Genesis
Series: Homestuck
Genre: Slight romance, slight angst, mostly gen and silly attempts to be philosophical.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: John/Karkat, Rose, Dave
Warnings: Language, some religious themes
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Nothing on Earth could compare with the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
Notes: Written for a prompt requesting fic based on/inspired by the story of Eden.
John’s purpose is to begin things.
A meteor hurtles towards the Earth at a bazillion miles per hour, weaving drunkenly through time and space to rip the past to shreds, but he has his favorite lines from only the very best movies running steady in the back of his head and it’s going to be okay. He is strong and sane and ready to protect everyone if he has to. It’s been exciting, almost, this break from Betty Crocker battles and school and really shitty Game Bro reviews. It’s been something new, and incredible a little bit, that this game is letting him save something, like a real live hero. Maybe he looks really cool trying to use these stupidly complex machines and stop the meteor like Marla Sokoloff in Asteroid except with magic fruit.
That is, he thought all of these things while he scurried through the house looking for spare parts and weird cards. As the tree bloomed before his eyes, glowing like Fern Gully and the end of days.
But right now, at this moment, there is a growing shadow on the sky. The world is enveloped in heavy wind, and maybe he isn’t ready for this level, oh god, but the apple is in his hand and there’s really nothing left to do.
He bites down and reality falls in on itself. Something shakes and slides and forces itself through the floorboards; the little house in Kansas is wrenched from its foundations as the cackling-mad witch leaves her threat on the sky. The feeling of falling extends indefinitely, even after gravity returns with a throbbing sonic boom.
When all is still again the house stands alone at the endbeginningend of time, wind whistling through rafters Dad had always said they would deal with eventually. Maybe in June, when the weather gets warm. There is nothing left now but strong darkness and monsters under the bed.
He loses the apple on impact when reality crashes down, and loses everything else soon after.
Nothing on Earth could compare with the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
“No, look, I’m not saying that’s what we think happened-”
“You sure as hell implied it! What kind of moronic nooksucking species would believe that? Were you just a whole fucking civilization of back-assward-”
“Karkat! You’re always so shouty about everything, jeez. I’m just saying that some people believed that’s how the world got started.” John has gotten used to speaking in past tense about his planet, though it has taken time. He has also gotten used to talking over Karkat until he grudgingly yields conversational right of way.
They’re in John’s room, because John’s room actually has a place for comfortably sitting down. Namely, the bed. Trolls do not seem to take things like comfort into consideration when performing interior design, so John makes sure they mostly steer clear of Karkat’s room when they’re hanging out.
He presses his feet up against the wall, head just barely dangling off the edge of his mattress. His glasses slide up a bit funny on his face, but he can still see alright around the rims; Karkat’s nose is scrunched in slight disgust as he moves his head away from John’s socks, and John is very much not a homosexual but that is just adorable. “C’mon, don’t you guys have any stories like that?”
“What, like fairytales? Yeah, for stone-cold retarded grubs.”
John only chuckles. “Okay, sure. But I think it’s a nice story, you know? And I dunno, maybe it happened. You can’t really know for sure, right?”
Karkat looks at him, sideways and down, upper lip curling a little bit in an expression that John has come to recognize as his least-efficient level of disdain. “Oh yeah, completely fucking plausible, except for the part where I made you. Was that bit not obvious, or is your memory just made of hoofbeast cheese? Is it sitting in the back of a godforsaken thermal hull somewhere, inching past expiration as we speak? Are you going to wake up tomorrow wi- mmphpt!”
John rolls onto the floor to find another throwing pillow.
“It’s an interesting concept.” Rose sits on the floor of the common room and knits in dark colors. Most of the asteroid is hard tiled, utilitarian, but Jade has taken it upon herself to alchemize some decorations, like plants that will probably die within a few days and useless little rugs. Rose makes use of this one, sitting neatly cross-legged with what might eventually become a sweater dangling into her lap. John isn’t sure why she doesn’t just alchemize herself a chair or something. Vriska tells him it’s because she doesn’t trust the trolls and acting this comfortably is her way of showing that she isn’t afraid of them, but John thinks that’s a bit too twisted up to take seriously and figures she might just like the floor more.
