking consistent. That’s right. Every inch of me is just fucking… fucking unpleasant and awful and- and undesirable to even the most sad and desperate sack of flesh! You know it! John knows it, Vriska knows it, fucking PETER from BIOLOGY knows it. I- I’m TERRIBLE!,” your voice cracks.
You thought you were just doing Dave a favor, but now you’re kind of trying not to cry. Wouldn’t that just be the heinous icing on top of the loathsome, detestable cake.
“You?” it’s incomprehensible as to why there’s disbelief in Dave’s voice, “Karkat you’re- you’re you! Everyone fucking thinks you’re great. Like ya know! Karkat. He’s funny, angry, nice, and…” he crosses his arms and his pale features become so, so red.
“And?” you almost growl. You don’t know what he’s trying to say. You can’t accept it.
“And you know! You’re…” he mumbles.
“I’m what Dave? You’re gonna have to speak up unless you want me filling in that mumbling with every unpleasant adjective I can possibly think of, and, in case you’ve never met me, unpleasant adjectives are kind of my speciality!”
“You’re cute and stuff! Okay! That’s just like, what people in general think. Not me. Not that I don’t think it, because me saying that I don’t think it would be completely counterproductive to what I’m trying to tell you which is that you’re not ugly, alright!"
God, you were trying to make Dave feel better, but now he’s the one trying to comfort you with obviously empty words.
“Dave,” you pause to emphasize just how dumb you think he is, “you and I both know very goddamn well that no one is walking around school calling me nice or funny, let alone cute or whatever the hell it was you were trying to insinuate.”
You guess what he was saying was pretty fucking explicit actually, but it just does not compute with fundamental facts you know to be true about yourself.
“Ok well,” Dave starts, “believe whatever you want man. All I’m saying is that some people do think that stuff about you.” he sighs. “Whatever dude. It’s dumb.”
“Why the fuck are you acting like I committed some wrong against you just because I have fucking eyes that can perceive refracted light and translate it into images that let me know loud and clear that I just look kind of really fucking weird!? If anyone actually does think that about me, it’s just because they haven’t seen the rest of me before!”
You don’t know why you have to try so hard to prove that you’re unattractive. It’s just, Dave doesn’t know.
“I am telling you right here,” you rub your arm and look to the side, “if I actually managed to trick someone into thinking I had anything going for me in the looks department, as soon as I took off my shirt, they would be running for the hills.”
“Prove it,” Dave says.
“I- what?”
Dave’s blush, which never truly left his face entirely, comes back full force, but he continues to look at you as he says it again. “Prove it. Show me if you think it’s so bad. Because trust me, I’ve seen… I’ve seen bad.” Now he does look down.
You words come out choked, “Are you asking me to get- to- to strip for you!”
Both of you are flustered beyond belief. This has got to be your own personal nightmare. Dave Strider trying to see you naked. Or maybe it’s like an unsustainable daydream you had one time that turned into a nightmare when you remembered the reality of your appearance.
“Okay just- just hold on!” you put your face in your hands. It’s burning. “How did this get flipped onto me? You’re the one who was having some kind of personal freak out session a minute ago. Don’t even try to tell me you aren’t avoiding wearing those stupid, raggedy, purple swim suits that leave literally nothing to the imagination. Let’s not forget that for some still undisclosed reason, you were hiding out in these moldy showers too.”
“Whoa, okay whoa," Dave puts his hands up defensively, "Listen dude, I think you have the wrong idea. There was never any freaking out occurring up in this healthy hale noggin up here. Why would I be- that would be so uncool. And even if I was like hiding or whatever you think I was doing, why do you assume that it’s because of my-,” his voice gets quiet, “my body.”
There’s silence as you watch him work through something.
