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Throughout the time she’s spent idling around this meteor with her human companions, Kanaya has found that their cultures share a few areas of overlap. For instance, they both take great care of their appearances. Some less than others, and some more-so; at the very least neither species would leave their hives without garments. Attention is given to hair, both on the head and the rest of the body (though the humans grow significantly more of the latter). A standard is set that both species must clean themselves regularly, though individuals have varying definitions of what that means.
Both species take great fascination with entertainment. This is another area that varies based on the individual, and certain hobbies are more prevalent to one culture as opposed to the other. FLARPing, for example, gained exceptional popularity on Alternia compared to Earth. Oppositely, humans are profoundly interested in hobbies that involve kicking balls around or throwing them into cylinders. They certainly had similar hobbies on Alternia, though not to such an excessive degree. Then there is, of course, the romantic films Karkat treasures so much. That is one area in which the passion between their species is equal, though varied preferences hold them back from fully bonding over these films.
Another concept trolls and humans share is glory. A distant, abstract sort of glow that humans and trolls alike are constantly reaching for. The desire to be known, remembered, and praised for your good actions. She has read about it in books that attempt to encapsulate the human experience; soldiers marching off to war in hopes of being honored for their sacrifice. Artists stretching out their arms to grasp at fame; or a mother bringing a new being into the world, breathing life into it and asking to be loved unconditionally. On Alternia, glory is the delusion that makes you set out to play a game with your friends, seduced by the promise of godhood.
Glory is a beautiful thing, always a finger length away. Sometimes it stands miles apart from where you are, a goal to constantly be chased. It offers the promise of something that sounds unrealistic, gifting you a dream without the commitment. The catch is, commitment is an integral part of obtaining glory. Everybody wants it, few can have it. A light in the dark, a spark in the night, the only salvation from forgettability. Glory takes your bleeding hands and tells you that you do not have to be another life among billions. You can be anything you want, have anything you want, you can have everything. The stars are your limit.
Part of Kanaya is compelled to call it a rotten lie. Glory is not being forced to kill your friends in order to protect them from one another. It is not repeatedly being used to further other people’s plans, expected to act as a lusus to your incapable friends. Something that glows so brightly should not leave you surrounded by the dead bodies of your loved ones. It should not stick you on a floating rock and tell you to “Try again in three years, maybe this time you’ll get it right.” That is not glory, that is a lie, a mirage made to lure them into danger.
There are many who might call her a naysayer, or a pessimist. Those tragedies are not the fault of glory, they are merely consequences made by incompetents who did not know how to pursue glory correctly. Others might say that pain is the price of glory, you cannot achieve the glow without first shedding your darkness. In order to do that you have to trudge through the dark and gory and journey on, suffering until the universe has deemed you worthy of obtaining glory. Kanaya has grown up too fast to believe any of that nonsense. Glory is not death, glory is not trauma, glory does not leave you to tear your hair out in the middle of the night.
Glory is not Rose passed out in the library, drenched in her own vomit.
She’s been finding her like this more and more frequently nowadays. The two of them will share a lovely morning with Dave, Karkat, and the Mayor, free from the other two and their hideous kismesis. They usually end up wandering off together, getting lost in the library or a vacant hallway. They have long, meaningful conversations that Kanaya cherishes so deeply. Before noon, Rose will make an excuse to go off on her own, and Kanaya will attempt to preoccupy herself with the others. On days when she doesn't feel like dealing with them, she’ll spend some time alone, likely reading or sewing a new dress. It makes no difference what she does, because her evenings always end the same way; cleaning Rose up from the pile she’s made of herself on the floor.