She reaches the end of a row. “The obvious conclusion that can be drawn from the embodiment of my own cruxite artifact is that their forms were pulled from our own thoughts and experiences. This becomes even more evident when taking into account my artifact’s method of inception; the wine rack, though fairly inordinate, was a throwback to childhood experiences.”
John plays with her yarn, rolling the ball around between his palms.
“I believe they represented strong subconscious motivators for each of us, fears or desires. Dave disagrees with me, of course.” He notices that she knits more furiously when she’s monologuing. They’ve learned a great deal about one another in very little time; there is only so much you can glean over the internet. John would never have guessed that Dave would talk so slowly or Jade could have such a devilish smile. Rose surprises him by actually using more big words than she does online, if that’s possible.
“He believes that they are purely metaphorical representations of a single concept.”
John asks, “What concept?” because he knows she’ll tell him anyway, and it is kind of interesting, even though he’s not sure he understands completely.
Rose’s eyes flicker up from her handiwork. Yesterday her bangs may have hidden them from this angle. They were growing too long and ragged so Jade took a scissors to them and now they’re clumsily straight-razored across her forehead.
“New beginnings,” she says.
The thing is, John never wanted this to happen.
“The end of the world and maybe all life as we know it” didn’t exactly make it onto the birthday list. In no way did he want to see everyone he had ever known or cared for decimated or hurt or thrashing in grimdark throes. John hadn’t had a long list of real life friends - it wasn’t that he was antisocial, but he was awkwardly passionate about silly things and he’d rather spend time playing games with his cool internet friends anyway. Still, that doesn’t mean that he willed this.
He doesn’t relish the idea of becoming a hero if it meant that he had to destroy the entire world in the process.
John knows all these things. But he wonders sometimes, after he finishes his movie for the night and flops into bed. Everything happened too fast when it began. There was no time for thinking. When you know Rose in person, you get to hear her talk about all the different levels of the human consciousness, and how good people can wish things, terrible things, in deep, damp places in their hearts that not even they know about.
Lately he wakes up with a start and a yell, terrified by the suffocation-soft taste of apple on his lips.
“So once Strider gets the map, you have the Cyst or whatever the fuck it’s called ready on the terrace.”
“Yeah.”
“Then you get it to Lalonde so she can pull her weird pseudo-suicide.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then Aradia will hopefully be able to distract Jack into a hot steamy pile of you’re not listening to a goddamn word I’m saying.”
“Mm.”
John blinks to attention when Karkat growls and slaps the counter of the - is this a kitchen? - sending a pile of shitty diagrams sliding across the surface. John leans to pick up a sheet that drifts towards the ground.
“Alright, I realize that you are a primitive species. I get that, Egbert. And I’m doing my best here to compensate for your excruciatingly miserable failures to comprehend even the simplest of ideas. But this is actually kind of important.”
John puts the diagram back onto the table. His movements seem sluggish, even to himself. “Then why don’t you talk to Rose? She’s better at this stuff than I am, and it’s basically her idea anyway.”
“Okay, one, this is totally not her idea. Her idea was a shitty rough draft of my workable plan. Two, I’m talking to you because, as ludicrous as it seems to me, your team considers you their leader.”
“Their friendlea-”
“Would you shut up and look at me?”
John blinks and looks up.
Karkat is grim. This is not unusual, but his yellow eyes also sweep John up and down, then fixate on his face as though he thinks he’s getting closer to whatever he’s looking for. Warmer, warmer, like that game Earth children used to play.
Karkat has very intense eyes, acidic and alien and not at all what John is used to when it comes to staring contests. Instead of having the irrepressible urge to laugh like he normally does in this sort of situation, he feels like someone vindictive has slung a gigantic rubber band around his chest, propped their boot on his back, and begun to pull.
Guilt and fascination and guilt again.
“Dude,” he laughs nervously.
