AN: This is my first attempt to write fanfiction, so please be gentle with me! This is part of a larger Gangstuck universe that I may or may not expand on in the future. Enjoy!
Drip. Drip. Drip.
"God fucking damn it!" you mutter to yourself. Why can't someone just fix the stupid faucet already. It's been broken for a week now, which has totally helped you get your much needed rest for the last 5 days. It's amazing you've gotten any rest at all, what with the damn thing dripping all night long.
Sighing, you sit up and look around you. You're sitting on a futon mattress that was dragged haphazardly into the middle of the living room floor. The room is one of the smallest in the shared 3 floor home. It has a small bookshelf for Kanaya and Rose to keep their fucked up wizard and rainbow drinker novels, a beat up old arm chair with stuffing spilling out the cushions, and your futon. In front of you, light from the street lamp outside streams in through the grimy little window set into the cement at the top of the brick wall. It's the only window in this shitty basement apartment, aside from the one next to the front door leading to the cellar steps, but that one has curtains drawn over it to keep people from seeing inside the flat. No one ever pulls them aside, except to see who is knocking at the door. One can never be too careful when they have a rival gang out for their blood. Or the police. Lord knows how many of your friends would be arrested if the cops raided this place. Not to mention child services getting involved. They would have a field day with all the fucked up kids in this building.
To your right is the tiny kitchen, which no one ever uses to cook actual food. That is what the kitchen on the top floor is for. The cabinets are filled with spare weapons and clothes, and a few even hold drugs; mainly sopor and a bit of marijuana, for Gamzee to use and sell. The rickety wooden table in the middle of the room where there used to be an island, before Aranea accidentally blew it up with her fucking dice bombs that Meenah gave her as a gift (for protection only your ass), was only ever used for planning attacks, or when Kanaya was patching people up after a fight. That girl was a miracle worker. Honestly, if it weren't for her you were sure that some of your friends would be dead. Thank God for her mothering instincts.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Oh right. The faucet.
You suppose you should just keep trying to fall asleep, but you can't see that happening anytime in the next few hours. Glancing to your left at the small clock on the floor, you see the glowing red numbers read 2:45. Shit.
Defeated, and generally giving up on sleep, you let your head fall to your chest. In doing so you catch sight of the shirt you're wearing. It is Dave's red short sleeve tee with white trim and that stupid fucking record of his in the center. He had lent it to you earlier that day after you got blood on your own top. It wasn't your fault that you tried to hustle pool in a bar with Untouchables nearby. You hadn't even seen them until you walked out the front door with the day's winning in your jacket pocket.
You were just minding your own business, walking back home after a fairly successful day, when they jump you from behind and drag you into an alleyway next to a seedy looking tattoo parlor about a block away from the bar you had spent the day in. Frantically, you look around trying to assess the situation and identify your immediately see that you are outnumbered and outmatched, and you don't even have time draw your sickle out of the hidden sheath on your back before they start to go at you. You're up against Equius and Kurloz, the 2 toughest guys in the Untouchables, your rival gang. You don't stand a damn chance. Equius is way too fucking strong to fight hand to hand and Kurloz is just too fucking huge to even attempt to retaliate. Sometimes you really hate your damn size. If only you could be a few inches taller, then maybe you could stand a chance. Within minutes the fight is over.
One black eye, a busted lip, and pockets about 300 dollars lighter later, you finally make your way back to the warehouse apartment on the East side of the borough. Kanaya just about throws a fit when she sees the state you're in. She starts fussing over you immediately, making you hold ice on your eye and dabbing at your lip with a cotton ball soaked in rubbing alcohol. Dave, being one of the only ones home at the moment, comes strolling downstairs to see what all the commotion was about, and starts rushing down the old iron spiral staircase when he hears Kanaya mention your name in the midst of scolding you. The moment you see him you scowl and look away. You don't want his pity. You don't want him to think you're weak. You have to face him moments later however, because Kanaya forces your chin up so she can continue tending to your lip, giving Strider a perfect view of your battered face.
