Chapter Text
~ Karkat’s POV ~
Fuck. It worked.
All this loose change in my hands is going to embed on my skin that nasty ferrous coin smell - that shit stays around for so long that it might as well start paying rent. Like an idiot, I spent so much cash money on overpriced alcohol that there was nary a dollar bill left to separate my poor palm from the silvers and coppers. The burning adrenaline hasn’t stopped pooling in my stomach for fucking ages, since yesterday even, and I’m practically riddled with cold anxiety. Note to self: when the legal drinking age is twenty-fucking-one, which you are not, finding a gas station desperate enough to sell packs of funny juice to your baby-faced ass is one of the most stress inducing things since sliced bread, or at least that’s how I think it goes.
Walking out of the abominable gas station, and happily on a trajectory in its opposite direction, I shout so fucking loud. Knuckles dragged back and forth on my cranium like a tiny Donkey Kong is monkey-crawling to so many places on my skull. I whipped around. “If you fucking noogie me again, I’m calling the police and telling them you’re a criminal, and a bitch as well,” I spat at my friend. My god, that shit-eating grin. The “friend” in question, Terezi - or Miss Pyrope if you want to be all formal about it - replied through a tightly packed show of teeth, “Says the nineteen-year-old twink who just finessed booze from a gas station. I will prosecute you myself, sir.” She had a point, which pissed me right off (though in an affectionate way, because I’m not completely fucking heartless). I smiled; how could I not? A hypothetical onlooker might be able to guess that we are close friends, perhaps even childhood besties, considering that you have to be on pretty fucking good terms with your prey to get away with a noogie unscathed.
It’s 7 o’clock in the evening, not on the dot, leaving ample time for relocating because, wouldn’t you fucking know, I have better things to do than stand outside a gas station at this hour like a shitty NPC. Terezi and I start making our way back homewards; we are going to party. A little session, if you will. The occasion? Today marks the first day we’ve officially moved out of our parents’ houses. Into shitty shared university dorms, communal bathrooms and all, but freedom and independence and autonomy and all that, nevertheless. That’s right, we’re marking this lifetime milestone by illegally drinking so much with strangers in the hopes that the first impressions generated from this night will make the upcoming year tolerable. I hate to show it, but I’m quaking in my little fucking metaphorical boots from excitement. Meeting new people is one of my favourite things. I am an avid people-watcher, which is a valid pastime not only reserved for older folks, and I love collecting gossip and stories from anyone who will talk to me for long enough. It might be worth mentioning that, the pool of people who meet that requirement is quite fucking small because, despite exuding nothing short of charming and delightful, I have been described as intense in addition to a “mouthy little sailor-tongued fucker” (thank you, Terezi, very nice).
Terezi and I come within a stone throw’s away from the tall, concrete building in which our flat belongs to, on the top floor of course because climbing multiple stories of stairs is my personal idea of a good fucking time. Right off the bat, this scruffy asshole is trying to get in but failing horribly. Banging his head on the door and everything. He’s wearing fucking pyjama pants like it’s nobody’s business and that’s something I can respect. Approaching him, noticing that he smells like weed and poison, I accost the stranger and say, “You can’t get in by just pushing the door, dumbass, you need a card,” to which his brow knitted a weave of confusion, and to which his mouth knitted fuck-all because, my god, he is just completely silent. Exasperated, I sigh, “You did get a card right?” Dazed, he just exclaims, “The fuck kinda card are we talkin’ about?” Like the philanthropist I am, I even go through the trouble of digging out my own card, I needed to get in myself anyway, to show him how to access this building. There’s a sensor on the outside of the door. I place my card in front of it. Door opens. Random guy is just completely excited about this shit and limps inside and he utters, “Oh shit, thank you my god-damn brother. Really was almost left for dead out there. Never got one a those mother-fuckin cards I’ll tell you that,” to which I reply, “Look at the state of you, I can’t blame whoever the fuck didn’t give your ass a card.” He actually smiled at that and reached out for a fist-bump. I can’t not. We fist-bump. Terezi, the one-manned, jeering peanut gallery up until this point, joins in. Right now, this is triple fist-bump territory and it’s awkward, but only for a little bit. Terezi spouts, “Nice one bros. I’m almost tempted to call this a bit of a bruh moment, but that would be so fucking stupid.” Immediately, I guffaw and try to compose myself in the span of a few seconds. Pointing in the direction he clearly needs to go, I advise this guy to go to the administration hall and get his card, and he leaves with an inscrutable expression.
We just fucking burst out laughing because, my god, what a bizarre, but oddly fitting, interaction to set the precedent for the night. Ascending the stairs, I secretly swear to myself to go outside as little as possible to avoid much repetition of this ungodly climb. Terezi is thinking the exact same thing, I can tell just by looking at her sorry ass. “When I said I wanted to be a lawyer, I didn’t sign up for this shit,” she said through hoarse, infrequent wheezes. “I’ll write you a fucking sob story when I get my degree, if it pleases you.” She laughs at my hilarious snark. “What else can you do with an English degree anyway?” I feign outrage and internally admit that I really have no fucking clue. “Bet there’s loads of gays, though. Like, so many gays.” We pushed open the door to our flat, and I continued mindlessly rambling, “How many fellow queers are you gonna find on your fucking law cours-“
In front of me, what I can only describe as a long-limbed blonde twink stumbled back. I fucking bumped into him whilst droning on. “Shit, sorry. You good?” I kind of have to be polite, it was my bad after all, but I also kind of hate it. For some reason, he has these shitty aviators on despite being indoors and he adjusts them whilst replying, “No man, ‘sall good. You in this flat, shortstuff?” “I’ll stop being polite if you call me that, or anything like that, again. Yes, I’m in this flat.” He smells like whisky. “Sorry, sir. Forgot it’s weird to talk to strangers like I’m already their friend. I’m buzzed as fuck. Shit. I was just going out for a smoke.” He makes a peace sign. Terezi eyes him up and lets him know that we were heading to the kitchen. He nods and begins the arduous descent. Fucks sake. She always does this, always tries to set me up with every boy that we come across even though I don’t want her to and, besides, there’s no fucking chance this boy isn’t straight. I head to the kitchen.