Chapter Text
Standing in the kitchen, you tap your foot in an absentminded sort of way as you wait, watching the digital microwave clock.
12:00. 12:08. 12:22.
Your roommate hasn’t come out of his block all day, and he hasn’t pestered you, either. That wouldn’t really be so concerning, usually, except...
Well, except that you did make plans to have lunch together today.
He doesn’t answer when you try to pester him about it. All you get is an automated idle response.
You bite your lip and wonder whether you ought to just go check on him. Would that be weird? You’ve only had to knock on his door a handful of times over the year or so you’ve lived together. But...
But, well, this is unusual. He’s a pretty reliable guy, normally.
You walk down the hall toward his room, still unsure about knocking. You don’t know each other that well yet, but that isn’t really the reason it feels so wrong to disturb him, is it?
It feels wrong because—because...
Well...
Because you like him, like him in a way you don’t quite know what to do with. You’ve never liked a guy this much before in your life. You’re reasonably certain he likes you, too, at the very least in a friendly kind of way, even though he acts like a big grumpy asshole and would probably say don’t flatter yourself, Strider if you ever managed to ask.
Anyway, you aren’t exactly eager to get slotted into one of his quadrants alongside a bunch of trolls you’ve never met. He’s never, like, brought any quadrantmates over to hang out or anything, but—you mean, just look at the guy. He’s gotta be in high demand, right? He’s probably got all his squares filled already, come to think of it.
So...you like him, yeah, but you aren’t ready to do anything about it. Not yet, and maybe not ever. You’re cool with just hanging out now and then, taking your time, getting to know him—like you were planning to do today, over lunch.
Approaching his bedroom feels...strangely invasive, a step too far.
You do it anyway, in case he needs help or something. Maybe he isn’t even here, you think as you raise your fist to knock. Maybe he spent the night somewhere else, speaking of quadrantmates.
Silly, that that thought would send a flare of jealousy like a little heated spike through your chest. Irrational. Unwarranted.
You knock, not too hard. There’s no answer, not right away, but just as you’re about to turn away you do hear something—a shuffling sort of sound, then a thump, and then a groan—like he’s in pain? Fuck—
Before you can think too hard about it you’re opening his door. The moment you do, you freeze—oh god, this was a terrible idea—
It takes a few seconds, but when you actually manage to process the sight of him, lying in his bed under a heap of blankets, you finally relax a little. He’s definitely not whacking off, or...whatever it is trolls do. He doesn’t even seem to be awake, one arm trailing off the side of the bed, his phone dropped on the floor. That explains the thump, anyway.
You shift uncomfortably from foot to foot, unsure how to proceed. You decide to try to wake him up from your spot in the doorway, so as not to invade his space any more than you already have.
“Hey, Karkat,” you try. No response.
You look around the room for something small enough to throw at him, but he keeps things neat and tidy in here, mostly. There’s nothing in arm’s reach, not unless you walked over to his desk, but at that point, you might as well just...
“Vantas!” you say, as loudly as you dare, which isn’t very loud. You’re a little afraid of the mean old lady who lives upstairs, if you’re being honest.
He stirs a little, and groans again, but doesn’t answer.
“Do you need anything, dude?” you ask. “Uhh, water? Or a—a bucket?”
Shit.
“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean. Um. Like I know buckets are a whole-ass thing for y’all. I swear, I just meant, you know. In case you gotta blow chunks. I mean you seem like you don’t feel too good, but I guess I’m kinda making some assumptions here about you being sick? Are you not actually sick? Now would be a great time to pipe up and tell me, dog.”
You clamp your mouth shut and wait for an answer, but you’re met only with the soft sound of your roommate snoring.
Thank christ.
You decide to just leave him alone and let him rest. It doesn’t really matter whether he’s sick or hungover or just really fucking tired—lunch is obviously not going to happen.
You close his door behind you with a soft click.
By the time Karkat finally shows his face in the apartment, it’s getting dark outside. You’re in the kitchen again, scrounging around for something to eat, when he appears from the darkened hallway, a fuzzy blanket draped over his shoulders. The edge drags along on the floor behind him. He’s barefoot, still in his pajamas.
