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Karkat is in love with Dave. It’s an embarrassingly undeniable fact of life at this point. The sky is blue, they live on Earth C, if you turn on the TV you will inevitably see Jake English shaking his ass. And Karkat Vantas is in love with Dave Strider.
Being in love with a human is one of the most frustrating things Karkat has ever experienced, but he also wouldn’t give it up for anything. Dave is infuriating, obnoxious, ridiculous. He doesn’t know how to do basic shit and he’s clingy and needy and insists on making shitty art even though Karkat knows he can draw really well.
But Dave is also really kind. He’s funny and thoughtful, he takes Karkat’s mood swings in stride, he shows his most vulnerable parts to Karkat without a second thought. Somehow all of his messy pieces fit together to create someone Karkat loves as easy as breathing.
It’s still fucking frustrating, though. Not least because humans grow. They don’t seem to stop growing. The change is so slow it’s almost imperceptible until one day Dave has to fucking bend over to kiss the top of his head. It’s fucking humiliating.
So when Karkat’s body starts showing signs of preparing for his adult molt he’s fucking ecstatic. He’s the first of his friends to go through this and he can’t wait to lord it over them, and if he’s lucky he might even be as tall as Dave when it’s over.
Dave is, predictably, nervous about being alone for a week. Karkat has to message all their friends to make sure they’ll get him out of the house and take his mind off of Karkat when he’s swaddled up in his cocoon. He builds it in the corner of their bedroom, where he feels the safest, and Dave tells him seriously that he’ll watch over him. It’s over the top and ridiculous because there are no threats on Earth C, but Karkat practically swoons anyway. It’s like he ripped it straight from one of Karkat’s pale novels.
He tells Dave not to be a fucking idiot, gives him a final kiss, and seals up his cocoon.
Karkat isn’t aware of time passing. He exists deep inside himself, away from everything else in the world, as his body changes and grows, and by the time he comes back to awareness it feels like minutes and years have passed at the same time.
He breaks out of the cocoon and stands up. And up. And up. He looks down at himself and is caught off guard by how massive his hands are. He stumbles as he steps out of the cocoon, nearly tripping over his new feet.
He’s starving, but he’s covered in goo, so he heads to the bathroom first. He smacks his forehead on the doorframe and grumbles. He stops grumbling. His voice is so deep.
Looking in the mirror is a fucking shock. His chest is broad, his biceps are like tree trunks. His skin has darkened and the red of his grubscars stand out even more, glowing brighter than before. His eyes have filled in, a vibrant red that mere sweeps ago would have sent him into a spiraling panic.
He looks good. He can’t fucking wait to show his boyfriend.
—
Life is good on Earth C. It’s not perfect, because any timeline in which Dave exists and still has his awesome Boyhood Trauma Stench™ can’t be. But it’s close.
Sure, the economy could be doing better, and the internet needs a few more years to ripen, but he’s happy. The kind of happy he never let himself imagine because it’d suck too hard when the pipedream turned out to be just a pipedream, like hope was a football, and just having it made him Lucy and Charlie Brown at the same time. He’s finally at a place in life where he’s so stupidly happy that it’s obscene.
One of the best things about Earth C is waking up every morning next to Karkat, his gorgeous and thoughtful boyfriend, whom Dave loves more than anything in the whole universe. He could rap about Karkat for days, to anyone who’ll listen, with sparkles in his eyes so intense that they could blind a man at ten paces, shades and all. Karkat does not let him do this because it “gets embarrassing.” However, the spirit is always willing.
They’re spicing it up in the bedroom this week, so Dave now wakes up several feet adjacent to Karkat’s chrysalis every morning. Which is weird, but not bad weird. The experience is mostly like dorming with an enormous boyfriend-flavored Hot Pocket that twitches intermittently and lets him flirt for several minutes longer than his allotted morning amount.
Unfortunately, the cocoon can’t remind him to take his Adderall, so he’s more useless than ever. He probably shouldn’t be taking it anyway, since the house is much quieter than usual. If he gets anxious while Karkat’s molting, the stimulants can only make things worse.
Overall, he’s excited for the molt, if only because of how much Karkat is. Dave’s always thought their height difference was cute as hell. He knows it’s a sensitive spot for Karkat, though, so he tries not to call attention to it. There are funnier things to tease him about, anyway. However, once Karkat’s a bit taller, Dave may loosen the purse strings on the jokes he’s been holding in. He’s been jotting them down in an apple-shaped notebook all week and crowdsourcing new ones from Terezi, and aghhh, he misses Karkat.
Dave grabs a jacket and messages Jade to let her know he’s on his way over. They have plans to bake a gigantic grubcake that says, “congrats on adding a few more jengas to your stack!! :D,” or something to that effect. Once they finish, Karkat will probably be done emerging.
...
Dave returns sometime in the late afternoon, alien pastry in hand. The cake is more of a mushy bread pudding than the traditional crunchy loaf, but it’s multicultural as hell, and therefore medium-sized Karkat has to love it.
