Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Hey, crabby!” Terezi shouts at you from where she’s barreling down the street, turquoise hair whipping around her face as she zooms toward you on her skateboard. You look over, hiding your face from the sun with your open book, and snort with laughter.

“Hey,” you greet her in return, and she jumps off of her skateboard, quickly captchaloguing it before it hits the curb. You look ahead as she regains her balance, jumping up on the sidewalk to walk beside you. Her dark blue highlights – her soulmark – shine black in the late morning sunshine. “You’re way too fucking energetic for this early in the morning, you know.”

She laughs and decaptchalogues her skateboard, sending it shooting ahead and running to catch up. She jumps on from the side, and you run after her, laughing despite yourself and captchaloguing your novel. 

You hit several people while running after her – the !risina seller; Sollux and Eridan who are playing a game of marbles on the sidewalk; a couple of old, startled tourists. As she rounds the final corner to the putanuo ,  you run headfirst into a tourist, and the next thing you know, you’re on your ass, on the ground. 

He’s sprawled across from you, and you can see the neighbors buzzing around the two of you. Despite the hot sun glaring down, your eyes widen and a heat rises to your cheeks as you realize what just happened. 

You know who this blond tourist is.

But the last time you saw him, he didn’t have red streaks in his hair, did he?

You sit there as a buzz of chatter resumes around the two of you. Dave Strider stands up and holds out a hand to you, blond locks falling in his face. “Dude, you getting up, or are you just gonna sit there on your ass?” he asks you, smiling. That’s what’s really taking you by surprise – in all the tabloid articles, he never smiles. He only smirks. But you can tell this is genuine – the lift of his shades, the arch of his eyebrows, the dimples in his cheeks. As the blood drains from your face, you refuse to take his hand, choosing instead to just stand up as you are. No pushing up with your hands. It’s a thing you and Nepeta have done since you were seven – challenging each other to do the weirdest physical activity just to make sure y’all got some. 

Dave’s throat bobs, and your eyes flick down to follow the movement before you look up at him. “You’re paying for my jeans,” you tell him, and he blinks. “I know you have the money, Mr. Strider , and these are…” You trail off, hesitant to reveal that they’re the only thing you kept from your older brother, Mituna, before he left. “These are special to me.” 

Dave scoffs, looking down at your ratty red Converse. You refuse to try and hide your social status, no matter how much of a bastard this prick might be being right now, so you fight the urge to tug your jeans down – not that it would do much good anyway. You’re so skinny that they’re already as low as you’ll let them be. You have to wear a belt every time you wear them or everyone’s going to see your underwear. “I mean, it’s not like it’d do much good to pay to fix them – they’re trash anyway.” Those words leave his mouth with a Southern drawl, and you’re not sure whether you want to kick him in the balls or make out with him. 

Fuck you, is what you intend to say. However, possibly because of your weakness for his accent, it comes out as, “Fuck me.” To your mortification, you didn’t even bother to lower your volume first, and Amia Rotscho glares at you from across the street where he’s working in his garden. You adjust your wide-brimmed Brinjinio hat that Nepeta wove for you for your birthday to cover your blush, and you flip Dave the bird. “I think you need to reexamine your prejudices,  prinjin ,” you tell him, not even bothering to rectify your earlier slip. There’s no way to fix what you said. He knows what you said, as do you, and you have fully accepted that. 

He looks at you for a long few seconds, and then rolls his eyes, lips quirking up at the corner. “Maybe let’s see about the first one, and I’ll consider the second one,” Dave says, leaning in close to your ear, and you bristle at his unasked-for proximity. “Little shouty with the pretty soulmark,” he adds, and you self-consciously reach up to your hair and pull out a strand. 

You don’t expect to see anything different when you slice through a section of your hair with one finely honed nail, but when you pull the chunk of your hair down to eye level, it’s a bright, eye-watering red. “Was this your doing?” you ask Dave. “Because if it was, I would fucking njachiho , you prick.”

He furrows his brow, running a hand through his hair, which, you notice, is slowly turning more red as the two of you speak. “I’m not sure,” he admits, pulling a strand of his own hair out. He peers at it, trying to decipher the color, and you sigh and turn, grabbing his elbow to pull him with you as you drag him into a nearby alley. He yelps and tries to scuttle backwards, but you just tighten your grip. 

“Come on,” you say, tugging him along. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he starts walking with you willingly instead of ruining the soles of his doubtlessly overly-expensive shoes. 

When the two of you are finally out of sight of the neighbors, tucked in the small, dingy alleyway between Aria Prifen’s jewelry shop and the tall, crystalline heivuosti , you take his bangs in your fingers and take a nail, slicing a chunk off the front, then deposit the clump of his hair in his hand for him to look at. “Holy hell in a handbasket, it is red… I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” you ask, looking up at him. He’s got at least five inches on you, vitiligo splattered like paint on his already-pale skin and spraying over the bottom of his chin. His height is a bit infuriating, and you grimace.

He pulls up a hand, rubbing the back of his neck. You catch a strong scent of oak trees and lavender. It’s oddly pleasant. “I didn’t even ask your name before asking you out,” he explains, looking down at the dusty sidewalk tiles. You tilt your head, laughing. 

“I was the one who bitched about my jeans,” you say, grinning, and he smiles, soft and private, back at you. You feel a nausea in your stomach and your chest, and think, Ni, consi. You shake your head to ward off the feeling. “Anyway, I’m Karkat. Karkat Vantas.

He reaches out and adjusts your hat. “Well, I’d be happy to replace them, KitKat, if you’re willing to come back to my place? We don’t have to do anything,” he adds as you shoot him a look, eyes narrowing and eyebrows raising. “I just need to figure out the logistics of us maybe being soulmates and all that shit, haha you know the non-sappy stuff that no one wants to deal with in a relationship.” His voice is fast and strained as he takes off his shades, wincing in the sunlight. 

