route_1065 | Taking it slow, but it's not typical

Entry tags:

Taking it slow, but it's not typical

Who: Dave Strider

callbacks and all y'all's lovely faces!
Where: Goldenrod City
When: Throughout the month of March
Summary: Come bug Dave at his part-time gig at the nice combination café/bookstore. OR, if we have plans (or you'd like to make plans; hit me up at

asherdashery, it's public) I can write up a starter just for you!
Rating: Probably nothing over PG-13.
Log:

[Food service is...well, it's everything movies told him it would be. But as far as workplaces go, the café isn't half-bad. The bookshelves make everything seem quiet even during busy hours, and the comforting scent of paper and coffee fills the space. Dave actually kind of looks forward to his shifts there.

The best part, though, is making the latte art. It took him a while to get the hang of it, because it's got to do with as much science and math as it does art, but Dave is nothing if not a master of timing. Most customers will get a heart, leaf, or tulip, but at slower times of day, he might experiment with drawing a little more.

(He has, of course, also figured out how to draw a dick in your latte. But that's neither here nor there.)

He's a quiet, friendly server, and as long as it's not caffeine crunch time, feel free to request your favorite Pokémon. Or if you're the only one there on a slow day, just wait--he might surprise you.]

((OOC: So! Since this log is open all month, please give me the date you want our thread to go down. I'll also be updating a thread tracker of sorts below so it'll be easier for all of us to find the right thread. Threads do not have to take place in the café! I just provided that as a starter for people who just want to chill with Dave. I'm gonna be throwing a bunch of non-coffee-related starters in here, too.))

NAVIGATION
March 4 - Carolina and Karkat, lunch
March 7 - Kaneki, café | March 8 - Maka, café; Chihiro, café | March 9 - Naoya, Honeyed Souls | March 11 - Jimmy Two-Shoes, text-->action
March 13 Banjou, café | March 14 - Karkat, pale confession

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Sugar what. Dave, what. Karkat finally looks at him, if for the express purpose of silent conveying his abject shame that this moron is in any way associated with him, and it's only the fact that his bro has apparently chosen that same moment to open the present that keeps him from glancing away. As for his reaction to the gift itself...

... All right, maybe Past Karkat had managed to avoid fucking something up after all.

He's just started smiling by the time Dave lets his impromptu hood fall, and he wipes his face clean of the expression as quickly as he possibly can. There isn't much reason to hide the fact that he's happy Dave likes his gift, but Karkat is also pretty fucking sure the jig would be up the second his best friend saw him grinning like that around him.

Then again, this is Dave, who apparently can't recognize pale attraction in someone even when they hand him a shooshpap in blanket form. He would make the worst troll. Just. The absolute worst.

Somehow resisting the urge to snap back "I'm not being weird, you're being weird," Karkat hesitates, then goes to sit down next to him. It's probably okay if he does that, right? Right.]

I wanted to talk to you about something.

[Wow, is there anything more anxiety-inducing in the English language than a variation on 'we need to talk'? Why should Karkat feel he has to preface anything he wants to say with a declaration of intent to speech, what is so important that he needs to preemptively settle Dave with a snuggle made manifest before getting into it?

Not that it's not working, but, really. They should be able to talk about pretty much anything, at this point.]

Okay...?

[He's already flashing through the last week or so, trying to pinpoint anything he's done horribly wrong. The fact that he's coming up blank is no comfort. What has he done, what is happening.]

[About here is where Karkat's mental script would be failing him even if he hadn't already given up on it, the realization of which really doesn't help. How the fuck is he supposed to broach this topic when everything subtle would fail and anything too blatant would send Dave screaming for the hills? Or, okay, maybe not screaming so much as hysterically rapping. Something like that.

... He needs to stop getting distracted. Now.

Tugging at the edge of his sleeve as discreetly as possible, he steals another sidelong glance and tries, what the fuck, anything at all.]

Do you, uh... when you say we're bros...

[Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Is this too direct? Oh fuck.]

What does that mean to you?