It’s a little after the golden hour, so the shadows stretch long and dark across the floor. By now, Dave had expected to hear Karkat’s ass struggling into a sweater that finally fits perfectly. Or maybe Karkat would be shirtless and sweaty and gorging himself on every last crumb in the fridge. The first two parts of that would be really sexy. And the third part wouldn’t be a dealbreaker, depending on the kind of energy Karkat’s bringing.
When he drops off the cake in the kitchen, there’s no Karkat. Peeking in the living room reveals a distinct lack of Karkat as well, but there is some goop on the carpet, so the big event must have transpired. Karkat warned him that the afterbirth could be gross, so Dave abstains from barging through any doors.
“Babe?”
—
Dave isn’t home, to Karkat’s disappointment. But that’s probably a good thing. It spares him his boyfriend’s mirth as he adjusts to his new body. After the bathroom, he goes downstairs. He makes it less than halfway before he missteps and stumbles, landing horns-first into the wall. He groans and pushes himself up, scowling.
Yeah, it’s for the best that Dave isn’t here.
He smacks his head again on the kitchen door frame. Trolls don’t have weak injury-prone brains like humans do, luckily, otherwise he’d have a concussion by now.
Dave left an indecipherable note for him on the fridge that’s equal parts endearing and frustrating. He could just write out a normal goddamn note. Why the fuck does he insist on doing this? Karkat takes it down and shoves it in the pocket of his too-short sweatpants anyway, to be stored in the box with the rest of them.
He decimates the leftovers they have in the fridge. And then because he’s still fucking hungry he makes some more food, then some more, until his gastric-sac stops feeling like it’s trying to eat from the inside out.
Then he goes back upstairs and passes the fuck out on their bed. Molts take a lot out of a troll.
The sound of Dave’s voice calling from downstairs rouses him. It takes him a few moments to remember what’s happening, but he jumps to his feet when he does. And promptly falls over.
Ugh, fucking new body. He looks like a troll should look, like he thought he’d look when he was six sweeps old and dreaming about joining the threshecutioners.
He pushes himself up and excitedly makes for the stairs.
“Dave!” he yells, moving as quickly as he can without fucking tripping like before. “Dave, look!”
—
Dave jumps when he hears a loud thud, followed by his name, booming across the house in Karkat’s new voice. It’s so deep and unfamiliar that he can only guess it’s Karkat’s because of how excitable it sounds. Despite the (quickly closing) distance between them, Dave can also tell from the reverb that Karkat’s got some new lungs to go with his new pipes. He could probably drown out a megaphone if he wanted to. Like, it would take pretty much nothing to turn Karkat’s dial from lo-fi to bass-boosted. That tracks. Dave’s pretty sure Karkat’s ancestor was famous for saying the word “fuck” so loudly that thousands of people got religion.
Speaking of other sonically obvious things, Karkat’s lumbering towards the stairs in his new post-pubescent body. Dave is dying to see what his boyfriend is working with now, so he races to meet him in the hallway, with an embarrassingly forward compliment already half-formed on his lips because, no matter what, Karkat’s always —
Dave freezes.
There is an absolute goddamn triangle of a man at the top of the stairs. The man’s mostly in silhouette, which leaves him completely unreadable, and something about this scene, this specific scene makes Dave feel like he’s in some unreality where he’s thirteen and twenty-three at the same time. He could try to ground himself with something, a thought or observation, even a fucking sensation, the taste of his tongue in his mouth, but the twenty-three-year-old part of him cuts and runs, too quick for grabbing.
Fuck. There’s really nothing like being trapped in a hallway with a tall, hard dude and not knowing why he’s about to whup your ass into next week. Lately, Bro will give him shit for basically anything, or it would seem that way if Dave wasn’t aware that Bro has very specific protocols for when and how he’ll fuck with him. Because everything Bro does has a Purpose, which means that when Dave gets his ass kicked, it’s for his Own Good.
Did he miss a note? Maybe it was in the fridge. It’s always worse when he misses the note because then he doesn’t even know that he’s taking too long to respond. Or maybe he broke something. Or maybe he got caught stealing. Dave’s not really getting any feedback here. Sometimes Bro just likes to let him squirm. Dave must have really fucked up for Bro to not even bother taking it to the roof.
The “why” doesn’t matter, really. That’s just something Dave’s supposed to figure out after, as part of his super tranquil debrief sessions in his room, which are increasingly just braindumps into the John tab of his Pesterchum app, oh. Maybe Bro’s pissed at him about John stuff.
Running’s always a gamble, but it might be too late for that because he’s just been standing here, theorizing like an idiot. He tries it anyway. Bro catches him by the arm, asks where the fuck he thinks he’s going, and Dave yells, “Fuck, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry,” without knowing what he’s apologizing for.
—
Dave eagerly enters the hallway and Karkat lights up even more, so fucking excited to show off. Dave will like it, right? He’ll think Karkat’s attractive no matter what, he told him so, but Karkat really hopes he likes this new body.
But Dave sees him and freezes, body going tense and tight, face going blank in the way Karkat hasn’t seen in sweeps. A cold, harsh weight takes up residence in his chest at that expression. Something is wrong.
“Dave?” he asks cautiously. Dave doesn’t answer, doesn’t move a muscle, doesn’t even breathe. Karkat’s worry grows.
