Work Text:
Karkat's wiping at the stainless steel counter, slouched over, his chin propped up in his hand, not really paying attention to his motions, when the bell over the door chimes, alerting him to the presence of new customers. He straightens slowly and glances warily at the door- his breath hitches in his throat when he sees who's just entered the cake shop.
It's that stupid dark haired boy- though, he was really was more of a man than a boy- again. Tall, with a straight nose, messy dark hair, and the bluest eyes Karkat had ever seen on a human. They were sadly hidden behind some thick framed glasses that should have made him look goofy, but instead somehow worked for him (unlike a certain hipster 'friend' of Karkat's).
Today, just like every other day, the dark haired man didn't enter the store very far. He waited, like always, at the booth right next to the door, leaning against the table, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched his friends approach the counter. He playfully called out to them, telling them off for buying treats, telling them that they could get much better for cheaper elsewhere, with a cheeky wink that implied it was an inside joke. And as always they laughed him off and told him to stop being an asshole. The blond douche with the shades even gave the man the finger behind his back as he approached the counter.
Karkat couldn't help but notice, and he really didn't want to notice because he wanted to hate the stupid man who mocked his store, and lounged near the entrance looking entirely too delectable, that apart from being a total heart stopping hottie, the guy was also painfully nice. Evident in the way he always jumped up to open the door for people coming in, giving all the pretty girls a smile that had them giggling. Karkat often fantasised that maybe the dark haired man would do that for him someday.
He'd be starting his shift at midday, hurrying because he was late to work because of his asshole of a best friend, again, and the door would swing open before him, the dark haired man smiling at him in that infuriatingly charming way. He'd stumble slightly out of shock, and slip on a wet spot on the floor because one of the other employee's didn't wipe it up properly. The dark haired man would be quick to catch him, sweeping him up into his strong arms. Karkat allowing him to take most of his weight as he wrapped his arms around the strangers shoulders, just to support himself, of course. And then the man would lean closer, his blue eyes so much prettier from this close up, and he'd softly ask Karkat, “Are you alright?” And Karkat would say he was, and the stranger would help him upright and reluctantly let him go, and then Karkat would have the guts to maybe ask his saviour if he could take him to dinner sometime as payment for not letting him fall face first on the ground, and the guy would smile so wide, his eyes shining, making Karkat's stomach would feel like it's full of a thousand butterflies and-
“Karkat, are you daydreaming again? Come on, kid. We've got customers.” One of Karkat's co-workers shook his shoulder, scowling, but the troll knows that under the shades he's got a bemused twinkle in his eyes.
Karkat huffed softly, sending the man his own quick scowl, before looking up to see the bemused faces of mister tall, dark and handsome's friends. Cool douche with the shades quirks an eyebrow at him and taps at his wrist with false impatience, “Come on Karkles, we don't have all day.”
Creepy goth girl gives him an infuriatingly knowing black liped smile, and tilts her head curiously, “I wonder what could have distracted him from serving us?”
Karkat bares his teeth at them menacingly, teeth gritted harshly as he grounds out, “What can I get you today.” Pointedly ignoring creepy goth girl's hypothetical question.
Cool douche orders his usual cupcake, one of the cheap ass nasty children's cupcakes; vanilla sponge with some rainbow, papery icing picture on top (today's rainbow monstrosity sports a stupid ass unicorn, practically pooping rainbows and sparkles). Creepy goth girl orders one of the dark chocolate eclairs. Neither gets anything extra for their friend waiting at the door, as usual.
Karkat nearly opens his mouth to inquire about their friend, he'd just like a name, or something. But like he did every other day the three came in, he bit his tongue and turned to get their treats. When he returns with two paper bags in hand he notices his co-worker, Dirk, chatting to the blond pair. With a scowl he stalks over, hip checks Dirk out the way, and thrusts the white paper bags at the pair, eyes practically screaming, “Take them, and get out.”
Creepy goth girl delicately takes hers and steps back. Cool douche on the other hand makes sure to brush his fingers against Karkat's when he grabs the bag. Karkat can tell by the way his lips twitch slightly that he's doing it on purpose.
He wouldn't put up with their bullshit if it weren't for the fact that they seem to be the only reason that tall, dark and handsome even comes to the store.
The troublesome blond duo give Dirk a parting wave before turning to leave with their friend. The man who will definitely one day be Karkat's future husband slides between them and slings an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling them out the door, squawking.
Karkat sighs and prop himself up on the counter again, eyes intent on the perfect ass of mister tall, dark and handsome.
He don't see Dirk until it's too late.