[The direction surprises Dave, and for a second, he almost wonders--but no, wait, this territory's actually kind of familiar.

no offense dog but thats a dumb and neurotic question

Oh man. He remembers. And he remembers brushing Karkat off, too, and telling him he was overcomplicating shit, because of course they'd still be bros. Of course John and Jade and everyone would be Karkat's bro, too. You don't question bros, that's not what you do with bros. Bros just happens.

But he also remembers something newer.

I don't know HOW but we have to help him
help him feel like he's not just this horrible person who failed everyone

the one who has the best shot at helping him is his best friend

that's you

He elbows Karkat gently through the blanket.]

Quit squirming, dude, I'm gonna give you a straight answer.

[Not right away, though, apparently. Dave takes a while to settle comfortably into the words. One hand runs idly up and down the edge of the blanket while he weighs what he wants to say, sees what measures right against his heart, now that everything he used to be has shaken down around him.]

Bros have each other's backs.

[It's a surprisingly simple statement, and an obvious one, maybe, but Dave says it like it means something to him, now, that maybe it didn't once before.]

I don't just mean when shit hits the fan, or when someone just, you know, needs a shoulder, or an ear, or whatever miscellaneous body part conveys the emotional support of the moment. It doesn't have to be heavy. A bro is just...someone who's always there. Period.

[He sighs through his nose and pulls his feet up onto the bed, all tucked up under the blanket. He's looking ahead while he talks; even if Karkat's the one who asked the question, he feels kind of like the one he's answering is himself. Past Dave, who never knew how to ask for himself.

Or maybe Future Dave. Who knows.]

It's hard to really explain without getting into human familial structures, which you hella don't get, like, at all, and I know you're not asking about that in the first place. But we use the same word for both, so some of the baggage carries through. In a family, a brother's, like...you've got your parents who take care of you, but they're an authority, too, while a brother's someone on the same level as you, someone who goes through all the same shit you do. Maybe you're not friends, and maybe you fight and maybe your older brother's bigger or stronger or smarter than you so it's not all that even, but, in a way, you're on the same side. When you reach out, your brother's gonna be the first one that's there. [His fingers twist in the blanket.] ...That's how it's supposed to be like.

[Dave pauses for a moment.]

So, yeah. [He closes his eyes behind his shades.] That's where humans get metaphorical concepts like brothers-in-arms and soul brothers from. So when I call you a bro, I'm...I mean, it's casual, yeah, and a marker of 'yo, that dog's my crew,' but it's also.

[He stops for a while, then blows air through his nose and refolds his legs to sit cross-legged, stays like that for a second, drops them over the side of the bed once more. Now who's fidgeting. He glances at Karkat, then tugs the blanket closer around himself.]

With us, I'm acknowledging that closeness with you, all right? Like...you're the someone who's there, who gets it because you've been there. And 'cause you're not "related" to me, because I got to choose you as that kind of bro, it, like...calling you "bro" shows I trust you, yeah?

[Dave's skin is a lot fairer than Karkat's. It's much more obvious when he starts to blush.] And you've been good about it with me. I mean, you've been good with me, with my...whatever. So it's a way to say all that crap without actually having to say it and make a big deal out of everything.

[The elbow to Karkat's side makes him jump and take a retaliatory swipe, but he's leaning in companionably soon after, the same smile he'd worn earlier tugging at his lips. The fear of losing this closeness with Dave is weighing him down like a noose around his neck, but as much as it's tempting him to press into his friend's side and soak in his warmth while he can, it's also all the more reason not to. The last thing Karkat wants is for Dave to realize how much significance he's been ascribing to something as human-platonic as a hug while they're in the middle of one.

... and, he's ashamed to admit, he still isn't expecting much when Dave begins to speak, just some vague human explanation along the same lines as what he's been told before. Connecting the dots between that and moirallegiance should be easy even if the sunglasses-wearing prick is a total shitheap about it; Karkat can't imagine Dave embellishing that much with how open they've been with one another lately.

The more his best friend talks, though, the clearer it becomes that it's an actual heartfelt response that Karkat is receiving. It's as awkward and unfiltered as everything else Dave says, but genuine and how the hell had he managed to get that out of him? It's better than anything he could have hoped for.

Entirely incidentally, it's also incredibly fucking pale. He isn't just projecting that part, right?

