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You refuse to notice.
You refuse to notice the way they both disappear at the same time.
You ignore how Gamzee has an array of scratches too small to be from his own claws, and too many too close together to be from any accident in the vents.
The salty hint of Gamzee that she leaves in the air when she walks by is unobserved.
The chalk dust on his pants is disregarded and the cane-sword-blade-thin slices in the shoulder of his shirts go unseen.
You overlook the purple under her nails, and how she won’t look you in the eye anymore.
Every detail perceived is a stone thrown against the glass panes encasing your sanity. Every scratch in his hide is another crack in the growing mosaic. Each averted gaze another chip plummeting into the abyss.
So you refuse to notice.
Until you simply can’t afford to not notice anymore.
She’s limping. He looks ready to throw a tantrum fit to upstage even your worst rages. You can spare only a concerned frown in her direction before you’re dragging him away by his horn, already wondering what sort of hoofbeastshit he’s going to try and feed you this time.
And, of course, he doesn’t know what’s happened to his motherfucking Legalsis. Was she limping, whoa bro, he hadn’t motherfucking noticed all that at all.
He deliberately won’t meet your eyes. “Look at me.” It’s not a request. You’re perched in his lap, straddling his hips so you can face him. He wears an uncooperative pout and side eyes you warily for a moment then looks away again. You know he doesn't want to talk about... that. Not with you. Not with his fucking moirail.
Prepared to accept whatever lies he’s about to offer, you grab his chin firmly in one hand to pull his head down to your level and look in him in the eye until he meets your gaze. “Okay nookstench, what’s your deal tonight? You’re obviously upset about something. Don’t try to tell me you’re not; you’ve only called me your ‘bro’ once.” His golden eyes roll toward the ceiling. “Fuck it, you’ve hardly said anything yet. Usually I can’t get you to shut up long enough to fucking help you with a damned thing.”
He leans forward to plant a quick chaste kiss on your lips, and then laughs when you glare at him. “Shit brother, who says there’s any what thing wrong with this motherfucker?” He puts on the fake ass smile that is a shitty imitation of his dopy sopor drowned self. “S’all good up here.” He raps his skull with his knuckles, and then pokes a finger to your forepan. “But I’ve got all my mirthful wonder on at what’s going on up here in your pan that’s got you all stressing tight at me. Know it’s your favorite and all, but you never used to say fuck so much unless you’re beat up about something.”
You frown a little deeper. You’re as transparent to him as he is to you.
He isn’t wrong. This thing he has with Terezi has your mind and heart tied in a jumble of interweaving knots that only Gamzee knows how to untangle. And yet, Gamzee is tied up at the center of all these knots and he can’t do shit from where he is. He doesn’t want you to know. He hasn’t said anything, won’t take any of the carefully placed bait you leave for him to bring it up. Every subject change pulls the knots in your chest tighter. Strings of stinging betrayal tangle with strings of purest pity. Confusion with anxiety. Affection and trust are pulled taut and fraying from the strain.
They can’t last much longer.
“Don’t change the subject,” you grouse. “You’re the one who looked ready to tear heads off their support columns, not me.” That smile doesn’t waver, but his eyebrows pull together for a fraction of a second.
“And you’re the one what up and pulled me away for some Pile Time.” He wraps his gangly arms around your waist, holding you against him. The pile produces a cacophony of indignant squawks when he falls back, pulling you along with him. “Ain’t anything big, bro. Was just a little upsetting for me is all.” You almost hate how lucid he is off sopor, at times like this you miss the simple minded clown whose grin was faster than his pan could ever hope to be.
“Mhmm,” your voice is flat, the amusement forced, “and what might that be? Enlighten me, please. My mind simply cannot handle this fucking suspense. What small thing could possibly get you upset enough to look ready to murder?”
“It weren’t that bad, Karkat. Cut a brother some slack, huh?” You reach up and flick his horn and he winces. “I just lost a club is all.” You’re laying against his chest now and can’t see his face but he sounds almost sincerely dejected, but his excuse reeks of deceit. His lies are a blade held against straining threads of your trust.
“Is that all?” He nods, you can practically hear his grin returning. “Should I help you look for it?” He declines your offer. You’d bet your entire damn sickle collection he’s got all his clubs safe in his strife deck right now.
The only thing he is more careful of than his clubs is his paint. You used to think you were on that list too, until recently.
“Now what’s chewing at your miracle thinkpan, bro?” You watch his face for a long moment. Does he suspect you know? Probably. But you won’t bring it up before he does. It’s his secret to tell.
You only hope it’s eating at him the way it’s eating away at you.