It’s hard work, getting her upright again. Kanaya wishes she didn’t even bother, she’s not sure why she lets everyone treat her like this. It makes no difference to them what she feels, so long as she’s available to help when things go horribly wrong. She was so sure Rose would be different, there was no way this intelligent human being could take her for granted the way everyone else did. Rose wasn’t like everyone else, she was clever and witty. She made Kanaya laugh unlike anyone else, and-
And she likes Kanaya. She genuinely likes her in a way Kanaya had been beginning to fear no one ever would. She was doomed to be a tool, a second choice, more of a mother grub than a matesprit. Rose was the only one who didn’t view her that way, she had to be different. It’s not that things had ever gone particularly well between them, but Kanaya was dull enough to see their courtship through rose tinted glasses. She ignored every dreadful feeling, every bad sign that this was heading in a terrible direction. It was all so easy to overlook, because Rose was supposed to be an exception.
She looks at her now, a puddle of puke and liquor beside the bookshelf. Her hair is disheveled, outfit detestably wrinkled, and she has a dopey smile on her face like she’s done nothing wrong. In her mind, this is probably the happiest place she could be. Far lovelier than any moment she’s ever shared with her “girlfriend,” as she on occasion calls her. She’s slumped against the shelf, back hitting the floor while her upper shoulders and head are propped up. One leg is strewn out, while the other is bent up with her foot on the ground. One of her arms is thrown over her head, the other holding an open book against her chest. It cannot be a comfortable position, especially not with the way her clothes are soaked through. Some of the vomit is on her face and hair as well, and worst of all, it made it onto the pages of the book. That was one of Rose’s favorites, and it’s ruined now. They only had one copy.
Her eyelids flutter, opening slowly as though it’s a struggle. Purple peers up at Kanaya, long wet eyelashes batting in her direction. When Rose registers her presence, her smile widens, teeth peeking through the splotchy black lipstick in a show of idiocracy.
“Kanyay…a…”
She stretches out her arms, groaning at the stiffness. Her whole body squirms with the movement, joints extending in an attempt to ward off cramps. In another situation, it might have compelled Kanaya’s eyes to wander. Now, she only regards Rose with disgust.
The human yawns, hand coming up to cover her mouth. Chunky streaks of beige graze the side of her hand when she does it, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She lets it flop right back down, unperturbed.
“Did I miss our date?”
She slides down to lay fully against the floor, further slipping into dried vomit.
Kanaya speaks through gritted teeth. “I don’t recall having one in our schedule.”
It’s not uncommon for Rose to stand Kanaya up in favor of drinking herself half to death. There have been more than a handful of occasions in which Kanaya has found herself waiting in an empty hallway, ultimately finding no resolution. The first few times this occurred, she was foolish enough to wait for hours on end, hunting Rose down when she failed to show. Now, with the ugly weight of familiarity pressing down on her shoulders, she endures no less than one hour on the dot. After that, she retires to her respiteblock, seeing no point in waiting for a mirage that will never appear.
Rose hiccups, a string of spittle shooting over her lower lip. The sight of it makes Kanaya cringe, immediately followed by a wave of guilt. She understands that Rose cannot control the way she looks in this state, her very actions are dictated by an addled mind. She knows that finding her matesprit gross in any capacity is a betrayal to every kind word they’ve ever shared. And yet, she can’t help the resentment that boils in her gut when she sees Rose like this. All the nights she’s spent longing to have her old friend back. She misses the Rose that would never dare let herself be seen in disarray; who would never even think of standing her girlfriend up.
She knew another light player who was enchanted by the premise of glory. One who put herself at the center of the narrative. Where Rose is challenged by questions of life and existentialism, Kanaya’s old friend was challenged only by herself. She thought she was out of those woods, that Rose would be a new chapter in her life. Instead, there are days when she feels as though she’s living the same story all over again. It is like a record that continues to spin on repeat, the same old album played to death until her ears begin to ache. It makes her want to tear her hair out to claw her heart out of her chest. She promised herself she’d never go back to those codependent habits, that Vriska would be the last woman to ever make a fool out of her. Two years later, she finds herself reprising the same old role. An encore she never asked for.
She supposes destiny is unavoidable. She’s always been an arm to lean on, a calming presence to those around her. She was often sought after as a moirail or auspistice, the voice of reason among a group of highly uncontrolled individuals. She buried her own anger beneath layers of thick skin and placating smiles. It was easy to suppress, up to the point where everything spilled over the surface. When she stopped worrying about keeping everyone agreeable and started to prioritize what she saw to be common sense.