After Dave's finished, Karkat is left watching him out of the corner of his eye for several seconds, looking away only because he realized he's making it weird again and—yeah, okay. More fidgeting. All the fidgeting. It's either that or turning to Dave and papping his stupid, romantically inept face—wait, no, taking off his sunglasses and then papping his stupid, romantically inept face. Maybe resting their foreheads together. Stroking his cheek in a very not platonic way. Something.

He bites his lower lip, spends another moment or two berating himself, then forces himself to speak.]

Dave?

[His voice is quiet—as quiet as it gets, anyway, as if he's afraid he'll scare his friend off by raising it. It's close enough to quiet, anyway. He hopes it is.]

If I brought up quadrants again, would you... listen to me just this once? Please?

[His face is heating up again to match Dave's, and he ducks his head, willing the blush away as hard as he can.]

It's important.

[Oh.

Suddenly, Dave knows what's happening.

There's a million things he could tell himself. He could kick himself for being an idiot, for not seeing this coming a mile away, because Karkat Vantas is a lot of things but he's not subtle. He could feel like shit for accidentally leading Karkat on, because, fuck, this is obviously a thing with him, hitting on bros and moms and his own sister without meaning to. He could freak out about quadrants, he could freak out about getting himself into a quadrant, he could freak out getting into a quadrant with Karkat, he could, he could...

But, weirdly, his brain is just. Quiet. The buzzing distraction of everything around him, the awareness of anything that moves, of exits and corners and escape routes and blind spots, for a second, it's all shut out. He can only think of one thing to say.]

Um.

[Fucking incredible.

And then:]

Okay.

[Okay. It's okay. He's okay to really listen.

Karkat has to say it.

He'll listen.]

Edited 2016-03-15 01:50 (UTC)

[It isn't a yes by any stretch of the imagination—at least, not to the question Karkat wants to ask, the one that's been nagging at him ever since he'd coaxed Dave into dropping his damn coolkid facade and talking to him. Maybe it had started even earlier than that; he doesn't know. All he knows is that Dave is actually listening and if he wants to be even remotely successful, he has to proceed very, very carefully and not just blurt out his feelings everywhere.

... Or. He could do that. Dave can only reject him once, right? Because there's no way in fuck he'd ever approach him about any other quadrant after this, assuming he ever... fuck, no, just no, he's not going to just vomit diamonds all over the place and call it a day, that's stupid and he's stupid for thinking it.

But.

He takes a slow, deep breath.]

I know you're not... I mean, it's not like...

[fuck]

Nothing has to change if you don't want it to. I just...

[His hands are clasped tightly in his lap and he's not even sure when that happened. Should he just tell him? Ask him? No, not ask him, he can't force Dave to decide on something like this with so little warning, what the fuck is wrong with him. So then... how the hell should he say this?

...

...

...

Fuck it.]

I'm pale for you.

[The quiet in his head doesn't burst like he thought it might, but expands all at once, like he's engulfed in a sphere of stillness so complete even gravity can't touch it, leaving a weightless pit in his stomach as if he's falling, as if his foot missed a stair.

But really, he's still here sitting on the edge of his bed next to Karkat, who's spoken. Karkat, who's pale for him.]

Yeah, I figured that out, like, a second ago.

[It's really, really hard not to pull the blanket over his head, or to roll over and hide his face in the quilt, or to just give up all pretensions to dignity and crawl under the bed. But that would be rude and hurtful, and also, why does he even want to in the first place, what is he even feeling right now.

Light. Too light, like he's unbalanced, but also...Dave's face is warm. And he doesn't want Karkat to go right now, he doesn't want him to get small again and pull back and leave.

Holy shit, it must have been so hard for him to say anything. To say anything to Dave.

He breathes in.]

What...would it change. If things changed.

[The weird squirmy feeling just gets worse, and, flustered, Dave pulls the blanket up, ducks into it so the bottom half of his face is hidden. It muffles his words, too. He finds this an acceptable inconvenience for the security it affords.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't remembering what else Ashley said, too. About moirallegiance, and doing better. About not leaving Karkat in such a bad place.

Fuck.]

I mean, what is it...like. For you. To feel that way.