Without thinking, you take off your Brinjinio and give it to him, and he sighs in relief as he puts it on. “Ah, you’re a lifesaver, Karkalicious,” he says, and you get the feeling that today is going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

Dave’s “place” is a small, compact hievnji on the edge of the island, nestled between a cliff, a beach, and a forest. You’ve never been here before, and as you look around, you realize that Dave knows part of your island that you don’t. It kind of pisses you off, if you’re being honest with yourself. Like, as the grandson of the Sufferer himself, you feel like you should know your domain better than anyone else. You kick a rock on his porch as you wait for him to unlock the door.

When he pushes it open, a black-and-white blur darts out and hits your ankle. You look down to see a cat rubbing its head against your jeans. It’s black, with white paws and two white splotches above its eyes. You reach down to pet it, and it hisses at you, so you withdraw your hand, simply watching as it attacks your foot.

“Ni, kiyo kiulle a!ko…” you mutter, shaking your foot a bit. The cat looks up at you and meows, then jumps up to put its paws on your pants. You sigh and reach down to pick it up, and it purrs happily in your arms. “Kiyo imagale piri stiele ni matesiprit-dana fiscano?”

The cat just looks up at you and then turns its head towards the door. You follow its gaze to look at Dave, standing there smiling at the two of you. His face is red to match his hair, the brim of the Brinjinio obscuring his eyes, and he quickly drops the smile. “Are you going to keep standing there, ansio consianji, or are you going to invite me in?” you say, stepping forward with the cat in your arms.

Dave flinches – by using the formal ansio instead of the intimate tioch for soulmates, you’re essentially saying you doesn’t trust Dave yet, although the familiar insult consianji says that you’re willing to try. You’re not sure if he picks up on these nuances, though, and grin at him to offset the formality. “Sure,” he says, nodding. He puts his shades back on, and takes the Brinjinio off, hanging it on a hook beside a few coats and a flowy purple minjientu shawl, which you run your fingers lightly over the fabric of. It’s woven beautifully, perfect for a hot day, and you nod, thinking of Kanaya and how she’d adore the minjientu.

Dave clears his throat, and you look up just in time to see him turning away. You drop the cat, who hisses and then runs off, and take off your shoes, leaving them in the gia!ko and trading them out for a soft pair of gia. You huff, thinking about how rich they must be to have gia this nice available, and wonder, petulantly, how he has this much when he’s only ever worked as a DJ at some random clubs in Texas. (You may have read a few articles about him. Hateread.)

He leads you out of the front room and into the main part of the hievnji, where you see a kitchen off to the side and a hallway leading to the right, and a living room directly in front of you. There’s a second floor, but you don’t immediately see any stairs – you suppose they must be down the hall or something like that.

A teenager, around fourteen years old, opens a door at the end of the hall and pokes their head out. “Nihoch al hievnji!” they exclaim, and Dave’s mouth tugs into a smile. You stare as the teen comes running down the hall, throwing themself at Dave. He pats their head, then looks at you.

“Karkat, this is Roxy, my younger sister. Roxy, this is Karkat, my soulmate,” Dave explains, and Roxy’s eyes light up.

“Oh my gosh, hibra! You finally found them!” she exclaims, giggling. “His name is Karkat?”

You nod, but don’t manage to get so much as a syllable out before Roxy releases Dave and throws her arms tight around you, squeezing the air out of your chest. You look at Dave, and he shrugs, a shit-eating grin on his face. You sigh, hugging Roxy back. She squeals and releases you, eyes sparkling.

Someone clears their throat, and you almost pull out your sickles, but manage to refrain. Another teenager, who looks about a year older than Roxy, stands in the hallway. He’s got white-blond hair like Dave’s, and skin just as pale and freckled, but he’s got a more angular look about him. Where Dave is soft like the clouds, this teen is jagged like a bolt of lightning; where Roxy’s an excited kitten, this kid is a well-trained K-9 unit. He’s wearing kamina shades that hide his eyes, but you get the feeling he’s sizing you up, and the hair on the back of your neck rises. “Karkat, huh?” he asks.

You meet his eyes. “Karkat Vantas, but, yeah, you can call me Karkat.” The mention of your last name stuns the teen, who stands there for a good ten seconds, mouth hanging open as if he forgot what he was saying. You smile and hold out your hand, and he shakes it, fingers trembling. Dave is staring at him, eyebrows furrowed, and Roxy looks like she’s about to burst from the laughter she’s holding in.

He nods. “Cool,” he says, and Roxy giggles.

“Dirk, you’re so formal!” she says, spinning and falling over the back of a couch. Dirk looks at her and sighs, then vaults over the back of the couch. You hear Roxy squeal with laughter.

Dave grabs your hand and jerks a thumb towards the end of the hall. “Quick, while they’re occupied,” he whispers, face unreadable. You nod and follow him as he heads down the hall.

As you guessed, there’s a spiral staircase at the end of the hall leading up to the second floor, which consists of a hallway with three doors – two on the either side and one at the end. He opens one of the doors without a sound, and looks in, then closes it and goes to the door on the other side, which he pushes open with a lot less caution.

His shoulders relax, and you catch a glimpse of his grin before he disappears inside.

You follow, steps hesitant on the creaking wood of the floor, and see Dave sitting at a desk, firing up a computer. A bright red hammock hangs in the corner, and you stop in front of it. He spins around in his chair and nods at you. “Feel free,” he tells you, grinning. He’s taken off his shades, and you take in a sharp breath at the sight of his eye color. It’s bright red, like everything else about him.

You take a seat on the hammock, perching on the edge. It rocks beneath you, and the familiar motion calms your heartbeat. You take a deep breath and clear your mind, then open your eyes again. He’s turned back to his computer, and you see the halo of blonde hair around his head, cast golden in the light of the afternoon sun. It’s only been a few hours since you met Dave, but you can’t help but wonder what brought him here and put him directly in your path. Other than fate, you suppose, but that’s to be expected. What was he running from? Alternia isn’t a place anyone comes to raise a family unless they’re running from something.