He starts down the stairs slowly. Dave doesn’t make any indication that he’s even aware of Karkat moving until he’s right in front of him; he has to look down, now. And then Dave snaps into action, body turning like he’s about to fucking book it across the house, and Karkat automatically reaches out to grab his arm and Dave
Apologizes?
“Dave, Dave,” Karkat says, interrupting the stream of apologies. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
Dave is acting scared and Karkat doesn’t understand it, not until he looks down at his massive hand gripping Dave’s skinny arm and it hits him all at once. Dave is scared of him. He lets go like he’s been burned, flinching back.
“Dave?” he asks. He suddenly wishes he’d never gone through his adult molt, that he was still small and skinny and entirely unthreatening. “It’s me, it’s Karkat. It’s okay.”
—
After several seconds of struggling, Bro lets go of his arm, maybe just to fuck with him, to make it seem like Bro’s changed his mind so hey, Dave’s free to go! Dave’s not stupid, though. He’s not eleven anymore, so he knows trying again can only end with Bro’s foot connecting hard with his back and a cool zinger about not making himself vulnerable to the enemy. Then he can expect another miserable dinner of aspirin-water instead of real fucking food.
Or maybe Bro will just pick him up by the back of his shirt, let Dave hilariously dangle and guess at what it is that he actually did wrong. Which is always awful because then Dave ends up confessing to everything, not just the one or two things that were probably on Bro’s radar, which just drives home that Dave doesn’t have secrets or isn’t allowed to keep them for very long. Or maybe Bro always knows everything anyway and just likes to hear the laundry list.
Both of those possibilities suck. Dave just stands there and hopes the unknown is better.
Then there’s a fuzzy noise, like speech from a stranger with a very deep voice, that seems out of place because it’s just him and Bro in the apartment. The sound’s not quite like a neighbor watching television. It’s more like something superimposed on the world, which doesn’t make sense. Another thing that doesn’t make sense is that he’s somehow both shaking in front of Bro and watching himself from outside of his body. He’s ready to cover his face at any second because there’s no way Bro’s not gonna hit him, but time keeps passing, and the blows still aren’t coming, so what the fuck.
The voice keeps trying to connect with him, though. Introducing himself, or reminding Dave that they know each other? It seems more like someone reminding him. Someone named Karkat. It's his boyfriend, Karkat? He feels like he's standing in two worlds that are shifting a bit out of phase.
"Karkat?”
—
When Dave says his name, his voice has a hazy quality to it, like he’s far away. He’s used this voice before, usually when he wakes up from nightmares and Karkat lures him into the kitchen where he makes Dave food and talks about inane bullshit until Dave comes back to himself. Karkat doesn’t know if that’s the best response now, though. Since just the sight of him seems to have caused this.
He takes another step back, hunching his shoulders, trying to make himself look non-threatening. A near-impossible task for any troll, with their sharp teeth and claws and thick skin, but more so for a hulking adult. He’s an adult now, he lived to see adulthood, which is much longer than he ever thought he would, delusional dreams aside.
“Yeah, Dave, it’s me,” he says, in the closest thing to a whisper he can manage. He’s loud by nature and it sounds weird, alien. “Are you with me? What’s going on?”
—
The voice isn’t familiar, but the words are. Dave knows they’re coming from a safe person who has definitely used this script to help him in the past. No one ever came to help when he was a kid, so this can’t be real. Unfortunately, it feels pretty damn real.
“Um, fuck. Hey, Karkat,” Dave replies vaguely, still waiting to get walloped. “I don’t know. I’m half here. I don’t think I’m safe in the other place I’m half-in. I’m sorry.” He waits for an eternity, heart pounding, but it never comes. When he lowers his arms, Bro snorts at him and tells him to go to his room. That usually means he’s fine but doesn’t rule out the possibility of getting belted, especially given how janky the lock is on his door.
“Can you help me? I don’t want to be here.”
—
Okay, okay, Karkat can do this. It’s just helping his boyfriend. He knows how to do this.
“It’s okay, Dave,” he says, still trying to speak quietly. He doesn’t move, worried he’ll scare Dave. “You’re safe here. You aren’t in danger. Do you want to go to the kitchen? I ate all the leftovers, but I can make some uh…” he tries to remember what they have, still slightly panicked. “Breakfast? I think we have breakfast food."
Dave is talking, which is a good sign. It’s always worse when he’s silent, like he’s afraid any sound will bring wrath down on him.
Karkat hesitantly takes a step to the side, sliding past Dave carefully, and starting to head to the kitchen.
—
“Food sounds dope. Let’s do that, please.”
Dave’s so painfully hungry, he could cry. He hasn’t eaten anything real in over a day. If he has to choose between hiding in his bedroom or following Karkat into a kitchen that has food, it’s gotta be food. Besides, he trusts Karkat infinitely more than he fears his older brother. He follows the dark shape moving slowly down the hallway.