[... Literally a fucking second ago. So he noticed, but only right before Karkat confessed anything. HahahahaHA, god his life is such a fucking joke, should he have just said nothing? But Dave hasn't given him an outright no, so—or is he just that fucking desperate that he'll keep clinging to whatever chance he can get in any quadrant with anyone?

Mortified, he tugs his legs up off the floor and hunches over them, face now turned away from Dave completely. If this asshole gets to hide, so does he, and goddammit maybe he should have just bought a blanket like that for himself and not gone through with this at all. Even if Dave hasn't said no.

... He's probably going to say no.]

... Not really a lot. I mean, what it would change.

[Don't mind him if he talks mostly to his knees. Good ambulation hinges, best listeners. Fuck.]

We would still talk about things together. Everything. We w-wouldn't hold back or hide anything.

[Not like before. Never like before.]

That's what it means to be moirails, you don't fucking hide things from each other. A-and we'd always be there for each other, right? We'll help each other.

[His head twitches in Dave's direction, but he stops it immediately, hunkering down further still. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this isn't how it's supposed to go, he's not supposed to get emotional like this, pull it together you absolute garbage, worthless pathetic useless—]

That's what it f-feels like. I want that, with you.

[He draws in a shaky breath, releases it. He has to stay in control, this is disgusting, Dave's a human and they don't understand any of these boundaries, he'd do something pale without realizing it and isn't that just what they both fucking need right now, even more bullshit hovering unsaid between them, like it was before—]

I want t-to be close to you. But only if you want that, too.

[The first catch in Karkat's words hits him like a steamship, and he feels it, he flounders, Karkat's about to cry again and he's like that because of Dave. Because the world shoved him under wave after wave and he's finally found some driftwood to cling to, but the driftwood's just another capsized ship and that ship is Dave and if he falls through, if he can't hold him, then...]

Jesus, Karkat.

[Damn the torpedoes, damn not knowing how to touch people, he reaches out from his blanket shield and takes Karkat's arm above the elbow, because if he doesn't hold on Karkat is going to leave, and Dave can't let him. He can't. If Karkat leaves like this, who's going to help him?

If he leaves, what if this--this vulnerability, this honesty, doesn't come back with him? If Dave fucks this up now, they don't get a second chance. There's no reforging trust like steel. Even repaired, it won't weigh the same. Broken blades heal ugly.

Dave swallows.]

You got four quadrants to pick from, and you land on the one I'm actually guaranteed to fucking suck at. Don't cry, I still have questions. Please. Please don't cry, dude, I'm. I'm figuring stuff out.

[His voice sounds almost as unsteady as Karkat's, to Dave's ears, and too pleading by far. Too small. He's seventeen years old, he's not a child, but he feels it, lost and longing, anyway, for something he must need but doesn't understand.]

You. You realize I'm fucked up, right, like. Probably even by troll standards, god let fucking alone human ones, 'cause I'm not...I never, I don't know how to...

[His hand is shaking faintly on Karkat's elbow.]

Nobody ever...Shit, Karkat, you only said what--what it'd mean, and I'm already fucking--I'm a wreck, dude, all anyone has to do is be nice to me and I just...all you have to do is...is say, that you...

[It's Dave's turn not to be able to look. Isn't the floor just fascinating? How about that carpet. It's so. Rugged.

I want that, with you.

Weird. Carpet's too blurry to see now. Wonder how that's happening. With his free hand, Dave wipes at his face.]

Are you sure? You really...it'll be hard. I'm. I'm pretty much a broken piece of shit, you know.

I'm n-not fucking crying.

[He'll insist it as many goddamn times as he needs to, what the fuck, Dave, don't tell him how he feels and especially don't watch as he drags a sleeve over his eyes. Not crying. He isn't. Stop fucking caring, this is hard enough.

He doesn't shake off the hand, though, or interrupt after that outburst is out of the way, instead listening like he can't help himself (he can't, he should be able to, he's so fucking weak) and somehow, barely, keeping his eyes fixed firmly elsewhere. God, what the hell had made him think Dave would be the one to do something inappropriate first, hearing him go on about himself like this is reminding Karkat of every reason why he fell so hard for him in the first place. How does he not see it?