You yourself have been running your entire life from your legacy and from the judgements of others, and, frankly, Hivebjenti is the perfect place, because people judge you for what you can do or what you can’t do instead of who your ancestor was.

“Why are you here, Strider?” you ask, and he control-alt-deletes and locks the laptop, closing it.

He looks you in the eye and grins. “Why is anyone here?” he asks, pulling his shades back down onto his face. You’re not gonna lie; you miss the eye contact. It was exhilarating in the best way.

You roll your eyes. “Touché, Strider. Touché.” He laughs, and it’s a full sound. You’ve read the stories about soulmates, about how they fall fast and hard for each other, and you think that you could see you and Dave working that way. Like your grandparents.

“Exactly,” Dave says, and the illusion shatters. You huff and cross your arms, leaning back in the hammock and pushing off with your feet. Dave comes over and stills the hammock, then sits beside you.

It’s as if there’s a heater running along your thigh where your legs touch – your heart is racing, and you close your eyes, hoping he won’t notice as the hammock starts swinging again. Is this how normal soulmates feel? You’re not sure.

Silence hangs heavy in the room. It’s in this silence that you grow uncomfortable. Seeking distraction, you pull out your phone.

A barrage of messages awaits you. You set your Trollian status to “Occupied” and answer one person.

CG: HEY, NEPETA?
AC: :33< AHH! * nepawta pawnces on karkitty! she grabs him and tacklepawnces him into a hug :3 *
CG: I MET MY SOULMATE. IT’S DAVE STRIDER. TELL THE OTHERS THAT I’LL BE BACK SOON, AND WE’RE FIGURING SOME SHIT OUT.
AC: :33< AH?????? * nepawta looks up at karkitty, clawnfursed. * DAVE STRIPURR??
CG: YES. DAVE STRIDER.
AC: :33< AHHHHHHHHHH! :D

You pocket your phone and smile. Nepeta’s such a good sibling. She’ll definitely make sure word gets out.

Dave’s closed his eyes and is leaning his head on your shoulder as the hammock slowly rocks. There’s a knock at the door, and Dave calls, sitting up away from you, “Come in!”

The door opens, and Rose Lalonde enters.

Chapter Text

You stare at Rose Lalonde, and she stares back, speechless for once in her life. You don’t have the presence of mind to revel in the triumph, though, as she blinks once and regains her posture at least ten seconds before you do. 

“So, dear brother,” she starts, folding her hands in front of her and leaning against the wall. “Will you start by explaining to me why the fuck Karkat Vantas is here, and how you two became soulmates?”

You shoot her a look, and she smiles. “Well, I’ve got a few things to say on this topic,” you start off, “beginning with the fact that em matesipriteshi ʘ is fate-decided, not choice. Secondly, Dave has as much obligation to explain how we were bound as you have to explain, in excruciating detail, the last time you shoved a finger up there and pulled the goddamn stick out of your fucking asshole, Lalonde. Thirdly, how the fuck are we supposed to know? We’re the two helpless fuckwads that the shitty universe decided to drag into its shit like a piece of toilet paper being thrown in the toilet.” You take a breath. You’d planned to be cut off long before you reached your third point. Since you weren’t, you have no idea how to keep going. 

Rose nods and exchanges a glance with Dave. “Basically,” he drawls, leaning forward and propping his chin up on his fist, “Karkat ran into me on my way back from the putanuo . Needless to say, I fell hard for him – my ass still hurts – and me and Karkalicious realized what had just happened when we were flirting and I pointed out his soulmark. He then pointed out mine and whisked me away to a dark alleyway, where he gave me a free haircut. I brought him back here so we could figure out what the fuck to do now.” Dave’s voice is low and raspy, and you don’t want to listen to it. You start humming a tune to yourself – Red Veins , by the Misanthropic Rust. He glances at you out of the side of his eye, but just as soon, he looks away. 

“Well, that sounds like quite the predicament,” Rose says, sounding as if she’s struggling to draw the words out. “ Ni, imio co||kisile em ceperachi piri vile a tiro chioch? ”

Dave sits bolt upright. “Wait, shit!” His eyes widen and his shoulders raise, and you’re half-tempted to put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. He looks back at you, and you realize you have anyway. “Are you okay?” he asks you, and you stop.

Are you okay? Everything’s been moving so fast, you haven’t had time to actually consider that. You look at Dave, cast golden and red against the hammock in the light of the afternoon sun, and decide that yes, you are okay. “Yeah,” you say, offering him a small smile. He smiles back, and puts his hand over your own on his shoulder. You suck in a breath and look at Rose, who’s looking at the ground, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you think we can do about it?” you ask Rose. 

She looks back up at you, and you pull your hand away from Dave’s shoulder. “I suppose,” she says, twirling her hair around one side of her bangs, “if the two of you don’t actually like each other, then you could always fake date. Give the people their cake so they forget they don’t have any bread.” She shrugs, turning to leave. “But that’s just my unprofessional opinion.” 

Dave sighs, running a hand through his hair, and the same scent from earlier, the one that lightly permeates the air in this room, hits you in another wave. “That sounds like…” He trails off.

You fight the urge to bury your head in his arm just to smell it again. Is this weird? Is it just your soulmark fucking with your psyche?

“What does it sound like?” she asks, looking over her shoulder at the two of you. You’re not sure what it is, but her smile turns cold and satisfied. “Dear brother, what was that that you were saying?” 

Dave glares at her, wispy red bangs falling in his eyes. “That sounds like fun,” he says, deadpan. You choke on a half-suppressed laugh, biting your knuckles to keep it in. It doesn’t work, and Dave’s shoulders lower. “Is that the only option we have?” 

Rose smiles, and it’s a quinta smile that sends shivers down your spine. “I suppose you could always reject the age-old, time-honored tradition,” she says, as if she’s discussing the weather and not a life-changing decision. “But that wouldn’t be very good for your reputation, and…” This time, she’s the one who trails off, but Dave doesn’t press, only mumbling something that you can’t quite catch. 

She meets your eyes and nods, then leaves the room, the door closing with a soft snick behind her. 