“And even it was my-- was that, my shits way different from yours. It’s not just that I’m embarrassed because I have a body that looks like it gets three meals a day the way yours does. It’s- it’s some real unpleasant shit. Some real freaky Frankenstein type content under here,” he's doing a truly terrible job of keeping his voice even. "And please don’t say that Frankenstein wasn’t the monster because you’re totally the type of dude to do that, and I know, but also it’s fine because what I said gets the point across that if anyone here has a pretty unpalatable and frankly fucking undesirable appearance going on, it’s this dude right here. It’s me. Not you. Okay?”
You frown. Dave seriously thinks that stuff about himself?
“Oh yeah? You prove it,” you demand. There’s no way anything about Dave is undesirable.
Dave takes a reflexive step back. “Dude no, you can’t just make this about me.”
“It was always about you Dave.”
He shifts uncomfortably. You sigh.
“How about this,” you say. “You somehow got it into the mush you call a brain that I’m even a little decent looking under this stupidly wet sweater,” you roll your eyes, “and I really think there’s no way you’re hiding anything worse than me, so why don’t we just- just show one another so we can either move on from this or confirm our worst fears. I know I- I mean-,” you get quiet, “haven't you always kind wanted to know? What someone would actually think of you?”
Dave shrugs his shoulders helplessly. He looks sad and depleted. “...Yeah,” he eventually admits softly.
“Yeah,” you repeat. “So just think of this as a safe test run. We’re kind of in the same boat so,” you try to sound as sincere as you can, “I’m not gonna judge you. For anything. I get it.”
You still don’t know what he could be so worried about. He looks pretty fucking good from where you’re standing.
Dave presses his lips even tighter together and you don’t know what it means.
“Ok well then,” you say, because he’s not saying anything, “let’s do it.”
“Right now? Just- just like that?”
Standing in full view of Dave and taking off your clothes with little to no mental preparation does feel like a lot.
“We can face opposite directions,” is your brilliant, out of the box suggestion, “and when we’re ready, we can turn around.”
Dave opens his mouth like he’s gonna speak, but instead he just breaths out and shuffles around to face a row of showers. After a second of staring at his back in surprise, you do the same.
“You’re- you’re turned around?” Dave asks, nervousness evident in the way his voice wavers.
“Yeah,” you say. “...you’re still turned around too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
“Alright.”
You grip the hem of your sweater tightly and pull it up over your stomach, but then you see your stomach, panic, and pull it down again.
“Are you doing it yet?” Dave asks.
You fortify your resolve and shut your eyes tightly so as to not catch a glimpse of anything that will make you change your mind. Then, you yank your entire sweater over and off your head.
“Yeah,” your voice goes high and you feel hot.
You hear rustling and then what you assume is Dave’s wet shirt plopping on the ground. You don’t want to think about what kind of bacteria it’s already started to collect on it down there, among other things you don’t want to think about even more so.
Like the fact that you’re shirtless in the same room as the guy that you… that you especially don’t want seeing you shirtless.
“Should I like,” you hear Dave start awkwardly, “okay this is gonna sound so dumb but like, it’s just our shirt’s we’re taking off, right?” he laughs uncomfortably.
“Oh holy fuck Dave yes just our shirts Jesus FUCK,” you kind of laugh too. “Did you want to take off more?”
“No! No. Only shirt still pretty much gets the point across. I was just like, ya know. Checking to make sure that you weren’t about to whip around hanging dong and then we’d both have to feel uncomfortable because you’re underdressed for the occasion and I’m overdressed. And your penis would be out. Haha. Ugh. Okay anyways let's just... get this shit over with. Should we… uhh… like, should we," another painfully awkward attempt at a laugh, "count down?.”
He’s so embarrassing Jesus Fucking Christ. It’s also weird talking to a Dave that you can’t see, and you just need this to happen so you muster up every bit of courage in you and say, “I’m just gonna turn around now.”
“Wait!” Dave yelps, but you’re already turning.
He’s still facing the showers. “I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready,” his voice is tiny and his shoulders hunched.