The layout of the apartment is different now. Dave wouldn’t be able to find his bedroom even if he wanted to. By now, he knows he’s having a flashback, which helps de-escalate it from a fully immersive one to an emotional one. He still feels Bro watching, but he knows it’s not real. The carpet and walls are different colors. He smells lemon kitchen disinfectant instead of stale pizza and beer.
—
“Sit down,” Karkat says, pulling a chair out from the table and immediately stepping away from it. Dave needs his space when he’s like this. Talking is helpful, quick movements are not, and getting in his personal space is probably the worst thing he could do.
“Did you make this?” Karkat asks, staring at the bowl of… something, sitting on the kitchen table. Did Dave make him food, for when his molt was over? That’s incredibly sweet. Dave can’t cook for shit, so he probably had help, but it still makes Karkat’s bloodpusher squeeze with affection.
“What are you hungry for?” he asks. If Dave doesn’t know or can’t decide, Karkat will make up a shit load of eggs. Dave can eat so many eggs it’s fucking ridiculous.
—
Dave walks to the chair at a zombie pace and slowly lowers himself into it, mumbling his thanks. The lighting here makes it evident that the towering figure fussing over him from afar is Karkat, not Bro. He looks... terrifying, but that seems to be trolls by design. Dave tries to focus on Karkat's scrunched-together eyebrows and nubby little horns.
Another thing that distinguishes Karkat from Bro is how easily Dave can read everything on Karkat's face. Karkat's staring at the grubcake like he's not quite sure what he's seeing, but he loves it. His confused yet touched expression warms Dave's heart.
"Haha, yeah. I think I made that with Jade," Dave says. "Also, whatever's easiest is good."
Now that Dave's more present, he feels awful. He doesn't have the energy to do anything more than just sit here, but he does feel an overwhelming need to apologize for being so fucked up. He feels like he's standing alone on a beach, staring at a big kahuna wave of guilt and shame bearing down on him. Yikes, he needs to focus. If he spirals out, he might start hallucinating again. He names five things he can see, four things he can feel, three things he can hear...
The sound of Karkat breaking eggs into the pan makes him feel so loved. When the scent hits Dave's sensory system, he realizes that his face is wet, and he wants to crawl into a hole.
—
Karkat focuses on making the best goddamn eggs he can, the human way. He uses butter and herbs, makes them fluffy as shit. He’s gotten better at this as time went by. He used to burn the fuck out of them but Dave ate them anyway, and his eagerness never changed, no matter how shitty they turned out.
But Karkat is practically a master at this, now. So he makes a heaping pile of eggs and puts it on a plate for his boyfriend, letting words fall out of his mouth because he knows Dave hates silence.
“I have no fucking coordination anymore. I’m sure it’ll go away soon and I’ll adjust but holy shit. I fell down the fucking stairs like an incompetent grub just learning to walk on two legs. I think my horns might have fucked up the wall a bit, sorry about that. And I keep fucking smacking my head against the doorframes. Why are they so low? This is a multicultural household; we need to make those fucking doorframes higher.”
It goes on like this until he turns around and sees tears running down Dave’s face. His pusher breaks, the way it always does when Dave is like this. But instead of running over and lightly papping Dave’s face until he starts laughing and making jokes about ‘bromance’, Karkat carefully places the plate on the table, keeping his distance.
Karkat knows what Dave’s been through. He hasn’t been told the small details, but he knows that Dave’s Bro would attack him under the guise of ‘training’, and kick his ass so hard he could barely move. And how fucking terrifying must it have been, being so small and fighting against someone so huge? No wonder Dave freaked out at the sight of Karkat. He feels like the biggest asshole in the world, startling his boyfriend into a panic attack.
He sits down across the table from Dave, using big, slow movements. He sinks down, slouching.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
—
The wave still crashes down on Dave because he’s just a dude, not Poseidon. He knows he’s crying, but it feels more like someone else is crying and just happens to be using his body. And that’s fine. The disconnect makes all of this not his problem. Now it’s Dave’s body’s problem. It’s easier to squint at his body and say, “damn bitch, you live like this?” than to look at himself and realize, yup, he’s way fucked up, and everyone knows it now! But oh shit, it’s too late to send him back to the manufacturer. Plus, they all went through this universe creating shit together, so it would be awkward to trash him now.
Dave scrubs the tears off his face and works on his breathing. Okay, fine, there’s always some post-crisis emotional fallout. No big deal, understandable. His episodes are just so epic that they demand an afterparty. It’s happening. It’s a thing.
However, Karkat’s egg-time monologue is also a thing. Staying grounded is more manageable when he focuses on Karkat’s account of his morning. The rant is full of Karkat’s personality, perfectly concocted to make Dave laugh. Not a big “ahahaha,” but that loud exhale people do when they see an amusing meme.
The eggs smell fucking gourmet. Karkat set them down in the middle of the table, obviously giving Dave a wide physical berth, and it’s the kindest thing in the world. It’s not enough to make him feel completely safe. Dave feels horrible because he’s not quite ready to fully take in how much bigger Karkat is than him now, and his brain whispers that the food is a trap, that Karkat’s gonna yank it away and ask what exactly makes Dave think he’s earned the good shit? His face burns with embarrassment.