Dave sighs and stands up, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He starts pacing. You lean back in the hammock once again, this time putting your feet in it and laying back. “So, do you think Lalonde’s plan has any merit, or should we just tell the public we’re figuring shit out?” 

Dave sighs again, and you get the feeling that this is a lot more complicated than it seems. “No, no,” he replies, “Rose’s plan is a good one.” He pauses, then adds, “Considering the media’s current stance on me, probably the best one I have.” 

“What’s the media’s stance on you?” you ask, and he flinches, grimacing. 

“Can we just say it’s not very good, and leave it at that?” he asks, meeting your eyes for a half-second. You shake your head, hugging one of the pillows on the hammock to your chest. He swallows, and you feel the corners of your mouth turn up. “Well, me and one of my best friends used to pose as soulmates. I needed to get away from my house, and she needed to be taken seriously in the business world. She…” He slows his pacing and looks at the ground. “She met her actual soulmate one day, and didn’t realize it. When her hair changed, the media assumed that I had asked her to cover for me because I was a soulmate-less freak.” 

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him bury his hands in his hair and crouch to the floor. You roll off the hammock, going to sit beside him, putting an arm around his waist. He’s warm and nice beside you, and you ignore it. Post-soulbond hormones are apparently no laughing matter. “That’s shit,” you say. “Those fuckers who said that deserve to rot in hell.” 

He pauses, pulling his hands from his hair to look at you, and just as you’re starting to worry that you said something wrong, he laughs. “Oh my gosh, Kat, you’re amazing,” he says. “Okay, yeah, I think we could do this fake-dating thing.” 

You blink. “Uh, sure?” That’s all you can stammer out before he leans his head on the top of yours, the tall consianji that he is, and your mind goes blank. 

“Alright, so we’re dating?” The sound of those words sends a little thrill through your veins, and you don’t know why. 

You pause for a moment, tightening your arm around Dave’s waist. You think you want to do this, but you don’t want to hurt Dave, and you don’t want to be hurt. You want something real. 

But… on the other hand, he is your soulmate, right? This is as real as you’re ever going to get, even if it’s fake. “Yeah. We’re dating.” 

You feel him grin against your head, and, without thinking, smile yourself. 

“Perfect,” Dave says, and you’re half-inclined to believe him.

Chapter Text

When you get back to your family’s hievnjansa|| , you stop by the fence near the pier to watch the sunset. 

Since your family has a private property – perks of being revolutionary badasses, you presume – you've got a cliff path leading down to the main part of the island from your little alcove on the west end of Hivebjenti. The sunset is stunning – you’ve been reading about the work Professor Coruoe has been doing in Texas with his sulfur rockets , and it just results in more beautiful sunsets every day. Right now, the sky is painted blue and yellow, the clouds a fuschia pink and the sun bathed in red. The sulfur sunsets are beautiful.

You’re proud of human ingenuity sometimes, even if that was what got the planet to this point. 

For instance, how when William Partiequo figured out the secret of soulmates for the first time and unlocked the first bond, he flipped a genetically revolutionary dial in society, and suddenly theology and genetics were inexorably linked. You’ve read hours of articles about the subject; you’ve buried yourself so deep in theories that sleep was neglected for days and Sollux had to come drag you out of the pillow nest you’d made for yourself. Anyway, point is, you know a hell of a lot about soulmates and soulmate theories, and that’s a lot of why you come here, because the floaty feeling you get is what you imagine people must feel with their soulmates. 

If it is, you pulled the short straw. Like, fake dating ? Of course it was Lalonde’s idea – but you don’t want to have fake feelings for your fucking soulmate! You want it to be romantic, not dumb as shit like an AO3 trope! 

God, your entire life has been tropes. Chubby nerd kid who prefers library time to computers meets the most insufferable DJ ever, and falls for his fucking accent of all things. You’re a romance nerd, which makes it that much more terrible that your soulmate is one of the most unromantic pricks you’ve ever met. He doesn’t even like you romantically! You’re not even sure he likes you in other ways. Sure, he brought you home to meet the family, but that was just for a private place to discuss things! If you had felt comfortable with bringing him back to your hievnjansa|| , you would have done so, to keep the awkward moments away! 

(You think all this, but then you remember the carefully tended flowers in the front garden; you remember the way the light outlined his face; you remember his red eyes, blazing fire in the fading sunlight, and the way they matched his hair. You think that, hey, this fake dating thing might not be so bad – if the rest of the world thinks the two of you are together, why can’t you and he learn to believe it too?) 

You pick up a hand and slap yourself hard across the face. “ Consile vijo ,” you mutter. You are completely and utterly fucked if this… whatever it is gets any worse. Did you really ask a rich guy you’d just met for a hookup? God, Onpaí is going to be so pissed off when he hears about that. You snort a laugh at the thought, and plant your hand on the fence, turning away from the now-dark sky to start stomping up the walk to your house. 

You fling the front door open, and Halley starts barking, streaking towards you like a comet. You laugh as he jumps up on you, and fall on your butt in the gia!ko. Nepeta follows shortly after, tackling you into a hug, their olive green gia kicked off on the threshold of the sunken floor. You lay there on the concrete for a few minutes, laughing as Halley licks your face, leaving his white fur all over your clothes, and Nepeta picks at your bright red streak of hair. Their own soulmark is streaked with green and blue and violet, but you know it signals a moiraliteshi ʘ , not a matesipriteshi ʘ.  

You throw out your hands after a second and sit up, and Halley scrambles off. You’re not even sure where Onpaí got Halley – apparently somewhere on the side of the road in Befoienti – but when he came to your family, he had the most adorable green eyes, and Maí and you insisted on keeping him, even though Diapaí, Sollux, and Mituna groaned at the idea, and Kankri looked like he was going to bust a vein (and maybe a few walls) when Halley pissed on his favorite sweater. That was a very good day for your anxiety.

