Work Text:
Karkat’s a hopeless romantic; has been since that time when he was a kid and accidentally stumbled across the Lifetime channel’s Valentine’s Day marathon. As such, he can’t help but romanticize things, especially when they fall together like the plot in a Nora Roberts novel. He’s sitting in a café, drinking one of those lattes that have been abused with pumpkin and vanilla, trying to finish his senior thesis on whether love is just a chemical reaction or something bigger and unexplainable, when a gust of cold air rushes in and pushes his notes off the table. Goddamnit, he thinks to himself as he reaches down to collect them. Way to go Karkat, once again you prove you prove how much of a waste you are. Congratulations numbskull, go ahead and—he stops his inner degradation of himself as he finally notices the cause of the wind.
A guy has entered the shop dressed in pair of khaki pants, black converse, and the puffiest blue parka he’s ever seen. The damn thing even has a fur trimmed hood and Karkat has to stop himself from wondering which section of the ladies department the kid got it from. His hair is a wild mess of short black dreads and he’s got a kind of baby face that makes Karkat want to both squish his cheeks and punch him in the nose. Plain black glasses frame his eyes that are the color of the sky and he’s smiling as if he doesn't have a care in the world. The guy’s ordering something from the menu and talking with the douche nugget barista, one who likes to wear sunglasses no matter the situation. Karkat cups his chin with his hand and stares at their interaction, taking in every tilt of the head and touch of the sleeve. Were it not for the fact that he already knew the barista, Dave, was dating Jade Harley, number one on Karkat’s long list of exes, he would have mistaken them for a couple. Parka boy grabs his drink, laughs once more, then turns around and let’s his eyes sweep across the café, searching for a seat. The only chair open is at Karkat’s table and he’s suddenly very concerned. He’s avoided having anyone sit there today through a skillful variety of thinly veiled “Fuck Off”’s, but parka’s staring at him and there’s a mischievous look in his eyes and Karkat’s realizing no amount of profanity will stop what’s about to happen.
Parka makes his way across the café, each step seeming to make their surroundings fade away until it’s just the two of them. Heaving his shoulders and throwing his chest out a bit, Karkat stares up at the intruder and politely asks, “What the hell do you want?”
Parka blinks, apparently shocked at the question. His mouth twists in thought before stretching back into the smile he’s been sporting and he drops down in the empty chair. “Well I came over here to have a good time, but I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”
Karkat’s jaw drops before snapping shut in his trademark frown, trying to comprehend the fact that the guy just used a meme on him. He crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. So he’s gonna be like that, eh? Fine. “Oh well excuse me then your highness. I obviously wasn't enjoying my privacy or anything. Please forgive me for being bothered that someone decided to just waltz over, invade my personal space, and strike up a conversation with me like some kind of socially inept shitsponge. Go ahead and continue to force me to acknowledge your existence, by all means.”
The guys laughs, takes a sip of his drink, then steeples his hands together in front of his face. The sun casts the left side of his face into shadow, making his dark skin even more so. “Apology accepted! But you see I’ve got a problem, and it’s that my friend over there, the guys with the shades? Yeah, he promised me an all-expenses paid trip to the joke shop down the street if I came over here and bothered you.” Dave gives a curt salute as Karkat sends him a withering glare. Medusa would be proud. “Aw now, don’t be a sour puss. Hehe. Puss… ‘cuz your names Karkat right?” Karkat redirects his glare at parka who throws his hands up in defense. “What? He told me your name! Don’t—“
Karkat smacks his hands down on the table and let’s his lip curl in anger. “No. You stop right there you poor excuse for a human being. Whoever decided that you should be allowed to interact with others must have been brain dead or insane because not only are you being a turd guzzler and a general thorn in my side, but you’re also expecting me to just let you do so. Fuck you very much and have a shitty day.” He grabs his laptop and notes, plunges them into his backpack, and stands ups, fists clenched tightly. Parka’s got a look of both horror and amusement on his face and a few of the shop’s customers are casting curious glances their way. Since he’s already caused a ruckus, Karkat decides to keep up the dramatics and slowly walks backwards and out of the café, flipping both Dave and Parka the bird. The second he’s out the door he turns on his heel and takes up the fastest speed of walking he can.
