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After midnight the party disbanded, dissolving into couples and trios and the odd solitary figure, all kissing drunken or sugar-soaked goodbyes and staggering out into the chill of the new year. By two a.m. there were only two left standing: Karkat Vantas, the host (and he had, by all reckonings, been excellent), and Dirk Strider, who had brought most of the alcohol, all the mixers, and a long-standing but unacknowledged crush. Neither of them were particularly drunk; they always paced themselves so as to see everyone else safely out the door and to a hired cab if needed. They busied themselves picking up half-empty glasses and scattered plates of snacks. It was companionable and quiet, and soon the place was, while not really tidy, at least not a complete disaster. They looked at each other.
Dirk broke the silence. “So.” His voice was low, but somehow startling. Karkat looked at him, crossed his arms, and bit out a response.
"So."
The silence dragged on for a moment, then Dirk gave him a crooked smile. "Would you like to play a game?"
"With you?"
Dirk looked around pointedly. "No one else here, Vantas."
"Right. Yeah. What kind of game?" Karkat unfolded his arms and leaned on the counter, tapping his claws against the linoleum.
"Well, I'm looking around at this place and there's a lot of alcohol remaining undrunk. Neither of us works tomorrow, and you told me I could crash on your couch if I needed to. How about it? Game on?"
"Huh."
"I've reduced you to monosyllables. My work here is clearly done. I'll just see myself out."
"Did I say no? I didn't hear myself saying no. I heard myself making a thoughtful noise as of a person contemplating what might or might not be a reasonable response to a person making a brain-gougingly idiotic suggestion at almost three in the goddamn morning."
"Well?"
Karkat cocked his head, irritation and amusement warring on his face. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it. I'm gonna regret the shit out of this in the morning, but but what the fuck, why not. We only celebrate our miraculous survival once a year. It makes me feel magnanimous. We can play your no doubt terribly clever and exciting Earth game."
"Great. How drunk do you want to get?" Dirk pulled a pack of cards from his sylladex, along with a ping pong ball, a cardboard box, and a timer. "I've got a few different options."
Karkat rolled his eyes and scoffed. "I don't even want to know what the ball is for. That's a hint, by the way. I really don't. So pick something else and let's play until you pass out. It won't take that long. You've only got human tolerance for alcohol, after all."
"Really. It seems you think that you can beat me at a drinking game." Dirk arched an eyebrow. "Okay, fine then. Tell you what, let's make this more interesting. You make mine and I'll make yours."
"How, exactly, is that supposed to be anything like fair? You'll be the improbable douchewad nookweasel that you are and serve me a full cup of straight cola with three drops of rum or something. No way."
"I promise I won't. I won't even use a mixer." Karkat gave him a narrow glare, not mollified in the least, but Dirk ignored it. "I'm a little picky about what I drink though, so you can make mine however you want, but you have to use one of these." He pulled three bottles from the his stash, one blue bottle filled with what looked like clear fluid, one clear bottle filled with blue, and one improbably acid green one that reminded Karkat of nothing so much as super-liquified sopor. He shuddered.
"The blue bottle looks fine." Dirk nodded approvingly and handed him the bottle, which closer examination revealed to be mostly full of orange whipped cream vodka. Karkat opened it and took a good whiff. It was just as horrible as he expected, saccharine and artificial under the reek of alcohol. Dirk pulled two bottles from the fridge, one orange soda and the other orange juice.
"I don't know how you can drink that carbonated crap, Dirk. But hey, it's your innards. If you want to piss orange for the next two days, be my guest."
Dirk shrugged. "I grew up on it, and it hasn't seemed to have stunted my growth any. Now, for yours. Hm."
"Don't I get to pick my own? Seems only fair."
"Nope. If I let you, you'll go straight for gin or something equally vile and then I'll have to smell it on your breath."
"Getting a little ahead of yourself there, aren't you Strider?"
"Hold your horses, broski. We'll be sitting in proximity. It's going to drift as soon as you start burping, which I know you do when you alien assholes drink, so don't try to say you don't, and I can't even begin to handle the stench of rotting pine in my face. We all have preferences. Besides, I want to see you taking shots. I think it'd be cute."
Karkat blinked. Denial of burping would be lying, because yeah, trolls did exactly that. Something with the way the alcohol and sugars interacted with their digestive systems. Even non-bubbly drinks ended up fermenting. But...cute. Huh. That was interesting.
"Fine. Just don't give me your fruity bullshit. And nothing red. I'm not into rainbow drinker roleplay."
"Not a problem." Dirk fussed with several bottles, most of them opaque. "You just mix up mine, then sit at that table and I'll get your first six ready."
"Six? Wow. That it? Sure you don't want to set up another six and make it an even twelve?"
