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You’re watching a movie together. Karkat left one of his terrible romcoms in the DVD player, so you had turned to Rose, eyebrow raised. Who had, in turn, simply shrugged and settled onto the sofa, patting the seat next to her and looking up at you expectantly.
The movie isn’t important, really. You think it was, at first. But now you just delight in your proximity to Rose, the inexplicably exciting knowledge that with one small shift you could be touching her. When you first started having movie nights, you’d both sat a respectable distance apart. You remember being so anxious, those first few weeks, whenever you were left alone with her. Never knowing how to really talk , to get closer, even if it’s all you could think of.
Now, you’re settled into the cushions, comfortable. Its own tiny miracle.
There are small points of contact between you, which stick in the back of your pan, constantly; the skim of her sleeve over your bare arm as she readjusts how she’s sitting, a little gust of breath felt as she laughs at some comment you make. You sit with your legs tucked to the side, she with hers crossed. Your thighs brush.
Minutes pass, but not many. Your thoughts drift, but you’re always brought back to the present by Rose trying to diagnose the characters with one disorder or another, her arm on yours as she emphasises some point she’s making.
The conversation lulls, and just as you turn back to look at the TV, you feel the prickle of eyes on you.
She’s staring. Again.
The attention used to be almost too much. You felt like a live wire, like you’d shock her if she touched you. You’re glad she hasn’t. You wish she would.
It has been perigrees, however, and you’ve gotten some kind of grip on yourself since you first met. Or so you tell yourself. You decide, perhaps a little impulsively, it’s time to open this can of grubs.
“Rose.” you prompt, and turn to face her. Your eyes meet.
She startles, as if caught unawares. A moment passes, and she glances at the TV, then back to you, her expression a question mark.
“Yes, Kanaya?”
“You were staring. At me. Is there… any particular reason?”
There . The can of grubs is finally, irreversibly open. That was… terrible. Terrible! She’s staring again, and now you’re subject to the full weight of her gaze. Regret mingles with something else as you see pink tinge the tips of her ears.
“Well?” you press on, stupidly.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” She sounds sheepish. “You’re glowing.”
“Yes.” You try not to sound too exasperated.
She looks back, and her lip twitches.
“Well, I am a Seer of Light.”
You groan.
“And here I thought we’d seen the last of stupid Rose.” You nudge her shoulder with your own, a friendly bit of contact that should not feel as exciting as it does.
“Yes, well. Do I really need a reason to look at you? It’s a perfectly normal thing for one to do, as you surely well know.” she shoots you a look. She sounds so indignant. Defensive, for once. You can’t help the fond smile that comes, then. “Besides, this time wasn’t even on purpose; I was thinking.”
“So you admit you have stared on purpose before.” Something strange but not entirely unpleasant untwists in your chest.
“Well… yes. You’re a vampire alien. I think that warrants interest.” She’s composed again, all steady eye contact and a brief, polite smile.
“Interest.” you echo. You’ve leaned forwards, you realise. You start to pull back until you realise she, too, has shifted closer.
“Yes, interest.” She’s smiling, and now it’s the real thing. A spark alights in her eyes, and she looks truly lovely. She leans on you, her arm pressed against yours. She’s warm. “I’ve been thinking about attraction.”
“Oh?” You stiffen, trying and failing not to gape at her.
“Don’t sound so surprised! I do think about things that aren’t immediately and inherently related to the game, you know - and I’m off Light player duty right now. A girl’s got to relax somehow.”
“And you relax by… thinking about a human’s innate biological drive to reproduce?” You try not to sound as squeamish as you feel. Rose tried to explain to you the, uh, finer points of human reproduction once. Once. Enamoured by her as you are, if she so much as mentions any technical reproductive terms you are going to cast yourself into the dark void of paradox space.
“I relax by knitting and by hanging out with you, Kanaya.” she says this so pointedly that you almost laugh. You don’t though. You wait for her to continue. “Anyhow, nothing so lascivious as that, no. Both you and Karkat have explained the travesty that is the quadrant system to me, but never about troll attraction itself. Such as, what does a troll consider attractive? Does it vary between quadrants? Do we measure by the same metrics? Unlikely, given that on Earth, humans as a species, kept flip-flopping over time. Even I can’t decide! What I like, that is.”
This feels like flirting. Is this flirting?
You clear your throat, tell yourself you’re just seeing what you want to see. It’s happened before. You start talking before the shame of past missteps can creep in.