It isn't long before his resolve breaks, but although he does unfold his limbs and angle himself toward Dave, he doesn't reach out, doesn't touch him. He's done enough already, he can't, even if his best friend (just friend? bro? are they still bros?) has to need it as badly as Karkat himself does. Fuck, no, he can't presume, he won't.]

Don't be so stupid, you—why the fuck wouldn't I be sure, do you know how long I've been thinking about this?!

[He doesn't mean to snap it; it just comes out. He can at least talk, talking is allowed, and then maybe if Dave understands, they can—is he assuming too much again? How could Dave even want that with him, if he thinks he's fucked up—]

I want you. As a moirail. [Fucking humans, he shouldn't even need to have to specify.] This—this isn't one-sided, is it? Because I'm not doing that again, I—

[He breaks off and shakes his head roughly. Not now. Not fucking now, never again.]

I-I have your back. You have mine. Right? [Bros. Moirails.] Y-you already understand it, you—you're not broken, don't say that. And even if you w-were, it wouldn't change the way I feel.

Edited 2016-03-15 13:52 (UTC)

[He's doing fine right up until the last bit. He's got an answer ready and everything, like how he's asking questions because he thinks it might not be one-sided at all, but he has to be sure. He can't fuck this up, not with Karkat; but he's an emotionally stunted interpersonal idiot who doesn't even know how feelings are supposed to feel, let alone what to do with them, how to protect them from getting hurt, his own or anyone's.

But then Karkat has to go and say that, delivered like that, and it's like a sucker punch to the eye, sudden and blinding. He takes a breath, starts to say something, but the warm wetness in his eyes spills over and his voice is a mess anyway. He's a mess.

Nobody says shit like that to Dave Strider, and where he's weak, he's weak.]

Shit.

[He doesn't take his shades off, just pushes them up and askew incidentally as he covers his eyes, tries to dam up the floodgates with a physical barrier. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. He takes another ragged breath and tries again.]

I want...I, I'm not...

[I want you to be happy. I want you to have a shot at being happy. I'm not good, I'll fuck it up, you saw what happened with Terezi and Rose and, god, poor Jade, you saw all of it, you were there for all of them...

...

Karkat was there.

Dave's shaking hand tightens on his arm.]

Yes. [Yes.] Fine. [Yes, yes, please.] If--If you're gonna make me leak eyeball fluid this fucking much, take some goddamn responsibility for it, asshole.

[He sniffs loudly and wipes at his nose with his sleeve, because fuck you, he's got free license to be gross, this is gross. This is fucking unbelievable. An incredulous, trembling smile flutters across his face for an instant, and then he groans.]

Aw fuck me, you're gonna have to dissertation me on quadrants all over again, nooooooo.

[Dave falls flat on his back against the mattress, forearm pressed tightly over his eyes, laughing quietly through his sniffles and tears.

This whole time, he still hasn't let Karkat go.]

[He'd underestimated how difficult it would be to lay his feelings bare, how intolerable the wait after would be. If Dave were a troll, he wouldn't have needed to state things so explicitly, but then if he were a troll, Karkat might not have had feelings for him at all. Fuck, if Dave were a troll, he'd never have entertained the idea of becoming his moirail at all. Why had Karkat let himself think it might turn out differently? This always fucking happened, every fucking time—

He's just about to turn away again when Dave speaks, and he looks back in time to see his friend push his shades up and oh fuck, those are tears, Dave's crying, this is all his fucking fault. Again! When is it not?? Fucking NEVER, that's when! And with the way his hand is clamping down, he has to be about to tell Karkat off, because what else would it be?

... Except, somehow, it isn't.]

What?

[It's more of a croak than a word, and he rubs hurriedly at his face again even as Dave's—his m—as Dave's breathless laughter fills the air. There has to be some part of the conversation he's missing because it sounds an awful lot like Dave said yes and shit like that just doesn't happen in real life and definitely not to him. Had it been before or after "leak eyeball fluid?" "Quadrants?" "Take responsibility for..."

For Dave. For his moirail.]

You... you sack of shit, you didn't retain a goddamn thing, did you?

[It's the first thing he can think of to say, it's familiar, and maybe going through these motions might somehow explain how the fuck he'd managed not to fuck this up because seriously, did he fucking miss something, is this actually happening? What?

