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Neither of you speak.
The ablutiontrap is full, and the water is going cold and murky. Terezi runs a brush through your hair, and you hiss every time she hits a snarl. She’s patient, and for once, she has nothing to say. She’s using her talons alongside the brush.
You’re exhausted. It’s a thick, cloying fatigue that you may as well drown in, and your eyes would be shut if you weren’t screaming at yourself to stay vigilant, it’s a trap . But if you’re perfectly, one hundred and eight percent honest , here’s something else keeping you awake as well, and that’s the prickle-skin light feeling that transfers like an electric current, her hand to your hair.
It’s familiar. The swoop of adrenaline in your digestion sac before a kill, or when you’re in danger. And every time you’re in danger, it seems, she’s beside you. Your voice of reason, your foil, the reason you push harder. The logos to your pathos. This is different. There is no danger, and the adrenaline is an underlying chemical hum, sharpening your senses and stippling your skin.
"Move your head a bit," she commands softly, guiding your pan to where she wants it. There’s no malice. There’s no banter. You bite the inside of your cheek hard in an attempt to stop your body from feeling light, like you’re floating far above her.
"Shit, that hurts ," you gasp out. The snag is buried below the top layer of your hair, closer to your spine. She touches your neck, trying to get it under control. You can’t suppress a violent shudder.
"Oops," you can hear her smile.
You’re turning cobalt , you’re shrinking into yourself. "Shut up ,"
You’re not surprised when she actually does shut up. You’re both tired.
The quiet lasts until the knot is soft strands of hair once more. She yawns. "I think the moons are going down. It’s almost daytime," There are no windows in the ablutionblock, just a load gaper and a clawed trap. The curtain has spiderwebs on it. You used to think that was funny.
"You can stay here," you tell her. It’s not safe to travel during the day, and it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve shared a recuperacoon.
Insect legs crawl up and down your insides at the idea of your calves tangling in the daytime.
"I’m done with your hair."
"Thanks," you say quietly.
She’s looking at you a little too long. Only she sees this side of you, and once she sees it she doesn’t stop . She’s piercing right through you, examining everything. "Don’t look."
She turns her back as you towel off and change into a clean t-shirt.
There’s blood caked under your fingernails. It takes you off guard for a second before you remember to forget it.
"Okay,"
Even tired, you race to your block in the turret. Your tread echoes through labyrinthine corridors. You’re taller than her, but she's vicious, not hesitating to shove you out of her way or to send you stumbling.
She laughs and it's contagious.
You get to your block just as the sun begins to rise, and you draw the curtains tightly over already tinted glass. Everything is plunged into velvet shadow. She spiders her talons down the side of your neck while your bulbs are still adjusting, and you yelp before spinning to grapple with her. She pulls your hair and you pinch her nose. You fall into a giggling heap on the carpet. You’re not sure what to do with yourself.
"Asshole!"
"Nooksniffer!"
"Idiot!"
"Your hair is tangled again!" She groans.
"It wouldn’t have gotten that way if you hadn’t touched me!" You shove her just for the sake of it. There is incandescence where you touch, lighting up your neurons. It’s gone in a second. You lay there together on the floor, breathing heavily.
"Mindfang," she prods.
"Mm?"
She props herself on an elbow, her hair hangs down around your face like a curtain. Your pusher skips a beat. "I won’t let you have the seven seas. Not today, you good for nothing pirate!" She’s so corny it makes you giggle. Useless drama is your forte.
"Make that eight seas. They’re already mine."
"I have reinforcements on the way. They won’t be yours come nightfall."
"Well I have allllllll the luck. You couldn’t bring me down if you tried," you pause for dramatic effect, stopping her when she tries to respond. "But, I would be open to . . . negotiation ."
"I don’t negotiate with terrorists," Terezi flicks the center of your forehead. "Justice will always find you. Justice will always get you in the end."
"Get off your high hoofbeast, Redglare. You’re no better than me. At the very least you should hear my offer."
"Hm . . ."
"We could rule together. We could be unstoppable . . ."
"That sort of offer doesn’t come for free. I know you, Mindfang."
You’re not sure why that does it, but suddenly you’re pinned and all your breath is knocked away. Tension floods into the space between you. You’re locked there, pan halting, for what may as well be sweeps. The soft curve of her cheek, still wriggler-fat. Her overgrown bangs. Then, the soft, dry press of lips with your eyes squeezed tightly shut. It's over in a second. When you pull back, her gaze is round in a way that tells you that you have really, truly surprised her. You didn’t know it was still possible. When she says nothing, your words fill the silence.
"It’s in character," you explain with a haughtiness you don’t exactly feel.
She nods slowly, and you’re so relieved you could die , but you’re not telling her that.
". . . What quadrant would they be in?" She asks. She’s always good at thinking on her struts.
"Well, I think red and black are equal candidates. They’re always fighting when we act them out, right? But they’re also . . ." just like us, ". . . there. For each other."
"Yeah," her hand drifts to your hair and you let her smooth her way through it, working again to untangle the ratty-thin strands. It’s a lost cause, but that doesn’t stop it from feeling nice. You settle back into the unfamiliar gentleness that you’re so greedy for, terrified that if you speak you’ll break the fragile moment. You’re floating to the ground, soft as a feather. She tugs to make sure that you’re awake.
"Ow!"
"You shouldn’t sleep on the floor."
You roll over. She copies you until she’s pressed up to your back. You roll your eyes. "Ughh. Mrs. Spoilsport."
"You’ll have nightmares."
"No I won’t." You always have nightmares. She hauls you up by your armpits. It’s a kick to your dignity, so you allow yourself one kick to her shin.
"Quit it!"
"Make me!" You stick out your tongue. She deserves it.
"Why are you always so difficult? I’m trying to help!"
"You pulled my hair!"
She steps into the sopor. You watch her eyes droop almost immediately. She’s vulnerable like this. "I’m sleeping, with or without you."
"It’s my hive."
Her eyes are too lucid. She watches you, saying nothing. You’re not sure exactly when you realize that she’s sleeping with her eyes open, but it makes you laugh. You shut them for her with your thumb, far more gently than you ever would if she were awake. "Good morning, Terezi Pyrope."
You settle beside her and sleep takes you too.