You’re gonna turn back towards the wall until he gives the okay, but then you get a look at what’s on his back. At what’s presumably everywhere else on his body too. Cold dread shoots through you..
“Dave,” you breathe. How did he get all of those?
He hunches in on himself even tighter.
You take a step closer, towards his back crisscrossed with scars and darkened with bruises. You refrain from any more reactions of surprise. You don’t think that’s what he needs right now.
“Are you okay Dave?” you almost whisper. Whether you mean in the moment or just in general, you aren’t sure yourself.
“Yeah I’m fucking okay,” he says as if it’s obvious, as if his voice isn’t cracking and catching in his throat, as if he didn’t just sniffle. As if he doesn’t look so so small and scared right now.
“Turn around,” you say, at a loss for what else to do right now.
He turns around stiffly and apprehensively, like he’s trying to stretch out what little time is left before you pass some terrible judgement on him.
They’re worse in the front. You see short, white ones that indent his chest. You see scars angry and red and raised with strange bunching and lumping along the sides of them. You see wide patches of skin that are gnarled and twisted.
A huge, raised scar crossing from his right shoulder to his left hip bone makes your lip wobble.
It’s too much for someone Dave’s age to be bearing.
You try to will the wetness pooling at the corners of your eyes to be sucked back up into your tear ducts, but you’ve never been good at stifling emotional expression. And it’s just. Dave Strider, stupidly cool, snarky but kind, talks too much and makes inappropriate jokes and inopportune times, that Dave Strider… was hiding this. Carrying this inside himself every day for maybe forever. And if that doesn’t just break your heart.
You clench your jaw, but tears fall down your face and you quickly swipe at them. God what is wrong with you. Why are you the one crying? It’s time to get this shit under wraps. You’re standing in front of Dave, pudgy stomach and flabby chest on full display, fucking crying.
Your reaction sends Dave into more of a panic.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck it’s bad. I knew it was bad. Fuck. What was I thinking,” his voice breaks, “I’m gonna put my shit back on. Oh my god. I’m so sorry Karkat I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to see this. I know it’s disgusting, I know it’s bad,” he’s babbling and you see a tear slip out from under his shades and down his cheek.
“Dave. Stop,” you say between small, choked cries, “I’m not- that’s not why I’m crying.” your legs step closer to him of their own accord and you sniffle wetly.
“You just don’t get it. I know what you’re thinking, but you don’t-” he says in a sudden, pathetic attempt at defense. “You don’t know how rad the fights I got these from were, okay?” He sounds even less convinced of that than you are. Dave reaches under his shades to wipe beneath his eyes. “I’m gonna put my shirt back on now.” He doesn’t move an inch.
You take another step. You look at him with an endless abyss of empathy and feeling, and he returns your gaze with apprehension and hesitancy. You have no clue what to say to help. In times like these, you normally just let your feelings take over and your convictions spill out.
This is almost definitely the first time Dave’s ever let anyone see. This is bigger than you being chubby and insecure. You know what this is and you know he needs help. He’s trusting you with something weighty, and you’re deciding right now that you will help him. You absolutely fucking will with everything inside of you whether Dave thinks he needs it or not. But.
But right now he just needs to know that he’s not disgusting. Never disgusting. That there’s nothing wrong or gross about him. That he’s okay.
You take him in, scars there, but not everything. Dave really is shirtless in front of you. That simple fact still isn’t fully graspable to you, so you’re choosing to move on and process later.
He’s tall and lean with pimpleless skin and small, pink lips. His hair is much much smoother than yours, but it still curls up adorably in a few places. You’ve seen him trying to comb pieces down with his hands before. He kind of has shit posture, nowhere near as bad as yours though. He has that soft, light hair on his chin and upper lip and freckled arms, and you doubt he's ever gonna grow much more.
You’re abruptly slammed by Dave’s humanness. Emotion wells even fuller in you.
