((Oh god, guys, I'm so sorry for posting this so late. Throughout my writing of this chapter I was hit with probably the worst writer's block I ever had. Literally, I would sit down and not be able to write anything. It was awful. But, finally, the chapter is out! I don't really like the way it turned out at all, and I really wish I could have made the characters more... in character. But depite its flaws, here it is! Thank whoever stayed for bearing with me, and reviews are always appreciated and encouraged!
Homestuck belongs to the HUss of Lips, but the human versions and the storyline are mine.))
terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG].
TC: HeEeEy, BeSt FrIeNd.
TC: YoU'rE pRoBaBlY nOt GoNnA wAnNa AnSwEr Me RiGhT nOw
TC: BuT i JuSt ThOuGhT i'D tElL yOu.
TC: I gOt A pLaN.
TC: yOu KnOw, To GeT yOuR gIrLfRiEnD bAcK.
TC: :o)
TC: bEsT fRiEnD?
TC: aRe YoU tHeRe?
CG: GET OUT.
TC: BuT bRo, I rEaLlY tHiNk I'vE uP aNd GoT a GoOd IdEa HeRe.
TC: YoU dOiNg SoMeThInG nOw?
CG: BLOCKING YOU.
TC: BrO, cOmE oN.
TC: hErE mE oUt BeFoRe YoU gO aNd BlOcK mE.
TC: tHiS mIgHt SeEm KiNdA fAr FeTcHeD,
carcinoGeneticist [CG] blocked terminallyCapricious [TC].
You slam your head on the nearby desk, as your third method of communication utterly fails. Karkat hadn't responded to one of your few and far between emails and texts, and now he's completely resisted your efforts to talk things out via Pesterchum. You tug on your hair in frustration, running your other hand along the stubble that appeared due to the lack of resources over the past day or two. Another farfetched idea worms its way into your head, already over full, and you quickly log off of your account, trying, instead, to access Karkat's. You're not that much of a planner, or a critical thinker for that matter, but your knowledge of the Kar-meister extends to his expertise with empty threats. Therefore, maybe, just maybe, he hadn't changed his password; you don't know how the two possibilities fit together, but you give it a try, punching in 'carcinoGeneticist' in the username box and the telltale 'password' in the password box. You cross your fingers while the old computer strains itself loading, loading, for minutes until something clicks and his Pesterchum account comes to life before your eyes. Bingo. You quickly unblock yourself and in less than five minutes you're in your own Chumhandle again, spamming the heck out of your bro.
terminallyCapricious [TC] began trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG].
TC: YoU wErE sAyInG sOmEtHiNg aBoUt BlOcKiNg Me?
TC: ;o)
CG: OH
CG: HELL
CG: NO.
TC: HeLl YeS, bRoThEr.
TC: I'd SaY tHaT yOu'D nEeD tO cHaNgE tHaT pAsSwOrD oF yOuRs,
TC: BuT wE gOtTa GeT oUr CoNvErSiNg On.
CG: YOU THINK I WON'T BLOCK YOU AGAIN?
CG: I'LL DO IT. CHANGE MY PASSWORD TOO.
TC: EmPtY tHrEaTs, BeSt FrIeNd.
TC: I'm JuSt SaYiN' i GoT aN iDeA aNd I tHiNk It'S a PrEtTy GoOd One.
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT?
CG: FINE.
CG: IT'S NOT LIKE I HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO WITH MY LIFE THAN LISTEN TO YOU POINTLESS MUSINGS THAT WILL BEAR ABSOLUTELY NO FRUIT WHATSOEVER.
CG: WHISPER YOUR DREAMS INTO MY EVER-EAGER EAR CANAL.
CG: WAIT. ONE SECOND.
CG: DO SEE THOSE?
CG: NO?
CG: THOSE ARE ALL THE FUCKS I GIVE.
TC: I'lL tAkE tHaT aS a YeS.
TC: wIlL a MiStEr KaRkAt VaNtAs PlEaSe FiLl OuT tHiS qUeStIoNaIrE?
CG: GOOD GOD, WHAT DID I JUST GET MYSELF INTO?
TC: yOu CaN uP aNd ThAnK mE lAtEr.
CG: LAY IT ON ME, IF IT SATISFIES YOUR FREAKY OBSESSIONS.
TC: WhY tErEzI?
CG: WHAT?
CG: WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?
TC: jUsT, wHy'D yOu ChOoSe HeR? wHy'D yOu PiCk ThE bLiNd GiRl?
CG: I REPEAT. WHAT HAVE I GOTTEN MYSELF INTO?
CG: YOU WANT HONESTY? FINE, WHATEVER, I'LL BE HONEST.
CG: HER DETERMINATION, I GUESS.
CG: I MEAN—HELL, SHE'S BLIND, AND HERE SHE IS AT A NORMAL SCHOOL, AND SHE JUST GOES ALONG WITH IT AND KEEPS SMILING AND LAUGHING THE WHOLE WAY THROUGH.
CG: I FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT ALREADY.
CG: I THOUGHT THAT THE BENEVOLENT KARKAT WOULD BE HER KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR AND ALL THAT CRAP. WHY NOT? NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED, THAT'S FOR SURE. SHE DIDN'T NEED SAVING. SHE NEVER NEEDED SAVING. SHE WAS JUST THAT STRONG. IT… SURPRISED ME. IT FREAKING SCARED ME FOR A WHILE.
CG: SOCIETY IS HER ENEMY, AND SHE'S GOT AN UNFAIR HAND AT LIFE. I MEAN COME ON. DON'T EXPECT PEOPLE TO RESPECT SOMEONE WHO'S BLIND, NOT A WHITE MALE, AND HAS IMMIGRANT PARENTS. DON'T GIVE ME THAT 'RACISM ISN'T A THING ANYMORE' BULLCRAP. BECAUSE IT IS; ESPECIALLY AT THIS PRISON OF A HIGHSCHOOL.
TC: I kNoW tHe FeElInG. :o(
CG: I'M NOT THERE TO MAKE HER FEEL LIKE SHE'S PRETTY OR WHATEVER. SCREW THAT. SHE DOESN'T NEED ME FOR THAT; SHE DOESN'T NEED A GUY OR ANYONE BUT HERSELF FOR THAT, AND I BET SHE ALREADY KNOWS IT.
CG: I JUST WANT TO
CG: CRAP, I DON'T KNOW WHAT I WANT TO DO. ALL IN ALL SHE'S STRONG ENOUGH TO BE COMPLETELY INDEPENDENT AND LOVE IT. I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHY SHE CHOSE ME. BUT SINCE SHE DID I WANT TO MAKE HER GLAD SHE DID, AND HOPE THAT SOMEHOW I'M IMPROVING HER LIFE LIKE SHE'S IMPROVING MINE.
CG: THERE. ARE YOU HAPPY? I JUST DESECRATED THE CHARACTER OF KARKAT VANTAS. HELL, I WENT SOCIAL. REMIND ME NEVER TO RANT TO YOU AGAIN, LEST I TURN INTO A BLOB OF MIRACLE-INFUSED JELLY THAT ONCE HAD SOME TRACE OF A PERSONALITY.
CG: HOW DO YOU EVEN OBLITERATE YOUR OWN PERSONA THE WAY I JUST DID WITHOUT ANY DRUGS OR ALCHOHOL? IS THAT EVEN A THING YOU CAN DO?
TC: :oD
CG: WHAT.
TC: yOu UsEd MiRaClEs. YoU aCtUaLlY uSeD mIrAcLeS.
TC: fOr ReAlS.
CG: YEAH. BIG FLIPPING DEAL. NOW WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO AFTER I DESTROY MY TEMPERMENT UNDER YOUR EVER-WATCHFUL EYE?
TC: tElL iT aLl AgAiN tO tHe PyRoPeS!
CG: YOU DID NOT.
TC: i GoT a TiNy TuX fRoM lIkE eIgHtH gRaDe YoU cAn BoRrOw AnD wEaR tO dInNeR.
CG: NO. HELL NO. I AM NOT PUTTING ON A 'TINY TUX' AND MAKING MYSELF 'DECENT' IN FRONT OF PARENTS WHO HATE MY FREAKING GUTS.
TC: mAkE rOoM SAtUrDaY nIgHt.
CG: GAMZEE MAKARA I AM NOT GOING.
TC: SeE yA bRo. ;o)
CG: DON'T YOU DARE SIGN OFF! THIS IS IN NO WAY FUNNY. THERE IS NOT A SINGLE DISCERNABLE SOUND OF MIRTH COMING FROM MY WINDPIPE.
CG: GAMZEE.
CG: GET YOUR ASS BACK ON THIS PESTERLOG RIGHT THIS INSTANT.
terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist [CG].
And voila, your plan is underway. It's taken around two days of zoning out in class (which isn't that odd, really), and trying to actually pin Terezi down for a good old conversation, but you might just have it. You're not much of a schemer, that's for sure; you like to act on your emotions and impulses, whenever they may arise, which hasn't been very often until recently. Capricious, Terezi calls it, just like your username. Actually, once you've started talking to her, your blind sister has lent you quite a bit of help constructing the details of the plan. She took great pains, however, to remind you over and over that this was for a chance at her and Karkat, has nothing to do with you, and that your plan is simply a nice coincidence. Saturday night, the Pyropes would have the traditional gap in their busy work schedules to have that big family dinner, Caribbean style, and would almost always have a family friend over. This time though, the guest would be Karkat, looking as stereotypically, traditionally clean-cut as possible. The idea, to both of you, is like that one pill you have to take that looks too thick for your throat. Pretty much everyone you associate with, yourself included, doesn't think that there's a particular mould to clean-cut, and you know you will never fit that mould. You've both decided, though, that for the sake of preserving their relationship you would have to conform to society just this once. You had a good laugh about that.
You lean back in your non-spinny chair, careful not to topple over like you did before, and think that maybe, just maybe, you gained your bro's trust again. With two relatively unpredictable people, trust tends to resolve and break in short periods, a fact you're not sure you're thankful for. A huge yawn forces its way out of you, and you take the time to glance at the clock. 11:52. Lovely. Friday means tests, tests, and more tests most of the time, but since you only have a quiz in one subject tomorrow and no work on your project, you feel tempted to take the day off. This means one less day of planning, so you reschedule playing hooky until next week. A normally closed door to your room has left it stuffy and hot despite the weather, so you end up brushing your teeth, removing your face paint, and burrowing under the covers in your boxers. You thought it would take longer for you to fall asleep, but you suppose you were wrong, because the next sound you hear is that wretched alarm blaring in your ear, but this time you shut it off and continue the dream from which you were so rudely awakened.
How are you supposed to know you would end up sleeping three more hours and get so lost in your dream you don't want to wake up? Your eyes snap open thirty minutes after school starts, and you have to take a minute to return to reality from the vivid colors of fantasy. In that minute you forget all the details, save for one, which stays with you as you end up hobbling to the bathroom and splashing your face with cold water to get rid of the burning everywhere else. You wonder why mornings have begun to conspire to embarrass you in all possible ways. You decide to take your time and wait through gym at home, actually partaking of a decent breakfast (if you count that incredible sugary cereal as decent) and trying not to wake up your father, who had, at some hour of the morning, conked out on the couch in full business attire. You make the leisurely drive to school after throwing on fresh jeans and a t-shirt that will probably never be seen under a rather morbid hoodie, plopping into your seat about halfway through Algebra 2. You end up having to stay after class and get a stern lecture from the teacher about your 'inexcusable tardiness' and 'blatant disregard for the rules and regulations of this institution' but only stay tuned in when she asks you if you understand her.
"Sure, teach, I gotcha." The words are automatic and fake to you by now, but the teacher seems to indicate that she accepts what you're saying "I'll be sure to get here right at the bell next time." Before you give her a chance to respond, you're out the door in a fruitless effort to make it to your physics class, down a couple flights of stairs and across the school. You're not kept after this time, but you get an absolutely piercing look from the physics teacher, who you swear has demon eyes and knows how to use them. A thick packet of what first looks like gibberish reminds you that this was the class you had that quiz in, 'quiz' being a relative term. With a gulp, you sift through the packet while your instructor has his back turned and remember that a physics quiz in this class is a pretty big deal and amounts to the content of a regular test in any other class. And you didn't study. Well, crap. The entire period is dedicated to the 'quiz' that you can barely fumble through. You're about three-fourths done by the time your assignment is picked up, and you're not sure that the answers to the questions you did answer even made sense to anyone but you. You slink out of the room as soon as the bell rings, eyes on the ground in order to avoid the icy stare of your teacher as he reviews everyone's work. You shuffle across the school again to ancient history and peer around the room to see if Karkat has actually shown up since the shouting match of a few days ago. No such luck. It's not like Karkat to skip this many days in a row, but no one in the room thinks anything of it, seeing as the news spread like wildfire and is all in the heads of everyone you know. You notice Terezi in a corner of the room, far from where she normally sits, refraining from the raucous chatter she normally engages in. You move to talk to her, to give her some company because it seems like she needs it, but a pale, freckled hand stops you.
"You really think you wanna do that?" Dave. No, god no, not today. Calm down, Makara, play it cool; you're beyond this. Besides, you might freak out the students.
"Do what? What d'you want?" Welp; that could've come out better. But you don't even know if he's looking at you through those thick, gaudy shades, arms akimbo like he rules the world, the little punk. Suddenly that deadpan, coolkid face looks incredibly puchable. But of course, any mishap with someone, Dave especially, could have your rear shipped to the office and out of school before you can blink. You count to ten in your mind like the counselor said and let yourself listen.
"What I want is to know why you wanna talk to Terezi right now," he states, not giving any information as to why you shouldn't. So, naturally, you have to ask.
"Why shouldn't I up an' talk to her?" He smacks the heel of his hand against his forehead, most likely in exasperation. You can't decipher the look he gives you, since it's barely a look, but you think it would translate to 'don't you get it?' You've got the attention of the room now; the tension between the two of you sparks old fears borne of a rivalry and shattered fantasies. He shakes his head, nudges a chair leg with his sneaker.
"Dude. Okay. Don't you think that I, as a friend and confidante of dragon girl's, would know what's going on?" You look over at her, the only pair of eyes in the room not on you for obvious reasons. She seems to be making no attempt to listen, either. Another pale hand waves in your face to get your attention, and you get the weird sense that, for some odd reason, he's no place to do that. "Hey, clown, over here," he retorts to some body language you must have given. "Just listen. This is the version of the story I heard. They fought again—don't make me explain what I mean by 'they; you can't be that dense—something about conspiring behind his back. Another sound barrier shatterer; heard it was nasty. Karkat better get his anger issues under control, because she's not a weeper."
"And that means…"
"Means she wasn't a weeper until the tiny terror started screwing everything up." Oh.
"Oh," you say.
"Yeah, oh; nice comeback." His deadpan is getting really freaking creepy, but if it contributes to your plan, you might as well listen. "You are the absolute king of retorts. I should be bowing in your presence, insulting you more often to partake of your vast knowledge in the art of the smart mouth. I stand before thee as a noble servant of—"
"You were up and sayin' something."
"Right. Basically, keep your nose outta other people's business and it'll be smooth sailing from here on out." He makes an imaginary horizontal line with his hand to indicate just how smooth the sailing would be. You nod, skeptical.
"You're being nice." The words come out of your mouth the instant you think of them, but you think you're right this time. Dave cocks his head, shrugs his shoulders.
"Not really. You're a friend of the royal jerkface and I'm a bud of Terezi's, so I thought I might as well go out of the way, benevolent soul that I am, to tell you to butt out of their dilemma." He stuffs his hands in his pockets as the teacher walks into the room, and your mind is a mess of thoughts like who is he to tell you what to do and what does he know about your role in all this, but you bite your tongue and keep on the best dopey Gamzee face you can. "Anyway, that was all I wanted to say, so you can go back to doing whatever the heck weirdoes like you and your freak brigade do, so yeah. Have fun with that or whatever." And with that the din of pre-class chatter dies down and you end up spending all of fourth period not really listening to what the lesson is about, whatever it's about. You don't even care, because now it is on, now you're going to get so deep in their conflict that you won't be able to get out.
Of course, no one is surprised that you skip out on practice after school that day in order to pay a visit to your grumpy little friend, tiny tux in tow. You know you're taking a considerable risk that could invoke the wrath of not only Karkat, but Equius as well, if he's already home. You can already feel the tension sparking in the air from your last visit, when you and Karkat unanimously decided that he should sleep over at your place to avoid awkward conversations and to prevent another bloody nose and black eye (and yes, it did show up). Apparently the fact that they were simply the closest items around and that you had no idea what you were doing didn't suffice for a gentleman with the body type of a linebacker who was dead set on protecting (and carrying out revenge for) his younger friend. You're crossing your fingers, hoping that at least Equius would have something after school. You've come to know that the Vantases tend to leave the door open in the afternoons, and your Karbro informed you that it's because Nepeta doesn't have a house key yet, so when you finally reach the building it's only a short stroll through the lobby and a slightly uncomfortable ride up an elevator next to a middle aged man with odd, darting eyes before you're pushing the door in as quietly as possible, though you're not sure why. You discover that when you hear his voice, frantic and cracking, emanating from the direction of his room; no other signs of movement tell you that he's most likely the only one in the apartment and that the person he's talking to is conversing through the phone. Of course, you've never really gotten used to that tall, lanky body of yours, so your attempted sleuthing is cut short as you trip over your own feet and tumble into the apartment. The talking stops completely, and everything is dead silent for a moment, save for your breathing, and even that is barely audible, probably because you're trying not to breathe. You're not sure why you even want to hide in the first place, especially because you now have that terrible constriction in your chest that always comes with being nearly found out. You hear a chair swivel, and you're determined not to move, and you decide at the last moment to be sneaky, mainly because that tight feeling has given way to exhilaration and anticipation, that and you desperately want to know who Karkat is talking to that makes him sound that way, though you have an idea.
"Hold on one second," You know exactly why he's stopping, and it only makes the breath you're trying to restrict come faster. But you hear a sigh of exasperation, and then, "Nepeta, I've got a crapton of computer homework, so I lay claim to it for tonight." He actually thinks you're her? With that heavy stumbling you were just doing? That was a trademark Gamzee move, but you won't look a gift horse in the mouth. Doing your best annoyed-younger-sister impression, you quickly collect yourself and stomp dramatically over to the kitchen where—voila!—an old beige phone, complete with that swirling cord that continues to capture your interest sits in its holder. Hopefully your bro is using the other landline, because you're curious enough to want in on the conversation; you barely make a sound as you pick it up and press it to your ear, keeping the silent breathing a thing.
Karkat's voice comes out blaringly loud on the other end. "Siblings. Be grateful you don't have them. Nepeta's in full–scale brat mode, apparently." So it worked? Heck yes. "But whatever; forget her. I don't get it, Terezi. Why on earth would they drop this bomb now?"
"Karkat, just don't question the folks, alright?" The sound of Terezi is significantly softer, and it comes as a great relief, considering that using two phones in the same house results in your hearing Karkat's breathing like he's right behind you. "What do you think they would think that my introduction to them was having them walking in on us… yknow…"
"Making out."
"Yeah." Oh, so that's what it was? You would say you understand more of the situation but the swirling cord has transfixed you again, and you try to play with it as quietly as possible while trying to listen at the same time. That amount of trying with that many objects and people becomes a bit too much, and you force yourself to let go of the cord and just pay attention for once. "I bet I could smell you blushing through the phone." Heck, you can hear her smirking.
"Shut up."
"No." She continues. "Anyway, you know how old fashioned they are. I know they want the best and all that, but jeez. Give me a social life, why don't they? Here's what I hate." She huffs into the phone, her breath magnified to sound deeper and more intimidating than it probably is. "They're only happy when I make them. I say something like, I think I want to become a lawyer or something related and they're all over me. 'Look at our little girl making something out of her life!' and then I mention anything about my social life—this is before they told me to quit you—and they just go dead silent. It's like they want school to be the only part of my life! And dating: oh no, never that! Only work. You don't get anywhere falling for anyone. Ask my married parents who are here, for Pete's sake. They didn't come here together, they didn't tell me stories all these years about they planned to run away and come here to elope and make something out of their life together. God, drives me nuts."
There's a long pause then, a silence that you can tell is awkward, since in the background you can hear Karkat's fingers drumming on some surface or another, puffs of his breath blasting your eardrums at random, uneven intervals. You hear a long breath, and then,
"I don't want to fight anymore." Terezi sounds tired, exhausted, nowhere near her normal animated and somewhat flirty self, and for good reason. "Really, I'm sick of it. And I know you are, too." She laughs then, but it's halfhearted. "Even though I'm sure that ginormous voice box of yours loved the workout."
"Ha ha freaking ha. I get that, and I am. So why don't we just—I don't know—do something about it? Yeah, fighting isn't my cup of tea, though now it's all I ever do, or so you say. Isn't there anything that'll make them see any reason?" For once Kar isn't yelling, which is a real treat for your ears, considering you'll probably be deaf in one of them before the call is over.
But when Terezi speaks up again, you're taken completely off guard. "Hey, I have an idea." An idea? The only idea she's told you about is the one you two worked together on. Did she figure out another, or—crap Crap. You never told her to let you explain it. Of course, she goes and does that: explain it. "Why don't you come over to my place for dinner on Saturday? The folks usually let a guest come over then, so you can just tidy up and I can probably squeeze you in. Hopefully they'll let you explain yourself, or whatever they need you to do."
Silence.
A lack of sound so prominent, so thick you could run a knife through it is all it takes to tear your fragile peace apart. Terezi calls Karkat's name, over and over until you're sure he's sick of it, but it all, somehow, gets swallowed up. And Karkat's words barely, just barely pierce it, but they're magnified by all the repressed emotion they obviously contain.
"You knew." Terezi says nothing, nothing at all, and you're trying with all your might to keep silent, but you remember there's a tuxedo in your hand and if you even move it'll make noise that travels right through the phone into Karkat's awareness. His voice is still deathly quiet when he speaks again. "You were working behind my back. I should've known."
Terezi seems to regain her voice because the next thing you know she's spouting all these rebuttals, such as "I have no idea what you're talking about!" and "Nice work, mister suspicious, why don't you get promoted to conspiracy theorist?" Defense statements that someone with as sharp a wit as she would cringe at if she ever heard them herself.
"Terezi."
"Yes."
"You do realize that a certain Gamzee Makara told me the EXACT SAME THING?"
"…Oh. Actually no, I didn't."
And that's all it takes. Karkat's voice reaches a pitch that will probably leave your ears ringing for weeks. You can feel his rage again, and it's constricting you, leaving you begging for air when you know it would be a dead giveaway if you even drew a deep breath. You nearly jump out of your skin as his hand slams the table so hard you can feel it where you are.
"DO YOU MEAN TO SAY THAT YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT GAMZEE MADE THE EXACT SAME PLANS AS YOU DID WITHOUT KNOWING ABOUT YOUR WHAT YOUR FAMILY DOES ON ANY GIVEN DAY? THAT'S A BUNCH OF BULL!"
"Karkat—shh! They don't want me talking to you!"
"THEY CAN JUST SUCK IT THEN, BECAUSE I'M GOING TO SHOUT AS MUCH AS I DAMN WELL PLEASE! WHY THE HELL DIDN'T YOU TELL ME, TEREZI? CAN'T YOU JUST TRUST ME? OR DO YOU THINK I'M A 'DELINQUENT,' TOO?" More deafening thumps, more objects being thrown and struck.
"Karkat, it's not like that—" He cuts her off before she gets a chance to explain herself, the both of you.
"THEN WHAT IS IT LIKE? WHAT DOES IT MEAN? THAT IT'LL ALWAYS BE LIKE THIS? THAT'S WHAT I DON'T WANT! SECRETS, SECRETS AND MORE. FREAKING. SECRETS. CAN'T YOU THINK OF OTHER WAYS TO TWIST THE KNIFE IN IF THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT TO DO? WHY, TEREZI?"
"Because I knew that this was how you'd react!" Apparently this catches Karkat off guard, because the yelling cuts itself short. The silence this time is stony, ominous, and seems to be the type that threatens to dismantle your patchwork plans. It's Terezi that speaks up this time, her voice barely above a whisper but barely below a shout. "I'm hanging up. Call me when you can trust me to make my own decisions." And just like that, you hear the telltale click, the dial tone on her end, and then you only have shuddering breath for company.
But he doesn't hang up.
Why doesn't he hang up?
You're prepared to wait as long as you possibly can until he puts the phone down and you can finally relax, but then Karkat draws a breath and your blood runs cold.
"Put down the phone, Gamzee."
The phone isn't put down; it falls, drops from your fingers that don't seem to work anymore and smacks the wall without ever hitting the floor, suspended by that one distracting cord. And then next thing you know—you're not even sure how much time you've been frozen in place, starting at nothing and hoping he never said what he said—he's standing at the entrance to that one dark, tight hallway that leads to every bedroom, including his. He looks like you would expect him to, face red and chest heaving, fists clenched, practically vibrating at his sides. You're cruisin' for a bruisin' and you know it, and normally Karkat isn't much of a physically violent person, but with the way you see him right now you'd rewrite that statement in a heartbeat.
"And you listened." He makes his way over to you and leans on the kitchen counter, those eerie eyes boring into you, and for once you can't keep eye contact. "You know, is there anyone I can call a friend that doesn't keep secrets from me now?" His grip on the countertop intensifies until his knuckles turn completely white and the thing freaking creaks under the pressure.
Your voice comes out so small then that you almost understand how Tavros feels and Karkat, although he hasn't grown or even straightened up, looks twice his size. "I only wanted to get my help on, bro."
"You 'only wanted to get your help on.' You only wanted to get your fucking help on. Well I have a news flash for you, Makara. There are other ways to help than to stick your lanky ass in everybody's business, or doesn't that stick in your little mind?" He's shouting again, but his eyes tear away from you like he just looked at a victim of leprosy for as long as he possibly could. For a split second while he's still shaking you think he's more than just yelling, but a closer look proves otherwise. You take a risk and reach over to touch his shoulder, thinking, somehow, that by being chill and making it seem like everything's peachy the problem will somhow erase itself. You can tell just by the sting of his slap on your hand that your method certainly won't work.
"Hey, best friend—"
"DON'T CALL ME THAT!" His voice rings through the apartment like it's a cathedral, and for a crushing moment it's only a soft gasp on your part and heavy breathing on his. And then a hand fists in his hair and he shakes his head frantically from side to side, almost like he's trying to take it all back. "Fuck. I mean, just—god, Gamzee—just don't talk to me, okay? Get out of my house and don't talk to me." You don't approach him again. Heck, you don't even look. You just place his tux as neatly as you can over the back of a chair and turn to leave. You would say some kind of goodbye, utter some sort of apology, but you're not talking to him. You're not talking to him because he doesn't want you to, but that doesn't mean you're out of the plan. You may not have a key role anymore, but your being in cahoots with Terezi, in your opinion, has earned you a backstage pass, and you will be sure to take full advantage of—
Something soft and life-size collides head-on with you, and you're sent stumbling back in the door; whatever the heck you just ran into hits the floor with a few sizeable 'oof's. When the world has stopped spinning around you and you've regained control of your body you lean down to investigate what you just knocked over, and when your eyes meet hers your stomach drops to your feet.
Sitting awkwardly at your feet, rubbing her arm through an oversized coat sleeve, is Nepeta. The Nepeta. The Nepeta you've been told time and time again to stay away from is staring up at you with big wide eyes and clutching her backpack to her shoulders, and she's right in front of you. You're really becoming tired of the long stretches of silence you've been experiencing this afternoon, and this one, like all the others, keeps you right on the edge.
She meets your eyes and smiles.
She smiles. A legit sheepish grin with no fear whatsoever glides across her face and she extends her hand to you. She wants you to help her up. You.
"If you don't mind," her voice has gotten more mature since the last time you saw her, and so, apparently, has her demeanor. "My backpack weighs like fifty pounds, so I'm kinda stuck here." She plays with her sandy hair until you finally snap out of it and pull her to her feet. She stands on her tiptoes as if trying to meet your eyes, but then lowers herself down, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Thanks! I was gonna say sorry for Equius and your face, but you never came back! So here's me apologizing now. Where's Karkitty?" It takes you a few moments, even then, for you to recognize that she's not mad, she's not afraid of you—or at least she isn't showing it. Dumbly, you gesture with your thumb inside and squeeze past her without saying a single word.
You may have hurt her before, but it's not you she has to worry about tonight.