Your name is Karkat Vantas, and it's your eighteenth birthday. And, though you're supposed to be downstairs pretending to know nothing about the surprise party your family is planning, you can't make yourself move from your bed. You've been staring at your arm for about ten solid minutes, but you just can't bring yourself to look away. Vines creep up your arm, line by line, surprisingly details for something done in Sharpie. Flowers bloom and leaves grow, tingling your skin pleasantly where they reach. The smile on your face won't go away no matter how hard to try to suppress it, but you don't care. This is your favorite part of the day. You love watching Dave draw.
You wish you knew more about your soulmate then just his one-syllable name, but for now, that's all the information he's been willing to give you. Whenever you press him for information by scrawling questions on your arms, legs, or anywhere you think he'll look, his reply is always the same. "Be patient. You'll figure it out when the time is right."
It makes you want to slap him. And the fact that you can't because you have no idea where he lives just pisses you off even more. It's a never ending cycle of love-hate.
The drawings stop at your shoulder, as they always do, and your smile falls. You hate when he stops. But then your other arm begins to tingle, and you immediately forgive him.
"Like the drawings?" He asks you, and you can't help but imagine him wearing a smug smirk. Your certain that your mental image of Dave is nowhere near correct, but that's his fault. You've offered to give him your phone number multiple times, but he politely declined every time. "I know it's nothing fantastic, but I thought it was the least I could do for your birthday."
You begin to smile, until you remember that you're supposed to be mad at him and force your expression back to your trademark scowl. "The drawings are fantastic, Dave," you reply, just barely resisting the urge to add 'as always', "but I'd really fucking appreciate if you'd finally give me your full name. I'm eighteen, and so are you. I think we can handle something as simple as a name."
You hold your breath, waiting anxiously for his reply, but when one minute becomes ten, and ten becomes an hour, and your parents are forced to drag you downstairs for a party you're not in the mood for, you decide to give up on getting an answer. You messed up, you realize with a sinking feeling in your stomach. Dave is probably never going to talk to you again, and all because you were an impatient little shit.
Your melancholy thoughts are put on hold though, when a tingling sensation on your arm attracts your attention. Heart pounding, you scramble off your bed and turn on the lights, ignoring the fact that it's almost midnight and your parents will kill you if they catch you up this late.
"Yeah, alright," Dave says, and you slump in relief, "as a birthday present. My name is Dave Strider. What's yours?"
You reach for the black Sharpie you keep with you at all times, so different from the red he uses, and hesitate. Instead of telling him your last name, you smirk and write, "Maybe I'll tell you on your birthday."
He doesn't reply to that, which is fine by you. You have a name to Google, anyway.
Two hours and about 2,000 clicks later, and you're certain that you've dug up all you can about your Dave Strider. Because, obviously, there's more than one in the world. Life is never making things easy for you.
As it turns out, there's not a lot on him, but there's enough. He has an art blog on Tumblr for some shitty comic he does ironically and, though you were certain that it wasn't him for a moment, he had a link to a real art page too, and that was more than enough proof for you. His flowers are exactly the same as the ones printed on your arm. You know that he's eighteen, a Sagittarius, and that he lives in Houston, Texas. You couldn't find any actual pictures, but you're pretty sure that he's blonde and wears shades all the time.
Giddy with excitement, you finally go to sleep, tossing and turning for hours until you eventually pass out from exhaustion. You just can't wait until morning. You live in a small town on the Tropic of Cancer, so Texas isn't far at all. It'll only taken an hour and a half to get there if you're flying.
So the next morning, the first thing you do is shove a bunch of your clothes, all the money you have, and some other living essentials into the biggest bag you can find. Maybe it's all the romance movies you've seen, maybe it's because you're eighteen and reckless, or maybe it's because you're really that desperate to meet Dave, but no matter what your motivation is, you shove aside your family's concerns and head out.
No one questions you at the airport, not even when you pay for a last minute ticket in cash, and no one questions you when you step off in Texas, smiling wider than you have in your entire life. You pull up your sleeve and scrawl a quick message to Dave. "I'm coming for you, Strider."
