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Your headache has yet to renounce its reign, though the majority of the pain has subsided. At least the sun was no longer awake; your eyesight's intensified sensitivity would drive you mad.

A sliver of hollow misery twinges through your chest when you throw the quilt off of you. The space beside you is bare.

Right, he did say he was working.

It's that late already?

You slept the afternoon away, and luckily the most of headache with it.

To be honest- although you enjoy your alone time- when Dave is not home you are at a loss. He requires your undivided attention at all times. To be technical, he demands it. Often as him not being home is, you are unsettled without his presence.

What was wrong with Dave? His behavior was unusual; regardless of his skill at hiding his emotions. He seemed… upset? Something was bothering him, you could comprehend that much.

As for you, unsettled is an understatement at this moment.

To distract yourself from you thoughts, you seek alternative forms of entertainment to dump your concentration. A romcom in the dark might entice the headache. However, a book should do no harm.

You scour through the closet- you two really did have so much shit- to find reading material. You pry a book free from the suffocation it suffered under the heap, and discover a piece of fabric between the pages.

Dave's red plaid scarf.

You grimace. God, you hate this color.

After a moment, your face of disgust eases into a small frown.

But it's his.

You wrap the piece of fabric snuggly around your neck. You nuzzle your face into the cloth and take a deep breath, inhaling the scent.

His scent.

You return to the bed with the book, burrow into the sheets, and flick on the bedside lamp. The book whines as you flip it open, its spine reluctant and stubborn even after its many years in your possession.

You spend several minutes attempting to read, but the aroma enveloping you is distracting. The tangy spice tickles your nose, trails a shiver down your spine, throws your head reeling, and abandons you to barter between a sense of comfort and a sting of loneliness.

Past Karkat is a fool for wearing this thing… although you cannot bring yourself to remove the article.

You slam the book shut and drop it onto the floor.

You snatch your cell phone off the nightstand.

CG: HEY.

CG: CAN YOU ANSWER YOUR PHONE?

CG: NO?

CG: THAT'S A NO.

Dave is not answering his texts.

You scroll through your contacts.

CG: JOHN.

EB: oh hey karkat!

CG: DID YOU SEE DAVE TODAY?

EB: actually yeah!

EB: he stopped by the cafe this morning.

CG: I FIGURED.

CG: DID ANYTHING SEEM WRONG WITH HIM?

EB: what do you mean?

CG: WAS HE UPSET? OR IN A BAD MOOD?

EB: hehehe.

EB: i thought irony was dave's thing!

EB: did some of it rub off on you?

CG: WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT.

EB: dave told me that the reason he wasn't hanging out with you today was because YOU were in a bad mood!

CG: RIGHT. I HAD A RIDICULOUSLY HORRID HEADACHE TODAY.

CG: BUT YOU DIDN'T ANSWER MY QUESTION.

EB: nothing seemed wrong with him?

EB: at least i didn't notice anything.

CG: OH.

EB: why are you asking me about it?

EB: can't you just talk to him?

CG: HE'S WORKING.

EB: oh right.

CG: WELL THAT'S ALL I HAD TO SAY.

CG: I'LL TALK TO YOU LATER.

EB: wait!

EB: now that i think about it, he was spacing out when i got to the cafe.

EB: does that count?

CG: SPACING OUT? HE WAS LOST IN THOUGHT?

EB: yeah he was just watching the people pass by!

CG: HM.

CG: ALL RIGHT. THANKS FOR THE INFORMATION.

EB: okay bye karkat!

CG: BYE.

Lost in thought?

It takes quite a bit to leave Dave visibly "spacing out" enough for John to notice.

You decide to stay awake until he returns home. Not that you could sleep well to begin with; you have sleeping issues and you took a nap.

You rummage through the closet again for a romcom.

‒

You hear a soft click in the distance, and blink wearily while rubbing an eye.

A pale glow casts shadows across the room. The movie has returned to the selection screen.

You fell asleep? During one of your romcoms? Wow, that's a first.

A few light taps follow the click.

"You're still awake?"

Oh, Dave is home.

"I told I'd be home late. You should have gone to sleep."

"I slept all fucking afternoon, you think I could sleep?"

"You look like you were sleeping."

You glance at the clock to avoid eye contact. His shades piss you off; he can read you as much as he wants and you rarely get a glimpse at his expression.

A period of silence trickles past as he waits for a snarky reply from you.

He sighs when you do not retort. "I don't even care. I'm tired."

"… -as… -rried…" you mumble.

"What?" His neutral countenance slips into displeasure.

"It's nothing."

He walks over to the sofa and clutches your wrist. "No dude, what did you just say."

"I SAID I WAS FUCKING WORRIED OKAY."

He freezes, but his grip does not loosen.

"Will you let go?" You twist your wrist in his hand.

He regains his composure and grabs your other wrist. He shoves you onto your back, restrains your hands against the arm of the sofa and straddles your thighs.

You narrow your eyes at him.

He lifts his shades off his face and tucks them into his hair. With his vibrant red eyes- the eyes that suspend your world, the eyes that cause your hair to stand on end, the eyes you drown in- he stares down at you, and a cunning smirk slides onto his lips.

He pins your wrists with one hand and ghosts his fingers along your neck.

He presses his chest against yours and whispers in your ear.

"This is mine." He tugs at the red scarf around your neck.

Shit- you were still wearing that?

"Yeah, so?" you croak out, not sounding as dignified as you would have liked.

"So…" He nips at your earlobe. "Why are you wearing it?" His voice is cleanly dipped in amusement; topped with a husky edge.

You squirm underneath of him. "Why does it matter?"

He hums, and you can feel the low vibration travelling within his throat and chest. He lays a quick kiss against the tip of your nose…

And lets you go.

A small, sincere smile on his face, he removes his body from your personal space and seats himself beside you.

You sit upright and present him with a frown. He is acting really strange.

"What's worrying you?"

You curl your upper lip and growl at him. "You."

"Oh. Care to clarify?" He raises an eyebrow at you.

"I didn't-… don't- think I have to."

When he does not respond, you groan, and explain nonetheless.

"You're acting weird. Stranger than normal. You think I haven't noticed?"

"There's nothing to notice, I'm fine."

"Don't bullshit me."

"Karkles, I'm fine. Really. Just a little tired." He knits his fingers through yours. "Come on, let's go to bed."

He is avoiding the topic.

You give him a pass this time. If he is still acting strange the rest of the week, you do not care what you have to do, you are getting answers.

He turns the TV off and leads you to the bedroom.

He sets his sunglasses on the bedside table.

As he strips down to his boxers, you adjust the scarf around your neck.

"You don't have to wear that anymore, you have me." He falls backwards onto the bed and pulls you onto him. "Besides, you hate red."

"It's comfortable."

"I'm comfortable."

"I'm not taking it off."

"Okay, okay." He rolls so you tumble off him and onto your side of the bed.

He shifts closer to you and wraps an arm around you waist, the other still holding your hand.

"Night." He closes his eyes and places a chaste kiss on your lips.

You expect to fall asleep after him considering how much you have slept today.

"Good night."

You tighten your grip on his hand and watch him fall asleep.