“Wow, you look like ass,” you say, before you can stop yourself. He really does, though, is the thing—he’s got bigger, darker bags under his eyes than usual; his gray skin has this weird, waxy sort of look to it. “Um. Sorry. I just meant—”
“Shut the fuck up, Dave,” he rasps, extremely hoarsely, and...okay. Yeah, that confirms it.
“Oh, man. You’re sick after all, huh? Was wondering about that, you know...earlier. When you...um. Didn’t show up for lunch.”
He smacks himself on the forehead with his palm. “Fuck. I’m sorry—”
The sound of his voice nearly makes you wince. It doesn’t sound like Karkat’s voice at all. It sounds...painful, like he’s gargling gravel or some shit. You cut him off, shaking your head.
“S’cool, obviously. You can’t help being sick, man.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t—he just leans against the doorframe like he’s too tired to do much of anything.
“Want me to make you some soup?” you ask. He shakes his head wearily.
“Want me to order you some?” you ask, pulling your phone from your pocket. The ghost of a smile appears on his face, and then he nods, just once.
You don’t blame him. You’ve never been much of a cook.
“Thanks,” he whispers. You wave him off, and he shuffles away toward the living room while you place the order.
You let him pick out the movie for tonight. He chooses some sappy troll chick flick, of course, but you’re used to that by now. You stopped making fun of his taste in cinema a while ago, and anyway, you think his enthusiasm for romance stories is...kind of cute.
Your pho arrives fast. It smells good—your mouth is watering, damn. You tip the delivery girl and carry the bags back into the living room without missing too much of the movie.
“How much do I owe you,” Karkat asks in a cracked whisper, pulling his phone out to send you some money. You shake your head.
“It’s on me, okay? A little feel-better-soon present.”
He really looks like he wants to argue, but again, he doesn’t—it probably hurts his throat too much to talk. He just sighs and pops the top off his to-go container of soup.
“Thanks,” he says, looking sideways at you, as soon there’s a lull in the movie. He’s still got more than half his food left. Yours is long gone. You guess it’s not that unusual—you’ve always been a fast eater.
“No problem, dude. So, listen—”
Karkat hides his eyes in his hand and groans. You continue, gesturing toward the TV screen to punctuate your words.
“I just wanna know if I’m understanding this right. This uptight purple fish chick is into her, like, servant dude? Like—she wants him in her, uhh. Red square. If you know what I mean.”
Your roommate just stares at you, his bloodshot eyes unblinking and unamused, absolutely one thousand percent done with you in this moment. You press on.
“That’s kind of uncool, man, you gotta admit. Unbalanced power dynamics and shit. Oh—fuck. I forgot about your voice being all janked up. You don’t gotta answer me, obviously. Just blink twice if y—”
“Dave, ” he croaks, exasperated. You shut up. “I—I’m sorry. I just—I don’t feel well—”
“Yeah, I uh. I’ve been told I have that effect. Sorry, bro.”
You guess Karkat really must not be feeling well, because that doesn’t even get so much as an eyeroll out of him. He doesn’t lecture you about how you completely missed out on the subtleties of the pale romance between the sea dweller and her blueblood friend, either. He just leans forward with a kind of pathetic little groan, one hand clutching at his belly.
“Oh, shit, dude. You gonna hurl? Fuck, okay, here—”
You help him up from the couch, letting him lean some of his weight against your side, and hurry him across the hall to the bathroom. He falls to his knees in front of the gaper just in time to violently lose the contents of his stomach, or...digestion sac, or whatever the fuck.
“I’ll get you some water,” you assure him, backing out of the small room. “Be right back.” You don’t know if Karkat is gonna be all self-conscious about this or what, but you wanna give the poor guy some space, either way.
By the time you return with a tall glass of water for him, he hasn’t moved much—he’s just hugging the toilet now, his forehead resting on the seat, groaning in this pitiful way that tugs at your heartstrings and makes you wanna take care of him, shit.
“Here,” you say, offering him the water. He takes it without trying to speak.