He falters a moment, then lifts his free hand and settles it over the one on his arm—over Dave's. His moirail. Dave's hand.]

You really mean it? You're not just...

[Just humoring him, haha, so funny, what a splendid joke. Dave wouldn't do that, right?]

[His grip loosens under Karkat's hand and he shivers, but he's watching Karkat, now. A sliver of red peeks out between the fingers across his eyes, not as blood-bright as Karkat's, but similar. Glassy from the little bit of crying he's doing. It's like he's shy, like he has to check that it's okay, that little touch, that Karkat's not about to fling his hand off or give him the cold shoulder or--or, do anything that he'd need to flinch for, anything he'd need his hand back to block. When it doesn't come, he blinks quickly behind his hand, breathes in unsteadily, swallows.

Yeah. No one has ever been gentle with this kid in his life. Dave covers his eyes fully again, hiding everything behind his hand.]

Is this the face of a tool who'd fucking joke about having to sit through your godawful romcom sermons, bro. [Snrff. He wipes his eyes again. His sleeve is disgusting and should probably be incinerated as soon as possible for the public health.] I don't hate myself that much.

[He does tug his hand back, finally, but only so he can use all available fingertips to brush the remaining tears out of his eyes. This is so obnoxious, god. Snff.]

I'm "not just" anything, Karkat. I don't--I still don't get it, entirely, not everything that's involved or what I'm expected to...to do. For you. What you expect me to do, 'cause there's all this little shit that's obvious to you but I have zero exposure to, and don't you even start with the books and the movies because I don't care about how fake fictional highbloods get their quadrants on, I just want to get shit right for you--

[Agh, okay, that was gay. Dave buttons his lips shut, the heels of his hands pressed hard against his eyelids, but no. Human the fuck up, Dave. Karkat needs to hear.]

Because you deserve. It. You deserve to--to get all the things you want. And, and I want...

[Open mouth. Close mouth. It's like a winch yanks his throat shut every time he tries to vocalize it, every time he's ever tried to tell someone something as simple as what he wants. The words just aren't there.

But the blanket is still warm.]

I mean, if it's...if it's not a big change, like you said, and we're already...pretty much doing it anyway, then. Okay. I'm not...it, I. Well, okay, I could do without all the constant bitter-ass weeping all the time, I'm gonna dehydrate like a Craisin, but. Talking. To you. I.

[...]

Yeah, that's cool.

[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.]

[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.

[Hey. Hey, fuck you (see also, "eat shit and die"), Karkat is entirely capable of using his big wiggler words and what the fuck, like Dave's any better? Just because someone never paid any attention to high quality cinema when it was available doesn't mean the person providing it is culpable, god.

Whatever the case, he hadn't expected the realization to come so quickly, if at all (because no he had not made any implications whatsoever about wanting to touch or be touched in a conciliatory way, that's a figment of your imagination). There's no other explanation for Dave's sudden and vibrant blush, though, and while Karkat is convinced that the human (his moirail) can't possibly be looking at it the same way he is, his skin is soon coloring to match. Fucking—fuck, why had he opened his mouth, why, he should have just left it alone. It shouldn't even be embarrassing to expect that from a moirail but that stupid human single quadrant was fucking things up anyway!

He can't bring himself to speak at first, his face buried in his own hands, but neither can he keep his silence if Dave is going to say shit like that about himself. This stupid fucking human, he swears if he didn't like him so much, he would—]

Shooshing. Is shooshing okay?

[He says it mostly to say it, but then also. Well.]

Because shoosh. Fucking shoosh, Dave, you aren't a shitshow. Fuck, I don't want to hear you say that unless you're agreeing with me after I said it first, you absolute disaster.

[Dave snorts and half-heartedly kicks in Karkat's direction, but his knee barely even nudges him, he's not trying and the blanket's too much of a hindrance. He pulls it up again and rolls over (towards Karkat, not away) onto his face, covered up to the back of his skull. The mattress muffles both weirdly relieved amusement and complaint.]

What the fuck, how is calling me a disaster any better than shitshow? Fuck you, dickstick.

[After a moment, he turns his head towards Karkat, though he still can't see him, at this angle.]