Nepeta claps a few times before side-rolling into a Black Widow pose and standing up, and you groan. “ Dile ako a? ” you ask her, a sulking tone indicating the hidden operative in the sentence, and she nods with a shit-eating grin on her face. 

“ Tí , ” she says, laughing. You sigh and roll your eyes, then roll backwards to your feet. You slip off your shoes and step into your personal pair of gia , plush red slippers that your maí-amaí got for you when you were accepted into Hivebjenti University, among a pile of other gifts. Your maí-amaí has always put an emphasis on the arts, and you love her for her dedication to a bit. 

Nepeta cheers as you step over the threshold, and then stops, looking at you quizzically. 

“ Hebra, guiro le em Brinjinio nihoch? ” she asks, and you shrug. You may or may not have intentionally left it at Dave’s place to see what he does about it. If he comes and delivers it personally to you, then you know he likes you, but if he sends it some other way, you are going to be right pissed off at the universe.

“ Le al hievni priko , ” you respond, slipping back into the ease of Alternian. You love English, but sometimes it gets a bit much to remember all the weird grammar rules. Also, Alternian is an incredibly romantic language, and you love that about it. (It’s not a Romance language, but it’s definitely romantic.)

She giggles, raising one hand to brush her multicolored bangs out of her eyes. You track the movement and sigh at the reminder of her happy soulmate bond. “We’re fake dating now,” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth. Instead of the frown you expected, her eyes widen and she fake-swoons. 

“Oh my gosh, Karkitty, this is so purrfect! It’s like our favorite romcoms!” She pokes you in the side, and you fight the urge to laugh. 

“This is not a romcom, it’s a tragedy, Nepeta!” you argue, but there’s a trace of a smile on your face, undercutting any seriousness you may have been trying to imbue that sentence with. 

She giggles. “Hon, it is absolutely a romcom. And it’s very important to be earnest about it.” 

You knock her on the side of the head, and she laughs. “Don’t bring Oscar Wilde into my love life!” you say. “You’re going to invoke him now of all times?”

She giggles and runs upstairs, and you sigh, turning around to put your stuff away. Out of the corner of your eye you see someone, and… Oh, no, you didn’t tell your parents about this yet. It’s Maí-onpaí, the Dolorosa, stalking towards you with a worried look on her face. You blink. 

“ Guiro e !kale?! ” she exclaims, picking up the strands of red hair and brushing them over your forehead. 

You sigh, heading into the kitchen. “Dave Strider, at his house.” 

She gasps. “Karkat, why were you going to his house?” 

“Because he’s my…” You struggle to get the words out of your mouth, unlike when you’d told Nepeta you were fake-dating a few seconds ago. “He’s my soulmate.”

She gasps, turning and running to your parent’s bedroom, and you sigh, carding a hand through your hair. 

Hasn’t the universe fucked with you enough already? 

It doesn’t seem to think so.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after a night full of fitful yet unmemorable dreams, you wake up to your phone ringing. The caller ID tells you it’s one Davepeta Strijon, and you freeze at the sight of the name, then quickly navigate to Dave’s contact ( holy fuck you have Dave Strider’s contact information ) and call him.

“Dave,” you hiss into the phone the moment he picks up. “Who the fuck is Davepeta and why are they calling me?”

You hear a loud yawn from the other side of the line. “Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Dave drawls, and you hear a rustling of fabric and try to ignore the way your shoulders relax and heat rises to your cheeks as your lips tug into an unwanted smile. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Dave, this is serious,” you say, but your tone holds little malice, and you feel your eyes crinkling. 

“Serious, you say?” You hear the smile in his voice. “How serious are we talking?”

You finally let yourself grin, rolling your eyes and laughing. “Dave, you’re such a fucking prick,” you say. “Why am I friends with you?” 

“Because we’re destined for each other,” he offers. You blink, and your mind processes what happened yesterday. 

“Ito em Sufferer ,” you groan, running a hand through your hair. A few strands break off, and you glare at the shining red strands glowing beneath the sunlight that snuck through the cracks in your blinds. “I’m starting to think that this matesipriteshiʘ thing is a curse, not a gene…” 

“Hah, yeah,” Dave snorts. “Some god must have really had it out for us, huh? Us specifically, too. This is like some sort of badly mangled Jane Austen book, isn’t it?” You’re about to respond, but then he goes on to say, “I mean, there’s not much to mangle, but I mean like, drawing on it, and leaving it out in the rain, and–” 

“Ay, ke imi nale?! ” you shout, offended at this utter slander against Jane Austen’s books. 

He laughs, and you imagine him, in his own hammock on south side of the island, rolling over on his side and holding the phone to his ear, smilling and closing his eyes as he talks to you. The image does something weird in your stomach, and you’re not sure whether you could describe it as nausea or not, because it presses at the top of your chest, making it hard to breathe and hard to think about anything but Dave. 

You lay back down in the hammock, hoping to alleviate the feeling, and run a hand through your hair. ‘You should probably call Davepeta back, shouldn’t you,’ a voice in the back of your mind whispers. 

“You never answered my question,” you say, and you hear a slight rustling and imagine him blinking in surprise. “Who’s Davepeta and why are they calling me at ass o’ clock in the morning?”

“Karbabe,” and you definitely do not blush at the nickname, stomach turning, “it’s literally one in the afternoon.” 

You sigh. “All times are ass o’ clock in the morning to me,” you grumble, and he laughs. “Anyway, you’re avoiding the question, aren’t you?”  You turn over, staring at your ceiling for a few seconds before closing your eyes. The hammock sways gently beneath you. 

“...Tí,” he admits, and you hear a sigh. “Piri a hibri ako. ” 

Hm. Another sibling? “Enuma a hobri nihoch? ” you ask him, furrowing your brows. 

He’s silent for a moment, then: “Anievi, cunir em matesibri. ” Your jaw drops, and you open your eyes, pulling the phone slightly away from your ear. 

“Hé meki coi meias imi nale! ” you exclaim, grinning. “Alright, so I’ll call them back, then. Thanks.” 

