Work Text:
You bend down to pick up the tube of lipstick you had your eye on as soon as you walked into the store, and admire the pearlescent, dark green. It was just the color you could use to match the black sequined dress with your eyes. Unfortunately, you had made the black dress for yourself in a selfish fit of inspiration and hadn’t accounted for much else.
Shifting the shopping basket to your elbow, you glance around for one of those convenient little mirrors they keep in grocery store makeup aisles. It only takes a moment to realize they have been removed by someone or another and there is nowhere to check how the color looks against your skin. Not by trying it on, of course, that would be despicable and a little unsanitary. Rather, by holding it up to your face.
You really don’t want to walk over to the hat rack to check there.
It’s a puzzle indeed, and you’re just figuring out that perhaps you have a compact in your bag that has a mirror in it when a soft, almost simpering voice speaks to you.
“If you’re looking for a mirror, there’s one just under the eyeliner slots. Of course, you might have to crane your neck a bit to see it.”
A smaller, dark hand is holding out a little square mirror to you. You glance up the arm the hand is connected to, and find it attached to a young human woman, shorter than you, but average height. You have been told you are very tall. You also find that she is beautiful, with her short blonde hair and dark skin. With her knowing and clever eyes.
You also find that you feel a little warm in the face when you accept the mirror into your pale fingers.
“Thank you kindly.”
“It’s no problem at all. For you.”
You cannot tell if there was a pause there, a period or a comma. The differences would be astronomical. You feel a slight more flustered.
Holding the lipstick up to your face, you try not to make faces at yourself to see how it looks against the white of your skin and the angles of your cheeks. Deciding finally that it is an adequate color for supermarket quality and will pair greatly with your dress, you nod and hand the mirror back to the girl.
“The color suits you well. It looks amazing with your eyes,” she says when she takes the piece of glass from you.
The girl is just lovely.
“Thank you for your assistance, and your mirror. I am afraid my frozen yogurt is melting, so I must go.” You smile at her as you speak. “Good luck finding what you need today.”
“Thank you as well,” she replies. She is still smiling that little smile. You feel your almost loose collar is just a bit too tight, but manage to nod gracefully and turn with your usual poise.
Now, this would be a wonderful moment to walk away as smoothly as possible, but you seem to have a disastrous stroke of luck and manage something more like your dear moirail. And your red straight-leg cotton pants catch somehow on one of those blasted racks on the end of the shelf wall.
Cheap facial masques go everywhere, and you’re rewarded with the kind of undignified sigh you would usually only hear out of Karkat’s mouth. Your face is on fire as you crouch in your wedges and are immensely grateful you chose to wear a loose shirt that would not ride up in the back.
A giggle comes from just behind you, and there are smaller hands joining your own on the packets, re-shelving the ones that fell.
Her fingers touch your hand for a moment, and you freeze when they take a second longer than is polite to remove themselves. There is a valiant attempt made to not read into it too much, and there is a failed attempt, and you must reign yourself in before you meet the same fate with this human as you have made in the past with acquaintances of yours.
“I am Rose Lalonde. Doctor. And you are?” Her question rings well in your ears as you finish resetting the display. In a more attractive way, you think, than it was set up before.
“Kanaya Maryam. Though I am afraid I do not have a title to share.” You reply gently, embarrassment mostly worn off by now in the focus to clean.
She tilts her head at you. “It’s quite alright.” You think what she is doing is laughing, and you must stop looking at her mouth now or it will get inappropriate.
Before you can remember what to say, thank you, maybe, she speaks again. “Now, I can only feel like we are meant to be in contact. I put little sway in destiny, or even serendipity, but you knocking over the rack makes me think I should give you my… pesterchum? If that is something you use. I know it must seem informal but I prefer it for my new friends.”
You’re thrown by the sudden burst in conversation, and you reach for your phone, but she already has hers out. Almost blindly you type in your handle. You think Trollian transfers and translates properly to the human equivalent.
The ding that signifies you’ve made a new friend on the app comes from your bag.
Rose tilts her head the other way, and you feel like she is laughing again. How sad, that she does not laugh aloud. She giggled earlier, however small. She says something about getting on her way, and you must say something as well, and you are smiling a small smile to yourself and walking to the self-check-out.