“Well, like you said, it varies.” Your tone is clinical, precise. “I believe we have that in common. I suppose for many, blood - status - is the most important factor. Particularly the higher up you go on the hemospectrum. I… suppose it depends on who you ask.” you finish, a little lamely.
“And you?” Her follow up is fast, her eyes bright. Like your answer wasn’t important. Like it wasn’t what she really wanted to hear.
“And me what?”
“What do you like?”
“Are… you asking me what my… romantic preferences are?”
She nods.
You, you want to say. But unlike what seems to be every other hormone-ravaged troll on this meteor, you don’t profess your feelings the moment you start getting red inklings.
“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a personal question?”
“It is.” she says, unabashed. “But, I’ll answer if you do.”
You feel like she’s testing you. You feel like a coward.
“That’s alright,” you say, and look away, sparing yourself her reaction.
☼
What do you like? You find the thought stuck to the inside of your pan like gum to the bottom of a shoe.
You like Rose, yes. You’ve had more than enough time to introspect on the meteor to realise that what you like is not always good for you. You like danger. Power.
You like a beautiful woman who can wield it like it’s nothing, as easy as breathing.
You will admit, at times, that you are a troll of simple tastes.
All the same, your passion is in creating . Sewing, stitching. Taking things and putting them together into something whole, something new. And like a magnet, like clockwork , you find yourself drawn to that which can destroy. It is strange to think for once, that the girl you like doesn’t have that destruction pointed straight at you.
She makes you feel safe the way a live bomb does. She shouldn’t, but she does.
You cannot believe you are this stupid.
☼
“What are you working on?” Rose asks after a period of watching you wrestle with a length of golden wire, coffee cup in her hand.
She’s long stopped asking you if you’d like a cup, too, but has yet to go as far as asking if there’s any trolls she can siphon for you. Unlike some self-proclaimed funnymen on this meteor.
“You’ll just have to wait,” you tell her. A sort of thrill goes through you at her resigned sigh. That Rose, Seer of Light, is just going to have to wait and see .
☼
They don’t take long to finish. While your talents still mainly lie in sewing and the occasional bisection of a murderous troll or two, jewellery-making isn’t far out of your wheelhouse.
The wire, having been repurposed, now forms a pair of earrings. Two golden little suns dangle at their ends.
You’re smiling. Because they’re perfect for her. And your heart is doing strange things as you think of her wearing something you made. And you are not thinking of the last time you made something for a girl you liked. You’re not.
You try to tell yourself again, they’re perfect, even if the thought is wobbly in your pan, shaken loose like a wiggler's tooth.
You then settle for, they’re fine .
Because really, it’s fine. That you’re freaking out over a silly red crush when you’re on a meteor hurtling towards what is almost certain doom.
It’s fine.
☼
Days into the future, but not many, you take your palmhusk out of your pocket, and decide to bite the bullet. There’s no point in having made these if she’s not going to wear them. And you’re certainly not going to put them on. No. They’re for her.
-- GrimAuxillatrix [GA] began trolling TentacleTherapist [TT] --
GA: Rose
TT: Kanaya.
GA: Rose Are You Free Right Now
TT: Yes, I am. Is something wrong?
GA: No Nothing Is Wrong
GA: On The Contrary In Fact I Am Hoping This Will Be A Good Thing
TT: Kanaya, this is incredibly cryptic. Do go on.
GA: Would You Mind Coming To My Respiteblock
GA: I Have Something To Show You If You Have A Minute
GA: Well Something To Give You Actually
TT: A gift? From you?
GA: Is That Bad
TT: No! Not at all. I’m just surprised and, well, touched. I’ve never really had a friend give me something out of the blue like this.
TT: This is awfully kind of you, Kanaya.
TT: ...What is it?
GA: A Surprise
GA: Like I Said
GA: Youll Just Have To Wait And See
GA: Youve Waited
GA: And Now You Get To See
GA: If You Would Like To That Is
TT: If I’d like to?
GA: Im Sorry If Im Making You Nervous Or Uncomfortable Just
GA: Come Here Before I Lose My Nerve
GA: Please
TT: Of course.
TT: I’ll be there in a minute.
-- GrimAuxillatrix [GA] ceased trolling TentacleTherapist [TT] --
As you wait, you’re given ample time to read and reread and wring your hands over every one of your messages. Still, she didn’t say no. She said she’d come.
Around the two minute mark, the sweat pouring off you becomes borderline torrential. You’ve long since gently wrapped the earrings in a jade silk scarf, for fear of placing them in the splash zone.
A knock at the door and your head snaps up. You try and fail not to yelp in surprise.
