Blood rushes in his ears as he stares into nothing. Colors race in his mind. The brightness swirling and spinning into one dark, dark color. Blues. Greens. Purples. Brown. Reds. He can't escape it. The pulsing of his blood is so loud it drowns out all other noises; even the most important ones. The ones that wash away the bright, harsh colors into pretty pastels. The noises that gently calm his thudding heart to a gentle drum. They are so hard to hear. Soft whispers are drowned in the noises. The screaming of colors. The racing heart. He can hardly remember the soft noises.
He lifts his chest, trying to sit up. The need to run and see those colors in person is overwhelming. He has to go see those colors. Pouring down walls. On the floor. His hands. The brightness calls him. The brighter the better. His heart quickens at the imagery. The smell is so vivid. The sounds are so close. The colors call to him.
There are restraints on his chest. He can't get up. The calling grows louder; harsher. He needs to get up. He has to see those colors. Noises make their way from his throat; growls. The calling is screaming now. A command. The restraints grow tighter, pulling him back down.
Another growl escapes. Words are lost to him. His heart is pounding in his chest and his breath is quick. He pushes harder. Digging his nails into the firm ground to help him. The restraints can't hold him, he's too strong, and they snap away.
His vision is blurred. Colors are filling his sight. He scrambles forward, his legs wobbling. Everything is loud and nothing makes sense. The only thing in this world he can remember is colors. Bright, disgusting, vile colors. Shades that make him gag. He's shaking. Trembling with pure hatred, or maybe excitement. How could he tell?
Something touches him. Something wretchedly hot against his icy skin. Anger fills him, causing a hiss to leave him. But only briefly can he be filled with anger. The warmth leaves, but then returns. Repeatedly. A motion he remembers through vague memories. The screaming turns to whispers and the bright colors cease to glow.
His breathing shakes as he feels himself calm. Everything is quiet now. Silence fills him.
"Shhhh….." A voice breaks the silence. Gentle and shaky. "Gamzee, relax….shhhh…."
The soft noise. There it is. Breaking down the yells and swirls, into easy touches and relaxing sounds.
The warmth returns, papping softly against his cheek. The noise closer to his ear.
"Gamzee, talk to me?" The warmth speaks quietly, pressing itself completely against Gamzee. A hug. "Shhhhooosh…."
He buries himself into it's shoulder; rubbing roughly, trying to clear his eyes. "...Kar?" Memories slowly flow back to him; and he smiles, rubbing himself a little more gently into Karkat. Of course it's Karkat. Such soft things could only come from someone like him.
"Yea...it's me." He's strained, still papping away.
Gamzee pulls himself back, his eyes lazily focusing on his best friend. The lop-sided smile still present. "Hey." He can hardly remember the harsh noises or the swirling colors. In fact, Gamzee probably couldn't tell you a single one of those colors if you asked him. Things like that are blurry to him.
Karkat nods to himself; a stern frown gracing his features. He removes his hand. "Hi."
Gamzee can't recall why on Alternia his moirail would be giving him a look like that, but then again Karkat wasn't one for smiles. He brings their foreheads together, a 'honk' quietly leaving him.
Gamzee couldn't remember coming down to the basement or making this pile of blankets, but it was nice to spend some time with Karkat. He laid back onto the pile bringing Karkat down with him. "You know, Bro? I can't remember worth a motherfuck why we're down here so often, but this pile is so soft."
Karkat makes a noise; something between a grunt and a sigh.
His name is Gamzee Makara and he's just a little bit whimsical in thought, mind, and memory.