“Nothing,” you say. “The usual self-loathing drama.” You close your eyes and rest your head in your arms, listening to the beat of Gamzees blood pusher and the sound of his breathing. You let yourself be lulled by his presence and the up down of his chest as he breathes steadily. He runs fingers through your hair, rubs at your scalp and horns, and murmurs the same reassurances he always does. Best Moirail. Better than he deserves. Motherfucking best friend. How can keeping a motherfucker happy be so second nature.
They’re the same endearments every damn time, but fuck you if it’s not nice to hear him say them anyway. You can almost convince yourself he still cares when he says things like this.
You trace a blunt claw around the Capricorn sign on his shirt, and try not to linger over the crusty patch of cloth under the loop. Dried blood, no doubt. You shudder to think what his body looks like under his shirt. It feels like it’s been perigees since you’ve seen. You two haven't done anything more intimate than a feelings jam in so, so long. You can hardly remember the last time you had to shooshpap him.
Your lids are drooping now, eyes burning from the effort of keeping them open. Sleep hardly ever finds you lately; you’re too high strung, too taught. Dream bubbles are blessedly easy to get into, but that’s not real sleep anyway. Only Gamzee can get you to relax and fall into real, restful slumber.
Before consciousness becomes a thing that only other people are experiencing, you grab his hand and pull it down in front of your face to kiss his knuckles. “I pity you, Gamzee.” You remind him softly. “Paler than the fucking starlight.” You want to say more but he shushes you to return the sentiment and then you’re gone.
So is he, when you wake up alone on the horn pile.
The pile makes a deafening wheeze when you flop back. Another uselessly unsuccessful feelings jam; another falling block in your crumbling relationship. You’re not ready to deal with reality yet, and long for the cradle of sweet unconsciousness to take you back.
You never quite got the hang of putting yourself to sleep without sopor. You squeeze your eyes
shut. Take even, steady breaths. Clear your mind.
You think it’s not working, but when you open your eyes, you’re greeted by a familiar sight – your lawn ring.
A dream bubble.
Fuck.
This is not a place you’d like to be right now, too many memories here to prolong your bubble experience, so you get up and leave. There is no telling how far your memory extends, but it’s not too long before you find yourself on the familiar beaches of what you assume was Meenahs Sgrub Land. There’s no one around that you can see however. That’s fine with you. You sit in the sand against one of those trees with the stupid nubby branches and pull your knees up to your chest to watch the waves play on the shore. If you can’t sleep, you can at least think.
You can’t really wrap your mind around the idea of Gamzee and Terezi, together, in a kismesissitude. Gamzee, your moirail, and Terezi, your most cherished friend. In black romance? Why Terezi? Gamzee and Kanaya have had more black encounters than Terezi and Gamzee have had encounters in total.
What do they even have to conflict over in the first place? A healthy kismesissitude entails a strong rivalry. Terezi and Vriska at least had their FLARPing. But she and Gamzee literally have nothing in common worth going pitch over. The fact that kismesissitudes won’t last on hate alone brings you some relief, but does nothing for the burning sense of betrayal in the pit of your digestion sac.
You wish you could talk to someone, anyone. Sort your feelings out one on one. You immediately feel like a fucking moron for thinking that. The only person you should be doing that with is Gamzee, and he’s part of the problem. You’re pretty sure somewhere in the unwritten rules of moirallegiance, complaining to your moirail about your moirails quadrants is not allowed and also a stupid thing to do.
You groan and cling harder to your knees. How could he do this to you? Gamzee knew how you felt about Terezi. Of course he did, everyone did! Karkat’s pathetic quadrant hopping crush on Terezi is the worst kept secret in the entire gogdamned universe.
Shifting sand warns you of your visitor long before her customary greeting. “Shouty! Wa’sup bouy?” Meenah plops down next to you and rocks you with an elbow jab. “Water you doin’ out here all alone, Nubs?” You don’t feel obligated to answer to that particular nickname.
“You eeling okay?” The question is tinged with concern, an emotion you didn’t think Meenah capable of.
You sigh. You know Meenah’s got a thing for you, though you can’t really tell what color her thing is. To avoid screwing your chances with her like you did with Terezi you ought to at least acknowledge her.
“Not really,” you say. “I feel kind of sick, actually.” Your worries churn painfully behind your vascular pump and deep in your gut.
She shuffles closer to you. Initially you flinch, curling harder around your knees to avoid being touched, but she hardly notices as she puts a hand to your back and draws wide circles with her palm. Huh, that actually feels kind of nice. The friction is almost comforting.
She doesn’t offer any words, and you’re fine with sitting in silence. Meenah strings her arm around your shoulders when she’d done rubbing. “Betta?”