To any other person, it would seem as if he didn't react at all. He keeps his poker face perfectly intact, holding his cool guy demeanor firmly in place. But you can see what others can't. You notice the slight crease in his forehead, his clenched jaw. He's worried about you. Wondering if you're hurt very badly, hoping to God that you are gonna be okay. You see his fists balled up at his sides, concealing the tattoos on both his palms. You notice that his whole body has gone rigid, as if he is making a major physical effort to not run to you immediately and make sure you are okay himself. He is angry too; angry at the people who had done this to you, to his matesprit. Hatred for the people who had dared injure the boy he loved is coursing through his veins.
But he tries to keep all of that hidden. Dave didn't like showing emotions around many people. The exceptions were you, Dirk, Rose, and John. No one else gets to see inside the mind of Dave Strider, no one else gets to see past those walls he has spent so many years building up to keep people from hurting him.
After Kanaya has finished fixing up your lip to the best of her ability, she leaves you two alone so you can talk. The second she steps out of the room, he is tripping over his own feet in his rush to get over to you.
"Who was it?"
"Dave-"
"Who did this to you Karkat?" he repeats.
Looking down, you mutter, "Some of the Untouchables…"
You hear him draw in a sharp breath. Startled, you glance up to see him gritting his teeth and staring at the ceiling, as if he can somehow get back at them by glaring a hole through it.
"Dave, it's fine, stop-"
"No, Karkat, it's not fine," he says looking back down at you. You can see his red eyes through his shades and they are swimming with rage. His cool guy act is gone, replaced with all the emotions bottled up in his head. "You're injured, they stole all your hard earned cash from today, and they attacked you unprovoked. We could go back to war with them for this. Do you have any idea how angry the others will be when they hear about this little incident? Vriska and Terezi will be out for blood, not to mention you psycho clown of a moirail. Dude, Gamzee is gonna completely flip his shit and head straight over to their fucking brownstone on the West Side to avenge you or some other shit that's equally reckless! They are our enemies Karkat, don't you get that? They might as well have just walked up to our front door and announced that they were planning to kill us all!"
"Dave, it is not that big of a deal! So what, they jumped me? It was neutral territory, and I let my fucking guard down! It was my own damn fault in the first place, there is no need to start a fucking war over it! None of the others need to know that any shit went down with the Blues. If they ask what happened to me we can tell them I got in a fight at the bar when the guy I was playing wouldn't pay up."
"No Karkat, we can't just-"
"YES WE FUCKING CAN! For me, Dave, please don't blow this out of proportion. It was nothing. If they try something again, then we can take action and go fuck their shit up. But not over something as fucking stupid as this. Just drop it, okay?"
"But babe-"
"I SAID NO DAVE. As your leader, I am ordering you to fucking leave it alone. Got it asshole?"
Dave stays silent.
"I said 'Got it?'"
After a moment he responds, "Fine. But it doesn't mean I have to like it."
"Fine by me."
You sit there in slightly uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before Strider stands up and moves to pull off his t-shirt. Caught off guard, you start spluttering and flailing your arms about in attempt to get him to slow down for a second and explain his actions.
"W-w-wait! S-strider you asshole, w-what the fuck are you doing?" you squeak out.
He flashes you a cocky grin, looking at you over his shades. "What does it look like I'm doing Karkitty? I'm giving you my shirt."
"Strider, now is not- Wait, what? Why?"
"You have blood on yours, genius."
You glance down to see that you did indeed have dried blood on your gray t-shirt. "Oh."
"Yeah, you're welcome."
"Thanks," you mumble.
"No problem. Anything for my boyfriend." He grins at you again.
"It's matesprit, you dipshit."
"Tomato, tamahto."
"Asshole."
"Love you too, Kit Kat."
That had been six hours ago. Now you are left sitting alone on the living room floor trying to drown out the sound of the broken tap with your thoughts. It isn't working out too well.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Maybe you can sneak upstairs to the loft and crash with Dave. It would be risky though. If you wake anybody up, you would never hear the end of it. John would tease you for weeks, not to mention the lecture you and Dave would receive from Kankri about some type of impropriety bullshit. Oh God, you would never live that down. Getting up the stairs without alerting anybody of your presence would be hard enough, what with how the old steps creak when somebody so much as breathes on them. All the people in this building are conditioned to wake up at the slightest disturbance and prepare to attack any potential intruders. Hell, what if Vriska wakes up and throws a dagger into your gut before you have a chance to react? She had done it once before, that time when a painfully oblivious thief had tried to rob them last summer. The risks of going up 2 flights of stairs are too great.
