A/N: So this is like a trial chapter. A sample, if you will. I got the idea when I visited this bakery with fucking delicious cinnamon rolls. So like if you are a fan of pastries and Johnkat and inconceivably lame humor, this is the story for you.
Warnings: M for a reason. Language (naturally) and later on, if I feel like it, some delicious lemony contents. And I don't mean meringues. *wriggles eyebrows*
Disclaimer: Homestuck and all its characters belong to a certain mad genius named Andrew Hussie. Can you guess what my name is? Not Andrew Hussie.
Chapter one: Spice
"Great," he muttered, prominent grimace in place. Ten feet away and he could already hear music muffled through the door. This was the third time that week.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets he shuffled down the hall, the door of his room almost trembling with the rhythm of the bass. Grumbling, he swung the door open and a wave of sound hit his ears, hammering heavily off the walls in the small room.
"Gamzee, will you turn that shit down?" Karkat called over the music, glaring at the disheveled figure sprawled across the top bunk. "Gamzee," he said louder, still receiving no response. With a growl, Karkat stomped over to the cluttered bedside table and turned off the radio.
Messy black hair and bloodshot eyes peeked over the edge of the bed, followed by a Cheshire grin and lethargic wave of a hand.
"Heeey, best friend," Gamzee drawled, taking a drag of whatever was between his fingers.
"You're fucking high again, Gamzee?" Karkat spit out, dropping his bookbag on his bed.
Gamzee bobbed his head, lobbing his curls back and forth slowly. "Nah, brother, I'm just all up and motherfucking marinating in the sweet, vibrant flavors dancing all around me. Like a giant fireworks display that just keeps on displaying."
Karkat watched wordlessly as Gamzee reached a hand lazily above him, snatching at the air with the same blissful expression on his face. "I can almost touch them with my own flesh. They're all motherfuckin' ticklish or something, hopping away like that."
Karkat held his head in his hand, a low grumble emitting from his throat. He couldn't believe this was happening to him. Again. "Put that shit out, you dickmunching idiot, you'll set off the fire alarm. And you'll have to twiddle your fucking thumbs alone on a cold metal bench at three a.m. because I'm not dragging my ass downtown to bust you out of jail for being in possession of whatever it is you're puffing."
He threw open the heavy velvet curtains to the window overlooking the courtyard two stories below before cracking open the window and fanning some of the smoke out into the cool evening air.
Gamzee laughed heavily, his voice sounding more like a honk than any sound a normal person would make. Karkat clenched his teeth in irritation at the sound. "Don't fucking honk at me, shitsponge. Now snuff that out and go dunk your head in some cold water or hydrochloric acid or anything that could possibly clear out even a fragment of the cobwebs littering your intoxicated, twisted, cult-worshiping think-pan."
Gamzee shook his head, gazing out the window distantly. "I'm afraid I can't do that, brother. My soul is on a quest of existential purposes, all up and expediting itself in search of the fruity essence of life's greatest mysteries." A rumble shook Gamzee from his daze, and he put a hand over his abdomen.
"There they go, man. There go the spirits of curiosity all up and raging a war in my stomach." He took another deep drag on his cigarette before blowing out a smooth cloud of smoke, watching it dearly as it floated to the ceiling.
Karkat slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand, a headache beginning to form. Sometimes he really couldn't stand his roommate. "Okay, if I bring you a pie and your carbonated generic brand soda will you put that shit out and tuck your own sorry, clown ass in bed for once like a responsible adult?"
Gamzee nodded sluggishly, then hung himself over the edge of the bunk and dropped his cigarette into the ashtray on the nightstand "Yeah, Karbro, you got yourself a motherfuckin' deal."
Karkat reached into his backpack and took out his cellphone, already becoming dizzy from the fumes. Fantastic, now he had to find some place on campus that sold pie at – he checked his watch – nine thirty in the evening. Not even four months into the year and Karkat already was wasting countless hard-earned dollars on his friend and roommate's drug-induced cravings. He wondered why he even continued to put up with the clown-loving jackass.
Karkat left his dormitory and walked aimlessly down the street, turning down an unfamiliar road to carelessly browse the shops for a convenience store.
But then he spotted it: a grotesque, pink, two-storied building perched prominently, portentously at the corner of the street.
Betty's Bakery.
Karkat raised a cynical eyebrow at the name written in gold ink on the sign over the door barely lit by the street lamps scattered on the sidewalks. The lights in the building were curiously still on, and the neon open sign in the window glowed brightly despite how late it was for a bakery to be open.
