"Teach me how to play?" Karkat asked, watching the television screen with large eyes.

Dave gave a small nod and scooted over on the couch. "Finally. Do you know what it's like to have to sit here with my gaming wisdom like a fucking lemonade stand? These are Grade A lemons, the choicest shit on the block, yet everyone keeps walking past my lemonade stand even though I'm practically giving away this shit for free. I'm all, 'Hey Rose, want some lemons?' and she's all, 'Nah, I'd rather make out with my girlfriend.' Unbelievable."

"Hey, guess what?," Karkat said. "A customer just came in and asked for a platter of shut the fuck up, with a side of no one gives a shit."

Dave fumbled with the remote, flicking from a Dane Cook movie to the screen of the Xbox. "Well, go back and tell them that we don't serve any of that shit at Restaurant Strider. It's not FDA approved, and if they have a problem with that they can leave a bad review on Yelp for all I care."

"Dave!"

"All right, all right. So, the goal of this game is to get mad snacks, like Doritos and...wait do trolls even have Doritos? Should I be calling them Troll Doritos? Nacho Corn Triangles?"

Karkat scowled. His face was bright red, an odd color against the grey of his skin. Dave thought it was interesting, although he'd never say it. "Holy fucking shit, Strider. If I have to listen to you insult my culture one more time, I will shove a brick so far up your waste chute, it'll come out of your fucking mouth."

Dave adjusted his cape absentmindedly. The godtier outfits were ridiculous. "Sure, whatever. As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted-" (Here Karkat gave a mighty hmph) "You press this button to jump, this one to do that weird little wriggling motion. Sorta looks like you when you were young. The arrow keys move you." He handed the controller to Karkat with a flourish. "Onward, noble steed. Go slay the mighty Doritos."

Karkat took the controller with unsure hands, pressing buttons hesitantly. "Like this?" The TV emitted a loud crashing noise. "Fuck. What am I doing? How is this possible?" His scowl deepened. "Can humans stick their heads through concrete? I've never seen you show that sort of power."

Without smiling, Dave chucked. He rarely ever smiled, though. "Nah, it's just a glitch. Man, that always happened to me when I played. End up a twitching mass with a fucking half-pipe impaled through your stomach. You know, just a normal Sunday morning. Take a walk, get a half-pipe in your torso. "Oh, hey Jim," the neighbors say. "Half-pipe again?" Then you take a sip of your coffee and respond, "You betcha, sir." It would mess up my bro's high score, and he'd get so angr-." Suddenly, he stiffened, falling quiet.

For a few moments, Karkat kept playing. When Dave didn't speak up again, he set down the controller and faced his matesprit. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry," Dave said, shrugging. "You know me, have to be all cool and pensive."

"Fuck off," Karkat replied. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

Pursing his lips, Dave stared at the distance. "Nothing, it's just...my bro. You know."

"Oh. That."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of awkward silence before Karkat wrapped his arms around Dave. "It's okay. He's not here anymore. You're safe."

Dave squeezed back. "I know," he whispered, red eyes fixed on the Xbox game. "I know."