A/N: Just a little thing I decided to write after seeing someone's Quotev tagline. If you have a Quotev account, you can find me at /Karkalicious769, if that interests you. It probably doesn't.

Karkat's P.O.V.

The knife in your hand is surprisingly solid after the days you spent wandering in a haze. You turn the weapon over in your hands as you reflect upon the past few days and, as an extension, most of your life.

You've officially graduated high school, but now that there's no more crushing pressure to keep your grades up, you're at a loss with how to spend your free time. Really, you have nothing to do but think. Not even your beloved romcoms, all of them having been watched and rewatched during middle school, can keep your attention any more. With nothing to do, you suddenly realize how… empty you feel.

You had no steady interests or future plans, so you were at a loss with how to apply your high school diploma. All of your friends were either rushing to apply to colleges, or spending time with their 'special someone'. Hardly any time for you. You understand, though. If your crush loved you back, you'd certainly want to spend a lot of time with them. That was ridiculous, though. Dave only saw you as his friend, one of his closest, too. You couldn't just throw that away by attempting to indulge in selfish romantic feelings. It would never work out, anyway. Dave was always talking about this person he liked, and though he never mentioned a name or any specific features, you'd be willing to bet they were wonderful; everything he'd ever needed, based on the way he talked about them.

See, here's the thing; you used to think that love was basically about how happy another person made you. Now, thanks to the pangs of your heart and the careful study of your romcoms, you realize that love is really about how happy you want another person to be.
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you sort of love Dave Strider.

He's your best friend. You two both go to great lengths to keep everyone else, including each other, happy and oblivious. You eat Doritos using identical methods (the smaller ones before the bigger ones). You both look up stupid pet names online to irritate each other with. You'll mutually trash-talk anything that came within a fifteen foot radius and breathes. You know you would be really, really happy with him.
You're also certain that he wouldn't be as happy with you.
Love is also about giving up your dignity, your pride, and the things you really want. It's about sacrifice. It is about, sometimes, giving up everything just so they can be happy.
You know that, if you died, Dave would be distraught. But he'd move on. You know he's not as strong as he wants everyone to believe, and you also know that he'll need someone to help him get past your death. You think that the person he talks about, whoever they are, could be that someone.

Besides, you have nothing left to live for, Dave or no Dave. You have no family anymore, not since you lost your mom and brother and got stuck with a man too broken to recognize the way his son was destroying himself. You've been running around in circles your whole life, never going anywhere, never changing, and never actually getting anything done. It's exhausting, and you're so, so sick of it. You're just flat out sick of yourself.

So maybe it's the alcohol being pumped straight to your brain, or maybe the lit cigarette in your hand, or perhaps even the pie Gamzee had you taste test. But whatever the reason, when your fuzzy gaze lands on the carving knife on your counter, you don't even hesitate before grabbing it.

You turn it over a few times in your hands, getting a feel for it's weight. It's surprisingly light, and you take that as a good sign. You have no regrets, except for your lack of regrets. You want to leave a note behind, so Dave doesn't blame himself, and that he knows it's not his fault, but you decide against it.

It wasn't necessary. A note with all of the personal feelings you've kept bottled up for years would only make him feel worse.

You want to die alone, and preferably somewhere you felt more comfortable. Your kitchen, a wide, white room with windows to spare, seemed to public. Or maybe it was the drugs making you paranoid. Either way, you find yourself heading upstairs before you can really make a decision. The bathroom seems like a nice place to die, clean and smelling of your favorite air freshener, apple and vanilla. The smell reminded you of Dave.

You're running almost on autopilot now. You realize this when you find yourself locking the door instead of wussing out as you half-wanted to. It's not that you wanted to live, just that you were scared. And honestly, who wouldn't be? You had no clue what happened to a person once they died, and you weren't exactly eager to find out. Still, it was too late to go back now.

You suck in a deep breath, holding the knife in your surprisingly steady grasp, and make the first cut. It's a little scratch, something you could easily pass off as a bad run-in with a cat, if you so desired. But there's something… beautiful about the thin trail of blood running down your arm. It's just so red and pure. You want to see more of it.

Before you can stop yourself, you've made another cut, this one much longer and deeper. You relish in the pain, but at the same time you want more. The cut isn't deep enough. You are still breathing. You lift up your shirt and grimace at the way your rib cage was clear to see, even through your skin, and cut across one of your ribs, sighing in pleasure at the burning hot feeling of your body trying pointlessly to repair itself. You do it again and sink to the ground, hardly able to think straight with all the poison clouding your judgement and the extreme blood loss setting in as you just keep cutting.