Dirk hip checks him so hard he stumbles into the bin a few metres to his side, knocking it over and tripping up on it and ending up on his back on the floor. When he glares up at Dirk he realises with frustration that he's taken his spot and his rag. Now 'innocently' standing at the counter cleaning. Karkat give him the finger, and Dirk flips one back.
It's later on that week that the dark haired man returns, but surprisingly, this time he comes in with someone who isn't either of the blondes; he's got a pretty girl clinging to his arm. She's got long, wavy, dark hair and a cute, soft face and Karkat swears he can hear his heart as it shatters on the ground like one of their china plates. Of course the absolutely stunning man has a girlfriend, and of course she's absolutely gorgeous. They look so painfully perfect together. She's smiling up at him with laughing green eyes, and the man is looking down at her like she's his world (the way Karkat had wished the man would look at him) and he hates that he can't even hate her: they look too fucking happy together.
Mister tall, dark and taken is rather loudly and obnoxiously telling “Jade”- god, she even has a lovely name to suit her lovely face, fucking fuck- that she can get whatever she wants and it's on him. If he wasn't so heartbroken Karkat would probably be swooning over the fact that his no longer potential future husband is such a gentleman offering to pay for her, but he is, so he doesn't.
And for the first time the man begins to approach the counter and Karkat panics. He can't serve the man, not like this! He feels like he's going to throw up- actually, he is going to throw up, he spins around and yelps out a garbled, “Feeling sick!” to his boss, Jane, who was luckily working alongside him at the moment and darts out the back.
He faintly hears her worried call, but she doesn't come chasing him, for which he's glad. He scurries down the short hall and into the employee's bathroom, bracing himself against the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror.
His face is flushed red, almost the same colour as the velvet cupcakes on display in their window. His eyes are wide and dark, and he's breathing too heavily, but can't seem to get enough air. He realises distantly that he might be having a panic attack.
He digs his fingers hard into the porcelain, till they turn pale and tries to get a grip on himself. “It's okay. It'll be okay. It doesn't matter: there are plenty of other fish in the sea.” he chants desperately to himself.
What does it matter if this one, perfect, handsome man that Karkat has been infatuated with for months turns out to have a girlfriend?
It doesn't fucking matter, he tries to convince himself, even as his eyes are starting to blur with unshed tears, and his hands are shaking despite, or maybe because of, the tight grip he has on the sink. He just has to breathe he knows, and takes deep shaky breaths, trying not to pass out, or cry.
When Jane hurries in ten minutes later and pulls him away from the sink, clutching at his shoulders and asking “What's wrong?” looking so worried, he breaks down and sinks to the floor. She follows him down, pulling him closer to her, so his face is tucked under her neck. He can feel her soft and comfortingly warm against him, her small fingers are running through his hair and she's quietly shushing him as he cries.
He can't bring himself to tell her what's wrong.
That evening, after they've closed up shop together, being the last one's on shift at Jane's insistence, she approaches him and grabs his arm, hauling him out back. Startled he complies a lot more willingly than he'd like to admit.
She shoves him into the staff room and leans against the door, “Karkat, as the manager you need to know: I won't be coming in tomorrow. There's some family business I've got to take care of.”
Karkat furrows his brows, and crosses his arms, shifting his weight onto one leg, “But who'll-?”
Jane, despite being the owner of the shop is also the main patisserie chef, is the one who comes in and starts baking the first few batches of cakes and pastries, then preparing them for display. She's always starts at around 4am- and has never missed a day of work- until now. So, he rationalises, for Miss workaholic to take time off, it must be important.
“Don't worry Karkat, my cousin is coming in tomorrow to replace me.” she quickly interrupts him, “I wanted to tell you first because you're opening in the morning and I didn't want you to be startled when you find a strange man in the kitchen instead of me. It'll be up to you to alert the others when they come in.”
“Okay,” he sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes wearily, “So who is your cousin? And can he bake? Because I do not want to have to deal with customers complaining and bitching me out because he's a shitty chef.”
Jane slaps his arm, hard. “Shoosh, you! Don't be so mean! John and I were taught to bake together, and he's just as capable at it as me. In fact he had the option to work along side me, but he wasn't interested. It was a shame, I'd have liked this to be a family business, but, well, at least he enjoys what he's doing now. And he was kind enough to offer to come in and replace me for one day. Don't be a dick to him tomorrow Karkat, I will hear about it.”
It's seven a-fucking-m and the keys are jangling harshly as Karkat struggles to unlock the door to the cake shop. He's got an hour to set up shop before they open- if he can get this fucking door open- there we go.
He's not yet awake properly because Gamzee, the asshole, came over last night and kept him up way too late, even knowing all too well that Karkat had work in the morning. And as a result he only got a few hours sleep. He's got a giant thermos of hot, black coffee grasped securely in his other hand and he refuses to relinquish it for the next half hour till he's drunk most of it and feels like he can serve customers without punching them in their stupid whiny faces. (That “customers are always right” saying? Total bullshit.)