If there are maniacs in your group, they must be taken care of one way or another. It is not, as Rose would say, “rocket science.” There are times to be comforting, and there are times when one must stand up and do what needs to be done. She feels no regret over that part. Any other grievances she may have surrounding the whole thing, well-
Those are demons her matesprit typically helps her make sense of. Seeing as her matesprit is currently out of commission, it would serve her no purpose to hop on that dark train of thought. Just as there are times to stand, there are also times when she must put her own grievances aside to do what she’s best at. Rose needs her right now, and as agitated as Kanaya may be, she’s not going to let her darling suffer at the hands of those measly feelings.
She moves forward, doing all she can to hold her breath so as to avoid inhaling that putrid scent. It has a distinct sharpness about it, something heinous yet uncomfortably familiar. The smell of the canned food they enjoy every day should not be paired with something so revolting. She already knows her stomach will be twisting into knots tomorrow at breakfast. When that time comes, she will try not to look bitterly upon the woman before her. No, when Rose is conscious enough to remember it, Kanaya will gaze at her with nothing but love and adoration in her eyes. Nothing close to the expression she wears now. Something not quite red, but not fond enough to be black. She’s too ashamed to place a name to the feeling. She shouldn’t be thinking of Rose this way.
She battles through it as she kneels to her lover’s side, slinging Rose’s arm around her shoulder. As nothing seems to work at her convenience, the blonde refuses to cling. Her limb rests against Kanaya for a mere three seconds before descending towards the floor. The resounding clack of Rose’s knuckles slapping against the ground is painful to listen to.
The blonde only giggles, knocking her head against Kanaya’s bicep. This, of course, smears vomit over the sleeve of her shirt. She can’t find the energy to scowl.
Not wanting to cause her matesprit any more undue pain, Kanaya opts for a bridal carry. It’s a bit difficult to situate Rose’s near-limp form into her arms, but fortunately she has enough upper-body strength to make it work. The most challenging part turns out to be maintaining her balance when the floor is slippery with a mix of vomit, sweat, and wine. Still, Kanaya Maryam is nothing if not graceful. And if she stumbles a little trying to find her way, well, she’s just glad no one is around to see it. Or, in Rose’s case, remember it.
There is also the pain of knowing that the closer she holds Rose, the more her own figure becomes soiled. Those vile substances that drown Rose are now rubbing off on Kanaya’s go-to outfit. It’s not that much of an inconvenience, she has a whole closet full of other, better things to wear. A whole room full, really, because it’s not like she’s ever kept her clothes confined to one space. Besides, she can wash this outfit and have it back in tip-top shape by tomorrow morning. It’s not an inconvenience.
Not an inconvenience at all.
It’s not until she’s standing that Rose finally gains enough awareness to hold onto her shoulders. She wraps both arms around Kanaya’s neck, interlacing her fingers where they meet. She kicks her legs out like a delightedly impatient child. Suspicious. Moments ago, she couldn’t even hold her own arm up.
She meets her eyes with a teasing smile. Kanaya returns the look with a frown.
“You’re incorrigible.”
But this time, her words lack venom. It is, in a way, relieving to be on the receiving end of Rose’s teasing. To see her wit and humor shine through even in this state. A soft reminder that the Rose she knows and loves is still there, she’s just going through a hard time. She’s as clever as ever, but her legs shake as she walks the path to glory. She needs Kanaya to hold her up, to remind her of who she is at her core. She is capable of outstanding things, Kanaya knows this better than anyone. All she needs is a little help.
She tries to keep this in mind as she struggles to make it to the door. Rose is not heavy, but she smells awful, and for someone who was recently immobile she won’t stop moving. She nuzzles her head against Kanaya’s cheek like a kitten, sways her legs through the air like she’s trying to dance. Her arms occasionally tighten in a faulty effort to hold Kanaya closer, nearly choking her in the process. Kanaya itches to reprimand her, but she knows she mustn't. That’s not what Rose needs right now. She needs a soft hand, someone nurturing like a lusus. Lashing out would surely make the problem worse, and that’s the last thing Kanaya wants. Not to say that makes it easy, but she has to at least make an effort to be sympathetic. Even if part of her wants to scream at Rose until her throat is raw and bloody.