Karkat’s sitting across from him, and Dave hasn’t looked at him once. Or answered his question. Okay, more breathing, another face scrubbing. Then Dave slides the plate towards himself and has a few bites. He almost moans at how delicious they are. He barely wants to swallow because he wants to experience this taste forever, just in case he never gets to eat anything this nice again. Thank fuck Karkat knows his brain works like that — hence the heaping pile in front of him.
“Fuck, this is really good. Thanks,” Dave says, between bites that get easier to take by the second. He feels brave enough to glance at Karkat now. His boyfriend is pouring every part of his soul into making himself appear nonthreatening. Dave feels a massive stab of guilt for reacting to Karkat’s new body this way. “And, uh. I don’t know. It seems like something we should talk about." Another deep breath. "So...”
—
Dave slowly, slowly pulls the plate towards himself, like if he takes enough time no one will notice. But at least he’s reaching out, and willing to eat. There have been times when Dave won’t eat at all, because he thinks it’s a trap or his nerves are so alight that if he tries to eat he’ll throw it all back up. This is a good sign.
Karkat doesn’t speak as Dave takes a couple of bites, waiting for him to gather himself enough to answer Karkat’s question. If he doesn’t want to talk about it Karkat will just… keep ranting, he guesses? Try to be as small as possible, or maybe leave Dave alone entirely and recruit one of their other friends to keep Dave company while he sorts his shit out and Karkat self-flagellates over being the worst boyfriend to have ever lived.
But Dave says yes, so the self-flagellating will have to wait until after. But Dave doesn’t continue.
“So,” Karkat repeats, keeping his eyes downcast in case their bright color upsets Dave further. “I scared you.”
He scared his boyfriend into a traumatic flashback. Dave thought he was in danger, that Karkat was going to hurt him.
“I… guess I look pretty fucking scary now, huh?” he says bitterly. This is what he wanted, he wanted to be big and strong and terrifying. Wanted to be able to walk into a room and have people take notice because he commands respect. He just never thought it would happen, or that Dave would react like this.
“Fuck, Dave, I’m so fucking sorry.”
—
I wasn’t scared, Dave almost says. But there’s no point in lying, so he settles on: “Yeah. I guess that happened, but please don’t say sorry. It’s not your fault that my brain’s broken as hell.” He puts his fork down so the two of them can break the world record for most awkward moment ever.
“I should be saying sorry,” he continues. “Today should’ve been about you, you’ve finally got a body big enough to hold all of that charming personality, and I’m ruining that for you.”
Karkat’s avoiding eye contact, which Dave knows is for him. As is Karkat sinking into his chair, Karkat feeding him, Karkat talking him through his flashback, and Karkat feeling incredibly bad about things he can’t help. The more Dave watches the massive troll in front of him, the more he recognizes his selfless and endlessly patient boyfriend in there. How the fuck could he ever mistake Karkat for Bro?
Dave pushes the plate aside and reaches his (only slightly shaky) hand across the table, offering it so that Karkat can hold it if he wants.
“I’m looking at you right now, and all I see is the greatest partner in the universe, alright? I—,” Dave can’t say the word flashback, he can think it but he feels like a freak when he says it out loud, “I had an issue and you helped me resolve it with flying colors, just A+ boyfriending all around.”
His head hurts. Thinking about all the nice things Karkat just did for him makes him feel like the world’s biggest burden, a black fucking hole.
—
“You don’t have to apologize for shit,” Karkat scowls, crossing his arms. “And you aren’t ruining anything, dimwit. I should have fucking thought for a single second in my life, rubbed two fucking brain cells together and realized that oh, yeah, maybe barrelling directly at someone when I’m suddenly fucking monstrous might be cause for alarm.”
Despite this, his pusher feels lighter, hearing Dave say that he did well, helping him through this. Dave is the best thing in Karkat’s life, and Karkat would do anything to help ease the burden of his past.
He slowly, cautiously reaches across the table to grab Dave’s hand. It’s so small compared to his own, like Karkat is wearing one of those stupid mitts they use in that human sport Karkat sees on tv sometimes. His hand dwarfs Dave’s entirely, and he is very, very gentle when he carefully clasps them together.
“You’re shaking,” Karkat notes, trying to keep any judgment out of his voice. “Am I still scaring you?”
—
Fuck, now Dave really wants to lie. He knows what he could say. Have you considered that maybe the entire world is shaking and I’m the only thing that’s not? Or even a simple ‘nah.’ What even is scared, anyway? But his hand’s way ahead of him, shaking more as he starts this bad faith Socratic dialogue with himself.
Once again, no point in lying. It’s all gonna come out sooner or later. He is scared of Karkat. That's how it's gonna be for now, at least until he finishes coming down from the episode.
But he doesn’t want Karkat to feel bad, so he stays quiet and just squeezes what he’s holding of Karkat’s hand through the tremors. Dave could spend the next four hours telling himself that he’s safe, wanted, and loved. His body won’t believe him. Little spurts of adrenaline are still coming and going; smaller waves following the big one. He’s forgetting to breathe, he should start that up again. In, two-three-four, hold, two-three-four-five-six-seven, out, two-three-four-five-six-seven.
