Karkat couldn't sleep that night. All he could think about as he tossed and turned was John, and how they'd fought earlier. He groaned, smothering his face with a pillow from the pile in which he slept.
How could you have been so stupid?
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on sleep.
He'll never forgive you.
Fuck. Sleep wasn't going to happen anytime soon. He stood up from the pile and stretched.
Not alone, anyway.
He couldn't just sleep with John and be cuddly with him, not after what he'd done. Karkat began to pace around the room.
He'd never want you back, you worthless asshole.
He opened the door and started to walk down the hallway.
Why are you doing this? He hates you.
As quietly as he could, Karkat opened the door to John's room, closing it just as gingerly as he'd opened it.
You fucking creep. You're in his room, watching him sleep. What the hell is wrong with you?
John looked so peaceful as he slept. Karkat reached out to touch his face, but retracted his hand upon having second thoughts.
He hates you.
Karkat bit his lip, but it was too late; red tears were already pooled around his waterline, ready to fall when he least wanted them to.
He hates you.
There was enough room in the bed for two.
He hates you.
Trying not to wake John, he lifted the covers and shimmied beneath them. In doing so, he tried to ignore how wet his cheeks were, or how his breath was coming out in shuddering sobs. He hates me.
"I'm sorry," he choked out, "I'm so fucking sorry, John." His voice felt raspy and probably sounded awful.
Karkat suddenly tensed as he felt the blankets shift and saw John turn to face him.
You fucking creep. You're in his bed.
His eyes are still closed. Karkat breathed a sigh of relief but tensed again as he felt arms around his waist, pulling him closer to John.
"I know, Karkat."
"John?" Hesitantly, Karkat nestled his face in John's shoulder. He noticed John's face was wet and felt a surge of guilt.
"I love you, Karkat."
Maybe he'd get some sleep, after all.