Every step is made with intention, careful to avoid the piles of books that have accumulated on the floor. To drop Rose would be unthinkable, even if she were sober. If Kanaya dropped her like this, she might lose consciousness. God or not, Kanaya wants to minimize Rose’s suffering as much as possible. She rounds every table corner with practiced elegance, ensuring Rose feels no more discomfort than a gentle sway. She holds her with the utmost care and reverence, a beloved porcelain doll.
Making it to the door is only the first step in their journey. It’s going to be a long night, Kanaya knows this routine very well. Better than she’d like to admit. And still, she allows herself a sigh of relief when she makes it through the threshold into the hallway. The bathroom is not far from here, and the floor is not as cluttered as that of the library, but she still dreads the walk. What she dreads more is the possibility of running into someone. It’s bad enough that she has to see Rose like this, Kanaya will not allow her girlfriend’s pride to be wounded any further. The others might not be as willing to put up with her, or it might change the way they look at her on her good days.
So she keeps her movements as quiet as possible as she journeys down the long, dark hallway. It is hard to stay out of sight when she is the brightest thing on the meteor, but she does her best. Her shoes make little noise, but she tries to silence her steps anyways. Even her breathing becomes more controlled. The sway of her skirt is quietened by her slowed, deliberate pace.
Rose is much harder to monitor. She keeps making these little, high-pitched noises that Kanaya quickly has to silence. She shushes her each time, but that does nothing to discourage her. She doesn’t want to snap, and it’s not like she has a free hand to cover Rose’s mouth with. All she can do is hope that Dave and Karkat are too preoccupied with their romcoms and hopscotch games to hear the light commotion. The Mayor is most likely with them as well, and even if he wasn’t, it’s not like she has to worry about him sharing any judgemental words. Terezi is less of a concern, rarely in sight even during the day. And an encounter with Gamzee has roughly the same likelihood as running into a ghost.
“Pretty lady…” Rose drawls, breath fanning out across Kanaya’s face.
Her stomach lurches.
“I advise that you keep your voice down, unless you’re keen on your brother finding you in this state.”
“Can I kiss you?” She asks, speeding past Kanaya’s warning. “Heh… Kan I?”
Kanaya’s eyes shift towards the ceiling. “No.”
“Aw, c’mon,” she noses Kanaya’s cheek. “You know you wanna…know you can’t resist…’m charms…”
“I will kiss you once your mouth has been thoroughly disinfected,” she promises. “Until then, I ask that you keep your puke-slicked lips to yourself.”
Rose wrinkles her nose. “Ya don’t have to say it like that.”
“Perhaps if you kept yourself clean, I wouldn’t have to speak so vulgarly.”
It’s not fair of her to hold Rose to such standards when the girl can barely write her own name. It’s no better than lecturing her, really. But Kanaya can’t help those passive-aggressive remarks that escape her on these nights. She hates that these nights have a precedent, but she can’t do much about that. She shouldn’t be blamed for seeking catharsis, not when she only takes it in small doses.
(That won’t stop her from blaming herself later. Though that will only come once she is safely away from the scrutinizing eye of the reader.)
“So mean…”
“Would you please be quiet?” She begs, uselessly. “We don’t have much further to go.”
“Where’re you takin’ me?”
“To the bathroom,” she explains. “You are in desperate need of a wash.”
“Hehe…’r ya gonna…strip me down?”
She wags her eyebrows suggestively. Kanaya’s expression remains blank.
“Only if you are comfortable with that.”
It’s a formality, nothing more. The first time they did this, she let Rose wear her undergarments in the water, too bashful to meet her eye. The next morning, a sober Rose later assured her that she didn’t need to be so modest. There wasn’t much sense in it, the context of those encounters is entirely different than what drunk Rose is suggesting now. And it’s not as if they would be getting up to activities of that sort when Rose’s mind is too altered to comprehend the situation. Still, the trust involved in this ritual does not go unnoticed by either of them.