But it still isn't enough.

You bring the knife up to your neck, gently tracing down a blood vessel with the tip of the knife, about to cut when-

"Karkat, you home?" Dave's voice echos from downstairs, the sound of him shutting the door quickly following. Shit, you forgot you gave him a key. At the sound of his voice, your eyes widen, and you sober up a little. God, you couldn't let him see you like this. You try to stand up, maybe bandage your wounds, but you can't stand. You're too weak, too low on blood and motivation. You sigh, relaxing against the door in the face of your inevitable death. The knife clatters out of your hand as your grip becomes too weak to even hold it. "Where are you, Karkat?" He calls in a sing-song voice, oblivious to the fact that his best friend is bleeding out on the bathroom floor.

"I'm up here." You say finally, struggling to keep your eyes open. His footsteps sound on the stairs not soon after, and he knocks on the bathroom door.

"You busy?" He asks after you don't respond to his knock.

It takes you a moment to respond, as thinking over your words takes significantly more effort with most of your blood dripping onto the floor. "I'm almost done." You tell him finally, chuckling at your little joke. "Almost…"

You can almost hear the eye-roll in his voice the next time he speaks, no doubt thinking that this is another one of you lame excuses for a joke. Little did he know, you are serious. Dead serious. "You want me to go wait in your room, or…?"

You shake your head, even though you're well-aware he can't see you. "No, stay. I'm not takin' a shit or anythin', so let's just… talk."

It might be the lazy way you speak, or the way you Southern drawl, the one you work so hard to cover up, is creeping into your voice, or maybe he just had nothing better to do, but you hear Dave sigh and take a seat, leaning against the door in the same way you are.

"Hey Dave?" You ask through the door, not waiting for a reply before continuing, "Did I ever tell you that I lived in North Carolina?"

"No." He says in monotone.

"Well, I did. I didn't like it much though," You tell him, grimacing at the memories resurfacing in your mind at the mention of your old home, "That's where ma and Kanny died. The house caught fire while dad was pickin' me up from school." You mutter, closing your eyes and resisting the urge to yawn. "Don't know what caused it, though."

You hear him suck in a breath and tense, seeming to be preparing himself before talking. You did blame him. After all, you had never told anyone how you lost your mom and brother, how your father got to where he is now; a poor, useless sack of shit that sits around the house in a daze and relies on his son to work two jobs just to keep the apartment.

You never wanted Dave to know, but apparently being on your deathbed does funny things to a person.

"Karkat… I'm so sorry." He whispers through the door. You hear him put his hand against the wood, as if trying to reach through and hug you, before he sighs and drops his hand. "I never knew…"

"It's a'right," You tell him, making soft shushing sounds in between your muffled giggles. "I never told you."

There's a pause, and for a second you think maybe he's onto you, but then he says, "Are you drunk?" Concern fills his voice, and you can't help but feel all warm and fuzzy inside. He was worried. And about you, of all people!

"Maybe~," You giggle, silently praying for the blood flow to stop slowing and hurry the fuck up, "but relax, everyone dips into the sauce every now and again." You laugh again at your analogy, covering the sound with your hand just to be a little shit. Dave had often said that your laugh was adorable, but the only time he ever heard it unrestrained was when you were drunk. You were a happy, giggly drunk, and he never let you forget it.

"Yeah, but you sound more like you had the whole fucking bottle," He points out, jiggling the door handle. "Do you still have a bottle in there? What's that weird dripping sound?" Dave questions, trying to turn the locked door handle again.

"That's just... uh, the rain," You reply nervously, trying to redirect the trail of blood dripping down your arm. You just had to keep him talking for a little while longer. It wouldn't be long now at least, until you bled out. You're incredibly lucky today is overcast. "Do you like rain, Dave?"

"I don't." He sighs, seeming to calm down. "I like the sound of it, the pitter-patter, it's soothing. But I don't like the actual rain. It gets my hair wet and is just fucking depressing."

You smile in relief, letting the blood flow from your arm resume its original path. Dave had fallen for it, and the rain couldn't just end as suddenly as it began. He might not be as academically successful as his twin sister, Rose, but Dave certainly wasn't an idiot.

"I like rain," You admit, drawing little swirls on the bathroom tiles with your blood. "There's something… refreshing about it. It's like, the purest thing on Earth," You giggle, "or 'above' Earth."

Dave hums in agreement, "Yeah, I get that. What with the water cycle removing all the impurities and all."