When you walk out into the summer heat, the blush of your face feels almost cool, and you focus on getting your groceries home. You had to pick up some last-minute travel items for Karkat, who is leaving tomorrow for his trip to see… Gamzee.
Thinking of the clown gives you a bit of cold that puts out the fire in your cheeks and a little of the warmth in your heart dissipates. There is no jealousy, no. But Gamzee… had mistreated Karkat. He did not care about Karkat as much as the red-blooded troll had cared about him. There was no balance, little love from one of the directions at the time.
Your keys go in the ignition, you drive back. When you walk into the hom, Karkat is there, and suddenly your unhappiness is waived. He looks so grumpy to be going on this trip, the way he’s stuffing clothes into his bag. Yet his eyes are holding a certain spark and you know it is about going to see Gamzee. They were friends for so long, of course he wants to see him and will be happy about it.
He stops packing and kind of grimaces at you, one of the closest things to a smile he gets at times like these, and walks over to wrap his arms around your middle. He is so small and full of feeling, and you must protect him. You wrap your arms around him as well for a moment, breathe in his small smell, and place your lips on the top of his head.
“How was the store?” He inquires, and you remember what happened with the lipstick.
You avoid the question’s real intent by taking yourself from around him and puttering about to put away groceries. He lets you, but seems to know that something is up. He excuses himself to the back bedroom and you know what he is doing, so you finish putting away the few pieces of cold food and then follow.
Karkat pats the pile next to him commandingly. You hardly think this small amount of feeling warrants a pile, but you sink into the soft cushions and silken pillows anyway and he throws a leg closer to both of yours to face you. You think this is also doubling as extra time together before he goes on his trip. It’s a good idea, if that’s what he’s doing.
You hope he won’t need a particular reason to remember that you are his moirail.
He turns on the soft-lit lamp, and pokes the tip of your double-pointed horn before reaching out and running his hands up the sides of your neck and directly to your temples.
You had no idea you were that tense until he began gently massaging next to your forehead. Hm.
“I was positively green, Karkat. Like a human Christmas tree. Like sea glass.”
“So you met someone that made you flustered at the store,” he concludes, and you nod at him. You’re being a little pitiful right now.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this. It feels awful. And wonderful.”
“You being undignified is almost an impossibility, but I know how you feel, believe me,” Karkat comforts, and you guess he must know. He has been involved in more romantic entanglements than you. Yes, he is rather self-proclaimed when it comes to romance, sometimes inaccurately, but it’s wonderfully adorable. His thumbs run gently over your brow, careful of what he says are your “artfully punished and commanded” eyebrows.
“She was so lovely, and intelligent for a human,” you provide without needing the prompt, and sigh. “Her nails were well taken care of and clean, she must have just gotten them done or had a brilliant upkeep routine.”
Karkat hums and you lean sideways into the pile and rest your head on a larger round pillow.
“I feel incredibly undignified.” He hums again. “I knocked over a display.”
He snorts under his breath and you smile at it. Laughing at situations is something he tends to be good at. It calms you. “Did you clean it up?” He asks, expecting the answer you are going to give but asking anyway.
“Of course, it’s only polite,” you manage, and close your eyes when he moves to carefully run a hand of claws across your scalp. With the grain of the hair, of course, so as to not mess up the careful coiffed ‘do.
“Then you’re completely fine Kanaya, don’t worry about it. The display was probably just in a bad place. Besides, it’s incredibly dignified to help with picking up a mess you made.”
“Well, if you insist my dear.” You’re completely relaxed, now. His gentle paps are working against your best abilities to be self-conscious. You find yourself gently purring.
“I really do. Now, how was work yesterday? You mentioned a Neanderthal with the claws of a fucking bilge rat.”
Your phone dings from where it is next to the pile, where you had put it down before leaning back. You have to unfold your long legs from a pillow or two to reach it. Karkat’s fingers temporarily disconnect from your face while you grab it, and then go to rubbing your shoulders and neck when you sit back down.
It’s a pester from Doctor Rose Lalonde.
“Did the color happen to appear differently in application than in the tube at the aisle?” It says.
You reply before beginning your story to your moirail. The soft ping of another few notifications rings, muffled, from your lap while you are telling the tale. It makes you smile.