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Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you lick your lips, knowing damn well that it isn't good for the chapped surface. You're currently sitting at a bar, music and flashing lights almost distant. It's making your head pound. It hurts. You've had too much to drink in too short an amount of time, too little to eat to make yourself not feel the toxic liquid that you seem to be taking in as if your life depended on it. (It's probably shortening, or at least that's what you think.)
You want to spit out the gum you have. It still has flavor, but it tastes like something you don't want. You keep chewing, anyway. Your head hurts. You take another sip from another glass, and sigh. Your eyes are hazily focused on looking downwards and you fumble in your pockets, fishing out your wallet.
You think they should lower the prices.
You know you shouldn't be drinking so much, but it's become a habit over the past months. It lets you escape. But your eyes feel heavy. Maybe it's a bit much this time. Too much for your brain (and liver) to actually even function decently. But what is there to lose? Life? You'd given up on that a while ago.
There's a hand on your shoulder. Someone smiles at you, a polite flash of teeth, and tells you that you should probably head home. You think it's the owner. They're not going to take a 'no' for an answer. (You should know, you've tried to refuse before). So you do what they want, and you head out. You're stumbling down along the road now. Everything is a bit hazy still, but that's okay. You feel numb. You like numb. You do end up spitting out the gum, though. You eyelids are getting heavy. You need to get to sleep. But you're not home yet, you need to get home, it's late, and…
You blink awake when you're in the middle of tumbling into the sidewalk, barely catching yourself on a lightpost as the world suddenly spins. There are harsh, purple-blue-black dots in your vision. Blinking is more painful than keeping your eyes open, and without any warning your body begins to heave. You try to position yourself so that nothing gets on your clothes, but it's too late by then and you're shirt is probably a mess.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Bro is going to be pissed. He knows that you're out late a lot, but he doesn't know that you'd fashioned yourself a fake ID and that you're using the shit money you get from odd jobs to go out drinking instead of using it to buy new games or whatever. He'd be ashamed of you, you think, maybe a second of pity would flash through his eyes before he hit you for being stupid stupid STUPID.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you suddenly feel disgusting.
When you've stopped dry heaving into the ground, you take a few stumbling steps backwards to get away from the mess. You run your trembling hands over your face, trying to get feeling back, but all you feel is grime. As gently as you can, you lower yourself to the ground. A gnawing feeling in your stomach tells you that you're screwed if Bro sees you like this. He might not mind if you're out this late, but there's not much you can do by yourself to fix the shirt. You don't really have anyone to go to, your only friends (all three of them) online. Your phone is in your pocket but there would be no one to call. Tears try to prick your eyelids but you pinch your nose to stop them. It's shameful. Sitting by a pool of your own puke, too cowardly to go home because fuck, he might kill you. You suddenly feel dizzier as your breath shortens. It feels awful, like your throat is closing up, and still your fingers feel cold.
'I'm dying,' you think, and then the world seems flung into fast forward and slow motion at the same time.
You feel like you're dying. Your lungs are constricting and you know you're letting out a pitiful whining noise, but you can't bring yourself to care because what if i'm dying oh god-
Short breaths come in and out at a heightened pace, and you wrap your hands around the back of your neck. You're rocking, forward and back, and you can't breathe for the life of you. Everything is too fast, too fast, and you can't breathe,
You can't breathe,
you can't BREATHE-
"Breathe," someone says, nervous, and a hand rubs smooth circles onto your back. "Shit- fuck, man, take a breath, in and out, in and out…"
Your breathing slows, but your throat feels raspy and gross. The hand keeps rubbing and you keep rocking, but you feel… Better. You run your hands through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut as a migraine invades your head.
"Fuck," you mutter, and then you jolt straight up.
"Oh my god, shit, I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot, I should've just stayed home, god, it's late and this is really an inconvenience-" A hand slaps over your mouth, and your eyes widen. The person in front of you sighs, rubbing his temples.
"Holy shit, can you talk. It's fine, I was just walking home." He has messy black hair and tanned skin, bags under his eyes, but you can't really see that well in the dark. His scowl suddenly seems a bit more awkward as he speaks again. "Do you, uh, need help getting home or something?"
Back to that dilemma. "No, I- Well fuck, I can't say that I'll even be going home. My Bro would flip if he saw me like this, I don't want him to get upset."
"You go to Diamonds High, right? I think I've seen you around. You could just crash at my place if you want, my dad wouldn't care. I think we're even in the same Algebra II class- Dave, right?"
You're sort of surprised for a second, but nod. "Y-yeah. I don't really recognize you, though, sorry." He laughs a bit, a toothy grin spreading across his (freckled?) face."It's Karkat. I think that Tom kid dubbed me "Shouty McGee".
"Holy shit!" you laugh, peering closer at him. "Dude, that's hella. But uh, you really wouldn't mind if I stayed at yours for the night?"
Karkat shrugged. "It's fine, Dave, I don't really care. I mean, we're already close to my house and you don't really look up to walking very far. My brother might be a bit of a nag, though. You can borrow one of my shirts when we get there."
"Shucks, man, you're getting me all buttered up."
"Shut it, Strider, it's time to get you up."
