[Oh my god, Karkat, please. Use your big wiggler words, Dave can't read minds.
It takes an endless moment of mystified-and-worried staring through his parted fingers before it clicks. Highbloods. The touching, the calming of the melodramatic and, to Dave, incomprehensible berserker breaks whose centrality to stories' plots he never understood, that always seemed forced in and fake. He still doesn't understand, not that part, but--
Karkat coming right in to hug him when he broke his own way, when he shattered that completely. Karkat's hand on his back, warmth and closeness, comfort. How Karkat clung to Dave's hoodie, and then to him.
Falling asleep in his lap.
Slowly, inexorably, starting from the tips of his ears all the way down his pale throat, Dave flushes pink. He doesn't recognize his own voice for a second, it's so small, and surely the impulse isn't his.]
Yes. P. Please.
[Oh, no, wait, that was him, wasn't it.
The embarassment and nervous second thoughts come almost immediately. He can feel his face burn hotter under his hands, god.]
M-maybe if there was a chart, so I know...
[He stops. He takes stock of what his last sentence was going to be. And then he slides his hands down his face and mutes a mortified sound into his palms, because he really was just about to suggest that Karkat make a goddamn diagram of moirail activities so that Dave could know what's appropriate, so that he could know what to anticipate or say no to in advance.]
Just. Fuck. Just, for--for now, just. Ask? First? I'm sorry, Jesus, I'm such a shitshow. I, I told you, dog.
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It takes an endless moment of mystified-and-worried staring through his parted fingers before it clicks. Highbloods. The touching, the calming of the melodramatic and, to Dave, incomprehensible berserker breaks whose centrality to stories' plots he never understood, that always seemed forced in and fake. He still doesn't understand, not that part, but--
Karkat coming right in to hug him when he broke his own way, when he shattered that completely. Karkat's hand on his back, warmth and closeness, comfort. How Karkat clung to Dave's hoodie, and then to him.
Falling asleep in his lap.
Slowly, inexorably, starting from the tips of his ears all the way down his pale throat, Dave flushes pink. He doesn't recognize his own voice for a second, it's so small, and surely the impulse isn't his.]
Yes. P. Please.
[Oh, no, wait, that was him, wasn't it.
The embarassment and nervous second thoughts come almost immediately. He can feel his face burn hotter under his hands, god.]
M-maybe if there was a chart, so I know...
[He stops. He takes stock of what his last sentence was going to be. And then he slides his hands down his face and mutes a mortified sound into his palms, because he really was just about to suggest that Karkat make a goddamn diagram of moirail activities so that Dave could know what's appropriate, so that he could know what to anticipate or say no to in advance.]
Just. Fuck. Just, for--for now, just. Ask? First? I'm sorry, Jesus, I'm such a shitshow. I, I told you, dog.