“No. Shut up.”
Karkat moves around him, a weird, almost predator-level stalk that ends anticlimactically with him leaning on the counter behind John’s suddenly prickling back. Then, “What is with you lately?”
John swallows. “I’m just tired.”
Karkat snorts and John knows that was the wrong answer. Karkat knows “tired” like the back of his hands. Hands so sharp and cold they almost reflect the light.
The door bangs open and they both jump. Terezi flounces in to show off her and Dave’s latest masterpiece. John mumbles some excuse and goes to bed, leaving Karkat cussing loudly as if anyone was really listening.
Upon reflection, the way Karkat moved there was smoother than John was used to. Lighter on his feet; darkly purposeful. Which is just silly, because Karkat is not a dark person at all. He works for the greater good and a whole bunch of other protagonist stuff, and he’s not as scary as he pretends to be. John knows this.
He takes longer than usual to fall asleep that night, trying as hard as he can to think of other things. Preferably female things.
His dream expands to include a snake in a tree.
I made you in my image, it says, and slinks to the ground. It coils up John’s body, winds in on itself until its smooth gray body is nearly human, entwined around John’s naked skin.
Made the fucking stars in the sky.
A hooked finger drags across his cheek, down his neck, fingering his collarbone. Behind the coldblooded skin is heat, and it presses closer to his back. Lightning cracks against his goosebumped skin; he feels hot breath ruffling his hairline.
Taste.
TG: what
TG: no
TG: damn flighty broad got it all backwards
TG: im not saying the artifacts forms were taken from earth imagery for new beginnings
TG: im saying we created the imagery
TG: through time shenanigans our random-ass items became imagery for the rest of the world before we were born
TG: i mean i guess shes right about them coming from our subconscious or whatever but we were the ones who defined them for everyone else
TG: poetic fucking astronauts we are going where no overdrawn metaphor has gone before
TG: because honestly why else would people start smashing bottles against ships that is just retarded
TG: anyway yeah guess what that makes you
TG: congrats egbert you just wrote genesis
It’s not that John doesn’t want to see Karkat. He and Karkat are buddies, and they’re getting along great and doing really important things to get ready to destroy the Sun, so there definitely isn’t a problem. Maybe it’s not so important that he hasn’t stopped to talk in a few days. The asteroid is pretty big, after all. They just keep missing each other.
When John steps out of his room, he sees Karkat walking down the hallway. His eyes (reptilian) flash towards him and John shuts himself right back in again.
Two seconds later the troll bangs on the door.
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Open up, you ignorant grubfucking-”
John winces, hand still on the doorknob. “Haha, sorry about that. I just…I forgot my…” He trails off and opens the door with a sheepish grin.
“Look,” Karkat says. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks even more less-than-pleased than usual, one sharp tooth edging over and pressing into his bottom lip. “We all know that I’m not the fucking sunshine parade, so I get not wanting to be around me, but we have important work to do, and so help me Egbert I will-”
“What? No, no, I like you Karkat, I’m fine being around you. I mean, I like being around you. Not in a, um. The way we decided not to talk about, but…”
Karkat looks incredibly unamused. John tries for a weak giggle. “Here, just…come in.”
He bounces down onto the bed; they’ve watched enough movies by now that this feels absolutely normal. Except for the part where Karkat isn’t actually sitting down. He stands frowning down at him, posture unchanged.
The silence stretches out just long enough to be awkward before Karkat cuts in with, “You look like shit.”
“Ha…ha? I guess I’m not sleeping too great lately.”
They trail off again, Karkat shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It occurs to John that Karkat is uncomfortable. A sick feeling spreads through his stomach.
“I’m sorry!” he blurts out before he’s even sure what he’s apologizing for.
“Whatever. I’m not asking for you to re-succumb to the disease of friendship; that part’s not important. You just need to stop skittering around here like you’re scared of your shadow.”
“I am not scared of - wait, what?” He looks up at Karkat almost frantically. Oh. Oh. Shit. “Karkat, I still want to be friends with you!”
“Oh, really.”
