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one.
His thumb keeps yours down, and you really don’t get the point of this game. It's like strifing, you guess, without stakes and without real pain, except he is pressing, like, insanely hard- does that mean he wins? You tell him that you DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT THE OBJECTIVE OF THIS GAME IS, and that he DID A REALLY SHIT JOB AT EXPLAINING WHAT THE RULES WERE. He tells you that its pretty straight forward dude its war for your thumbs only one survivor no time limit just mano y mano thumbo y thumbo if you get your opponent down keep him down or its over for you make sure it counts kill him in one go or its your window hes crawling through that night to enact his thumb revenge on you your thumb wife your thumb kid and your thumb dog. Also, he totally won just now because your thumb has been down for like ten gajillion years so get fucked karkat, and he remains the undefeated thumb war champion of all time forever by the way, because he totally made this genius game up all by himself and thus he is literally unbeatable. You observe the way his thumb rests atop yours for a moment, and the way the rest of his fingers curl inside yours. His palm against your knuckles is fucking drenched, which you complain about loudly. You think that the amount of sweat his palm is producing COULD PROBABLY CREATE MULTIPLE OCEANS ON THIS FUCKING ROCK, ALL OF WHICH CONTAINING SO MUCH SALT AND INSECURITY THAT EVERYONE INHABITING SAID ROCK WOULD HAVE SO MUCH OF THE SHIT THAT THEY WOULDN’T NEED TO REMINISCE ABOUT SHITTY REALITY TV AND POUR OVER GODAWFUL HUMAN DRAMA NOVELS, THAT MAKE NO FUCKING SENSE BY THE WAY, HUMANS ARE AWFUL AUTHORS, EVERY WAKING HOUR OF EVERY DREARY FUCKING DAY. The sick burn there, of course, is that he is both very sweaty and very insecure. He is also obviously uninterested in taking proper care of his hands because you seriously cannot tear your attention away from his thumb on top of yours.
You know that there’s a weird greyish blackish dot on the pad of his thumb, because he likes to tell you the story of how he got stabbed in like third grade because he pissed off this chick named lindsay by tugging on her braid and she stabbed him in the thumb with her mechanical pencil which is honestly more impressive than anything because how the fuck do you stab someone in the exact center of their thumb like honestly thats crazy and now he’s got the coolest battlescar ever. You don’t think it’s very cool, and you don’t know what a mechanical pencil is, but you do agree that that’s a pretty impressive place to stab someone. He tells you that story at least once a week, and you listen every time.
Anyway, the skin around his nail is really fucked up and weird because he’s constantly picking at it, so some of it is super hard and sort of calloused, but most of it is peeling upwards like it’s performing a weird fucked up gymnastic routine for you as you stare at it, his thumb, attached to his hand, on top of your thumb, attached to your hand.
You tell him that THERE IS NO WAY ON ANY PLANET THAT ANYONE HAS EVER CREATED, VISITED, OR EVEN THOUGHT OF CREATING SLASH VISITING that he won that game, and pry his weird, peely thumb off of yours with your free hand so you can lock him in the way he had you. He tells you that youre a filthy dirty cheat, and you tell him to SUCK IT UP.
two.
His pointer finger taps your knee rhythmically, and you wonder if there’s a song playing in his head that he’s drumming along to. You know that there isn’t, because he’s not really in the headspace for that, but it’s really sort of impressive how steady he can keep the... tempo, you think might be the right word. You don’t know if it counts as a tempo if there’s no song playing, but there are only so many times you can say the word “rhythm” so many times before it becomes glaringly obvious that you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Let’s not dwell too much on the fact that this is an internal monologue, so there’s not really anyone present that was under the idea you ever know anything about anything that you say. So, yeah. You guess you could have just said rhythm again. Glad you got that squared away.
