Chapter Text
Karkat was only 20 when he finished his degree in fine arts and communications. Now at 21, he lives in a spacey apartment. He can afford it easily, many of his romance novels and works of art have become moderately popular. Most adults his age consider him to be lucky and fortunate, Karkat doesn't understand that though. The only solace he finds in his day to day, average, and boring life is his art now. His arm lay in front of him over a large ceramic bowl, a fresh razor blade in his right hand and 2 spares to his side. He drags the razor across mocha skin, splitting the soft tissue with ease. The blood immediately started to puddle on the long drag across his wrist and soon just as Karkat planned the red slipped down his arm and into the bowl. A smile nearly graced the black haired boys lips, he loved this, it was the only time he thought he was using himself correctly. After 6 more slits the bowl now was thinly filled, barely a quarter of an inch but it would be perfect.
Cleaning the wounds, Karkat carefully bandaged his arm and grabbed a 16x10' canvas placing it by the setup he had placed by the bowl. Cautiously, he began the use his own blood to smear the canvas, creating a tragic scene of a faceless man kneeling by a faceless girl whom had a hole in her heart. The boy stepped back and looked at his work hours later, it pleased him that his gross being could make something so tragically beautiful. Karkat wouldn't sell these paintings, instead he would keep them in a closet in the back of his apartment. Many times, when he felt himself feeling as if there was no use for his presence he would go to he closet and survey the paintings, every few weeks he would go back there and wonder if he was still able to make beauty, so he would paint yet another.
When the bowl had been cleaned and put away with the new work, Karkat hurried into his study room to meet the deadline that had been set by his editors. His novels were not nearly as tragic as his paintings. The steamy romance he created was more so poetic then tragic. He himself loved reading a book and feeling every bit of the characters troubles, joys, pains, and excitements in his own heart, so he tried his hardest to come through to that in his own novels. His books had ups and downs (more downs than ups admittedly) but almost always ended with the main character at least somewhat fulfilled.
Feferi, his far too perky editor, now said it was about time for a happy and fun book about a young loving couple. She set complete guidelines saying that the following must happen in the new novel,
1. there is to be no death or violence what so ever
2. The two must have unique and fun personas
3. They must have lots of fun together for a while
4. a hill they have to climb to be happy with each other must come along
5. they live happily ever fucking after
His editor wasn't exactly good at making story lines, just at making certain things about it better. Karkat frowned to himself thinking about having to accomplish this. She was asking him to do something completely out of his league. Never having been in a relationship that was remotely as good as that, Karkat had no idea what to write. He couldn't write about a one sided love affair or some other kind of shit, according to Feferi that's just " sad and tragic " He agreed with the assessment, but had argued multiple times that it was because of those reasons, the writing was beautiful.
His computer screen flickered to life as Karkat sat down, his writing documents were already on his screen. The boy angrily ran a hand through his nest of hair, he hadn't bothered combing it the last few days. Rarely had he even left the apartment in the last few weeks. His sleep was concerning, running off 2 hours of sleep and 5 cups of coffee couldn't be healthy but, it got the job done just fine. What Karkat really needed was some first fucking hand experience in this kind of romantic situation. He had been in some relationships but none had been to healthy for him. He remembered Terezi Pyrope, whom he loved more then anything and thought that she felt the same way. Too stuck in his lovey dovey world he hadn't realized she didn't take the relationship seriously at all, and ended up dumping him for some douche in another college. A buzz took him off his current occupation of staring at the computer screen with an intensity that could kill.
He picked up his phone, still irritated from the lack of ideas for his manuscript . God he wished he could just throw the main character off a cliff right about now, of course if he did that Eridan (another one of his stupid editors) would throw him off a cliff. Karkat turned on and unlocked his phone reading the new text from Feferi.
CuttlefishCuller started pestering you.
CC: Karkat I know you're probably still up. You s)(ould get some sleep for t)(e meet and greet tomorrow! 38)
Oh fuck there was a meet and greet. Karkat hated those stupid things, they were just for the tabloids or to "meet fellow artists" all such bullshit of course both Feferi and Eridan pushed him to go so he could gain more awareness, as if he didn't have enough to make paparazzi follow his every move . If those stupid editors weren't so fucking persistent he wouldn't go period.
CG: WHY IN THE EVER LOVING FUCK MUST I GO TO A SHITTY PLACE TO MAKE AWKWARD SMALL TALK WITH OTHER FUCK FACES?
CC: We've )(ad this conversation before come on it won't be t)(at bad you don't even )(ave to stay for long! glub
CG: UGH FINE WHAT THE FUCK EVER I'M STAYING FOR 2 HOURS TOPS AND YOU WILL HAVE COFFEE READY FOR ME. I CAN'T PROMISE THAT IF A SHIT EATING PAPARAZZI TRYS TO TAKE A PICTURE OF ME HIS CAMERA WON'T BE SHOVED UP HIS ASS.
CC: Okay! I'll be at your apartment by --Eig)(t!!! 38D
Exhausted and irritated, Karkat closed his laptop, trudging out of his study. On the way to his bedroom he opened the door to his art closet and quickly looked at how the painting had dried. the deeper red accented it more. The boy counted it as a success, walking out down the hall and falling into bed. Tomorrow would be long he could feel it.