“‘Course I am,” Rose lowers her eyelids. “‘Y can…strip me down whenev’r y’want…”
Kanaya ignores the not-so-subtle invite, as well as the way it makes her cheeks light up with a jade hue. Drunken words are not always sober thoughts, and it would be cruel of her to hold Rose to anything she said whilst under the influence. She’ll simply have to pretend she didn’t hear that last bit.
It takes some time, but they finally manage to make it to the bathroom. This time, Kanaya’s sigh comes from someplace deep within her soul. Her shoulders drop as much as they can while carrying Rose’s weight, only half as tense as they were before. Her clothes cling to her skin, and her hair feels as though she’s just been out in humid air, but the hard part is over now.
Delicately, she rests Rose against the closed door. As expected, she slumps to the ground the minute Kanaya’s hands leave her. It’s not as much of a nuisance as it would have been earlier, now that Kanaya has gotten them where they need to be. On the contrary, it’s almost endearing to see her fall into familiar habits. Endearing and so, so painful.
She takes a moment to wipe the beads of sweat that had begun to form on her forehead. She’ll need a wash too, once this is over. But she won’t be caught dead in the tub Rose is about to enter, not until it has been thoroughly disinfected. There’s another bathroom close to her respiteblock, perhaps she will stop there before she turns in for the night. After she makes sure Rose is safely rested on her side, of course.
She takes a deep breath, turning to face her reflection in the wide mirror. There’s something grounding about it, if a little unsettling. Beyond all the shit she has to walk through daily, she still has herself. Strong, reliable Kanaya. A girl not nearly as unshakable as she presents herself to be, but strong nonetheless. She “gets shit done,” so to speak, and that matters more than any of her shortcomings. She still has her thoughts, her past experiences, her fragile feelings. Things only she knows, things she feels when no one else is in the room. Insecurities she may never share with anyone, not even Rose. And that’s fine. She should have things that exist solely for herself, she’s owed that much. It is comforting to know that, for all she gives away, there are parts of herself that cannot be taken.
The sight itself, however, is far from pleasant. Deep bags under her eyes, hair in disarray, body soaked with sweat…yes, she will definitely need a shower. But Rose first, Rose is the priority here.
She glowers at her face in the mirror, turning finally to face the tub. It’s a small, black, porcelain thing that has seen better days. Nonetheless, it is sufficient for its purpose. They’ve never had any problems with it before, besides a brief spat between Dave and Karkat over hair being left in the drain. They appear to have resolved it, seeing as the tub is entirely clean now. Well, nearly clean. There are still some spots that have rusted over throughout the years, dents in the bottom from frequent uses.
She kneels down, sparing Rose a quick glance to make sure she’s not going to be sick again. That much movement might have made her dizzy, though Kanaya tried her hardest to be careful. She seems to be doing fine so far, eyelids fluttering shut with her lips slightly parted. She won’t fall asleep yet, Kanaya won’t let her, but it’s good that she’s trying to rest. In this state, the last thing she needs is to overexert herself.
Soon, the silence of the room is broken by the steady flow of water into the tub. Kanaya keeps her hand under the faucet, ensuring the temperature is to Rose’s liking. She likes her water scalding, but Kanaya doesn’t want to shock her while she’s like this. She settles instead for what she deems to be a pleasantly-warm temperature, closer to fresh laundry than boiling water. If Rose has any complaints, she can let her know later.
Once satisfied with the temperature, Kanaya flips the switch to turn on the showerhead. Water sprays down, lightly drizzling her front and completely drenching her sleeve. She doesn’t mind, by now she expects this to happen. She rolls up her sleeves anyways, despite knowing it won’t do her many favors. She likes the illusion of control it gives her, the thought that she’s protecting at least one part of herself.