“Yes, stupid!”
“Well, fine! Good!”
They both stop for a second for - what, breath? and after a tense few moments John can practically see Karkat’s grip on his own arms loosening, the tilt of his head becoming less defensive. He is no expert on alien body language, but he thinks he reads relief.
“Please sit down?” he says in a rushed breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to screw everything up so bad. I know I haven’t been acting like myself lately, and it’s all my fault.”
Karkat examines his face with bright, unsure eyes. When he lowers himself onto the bed it’s a cautious movement.
“I swear I didn’t mean to avoid you.” He reaches out and tentatively touches Karkat’s arm, and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away. Without really thinking about it he trails his hand down, clasps Karkat’s wrist. Karkat watches somewhat warily, his profile cutting fine jagged strokes into John’s vision. He still doesn’t pull away, but is suddenly a lot less willing to meet John’s eyes. He seems so nervous, subtly fidgeting in John’s grasp. Karkat gets so useless about emotional matters sometimes.
And that brings the realization crashing down.
“This is stupid,” John says wonderingly, and it feels like an angels’ chorus worth of revelation. “You’re Karkat!”
Karkat looks at him like he’s finally gone off the edge. Which, okay, he does kind of a lot.
“You’re not a - okay, this is going to sound totally weird, but remember how you were telling me how stupid my cruxite artifact was and then I told you about Eden and the Tree and the Snake? Well I’ve been having some kind of bad dreams since then. Well, okay, really bad dreams. And it was because I was feeling guilty about stuff, since the apple is such a bad thing in that story, and-”
“Wait, what? Are you telling me this was all about a stupid story?”
“Well…maybe, but it made sense, didn’t it, because there was always this part of me that wanted-”
“You’re an idiot. The apple was the right choice.”
“I know, I know, I had to bite into it or else I’d die, but I’m what I’m talking about is-”
“No.” There’s something gruff in his tone that makes John pay attention. “I mean for the cave humans in your story.”
They go silent for another moment as John tries to read Karkat’s expression. He still seems a bit unsure of himself in that brash, defensive way he has, and he’s been such an idiot comparing Karkat to something scary. He’s Karkat. His wrist feels solid and warm under John’s fingers. Safe.
“I think you’ve got it backwards, dude.”
“No. You said that tree was about knowing things. And they were supposed to know things eventually, or else it wouldn’t be there. It was going to happen.” Karkat glances down, twice, then pulls his wrist away. John feels kind of disappointed about that until Karkat covers his hand with his own. The grey fingers don’t move or squeeze or do any of the stuff from the movies. They just kind of sit there, dead-weight, but it’s something. A sign of trust.
John bites his lip.
Karkat blinks at him irritably. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just…I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, now he gets it. That’s what I’ve - hey! Get off!”
John clings tightly, burying his smile in Karkat’s chest. A flying tackle hug is really the only thing that can convey this level of gratitude for something Karkat probably doesn’t even realize he did. The troll splutters protests and tries to push him off, but John waits until he stops struggling and just sort of lays there, spread-eagled backwards on John’s bed.
So John is dumb sometimes. He gets that.
Karkat’s skin isn’t nearly as cold as he imagined. The petering grumbles vibrate pleasantly against John’s smooshed cheek. He readjusts his weight, and yeah, okay, this is starting to look a little gay and he’s not sure what that means for him but right now that’s not important. “If there’s one thing I’m glad about out of this whole stupid mess, it’s that I got to meet you.” He freezes. “I - I mean, all of you. I like all of you. But I mean, you especially.”
“Shut up.”
Karkat exhales, a long breath that seems to take with it all motivation to get up. They lay there. John listens for an imaginary judgment that never comes.
After awhile, Karkat makes a small, reluctant noise in the back of his throat that sounds a bit like purring.
It’s probably going to be okay, John thinks as he feels Karkat’s (soft, warm) hand come to rest on the back of his head.
Genre: Slight romance, slight angst, mostly gen and silly attempts to be philosophical.
