Summary: Here's the deal, yo. I have no idea where this is going. I am so far out of the knowledge of the direction this thing is headed in that I don't even know what it's shipping yet. I'll lay out some options, whoever gets the most votes between here and dA will win. Dave, John, Sollux or Dirk are your options; the more reviews for one person, the more likely it'll turn into X/Karkat. So reveiw if you have any opinion or taste at all.
Disclaimers- Homestuck belongs to The Great Waste of Space; Never There and No Phone belong to Cake; Loser belongs to Beck.
It was the playlist I had playing when three am struck and I felt the need to write. Enjoy.
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you have had this particular playlist on repeat for the last four hours. It is made up of only three songs that are forever going to be branded into your brain and will probably echo in your ears until your dying breath. That breath will be wasted on the final lyrics of the final song.
You never really liked this sort of music. You didn't dislike it, at least, enough to have it on your MP3 Player to begin with, but you've never made an active move to listen to it until now. Which is sort of stupid because he was the one who showed you this sort of music or some bull. They work now, though. So what the fuck ever.
Whenever you open your eyes they begin to burn, and when they burn they begin to tear up again, so you have been reduced to lying on your back, eyes scrunched closed, hands on your stomach and MP3 Player lying on the pillow beside you playing through the shitty speaker built in to the back. You wet your lips with a dab of your tongue and rasp along with the words idly. It's been long enough that you've memorized all three songs and no longer care for any of your other music.
In fact, this is your new answering machine on your cell phone, which is buried under the pillows in the corner of your room where you'd thrown it.
"Jerking like a nervous bird, rattling up against his cage. Calls to me throughout the day. See the feathers fly. No phone, no phone; I just want to be alone today. No phone, no phone."
You rub your stained face and rolled onto your side, curling up tighter in the sheets already tangled around your legs; hugging the denim of the over-sized jeans against your legs in all of the most uncomfortable ways. You are beyond the point of caring, squirming to try and move the fabric into place and only messing it up more.
"Shaking, quaking, waking me when I'm asleep. Never lets me go too deep; summons me with just one beep. The price we pay is steep. I've been on fire, and yet I've still stayed frozen. So deep in the night my smooth contemplations will always be broken; my deepest concerns will stay buried and unspoken."
An uncomfortable crack in your voice leaves you silent until the song ends. The next is like a slap to the face- it is every single time it comes on. But you refuse vehemently to take it off of the dwindling playlist.
"I need your arms around me, I need to feel your touch. I need your understanding, I need your love- so much. You tell me that you love me so, you tell me that you care, but when I need you, baby, you're never there."
A heavy sigh and you give up on lying on your side, instead flopping onto your back and squirming out of the jeans. They thump heavily off the foot of your bed with one last kick and you're reduced to a thin brown zippy and a pair of boxers. You blink away the stinging long enough to stare up at your ceiling. What did you ever do wrong? What the hell could you have done to prevent this?
"On the phone, long long distance, always through such strong resistance. When first you say that you're too busy I wonder if you even miss me. Never there, you're never there. You're never ever ever ever there."
Your phone is going off beneath the pillows and you only reach up to press the 'volume up' button on your MP3 Player. It's already on full blast. You pretend it gets loud enough to block out the ringing.
"A golden bird that flies away, candle's fickle flame. To think I held you yesterday, your love was just a g-"
Another crack and you feel frustrated tears welling up in your eyes. You belt out 'game' so venomously you almost feel the need to go upstairs and make sure you hadn't struck down whoever is above your apartment. You'll know if you hear sirens. Or a thump. Or both.
You roll onto your stomach, hiding your face in your pillows. Though that does little to console you. They still smell like him. You choke on your own curses as you harshly shove them all away and swipe the tears away from your face fast enough to leave behind a slight burn from your sleeves.
The asshole couldn't do this! He couldn't just fucking DROP YOU like that! He just COULDN'T.
And if he was going to, he could at least fucking tell you why.
When your violent fit has a moment of clarity you realize your MP3 is now lying on the floor and has switched songs on you. You lean carefully over the side of your bed with the forced calm resolution that you'd do your laundry. Wash everything. Sort his clothing out of yours. Throw his away- or burn them, but in a city like this, you aren't sure where you'd find somewhere to do the deed. You find yourself snarling along with the song as you stagger to your feet with this decision in mind.
"I'm a loser, baby, so why don't you KILL me?!"
You start tearing through everything in your room, then the living room, then the apartment in general. The MP3 continues to sing along to your every action, encouraging you, fueling your emotional fit as you heap everything having any connection to him in the middle of the floor. Tears have since flooded your face, dried up and flooded it again, leaving all sorts of aggravated patches here and there on your cheeks. You gave up on keeping them dry.
An hour or two later and there are now four extra-big black trash bags sitting outside of your door. You are standing in the middle of the little living room area, dusting off your hands and looking around. It's so empty and all you can think about is his return from work. Loping through the front door with that infuriatingly warm grin, wrapping you up in an awkward hug and going to lounge over the entire couch like some douchebag.
The realization that it's not going to happen is crippling. It shoots through your heart and into your stomach, weighing it down to your toes and making you heels drag as you explore your new surroundings. They're cold and unfamiliar. Like a completely different apartment, though it's far from a fresh start.
More like the torturous aftermath on a battlefield that should have never been anything but a place of peace.
You sleep in the lobby of the complex that night. When the deskman wakes you up around six in the morning, the batter on your MP3 Player is dead and you realize you no longer have a laptop to charge it on.
R&R and don't forget to vote, kay?
Dave, John, Sollux or Dirk.