His reply makes you laugh. "I'll be waiting. Assuming you can ever find me, that is." You don't laugh because it's funny. You laugh because he just issued a challenge and is expecting you to fail. Yeah, no. That's not how Karkat Vantas works.
You exit the airport and head to the nearest phone booth (which took longer to find than you thought), flipping open the heavy phone book they all have. You flip to the 'S' section and, though there's no mention of anyone named 'Dave', there's only one person listen under 'Strider'. His name is 'Ambrose' and though his name is completely foreign to you, it's the only lead you have, and you decide to follow it.
You write down the address on a piece of paper - not your skin, lest Dave see it and know you're onto him - and after about ten minutes of struggling, manage to hail a taxi.
It takes you twenty more minutes to actually get to the apartment building, and you step out of the taxi $50 lighter than you were before. Dave better fucking appreciate this, or you're going to kick him in the dick before catching the earliest flight home.
You're about to walk into the apartment building - Dave's apartment should be on the top floor - but before you do, a flash of blonde hair catches your eye. A boy who looks to be about your age is exiting the building. There's nothing unusual about him - he's bleach blonde, tan, and wearing a big pair of shades along with a plain white tank top and shorts. He looks just like every other Texan and yet, at the sight of him, your mouth suddenly becomes dry, your heart rate skyrockets, and you can't seem to look away. It's not until he turns his back to you do you understand why.
From wrist to shoulder, his arm is covered in flowers and vines drawn very clearly in Sharpie, and it's identical to your birthday gift.
Your breath catches in your throats and your eyes widen as his name consumes your thoughts. Dave. You think, and you're certain it's true.
Smiling, you reach into your pocket and pull out your black Sharpie. "Found you, dumbass." You write. He's looking at the back of his hand, watching blankly as your words form slowly, line by line.
He looks back and, through the crowded streets, the two of you lock eyes. And he smiles. A real genuine smile, just like the one you'd always imagined him with.
And before you can stop yourself, you're running towards him, just like one of those love-sick girls in the cheesy movies you love. He catches you, spinning with the momentum, and you find yourself laughing with delight. He joins in not long after, and holds you close, ignoring the few odd stares you received from passersbys.
"Shit, Karkat." He mutters into your hair, eyes closed as he breathes you in. "You're impatient as hell. I only gave you my name yesterday."
You give a breathy laugh, burying your face in his chest, loving the feeling of his arms around you. Christ, you've wanted to do this since you were five. "What can I say, Strider? You bring out the worst in me." This earns a laugh from him, and you sigh contently. He's exactly how you always imagined. Even his smell - apples and vanilla - is so familiar that it makes you ache. How did you ever live without him by your side?
"Speaking of my last name…" He pushes your hair out of your face, looking into your eyes, while you try your hardest to do the same through his shades. "What is your last name, anyway?" You open your mouth to tell him, the name already on you tip of your tongue, but he cuts you off. "Actually, never mind. It doesn't matter. All that matters is what your last name is going to be."
Your brow creases in confusion. "What do you mean by 'what it's going to be'?"
Dave smiles, kissing your forehead in a way that makes you blush. "Well, duh, Karkat. Someday, it's going to be 'Strider'." He winks, and you turn about 50 different shades of red. You start to say something - anything - but he cuts you off again, this time by pressing your lips together.
You melt into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck, and pressing closer. All you want to do is be closer. Dave seems to share the sentiment, and he deepens the kiss, causing your toes to curl and the butterflies in your stomach to go absolutely insane.
You're certain that, now that you've found your soulmate, you and Dave are stuck together, for better or for worse. You're not surprised to find that you don't really care. As long as you're with him, you get the feeling that everything is going to be fine. Or maybe you're just being mushy and life is just downhill from here. You guess there's only one way to find out, and that's by living it.
A/N: Sorry for the shitty oneshot, I just really had to write something DaveKat before bed. Thanks for putting up with my shit once again! Hopefully, you enjoyed. If not, then you know where to find the back button. Ta-ta! (Also, I kinda 'noped' on the name for this fic, so hopefully it's not too off-topic).