“No, wait!” he says, and you stop, your finger inches away from the call button. 

“Ke? ” you ask. 

“...Nevermind,” he says, sighing, and you laugh. 

“Ama vale nihoch, er fisca Sufferer grialt ale guiro nihoch, ” you say, grinning, and hang up. 

You set your phone down beside you for a second, then decide to get dressed and ready for the day before you call Dave’s sibling back. Standing up, you stretch, falling into a backbend and feeling the satisfying pop of your joints as you do. By the time you stand up, you’re ready to be awake.

You pick out a red tank top and a light gray minjienta . If you could stand the heat, you would wear one of your sweaters, but it’s September, and the weather is only just starting to cool down, which means 37˚C weather and maybe a few clouds drifting by if you’re lucky. You pull on some cargo shorts and your favorite Doc Martens, which are the only thing you will not concede to the weather.

You brush your teeth – your hebra Kankri says that you brush them with way too much force; you say he can go suck a dick – and try to comb through your hair. It still looks like a rat’s nest, but you look at yourself in the mirror and figure you’ve had worse hair days.

You finish it off by putting in your brown colored contacts and putting on deodorant – never let it be said that the Leivantorams are cave-dwellers, as the family joke goes. You’re pretty sure that during the revolution, some people actually used the term “chiko donsolada” and your family name interchangeably, in fact, so that’s probably how the saying came to be. 

(Your full name is actually Karkat Yawa mi Neconforados Santos Vantas-Leijon-Captor-Maryam, but it’s too long to say, so everyone just calls your family the Leivantorams.)

You splash some water on your face and head out of the bathroom. Time to call Davepeta back, you suppose, as you head out the sliding glass doors to your balcony. The day is bright and sunny and just as warm as you expected, but there’s a slight breeze flowing over your shoulders, and it’s one of those days where the simple act of going outside is way too overstimulating to be comfortable. However, you’re not all that worried about running out of spoons because you really don’t care what people think of you. 

Your finger hovers over Davepeta’s number before you finally click it after three long seconds of hesitation. They pick up before you even manage to get the phone to your ear.

“-so much about?” You barely catch the tail end of the sentence, they’re talking so fast. “Alternian boy, ratty black hair, red eyes to match his own?” 

You almost bite your tongue at the mention of red eyes. “Are you talking about Dave?” you ask. “I only heard the second sentence, you were talking so fast.” 

There’s a giggle over the phone. “That’s funny,” they say. “You’re funny, Crabby Saint.”

You roll your eyes. “How the fuck do you even know my name,” you grumble, sitting in the web-swing Meulin installed on your balcony so long ago. It creaks a little, adding to the symphony of early afternoon Hivebjenti which you love so dearly. 

Davepeta cackles. “Oh, I know a lot more than you might think I do,” they say. “Like, for example, how you’re secretly in love with Dave but you’re fake dating him anyways?” 

“How the fuck do you know that,” you hiss into the phone, covering your mouth and the phone out of paranoia. You don’t want anyone else, especially Nepeta (who’s currently tending the flowers on the balcony above you), to hear that. 

“You just told me!” they say, and you curse. “Anyway, I’d like an interview with you. You’re not going to be able to go out in public until you’ve talked to the public some, and since I’m a relative of Dave’s, you can just ask your soulmate if I’m trustworthy or not!”

You nod, seeing the sense in the words. “And what if you betray me, though?” you ask. “What will you promise me then?”

They laugh. “Ooh, good thinking!” they say. “Maybe a director’s cut of Just Go With It ? Relevant to your current sitailation, surely!”

You blink. “What did you just say?” you ask, then shake your head. “Actually, I don’t want to know. Email me the rest of the details, and I’ll consider it.” 

“Heh, details,” they say, and you roll your eyes. 

“I said I’d consider it! That’s not a yes, remember!” 

“Oh, Karkitty, you know you can’t resist a director’s cut of an Adam Sandler movie made specifically for you and you alone,” Davepeta purrs into the phone, and you groan, but they’re right, you can’t. 

“Fine…” you grouse. “Just… send me and Dave the details, alright? I’m not doing this interview without him.” 

“Oh, Karkat,” they say, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

The next day, there’s a knock on the door of your hievnjansa||, and you look through the door to see Terezi, her arm looped through Vriska’s, and Dave standing awkwardly behind them. You tense at the sight of him, remembering the conversation with Davepeta, but open the door fully. “Why are you here,” you say. 

Of course, Terezi and Vriska barge past you anyway, and you hear the scuffle of shoes in the gia!ko while you stand there, staring at Dave. He has his hands in his pockets and wears a wide-brimmed sunhat, his sunglasses off. In the shadows of his hat, you see brown eyes, not the red from before. The two of you hold each other’s gaze for a good few seconds before he shrugs. “You gonna keep standing there, nihoch revuien , or are you going to invite me in?”

You laugh and stand back. “The welcome mat does that for me, but if you insist,” you respond, stepping into your gia again. (You never wear them in the gia!ko – the entire point of the gia!ko is to make sure the dirt stays out of the house.) “The door is open, and your feet seem to work.” You wave him inside with a flourish.

“What if they don’t?” he challenges, smirking. “What then, Kat?”

You shrug, heading into the kitchen. “Not my issue,” you say. Behind you, Dave laughs, and you try to ignore the feeling that the sound sends panging through your chest. 

Vriska and Terezi have already made themselves comfortable on the couches in the living room, and Sollux and Nepeta have joined them. You take a seat on one of the beanbags in the corner, next to Sollux, and he looks up at you. “Karkat, prichi dele guiro? ” he asks, and you sigh.

“Ay, no ama co||kisile, tivu con Dave prichi dele, ” you respond, as Dave walks into the living room to join y’all. He sits on the arm of the perfectly good armchair, and you scowl at him. “Fucking heathen,” you mutter under your breath. Hospitality says that you can’t kick him out, though, as much as you would like to, so you settle for glaring at him. 

He raises an eyebrow and smirks at you. 