If this was one of his RomCom’s, things would have turned out differently. Parka would’ve been a suave gentleman who had fallen for Karkat at first sight. There would have been fanciful words and pleasant conversation. Karkat would have resisted the temptation for a bit before giving into the butterflies he felt, and then they would have had a bunch of hilariously romantic adventures before fully falling in love. He sighs as he thinks this out, partially wishing it had happened but also hating himself for doing so. He vows to stay away from the café for as long as he can so as to hopefully avoid another encounter with Parka.
He’s back within two days.
Were anyone were to accuse him of liking that asshole, Karkat would have had to dismember them. He tells himself he’s back because the café’s the only place he can study without his brother lecturing him on something or another. He’s stationed himself towards the back of the shop this time, hiding in the shadows save for the faint blue glow of his computer. Once again he’s got a pumpkin latte and once again he’s cursing his life decisions for getting it. Karkat can’t tell if he’s upset or glad that Dave’s not working today, and decides to bury that confusion under the concentration he needs for his thesis. With his head bowed to better see his screen, Karkat misses the entrance of a certain person in a certain parka. He continues to not catch onto said person’s presence until they've deposited their weight into the chair across from him. A chair Karkat did not make sure to leave open, definitely not. He glances up over his laptop when the person coughs and manages to muster up a scowl.
“What. Did you become enamored with my rainbow of profanities or are you just a sicko who gets off on being a general hindrance?”
“Aw come on, Karkat. After that little explosion I think you owe me an apology, or at least a conversation!” Parka grins and crosses his arms across the table.
“One. Fuck you. Two. Fuck no. Three. Fuck off. You really expect me to be all happy and bouncing out of my chair like some kind of sugar high toddler? I’m not giving you shit Mr. Shops in the ladies section for his coats. Think again. Why don’t you go irk someone who doesn’t have things they need to do.” Karkats gives his best death glare before going back to his work. Parka shifts in his seat, whether it’s out of discomfort or to get more comfortable, he doesn’t know; not until he hears the rustle of fabric then watches as his laptop closes on his fingers. Quickly he pulls them back and the laptop snaps shut, his current company’s hand resting atop it.
Parka has nice fingers, he notices. They’re long and spread out easily, much like a pianist’s would. He thinks it would be nice to have his own fingers laced with them, his owned tanned skin a contrast to the others dark. Instead he pushes his chair back and makes to leave, tugging his laptop off the table. Another hand joins Parka’s first and he’s pressing them and the computer back down. Karkat goes to tell him off but stops short. Parka’s got his mouth open into a tiny ‘o’ and his eyes are wide. Realizing he has Karkat’s attention he pulls his offending appendages back and digs one into his dreads. A tiny blush graces his cheeks and he laughs awkwardly.
“Aha…whoops! Sorry ‘bout that. Um. Hey look, I’ll make you a deal. Stay and chat with me for a bit then I promise to leave you alone, ok?” He’s smiling but it doesn’t hold its normal joy.
“You’re an insistent pest, aren’t you. Look, I—“
“John.”
“What?”
“John. My name’s John. I really should have said it earlier but you sorta ran off on me the other day before I could.” Par- no, John, chuckles slightly. It’s then that Karkat notices his teeth are a bit crooked, the front ones almost similar to a rabbits. His lips make up for it though. They’re plump and move fluidly, as if he were born knowing how to talk. Karkat wonders briefly how they might feel against his, then shakes off the thoughts with a violent jerk of his head. John tips his own to the side and starts to say something but Karkat stops him by holding up a hand.
“One hour. That’s all I’m going to give you.”
John’s smile is back, beaming and practically blinding Karkat with the sheer happiness exuding from it. He huffs but drops back into his seat. John immediately launches into a myriad of questions and jokes, his hands moving about him animatedly.
The two don’t leave the shop for another few hours.