Rating: PG-13
Pairings/Characters: John/Karkat, Rose, Dave
Warnings: Language, some religious themes
Disclaimer: Don't own.
Summary: Nothing on Earth could compare with the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
Notes: Written for a prompt requesting fic based on/inspired by the story of Eden.
John’s purpose is to begin things.
A meteor hurtles towards the Earth at a bazillion miles per hour, weaving drunkenly through time and space to rip the past to shreds, but he has his favorite lines from only the very best movies running steady in the back of his head and it’s going to be okay. He is strong and sane and ready to protect everyone if he has to. It’s been exciting, almost, this break from Betty Crocker battles and school and really shitty Game Bro reviews. It’s been something new, and incredible a little bit, that this game is letting him save something, like a real live hero. Maybe he looks really cool trying to use these stupidly complex machines and stop the meteor like Marla Sokoloff in Asteroid except with magic fruit.
That is, he thought all of these things while he scurried through the house looking for spare parts and weird cards. As the tree bloomed before his eyes, glowing like Fern Gully and the end of days.
But right now, at this moment, there is a growing shadow on the sky. The world is enveloped in heavy wind, and maybe he isn’t ready for this level, oh god, but the apple is in his hand and there’s really nothing left to do.
He bites down and reality falls in on itself. Something shakes and slides and forces itself through the floorboards; the little house in Kansas is wrenched from its foundations as the cackling-mad witch leaves her threat on the sky. The feeling of falling extends indefinitely, even after gravity returns with a throbbing sonic boom.
When all is still again the house stands alone at the endbeginningend of time, wind whistling through rafters Dad had always said they would deal with eventually. Maybe in June, when the weather gets warm. There is nothing left now but strong darkness and monsters under the bed.
He loses the apple on impact when reality crashes down, and loses everything else soon after.
Nothing on Earth could compare with the sweetness lingering on his tongue.
“No, look, I’m not saying that’s what we think happened-”
“You sure as hell implied it! What kind of moronic nooksucking species would believe that? Were you just a whole fucking civilization of back-assward-”
“Karkat! You’re always so shouty about everything, jeez. I’m just saying that some people believed that’s how the world got started.” John has gotten used to speaking in past tense about his planet, though it has taken time. He has also gotten used to talking over Karkat until he grudgingly yields conversational right of way.
They’re in John’s room, because John’s room actually has a place for comfortably sitting down. Namely, the bed. Trolls do not seem to take things like comfort into consideration when performing interior design, so John makes sure they mostly steer clear of Karkat’s room when they’re hanging out.
He presses his feet up against the wall, head just barely dangling off the edge of his mattress. His glasses slide up a bit funny on his face, but he can still see alright around the rims; Karkat’s nose is scrunched in slight disgust as he moves his head away from John’s socks, and John is very much not a homosexual but that is just adorable. “C’mon, don’t you guys have any stories like that?”
“What, like fairytales? Yeah, for stone-cold retarded grubs.”
John only chuckles. “Okay, sure. But I think it’s a nice story, you know? And I dunno, maybe it happened. You can’t really know for sure, right?”
Karkat looks at him, sideways and down, upper lip curling a little bit in an expression that John has come to recognize as his least-efficient level of disdain. “Oh yeah, completely fucking plausible, except for the part where I made you. Was that bit not obvious, or is your memory just made of hoofbeast cheese? Is it sitting in the back of a godforsaken thermal hull somewhere, inching past expiration as we speak? Are you going to wake up tomorrow wi- mmphpt!”
John rolls onto the floor to find another throwing pillow.
“It’s an interesting concept.” Rose sits on the floor of the common room and knits in dark colors. Most of the asteroid is hard tiled, utilitarian, but Jade has taken it upon herself to alchemize some decorations, like plants that will probably die within a few days and useless little rugs. Rose makes use of this one, sitting neatly cross-legged with what might eventually become a sweater dangling into her lap. John isn’t sure why she doesn’t just alchemize herself a chair or something. Vriska tells him it’s because she doesn’t trust the trolls and acting this comfortably is her way of showing that she isn’t afraid of them, but John thinks that’s a bit too twisted up to take seriously and figures she might just like the floor more.