You nod, and move so that you're laying on the floor, curling up into a little ball on your side and using your hands as a pillow. "'M so tired, Dave." You mumble, yawning as sweet sweet sleep, kept at bay for so long, finally starts to take over your consciousness.

"Karkat, what's seeping under the door?" Dave asks, confused as his fear and anxiety rises. You hear the sound of flesh slapping something sticky, and you hear him suck in a hard breath as his hand, no doubt, comes away with blood. Now that you have moved, there's nothing there to keep your blood from seeping under the door. You didn't mind, though. Sleep was so, so close, and not even Dave's rapid banging on the door would keep you from it.

"'Night, Dave." You whisper, voice taking on a dreamy quality as your brain begins to shut down from blood loss. "I love you..."

"Don't you fucking dare, Karkat!" He screams, voice cracking as he pounds against the wood until it begins splintering, the pieces digging into the tender flesh of his hands. "Don't you fucking dare go to sleep! Fuck!"

This time, you don't respond.

Dave finishes demolishing your bathroom door in under a minute and stumbles over to your body. There's blood everywhere, but he doesn't hesitate when he drops to the ground. In one hand, 911 is on the phone reassuring him that they'll be there soon, and the other hand,is cradling your blood-soaked body gently to his chest, whispering choked apologizes and prayers you doubt will be answered. It's too late.

You're already fast asleep.

One Month Later, Dave's P.O.V.

The air is cold, still clinging to the last shreds of winter ever though it was technically already spring. It had been for a while. The wind is blowing, rustling the finally budding tree branches and tustling your blonde hair happily, as though inviting you to play. Any other day, you would have accepted its invitation, but you don't. Not today of all days.

You polish off the apple-cinnamon mocha you had gotten from a random Starbucks and exit the park, distractedly tossing your empty cup towards a nearby trashcan. You miss, and the cup clatters to the ground, but you don't notice. In front of you, the hospital loams, looking dark and menacing on such a cheerful day, and you swallow the anxiety in your chest as you step towards it.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you sort of love Karkat Vantas.

He's your best friend. You both have naturally red eyes and white hair, though he dyes his brown and wears colored contacts. You both got hooked on apple juice from the first time you tried it, no matter how much he had tried to deny it. You both hate each other's taste in movies but insist on movie nights anyway. You'll mutually claim that cuddle sessions are for sissies, but in truth, they're your one weakness. You know you would be really, really happy with him.
You're also certain that he might not be around long enough to learn this.

You can't help but feel like his suicide attempt is your fault. Maybe if you had just grown a pair and told him how you feel, instead of always talking about him as this 'mystery person', you could've stopped him somehow. You blame yourself, and it's partially because of the guilt that you refused to visit him in the hospital. He was in a coma, so it wasn't as though he could hold a steady conversation anyway, but still.

Rose hadn't been impressed with your decision, and neither had Jade. Certainly, John hadn't. You don't think Karkat realizes how many people care about him.

At the very least, this certainly was a slap in the face to his dad, who had finally gotten a job. Two, actually, to help pay for the ever-raising hospital bill. You and everyone else had offered to help chip in for the expense, and he had turned everyone down. Not that it stopped Kanaya from paying it. She really cared about him. In fact, you sometimes couldn't tell who was more important to her; Rose or Karkat. You think she considers them equally important, but damn, you do not want to be Karkat when (or if) he wakes up. Kanaya would probably going to be furious at him for being such a dumbass once the initial relief wore off.

You smile slightly at the thought, though you already know without looking that the expression doesn't reach your eyes. How could you possibly smile for real? They were going to cut Karkat off of life support tomorrow and officially pronounce him dead. You hadn't told Karkat's dad yet; no one had. You don't think he could handle this on top of everything else. But the hospital's decisions were beyond your control. He was hopeless, they had said. They couldn't keep wasting money and resources on someone who didn't want to be alive. No amount of begging, threats, or bribing would change their minds.

It's because of this that you're here today. You thought, before he officially 'died', you should have one more conversation with him.

The nurse, a short girl with a blonde ponytail, is very nice. She just directs you to his room and reminds you to keep quiet before scurrying off. Not a people person by any means, but she had looked at you like you were a person. Someone with a life, friends, family, and a future. Not like someone whose whole life centered around the person dying on the hospital bed. There was no pity in her eyes as she looked at you, and that was the main difference between her and your friends. Your friends had a more accurate view of the situation, but it was still… nice. It was nice.

