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Your name is Dave Strider, and when you type out another line of petty insults sound like your Bro. Maybe that’s what does it. You slide off your shades like you do every time, because June gave them to you and they’re the only extension of your body you actually care about anymore, and set them on the good counter. You never cook there— it’s Cal’s territory, so you try to keep it clean. He’s gone, right now. He always knows just when to disappear. You appreciate it.
The cooler has become your favourite place to pick. The first time, it was a pathetic attempt to hide from the Boss, but now you're more than aware she sees everything that goes on around here. The cooler is just tradition now. Even if it wasn’t, you like how the chill makes your fingers go numb. For a moment, you breathe, eyes squeezed shut.
Karkat liked your eyes. He liked that they were red, and he liked them all the more when you told him how uncommon it was in humans. Genetic mutation, you said. Then he pressed his lips to your brow and you could feel his grin. You ghost your fingers over the spot, but it doesn't compare. Not even fucking close.
Your mind drifts to the other Karkat— no, you don’t want to call him that. He’s not Karkat. Strawkat. Stupid Strawkat. He makes you sick. He makes you sick to your fucking stomach because he’s so lucky. He’s happy— with a version of you. He cuts up apples and calls not-you sweetheart and you could have had that. You almost had that. Karkat, your Karkat, the only karkat that matters, had tried to give it to you. He offered up his heart and you spit it out to guzzle more booze. It had felt good at the time, just like this stupid feud had. You’d won, even though you didn't really care about winning in the first place. You didn't want to make them mad, but Karkats— they love getting mad just as much as you love making them look at you. And they’d looked at you! You, you, you. God, Strider, is that
ALL YOU THINK ABOUT?
TG: im just having fun dude
TG: you need to chill
CG: OH, EXCUSE ME. YOU’RE RIGHT. WHAT WAS I THINKING, WORRYING ABOUT MY HUSBAND WHEN HE’S BEEN ON A BENDER FOR 48 HOURS!
CG: SILLY ME. I FORGOT HUMAN MARRIAGE WAS AN IRONIC RITUAL THAT INVOLVED NO ACTUAL CARE.
TG: not what im saying but ok
CG: WELL, YOU WIN. ARE YOU HAPPY?
TG: what
TG: karkat come on what are you talking about
CG: NO. I’VE HAD ENOUGH. ALL MY PATIENCE AND SELF RESPECT ARE GONE, WITHERED AWAY INTO NOTHING.
CG: DRINK ALL YOU FUCKING WANT. I DON’T CARE ANYMORE. I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DO WITH YOUR LIFE.
CG: IT ISN’T MY PROBLEM ANYMORE.
TG: karkat cmon
CG: IF YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF LIKE THIS, GO RIGHT AHEAD! BUT I WON’T WATCH.
TG: karkat
TG: just think on it
CG: TELL ME YOU’LL QUIT AND I MIGHT.
TG: karkat
CG: FUCK YOU, STRIDER.
A shiver snaps you out of it— you've been standing in the middle of the cooler like an idiot for way too long. You can multitask. You go to the same shelf as usual, right by the door, because it hasn’t fallen down once in all the times you’ve used it. Probably because it’s built to withstand the weight of a million stupid frozen patties. Your head still slots perfectly into the dent from yesterday. Yesterday feels like a million fucking years ago, if you’re being honest, but maybe it was. Maybe, when you wake up, everyone will have forgotten about you all over again. Maybe when you wake up that stupid Karkat will be a distant memory. Maybe he’ll even forgive you, not that you want it. You don’t want Strawkats or Godkats or Wagekats the same way you didn’t really want June or Jade or the other half dozen lovers you never tied the knot with. You just want Karkat. Your Karkat.
Your head lolls back, eyes to the ceiling, and then your neck snaps forward.
(When you wake up, you’re already standing at the register. By instinct, you open up Chitter.)