A/N: I got this idea a little bit ago. I'm working on like, six fanfictions right now but I had to get this out. This is only chapter one, there will be more! It's DaveKat. Ok.

Before we begin I have to say a few things: I did a little research on albinism for this so I hope my source was reliable. I'm sorry if you can't follow my writing style, and if you can't I suggest you don't read anything I post ever. I'm sorry it's absolute crap but I'm not sorry if you don't like where I take the plot or how it ends. It's my fanfiction. Honest reviews are nice and all but please be polite about it if you dislike something. If I get impolite reviews I will take this fic down. It's just plain rude to be impolite when commenting on something someone worked hard to create and honesty is not justification for rudeness.

Sorry about the rant. I'm sane, I swear. Enjoy the fic~

Characters belong to Andrew Hussie, story belongs to me.

There are only so many insults specific to albino people that one could toss around. That doesn't apply to you, of course, because you're certain you could come up with hundreds, provided you actually wanted to hurt someone's feelings, and provided you weren't albino yourself. The idiots around here, though, only seem to know two: freak and mutant.

You've started school someplace new with a new foster dad, a kind of overly dramatic knife-loving mobster whom you never see but somehow he got stuck with you. You didn't bother with contacts or wigs because you did that at all the other schools and people usually found out and punished you for it. They always found out. You always had to move. Back to the orphanage because you can't change one fucked up little piece of your DNA and just be normal.

There's one guy here whom you already hate more than the rest of them. He's a really popular guy, and not because he's a jock, or because he's The Most Attractive Male On Earth™, but because he's just so fucking COOL. He's a huge prick and he talks way too damn much and he has rap battles—RAP BATTLES—and some weird obsession with apple juice. He's in a fencing club (you know that because the facility is by your house, not because you pay attention to the shit he says) and he lives in an apartment with his brother. That's all you know, and that's all you'll ever know, because even if you did try to read him, he's always got shades on, anyway, so you can't.

The worst thing in a situation like this is that he actually notices you. You don't expect a cool guy like him to look your way for anything but a smirk and a joke at your expense. And yet, he actually looks at you. He NODS at you. Never a word, never up too close, just a nod across the hall and then he's gone, with his entourage close at his elbow.

You fucking loathe that Dave Strider.

You just know he's fucking with you, because you see him with your biggest enemies on a daily basis. They're the ones that always shout that you're a freak and a mutant and that you should just die, before proceeding to beat you up. The first day, man, it's been happening since the first fucking day. Strangely, though, you've never once seen Dave there with them. Sometimes you like to think he's really not all that bad a guy, until you realize it's Dave Strider, and he's probably usually off being cool fuck knows where on those occasions.

That kind of makes you feel better because it kind of makes him look like even more of an insufferable prick.

You grow accustomed to people hitting you and hating you and Dave just standing back like nothing's even happening. At least he looks at you, though, right? Instead of staring. He actually looks at you. You think? You can't tell with those fucking shades covering half his face. In fact, you've grown SO accustomed to it that you jump three feet when you hear a voice behind you.

"What the everloving fuck, Strider!" you exclaim, clutching your chest.

"Sup, Vantas."

"What do you want!"

You don't want him to speak to you. You want him to go away and leave you alone with your pathetic thoughts. You really don't need him to screw around with your feelings right now. And you groan inwardly, hating the fact that you actually care that he's about to put the smack down on you (and you are NOT FUCKING SCARED).

Dave shrugs in that stupid nonchalant way. "Just came over here to talk to you, dude. You look like a lonely guppy, figured you'd like a fish friend."

"I'm a Cancer," you grumble, really not appreciating the fish metaphor, especially since one of your good friends from the orphanage growing up used fish puns all the time. You miss her.

Dave gives you a look that makes you think that maybe he cocked an eyebrow at you, but again, you can't tell. "I'm a Sagittarius," he informs you. "Is that how you usually make friends? Talking about your astrological signs? Guess it's not the most unconventional way to make friends I've seen but I can say it's up there at the top, kind of like a tightrope walker at—"

"God damn, do you ever shut up?" you hiss, slinging your book bag over your shoulder. You're ready to just walk away, but a part of you fears the potential consequences, so you stay put. Oh you can just feel Dave's eyes on you. It pisses you off and depresses you and you know what he must be thinking, you in your dark gray sweater and black jeans with that paper white hair and far-too-pale skin.

"Not really." He shrugs again, still with that blank expression plastered to his face. "Can't keep a music man from playin his part now can you."

You Just sort of…stare at him. You feel like you're being patronized. There's just no way in hell this coolkid would ever be anything close to nice to you. But a part of you thinks…maybe going along with it is a better idea. Sure, you'll probably be around those losers that beat you up all the time more often, but maybe Dave won't let them be so harsh once he talks to you a little bit.

You snort and walk away. He follows. Why he follows you, you don't think you're ever going to understand. But you hate it. You don't want his stupid presence anywhere near you, mocking you with his height, and his popularity, and his normalcy, and his coolkid motherfuckin entourage. You just want him to go away. You might settle for him just staying silent if you weren't undeniably certain he'd be silently judging you the entire Goddamn time.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you absolutely despise that Dave Strider.