He squeezes Karkat’s hand again.
—
Dave doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself. The little bubble of hope he’d felt at Dave’s encouragement pops and his pusher plummets to his feet. Dave is still scared of him. He lets Dave squeeze his hand but doesn’t try to squeeze back, afraid he might hurt him. He doesn’t know how strong he is now.
Dave is controlling his breathing, holding it in for a few beats and then releasing it, which means he’s getting close to another panic attack. Because Karkat is touching him? He wants to withdraw his hand but Dave can be hypersensitive, like this. He might take it as rejection.
“What can I do?” Karkat asks, staring at their joined hands. “What do you need to feel safe? Should I leave?”
He doesn’t want to leave. He wants to hold his boyfriend close, have him curl his body around Karkat’s, and bask in the feeling of love and safety it brings. But Dave’s trembling just touching his hand; cuddles are a long fucking ways off.
—
Dave shakes his head quickly and replies, “Gimme a sec.”
He does his breathing exercises until his heart rate slows back down again. He focuses on the fact that Karkat is touching him without hurting him, which is good. Another thing to help distinguish Karkat from the other guy. Karkat is his favorite source of good touches.
“Sorry, my idiot bod’s still all wound up. You’re totally fine,” Dave replies, using his softest possible voice to show Karkat how much he means that things are okay between the two of them. “My muscles are just like, at the ready for some springloaded G.I. Joe freakout action, but I’ll be back to normal soon. I’ll go take a shower to relax, and then maybe we can regroup. Cuddle under that weighted blanket Kanaya gave us last Perigree’s Eve. We picked out all of those movies for tonight, remember?”
—
Karkat is reluctant. Will Dave really be okay, cuddling up with him now that he’s like this? He wonders if this is what it will be like with all humans; if adult trolls set off some kind of natural instinct that screams predator at their brains, winding them up. They haven’t had any adult trolls around to find out before, besides the Condesce, and she was terrifying all by herself.
“Okay,” Karkat agrees slowly. “You go shower. I’ll… get the movies set up, I guess.”
He waits for Dave to stand and leave the room, not moving a muscle until he hears the shower start in the other room. His muscles relax, tension he didn’t know he had uncoiling from him now that he didn’t have to be wary of scaring Dave further.
He goes back to their bedroom, grabbing the weighted snuggleplane from the closet. Kanaya made it for them and they use it on bad days. It fucking sucks that this is a bad day.
He gets up the movies on their human TV and crawls under the snuggleplane. Hopefully laying down will be better, won’t fucking terrify Dave. Maybe he could spoon behind his boyfriend, so Dave didn’t have to see him? It makes his eyes sting, because he likes when Dave looks at him, likes when he walks into a room and Dave smiles.
And now his stupid molt has fucked all of that up. He can’t do fucking anything right, even grow up.
—
The hot water and steam are instant muscle relaxers for Dave, who sighs almost immediately as he gets under the spray. He cranks up the heat until he gets to the temperature that’ll make his body flood with oxytocin like the BP oil spill. After a few minutes of standing and clearing his head, he lathers himself up and watches the water flow down his body in rivulets.
Fuck, he’s a real Frankenstein’s monster of scars. Most of them are faded, but many of them wouldn’t be there at all if they had been tended to properly, instead of being cleaned up in a poorly lit apartment half bath. It sucks that his body is Bro’s fucking CV in bad parenting, but at least Dave doesn’t feel horribly ashamed of the marks anymore.
He prods at one scar that’s gotten weird over the years because of his weight gain. He’s truly obsessed with Karkat’s freakin’ scrambled eggs. It feels funny to have a favorite scar, but that’s the one. The thought helps, somehow.
Dave waits for the last of the tension wash away and then cuts the water. He towels himself off business-like and rifles through his and Karkat’s shared closet for boxers and Karkat’s Twilight sweatshirt. A glance in the mirror confirms that, yes, Dave is real (just in case he forgot, sometimes he does), and he looks normal. He feels normal. And he looks cute in his boyfriend’s clothes.
“You’re not getting out of eating this,” Dave says a few minutes later, standing in front of a blanket-clad Karkat and holding out the bowl of grubcake. “I ate your love omelet; you have to eat mine. Now scooch.”
—
Karkat peers warily at Dave and the bowl of… something. Whatever. If it gives him food poisoning, so be it.
He slowly reaches out to take the bowl, then scoots over and lifts the blanket up so Dave can crawl under. He usually would grumpily get into Dave’s space until he’d laugh and throw an arm around Karkat’s shoulders or kiss him on the cheek or some other saccharine bullshit that makes Karkat’s pusher melt, but now he doesn’t move at all except to take a hesitant bite of the mush Dave passed him.
Huh. Not too bad. He takes another bite, and another, then holds it out to Dave.
“Want some?” he asks. “It’s surprisingly good considering whoever helped you let you anywhere near it.”
—
“Why the fuck would I eat that when I just ate a mountain of artisanal Vantas frittatas? I may be blonde, but I ain’t dumb,” Dave quips, trying to sound upbeat and positive. It’s Karkat’s night, after all; this was supposed to be fun. Maybe they can pretend the freakout never happened. Dave’s already working on repressing it, anyway.