He gets like this, sometimes. Quiet. Small. You think things sort of get too much, sometimes? Which makes a lot of sense to you, at least. Sometimes the sound of someone eating or the temperature being just slightly off is enough to push you off the precarious ledge where you’ve built the house of your mind, careening wildly into a bottomless pit of ugly ( a) words b) thoughts c) both ) until someone notices that you’re not in your mindhouse and tosses a rope down for you. Sometimes the rope is long enough that you can catch it easily, sometimes not. Either way, that sucks, because one rope isn’t a safety net, it’s a noose.
Regardless, this isn’t about you; this is about him. He sits up against you, all sharp angles and odd ends, and it takes you a long while to realize that he’s probably trying to go into some fucked up version of fetal position. It doesn’t really work though, because he’s sitting between you and the wall, and his arm is at this weird angle so he can have his hand on your knee. He taps his finger, and you watch it, because you don’t think that he wants you to watch him right now. You don’t really… know what he wants? Or if you should talk? So you don’t talk, because he isn’t talking, and he’s never been like hey dude itd be cool if you would talk my ear off about random shit while i detach from this worldly plane and take a round trip through dissociationville for a while after moments like this, so. You must be doing something right by sitting and breathing deep enough for the both of you.
His finger is sort of crooked at the top, which you think is equal parts stupid and funny. You’re not sure if he thinks it’s that funny, but he jokes about no one being able to tell which way he’s pointing, so there’s that.
If he was tapping to a song, you think it’d probably be some stupid rap one. Maybe the one he made up the other day when you got on his ass for sitting in your spot. It barely rhymed, but he seemed pretty proud of it, and you guess you couldn’t do better on the spot like that. Actually, no, he wouldn’t be tapping to that at all, because there was no flow to that whatsoever. Fuck this, actually, you could do so much better.
While you wait, you try to think of a verse that would totally take this guy to school. Briefly, you consider that it might not actually be that appropriate to do something like this for/with someone you’re technically not there with, but then again you sitting here right now for him isn’t really appropriate, either. You’re not his moirail.
You’re here anyway, though, so might as well.
three.
HIM: so then i would be like like dude no way im super into dead things thats so crazy how your whole career is something that i do all the time
HIM: and then shed be like dave that is so cool
HIM: did you know that im actually looking for a sugar baby slash protege
HIM: and then id be like whoa seriously thats actually insane
HIM: but the catch would be that i actually 100% did know that and thats why i showed up to this fancy taxidermist expo dining experience dressed up as a waiter despite the fact that i never went to waiting school
HIM: and then shed be like yeah i know do you want my number
HIM: and id be like
HIM: actually can you switch hands your palm is like
HIM: what did you say about salt and insecurity
YOU: WHAT?
HIM: my finger
HIM: can you hold the other hand or like another finger or
You blink down at your hand wrapped around his middle finger, and try to force your mind back into your body long enough to attach yourself to the one on his other hand.
YOU: I CAN’T.
HIM: oh ok
HIM: well anyway id be like yeah totally sure thing yes maam
HIM: so shed give me her number and id call her the next afternoon
HIM: after she takes me under her wing shed realize that im actually pretty cool and hot
HIM: and wed get married like three months later
HIM: and basically thats what would happen if i met martha ann maxwell dressed as a waiter but it was in present day
four.
He wears it on the finger between the middle and the pinky. You made it for him, and he wore it as a necklace for a while before it moved to his finger.
You’re pretty sure you know what that means to human beings, but you try not to think about it.
five.