Now what?
“Um,” you stammer. “Um, so hey. Should I—like, call someone? Y’know, like, your moyrale? Or your, um, redmate? Or...”
From the bathroom floor, Karkat just looks at you like you’re the world’s biggest idiot. He doesn’t try to speak.
“Right. You can obviously just...pester whoever you want. You don’t need me bein’ some kind of weird-ass middleman, calling people on the phone and scaring the shit out of them ’cause now they gotta talk to someone on the phone. I mean, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, personally—”
“—ve,” Karkat attempts, but his voice is just completely fried, now. It’s still pretty effective at shutting you up.
“Right. Sorry.”
He shakes his head slowly, then reaches into the pocket of his pajama pants and fishes out his phone. A moment later, a message from him pops up on yours:
CG: THERE'S NOBODY TO PESTER.
After half a second he appears to realize just how pathetic that sounds. He starts typing again before you can think of anything to say.
CG: I MEAN, *MAYBE* MY SHITHEAD FRIEND SOLLUX WOULD DRAG HIMSELF AWAY FROM WHATEVER CRAPTASTIC MMO HE'S CURRENTLY OBSESSED WITH? I MEAN, *MAYBE*, IF I WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO EXPIRE? BUT TO BE BRUTALLY HONEST, I ACTUALLY FUCKING DOUBT IT.
CG: COME TO THINK OF IT, I DON'T REALLY WANT HIM HERE TO WITNESS THIS SHIT, ANYWAY! SOUNDS LIKE A MORTIFYING EXPERIENCE ALL AROUND.
CG: I THINK I'D RATHER JUST DIE, IF IT COMES TO THAT.
CG: THANKS FOR ASKING.
You shift uncomfortably, trying not to think too hard about the fact that your hot troll roommate apparently doesn’t have any quadrantmates? and to focus on the present moment instead. What does he need from you, right now?
“Do you want to go back to the living room?”
He shakes his head.
CG: I'LL STAY HERE FOR NOW. THANKS FOR THE WATER.
“Sure, man, no problem. Um...I’ll put the rest of your food in the fridge?”
He nods, waving you away, so you go. But back in the living room, before you’ve even put the lid back on his thing of soup, he pesters you again.
CG: DO WE HAVE ANY ACETAMINOPHEN?
TG: uhhh what? do you mean tylenol?
CG: YEAH, WHATEVER. I DON'T SEE ANY IN HERE.
TG: if its not in there then no
TG: ok sit tight ill go get some
CG: YOU DON'T HAVE TO FUCKING DO THAT. I DON'T NEED IT, IT'S FINE. NEVER MIND.
CG: ...
CG: DAVE? ARE YOU STILL HERE...? IT GOT WEIRDLY QUIET.
TG: im just going to the drugstore
TG: ill be back so soon you wont even know i was gone
CG: FUCK!!
TG: its cool man i need some other shit from there too
TG: its not like im going on a drugstore run JUST FOR YOU ok
TG: this is like maybe 15% about you at the most
TG: im looking at this shopping list ive got in my pocket and god damn
TG: its long as fuck and pretty much all of these really essential things are for me? and then way at the bottom theres one last item hastily scrawled as an afterthought
TG: it says "tylenol for karkat, i GUESS"
TG: "like if theres any money left over"
TG: "karkat can have a little medicine as a treat but only if it doesnt inconvenience you, dave"
CG: WAIT. SO WHO WROTE THIS LIST? THIS REALLY REAL AND EXISTING LIST THAT YOU HAVE, I MEAN.
TG: im going through a tunnel rn theres no reception
CG: THE DRUGSTORE IS LITERALLY A THREE MINUTE WALK FROM OUR APARTMENT. THERE ARE NO *TUNNELS*.
-- turntechGodhead [TG] is an idle chum! --
You pocket your phone, smiling to yourself, as you enter the automatic sliding doors of the corner drugstore. You scan the signs at the end of each aisle until you spot PAIN RELIEF. Fuck, yeah.
You guess that while you’re here, you ought to get some other stuff, too. Just to make your cover story more believable.