Rose is next, raised gently off the floor and into a standing position. She sways a little too much for Kanaya’s liking, but it doesn’t take much effort to steady her. It’s possible that she’s exaggerating her intoxication, as she tends to do. Some effort to heighten her resemblance to her mother, or perhaps to garner more pity from Kanaya. An excuse to be vulnerable, since no one can blame it on her true personality when she’s in this state. The girl is shielded by so many layers of irony, not unlike her brother, that Kanaya often finds her hard to read. The one thing she’s certain of is that Rose’s more elusive actions often come from a place of pain, not malice.
She moves in fast, jerky motions as she tries to get Rose’s clothes off. It’s too awkward, too stiff. She hopes Rose truly is too drunk to remember it. Her face burns, despite herself, and she makes an effort to look at the back of Rose’s head and nowhere else. By some mercy of the universe, Rose stays mostly quiet throughout the process, save for a few giggles.
The second hardest part of this whole operation is maneuvering Rose into the tub. She keeps one hand on her waist, the other respectfully stationed at her arm. They take slow steps, each of them crossing their fingers that Rose won’t slip and bust her head open. Rose’s expression is pained, taking in just how little control she has over her own motor functions. Kanaya wonders if there will ever come a day when they no longer have to do this.
She gets the first leg in the tub, her left. Kanaya has half a mind to kneel down and lift the other for her, but she knows an action like that might be too much for Rose to handle right now. And so she lets her try it on her own, clutching Kanaya’s arms for support.
One knee bent, a heel frozen in midair…slowly moving to extend forward…and then…
A third exhale leaves Kanaya when Rose finally, finally gets both feet in the tub. She gives herself a mental high five.
“Do you think you can stand?”
It takes Rose a second too long to process the question, but she eventually nods. Kanaya isn’t so sure of that answer, but she respects Rose’s decision.
“Kanaya?”
It comes out somewhere between slurred and much too coherent.
“Yes?”
“Will you wash me?”
Will not can, because Rose already knows Kanaya is more than capable of carrying out such a task. She’s asking for a favor, she wants Kanaya to do something she is decidedly able to do herself. But maybe she’s not. Just a minute ago, she was struggling to get in the tub. Her legs are surely shaking. Maybe she needs Kanaya to help her. Maybe the line between want and need isn’t as clearly defined as they’d like to believe.
Kanaya relents with a nod. “Of course, dear.”
She strips herself next, figuring that the most efficient way to bathe Rose is to join her. She’d only end up getting her clothes soaked if she didn’t. It’s not the first time they’ve been together like this, but it still feels…different, more awkward. She tries not to think about it too much.
Neither her awkwardness nor her weak stomach can stop her from pressing a kiss to the side of Rose’s head. She stands behind her, far too vulnerable to be seen at this moment. Rose doesn’t seem to mind it, softly smiling to herself at the sudden company.
The water pressure is, for lack of a better word, absolute shit. It takes Kanaya longer than necessary to wash all the chunks out of Rose’s hair and off her body. Even longer to stiffly nudge them towards the drain. Yes, the tub will most definitely have to be disinfected after this. That’s a problem for Future Kanaya. Perhaps Future Karkat, if she can manipulate the chore chart without him catching it. Needless to say, the punishment for getting caught would be more chores. But it would be worth chancing it if she managed to succeed. The only one who really pays close attention to that chart is Dave…
She’s not going to worry about that right now. That’s another concern for Future Kanaya.
The way she washes Rose can only be described as worshipful. She doesn’t start with the soap until every trace of vomit has been sufficiently scrubbed off (and, subsequently, cleaned from beneath Kanaya’s nails). The bar has a plain, chalky scent that is infinitely preferable to Rose’s latest perfume. She wets it before making contact with Rose’s body, rubbing it between her hands to make bubbles appear. Rose loves bubbles, especially drunk Rose. Kanaya would never neglect such an important detail.
She presses the bar to the top of Rose’s back, right at the bottom of her neck. From there, she drags it down, using her free hand to spread around the bubbles. She repeats that process down the rest of her back, until the surface is so shiny it borders on reflective. Then, under the stream she does, soap rolling off her back with warm water droplets.