Vriska looks back and forth between the two of you, then her gaze settles on you. “So, Karkat,” she says, “mind telling us what the fuck is happening?” 

Terezi nods. “We were coming to visit you to figure it out, but found him walking down your way, so we decided to let him tag along.”

Dave looks at you, and you swear an unspoken conversation passes between the two of you. It’s something along the lines of: 

KARKAT: Are they serious right now?

DAVE: Hey, I’m just the one they were interrogating. Don’t ask me.

KARKAT: Fucking hell, Dave…

Sollux rolls his eyes. “It really doesn’t seem like it should be any of your business, what Karkat does with his soulmate.”

Terezi nods. “I know, it’s not,” she says. “But–”

Vriska cuts in as she’s talking. “–I just wanted to meet the person who Karkat’s bonded to!” she says, and you can hear the grin she’s holding back as she looks at you, steepling her fingers in front of her. 

“Yes, that,” Terezi says, sounding exasperated yet fond. “Thank you, love.”

You hear that and realize, ‘ Oh, shit; if me and Dave are going to be fake dating, we’re going to have to act like that for it to be convincing. ’ While you’re thinking this, you almost miss the entirety of what Dave says next. 

“–let him be now,” you hear Dave saying as you look up, paying attention again. You meet his eyes, the brown shining through with red in the sunlight. He holds your gaze, tilting his head a bit to the side, and the moment carries an intimate weight to it, even in the middle of a group conversation. 

You blink and swallow heavily, looking at Terezi, who’s staring at you, eyebrows raised and a smirk on her face. Vriska and Sollux, thankfully, don’t seem to have noticed you and Dave’s little moment, and are having a heated discussion over privacy and being annoying, from what you can pick up of their fast-paced exchange. 

Dave is now staring at a spot on the wall like his life depends on it. You suppose you deserve that, and sigh, pushing yourself up and going over to where Terezi stands. 

“So, what’s up with you,” she whispers, grinning as she sits down on the second couch, away from the others. 

“...What do you know about the situation already?” You’re not planning to tell her more than she already knows, if she knows anything.

“Well…” she says, putting a hand on your knee and leaning in, “I know that you’re hopelessly infatuated with him. I know that you’re not willing to admit it. I know that he’s one of the only people who could be oblivious enough to not see it. And I know that you’re probably going to take that personally.”

Your mind is racing, but you push the thoughts down and scoff. “Am I that obvious?” you say, and she looks up at you, snorting a laugh. 

“ Yes. ” 

You frown. “Well, I don’t think I’m infatuated, as you would say. It’s probably just hormones or something.” 

Terezi raises an eyebrow, side-eyeing you like nobody’s business. “Really,” she drawls. “Hormones, huh.” 

You nod. “I mean, there has to be some sort of hormonal thing attached to the bonding, right?” Your words sound hollow, even to you, but you’re sure that that’s all it is, because why the hell would you be falling for Dave Strider?

You’re not. You are not falling for him. No way.

Terezi sighs. “Karkat, I can’t help you if you insist on lying to yourself,” she says. “I’ll help you when you’re ready to face the truth.” 

You scowl. “I am not lying to myself,” you say. This just makes her laugh, which makes you even more annoyed. “I’m not !” 

“Sure,” she says in a deadpan. “Keep telling yourself that.” 

You roll your eyes and huff, crossing your arms. “Maybe I will.” 

“Only gonna make it worse,” she says, in a tone that you find condescending as fuck. 

“Terezi… Why are you really here?” you ask her, and she sighs, looking away.

“I just… wanted to make sure you’re okay,” she says. “Like you did for me when I first met Vriska, alright? Is that such a crime?” 

You shake your head. “No, and I appreciate the thought,” you say. “It’s just… not a good time for me right now.” 

“Because you’re lying to yourself,” she states. 

You shrug. “If that’s what you want to believe,” you return. “Thanks for checking on me, but I’m fine, I promise.” 

“Well, then,” she says, standing up and stretching. “I guess I’ll leave you two to it. Vriska!” 

Vriska looks up from where she had been discussing the merits of different types of sword with Dave and Sollux. “What?” 

“We’re going home. Come on,” Terezi says, grabbing her cane from where it was leaning against the couch. Sollux sighs, standing up. 

“Bye, DS,” he says to Dave. “Bye, asshats.” He goes upstairs, and you hear his door closed. 

“Bye!” Terezi calls back to Sollux, before muttering under her breath: “Can you believe I ever dated him…” 

Vriska laughs, harsh and loud, and stands up, stuffing her hands in her pockets and turning to walk beside Terezi. “Bye, Vantas,” she says, using your name casually. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from yelling at her as she and Terezi walk out.

You watch as they swap out their gia for their shoes, then hear the door click as they walk out, and then it’s just you and Dave. 

When you finally look at him, his shoulders are tense and he’s looking at his shoes. “You alright?” you ask, trying not to sound too affected.

He startles, almost falling off of the arm of the chair, and looks up at you, gaze sliding over yours and off again. “Yeah,” he says. “Totally cool. Cooler than the outside of the ISS when it’s on the opposite side from the sun, man.” 

You laugh. “Sure,” you say, conscious of how Terezi-like you sound right now. You desperately want to press and find out how you can help him, but… “Can I get you anything to drink?” 

He stops, considering for a second. “You got any apple juice?” 

You blink, looking at him. “Of course, but you’re sure you–” 

“Yes, please,” he says, sounding a bit bored. You put up your hands. 

“Alright, then,” you say, standing up and walking into the kitchen. You’re not going to argue if that’s what he really wants. You don’t want to be that much of an asshole. As you walk past,  you feel his eyes following you before he stands up as well. 

You walk through the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge until you find the apple juice. It’s all the way in the back – your family doesn’t really drink apple juice that much, so it’s just a single glass bottle on the middle shelf. You look back at Dave, then back at the bottle, then just decide to pour it into a glass. 