“Not really, but thanks for trying,” you mumble. “It’s a not a physical kind of sick, I think. Just too much shit going on and I can’t handle it all at once.”
You think again that you wish you could talk about this with someone; you could very well talk to Meenah. Would she mind talking about your problems? The very idea of such pale infidelity would bother you if you had any fucks left to give about betrayed feelings. A potential quadrant mate is better than no one.
“What kinda shit?” You couldn’t have asked for a better opening.
“It’s Gamzee,” you confess. “He’s gone and filled fucking spades with Terezi and I, just,” You wave your hands in helplessness but can’t find the right words to say.
After a moment of thought she asks, “Whale, why’s it matter to you, Nubs? It’s his quadrant. You should be happy for him, shouldn’t ya?”
That’s a decent point. A point you hadn’t even considered. “Yeah, I guess I should be.” You concede.
“But you’re naut-ical, er, sorry that was hella lame. Why aren’t you? He’s your morayeel. Now, I’m not good at this kelpful quadranty advice business; if ya want that, talk to Porrim. But shouldn’t you be supportive of him or some shit? Seams like the kinda thing I might want my morayeels approval of, if I had one.” You continue to stare at the waves, turning this perspective over in your mind. You could imagine Gamzee wanting your approval, even for something you really ought to have no say in, like his quadrants.
“I don’t sea how this is a problem, anyway. Did you fuck up somefin harsh when he told ya?”
Your frustration with this mess is beginning to overpower the depression. “That’s just it,” you groan. “He didn’t even fucking tell me. Neither of them did! I don’t think they want me to know at all, but they’re doing a fucking awful job of keeping it a secret. I’d expect that of Gamzee, but not Terezi.”
“Is that what bothers you? That he hasn’t shoaled you yet?”
“‘Yet’ is no longer applicable to this situation. ‘Yet’ has left the fleet and is living it’s life out happily on a colony planet raising alien fauna for the Empress’s royal grubloaf. They’ve been together for at least an entire perigee now. I’ve given him opportunities to tell me; I’ve all but brought it up myself! I know about it, and I’m sure he knows that I know about it, but he still won’t say anything. It’s not even that he just doesn’t talk about it, he denies the relationship’s very existence. He claims to not know about Terezi’s injuries, gives me hoofbeastshit about his own.
“And thats the worst part, you know? I don’t even care that he’s in a quadrant with Terezi. It’s not jealousy or anything stupid like that, not really. I had my chance with her and I blew it like the universal screw up I am. Several times, if I’m being honest. If being in some messed up kismesissitude with my messed up moirail makes her happy, more power to her. But neither of them told me. He lies to my face. That’s what hurts the most.” You smack your forepan and moan, “Fuck, that just sounds like I think I deserve to know about their quadrant life. Which isn’t the case, I assure you, but does he not trust me? Does he realize what he’s doing to our relationship? I feel like. Like I don’t matter to him anymore.” You glare out into the sea. Your bit of the bubble has disappeared, replaced by someone else’s memory.
“Don’t say that. If he didn’t care about ya, he’d call off the morayallegiance, right? I can feel being upset at him lying to ya, but that still doesn’t strike me as a deep enough reason for your extra crabbiness. You sure you ain’t even a little jealous?” She shakes your shoulder playfully. “Don’t take me wrong kid, lobsta the things you sayin’ make sense and I get ya, but it sounds to me like he’s scared of what you might do. I hear you have quite an explosive reputation.” She grins; wide, and toothy, and not at all like any expression had you ever seen Feferi wear.
You roll your eyes. “I already said I wouldn't be mad,” you grumble.
“Then tail him so.” You start to protest but she stops you, expression serious. “If he’s scared of your reaction, he’s never going to stop lying to you. You gotta show him that you’re okay with his choice, and that there’s no reason to be scared. I sea that you want him to bring it up when he’s ready or some shit like that, but that ain’t reelistic. You gotta be the betta troll here, Nubs. Somebody’s gotta be the mothafuckin’ mature party and start glubbin’ or you’re gunna flounder around in this deep water forever.”
“Fuck. You’re probably right.”
“Shore I am!” Meenah stands and drags you up with her. With a peck on your cheek and the curt demand of ‘wake da fuck up and deal with your morayeel’ she strolls away, leaving you alone, red-faced, on the beach.
Extracting yourself from the hornpile with minimal noise takes certain level of finesse and coordination you lack after being still for so long. The accuracy and health of your aural clots has likely been severely compromised since taking Gamzee as your moirail. Would he be opposed to alchemising a pile of something quieter? Maybe if you agree to let him add a few horns. Your palemate is stupidly attached to those fucking things.