Her arms are next, Kanaya’s hands spanning the length of them. She decides to indulge herself with a chaste kiss to Rose’s shoulder, letting it serve as an apology for her short temper earlier. She’s still not in the best of moods, but she’s come to realize she may have been too cold with Rose earlier. Cold, when she knows how deeply Rose craves warmth.
She wonders sometimes if this is what Rose felt like caring for her mother on nights when she drank herself into a stupor. She doubts Rose ever took care of her mom this thoroughly, but that’s besides the point. Did she, too, look upon that woman with a distinct sort of disdain she would later loathe herself for? Did she struggle on her way to the bathroom, wondering if the journey was worth it? Did she ever wash puke out of her mother’s hair, flinching when it touched her hands?
What a thing for a child to go through. Kanaya could never blame her for turning out like this. She knows she shouldn’t blame Rose’s mom either, but that’s difficult to avoid. She has many reservations for the woman that raised Rose to shut herself off from the world, to take every act of kindness as a slight against her. She sympathizes with her too, but she doubts she will ever be able to forgive her. Then again, it’s not her place to forgive that woman. That much is Rose’s burden to bear. Hopefully she’ll allow Kanaya to carry some of the weight.
Rose’s stomach gets washed with careful, nimble fingers. Kanaya mostly uses the soap bar, not wanting to brush against any offending areas. The flesh there is soft and plump, spilling over her pelvis in a little pouch. If they were cuddling, Kanaya would be content to rest her head on it, drifting off to sleep within Rose’s loving embrace. For now, she has a job to do. She grounds herself with the cold slide of porcelain against her soft feet, the delicate skin beneath her hands. Such a contradiction, Rose’s warmth against the cold room they’ve found themselves in. The water provides heat, but everything else is too mechanical, too imperfect. Everything besides Rose, the embodiment of perfection.
She has to kneel again to clean Rose’s legs, ignoring the giggles overhead. Rose mumbles something incoherent, drowned out by the consistent splash of the faucet. It acts as a protective barrier in this strange atmosphere of blissful awkwardness they’ve created for themselves.
Rose’s legs are just as plump as the rest of her, impossibly soft where Kanaya massages the soap into her skin. They look steadier than they were before, though Kanaya still touches them with incredible caution. Her body is lined with a light splatter of freckles, similar to Dave’s but less noticeable since she doesn’t get as much sun. Up close, they remind Kanaya of tiny stars. It’s fitting, she thinks, that Rose’s body resembles space whereas her own emits light. If she ever were to voice that thought aloud, Rose would surely call her cheesy. She will someday, just to see the blush on Rose’s face as she chastises her. Until then, she’ll let it stay as an inside joke she shares only with herself.
She works her way up Rose’s body, hands coming to rest on her shoulders.
“Close your eyes.”
Rose listens, giving a slight nod just in case Kanaya can’t see her. It’s cute to see the way her logic works in this state.
She spreads a thick layer of soap and bubbles between her hands, setting the bar aside. She then reaches around to wash Rose’s face, careful not to get any soap in her eyes.
Her fingers trace over every feature she’s already memorized a thousand times. Round cheeks, a narrow nose, and a pointed jaw. Every inch of Rose is flawless to her. Including the forehead beneath her bangs that she sometimes voices insecurity about. None of her other features bother her, just that. Leave it to Rose to get worked up over something so painfully insignificant. Kanaya would laugh if it didn’t sadden her to see Rose putting herself down.
Rose looks like a renaissance painting when the water hits her face, eyes shut and lips pulled down slightly. This was a face born to be worshipped. It should come as a surprise to exactly no one that Rose was destined to become a god, no less that she fulfilled that destiny. Seeing her like this often makes Kanaya feel as though she should be delivering an offering. Not that she would ever entertain such a ridiculous thought.
She hands the bar to Rose once her face is finished.
“I assume you’d like to get the rest.”
“Oh…” Rose looks down at the soap in her hands, almost surprised. “Of course. Can you wash my hair?”
“I had already planned to.”