Also, yes, asschafe. Shooshing is okay. T...touching is okay, too. Hugging, that I'll grant as a freebie.

['Touching is okay,' he says, esconced in a luxury burrito. What a useless buttlump, that's neither helpful nor specific.]

Is hair touching...Wait, do I. Get to do stuff, is it just you towards me, how does that work.

[Karkat may actually let out a muted laugh at the kick, shoving vaguely at Dave's leg in return and tugging on the blanket just a bit to try and keep his moirail(!!) from hiding completely. Seriously, such an asshole.]

Because I say it is. I'm the troll here, I know what goes and what fucking doesn't in moirallegiance, okay?

[He may be enjoying saying that word more than strictly necessary. Also. Yeah, about that...

Very, very carefully, he reaches out and touches Dave's upper back—through the blanket, and no, his hand isn't moving beyond that yet, he's just. Testing things out. Is this okay? He'd ask aloud, but that involves altogether too much audible articulation for him to want to try just yet.]

You can touch me. I won't mind.

[No matter what Dave does, probably. He's magnanimous like that.]

[Mm. It's strange, at first, the warmth of a living touch against him--especially from behind, where he can't see, can't prepare himself. Karkat's hand is part of a completely conscious being, making all sorts of decisions on how to move and where to be and what to do entirely independent of Dave, and it's a weird and weirdly momentous thing for that consciousness to be turned towards him, to be an object of benign interest, or curiosity, or this kind of soft care.

It's strange and, as he doesn't flinch away, as he lets Karkat test the waters (and the waters are simultaneously Dave himself and something he has no knowledge of, something he's experiencing as new just as much as Karkat is), he finds that it's nice. After a moment, he frees his arms from his blanket cocoon and pillows his head on them, breathes out, lets his eyes fall closed under Karkat's hand. Yes, the governor of Dave County approves this motion. The Alternian representative may continue, he has the floor.]

Okay. Um, exclusivity. For this quadrant, I mean. ...What's that gonna look like.

[Because, yeah, that's another boundary to figure out. While the practical details are important--and also, yeah, he doesn't want Karkat to stop with that any time soon, like. Dave's human. Casual affection happens, even for him, and he's handsy and open with Jade, too, and it wouldn't be fair to...he doesn't want to give that up with her, she's been one of his best friends for so long, and he's always...]

[Dave mentioned hair touching, right? Does that mean he's in favor or against? Because even if he seems more relaxed now, it isn't enough, and all right yes, fine, so Karkat has been thinking about it for a while. It's kind of fucking hard not to when Dave is so—so fragile under all that stupid posturing. It's unbelievably pitiful. Just. God.

The moment he hears that question, though, his puzzle sponge and increasingly saccharine thought process sputter to a halt.]

Uh, what's. You mean what's exclusive? To this?

[Is Dave asking really asking this. He's totally asking. There's nothing else it could be. Oh god, does he have to describe—fuck, again! Humans!

Karkat withdraws again but only because it would be fucking awkward to discuss this while touching Dave—or wait no, would that make it more natural? FUCK. But he's already pulled away and it would be weird to lean back in and asdfkljhdagfh this is stupid. Humans are stupid.]

Uh, probably... uh. Probably cuddling. Or papping, I guess. [He digs a hand in his hair—his own hair—and tries not to notice his missing horns as he scratches.] Trolls aren't as... demonstrative around hatefriends as humans, so it's kind of hard to—I mean, our situation is different.

[By "demonstrative," he may mean "exhibitionistic," but he doesn't say that aloud. Besides, an idea has occurred to him that, while potentially helpful, is probably worse. But... ngh, is there another way to do this? He could try relying on descriptions alone, but this would be both faster and easier and. Other things. So...

He bites his lip.]

I could show you?

[Did that come out too hopeful. Please say that didn't come out too hopeful.]

I mean...

['How do I not accidentally cheat on you,' is what he was trying to say, but--in a way, it's the same question. What should he be saving for Karkat? What are the cornerstones for...for moirallegiance, what set it apart from friendship or romance (human romance) so that you only ever let one person in that far?