His pinky locks with yours, and you really don’t get the point of this ritual. He tells you that now that youve entered this dangerous death tango theres no way out you have to make the promise or else. You ask him OR ELSE WHAT, and he says you better or he’ll break your pinky. You point out that he said that THE PINKY BREAKING WAS PUNISHMENT FOR BREAKING THE PROMISE, and that you CAN’T BE PUNISHED FOR NOT MAKING THE STUPID THING IN THE FIRST PLACE, and that THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE. He reminds you that he's in charge of this here rodeo so he’ll be the one making the rules. You tell him that THAT’S DUMB. THAT’S DUMB, AND you are NOT DOING THIS. He’s all like what why not, and you’re all like THIS IS, LIKE, THE ONE THING YOU DON’T NEED TO PROMISE ABOUT, PINKY OR OTHERWISE, BECAUSE THERE IS NO FUCKING WAY THAT THIS SHIT WILL CHANGE. Honestly, the fact that he WOULD EVEN INSINUATE that the two of you need SOME SORT OF ARBITRARY PROMISING SYSTEM THAT FUNCTIONS ON THE LOOMING THREAT OF VIOLENCE - THAT QUITE HONESTLY SHOULD BE THERE REGARDLESS IF PROMISING IS SUCH A BIG DEAL - TO SOLIDIFY IT. PLUS, PROMISING MAKES THINGS TEN TIMES MORE LIKELY TO FALL THE FUCK APART. ONCE YOU MAKE A PROMISE, YOU CAN PINPOINT TO AN EXACT MOMENT TO CRY ABOUT WHEN THINGS INEVITABLY EXPLODE IN YOUR DUMB FUCKING FACE BECAUSE YOU FELT THE NEED TO ENTERTAIN A STUPID WASTE OF TIME BECAUSE IT’S “what you do”, CREATING A MOMENT WHEN THINGS BECAME REAL INSTEAD OF LETTING IT BE, AND THIS MAY BE SHOCKING, JUST WHAT IT IS.
WHEN YOU DO SHIT LIKE THIS, MAKING A PROMISE, IT’S BASICALLY BEGGING FOR THAT PROMISE TO BE BROKEN, you tell him, still not unlocking your pinky from his. YOU’RE PRACTICALLY GIVING THAT PERSON A 101 CRASH COURSE ON WHAT EXACTLY TO DO TO GET UNDER YOUR SKIN. “I PROMISE I’LL TAKE CARE OF YOUR PURRBEAST”, BOOM. YOUR PURRBEAST IS FUCKING DEAD. “I PROMISE YOU LOOK REALLY GREAT TODAY!” ACTUALLY, YOUR ACCESSORIES ARE CLASHY, YOUR SHIRT IS ON BACKWARDS, AND PURPLE REALLY ISN’T YOUR COLOR. YOU CAN’T SPELL PROMISE WITHOUT LIE.
He laughs and shakes his head, and it makes the bloodpusher in your chest feel weird. He tells you that theres no l in promise, and reminds you that you were the one to bring this up, not him. You scoff, and tell him that you were ASKING A QUESTION, NOT THREATENING THE LIVELIHOOD of his pinkies.
He rolls his eyes, and then the two of you just sort of sit there for a bit, pinkies locked. Your hands rest loosely on the floor between you, and he starts telling you about something that you don’t really care about. You listen anyway.
Just so you guys are clear, though, you tell him later that you’ll OBVIOUSLY ALWAYS BE BEST BROS as long as you have anything to do with it, which you will for forever by way of being the dude that makes “bros” plural.
You even promise, despite that being the most obvious thing that has ever been said.
six.
You’re the type of guy who always has something to say. Your mind is a fountain of thoughts that bubble up and spill over and out of your lips in the shape of words that string into sentences that sometimes convey ideas. Usually, they have to do with the conversation you’re having at the time, but sometimes they don’t. It depends. It depends on a lot of things, more than someone as small as you could even dream of beginning to understand and know. Mostly, you think it’s probably just dependent on your mood and maybe, like, who you’re talking to, but. Sometimes it’s comforting to think about how little it truly is that you know. Sometimes it’s nice to know that you are so small, and the number of things there are to know is so big. The magnitude of everything makes you feel better about being so stupid. It gives you an excuse to be as useless as you are.
The things you do know, though, you know for certain. You know what you know, and what you know is true, and you will defend those things until you’re red in the face. When you’re small and know very little, you have to hold on to the few truths you do have with everything that you are.
You happen to know four things, at the very, very least.
1. Your name is Karkat Vantas.
2. You don’t know a whole lot.
3. Your best friend’s name is Dave Strider.
4. He holds your hand like it’s the most precious thing in the multiverse.