She reaches the end of a row. “The obvious conclusion that can be drawn from the embodiment of my own cruxite artifact is that their forms were pulled from our own thoughts and experiences. This becomes even more evident when taking into account my artifact’s method of inception; the wine rack, though fairly inordinate, was a throwback to childhood experiences.”
John plays with her yarn, rolling the ball around between his palms.
“I believe they represented strong subconscious motivators for each of us, fears or desires. Dave disagrees with me, of course.” He notices that she knits more furiously when she’s monologuing. They’ve learned a great deal about one another in very little time; there is only so much you can glean over the internet. John would never have guessed that Dave would talk so slowly or Jade could have such a devilish smile. Rose surprises him by actually using more big words than she does online, if that’s possible.
“He believes that they are purely metaphorical representations of a single concept.”
John asks, “What concept?” because he knows she’ll tell him anyway, and it is kind of interesting, even though he’s not sure he understands completely.
Rose’s eyes flicker up from her handiwork. Yesterday her bangs may have hidden them from this angle. They were growing too long and ragged so Jade took a scissors to them and now they’re clumsily straight-razored across her forehead.
“New beginnings,” she says.
The thing is, John never wanted this to happen.
“The end of the world and maybe all life as we know it” didn’t exactly make it onto the birthday list. In no way did he want to see everyone he had ever known or cared for decimated or hurt or thrashing in grimdark throes. John hadn’t had a long list of real life friends - it wasn’t that he was antisocial, but he was awkwardly passionate about silly things and he’d rather spend time playing games with his cool internet friends anyway. Still, that doesn’t mean that he willed this.
He doesn’t relish the idea of becoming a hero if it meant that he had to destroy the entire world in the process.
John knows all these things. But he wonders sometimes, after he finishes his movie for the night and flops into bed. Everything happened too fast when it began. There was no time for thinking. When you know Rose in person, you get to hear her talk about all the different levels of the human consciousness, and how good people can wish things, terrible things, in deep, damp places in their hearts that not even they know about.
Lately he wakes up with a start and a yell, terrified by the suffocation-soft taste of apple on his lips.
“So once Strider gets the map, you have the Cyst or whatever the fuck it’s called ready on the terrace.”
“Yeah.”
“Then you get it to Lalonde so she can pull her weird pseudo-suicide.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Then Aradia will hopefully be able to distract Jack into a hot steamy pile of you’re not listening to a goddamn word I’m saying.”
“Mm.”
John blinks to attention when Karkat growls and slaps the counter of the - is this a kitchen? - sending a pile of shitty diagrams sliding across the surface. John leans to pick up a sheet that drifts towards the ground.
“Alright, I realize that you are a primitive species. I get that, Egbert. And I’m doing my best here to compensate for your excruciatingly miserable failures to comprehend even the simplest of ideas. But this is actually kind of important.”
John puts the diagram back onto the table. His movements seem sluggish, even to himself. “Then why don’t you talk to Rose? She’s better at this stuff than I am, and it’s basically her idea anyway.”
“Okay, one, this is totally not her idea. Her idea was a shitty rough draft of my workable plan. Two, I’m talking to you because, as ludicrous as it seems to me, your team considers you their leader.”
“Their friendlea-”
“Would you shut up and look at me?”
John blinks and looks up.
Karkat is grim. This is not unusual, but his yellow eyes also sweep John up and down, then fixate on his face as though he thinks he’s getting closer to whatever he’s looking for. Warmer, warmer, like that game Earth children used to play.
Karkat has very intense eyes, acidic and alien and not at all what John is used to when it comes to staring contests. Instead of having the irrepressible urge to laugh like he normally does in this sort of situation, he feels like someone vindictive has slung a gigantic rubber band around his chest, propped their boot on his back, and begun to pull.
Guilt and fascination and guilt again.
“Dude,” he laughs nervously.
“No. Shut up.”