He's watching Karkat over his shoulder, trying to read as much meaning into his body language as his words. He looks away for a moment, thinking, then finally pulls himself up to sit properly facing him, even if he can't quite pick up his chin, even if he's still clinging to the blanket. Dave looks up diffidently from under pale bangs in disarray, falling gently over his forehead. His glasses are sitting crooked on top of his hair.]

Okay.

[It's funny, how words desert him the closer he comes to sincerity.]

Where. Uh. Do you want me.

[It's also funny how quickly Karkat regrets his impulsiveness once Dave is upright and the expression on his face is more plainly visible. What emotion is that? Reluctance? Worry? It had better not be fucking regret, but Karkat isn't certain he could blame him if it were. He should be able to use his damn words to get his message across, not that he's been doing an especially good job of that so far anyway, and this... ill-advised, poorly planned, bulge busting stupidity is probably a perfect illustration of that.

He sighs softly, closes his eyes. Forget whatever he'd been thinking of; Past Karkat is a self-centered douche and needs to wise the fuck up. Just focus on Dave.]

Where you are is fine.

[More than fine, if he would just stop looking like that, like he fears being hurt or hurting someone else.

It's the realization that Dave is probably worrying about hurting him that makes Karkat move—slowly, so as not to scare him, but deliberately enough that his moirail should be able to see that he knows what he's doing.

(He doesn't, actually, but Dave doesn't need to know that.)

His eyes open again, flick toward the sunglasses, then resettle on Dave's as Karkat reaches up to remove the shades and set them aside. It's the most direct eye contact he can remember getting without that damn barrier in the way, and he's determined to make it count. He has to be a good moirail, both because Dave deserves one and because... well, because. That's reason enough.]

You don't have to be afraid, Dave. [He folds the glasses, sets them aside.] I know this is new to you. Just... do whatever feels right for now.

[He hesitates, then raises his hand to Dave's cheek, lightly caressing it. It's only the knowledge of how the human is likely to interpret it that's making his face turn pink again.]

... Is this okay?

[Oh no, Stiller shades, why you go bye-bye? Dave loses focus for a second, eyes tracking his sunglasses until they're put aside, until he knows they're safe. When he meets Karkat's gaze again, something's rounded off the tightness at the corners of his eyes, eased some of his spine-twanging tension. Gratitude. Trust. Has he ever told Karkat where those shades came from, what they mean to him, besides more or less just constituting part of his face at this point? He thinks he must have, if Karkat's going to be so careful with them, but maybe he hasn't, maybe it's just...

Maybe Karkat's just being careful with him. Dave didn't even know himself he was scared, doesn't know what it is to be anything but, and the words still him, somehow, even if he wasn't moving.

Karkat's hand brushes his cheek.

It's like his heart trips over its own clumsy ass and eats twenty yards of bad pavement. Dave's whole face lights up incandescent, probably down to his shoulders, he doesn't know, because the problem isn't even that. Karkat's barely touched him and it's done unspeakable things to the cavern of his chest. Karkat's only asked him gently if this is (if Dave is) okay, and he's shaken to his core, as liable to crumble at a whisper as a fortress made of dust.

It's like the blanket. Softness for its own sake, something to rub against his cheek just because it's nice, something Dave can have just because someone wants him to feel good. To feel not-afraid.

He gets it. Holy shit, no wonder trolls don't count this as platonic. He breathes in and attempts to formulate an answer.]

Mm. [Oh, wow, that tiny noise was about as pathetic as it gets and it still got stuck on its way out. Dave clears his throat and tries again.] Yeah. It's--yes. Um. [...Hhhhh.] Um, give me a second.

[He opens the blanket for an instant, but only to pull it all the way over his head. Flump. No more Dave. No more Karkat's hand, either, as Dave traps it against his wrist, tries to keep him from moving it from his cheek. Like he's still endeavoring to get used to the idea of contact. Like he hasn't decided whether it's good or bad, it's just overwhelming and he needs a moment to catch his breath, to work it out.

Anyway, hopefully Karkat doesn't need his hand back or anything. He touched Dave, it's his now. We don't make the rules.

It's a moment in the blanket tent before Dave trusts his voice enough to speak again.]

If you keep doing that, I think...think I might fall apart? Is, is that normal. I'm not saying stop, just. Heads up.

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