It was the screeching of the old, overused brakes that ripped him from his reverie. Five years of the same routine had forced him into the habit of falling into a hypnotized state from the time he boarded the bus to the time those brakes cried out in their strangled way. It was a sure thing, an expected thing.
It was, like everything else in his existence, a monotonous fact of his boring life.
He exited in a haze, stepping onto the sidewalk and hurrying up the concrete stairs, nearly desperate to distract himself from the incessant thoughts of appointments to be made and errands to be completed. Drawing forth the battered little packet from his back pocket, he slid out a single slim cigarette. Another expedition into that realm produced a lighter whose fluid was nearly completely diminished. Yes, it was true that along with the bus, along with the brakes, along with the stairs, lighting the little tube of tobacco was also a daily occurrence; it was nearly even a chore. This ritual, so perfectly preserved over the countless other habits that had been obliterated in the previous five years, remained a constant with very strict rules and regulations. In fact, it was required that the stick of tobacco was completely used up by the time he neared the third floor. Halfway up the third staircase, the remnant was tossed over the edge. The fourth floor saw no trace of the incriminating addiction, and his own doorway required the donning of a bright, honest, yet slightly tired smile.
The weathered door creaked open at his shove, aided by a nudge from his shoulder. A few kicks relieved him of his ragged shoes, and it was with a worn but full heart that he addressed his husband.
"I'm home, Karkat!" The call was directed at the clanging sounds coming from the small kitchen, partly obscured by the wall before him. Skirting his way carefully around his piano bench, then just as cautiously around the lamp adjacent to it, he briskly crossed to hug the troll from behind. "Love you."
Karkat had been busying himself with the task of preparing their evening meal. This was his custom, as it had been from the day they moved in together. Preparing a meal for himself and his beloved was one of the few things Karkat looked forward to in the long, drawn out day. Yet on this particular evening, his tired eyes lacked the sparkle that normally accompanied this action. Nevertheless, he turned to the man whose arms were laced around the alien's waist and smiled.
"It's good to have you home, John." And truly it was. The reassuring form pressed against his back did Karkat good, allowing him to relax even slightly. His previous frustration with the meal he was attempting to prepare dulled a bit, and for a moment, he just savored the feel of his husband at his back.
Yet this embrace could not last forever. Despite John's equal reluctance to separate, the human backed away from his mate so that Karkat could continue his task without the added hassle of John's pestering. In fact, it was no sooner that John broke away from the troll that Karkat mumbled, "Could you set the table?"
He needn't have asked. This delegation of responsibilities was so engrained in their day-to-day living that John knew with more certainty that his chore was to set the table than whether his name was Egbert-Vantas or Vantas-Egbert.
The silverware clattered down to its usual place as Karkat removed the casserole from the oven. He was anything but happy with it. A woman at work had given him the recipe but the troll, true to form, had decided that his own personal touches would better the dish. A combination of Karkat's judgment and of the price of the required ingredients had led the meal on a splendid journey from scrumptious to probably edible, and the round little pan that now cooled on the counter emitted a most peculiar aroma.
Well, horrid or not, John knew he would devour every bite of what Karkat served him. This noble decision was made both out of love and necessity. Not only were the two in hard times, but John often found himself rather hungry when he returned home in the evenings. Whether this was from his medication or not he had yet to discover, but we wasn't about to bring that secret topic up around Karkat. He would ask his doctor the next time he needed a refill.
The two sat down now across from each other, their eyes meeting for a brief second. Even in that glance, the love that existed between the haggard pair was nearly tangible, and any passerby would suspect that were it not for their unshaved complexions, the rundown apartment, and the ever increasing pile of bills, the two lived in paradise. Yet this assumption was much farther from the truth, even with the above items discounted. In fact with every bite, the two men contemplated whether or not they should break the news to their companion. They both harbored untold secrets of high importance itching to be let forth. Who would crack first?
It was, unbelievably, Karkat who broke the silence. "So…how was work?" He glanced up at John, trying to gauge his reaction to the simple question. A lot could be told from John's facial expressions.
"Oh!" The only emotion betrayed was surprise. "It was fine. The same old same old, you know…" He trailed off, deciding to use the pause to swallow more food.
Karkat's fingers began drumming the table. "John. It's been five years. When are you getting promoted?" The question was direct, the tone agitated.
John recovered from his initial shock by slowly chewing his newly acquired mouthful of food. This was a risky move; though it gave John time to think, it also allowed Karkat's temper more time to rise. "We can't rush these things, Karkat," was his response. "One day I'll be promoted, and then we'll be better off!" A little smile graced his lips, but it was met with only renewed frustration.
"John," Karkat began, a new irritated edge to his voice, "The only reason you took that job was because they said you'd work your way up the ladder quickly. It's been five fucking years and you haven't gotten anywhere close to being on the ladder, let alone climbing it!" The troll's anger was building slowly. It was only a matter of time before he exploded.
"That wasn't the reason I took the job. We have everything we need here, don't we?" John shifted in his chair, a bit agitated at the questioning. The smile was forced. It was obvious, from the size of their tiny apartment, the state of their clothing, and the age of their laptops that life was anything but easy. "I don't care about a promotion."
That was it. With a reddening of his face, Karkat's anger burst forth. "Well I fucking do!" It was a shout, and John recoiled instantly. "We live in a shit hole and you're stuck in a fucking dead end job with no assurance of a goddam future! We can barely pay the fucking bills as it is! The last thing we needed was me getting-" He cut off quickly, but John noticed the sentence. One glance told the troll of his mistake, and his gaze fell to the table.
"…Karkat? The last thing we needed was you getting…what?" His tone was gentle, almost as if he suspected the answer.
A heavy sigh escaped Karkat's lips as he turned his eyes up to meet John's. It was painful to tell him. He was so ashamed of himself.
"I…John. Today I…" He swallowed one last time, working up his nerve.
"I got fired."