“Uh, Kanaya?” Rose’s voice comes from the other side of the door.
She did say she would come.
“Yes! Rose, hello! Do come in!” You try to inject if not confidence, then at least some measure of calm into your voice. You smooth your hands over your skirt, and compose your expression into something hopefully less insane than what you’re feeling right now.
The door slides open, and Rose steps in. She’s wearing her godtier pajamas, you note with relief. Good . The earrings will match.
You’re perched on the end of your recuperacoon, with your legs crossed. You try not to pick at the hem of your skirt - an unfortunate nervous habit you thought you’d left behind in wigglerhood. The scarf-wrapped earrings lie next to you, on your bedside table.
Rose takes a second to see you, seemingly distracted by the colourful fabrics in various states of clothes-ness around the block.
“Hi.” she says, stepping into the room.
“Hi.” you say back, and the door shuts behind her.
She smiles at you, then, something almost giddy in her expression. You can’t help but return her smile.
“Well, Rose,” — you pick up the scarf, and hold it out to her — “I suppose I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Maryam,” she says, sitting beside you on the recuperacoon, “keeping me in the dark.”
“Perhaps a bit,” you admit with a sheepish grin, as you hold your gift out to her. Your hands are steady, even if you feel anything but.
“I suppose-” she opens the scarf, sees the gold glinting there. “Oh.”
“This is what I was working on before. With the wire. I don’t know if you remember.” you chatter to fill the silence as she gently picks one of the earrings up.
“You made these?”
“Yes. If you find them unsatisfactory-”
“Kanaya.” she says, like you’re being ridiculous. Which you suppose you are. She gives you a look and deftly puts them on. She’s beaming.
“Do you like them?” you ask, finally. You feel like you might burst.
“Like them? Yes, I like them.” she sounds fondly exasperated, “I can’t believe you made these, Kanaya… they’re really lovely. I really, really like them.”
She has this warm, intense look in her eye. She takes the scarf from your hands, sets it aside, and takes your hand in hers. You’d never gone past friendly nudges and incidental hand brushes with her. You don’t think you’ve ever even hugged. You feel like she’s holding your life in her hands.
She waits until you’ve looked back up at her, making god knows what kind of eyes at her, until she speaks again.
“And I really, really like you.”
You blink, and you feel your thoughts do the same. Off, then on again.
“Kanaya?”
You jolt almost imperceptibly, but at this proximity it’s impossible for her not to feel it.
“Yes?”
“Do you, ah…” she trails off, uncharacteristically uncertain. She’s losing steam, and it twists at you to see it.
“Like you?” You cannot suppress your smile. It is an ugly and lopsided thing, but you find yourself unable to care as you take her other hand in yours, suddenly confident. Because, really, you feel like the sun is in your chest. And it is coming off your skin in waves. The whole room lights up. “You didn’t already know, Seer of Light? How very much I like you? I do not think it is possible to feel any redder than I already do for you.”
She laughs brightly, the sound bursting like the sun from behind the clouds.
You reluctantly slide one of your hands out of hers, to touch the cold metal of one of the earrings.
“They suit you,” you say, half to yourself. Though you don’t consider yourself a prideful troll, you still take pleasure in seeing your creations worn. To see them be appreciated by others. By Rose .
You may be glowing, but you cannot help but think that Rose is the radiant one.
She giggles, and you see your light glint off the little suns you crafted, hanging now from her ears.
“Sorry,” you murmur, pulling your hands back onto your lap. "I didn’t mean to blind you.”
“Don’t be.” she says. She’s still smiling.
You cannot believe she likes you. That she said she likes you. That you said it back! You-
“Kanaya?” Her voice is small, suddenly. Soft. She says your name like it’s precious. And then she says: “Can I kiss you?”
“Rose,” you say her name back, try to instil what you’re feeling into the single word, the way she did. You’re terrified. You’re thrilled. Your hands find their way up, lightly cupping her cheek, her jaw. “I think I’d like that. But, I think I have another surprise.”
“Oh?” there’s this familiar question mark in her eyes, one seen so often when she’s talking about paradox space, the game, the Big Questions. But the look has shifted, somehow, become hungry.
And indeed, you do; because what the good Seer does not anticipate, is you leaning in to kiss her .
And you love the little surprised sound she makes against your lips that turns to a sigh that has you burning even brighter. You love the way you can finally feel that she’s wanted you just as much as you’ve wanted her. You love how you can see that in the way she holds you so tightly. That she loves you.
☼