[Each statement washes away Dave's remaining reservations until they actually dissolve, like the explosion of tiny bubbles that comes off a tablet of Alka-Seltzer. He's all fizzy with warmth and reassurance and fondness and gratitude, because Karkat gets it, Karkat understands. His face creases into something before he even thinks about it.

A real, genuine smile: the kind a person makes not to convey pleasure or amusement or politeness, but the unstoppable, helpless kind, because he's happy.]

Okay.

[Well, that takes care of all items of business he had to bring to the table. Dave decides that verticality is once again optional. He scoots down, taking Karkat's hand with him, and curls up on his side, grumbles and lifts himself long enough to tug the bunched-up blanket out from under his ribs, then pillows it under his head. There. Smile still lingering, he looks up at Karkat, then closes his eyes, comforted and comfortable.]

You got my permission to carry on with the wooing and shit, dude. You're clear, you may proceed.

[--Wait. His eyes shoot open and he picks his head up again.]

Touching is okay, tickling is not. Just. Do not. I will kick you in your face and it'll be your own dumb fault, we'll be looking for your teeth for a month.