As you’re doing so, you hear him muttering on the other side of the kitchen island, and try to pick up what he’s saying. It sounds a bit like he’s rapping, which you suppose would track with what you know of him. He’s talking too fast for you to actually make out any words, though. 

You finish pouring the apple juice and toss the bottle in the recycling, then slide the glass across the island to him. “One apple juice for you,” you say, then go back to the fridge and pull out your bottle of iced coffee, which you pour into a second glass as Dave sits down on one of the stools at the counter.

“Thank you,” he says, and you can tell that it’s genuine, although it sort of surprises you. Why does he keep surprising you? 

You remember what you said to him when the two of you first met: I think you need to reexamine your prejudices. Have you considered the same of yourself? 

You look at him. “You’re welcome, I guess, although isn’t it just basic fucking hospitality to offer someone a drink if they’re a guest in your home?” 

He takes a sip of his apple juice then looks up at you, faintly grinning. “‘Kat, you’re a gem, you know that? In Texas, most people wouldn’t just give you a full bottle of apple juice if they asked for it. They probably wouldn’t even let you in.” 

You furrow your brows. “What the hell,” you say. “Do they have no decency? Who would turn someone away at the door?”

Dave is fully grinning now, and you take a drink of your coffee – ah, the sweet release of caffeine. It makes this encounter slightly more tolerable. “Ah, but you see… In Texas, there’s something called ‘solicitors’.” 

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Really? Huh, I wonder why that’s so terrible when the word is so pretty.” 

“Because they try to sell you Girl Scout cookies and discuss your car’s extended warranty.” You laugh.

“Would you count as a solicitor?” you ask, grinning at him. The air now is easy and light, the two of you bantering back and forth. 

“Depends on why I’m here,” he says.

“Why are you here?” 

“Well, I would like to talk about your car’s extended warranty… and also the interview with Davepeta.” You sigh. 

“Oh, that thing,” you say. You didn’t actually forget about it; you wanted to, though. You’re a revolutionary’s kid with no PR training. Why the hell did you agree to the interview again? Oh, right. Fifty First Dates. “How badly do you think it’s going to go?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Dave says. “To make sure it goes well. And, anyway, Davepeta’s a good interviewer. Compassionate yet sensational. They won’t twist your words too much, I promise. Maybe mine, but that’s because I’m their brother.”

You laugh. “Alright, so how do I prepare for this?” 

“Start by trying to not cuss as much,” Dave suggests. “Watch your fucking language.” He grins at you, and you roll your eyes, smiling and turning towards him. The two of you are sitting sideways on your stools now, just on the edge of facing each other and not the counter. “Also, don’t reveal too much personal information. Think about what the average person has time to think about, and then make the information that you’re comfortable with being dissected and disseminated and picked apart into little bites of info that you give the interviewer.”

You think about this for a long moment. “So, basically, stay on my guard?”

Dave nods. “That’s part of it,” he says. “Another big part of it, though, is understanding what the consequences of saying something could be. For example, if you said something about… say… your degree. Davepeta would counter that by asking what job you want to go into, you know? You’ve got to anticipate where the conversation is going to go and keep it changing up. Otherwise, everyone is going to get bored as fuck.”

You nod back at him. He nods. You nod. It goes on like that for a bit until you start laughing, and then you’re both laughing. It feels natural, to mess around like this with each other.

Dave starts coughing, and you look over at him, grinning. His eyes are wide and he’s wiping at his face with his sleeve. “Apple juice up my nose,” he mutters, and you laugh again. “Anyway, you think you got it? Or do you want to practice?” 

“Who would we get to mock-interview us?” you ask. Dave shrugs. 

“Oh, I was just planning to mock-interview you. Also, I was thinking it could be a fun way to get to know each other, you know?” he says. 

“Wouldn’t that just be you getting to know me?” you point out, and he frowns. 

“Huh, you’re right… How about we play a game of twenty questions, then?” 

“Alright,” you agree. “You start, though. You know, since you’re supposed to be interviewing me.” 

He smiles. “Alright. So, Karkat, what’s your driving motivation? What pushes you to achieve things?” 

You snort, taking a sip of your coffee. “Self-loathing, mainly,” you joke. Dave frowns.

“Nice to know, but also, that won’t go well. Try again.” 

“Uh…” You grasp for an answer that isn’t immediately self-deprecating. “Hope for the world, I guess.” 

“Better, much better.” Warmth rushes through you at the words, and you try to ignore the feeling. “Your turn to ask me.”

“What brought you to Alternia?” you ask. 

Dave nods. “Good question. I don’t know the answer to that.” 

You gape at him, almost spilling your drink. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know the answer to that?”

Dave shrugs. “I dunno. I was just looking for a place to go, and Rose suggested that we move here. Also, the views here are nice.” You get the feeling that that was a loaded statement, and resolutely ignore that feeling. He pauses and thinks for a moment. “What’s your least favorite part about being a revolutionary’s kid?”

“People calling me one,” you reply. “It’s hard enough to prove myself as a queer person and a person of color, but I want to. I don’t want to become successful by riding my parent’s coattails. I want to achieve my own success.”

Dave smiles. “That’s a perfect answer, Kit. Say that, and you’ll be golden.” 

You nod, staring into your coffee. “Thanks. Now my question: what’s your passion?” 

“Dick,” Dave jokes, and you choke on your coffee. He laughs, and you side-eye him. 

“Asshole,” you say, grinning. “But, seriously though.”

He looks away. “I’ve always said my passion is coming up with the most ironic shit I can,” he says. “That’s my answer for interviews.”

You hear the unspoken but at the end of the sentence and decide to take the bait. “What’s your answer for your… for me?” you ask, almost saying “for your soulmate”. 

He turns a bit pink. “I make what I make because it’s a way to figure myself out,” he says. “I’ve been through some shit in the past, and making my music is both an escape method and a way to work through my shit and separate myself from my past.”

Your eyes widen as you consider this. “Huh…” 

Dave laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah.” He stands up, putting the empty glass in the sink. “Can we stop talking about this?” 

You nod. “Sure," you say. "No problem."