He can hear the distant sounds of someone working out back, and in his fuzzy, sleepy haze stumbles towards the kitchen, a greeting for Jane on his lips. He bumps open the stainless steel door with his hip and leans in to see his boss.
His thermos clatters loudly to the ground, boiling hot coffee spilling out at his feet. He's distantly aware that there's a ringing in his ears, and his head feels funny, but all he can concentrate on right now is the figure half turned to him.
A tall frame, messy dark hair, and the bluest eyes he's ever seen on a human. The man is smiling widely at him, but his face starts to drop slowly, a questioning look replacing his smile. Karkat can't think much about that now because his vision is sort of tunnelling and the world is feeling a little bit off kilter...
The next thing he's aware of is his neck feels sort of uncomfortable, like he slept in a weird position. And there's something warm and heavy on his cheek. He grunts and swats at it, eyes still shut. It shifts off, and awareness is slowly starting to creep back...
The back of his head hurts a lot. In fact his whole head is throbbing and his eyes feel like they're going to bounce out of their sockets if he doesn't keep them shut. His clothes feel wet in weird places, sticking to his skin, warm and uncomfortable. And he vaguely realises that he's lying on something hard and cold- probably the floor? Except his head is cushioned on something softer. His eyes flutter openly slowly, the bright fluorescent lights of the kitchen are harsh and he squints, hands shooting up to cover his eyes, “Holy shit!” he rasps.
“Careful,” a warm voice says softly from above him, “I think you hit your head pretty hard when you fainted.”
Karkat opens his eyes again, ready to tell this stupid, disembodied voice that Karkat Vantas does not faint! And promptly chokes on his words, because worried blue eyes behind thick frames are looking down at him, and suddenly it all comes rushing back.
The dark haired man standing in Jane's kitchen. The sound of his thermos hitting the floor- that might explain the wetness in his clothes actually, and … oh, fuck. He must have passed out from shock, or from the blood rushing from his head or something along those lines.
And holy fucking shit. He is lying in the dark haired man's lap. The dark haired man has been touching him!
He vaguely remembers Jane telling him her replacements name was… John. The man's name is John, and he's Jane's cousin. And Karkat is lying in his lap!
“Dude, calm down, you look like you're about to faint again. Shhhhshhh. You're Karkat, right?”
John knows his name! John-the tall, dark, handsome stranger knows his fucking name!
Karkat is sort of having a little trouble processing things and he blinks a little stupidly up at John. He can feel his lips twitching up into a goofy smile, because John knows his name and he's lying with his head in John's lap and if this isn't an indication that they're destined to be together he doesn't know what is.
Fingers snap in front of his face and he startles, realising he'd been sort of day dreaming again. John is giving him a really worried look, “Oh man, oh man. Are you going to be okay? Do you need to go to the hospital or something? Arghhh. Of course shit goes down on the one day I'm in... Karkat, talk to me buddy, how are you feeling?”
Oh shit. If John thinks he's unable to work then he'll send him to the hospital or back home and he'll probably never get a chance like this again. This is basically life shoving his dream man into his face and going “You've got one shot at this, asshole.” He can't fuck this up. He can't.
“You have really blue eyes.” he says smiling up at John. There, that aught to do it.
John carefully helps him up, keeping an arm around his waist in case he keels over, and leads him out the kitchen, to the small staff room. He helps him sit down in one of the stingy plastic chairs, then shuffles over to the spare uniform box they keep for emergencies like this.
John rummages through clothing packets and pulls out some black pants, and a dark blue button up top that look like they might be Karkat's size. He puts them on the table next to Karkat, then goes to the freezer and gets one of the ice-packs, which he wraps up in a spare dishcloth from under the sink and hands it to Karkat. “Put that on the back of your head, it should help with any swelling. I'm going to go call someone to come replace you, so while I'm gone you can change into some dry clothes, if you think you can manage it.”
“Wait, I'm fine.” Karkat protests. No no no! John can't call someone else in. He'll miss his chance to woo him!
John raises a sceptical eyebrow and braces a hand on his hip. “You do not look fine to me, buddy. Besides, I can't risk it, I've got to at least send you home, sorry. I can't have it turn out you have a concussion or something, Jane would kill me if I let an injured worker stay on shift.”
When John comes back Karkat's buttoning up the shirt of the dry uniform. Both the shirt and pants are too big, but it doesn't really matter seeing as he's going straight home, apparently.