Karkat has always been small, but there, lying in the hospital bed, you can't believe how… fragile he looks. Despite his size, he has always held himself above others, like he knew he wasn't as tall as you, but that it didn't matter, because he was going to stay strong. You never thought he could look weak, but now you see that you're wrong.

He could, and it was a heartbreaking sight.

You force yourself to move into the room, even as every fiber in your being urges you to go. You take a seat in the chair next to him and take a deep breath. This was a lot harder than you thought it would be. "Karkat," You manage finally, "I need to tell you something."

Karkat's P.O.V.

It's been a month.

One entire month and yet you're still alive. You had been trying to pull the plug on yourself ever since you woke up, but the damn life support won't let you. It's keeping you alive, just barely, and it's exhausting. You're more drained than you think you've ever been your entire life, and you're not even moving. It's because of this and this alone that, when Dave comes in and sits down, you don't block him out. You had done it to all of your other friends, closed your eyes and begged for them to leave until, when you opened them, hours had passed and they were gone. You never heard a word they said, and you didn't want to. No doubt, it was some bullshit about how it was their fault and how they'd be better. You're absolutely certain this wasn't because of anything they did, and you don't want to hear it. They were all perfect just the way they are.

It was you who was the problem.

Why else would Dave refuse to visit you for an entire month? He must hate you, for attempting suicide. You wouldn't blame him. Hell, you'd be glad if he hated you. That way you won't have any regrets when you inevitably try again, and again, and again, until it eventually works. None of your friends will stick around if you're repeatedly being self-destructive. You might even end up in a mental institution, but you didn't care. You weren't good enough for any of them. Least of all Dave. You don't even know why he's bothering wasting his time on you now; especially after a month, so you tune in the outside world, if only out of curiosity.

"Karkat," Dave begins, swallowing hard, "I need to tell you something."

To your left, the machine that monitors your heart rate beeps quietly, repeating the sound a few seconds later. Your heart beat is ridiculously slow, but it doesn't concern you.

"I probably should've told you this sooner, instead of always blabbering on and on about some 'mystery person', but I guess I was scared." He reaches out and grabs your hand, tracing small circles in the skin with his thumb. Had you been awake, you would have blushed. "And see, the thing is, I'm not scared anymore." Dave stops here, looking at your face steadily as though waiting for a reaction, some sort of sign that you're miraculously awake, but none comes. "That doesn't make it any easier though, even if you are asleep." So that's what he called it, huh? Asleep. That made it sound like you were going to wake up; like you had to wake up. You don't understand why he's crying. "I've had a lot of time to myself this past month. Mostly, I just sat in my room and thought. Usually, I was thinking about you, and I came to realize something." He stops again, and had you been able to strangle him for leaving you so on edge, you would have. "I didn't want you to know, because I figured you would feel the same way, but then I realized that that doesn't matter. I just need to tell you before you're gone, so at least you'll know."

Before you're gone? What does that mean? He couldn't have known your future plans for if you survived this, so that must mean…

The hospital is going to pull the plug. For some reason, this doesn't make you happy. You've spent your whole life struggling, fighting, and never giving anything up easily, and now-

Now you had no choice. You were going to die soon and there was nothing you could do about it. Suddenly, death doesn't seem so welcoming. You had been high when you attempted suicide, and you were high now, on all of the powerful medications they were pumping into your system. What the actual fuck were you thinking?

You loved your friends, and you loved your dad, and most of all, you loved Dave. You wanted to grow up and produce the most sickeningly sweet romcoms ever known to man. That was what you had been studying for your entire high school career! But more than anything, right now, you wanted to live.

"So, here it goes. That person I'm always telling you about? It's you. I wasn't sure of my feelings entirely until a few days ago, but please, don't die on me." He cups your hand in his, leaning in and pressing his forehead against yours. "Karkat, I love you."

Those simple words, the ones you've wanted to hear since freshmen year, triggers something inside you. You realize that sleep isn't as great as you once thought it was. You realize that, selfish or not, this is your life, and you're going to own it. With Dave's assistance, of course. You realize that you want to wake up.

And so you do. You open your eyes and the heart rate monitor leaps up to what you assume is the normal range, dragging Dave's attention to the twitch of your hand. Smiling at the completely unguarded expression of shock on his face, you lean in and finally mutter the words you had been thinking for so long. "I love you, too."

A nurse bursts into the room right as he grins and crashes his lips to yours. She stares in shock as the heart rate monitor goes off the scale.

A/N: I know it's a cheesy and unrealistic ending, but cut me some slack! I've never been in a coma and hey, it was cute. No hate, please!