But damn. There is just so much more Karkat than there used to be. Dave hesitates in the second that Karkat raises the blanket and reveals a flash of a barrel chest and some massive biceps. Something about the glimpse is too hypermasculine and strange to reconcile with his concept of Karkat.
Dave really wants to cuddle with his boyfriend, though, so he squashes the twisty and complicated feeling way down in his gut and crawls under the blanket beside Karkat. He concentrates so hard on getting under there that he forgets that they’re supposed to be touching under the blanket, and uh, hmm.
How are their bodies supposed to fit together now? Dave has a tiny freakout when he realizes he doesn’t know the answer to this question. At this point, the imaginary Smallkat in his brain thwaps him with a newspaper and shouts, COMMUNICATE!!!, very loudly.
“How…” Dave starts, but quickly trails off. Such a fucking awkward question. What words can a guy even use to phrase such an awkward question? “How does cuddling work. How do you wanna make this go down. I don’t know how turnways I should flip this.”
—
Karkat shrugs, going back to eating his food and pretending not to be hyper-aware of every hesitant move Dave makes. Dave keeps his distance, doesn’t even let their shoulders touch, and Karkat knew this was a terrible fucking idea.
“I don’t fucking know, Dave,” he says. “This is just as fucking new and weird for me as it is for you.”
Karkat could curl around him easily now. Dave was typically what he calls the ‘big spoon,’ claiming the title because he was taller. Karkat’s taller now, though, so maybe he should take up that particular mantle? He doesn’t know if Dave exposing his back to him is the smartest idea.
“Just. Sit up a bit,” he says, setting the bowl aside after taking another few quick bites. Dave gets propped up against the pillows and Karkat slowly, cautiously moves closer to rest his head on Dave’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”
—
“Yeah. This is okay,” Dave says, quietly. He rests his own head against Karkat’s and focuses on the warm weight on his shoulder, the scent of his boyfriend’s shampoo, and the sound of the two of them breathing. A long pause stretches between the two of them while Dave gets used to the physical contact and gradually unstiffens. Once he does, he shifts slightly and presses a kiss to the crown of Karkat’s head.
“I know you said I didn’t ruin anything,” Dave starts up again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that this evening was supposed to go differently. Maybe we should rap more about it. What do you think?”
—
Karkat scowls. He’d rather not fucking think about how he terrified his boyfriend. He’d rather curl up against his warmth and watch movies under this blanket that doesn’t feel nearly as heavy as it used to. Unfortunately, communication in a relationship is important. He’s drilled this into Dave’s head so damn often he’d be an asshole to say no, especially since it was Dave reaching out.
“Yeah, we can talk,” he says. “You didn’t ruin shit, Dave. Trolls don’t celebrate their molts or wriggling days. It’s just something that happens.”
He heaves a huge sigh.
“I don’t want to fucking scare you,” he says bitterly. “What is it that set it off? Anything specific or just… me? What can I do to make your idiot human prey thinkpan realize I’m not going to hurt you?”
—
Dave's an emotional idiot, but unfortunately, Karkat has trained him to be an emotional idiot out loud. He takes a deep breath and tries to grope comfortingly at Karkat's massive bicep before proceeding.
"Okay, I can tell you're upset. If it's on my behalf, I really don't want you to be. So I'm gonna do the shoosh thing. But instead of that time-tested, golden combination of mouth sounds, I'm gonna vomit words on you because I love you. I'll try not to make you suffer too much in the process.
"That was Alternian culture, not the DaveKat culture of Good Times and Copious Boning, which, unlike the former, is all about me celebrating how you are the best thing that ever happened to me twenty-four-fuckin-seven. I know you were really fucking excited about this, and both of us were very into the idea of making a whole celebratory thing of this, so it is a little ruined. And we can both look at that and say this sucks.
"As for what set me off, I think I was just caught off guard. I haven't seen a dude as jacked as you in a really long time, and my brain's got some associations with jacked dudes that haven't been relevant in a decade. And that's fine, I just have more rewiring to do, get some more useful associations in there, and then we can smoothly resume guzzling down the sweet nectars of our epic homo love, okay?"
Dave takes another deep ol' breath before launching back into his monologue. God, he's so bad at breathing, in numerous contexts. If it wasn't a semi-automatic process, he would be dead by now.
"I also know your pan is probably hauling my triggers double-speed as raw material back to the Karkat self-hatred factory. I want you to know that I really fucking meant what I said earlier about you being the best boyfriend in the universe. You always handle my dumb brodad trauma shit just textbook, to-the-letter, dotted i's and crossed t's perfectly, and I don't think anyone else has ever or will ever love me that good."
—
“Your lusus trauma isn’t dumb,” Karkat says stuffily, blinking back tears. When he thinks he can speak without sobbing embarrassingly all over his boyfriend, he takes a breath and continues, “It does suck, a little. I guess. But this is nice.”
He turns his head to bury his face in Dave’s shoulder.
“We’ll figure it out,” he says. “Find out what shit makes you uncomfortable. We did it before.”