"You're really, really fucking pretty," you barely manage to choke out past the lump in your throat, "I- I fucking mean it."
God, and you thought you the crying was just about to taper off.
“...I’m not pretty,” he says so, so quietly and quickly has to wipe under his shades again, this time with both palms.
“You are. You are. You’re not gross Dave. I see it, I see everything, and there’s absolutely fuckall to be ashamed of. Absolutely nothing to hate,” you say what you’ve always wanted someone to say to you, “You’re not disgusting. I’m glad that you showed me. Thanks for showing me. You’re so fine. You’re completely fine. You’re not gross. At all. Okay? I promise.”
“Fuck Karkat. Fuck.” He’s truly crying, “Are you- really? Fuck. Agh. I don’t know. I’m being so fucking pathetic and desperate right now I know and I’m sorry I’m sorry but, you really don’t think it’s like, un-” Dave cringes, but spits it out, “unlovable? Haha, holy fuck, you have got to be kidding me with what’s coming out of my mouth now, right? Haha. Fuck.”
“Fuck no Dave, fuck no.”
“You know I mean I guess it’s like what you said where yeah, no one’s ever seen my shit before so I guess I did always sort of wonder. If anyone would like, ever see it and not think it was super weird or gross or whatever. You haven’t left so, that’s already better than I thought. Jesus how fucking gay can I get? I’m basically just whining and sniveling like a soft, wet, gay little newborn baby until I am bestowed the tiniest drop of approval from the teat of acceptance that is Karkat Vantas.”
“Did you just call me a teat?
“Yeah?” he shrugs.
You snort and Dave gives a little huff of laughter in return.
Even though his eyes are still leaking and his nose is kind of running, the air lightens just a little.
“Hey. Take off your glasses too?” you ask.
He motions towards them hesitantly then changes his mind and brings his hand down again. “I’d rather not.”
“Okay. That’s okay.”
“Actually. I would. I will. It’s cool if you see.”
He shoves the sunglasses up on his forehead and winces in the light.
You knew he had red eyes, had seen glimpses when you sat diagonally behind him in class, caught a peek that time in the boys bathroom when you walked in on him cleaning grime off his shades with the hem of his shirt.
Your heart still flip flops. They’re so deep and warm and they look like liquid. Or like red jello, color thick and translucent. You internally snort at that thought.
More than that, you like seeing Dave’s whole face. Behind his shades are infinite possibilities for what his eyes could look like, what kind of face he could have, and with that comes an isolating mysticality that surrounds him.
But with his glasses gone, it’s this one singular, specific face, and it’s not jaw dropping or mind boggling or whatever, it’s just a nice face. He’s just a regular guy with features that are a little softer than he would probably like and eyebrows a little darker than most would expect.
You’re relieved to see there’s only a little dampness in his eyes now.
His eye’s search yours and it’s open and regular and beautiful.
“Well?” Dave prompts nervously.
It’s endearing that he cares what you think about his eyes too. You nod your head jerkily. “They look really nice. Like jello.”
Dave laughs awkwardly. “That's a new one. Listen, I know I’m basically making you say nice shit, but you don’t gotta go easy on me.”
“I’m not!” you can't help but raise your voice, trying to instill belief into him by sheer force of volume “They’re beautiful! You’re beautiful!”
This is getting embarrassing, and it seems like Dave thinks so too.
Without the shirt or shades, you can see his entire body flush. Red makes its way up to the roots of his hair and down his neck, spreading across his chest and turning him sweaty and scarlet.
His expression is openly distressed. “Dude stop- stop saying that stuff.”
“No?” you counter. “I don’t know I’m just,” you run your hand down your face, “I’m not- this isn’t fucking premeditated. I’m sorry, okay, but I just kind of said what I felt.”
What you felt is that Dave is beautiful, apparently. And you said that to him, screamed that to him. You’re not gonna take it back, but now you feel bare and exposed, and you’re suddenly excruciatingly aware of the fact that you're shirtless.