"That's how many shot glasses I could find. I'll refill them as you drink them, don't worry. Not that I'll need to."
That earned him a glower.
"I think you'll find me a tougher customer than you think, Strider."
Dirk shrugged, tossed him a couple of large plastic cups, and rebusied himself with the drinks. Karkat grabbed a chair, sat at the table, and started pouring. He divided the remainder of the vodka between the two cups, leaving just enough room for a splash of orange soda in one and juice in the other. He smirked. It didn't matter what game they played; Dirk was going down by the end of just one of those. He set the empty bottle on the floor.
"All right, yours are ready -- what in the Condesce-loving everfuck is that?"
Dirk lifted one of the two shots he'd finished. It was striped.
"Never had a layered shot? You're in for a treat, probably. This one's called a Candy Corn." He held up the other one, which looked horrifying, vague swirls of viscous tan curling like smoke through yellowish liquid. "This is a Buttery Nipple." He set them down on the table and went back to start the next two.
Karkat's eyes bugged.
"That's a sick joke, right?"
"Nah, the Abortion is a sick joke. But you said no red, so anything with grenadine or maraschino is out, and that leaves most of the really gross shit out to pasture. I still have a lot of options, though."
"You're expecting me to drink these things? They look like something Egbert would fart out of his chute and use to fuel his Windy Gambit or whatever the fuck he calls it."
"You'll like them. I think. Anyway, after three or so, it won't matter much. This is a Quick Fuck." He held up another glass, layered in brown, beige, and green.
"Why the fuck is it green? Okay, you know what? You can stop telling me what these are called at any point. Just stick them on the fucking table and let's get started."
"Your funeral."
"Is that--never fucking mind. I don't want to know. Seriously, just fill the last three up with whatever the bottle in your other hand is and sit your ass down."
Dirk shrugged, finished pouring, and ferried the glasses to the table.
"Let's start with something easy. This is called Higher or Lower." He pulled out the deck of cards and started shuffling while he explained the rules. Karkat gave him an eloquent eyeroll and set the cups of booze next to Dirk.
"Yeah, okay, I get it. I guess wrong, I drink; I guess right, you drink. Why you humans have to make everything so complicated is beyond me."
Dirk laid a card on the table -- four of hearts.
"This game is terrible. Higher."
Dirk flipped the next card. "Wrong, it's a two. Drink up."
Karkat took the shot and held it to his mouth. It smelled sweet, but not horrible. He downed half of it. It was like -- it was. It. He started coughing.
"What the actual fuck are you feeding me, Strider? This shit has the texture of ...uh." He stopped suddenly, his cheeks starting to darken and pink.
Dirk smirked. "Like what?"
"Nothing. That was awful. That's all." His face would not cool down. "Next card."
Six of clubs. He guessed lower and was right. Dirk took a deep swig of the first of his two drinks. His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't comment. Karkat smiled grimly at him. They played three more rounds, all losses for Karkat. Now a mere two shots in, he realized that the room was spinning gently.
"Seriously, Dirk, what the hell was in those? They didn't taste bad, but the texture is like slurry that burns the back of your throat. And I'm...I'm feeling this. Kind of a lot, actually."
"Slurry, huh. That's good to know. Thick and kind of creamy, then." He nodded. "Sounds about right. You want to play something else?"
"Oh my god Dirk. You're disgusting. But yeah. Every time I look at the cards I think quadrants, and I'm really starting to feel embarrassed. Like, this one's the jack of hearts, right? I feel like there's something there about you and me, but I think I'm actually. Wait, no. Did I actually tell you these remind me of slurry?"
"Sure did. You're really cute when you're starting to lose your inhibitions."
"Ugh, you need to catch up to me. Let's another thing. Something you'll lose."
"No chance. Anyway, to answer your question: not all Earth alcohol is like vodka, rum, whiskey, gin. Your know, the stuff Rose and Roxy are into, the stuff that barely affects you guys. Some of it, like those," he gestured at the shots, "have incredibly high sugar content. A glass of dessert wine will probably get you almost as drunk as a human. Liqueurs like these, same deal. With your metabolisms, they'll probably hit you guys faster. I should have thought of that." He sucked down a gulp of his own drink. "Goddamn, Vantas. These are barely mixed."
"Figured I might as well just damp the whale thing. You know, I'm almost starting to enjoy these." Karkat tossed back the third shot.
"Have you been hanging with Meenah again?" Dirk's words were very mild.
"Oh, fuck yeah. She's great. How she can deal with Vriska is beyond me, but they're fucking great together. 'Slike they bring out the best in each other, which is ultimately, what hearts should be. Kinda jealous, to tell you'th truth. Wish I had something like that."