If he was still small he’d lean up and kiss Dave on the cheek, or roll on top of him and demand that Dave scritch around the base of his horns. But he has to be careful, now. It sucks, but Karkat would do literally anything for Dave, he thinks. Refraining from kissing him isn’t the greatest hardship he’s ever had to endure.
“I love you,” he says seriously, peering up at Dave’s eyes, which he can see from this angle. “If something I do scares you, you need to tell me. I don’t care if you fucking think it’s stupid, or if it’s something as little as how I… I don’t fucking know, hold my fork? Bitch at the tv? Tell me, so I can knock that shit off.
“And if you think of anything I can actively do, tell me those too. I want you to be happy, Dave, and feel safe with me.”
—
“Yeah, man. We’ll sort this out and become even more powerful boyfriends. Brangelina and Troll Brangelina, who? No one is fucking who,” Dave jokes, meeting Karkat’s gaze and smiling. “Also, you never make me feel stupid about the important shit, so if you start freaking me out, there’s an 80% chance you’ll hear about it right then and there. And if you don’t, I promise I’ll follow up in a few business days.”
Karkat’s tears are soaking into his sweatshirt, which makes Dave’s feeling of safety tick up another notch because Bro would never cry. Bro also never touched him unless it was to fuck with him and rarely let Dave touch him. Karkat is moving so slowly, gently, and sweetly that there’s zero chance that Dave could mistake him for Bro right now.
“Hey, can I try something? If it’s weird, just shove me off in the least triggering way possible.”
—
Karkat laughs into Dave’s shirt and pulls back, wiping at his eyes. Dave always makes him feel better.
“Yeah, you can try something,” he says. There’s no way he’ll shove Dave anywhere, not like this, not when he doesn’t know his own strength. He could seriously hurt Dave and he’d die before letting that happen.
He’ll have to talk to Kanaya and set something up, somewhere safe so he can practice handling delicate shit like glassware until he knows how gentle he has to be to not break something. Humans aren’t as fragile as glass. Dave perhaps least of all, but they might as well be.
—
"Rad."
Dave pushes the weighted blanket off his and Karkat's shoulders. Then he slides the stack of pillows behind Karkat's back and guides him into a casual recline with his legs spread apart. He takes his time with the motions, pressing a palm flat against the planes of Karkat's chest at one moment and wrapping his hand to the curve of Karkat's huge thigh muscles at the next. He's avoiding eye contact as hard as possible, but his excruciatingly pink face probably makes it clear that it's from embarrassment.
Once satisfied, Dave rests a hand on Karkat's shoulder and pushes himself to kiss Karkat's cheek. Then he maneuvers himself into Karkat's lap, leaning his back against Karkat's broad chest and dragging Karkat's arms into a loose hug around his waist.
After re-experiencing childhood shit, Dave always feels vulnerable and exhausted, and this is suddenly the one thing he wants most. Being surrounded by Karkat's body makes him feel like a kid, but like a safe kid. Getting some shit he never got.
"Right, sorry about how weird this is," Dave announces in an awkwardly loud voice, like it'll cancel out how embarrassed he is. "You are basically the safest fuckin' port in the storm right now, I promise, so we're just gonna be normal for the rest of the night, okay? And sorry in advance if I conk out during the marathon, I assure you that any drool is not reflective of my film opinions."
—
Karkat lets Dave manipulate him, letting his limbs go easily where Dave directs them. A tug here and Karkat’s arm follows; a little push and his legs spread with no hesitation.
Dave presses his back to Karkat’s chest, brings his arms around Dave’s waist, and Karkat fucking melts. He’s struck by how fucking small Dave is now, when before he was frustratingly tall. He feels… vulnerable, in Karkat’s lap, trusting him to hold him and protect him despite what his instincts may be telling him.
It’s not their usual position, but Karkat thinks he rather likes it. He gently, carefully tightens his arms around Dave’s waist, giving him something of a light hug. Dave could easily break out of his hold if he needed to.
Karkat adjusts slightly, scooting down to get more comfortable, and presses a kiss to the top of Dave’s head.
“If you drool on me, I’ll rub your face in it,” Karkat says, then softens his voice. “It’s fine if you sleep, Dave. I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to think you could.”
—
"Aw. Only a truly perfect boyfriend does his girlfriend's skincare routine for her after she passes out," Dave replies, wiggling slightly against Karkat to convey his satisfaction.
He pulls the blanket back over their legs while Karkat starts the movie. It's one of the romcoms they've seen together a million times; this particular title made the list for tonight because of a date they had as teenagers. Dave and Karkat had sat down with a compilation of famous movie kissing scenes and spent the entire evening imitating them to expand their repertoire. This movie definitely had the best one, as evidenced by the three-hour-long make-out session it kicked off.
Now that nothing's expected of Dave, fatigue hits him like an eighteen-wheeler. He zones out through almost every plot beat and misses pretty much all of the dialogue. Instead, he preoccupies himself with the rise and fall of Karkat's chest, trying to predict when their rhythms will slip in and out of sync. Even with his time powers, it's still taxing as fuck. He only manages to stay conscious through the first half of the film.