Dave must’ve caught you glancing down at yourself because all of a sudden his gaze is glued to your stomach, your arms, your chest.
It’s like he totally forgot you were shirtless until this moment, and now that he’s remembered he can’t get enough of an eyeful. You feel like a butterfly tacked down to a pinboard.
“What you felt…” he’s murmuring your last words under his breath absently, like they’re empty sounds with no meaning. Like he’s too distracted to comprehend because all of a sudden your body has become the most interesting thing he's ever seen in his life.
You self consciously cross your arms in front of your chest. “I know, okay,” you snap more than you meant to, “you can stop ogling me with your perfect and judgy eyeballs now! I’m just vaguely unpleasant looking, it’s fine, I’ll get over myself. ”
Now Dave’s zeroed in on your stomach and you move your arms from your chest to down over your pudge.
“Fucking- Dave, fucking stop, okay?”
You know he’s not gonna hate you or something just because you’re fat, but your heart has plummeted to somewhere down around your feet because you were dumb enough to let this happen and now any sliver of possibility that Dave could find you desirable has been well and truly obliterated.
And that’s fine. It’s what you expected going into this. You didn’t do this thinking he would say that you were perfect the way you are and that he doesn’t care about your body, that he likes your body even. That’s a fantasy you hardly let yourself entertain even in the most private corners of your mind.
You did this because Dave was scared and upset and needed something, and you don’t really know if you’ve provided that something for him, but at least this is a start, and you’re happy about that. So it’s fine really, it doesn’t matter if Dave thinks that you-
“Can I touch?” Dave asks plainly.
“TOUCH?” you shriek.
“Like your,” Dave motions to his stomach area and then points to you.
“Uhh,” you stay rooted in place and stare up at the ceiling as your face heats up a million degrees, “You. Are asking me. To touch my- my,” you gesture around your lower torso frantically.
“I don’t know, I thought it looked… soft, I guess.” Now Dave sounds unsure, like he fucking should.
“Oh,” your throat is dry and your eyes are still fixed above you.
“Can I?” he quietly persists.
Oh my god.
“Yeah,” you find yourself agreeing horsely.
You two are already pretty close to one another what with your impassioned yelling about Dave’s good looks propelling your forward earlier, so all it takes is one more step from Dave and then you're breathing the same air.
You look at each other. It's still so new and intense seeing him without his shades, every expression that flits across his features now crystal clear.
“Should I just-”
“Oh, like I fucking know what you should be doing! Like there’s some protocol for something this absurd!”
“Oh,” Dave gulps, “sorry.”
“Shit, no, I’m sorry. Just," you sigh, "sure yeah, do whatever you want.”
“Are you sure?” At least Dave has the decency to look abashed.
“Yeah. Yes.”
You close your eyes and wait. There’s nothing for a second and your anxiety builds.
Then you feel a poke right into your innie belly button.
You let out a mortifying squeal and your eyes fly open, but before you can properly freak the fuck out at Dave, he puts both hands on your lower sides and pulls at them like you’re made of dough or something.
Your face is in flames.
He brings one palm to the front of your tummy and pushes in. With the other hand he does a soft poke into your love handle.
“I hope you’re getting something out of this,” you spit at him.
“I- I mean. Listen, I know this is weird,” Dave stutters. “It’s just well, it’s,” he gives another little press, “nothing like me, you know? I just really wanted to know what it would be like. I don’t know. I don’t know," he repeats himself.
Dave’s hands still, one on your belly, one on your side. His palms are warm, and their heat transfers into your torso and throughout your whole body. His hands are nice. Long and thin, delicate despite callouses.
This is a lot, Dave poking and prodding at you like he’s a kid and you’re a brand new container of play-dough. You can’t tell what he thinks of it, what he wants from it.
“Haha, okay, let’s all poke fun at Karkat’s dumpy body in the most literal sense, shall we?” You know you’re acting obnoxiously insecure, but you just can’t help it. You feel utterly defenseless.