"Yeah?" Dirk sipped his drink, watching Karkat's hands as he talked. "You're in the market for that kind of thing?"
"Do you even know me? And aren't you? I mean, I know your thing didn't work out with Jerk or whatever his name was, but this is a whole new universe. We all get a second or third chances. You've gotta have a thing for someone."
"I might."
"Gotta tell them, then. No time twist. Oh fuck, the ceiling is turning. Are you drunk yet? I still got two left. Three left. You should finish yours. The first one at least."
"I suppose it's only fair. You're already pretty trashed and I'm barely buzzed." The first cup was still half-full, but he saluted Karkat, then drained it. His breath came short and choppy as he upended it on the table.
"Zat a thing you do when you finish a trink? My fangs are getting in the way of talking. What a fucking irrrrrtation." Karkat's face was blazing, his tongue felt tangled, and he could feel a rusty purr trying to emerge from his chest. Embarrassed, he threw back his fourth shot, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Seriously, it's like a Nitram spooged in the glass. Now I'm seriously bothered. They probably don't taste like, uh, whatever this tastes like, though. Hoofbeast milk and burning, but...well, actually, maybe they do. Hopefully not the burning."
"That's an incredible visual, but maybe you want to slow down a little? Seems like you've got a bit of a gallop on, maybe a canter is more your style?"
"Little late for that, Stridirk. No fuzzyfooting around. Who knew that dranks this tiny could be so pewerful. These fuckers are walking right up and punching me in the pan."
Dirk was beginning to feel numb around the edges, a clear sign that he'd taken too much too fast, but there was no going back. This ride was going on, he was strapped in and the stirrups were loaded. "That was a lot of vodka." He swayed gently.
Karkat gloated. "See! You'll be under the table. Soon. Very soon." He lifted the fifth shot, squinting at it before knocking it back. He swayed, too. "Yes. I will have you under the table. Or maybe in the respiteblock."
Dirk stood, very carefully. "Vantas, I thought you'd never ask." He drifted to Karkat's side, and reached out with trembling fingers to stroke his cheek.
"Wha--are you panrotted?" Karkat's eyes were glazed. "This is a competition, and you're just letting me win. Weren't you the one who wanted to play alcohol flapbeast in, I don't know, the spirit of broship, or whatever the fuck you always talk about?" He lifted the last shot. "I'm going to take this and then declare you the loser. Because that is what you absolutely are." He stared Dirk down and took it, ignoring the hand still hovering near his ear.
Dirk stood still for a long moment, then dropped his hand. Karkat hiccupped. His stomach gurgled, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again with an audible click of teeth. "Hm. I think. I'm pretty sure this is going to be a problem."
He felt it with enough time to clap his hands over his mouth. The burp was worse than expected, and Karkat lurched to his feet, only to nearly fall over. Dirk caught him and manhandled him off to the bathroom. He folded a towel and set it on the side of the tub while Karkat emptied his stomach, then went out to get him a cup of water. He stood in the kitchen staring blankly at the empty shot glasses. He'd fucked up. His plan to summon up some liquid courage and confess had backfired because he hadn't calculated anything correctly. He was a waste of space, a piece of shit who'd gotten his crush object sick instead of frisky. He'd have done better writing an anonymous note that said 'you like me y/n?' and leaving it on the refrigerator. His vision swam a little, and he staggered.
Drunk and downcast, he carried the water back to the bathroom, sloshing slightly over the rim of the glass. Karkat was sitting against the tub holding his gut, eyes bloodshot. He accepted the water without comment and sipped at it carefully. Then he patted the floor next to him. Dirk sat down what he considered a safe distance away.
"Do you need anything else, like, a vitamin or a, a, I don't know. Something trolls like when they've just turned their stomachs into fountains?"
"Wow, Strider. Just...wow. No, I'm sugarpunched, not sick. I'm fine. Or I will be once the world quits rotating. Just move your ass over, then sit still and let me lean on you while my innards calm down. No, don't look at me like I slapped a baby meowbeast, just get over here."
Dirk complied, cautiously scooting over to Karkat's side. The troll rolled his eyes, and thumped his head into Dirk's shoulder, leaning heavily on him.
"That was absolutely the most idiotic idea either of us have ever had."
Dirk hmmed, too stunned at Karkat's proximal warmth and apparent inclination to cuddle to form a coherent sentence.
"Seriously, though, Strider. What possessed you to--" Karkat interrupted his sentence with a slightly damp burp, and he trailed off, embarrassed. "What possessed you?" He glanced at Dirk, who had closed his eyes and seemed to be huffing Karkat's hair. "What the everloving fuck are you doing, you great ape?"