John leans on the table beside him, and inquires as to where he left his car this morning. Karkat pauses to think, his mind a little hazy, staring at his clothes bunched up in his hands and recalls that he didn't drive this morning. He only lives a few blocks away from work, so it's not worth wasting petrol just to drive down here. He tells John, who hums and offers him a ride home because, “I'd feel like a dick if I sent you to walk home or something and you collapsed on the way.”
Before they can leave John insists that they wait for Karkat's replacement to show up.
Dirk Strider has been called in to replace him this morning. Dirk usually works the afternoon shifts, due to some of his personal obligations. But he's one of the fastest at setting up shop in the morning and he is skilled enough in the kitchen to finish preparing the cakes and pastries John hadn't completed yet. He's one of the only employee's that could work alone and still and get the shop opened up in time for customers and the second worker to come in.
Dirk saunters in through the front door and ruffles Karkat's hair as he passes him in the first booth. “Got yourself into a little trouble, huh, Kiddo?”
Karkat scowls and snaps at his fingers, teeth clicking as they miss by a hairs breath. “Just because I've got a sore head doesn't mean I can't beat your ass. Don't patronise me, you dick.”
Dirk snorts at him and gives him the finger. Karkat returns the gesture, but Dirk has turned his back on him while he puts on his apron. To Karkat's immense frustration he doesn't turn around again, just gives a vague wave over his shoulder and disappears into the back.
John appears through the same door moments later with his car keys in his hand. “Ready to go?” he asks in an annoyingly chirpy manner that almost makes Karkat's head feel worse.
Karkat nods, starting to feel a little shy. He's going to be alone with John, in his car, and it's not exactly bad, but John is a little different to how he'd imagined him to be.
John grins and turns around to yell at the back, “I'll be back soon, Dirk. Hold the fort for me.” There's a muffled affirmative reply from the back.
Then John's helping Karkat up and steering him outside and round the side to the small staff car park. He hovers nearby as Karkat climbs in the car, then jogs round to the drivers seat.
“Okay, so where do you live?”
It's a five minute drive to Karkat's apartment and it's silent the whole way, but somehow it's not an awkward silence. Karkat thinks it's probably because of John. The man seems to bring even silences to life, shifting in his seat, tapping his long fingers against the steering wheel, bobbing his head and making barely audible noises under his breath.
When they get to his apartment building John rushes around to open his door for him. Karkat's heart flutters a bit when John holds out his hand to help him out. He savours the feeling of his hand in John's; this is something he'd imagined, and it feels right.
John even helps him up the flight of stairs, a warm, steady hand on his back, between his shoulders. “Have you got a room-mate?” he asks and Karkat nods. “Is he around at the moment?”
Sollux is at work right now, like Karkat should be, ugh. “No, he won't be back till late tonight.” he sighs (secretly glad, because he'd hate to see Sollux's face when he appeared at the apartment with John. The asshole knew all about his infatuation with the man, and would not hesitate to tease him about it).
John is giving Karkat a worried look again, “Is there any one around you can get to help you? You should probably make a doctors appointment soon.” Karkat groans loudly. He just wants to take a nap. It's still way too early and his head hurts badly, he says as much.
The crease between John's brows is beginning to look like a permanent fixture on his face. “I'm worried that you might have a concussion, you really shouldn't sleep now, not without someone to check on you. Is there anyone I can call to help?”
All of Karkat's friends are at work, well, all the one's that are capable of helping him. He shakes his head slowly, “Not until at least 5pm.”
John sighs deeply, a frustrated noise, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, dude. What I'm going to do for now is give you my number.” Karkat swears his heart stops. “I'll make some calls to see if I can get anyone to help out, but otherwise I'll call to check up on you every hour.” he sighs heavily again, “Hopefully I can get my sister, Jade, to help out. You don't mind do you? I'm just worried about leaving you alone, and you really should get to the doctor today. I'd take you myself, but I've really got to get back to the shop soon.”
Karkat shrugs, not really listening, just giving John a sort of startled, wide eyed look. He feels his cheeks heat up when they exchange numbers. And when he's got John's number he cradles his phone against his chest, his heart beating faster.
John shoves a hand into a pocket, and gives Karkat a little wave as he backs out of the trolls apartment. “I'll try sort something out okay, Karkat? Hold tight and don't die on me or anything.” John chuckles briefly, and Karkat give him a stilted, awkward wave, then he's gone.
He sinks slowly down onto his sofa, mindful of Sollux's and his own electronic crap all over it. His mobile phone is still clutched tightly between his hands, against his heart. Karkat takes a deep breath, eye's drifting shut. He's actually got John's number, he has a chance- fuck.
FUCK.
Eyes shooting back open, there's a sick sensation dripping, like slime, thick and pooling in the bottom of his stomach, as he remembers: John has a fucking girlfriend.