Karkat moves around him, a weird, almost predator-level stalk that ends anticlimactically with him leaning on the counter behind John’s suddenly prickling back. Then, “What is with you lately?”
John swallows. “I’m just tired.”
Karkat snorts and John knows that was the wrong answer. Karkat knows “tired” like the back of his hands. Hands so sharp and cold they almost reflect the light.
The door bangs open and they both jump. Terezi flounces in to show off her and Dave’s latest masterpiece. John mumbles some excuse and goes to bed, leaving Karkat cussing loudly as if anyone was really listening.
Upon reflection, the way Karkat moved there was smoother than John was used to. Lighter on his feet; darkly purposeful. Which is just silly, because Karkat is not a dark person at all. He works for the greater good and a whole bunch of other protagonist stuff, and he’s not as scary as he pretends to be. John knows this.
He takes longer than usual to fall asleep that night, trying as hard as he can to think of other things. Preferably female things.
His dream expands to include a snake in a tree.
I made you in my image, it says, and slinks to the ground. It coils up John’s body, winds in on itself until its smooth gray body is nearly human, entwined around John’s naked skin.
Made the fucking stars in the sky.
A hooked finger drags across his cheek, down his neck, fingering his collarbone. Behind the coldblooded skin is heat, and it presses closer to his back. Lightning cracks against his goosebumped skin; he feels hot breath ruffling his hairline.
Taste.
TG: what
TG: no
TG: damn flighty broad got it all backwards
TG: im not saying the artifacts forms were taken from earth imagery for new beginnings
TG: im saying we created the imagery
TG: through time shenanigans our random-ass items became imagery for the rest of the world before we were born
TG: i mean i guess shes right about them coming from our subconscious or whatever but we were the ones who defined them for everyone else
TG: poetic fucking astronauts we are going where no overdrawn metaphor has gone before
TG: because honestly why else would people start smashing bottles against ships that is just retarded
TG: anyway yeah guess what that makes you
TG: congrats egbert you just wrote genesis
It’s not that John doesn’t want to see Karkat. He and Karkat are buddies, and they’re getting along great and doing really important things to get ready to destroy the Sun, so there definitely isn’t a problem. Maybe it’s not so important that he hasn’t stopped to talk in a few days. The asteroid is pretty big, after all. They just keep missing each other.
When John steps out of his room, he sees Karkat walking down the hallway. His eyes (reptilian) flash towards him and John shuts himself right back in again.
Two seconds later the troll bangs on the door.
“Okay, this is getting ridiculous. Open up, you ignorant grubfucking-”
John winces, hand still on the doorknob. “Haha, sorry about that. I just…I forgot my…” He trails off and opens the door with a sheepish grin.
“Look,” Karkat says. His arms are crossed over his chest, and he looks even more less-than-pleased than usual, one sharp tooth edging over and pressing into his bottom lip. “We all know that I’m not the fucking sunshine parade, so I get not wanting to be around me, but we have important work to do, and so help me Egbert I will-”
“What? No, no, I like you Karkat, I’m fine being around you. I mean, I like being around you. Not in a, um. The way we decided not to talk about, but…”
Karkat looks incredibly unamused. John tries for a weak giggle. “Here, just…come in.”
He bounces down onto the bed; they’ve watched enough movies by now that this feels absolutely normal. Except for the part where Karkat isn’t actually sitting down. He stands frowning down at him, posture unchanged.
The silence stretches out just long enough to be awkward before Karkat cuts in with, “You look like shit.”
“Ha…ha? I guess I’m not sleeping too great lately.”
They trail off again, Karkat shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It occurs to John that Karkat is uncomfortable. A sick feeling spreads through his stomach.
“I’m sorry!” he blurts out before he’s even sure what he’s apologizing for.
“Whatever. I’m not asking for you to re-succumb to the disease of friendship; that part’s not important. You just need to stop skittering around here like you’re scared of your shadow.”
“I am not scared of - wait, what?” He looks up at Karkat almost frantically. Oh. Oh. Shit. “Karkat, I still want to be friends with you!”