“Oh, that’s not-” Dave starts.
“Come on Strider, give it to me straight, how gross am I on a scale from moderately unfavorable to downright nauseating, now that you’re all up close and personal with the offending objectionable form,” you try desperately to keep your voice from shaking.
“You’re not gross!” Dave squirms a little, his hands shifting on your body. His eyebrows are pinched together and his eye's look a little unsure, like he doesn't know what to do.
And because you’re pathetic and desperate and the lowest of the low you say, “Well even if you don’t think it’s gross, no one could ever want me, you know, like that.”
“Thats… that’s not true Karkat.”
“Oh yeah? How do you know genius?”
“I just do okay?”
You try to give him your most skeptical look and not let you lip tremble because that would just be too much crying for one skipped gym period.
“Your.. this,” Dave refers to your stomach by pressing on it with both hands lightly, “...it’s nice,” he says so so quietly.
You gulp.
“Hey, I’m gonna…” he starts and then softly moves his hands further back on your sides, then to the small of your back and then up to your shoulder blades and then his arms are wrapped around you.
The breath is knocked out of you. Slowly, unsurely, you snake your arms around Dave’s middle and give a little squeeze.
Your whole body is buzzing. You feel so good and so bad because you’re shirtless and you're hugging Dave Strider and he’s hugging you back. You're shaking a little and you pray he can't feel it though your naked chest against his.
You two stay like that, arms wrapped around each other, your face in his chest, under the buzzing light in the middle of the shower area of the locker room. It’s charged in a way you’ve never experienced before.
“Fuck. I should be able to-” Dave’s voice sounds wet again. “I should be able to tell you that I like your body. You said all that nice, sappy shit to me. I-”
“You like my body?” And are you really, really, going to cry again? Really?
“...Yeah. You look,” Dave pulls you in a little closer, “you look good. Okay? Like someone I’d like to, um, hold.” Dave sniffles right into your ear.
“Oh.” Your brain floods with affirmation and confusion and warmth. And then because you feel like you haven’t gotten through to Dave as much as you’d like, you say into his chest, “I think you look perfect, like yeah, like what you said… someone I’d want to… hold."
It’s a weird fucking thing to say but you just, you get it. It’s probably the most you feel emotionally capable of expressing without too much overflowing.
“I really, really like you,” Dave whispers roughly into your ear. He’s practically crushing you in his arms and you swear you can feel his heart pick up speed against your cheek.
If your brain was being flooded with a buttload of emotions before, now it’s like the dam has burst and the entire population of brain town has been wiped out by the deluge.
“Dave,” is all you can think to whisper back for a second, and then, “you mean like…”
“Yeah,” he chokes out, “yeah. Just in every way possible.”
You feel wetness on your ear and you think he might actually be crying kind of a lot. You rub your hand softly up and down his naked back, feeling the bumps and ridges of his scars, and cry probably just as much against his sternum. You couldn’t even say for sure why you’re crying. You’re just filled to the brim with a sense of closeness and affection.
“You’re so goddamn nice Karkat. You’re so goddamn cute.”
You snort through your tears, “Cute!?,” and because you don’t know how to express the intensity of what you’re experiencing inside of you, you press a kiss into his neck.
“Oh, ah, haha, aw,” Dave stutters a series of noises awkwardly and then drops his head onto your shoulder and lets out a choked half laugh half cry.
Because you want to, you kiss his neck again. He’s so weird and perfect. Fuck, he actually likes you? Fuck! Dave likes you! What the fuck!
He’s being so earnest and you wanna be too.
“I like you so much Dave. Fuck, I have for almost forever if I’m being embarrassingly honest.”
His chest shudders against yours.
“That’s cool,” his voice still sounds strangled. He lifts his head up and puts his closed mouth to your forehead, feather light, just for a second.
He moves back and you plant another on his neck, then on his cheek. His face is warm and so is yours.
In fact, everything about both of you is warm. You’re joined from chest to waist and your arms are still tight around him and his whole bare torso is against yours. Your belly presses into his, and it feels so fucking comfortable and toasty and good.
Dave takes an unsteady, preparatory breath and then presses a kiss to your cheek. He pulls back and looks at you and the absolute loveliness of his eyes looking so unprotected and kind, tears in the corners, gets the better of you, and then you’re both leaning in with squinted eyes and you ever so gently brush your lips together.
Dave closes his eyes tightly then and laughs adorably high pitched against your mouth.
“This is crazy,” he says with his mouth still touching yours, “I mean dude, are you sure? You’re, you’re fucking Karkat.” His breath tastes like the rest of him smells and it’s pleasant. “I know I already gave you the whole funny, angry, nice, and, and cute speil, god,” he seems embarrassed with himself, “but, well, are you sure you don’t want to look at my...” he pulls his head back and his eyes flicker to his own body, “you know, gross shit, and reconsider?”
Dave’s trying to act chill about it, like he’s only saying what’s reasonable, but you can feel how his heart rate surges again and how he becomes stiff in your arms. Can see the apprehension in his eyes.
“Fuck off,” you say and squeeze his middle as tightly as you can and lift him an inch off the ground in your faux-angry zeal.
“A-ha! Whoa!” Dave flounders. You put him down and he laughs in disbelief. “What…” he’s still laughing, “what the fuck.”
“Jesus Dave, you’re so fucking light! And I could say the same, you know. About,” you let go of him and take a step back and look down at your own body, trying to play it off like you’re challenging his own insecurities and not actually a little bit scared.
“Hey no… Karkat, jeez,” Dave swallows, “you already know I think you’re…you’re...” he hesitates, “Sorry. Saying this shit doesn’t always come as easy as other times, like I’m just generally kind of a graceless cagey fuck, and I honestly feel terrible for asking you to be okay with that because you dont deserve- it’s just not really ideal for you, I know. But I was already as close to all your soft bits as a man can get and there’s no way anything is gonna change, alright?” He looks pained.
You huff out a laugh, “Hey, it’s fine Dave, I already know how you generally are, you emotionally constipated little shit. And same, for the record, because I really just squeezed the bejeezus out of you and didn’t really say any extremely reassuring words of affirmation, unless fuck off counts.”
“Not gonna lie I think it actually might because I'm feeling hella reassured,” Dave laughs.
You smile at him big.
________________________________________
Soon, gym ends, and noisy boys start filing into the locker room with John at the head complaining about how if Terezi pushes him into the pool ever again, he’s gonna have no choice but to pull a prank on her that’s so catastrophic, it will be the end of days as South Peixies knows them.
“It’s scary that she was able to hop that huge fence to the boys side…” Tavros responds as you snatch up both of your shirts and yank Dave back into a shower before anyone catches you.
In the shower, Dave holds himself rigidly, anxious expression on full display for you as he strains to hear if you’re in danger of being found out.
He startles and snaps to look at you when you grab his hand, and then his other hand. You move closer to him, inadvertently pushing him back against the wall of the shower.
“It’ll be okay,” you whisper and he nods.
You tilt your head questioningly and he shrugs and nods again bashfully. Cute.
He tilts his head down as you tilt yours up and then you close your eyes tight and kiss his lips hard, trying to send every ounce of care you have for him into his body via mouth to mouth contact while being as quiet as possible. Dave's lips are pursed tightly and they smoosh against yours. His hands clench and unclench around yours in spasms. You stay pressed into him for a few more seconds.
When you pull away, Dave looks as dazed as you feel. Then, a suspicious little smirk spreads on his face and before you can even think to do a single thing about it, he jabs his finger right into your belly button again and you scrunch your whole face and clap your hands over your mouth and try desperately to muffle the sounds of your laughter.