Rose makes quick work of her tender areas while Kanaya prepares the shampoo. As quick as she can be without total control over her limbs. The extra time is appreciated, because Kanaya can’t seem to find a bottle of conditioner anywhere inside the tub. Someone must have borrowed the old bottle and taken it to another shower. Sigh. Boys. It’s no problem though. They’ll do leave-in conditioner when Rose gets out of the shower, for longer lasting results.
When the bar of soap finally takes its rest (for Rose, at least), Kanaya repeats her former instruction.
“Close your eyes.”
Rose snorts. “Yes ma’am.”
They still have plenty to do. Kanaya needs to clean herself off, a process Rose is still too tipsy to participate in. No doubt she will fall asleep in the tub while Kanaya takes care of herself, keeping most of her focus on Rose to make sure she doesn’t throw up again. Afterwards, they will dry off and sneak over to Rose’s room to find pajamas. Kanaya will dress Rose just as she undressed her before, then put her into bed on her side so she doesn’t choke on her own vomit in the night. She will stay a few moments to make sure she sleeps okay. Then, finally, Kanaya will return to her own respiteblock for the night. She’ll forget to tweak the chore chart, subjecting herself to an afternoon spent cleaning dried puke out of the tub. But that won’t plague her until tomorrow. By the end of this night, she’ll be too tired to cry or fret. She will fall into a deep slumber, and then she will dream of the same girl who inconvenienced her all night.
That is how their night will end. But those events are still far away, so much so that they don’t currently seem real. All that matters to Kanaya right now is making sure her girlfriend feels loved and cherished.
Rose’s hair has always been one of Kanaya’s favorite features of her’s. It’s so smooth and soft, such a lovely pale shade. It stops right at her chin, though the ends aren’t as perfectly groomed as they used to be. It feels like silk between her fingers, miraculously dark against her translucent skin. She takes her time with it, working the shampoo like she’s crafting a sculpture. Her nails comb through Rose’s scalp, eliciting a sweet hum from the shorter girl.
As strands of hair slip from her hands, Kanaya can’t help but feel they are not unlike Rose herself. Mesmerizing, perfection incarnate, and yet so fragile. Kanaya can never seem to grasp them enough to hold on. They evade her attempts to keep them in one place for too long, appearing to move with a mind of their own. That is most definitely not how Rose’s godtier powers work, so Kanaya knows she must be imagining it. That knowledge does nothing to ease the anxious feeling in her gut.
She powers through it, just like she does everything else. Those strands are tricky, but that is precisely why Kanaya loves them. Rose is far too complex to be understood in a single sentence, let alone a lifetime. Kanaya could spend eternity trying to figure her out and only get halfway to the point. She is an enigma, a story told through a nonlinear narrative. Human lives are far from comprehensive, they start as roots and then branch off in more directions than one could ever possibly imagine. Kanaya plucks the leaves, reading their prophecies in a valiant attempt to make sense of the full picture. But all she gets is strands of hair. Vomit beneath her fingernails, sweat on her forehead. Evidence of something greater, something solid, but it all leads her to a dead end.
Perhaps she doesn’t need an answer. She’s more than happy to stay by Rose’s side, holding her hand through every grand adventure she finds herself on. And when she gets tired of being larger than life, Kanaya’s arms are the ones she falls into. Kanaya is the one who gets to see this god as a human being, the only one allowed to peer so deeply into Rose’s soul. That glimpse is all she needs. There are parts of Rose she wasn’t meant to see, parts no one was meant to see. Everyone has them, it’s hardly a crime. Rose can keep her secrets just as Kanaya can keep hers. She is owed that much.
Standing front-to-back in this rickety shower, scrubbing the remains of vomit out of Rose’s hair, Kanaya swears she catches a glimpse of glory. A far off, bright glow that Rose gives off everywhere she goes. Always just out of reach, winking back at her with a lipstick smile and a wave. Inviting her to come along, but never revealing more than she’s comfortable with. She is distant, but she is not a lie. She is the real, solid truth; an obtainable goal daring Kanaya to chase after her.
Everyone chases their own idea of glory. Perhaps for Kanaya, that glory is Rose.