“Oh, really.”
“Yes, stupid!”
“Well, fine! Good!”
They both stop for a second for - what, breath? and after a tense few moments John can practically see Karkat’s grip on his own arms loosening, the tilt of his head becoming less defensive. He is no expert on alien body language, but he thinks he reads relief.
“Please sit down?” he says in a rushed breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to screw everything up so bad. I know I haven’t been acting like myself lately, and it’s all my fault.”
Karkat examines his face with bright, unsure eyes. When he lowers himself onto the bed it’s a cautious movement.
“I swear I didn’t mean to avoid you.” He reaches out and tentatively touches Karkat’s arm, and is relieved when he doesn’t pull away. Without really thinking about it he trails his hand down, clasps Karkat’s wrist. Karkat watches somewhat warily, his profile cutting fine jagged strokes into John’s vision. He still doesn’t pull away, but is suddenly a lot less willing to meet John’s eyes. He seems so nervous, subtly fidgeting in John’s grasp. Karkat gets so useless about emotional matters sometimes.
And that brings the realization crashing down.
“This is stupid,” John says wonderingly, and it feels like an angels’ chorus worth of revelation. “You’re Karkat!”
Karkat looks at him like he’s finally gone off the edge. Which, okay, he does kind of a lot.
“You’re not a - okay, this is going to sound totally weird, but remember how you were telling me how stupid my cruxite artifact was and then I told you about Eden and the Tree and the Snake? Well I’ve been having some kind of bad dreams since then. Well, okay, really bad dreams. And it was because I was feeling guilty about stuff, since the apple is such a bad thing in that story, and-”
“Wait, what? Are you telling me this was all about a stupid story?”
“Well…maybe, but it made sense, didn’t it, because there was always this part of me that wanted-”
“You’re an idiot. The apple was the right choice.”
“I know, I know, I had to bite into it or else I’d die, but I’m what I’m talking about is-”
“No.” There’s something gruff in his tone that makes John pay attention. “I mean for the cave humans in your story.”
They go silent for another moment as John tries to read Karkat’s expression. He still seems a bit unsure of himself in that brash, defensive way he has, and he’s been such an idiot comparing Karkat to something scary. He’s Karkat. His wrist feels solid and warm under John’s fingers. Safe.
“I think you’ve got it backwards, dude.”
“No. You said that tree was about knowing things. And they were supposed to know things eventually, or else it wouldn’t be there. It was going to happen.” Karkat glances down, twice, then pulls his wrist away. John feels kind of disappointed about that until Karkat covers his hand with his own. The grey fingers don’t move or squeeze or do any of the stuff from the movies. They just kind of sit there, dead-weight, but it’s something. A sign of trust.
John bites his lip.
Karkat blinks at him irritably. “What?”
“Nothing, it’s just…I’m an idiot.”
“Oh, now he gets it. That’s what I’ve - hey! Get off!”
John clings tightly, burying his smile in Karkat’s chest. A flying tackle hug is really the only thing that can convey this level of gratitude for something Karkat probably doesn’t even realize he did. The troll splutters protests and tries to push him off, but John waits until he stops struggling and just sort of lays there, spread-eagled backwards on John’s bed.
So John is dumb sometimes. He gets that.
Karkat’s skin isn’t nearly as cold as he imagined. The petering grumbles vibrate pleasantly against John’s smooshed cheek. He readjusts his weight, and yeah, okay, this is starting to look a little gay and he’s not sure what that means for him but right now that’s not important. “If there’s one thing I’m glad about out of this whole stupid mess, it’s that I got to meet you.” He freezes. “I - I mean, all of you. I like all of you. But I mean, you especially.”
“Shut up.”
Karkat exhales, a long breath that seems to take with it all motivation to get up. They lay there. John listens for an imaginary judgment that never comes.
After awhile, Karkat makes a small, reluctant noise in the back of his throat that sounds a bit like purring.
It’s probably going to be okay, John thinks as he feels Karkat’s (soft, warm) hand come to rest on the back of his head.