[Fling the hand off? No. Tentatively curl his fingers around it? Yes, even if the moment is over far too quickly for Karkat's liking. It may give him the opportunity to mop up the last of his own tears, which he quickly takes advantage of, but he hasn't stopped wanting physical contact at all during the whole time they've been talking. And now that Dave has actually accepted—really actually accepted being in this quadrant with him...

Fuck, he's still crying. What the fuck kind of troll cries over having a moirail, it's the dumbest fucking reaction. He should be happy. He is happy, he's just also really overwhelmed and goddammit, Present Karkat, get your fucking shit together, Dave doesn't need to see you lose it over something like this, what kind of message is this even sending? Settle the fuck down.]

I, um.

[Like trying to distract him by talking is going to work. Even if Dave Strider weren't Dave Strider, he'd be able to hear how much Karkat's voice is quavering. Shit. Fuck. Shit, give him a minute. At least how loudly his human heart is hammering means it's easy to focus on while he tries to regain his composure. Someone's composure. Literally anyone's will do, fuck.

He wipes his eyes again.]

I, I shouldn't—it's talking, yeah, but it's also. [Fuck.] W-we don't have to. Do that. [Oh god, he's making it worse.] I, I mean, you—yeah, that's not me, those highbloods, but you—

[Fuck everything about this sentence he's saying. Karkat just stops, mentally erases all he can from his memory of the last few minutes in conversation, and tries again.]

You're my moirail, Dave. A-and you're human, so you—it should be your call.

[He hasn't forgotten how awkward Dave is about touching him, how rarely "bros" in his romcoms had embraced and how quickly they had sprung apart, laughed it off. There were exceptions, but he doubts Dave will be one of them.]