This was supposed to be a Dave/Rose sicfic for somecrazygirl over on tumblr for a Homestuck Secret Santa thing, but I don't know if I really got the sicfic thing right…
Time
Time does not exist on the meteor so much as continue in a never-ending stream of not-days and not-nights. It took less than a week (you think) to lose track of the days entirely. Your foresight gives you a rough estimate of how far into the three interminable years of your confinement you are. You've lost track of everything beyond that.
"You are looking rather pale, Rose. Paler than your normal human complexion, I mean."
You look up. Kanaya is hovering over the table where you have spread out an assortment of calendars in your attempt to divine the time of year at least.
"I am a bit tired," you concede, and suddenly the fatigue hits you like a wave of rock-hard smuppets.
The fact that that image came to mind proves how far gone you are. You suddenly can't remember the last time you slept. Losing track of time does that to a person.
Years of passive-aggressive battles with your mother, though, have not left you so weak as to let your crippling tiredness show.
You go back to your calendars. Kanaya continues to hover.
Your eyes are fuzzy and your head is fuzzier by the time someone else finally enters the room. You nearly jump out of your seat at the sound of the metal door crashing open. You can feel your heart pounding against your thin chest. Come to think of it, you can no longer remember the last time you ate.
Dave swoops into the room with all the grace of a flash-stepping, cape-wearing, pubescent dork. He beats at the coffee machine with one fist until it spews forth the thick black sludge you've all become grudgingly addicted to.
You watch him for a few moments, back to you, mumbling to himself in the corner of the room. A bit of a habit he's picked up on. Another side effect of losing track of time, you presume.
He looks up after several long moments and only just seems to notice the two of you.
"Oh. Yo, Kanaya. Karkat's been shitting himself looking for you. I don't know how he didn't think of looking for you here. You two are always here. What do you even do in here? Wait, don't answer that."
Kanaya gives Dave a dainty, eyebrow-raised look before sweeping out of the room with all the grace of a thin, tall, alien vampire lady.
Dave slides a mug across the table over to you. A bit of sludgy liquid sloshes onto priceless, irreplaceable manuscripts.
"What's with the calendars? Where'd you even get all these calendars? Did you alchemize them? How the hell do you alchemize a calendar?"
The sight and smell of the coffee sludge is making you feel slightly ill. You pinch the bridge of your nose.
Dave shuts up long enough to peer at you from behind his shades. Or you presume he is peering at you, but of course the infuriating glasses prevent you from being certain.
You find it rather unfair that you can still be so uncertain about so many things when you are supposed to be a Seer.
"You okay?" he asks.
"I am fine."
"Bullshit."
You squint at him. Your eyes have become painfully heavy.
"Bullshit?"
"You look like shit, Rose."
"That is no way to speak to a lady."
"Have you even slept in the last week?"
"I wouldn't know. Time has become rather difficult to grasp as of late."
He makes a face. For all his talk about poker faces, Dave has an exceptionally expressive face.
"Really?" he says.
"Yes, really. Have you not noticed?"
He points at the glaringly bright red gear on the front of his shirt and continues to stare at you (you imagine).
Of course. Time player.
You shove your piles of calendars at him.
"What day is it, then?" you ask.
He picks up one of the calendars. Flips through it. Sets it back down on the table in front of you, his finger on one date.
December 25th.
"It's Christmas," you say.
He nods.
"It's Christmas and you didn't think to tell anyone?"
He shrugs. "I don't know what kind of weird alien shit the trolls do on Christmas. They probably sacrifice each other to Troll Santa or something. I wasn't taking any chances."
Your head falls onto the table without really having your permission. You are suddenly so tired, so utterly exhausted, that you can't hold it up. Your eyes have fallen shut, but you feel the wetness of tears welling up in the corners.
It's Christmas and you feel as if you haven't slept since John's birthday in April. You wonder if you have.
Someone touches your hair. You don't have the energy to move.
"Hey, it's okay," Dave says. His hands are big. Warm. You don't think your mother ever stroked your hair. It's an amazingly comforting feeling. "We can sacrifice some trolls to Troll Santa if you like."
"Merry Christmas, Dave," you murmur into the table.
You feel him sit down next to you, rest his head on your shoulder as he continues to run his warm hand through your hair.
"You too, Rose."