Taking a chance, Karkat opened the door, a cheerful bell tinkling as he entered. The overwhelming aroma of fruit, sugar, and baked bread immediately assaulted Karkat, cringingly strong and sappily welcoming.
Old-fashioned wallpaper and cheesy diner-style tiles encased the room, and various wooden tables were distributed unevenly throughout with a few booths against the walls.
"Hi there!" said a piercing voice. Karkat redirected his attention to the only other person in the room, the cashier: dorky, young, and far too cheerful to be working this late at night.
Karkat inspected the boy more closely, his messy raven hair, dipsy grin, and almost impossibly blue eyes framed by dark-rimmed glasses. How could this kid even have such a genuinely friendly smile when he worked a part-time job, a nightshift no less?
"Can I help you?" the boy asked, and Karkat blinked hurriedly, gathering his thoughts. Pie, he came for pie.
"Yeah, uh," Karkat glanced at the nametag pinned to the cashier's flour-dusted apron, "John. Can I just get a pie?" he muttered, averting his eyes from that piercing azure gaze to instead examine various knick-knacks clustered on the counter that literally had granny written all over them.
"What flavor?" John asked.
Karkat shrugged a shoulder, "Whatever's available."
John grinned even wider, "One blackberry pie it is." And then he chuckled. Nay, giggled. And for some inexplicable, perplexing, gut-retching reason, it made Karkat's heart flutter.
"Anything else I can get you?" John continued, refocusing Karkat.
He coughed into his hand, eyes glazing over the hanging menu. He could go for a pastry. "What's good?"
John hummed in deliberation, and Karkat couldn't help but notice the overbite digging into John's bottom lip as he chewed on it thoughtfully, but quickly disregarded the observation. What the hell was he, nerd-sleuth extraordinaire?
"Everything's good, but I'd suggest a Danish. They're the freshest tonight!"
"I'll take one of those," Karkat said, inspecting the pastries aligned in the display case.
"Great! Cheese, raspberry, apple, cinnamon, or chocolate?" John took a pair of plastic gloves from a dispenser on the counter and slipped them on over his long fingers, gazing expectedly at Karkat.
"Cinnamon," he said, and John smiled more delicately at this.
"I figured. You strike me as a spice kind of guy."
Karkat felt heat rise to his cheeks. John was really starting to get under his skin in the worst ways, and that stupid leer made even his own lips hurt. He scowled at John, furrowing his brows when he only laughed again, further invoking Karkat's anger.
"That will be 24.95," John stated, punching the total into the cash register.
Karkat felt his eyes widen at the number. "Fuck me," he grumbled under his breath. This was money he certainly did not have, not with his pathetic excuse for an income.
John looked sympathetically at him. "Trust me, you definitely get what you pay for."
Well, what other choice did he have? Karkat sighed and reached for his wallet, taking out the required amount and silently comforting the empty, weeping gap that once held several hours' work worth of money.
He slapped his money on the countertop, waiting for his change. He couldn't believe he was spending thirty dollars on deserts for his roommate in the middle of the night.
"You're open pretty late," Karkat said casually, receiving a surprisingly sarcastic snort and roll of the eyes from John.
"Have you forgetting that this is a college campus? We could run this place solely on the customers staggering in here drunk off their ass with the midnight munchies."
As if on cue, a group of loud, preppy students came stumbling through the door and dropped to their designer panted knees in front of the large glass display case, pointing their perfectly painted nails and gigging over something or another. John sent a knowing smirk at Karkat and turned around.
He took a large plastic wrapped pie from a small refrigerator and placed it in front of Karkat, then reached into the display case on the counter to take a pastry from its place among the others of its kind.
"Here you go. Have a nice night, and come back any time!" John beamed.
Karkat stood rooted to the floor, unable to look away from that damn cheerful face, its rosy cheeks, full lips, and ridiculous sky-blue eyes. He looked like an idiot of outlandish proportion. And Karkat was entranced.
What even was wrong with him? He must have breathed in a little too much of Gamzee's fumes. Forcing himself to look away, Karkat scoffed at the boy and willed his stomach to sit back in its place.
Collecting his items in a bag, Karkat hurriedly left the shop, beginning his walk back to his dormitory. He took the pastry from the bag and unwrapped it as he walked, taking a small, evaluating bite.
It was unbelievably delicious.
A/N: okay so like I said: trial chapter. Should this be a thing? Should I just not? I can't know if you don't tell me. Be a doll and drop me a review and or other form of comment like a follow or fav if you actually like it. I find a reader who shares their opinion to be very attractive.