Drip.
Oh fuck it.
As silently as you can, you slip out from under your thin blanket and pad toward the spiral staircase. Your bare feet sting when they come into contact with the cold cement floor and goosebumps rise up all over your exposed legs, which are barely covered by your black basketball shorts, but you keep moving. You're used to the cold by now. It's almost comforting, reminding you of your shitty little makeshift bedroom in the flat where the people you now consider your family live with you. It makes you feel safe, like you are home. Crossing the kitchen to get to the practically non-existent foyer, you grab hold of the railing and begin to climb.
Stepping carefully, as if you were walking through a mine field, you make your way up the steps. You manage to keep quiet all the way to the ground floor, before you make your first mistake.
Creeeeeeeeak.
Shit. You had completely forgotten about the second step after the landing. It had squeaked ever since Jade had accidentally shot a hole through it when Jake was trying to teach her how to use a handgun. Fucking English should have kept the safety on. Needless to say, she stuck with using a rifle after that. But the step had never been the same.
Panicking, and thinking you had woken someone, you dart up the steps until you are about halfway up to the loft. Turning and crouching down so as not to be seen, you peer down below you to see if anybody had heard you. You hold your breath as the door to the left of the stairs swings open, and a figure shuffles out. You can't quite make out who it is in the dark. They had come from the left, so it must be one of the girls. Squinting, you see that she has long, sharp horns. It must be one of the Pyrope sisters. Leaning forward, you notice that she is holding a cane in her right hand.
Terezi.
You freeze, praying to God that you won't sneeze and give yourself away. She doesn't seem to know you are there, but then again, she doesn't need to see you to locate you. Turning her head, she sniffs the air, trying to catch a whiff of whatever it was that had disturbed her sleep. She stands there for a few moments trying to discern whatever it was that she smelled, before turning around and heading back into her room. You think you hear her mutter something along the lines of 'damn coolkid' as she shuts the door.
You heave out a sigh of relief. She had thought you were Dave moving around upstairs. You suppose it's because you are wearing his shirt. You must smell like him. Finally regaining control of your legs, you turn and tiptoe the rest of the way up the staircase.
When you step into the loft, everything is quiet. From the top of the stairs you enter into the living room, with the small kitchen on the right, next to the hallway which contains the 2 bedrooms and the single bathroom. You can see the faint outline of Dave's body on the pull-out couch, curled up under his red blankets. His shades are off, sitting on the coffee table next to his cell phone which also serves as his alarm clock.
Creeping closer, you notice that he is laying on his stomach, with his left arm hanging off the side of the couch. His blonde hair is stuck up all over the place and his mouth is hanging slightly open. The plain white wife beater he has on has become scrunched up around his waist, baring his lower back. He looks so peaceful when he is asleep, as if all the stress in their lives had evaporated from his being.
Stepping across the room as silently as possible, you make your way over to the couch. Grabbing the edge of the covers, you lift them up and slide into the bed careful not to disturb your matesprit. Unfortunately, your efforts were for naught. The cool air against Dave's legs had roused him from his deep sleep, and he rolls over to see what is going on, bumping his nose against yours in his haste to find the disturbance. Red meets red, and he relaxes, letting out a small chuckle at the startled look on your face. He reaches out a hand to rub his thumb gently against the bruise under your eye. Clearly he was still somewhat upset about it. Disgruntled, you scowl at him and growl under your breath.
"Shut up, Strider."
"Hey now, you're the one in my bed. I think I'm entitled to a laugh at your expense. Why are you here anyway?" he asks. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Just go back to sleep dumbass." you say as a response, rolling over to face away from him.
With another chuckle, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him, earning a squeak from you. Grumbling, you snuggle up against him and shut your eyes. He plants a quick kiss on the top of your head and settles down onto the pillow you two are sharing. His breath on the back of your neck and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your back finally lulls you to sleep.
Yeah. You could definitely get used to this.
AN: Please review! Constructive criticism would be much appreciated! Check my profile for any updates on the Gangstuck series. I'm thinking of call the series Slipping Through the Cracks. Thoughts?
~Lyssy