"Mmm, you smell odd. Alcohol I'd expect, and a bit of sick perhaps, but you actually smell kind of like...bread." Dirk squinted at Karkat through his lashes. "Corn chips, maybe. Doritos, but not like, nacho or, god help me, ranch. Warm and grain-y. Nice." He curled his arm over Karkat's shoulders, straining slightly to reach all the way around. Karkat stilled, shock flickering across his face, then shook his head and snuggled in. Dirk kept mumbling into his hair. "Why're you being so nice? I got you drink. Drunk. Yes, drunk. I got you drunk. I had ulterior motives."
"Did you now?" Karkat arched an eyebrow, more amused than offended despite the intermittent gurgle of his stomach. "Seems to me that I got my own goddamn self drunk trying to show off." He burped again.
"Made the drinks. Knew that they'd be stronger than you were used to."
"Did you taste the shit I made you? I think we're even on that count."
"Oh." Dirk blinked at him. "Oh, I see." He tightened his grip and planted a sloppy kiss on Karkat's ear. "But I wanted to tell you something."
"Stop talking before you say something you'll regret later, you drunken idiot." Karkat could feel his cheeks heating.
"No." Dirk sat up straighter. "I gotta do this. It's the only way." He grabbed at one of Karkat's hands. "Making this happen."
"Seriously, maybe when you're sobered up? I know I'd rather hear whatever bullshit you've got to say when I'm fully back to a less fucked state."
"Then, too, so you'll know I'm really fucking serious, but if I don't now, I'll get too dumb and not say it."
Karkat snorted. "That's you, all right, Strider. Dumb and stupid and still drunk."
Dirk barreled on. "I like you, Vantas. In the 'I want to kiss you on the mouth' way. Because I do. Every time I look at you sometimes I'm like, 'Someday I'm going to kiss that mouth and run my fingers through his hair and his nubby horns are so cute and his bara arms are the best." He dropped a kiss on Karkat's forehead. "I want to be your dumbass human boyfriend."
"Oh my god."
"Pretty sure I fucked that up, though. Except you're cuddling with me so maybe I still have a chance. Ugh, I feel horrible. Why did I drink that much vodka? I never drink that much vodka."
Karkat burped, overcome with simultaneous urges to both punch and kiss him. "Puke it out, Dirk. You'll feel better. I'm starting to. You wreck. You absolute turd. Fuck."
"No, can't. It won't go. I just have to wait it out." He dropped his head and burrowed into Karkat's shoulder. "Wait. it. out. Snnnn."
"Your glasses are a fucking nightmare, worse than horns because they're on the front of your idiot face. I swear to god, Strider, if you don't remember this in the morning, I will, in fact, throw you out of my home ass first. Get up and go drink some goddamn water." He shoved Dirk's head up and thrust the empty glass into his hand. His own head felt remarkably clear, but he had a burning need to empty his bladder. "Seriously, though, get out. Just to the foodblock, though. Not actually out."
Dirk clung to him briefly, but Karkat shoved him again. He made it to his feet and stumbled out, got himself water and collapsed on the couch to drink it. He'd done it, he'd confessed. Maybe his plan hadn't been so terrible. He closed his eyes against the spinning room. Still drunk. But also a little happy.
An unknown quantity of time later, Karkat tapped him on the shoulder. "Are you passing out on me, fuckhead? Don't you dare pass out. There's only another hour until sunrise, we've stayed up this late already, and there's no way I'm carrying your ass to bed until after we've seen the dawn together."
Dirk smiled, eyes still closed. "Romantic asshole. You want to stay up to meet the new year with a jackass like me?"
"Yes. You're a champion snotlicker with shit for brains and all the personality defects of a nookworm that's been ridden hard and put away unwashed for six sweeps, but you're willing to put up with me, so that counts for something. Now get your ass up, drink more water, and let's play a few rounds of whatever Sollux left in my gamegrub."
"Wait, did you say 'carry your ass to bed'?" Dirk pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Karkat looked away, chewing his lip.
"Well, yeah. Not for wild interspecies makeouts, because intoxication isn't really my bag, and besides, I'm not sure I could even convince my bulge to cooperate. But, uh. It'll get cold out here." He burped.
"Hot."
"Fuck you. And don't say anything lewd, because you will forfeit your cuddles."
"So..." Dirk pursed his lips. "So this is a thing? Or can be a thing? We can make it a thing?"
"We can see if a thing can happen. Yeah. Now, seriously, drink some fucking water. I don't want to have to keep poking you every ten minutes."
Six terrible rounds of Mario Kart later, the sun began to creep over the horizon. They stepped out Karkat's door and breathed in the chilly morning air.
"Happy New Year, Karkat."
"Happy fucking New Year, Dirk."
Dirk slipped his chilly hand into Karkat's warmer one. Karkat burped, then leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek.