Archive of Our Own

You hate that you owe the bastard who bailed you out of jail. 

He’s an arrogant prick. A menace to both human and troll society, and worst of all, he’s guilted you into accepting a job offer in exchange for your freedom. 

And now you’re stuck with him. The ultimatum wasn’t verbalized, but you can read between the lines.

You’re angry about the entire ordeal. To hell with being paid handsomely to be a personal matchmaker. Is it a dream job with an unfathomable salary? Yes. Were your living conditions improved drastically when offered a place of residence straight out of jail on an entirely different planet by the very human who bailed you out? Yeah, sure. But fuck that douchey nimrod Dave Strider anyways. He’s a disingenuous pervert who obviously wants something more from you. It’s keeping you on your toes. You may not have a choice but to roll with the punches, but that doesn’t mean you’ll let your guard down around him either.

You still can’t tell if this job is a legitimate human occupation or exclusively for rich assholes with more money than they know what to do with. You try looking up the term ‘matchmaker’ online, but every hit seems to imply human-arranged marriages or helping desperate people address their loneliness via shitty subscription-based apps. 

It’s not like you’re unfamiliar with the term. Your planet has something like this too… technically. Trolls were weird about reproduction relative to blood-hierarchy and related powers. Or lack thereof.

You scowl and comb your fingers through your long, slightly matted hair, a tic you’ve picked up when recalling not-so-fond memories. You fail, of course, to untangle the ends. Clawed fingers get stuck about two-thirds of the way through. You pull out your digits and try not to dwell on your lack of pyrokinetic powers and mutant lime blood being a stark candy-red, effectively making you an unattractive outcast. You couldn’t picture a single soul falling for you; not after learning the fraud that you are.

You get to work, adamant on focusing your efforts on the ultimate distraction: trying to find a partner for Dave Strider. Perhaps having a significant other would make him appear more mature in the public eye. The one thing Dave made clear to you was that he was teetering on the precipice of being regarded as a political threat. And with the way this planet is ruled, society could crumble if Dave didn’t stay in his fucking lane. Your secret goal was to find someone who could placate this man’s thirst for rocking the boat.

With husktop in hand, and years of scouring the internet honing your communication skills and heightening your wpm, you code a little program meant to track potential partners based on complimentary and opposing character traits, because hey. Like-mindedness is a must, but opposites are known to attract. Any and all information would help. You could toggle between the two character traits, depending on how Dave reacts, to bump potential partners up on the priority list. You add almost the entirety of your network (you know a lot of people) and attribute their most basic traits as a start. You also may or may not steal some pre-existing data via a select few dating apps with shitty security features to feed into your program.

You dedicate a portion of the program’s coding to Dave’s profile. It stores any information you find imperative to track. The asshat was elusive as fuck. When asked what he looked for a partner, Dave just smiled that smile of his, straight white teeth behind soft pink lips, a dimple forming in his left cheek. His eyes, barely concealed behind his shades, traced your figure from head to toe. “Someone sexy,” is what he said. “And has a personality.”

Asshole. He was totally picking on you, but you ensure you keep a composed demeanor around him. You nod and get back to typing.

You think you do a good job despite the severe lack of information. You use your online research of Dave to your advantage. From what you gather in his interviews and podcast appearances, the man only has two boundaries when it comes to his potential partner: 1) no guys (he acts so weird at the mere suggestion, which you learn might be a societal influence the more time you spend on Earth), and 2) no bigots. You can respect the latter, at the very least, though it seems slightly contradictory to the first boundary, but you can’t even be mad. He’s so vocal about it in his movies that you don’t even need to ask him if he’s okay with trolls being included in the dating pool. He’s such an open and unabashed advocate for marginalized groups by way of his SBaHJ franchise, that there’s no wonder portions of society see him as a threat. The guy is a fucking freak, but he’s also informed and has an air of righteousness that you only catch glimpses of in his art and hidden among his incessant ramblings.

You find someone you think he’d get along well with. She’s a troll, she’s got a lot of personality, and she’s cool as fuck. You know she’s fun to hang out with from personal experience. A well-known Songbird, this individual certainly will have stories to share working as a fellow helpsman in the mines. You hope Dave doesn’t ask about her missing eye and arm. You also hope you’re not subconsciously setting this up as a form of repentance for your past sins.

“She’s cute,” Dave comments when you show him a few photos. He looks over your shoulder and rubs his chin thoughtfully while you use your arrow keys to go through the tiny profile you set up in your already struggling program. You’ll never admit you’re dogshit at coding. At least not to this fuckface. Instead of acknowledging the occasional stutter causing the husktop’s fan to whirl wildly leading to the inevitable crash, you give him some insight on places to take her, including where you plan to set up their first date and why. Dave asks you some basic questions, which you answer tentatively. You don’t want to do or say anything to sabotage the date before it even happens, but you want to disclose enough so he feels comfortable.

“Last question.”

You feel a hand grab your wrist. “Have you ever been successful doing this?”

“Matchmaking?” You make a face. Is this guy stupid? “The job you made up to torture me? No, Strider, I can’t say I’ve ever seen this humiliation ritual through to the end quite yet. I’m hoping this date changes that. I’m sure my coal mining resume could use this boost.”

“I’ll have your recommendation letter ready on your desk by Monday,” Dave squeezes your wrist tighter. “I mean this —the combing your hair. I’ve never seen you get through it all.”

“I— what?” You didn’t realize you were doing it again.

He starts working through the tangled ends by pulling thick strands apart gently. You sit, frozen, as you let Dave try to tame what you couldn’t. A thousand thoughts run through your head in a rush. You’ve mostly gone along with his antics up until this point because it was to your advantage. You accepted this job because you needed to get off your home planet after being a root cause to a massive incident. You live with him because there was no other option after being bailed out of jail and finding out that everything was taken from you as punishment. You accepted starting a new life on a new planet, home to very few from your species, because you wanted a chance at new friendships. Being caught as an imposter among your blood caste would be excruciatingly isolating. Starting fresh on this planet could derail your fate for the better. 

“Does your hair have a life of its own? I feel like I’m making it worse.”

You finally duck away from his explorative hands. “That’s enough,” you snap. “It tangles when I sit here too long,” you explain while motioning to the sofa. “It’ll straighten out next time I shower.”

“Speaking of… I should probably do that since this date you’ve set up is...”

Dave trails off as he says this. You raise a brow. “Are you hesitating? Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of lady killer?”

“Not sure how me mentioning needing to prepare for this date gave you the impression that I was hesitating about going.”

“‘Cause you’re easy to read,” you fib. Maybe you’ll get something out of Dave this way. Confidence is key. “It’s why I took this job knowing my work will be done in a day. Just dress sharp, stop texting whoever the fuck orange is, and don’t talk about Hella Jeff for four hours straight and you’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think it’d be responsible of me to take dating advice from a miner.”

You furrow your brows at Dave’s inability to keep a straight face as he says this, which only adds to your already sour mood.

“Whatever, man. Start getting ready!” You snap. 

A few months pass. Dave still does your hair. He was persistent around the time you matched him with his first date, and you let him because you suspect it might be something he does to calm his nerves. That, or he’s just fucking with you. Either way, you let him spend his mornings or evenings seated behind you, working out any knots with his fingers. 

“It’s like when your earbuds come out of your pocket looking like you pulled out Hatsune Miku’s internal organs.”

“Still don’t know what that means,” you comment flatly, distracted by your husktop. 

“I’ll take you to one of her concerts someday. Maybe when I’m done filming act two.”

“I don’t know why you’re still doing this.”

“This?”

“This movie shit! You see what they say about you online, right? You’re one more film away from getting yourself into a Crockercorp litigation.”

“I can take it,” Dave scoffs. “If they can’t humor a bit of carefully curated criticism then they prove my movies right.” He pulls your hair suddenly, making you tilt your head back, and leans over your shoulder, forcing eye contact. “It’s a win-win,” he grins. You can see his iris hidden behind his shades from this angle, a perfect match to your mutant blood. There’s playfulness there, but you’re starting to recognize that glint of underlying confidence. A silent promise of retribution if it ever gets to that point.

You kind of want to kiss him. 

He goes out with the Songbird a few more times before the relationship eventually fizzles out. He really liked her. They meshed well from what he told you those late nights you’d sit together on the sofa, watching a movie quietly in the background as he shared what he was willing to about the time he spent with her.

You’re glad she’s doing well.

You convince yourself that you indulge in these conversations to gather data to feed into your program and assist you in your matchmaking duties. You ask questions, you dig for more information about Dave, trying to understand what makes him tick. He’s still closed off. There’s a mask there; it plasters nonchalance over handsome features, but you can’t help but search for cracks. Living together has given you confidence that the real Dave Strider exists somewhere behind those stupid shades. You’ve caught glimpses of it through stubborn persistence. The problem was that he’d flip it on you. He’d ask just as many personal questions. It was the perfect way to make you back down.

“I think we can still be friends. It’s fun talking to her, but yeah. Kinda felt like I was distracting her from someone.”

You lean closer to him as he mentions the Swansong. You decide to tell Dave about the unlucky nurse, but stop the conversation from veering towards you territory. You know he probably knows the gist of what landed you a life in prison, but you refuse to talk about it. It’s a sore spot, and you’d rather not risk the news of it getting out on this planet, especially through some artifacted to hell subplot in one of those godawful SBaHJ movies. The government thankfully covered up the news of your mutation as with your bailed release. You know the humans here wouldn’t give a damn, but the trolls might. And if you wanted to start a new life here, it was probably best that you keep things under wraps.

“You’re kind of a softy,” you say to Dave, effectively changing the topic. 

He understandably makes a face at that, flabbergasted by the claim, and gestures to you. “You just cried at Good Luck Chuck. The tears on your cheeks are still fresh, dude.”

“Yeah but the difference is that I don’t hide it.”

“I think the difference is that you thought this shit was good enough to watch let alone get emotionally invested in.”

“Nice try, Strider. But I see right through those stupid Stiller shades. That’s why I matched you with someone a little different this time.”

Dave stills his drumming fingers. You sit closer to show the screen of your husktop. It’s a human this time. Someone you started chatting with through online forums. 

“She’s really kind and incredibly smart,” you explain. She’s tall and pretty too, but you don’t think Dave would’ve needed to hire someone to help him find a partner based on looks alone. From the few times you’ve joined him in networking events or early screenings, a very specific type of person would stop to flirt. No, Dave Strider probably needed someone who cared about him, not how deep his pockets were. He needed someone who could match his humor but wouldn’t stand down when he was being a stubborn asshat. A quick background check showed only an upstanding citizen. No politics would be threatened under her influence.

You think this person could be a great fit.

Dave goes on a few dates. He likes her, you think. You catch bright green text on his screen from time to time. They’re obviously talking, which is good. You might be relieved of your matchmaking duties soon.

You’ll probably need to find a new place to live.

Let’s start at getting a real job first, you spongedead bulgescratcher.

You keep a straight face despite the building stress of your life inevitably going through yet another major change. As a distraction, you add to Dave’s profile in your program instead. It’s updated with his favourite movies, games, hobbies, music, likes and dislikes, so on and so forth. Despite having a plethora of data now, you still feel like you’re missing imperative information. Maybe this girl he’s seeing can figure something out, but for some reason the thought makes your acid tract churn. You may or may not have developed a bit of possessiveness when it comes to unearthing the depths of Dave Strider.

Since things seem to be going well with this girl and your time with Dave is coming to a close, you decide to be forward next time you see him. 

“Dude, your hair…”

In your boredom waiting for Dave to return home, and your inability to sit still in anticipation, you ended up lying upside down on the sofa, mid-favourite movie Hitch, unruly hair rubbed every which way and nested on the carpeted floor of the living room.

“What about it?”

Dave shakes his head as he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his suit jacket. He removes his watch and rubs his wrist while approaching you. 

“Do we still have leftovers from last night?”

You furrow your brows. “Did you not eat while out?”

“Nope.”

He heads to the kitchen after placing his watch on the coffee table. You roll off the couch from your precarious position and hit the floor with a heavy thump. You groan as you drag your ass off the floor to follow him.

Dave ignores your questioning gaze as he dumps the remainder of last night’s takeout onto a plate and puts it in the microwave. He’s on his phone, and you catch a glimpse of orange instead of green.

“Who is that?” You finally ask. 

“No one,” he replies.

“A girl?”

“No.”

“A boy? I thought you had a thing against guys.”

“What? Wait what?”

“You didn’t eat dinner with your dinner date and that orange text is back on your screen. What other conclusion can I jump to?”

“This isn’t some side piece I’m hiding to thwart your matchmaking attempts,” Dave spits in disgust. 

“Then why are you home so early?” 

Come to think of it, between work and the time he spent at home, it’d be a miracle if Dave saw much of the people you set him up with. Were things not working out due to time constraints? Or was he just distracted by orange text?

“You don’t need to micromanage my every move you know.”

You take offense to that. “Micromanage?” You repeat. “Micromanage? You plucked me from prison to do the impossibly obscure task of finding you a person who doesn’t want to rip their hair out five minutes into speaking with you, and despite being exposed to your vacuous douchebaggery I do a fucking fantastic job at it, and you want to say I’m micromanaging you? When all I did was point out my observations and bring into question your closed off demeanor?”

Dave says nothing as the microwave beeps. He reaches for his food, so you continue.

“How far have you gotten with these girls?”

Dave makes another face. 

“With any girl.” 

Silence. 

You want to kick yourself for asking, but it’s something you needed to know. And despite his silence, you get your answer.

“Dave…” Your shoulders deflate. “If you already have someone, you don’t have to force yourself.”

“Okay. This shit is getting incredibly uncomfortable since you lack context.”

You open your arms wide. “I’ll take anything!” you exclaim. 

Dave pinches the bridge of his nose, which pushes up his shades. He glances at you with those candy red eyes and you think his frustration with you is short-lived, because he starts talking.

“Orange is my little brother —don’t tell anyone. If news of this gets out, I’ll have your head propped up on the end of my sword.”

You brush off the legitimate threat to life to process the information that actually mattered to you. Dave had a secret family member.

“Oh,” you say stupidly. “That… yeah that makes more sense than the secret lover thing.”

“No shit.”

You lean back against the kitchen counter and cross your arms, watching Dave fish for utensils from the drawer. 

“So?” You ask after a moment of silence.

Dave sighs heavily. “What?”

“Come on, Dave. You know it’s hard for me to tell if this display of stagnant brain activity is genuine. Are you going to answer the follow-up questions you know I’m going to ask or do your lethargic neurons require accommodations via prompting?”

Though you can’t see it, you’re certain Dave just rolled his eyes at you. What you do see, however, is the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. You love catching him struggling not to smile. That means he’s not actually mad at you, which gives you the confidence to keep pushing.

“Can I eat first?”

“You’re the king of talking amidst any task.”

Dave stares at you with his plate for a beat, says “fair”, and walks back to the living room with you in tow.

“He’s thirteen. Like six sweeps and a bit,” Dave explains. “We live separately. Nobody knows about him because I don’t want him getting swept up in my shit. I know I’m crossing a lot of dangerous lines.”

“So… you don’t spend any time with him in person?”

“Of course I do! I visit him between projects or when there’s a sizable gap between filming."

“Have you told anyone you dated about him?”

“Never needed to. The relationship dies pretty early on.”

Dave starts eating as you contemplate how to word your next question. The silence ticks away and you realize there’s no discreet way to ask, so you just go for it.

“Is he why you never get that far?”

Dave shakes his head quickly.

“He doesn’t give a shit about who I date. It’s more a matter of keeping him safe, you know?”

You don’t know. Not really, anyways. Humans were violent, sure, but they had no powers. Accomplishing anything grand or deadly required a tool. Plus they had pretty strict rules and regulations. You’re certain don’t kill an innocent child just because his guardian pisses you off was one of them. You can’t imagine Dave’s sibling being threatened in any way that was a cause for concern when you hatched on a planet that formed a barely-functional society around keeping those with telekinesis, pyrokinetic and psychic powers at bay by ensuring the users were content and/or occupied. They were given very specific work as a means to keep their circulatory systems balanced and complacent.

“Is that the only thing you’re worried about?”

“Yeah?”

You should probably drop it and let Dave eat in peace. Maybe you just need to spend more time with humans in general to understand why his personal life was kept a secret from the person he’s trying to pursue a future with.

But that thought in itself bothers you, damnit!

“You know… You won’t really be able to go any further if you don’t give your partner something. If they start sensing that you’re keeping things from them, they’ll probably start feeling uneasy about the relationship. You’re setting yourself up for failure, man.”

“I’m aware.” Dave’s feet are up on the sofa, and he holds his plate of food balanced on his raised knees. It’s a comically contradictory site. Here sits a powerful man, famous and fitted in an Armani suit, sitting like a pupa whilst not-so-gracefully eating reheated takeout. “That’s why I told you.”

You blink. After a few minutes of silence pass, Dave gets up, having finished his meal. He says something about taking a shower, but you don’t really process it until you hear the water running. You get up and wash the dishes because you’re a good housemate. You also need the distraction from your racing thoughts. Dave retires early for the night. You lie on the sofa and stare up at the ceiling of the dimly lit living room. Eventually, you get up and open your husktop. You open your shitty matchmaking program, type in the password to Dave’s profile, and add yet another unique trait.

You add “Trusts Karkat Vantas more than anyone else”.

Dave doesn’t necessarily avoid you, but you can tell he’s keeping his distance. He exudes an air of wariness after disclosing something he’s kept close to his chest for so long, which is why you hesitate to approach him with your proposition, certain he’ll refuse in his current state of uncertainty. You know how to rectify the situation. You’ve just been reluctant to do it.

“Hey, today is a short filming day.”

You’re still lying in your bed, groggy from a sleepless night. Dave’s head is peeking into your bedroom, and to your surprise, his shades are off. You push yourself half-up with your forearms, confused as to why this needed to be announced. Unless you were scheduling a date for him, you two never bothered sharing when and where you’d be during the day.

“And I’m pausing production for the long weekend.”

“So…”

“I’m going to visit Dirk for a bit. Uh —Dirk is my lil’ bro.”

You squint against the morning rays now beaming into your face as Dave opens the bedroom door wider.

“Am I coming?”

“The fuck you are,” he scoffs.

You scoff back. What a prick. 

“This could have been an email,” you grumble as you faceplant back into your mattress.

You don’t hear Dave cross the bedroom, and yelp when he yanks the pillow from under your head to hit you with it. You let out a slew of curses as he deals another blow.

“I was being cordial and letting you know not to wait up.”

“Wait up for what?”

“I don’t know —dinner? Movie nights? Fixing this?” He tugs at your hair. You peek to your side and watch Dave sit on the very edge of your bed. He tosses the pillow near your head. You exhale and bring the cushion back to its proper place and lie on it. 

“Tell him I say hi.”

“I won’t be doing that.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Dave shakes his head, but there is no hiding his subtle smile. It reaches his uncovered eyes. You’re dizzied at the sight, but the things you’ve wanted to say to him for weeks die in your throat. Instead, you tap Dave on the knee and quietly say, “Text me when you get there.”

He nods and looks away. In the light shining into your room, his ears are set ablaze. He gets up off the bed and walks away, closing the door behind him and leaving you to mull over your thoughts in darkness.

Dave: im here in one piece you can rest easy now
Karkat: I’D REST EASIER IF YOUR PARTS WERE SCATTERED ACROSS EACH CONTINENT
Dave: how do you know what continents are you only got here like eight months ago
Dave: did beforus have continents
Dave: i know so much about that place and yet at the same time... i know nothing at all
Dave: ive watched troll survivor
Dave: troll the amazing race
Dave: troll vs. wild
Dave: why do i not know if you guys have continents? is it called something else like trontinents? (troll continents)
Karkat: YOU’D DO MY THROBBING PAN A HUGE FAVOUR IF YOU TRILLED YOURSELF (TROLL KILLED YOURSELF)
Dave: dude you cant just say that youre trurting my treelings

You shake your head but there is no amount of pseudo-contempt in the world that could get you to stop smiling at your phone. Instead, you opt to steer the conversation back to Dave’s brother.

Karkat: IS PUPA STRIDER THERE? DID YOU TELL HIM I SAY HI YET?
Dave: im still not going to do that
Dave: all he knows is that i bailed you out for shits and giggles and thats about it
Dave: ill prolly have to tell him you live with me because youre a sad sack of shit who didnt have a dime to your name but well save the sob story for a different time
Dave: now if youll excuse me im gonna go hang with this little hooligan and make him touch some grass before his computer addiction snowballs into some online form of world domination
Karkat: ONCE HE BECOMES SUPREME INTERNET OVERLORD CAN HE KILL THE CONSTANCE COOKIE COMMERCIALS PLAGUING EVERY SOCIAL MEDIA APP?
Dave: dude
Dave: i thought youd never ask
Dave: ttyl <3

The heart kind of pisses you off. It’s banter, you remind yourself. Not flirtation. Strider loved irony, and to your chagrin, with the way your pump biscuit thumps in your chest, you absolutely got baited by it. Fucker. This isn’t the first time he’s fake-flirted with you. You know it entertains him, seeing you either get flustered or furious. He had a knack for attempting to tear down your perfectly curated personality, and to your chagrin, he was getting good at it.

There was only one way to get back at him. You knew he hated dealing with any implications of emotional sincerity, so you do what you need to and throw your phone across the sofa.

Karkat: <3

***

Dirk: Are you dating my brother?
Karkat: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?
Dirk: Who the fuck else would I be? I feel like the context clues are all there.
Karkat: I KNOW YOU’RE STRIDER’S SIBLING.
Karkat: BUT HE ONLY EVER WHISPERED YOUR NAME TO ME ONCE WHEN I WAS HALF-ASLEEP AS A MEANS OF “PROTECTING YOU” FROM THE TERROR THAT IS KARKAT VANTAS, THE FUCKHEAD WHO SHOOK AN ENTIRE NEIGHBOURHOOD AND PERMANENTLY CHANGED AN ECOSYSTEM WITHOUT SO MUCH BATTING AN EYE.
Dirk: I did read up on that. Every news outlet on your planet called it a malicious attack brought on by, in their words, a demand for better working conditions despite all needs and accommodations being met.
Karkat: WOW THEY WERE PRETTY NICE TO PAINT ME AS AN AVERAGE SOCIOPATH.
Dirk: Don’t worry. From what little I was able to glean from Dave, I don’t think you’re a monster.
Karkat: HOW KIND OF YOU.
Dirk: The issue at hand is that I’m not a fan of reaching conclusions without solid evidence to back it up. And I can’t gather the data I need without studying the specimen up close.
Karkat: JESUS. CHEESE CRITTERS ARE GIVEN MORE DIGNITY THAN WHAT YOU’RE GRANTING ME RIGHT NOW, PERSON WHO STILL WON’T INTRODUCE HIMSELF.
Dirk: Dirk.
Dirk: It’s just an expression. I’m saying I’m trying to convince bro to let you visit next time he drops by, but he’s being a complete asshat about it.
Karkat: I CAN START FIRES WITH MY MIND. YOU SHOULD HAVE A LITTLE MORE SELF-PRESERVATION.
Dirk: I somehow doubt that given my research, but on the off chance that you’re not lying, I can handle myself, thank you.
Dirk: And like I said, I don’t think you’re a monster. Dave wouldn’t be giddily looking at the walls of puke-green text right next to me if he was actually worried about you hurting me.
Dirk: In fact, he wouldn’t have gone as far to do anything for you if he saw you as an actual danger to him or myself. You’d still be locked up for life.
Dirk: I’m trying to figure out why the fuck he’s so fascinated with you based off nothing but a few foreign news article unveiling the happenings of an explosion in another planet’s coal mines.
Karkat: WELL GUESS WHAT. SO AM I.
Karkat: THIS FUCKFACE HAS PUT ME ON SOME OBSCURE CAREER PATH WITH NO END IN SIGHT.
Dirk: Hold up
Dirk: I didn’t know you were working for him. What do yo

The message stops there. You blink at your screen, thinking the younger Strider hit enter too early by accident, but after a few minutes with zero follow-up, you resign that the conversation has ended.

Several hours pass before your phone lights up with a message again.

Dave: hey sorry about earlier
Karkat: KEEPING SECRETS FROM THE FAMILY? TSK TSK STRIDER
Dave: ugh you can be real obnoxious sometimes you know
Karkat: SO WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM? AM I YOUR SECRETARY? PERSONAL CHEF? OR DID YOU COME OUT AND CONFESS THAT YOU NEEDED HELP GETTING LAID
Dave: youd be fired by now if that was your job
Karkat: LITERALLY NOT MY FAULT???
Dave: okay listen man
Dave: i told him about the bullshit i put you through for my own sick entertainment and thats all you need to know
Dave: also please ignore everything he said to you i dont know how he got your contact information and honestly im too scared to ask
Dave: i made him delete the convo
Dave: and you
Dave: and i made him promise that hell never speak to you again which means youre likely getting pinged as we speak

You are, in fact, eying the notification that popped up on your screen from the other Strider.

Karkat: SEE DAVE? ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS TELL HIM I SAID HI LIKE I ASKED AND INTRODUCE ME INTO HIS LIFE ORGANICALLY.
Karkat: NOW I HAVE TO TELL HIM “NO, YOU LITTLE SHIT, YOU DON’T MAGICALLY GET A BEFORUS GREEN CARD IF I SIGN SOME COHABITATION CONTRACT WITH YOUR BIG BRO”.
Karkat: ALSO, WHAT THE FUCK IS A COMMON-LAW?
Dave: ima level with you man i have no idea why hes convinced were hiding some sort of secret relationship
Dave: he knows i dont fuck with guys like that
Dave: dont get me wrong karkat youre handsome as fuck i dont want to harm what little self esteem you have left judging from your general disposition
Karkat: OH PLEASE, DAVE. I MANAGE YOUR DATING LIFE. YOU DID A GOOD JOB COMING ACROSS LIKE *THAT* AT A SURFACE LEVEL BUT I KNOW YOU BETTER NOW.
Karkat: BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF APPARENTLY.
Karkat: YOU’RE NOT MATCHING WITH PEOPLE WHO ARE PERFECT FOR YOU BECAUSE THEY’RE LACKING ONE VERY CRITICAL THING THAT YOU’RE ATTRACTED TO.
Dave: lmao okay dude
Dave: were not having this conversation because its a big steaming pile of nothing wrapped in organically grassfed moobeast shit
Karkat: OH, WE’RE NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION? WE’RE NOT GOING TO TALK ABOUT YOUR VERY SUBTLE CRY FOR COMPANY WHEN YOU’RE LIVING AWAY FROM THE OTHER STRIDER?
Karkat: WE’RE *NOT* ADDRESSING THE TRUNKBEAST IN THE ROOM THAT IS YOUR HUMAN SEXUALITY?

There’s a long pause before Dave responds, despite the typing animation showing at the bottom of the screen. Your eyes are glued to your phone as you watch the animation appear and disappear several times.

Finally, after several long minutes, Dave types:

Dave: maybe some other day
Dave: i kinda just wanna go to bed and see if i can get my baby bro to tell me if hes making friends at school in the morning
Dave: hes not budging on the subject
Karkat: YOU KNOW YOU CAN WORRY ABOUT TWO TOPICS AT ONCE, RIGHT?
Dave: goodnight karkat
Karkat: NIGHT.

You toss your phone next to you and ruffle your hair in frustration. You definitely went too far. It felt like you had him and lost him almost immediately if that curt goodbye was anything to go off of.

You’re about to go to bed to spend the rest of your night wide awake, berating yourself over every little detail, when you remember you completely forgot you had another conversation to tend to.

Dirk: Ignore my green card question all you want, I’ll figure out a loophole eventually.
Dirk: And don’t tell Dave I messaged you, though I suspect he’s aware my thirst for knowledge knows no bounds.
Karkat: THAT’S A FUNNY WAY TO SAY YOU’RE KNOWN TO DISOBEY YOUR GUARDIAN WHENEVER IT SUITS YOU.
Dirk: A fault I don’t take pride in, trust me. But I’m sure you understand to some extent my child-like wonder and curiosity with you.
Karkat: THIS SHIT IS NOT CHILD-LIKE.
Dirk: Why not? You make headlines, catch Dave’s attention, and next thing I know you’re living with him. I can’t help but want to learn more.
Karkat: NO I MEAN IT’S NOT “CHILD-LIKE” BECAUSE YOU ARE A CHILD. YOU’RE *SUPPOSED* TO BE CURIOUS.
Dirk: So you’re saying I’m being childish.
Karkat: DON’T BEAT ME TO MY PUNCHLINE YOU LITTLE SHIT.
Karkat: AND I’LL BE HONEST, THE PRISON TO HOUSEMATE PIPELINE MAKES AS LITTLE SENSE TO ME AS IT DOES TO YOU. AND I’M JUST AS CURIOUS.
Karkat: IN FACT, SINCE YOU KNOW HIM BEST, HERE. DISSECT THIS FOR ME.

You proceed to provide a high-level summary of everything that transpired between yourself and Dave that you felt the younger Strider should know. Normally you wouldn’t go through the trouble, but part of you wants him to feel comfortable in your presence. You paint a colourful picture of your matchmaking duties, daily happenings as Dave’s housemate, and your top ten book recommendations published on both Earth and Beforus, just because.

Dirk: Ima be real with you, he did fess up about the matchmaking thing earlier today.
Dirk: But holy shit, you’re honest to a fault. Frankly I’m a little concerned for your well-being, Karkat.
Karkat: WHAT THE FUCK. WHY DID YOU MESSAGE ME, THEN?
Karkat: WHAT ELSE COULD YOU POSSIBLY NEED TO KNOW ABOUT ME?
Dirk: Not much after that last spiel.
Karkat: OKAY COOL. LETS END THIS CONVERSATION WHILE THE NIGHT IS STILL YOUNG.
Dirk: Wait, I lied.
Karkat: GODDAMIT.
Dirk: I have a question and this better not leave this chat.
Karkat: I REFUSE TO COMPLY TO THE DEMANDS OF A WIGGLER OF THE STRIDER BLOODLINE.
Dirk: Something tells me you’re all talk and are absolutely going to “comply” because this might lead to the development of some juicy hot goss about Dave that’ll blow your mind.
Karkat: GOD DAMNIT AGAIN!
Karkat: YOU’RE GOOD.
Karkat: I SWEAR ON WHAT’S LEFT OF THIS LIFE CURRENTLY OCCUPYING A ROTTING HUSK OF A BODY TO KEEP THIS BETWEEN US. WHAT’S YOUR QUESTION?
Dirk: I’m only raising this to you because of your very distinct relationship with Dave as his employee slash entertainment.
Karkat: I RESENT THAT LAST POINT.
Dirk: He’s obviously not afraid to speak his mind, in person and in his work, but every time I bring this up he totally skirts around the subject.
Karkat: THE SUBJECT BEING...
Dirk: Do you think he likes you?

You squint at your phone. This shit again…

Karkat: HE FUCKING BETTER. I’M A GODDAMN DELIGHT.
Dirk: I feel like you know what I actually mean.
Karkat: I THINK HE’S HUNG UP ON SOMETHING THAT GOES BEYOND ME IN PARTICULAR.
Karkat: BUT I PUSHED HIS BUTTONS ENOUGH ABOUT IT AS IS, SO I’M DROPPING THE SUBJECT ALTOGETHER.
Dirk: I see.
Dirk: It’s social suicide for his generation even though things have changed; especially since trolls inhabited earth. But hey, history is cyclical. Maybe he’s seeing a future we can’t even fathom, where liking guys as a guy gets your rights stripped yet again.
Dirk: Dave certainly likes his freedom.
Karkat: I’M STARTING TO THINK THIS PLANET HAS A DARKER PAST THAN I REALIZED.
Dirk: It’s not that hard to catch up on Earth’s history if you stopped rewatching Serendipity in your free time.
Karkat: WHAT THE FUCK *HASN’T* DAVE TOLD YOU ABOUT ME?
Dirk: Hey I’m just as upset about this as you are.
Dirk: Anyways, I think we can call it here. Thanks for humoring the ever famous Dave Strider’s lil’ bro.
Karkat: HOLD THE FUCK ON.
Dirk: Sup?
Karkat: GETTING MY CONTACT INFO AND MESSAGING ME IS ONE THING, BUT DOING IT BEHIND DAVE’S BACK IS ANOTHER. THIS IS THE KIND OF SHIT THAT MAKES HIM WORRY ABOUT YOU, SO CUT IT OUT.
Dirk: He has nothing to be worried about. In case it hasn’t been apparent to you, I’m not stupid.
Karkat: YES THE FUCK YOU ARE.
Dirk: ???
Karkat: MESSAGING RANDOM ADULT STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET IS AS DUMB AS IT GETS.
Dirk: You’re his roommate.
Karkat: I’M A *FELON* AND NOW, FOR LESS THAN A YEAR, YOUR LONELY BROTHER’S HIRED COURT JESTER. HE KEEPS YOU HIDDEN FOR A REASON. IS THERE NO ONE ELSE YOU HAVE TO TALK TO?
Karkat: DON’T YOU ATTEND A SCHOOL?
Dirk: I see where this is going.
Dirk: I’ll have you know I’m chill with all my classmates. There isn’t a person in my year I don’t know.
Dirk: My hands are already developing callouses after all the dabs I give out, some undeserved if I’m being honest with you, but I let it slide.
Dirk: High school is hard for some, especially with hormones and cliques completely obliterating one’s self-esteem. I’ll always be there to give people a sense of belonging.
Karkat: JESUS. AND DO YOU TALK TO THEM JUST LIKE THAT OR AM I A MAGNET WHEN IT COMES TO TO GETTING THE STRIDER-SPECIAL?
Dirk: If you’re asking me if I have friends, we can cut the conversation right here. I have plenty.
Karkat: OKAY COOL. TELL DAVE THE TRUTH TOMORROW SINCE YOU OBVIOUSLY WON’T TELL ME.

***

Dave: dirk just gave me his phone this morning
Dave: i didnt ask him for it he just said here and put it in my palm like those radical juggalo lunatics trying to spread the word of dual-clown presidency
Karkat: YEAH THIS REFERENCE IS ALSO LOST ON ME
Dave: probably for the best i swear i pop a blood vessel everytime i think about it
Dave: anyway the point being dirk showed me your little chat from last night
Dave: im going to ignore that part in the middle about me because im not equipped to process what the fuck that was about
Dave: but thanks for giving him that small reality check turns out he sometimes forgets hes a kid and worst of all assumed i didnt worry about him
Karkat: YOU’RE WELCOME.
Karkat: AND START PROCESSING THAT SHIT WE SAID ABOUT YOU. YOU’RE STUNTING YOUR OWN GROWTH.
Dave: there is no hope for my underdeveloped brain karkat
Dave: im gently holding your hand as i tell you to give up on teaching this old dawg new tricks
Karkat: I THINK IF YOU LEGITIMATELY GENTLY HELD MY HAND IT WOULD FIX WHATEVER’S WRONG WITH YOU.
Dave: dude
Dave: that was so smooth i just about fell to my knees
Karkat: YOU COULD DO THAT FOR ME TOO.
Dave: oh my god are we about to sext?
Dave: im a rambler karkat youd never keep it up
Karkat: HAHAHAHA FUCK OFF STRIDER
Karkat: I’M JUST MESSING WITH YOU. USUALLY THAT TYPE OF TALK WOULD MAKE YOU RETREAT INTO YOURSELF LIKE A HARD HULL SNAPPER SO I GUESS THAT IN ITSELF IS A SIGN OF GROWTH AND SELF-REFLECTION.
Karkat: CONGRATULATIONS BUDDY.
Dave: i liked it better when you hated me and secretly sent your resume out to fast food joints three states over
Karkat: I MISS THOSE DAYS TOO. SADLY THE NUANCE OF OUR DAY-TO-DAY HAS MADE ME SORT OF ENJOY TALKING TO YOU.
Dave: same
Dave: fuck
Dave: okay ill do that processing in these few days im away and we can either talk about it when i get back or pretend this and any other related conversations never happened
Karkat: DEAL.
Karkat: SEE YOU SOON, DAVE.

***

When Dave returns home, the air is somehow even weirder than before he parted. Rather than the initial wariness that brought down the atmosphere, though, there’s electricity. It makes your hairs stand on end. Your carapace feels harder, as if anticipating an attack. The two of you have only gotten closer in your time apart, which has translated to a slight awkwardness now that you’ve returned to your ‘normal’ configuration. 

“Welcome back,” is about all you can manage. You stubbornly tell yourself not to get up off the kitchen island chair for Dave’s sake. You don’t trust yourself not to tackle the other. There’s not much dignity left after the mining incident you caused, but you hold onto that sliver like your life depends on it.

“Whoa. No scorch marks,” Dave says, inspecting the kitchen as he steps around you to grab a glass of water. “You hid them well.”

“Fuck off, Strider. I did not burn down your kitchen in your absence.”

“Leftovers?”

“There’s pizza in the fridge.”

Dave smiles brightly. He sits next to you and eats what's left of the troll-deluxe you ordered for lunch. The two of you catch each other up on the happenings of your lives that passed in the time you were apart. With Dirk doing the honours of filling the communication gap between you, you sense an air of ease around Dave you’ve never seen before. He speaks more freely now. He’s less careful with how he presents himself, and it’s no surprise that it’s the same with you.

He finishes eating, and you automatically take his plate to wash it. It was never an expectation he had once you started living here, but you do it regardless. You like keeping things tidy. You also like feeling useful and productive. Dave joins you by the sink. He continues to talk and hovers close as he does. You want him to wrap his arms around you, a telltale sign that you’re reaching your limits.

You dry your hands, grab him by his wrist, and lead him to the living room, grabbing your husktop off the kitchen island as you do. You sit Dave down in the middle of the sofa and seat yourself on the floor, between his legs. You tuck your hands under the long hairs sitting at the nape of your neck and fling the thick locks back, onto Dave’s lap.

“Get to work,” you demand. 

He squeezes you with his legs, mumbling something about ordering him around, but proceeds to finger comb your hair. It’s nowhere near as bad as it once was, before Dave started tending to it almost daily, but you couldn’t help but let it get a little tangled in his absence, knowing he’d be home to fix it. 

You brainstormed multiple ways to bring the contentious topic up. There were many opportunities to do it. But the more you psyched yourself up to talk about it, the harder it was when your personal feelings were so muddled in the issue. Once you accepted that there was no separation of the two, what you had to do next was clear as day.

The two of you sit in silence for a bit, Dave enjoying the menial task and you basking in the gentle care. Eventually, you wake your husktop from its slumber and open the matchmaking program you created. You feel Dave’s gentle movements stiffen. You go through each profile; each person you had lined up for him. So many matches. So many people who, at the surface, seemed like they would be great for Dave. 

You start nuking their profiles one by one.

Dave’s hands still completely. He intently looks over your shoulder, watching you navigate your screen.

You open the profile to his latest date. The places you set Dave up to take her were captured here. The botanical garden, a farmer’s market, local concerts and nice restaurants… You delete all traces of it. You go to the next person, the first you ever set him up with. Clubs, troll gatherings, big festivals, strenuous activities —all gone in a matter of seconds. 

With every person deleted but Dave, you’re tempted to close your husktop and call it a day. Let that be the end of it and save yourself from the emotional rollercoaster you’re about to put you both through.

You don’t, of course. Ever the type to follow your heart despite the bloodcurdling nerves sending tingles down to the tips of your fingers as you set up a new profile.

Karkat Vantas

You start writing your incredibly obscure interests. Most of which Dave already knows. Some, however, he doesn’t. You then jot down more personal traits, starting with the one that permanently changed your life.

“Nothing at all? You can’t even light a candle?”

“Every wriggling day is a bleak reminder,” you comment while casually taking out your trusty lighter.

Dave snorts and returns to playing with your hair. You shouldn’t be surprised how unaffected he is by the news. He’s not a troll. He barely knows how Beforus works nor the societal significance of the information you shared. There was nothing to be ashamed of here, on this planet, in this home, with this person. You blink rapidly, effectively fighting back the tears, and continue to type. You decide to pursue this vulnerability as you set up your profile. You’re a lime blood (mutated - candy red), gore makes you queasy (you won’t even watch a scary movie in broad daylight), and you’re a hopeless romantic (you make a list of people you’ve “fumbled”).

“The Songbird? You had me be that chick’s sloppy seconds?”

“Neither of us went nearly as far as you’re trying to imply we have. You need to get that ego of yours in check, Strider.”

“You sure are the pot calling the kettle black, Vantas.”

“I have no ego. My head is a perfectly average size. I was humble mere seconds into pupation and did not naively think that I could handle the complicated intricacies of troll romance while burying my darkest secrets in the deep recesses of my mind in hopes that it would never surface or cause any complications in my life.”

“Uh huh,” Dave says flatly. 

“That was sarcastic for: I was a pretentious little shit when I was younger.”

“If it’s any consolation, so was I.” Dave says more gently.

You navigate away from your profile to his and type.

“Don’t jot that down!” Dave exclaims through his laughter. You smile wide and go back to your profile. You write a few more things about yourself. There’s so much more to talk about —to elaborate on, but it’s late and your head feels heavy resting on one of Dave’s knees. He’s braided and undone your long hair so many times you’ve lost count.

So, you decide to do what you were hired to do. You execute your matchmaking skills, same as you’ve done in the past, and plan a date. It’s a movie night. The location is set to home, but not here. It’s Dave’s home back in Texas. Dirk’s name is included in the itinerary; his favourite junk food listed in what you plan for your pre-game grocery store run. 

“No more other people for a while. Just us.”

Dave lifts his legs from where they were sandwiching you, and you immediately miss his warmth. Your heart drops to your stomach. Did you go too far? Did you misread the room? But then the warmth returns a moment later when Dave slides down the couch to sit beside you. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you close.

“I’m okay with that.”

You smile, relieved.

He kisses your forehead. You melt at the tenderness, but before you reciprocate, you ask him if you can look at his eyes. Dave cocks a brow but obliges, lifting his shades and resting them on his hair. 

You scan those scarlet irises. There’s uncertainty there, but knowing Dave as well as you do now, you’re pretty sure it has more to do with his own insecurities rather than his doubt in trusting you. The persona he fabricated for the world is nowhere to be found. You’re looking at a young man who still has a lot to say, but navigates the important pieces like he has all the time in the world. 

Maybe he does. But you’re not feeling the same level of patience. Leaning forward, you kiss him on his lips. Dave cups your cheek and keeps you close, forehead pressed against yours. You kiss him again.

And again.

You crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Your kissing turns desperate. You gently bite his lower lip, dragging out a delicious moan from the other. Dave’s hands grasp your hips greedily, and you oblige with his silent ask, rolling your hips forward and generating friction between the two of you.

“Fuck,” he hisses when you grind against his groin yet again. You kiss his neck, then brush your pointed teeth along his jugular, causing him to jolt at the contact as if struck by lightning. You feel his growing erection press against the cleft of your nook and suddenly it’s you who has trouble keeping quiet.

“Karkat…” Dave’s voice is husky from arousal. His tone low. Demanding.

You do as you're told, and slide off Dave’s lap for only a moment to remove your pants and underwear. Dave follows suit, lowering his clothes just enough to free his member. You work quickly, wetness between your legs threatening to stain the rug beneath if you don’t move fast. You’re back on Dave’s lap, rubbing your nook against his cock, the skin to skin contact causing you both to groan in unison. You grab him by his collar and kiss him again. He gropes your ass with both hands, guiding you further on top of him until you can’t take it anymore. You guide his cock inside of you and cry out in pleasure. You’re not experienced with a human’s girth. The head isn’t tapered the way your biology is accustomed to, and it takes several shallow thrusts to get Dave partly in you.

“Dude, you’re so—” Dave kisses your jaw. “—fucking” he pushes a little deeper into you, “cute.”

You weren’t expecting that. You were ready for awful sex talk the way you’ve read them a hundred times in your novels and romcoms.

“Cute?” You choke out, breathless.

He peppers your face with kisses. You want to ask why. What the hell makes you cute? But your lust trumps your insecurity-driven need for any form of verbal validation. You selfishly want Dave to elaborate, but your mind is too preoccupied navigating bouncing on his cock without completely destroying your innards to ask. 

Eventually, you feel confident and push past your limits, crying out as you slam yourself down, taking him entirely. The walls of your nook ache, and tighten around Dave. He curses, tilting his head back on the sofa, and you pause. 

“I don’t want us to cum yet,” you whisper. 

“Jesus, dude. Saying that almost fucked your plans.”

He brings both hands to rub his face. He slicks back his sweaty fringe, carelessly knocking his glasses off his head and onto the couch cushion behind him. You lean close, observing him fondly. 

“You’re cute too,” you admit. Dave shakes his head, but he can’t hide the scarlet ascending from his neck to the tips of his ears. You’re both cut from the same cloth when it comes to navigating romantic relationships, precautionary to a fault and closed-off as a means to protect oneself, but you think maybe he secretly relishes the compliments.

“You really need to stop talking if you don’t want us to cum— oh my god, Karkat. Don’t pout.”

The declaration is preposterous. You’re only frowning deeply, offended by Dave’s demands. You want to talk more than ever. Doesn’t matter that you’re sitting on Dave’s dick, stretched beyond your limits, slick genmat slowly spilling out and surely ruining the expensive Persian carpet beneath. You want to dissect his thoughts. You want to draw out every ideation plaguing his heart, possessed by your intrinsic need to understand his feelings. You want him open and vulnerable. You want to talk to Dave until you both run out of things to say.

And in that moment, your own feelings become clear. You have a yearning for forever with this man. 

Dave gasps and grasps your hips as you return to your earlier ministrations. To hell with drawing this out. You kiss him until your bellowsacs burn for oxygen. You ride him until your thighs quiver from strain. You moan and moan, unapologetically loud, needing Dave to know how incredible he feels. And when you climax, you cry his name. 

Dave hugs you tightly. You’re lightheaded as he pushes forward, lying you on your back so he can fuck into you with more control. You gasp, opening your legs wider and clutching his clothed back desperately. The sounds your bodies make between each thrust are lewd. You shake, overstimulated, gasping Dave’s name like a prayer until he finally, finally, stills, pumping his spunk into you. 

You barely process the kisses you receive. You’re left lying on the floor, alone for a moment, staring at the ceiling with your legs still parted.

Holy shit, you think, panting heavily. You bring the hem of your shirt to your face, wiping some of the sweat. 

Eventually, Dave returns and you’re coddled with such uncharacteristically tender aftercare you’re certain this entire ordeal was just a dream. You don’t have anything smart to say. Any of the usual quips dies in your throat when the other lifts you and takes you to his bedroom. The rest of your clothes come off in a desperate need to combat the overheating. You lie together, a tangle of limbs and the most chaste of kisses, him working away the tangles in your hair until he eventually nods off to sleep, with you soon to follow.

You finally go to Texas. It’s hot as fuck but you continue to wear pants and a long-sleeved shirt. You forgo your favourite lime sweater vest because you’ve still managed to retain a semblance of common sense despite being around Dave. You know you’d die in the heat wearing that thing, but you draw the line at wearing t-shirts from habit alone. You’re not necessarily clumsy, but your deep-rooted paranoia reminds you that if you fall and scrape your elbow, you don’t want the world to see what you bleed, even if red means nothing here. You’ll come to accept it one day, but for now you sweat.

As you wait for your ride from the grocery store, Dirk’s favourite junk food taking up almost the entirety of the two bags you hold, Dave gathers your hair and lifts it off the nape of your neck. He blows on the skin in a feeble attempt to keep you cool. You give him a quick side glance, and he smiles a small smile, sweet and gentle; the polar opposite of how the world perceives him. You kiss his dimple. Dave shies away, instead focusing his efforts on putting your hair in a high bun. When the car arrives, he kisses the nape of your neck and prompts you to get into the car without another word.

Meeting Dirk in person is trippy. He is almost exactly and yet nothing like Dave in both appearance and personality. He’s also a little more awkward and easily flustered in person. Just like Dave, Karkat realizes the version of Dirk he first spoke to was a convincing front. 

You can tell he’s a good kid. He just needs a bit more adult supervision.

The three of you play party games on every available console during your time together. Dirk gives you a tour of the gadgets he works on in his free time, and Dave gets you both to sample your voices in what he calls his upcoming magnum opus aka another shitty mix-tape. 

“Karkat, you do an awful impression of a guy who doesn’t tap his foot to my music whenever it pops up on your secret I Love Dave Strider’s Music playlist.”

“It used to be called What The Fuck Is This Garbage Question Mark Question Mark Question Mark before someone sneakily changed it.”

“Were those question marks fully spelt out?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Why did I hold out the hope that you two would refrain from flirting in front of me?”

You both balk at the preteen’s comment. Unfortunately for him, it won’t be the last time he endures your light-hearted bickering, but you try to restrain yourself for this first visit. 

Because you do plan on there being more.

You like this family, and they like you too. Dave still wants to keep Dirk a secret, and you support his wishes, but you sense his distress when you part, leaving the younger Strider to his own devices yet again. Dave’s future is a rocky one if he continues down the path he’s chosen. But so was yours, before he stepped in. That knowledge is what gives you the confidence to intervene. 

“You should take bigger breaks,” you say one early morning. Dave’s arm is wrapped tight around you, the other tucked under your shared pillow. His hair is messy and you catch a small set of oddly teeth-shaped marks embedded along his neck. Who on earth could have done that? He squeezes his eyes tightly in response to your comment, brows furrowed and wrinkles forming along the bridge of his nose. You repeat yourself, but he’s still half asleep when he lets out a muffled “huh?”

“Between your movies. Maybe you take a few years between this one and the next instead of a few months.”

You can feel Dave waking up. He kisses your neck distractedly while processing your words. You still can’t believe how physically affectionate he is when no one is around to bear witness. You let him stroke your arm for a few minutes before your impatience gets the better of you.

“You like to do things while it’s on your mind and you have the motivation for it, right? I see how you work, Dave.”

He nods. “Delaying would kill any projects I got bubbling up in here. Especially when things are happening in the world right now.”

“Things are always happening in the world.”

Dave frowns. You know he’s mulled these thoughts over a million times in the past, even before he met you. But maybe he needed a sounding board.

“You prioritized Dirk’s physical safety, which is great, but now you’re both isolated from each other and the outside world.”

“He goes to school,” Dave counters. “I work. We see plenty of people.”

“He met his best friends online and they all live hours away from each other, which you only learned about recently. And you already know how you navigate your life in an isolating way so I won’t elaborate.”

Dave sighs. “It’s too early for this shit,” he mumbles while pulling you close. His hands instinctively find your hair. He starts brushing it, and you fight everything in your body not to drop the subject and nod off again. 

“You don’t have to give up everything you’ve built —there’s no need to censor yourself fully either. I’m just saying, take it easy. You can find a good balance.”

“And you’ll stick around?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I can’t imagine where else I’d be.” You meant it matter-of-factly, but with the way Dave squeezes you tight, and the wetness you feel on your cheek, you realize there was quite a bit of weight to your words.

You hold Dave tight, gently stroking his back and being his anchor through this sudden wave of emotion. There’s no hiding how happy you are in this moment of vulnerability. You’re stuck with this man until the bitter end, and although it wasn’t verbalized, you can read between the lines.