Karkat stretches a hand toward you, and you take it, pulling yourself up. You stumble a bit, but he helps you balance. "Thanks," you mumble, flushing as he throws your arm over his shoulder to support some of your weight. "No problem," he replies, and you begin to walk. "What're you doing out like this, anyway? You look shitfaced; were you at some party? Because that's fucking... stupid as hell." He scowls at his own wording, but you just chuckle at him.
"Nah, I've got a fake ID. I was hitting up the local clubs, flirting with the ladies, you know how it is." You give him a flirty wink. Karkat rolls his eyes and shoves you playfully with his shoulder.
"Sure, let's go with that. Though, you weren't having such a great time when I walked by, fucko. You're sure you're alright?" You think you see him blushing a bit as he bites his lip, eyes facing downwards as the two of you walk. "You can talk about it if you want, but don't think I'm pressuring you or anything."
"I'll be fine, dude, just gotta get over it."
Karkat looks vaguely worried, but nods anyway. "Alright. Well, my house is the next one on the left, so we're basically there." You nod, and you both walk the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. When you reach his door, he fumbles in his pocket for a key before jamming it in the lock. You notice that he has to juggle the door a bit so it doesn't catch on the frame. He helps you through the door, to the darkened inside of the house, and you lean against a wall in relief.
You only really notice that someone else is in the room when a lamp flickers on and you jump.
"Karkat Vantas, it is 1:56 AM and you have been gone for two hours, where in the world have you-" The voice stops short as the owner's eyes lay on you.
It's a boy, a bit older than Karkat but not enough to be his father. He's wearing a bright red knit sweater, despite the house being rather warm, and reading glasses perch on his nose. The man's mouth forms a sudden 'o' shape as his eyes flicker between the two of you.
"Oh! Karkat, did you get a boyfriend? I've been telling you for a while that dad and I have no problem with you bringing anyone home, as long as it's on time, and that you use protection no matter wha-"
"Kankri!" Karkat shouts, his face flushing a bright red. "He's not my boyfriend, oh my god! What the fuck is wr-"
"Language, Karkat! I swear, you were never this bad in your younger years… Anyway, he's just a friend then? Well, I admit, that makes me quite a bit more relieved that I won't have to… listen to anything, seeing as the walls are not exactly what one would call thick, but you should know better than to be bringing friends home in the middle of the night! It's always better to call and ask us first, Karkat. What if there had been a family emergency? There would have been nowhere for your friend to- oh, what's his name?"
"Dave Strider, 'sup." Your voice is flat, but on the inside you're astonished by the amount that this guy can just talk. You see him eye you over critically, before he squints his eyes with his lips pursed.
"Karkat, why does your friend have vomit on his shirt? I swear, if you two were at some ludicrous party tonight, I will not hesitate to call Dave's parents- or guardians, excuse me-"
"No man, you've got it all wrong; Karkat it just a helpful, gracious soul who extended his hand to me in the most purest feelings of brohood; I, a simple, and admittedly rather fucking gross at the moment, man of zero inhibition at this point in time, received the blessing of friendship and hospitality in my great time of shittiness, to gain an ally to fight against my current intoxication and to gather all to weep at the goddamn blasphemy-"
"What he means," Karkat sighed, elbowing you in the side, "is that I saved his drunk ass from sleeping at a bus stop from sheer fucking stupidity."
Kankri looked on in suspicion of the two of you, but eventually shook his head in exasperation. "I swear, youth today is simply… Just, go to bed, we'll talk about breaking your curfew in the morning."
Karkat was already leading you up the stairs. "It's a Saturday, Kankri, I don't have a curfew on the weekend." Karkat closed the room door gently, and started looking through his closet."Sorry about him, that's my brother. He means well, but he's a bit… Okay, really fucking overwhelming."
"It's chill, my dude. You mind if I change in the bathroom, though? I wanna rinse my mouth out."
"Go ahead," Karkat replied, shoving a t-shirt and sweatpants in your direction. "Bathroom's right across the hall; don't trip on anything." You nod, following his simple directions and entering the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
You strip from your clothing, ignoring a rather large bruise on your abdomen, and peer into the mirror. Your shades are on the counter, but you haven't actually had them on since you left the bar. You hope that you can pass off the colour as brown, but you're not too sure. You tilt your head up, ignoring your eyes, to inspect your sore neck.
This is the reason you left tonight.
A new bruise wraps around your neck, just beginning to purple. You poke it, letting out a hissing noise as the motion brings a pain to it. You know it'll only get darker overnight, and that Karkat will definitely notice it in the morning, but you'll pass it off as some sex thing.
Hopefully.
You look away from the mirror, rinsing water around in your mouth before wadding your clothes into a ball and heading back to Karkat's room, shades perched on your nose. You find him sitting on his bed with the lights on, texting someone. When he looks up at you, he raises an eyebrow.
"What's with the shades?"
"I'm photosensitive; I'll take 'em off when we turn the light off." You shrug, and he rolls his eyes. "Where do you want me to put these?" you ask, gesturing to your ball of dirty clothes.
"Just put them in the hamper, we can wash them in the morning if you stay for breakfast. Which you are." You let out a laugh, doing as he says before flopping down on his bed. "We sharing? Just letting you know, I'm a cuddler."
Karkat rolls his eyes, chucking a pillow at your face. "Whatever. I'll go turn the light off."
Thirty minutes later he's asleep, and you're still wondering how you were blessed with Karkat Vantas.