It’s not until you see him coming down the hallway that you realize you have no idea what you’re going to say. You stop and let him come to you while you try to calm the anxiety bubbling up in your nutrition chute.
“Hey Bro, was just getting to come check on you. When you sleep, you really motherfucking sleep.” He stops in front of you. There is little space between you, it only takes a half step to close the distance, and a mental half step to resolve to skip the preface and say what has to be said.
You stick your face in his neck and he automatically wraps his arms around your shoulders. You’re growing, you realize when he has to lift his chin to let you in. One sharp inhale fills your air sacs with his musk and enough air to blurt, “I don’t care!” The words are muffled by his shirt, but your natural volume ensure he hears you. His grip on your shoulders loosens and the following moment of silence stretches on forever. Good job Past Karkat, that was exceptionally graceful.
“Uhh, I don’t get what you’re trying all to be saying here, Karkat.” His confusion is nearly tangible.
“You and Terezi. I don’t care if you’re Kismesis’.”
More silence.
And then, he chuckles. Fucking chuckles, all breathy and soft, and squashes you tighter into his arms. “That wasn’t the reaction I was expecting, clowndouche.”
“I guess it wouldn’t be.” Is he fucking teasing you? “I’m just happy to hear you say it. I am all sorts of tickled, brother. I was all thinking you would be mad and not want to be my best friend no more if you knew I all pitched up with your crushgirl.” The idea had crossed your mind, if only for his happiness. “But it ain’t the motherfucking case now.”
“You broke up?!” You shove away from him to look him face on. His brows are knit together in concentration, a fang worries at his lip.
“Something like that. We didn’t break up or nothing, just got our wicked vacillation on. Was her idea, really. I should’a known you’d catch on since you’re so smart and all, but it was Terezi what noticed you was acting kinda funny. Being all sad and all? But-” You press a finger over his mouth to get him quiet.
“Wait. This is starting to sound like a long story, let’s just, let’s take it somewhere else, okay?” Your respitblock is closest, you think. Gamzee agrees and you grab his hand to lead him away.
Once comfortably situated and wrapped up together in human comfort planes, he begins again. “I motherfucking noticed you being sad and all wanting to jam more than usual, but you always had a motherfucking good reason for having all that sad up in your pan.”
“Gamzee, did it ever strike you odd that it was always the same reason? I wasn’t exactly being creative.” You give him a dubious look that he returns with a guilty grin.
“Yeah, I caught on in time. But I was never solid sure. You were being all vague and turning my pan in circles, I didn’t know what to motherfucking think anymore.”
“Sorry,” you grumble. “I just thought maybe it would be easier to talk about if you brought it up yourself, except you never did. This mess is as much my fault as it is yours.” You sigh a gusty breath. “Earlier you said you and Terezi vacillated. Dare I ask, what are you in now?”
“Oh, motherfucking forgot to up and explain huh. Back when Terezi first proposed all this black shit, right about when we first started running into all them dead ancestral motherfuckers, I went and flapped my squawkblister to Rose about me and our legalsister. I suppose she got to figuring same as Terezi about you being weird acting. Rose tracked us both down while you was asleep and started throwing around enough words to get my pan all spinning like a top on a turntable, you know the way she does. Motherfucking took us both by surprise when she offered to Auspistize for us.”
“Wait, what? Rose offered to be your Auspistice? How the fuck does she think she’s going to do that? Do you even like her like that?”
“Shes a chill gal, bro. Smart too. Seen her reading them romancy books you like so much, and shes got our jadegirl to explain what’s what.”
“But do you like her, Gamzee?” you say with maybe a little too much intensity.
“I like her plenty, bro. We agreed to take her in to our quadrant, yeah? And she cares about all of us too, else she wouldn’t have said nothing, right? Goes for you too bro. Rose saw right through what all was going down and saved all my motherfucking quadrants in one move. A brother’s gotta appreciate shit like that. Went and tore my clubs right out of my pump biscuit and put them back upside down.”
“That made no sense, I hope you realize.” No sense at all. He just laughs.
“Ain’t that a speciality of mine? Sense steers clear of this poor motherfucker.”
“I don’t know, you do surprise me sometimes.” You crack a rare smile at your tease when Gamzee pouts at you.
“Only sometimes, Karkat? Brother, that hurts.” But you know he’s just teasing you back.
In one sudden motion, he shoves you to the floor and knocks the wind out of you by laying over your chest. But when he presses his face against your neck, he’s purring. “How’s that for surprising?” he asks.
All you can do is lean into his hair and rattle your content right back. Because his arms around your waist seal up the cracks in your sanity. His presence mends the fraying strings of your trust for him. You exult in the feeling of those knots in your chest unraveling and falling back into order. Each emotion where it should be, straight, orderly, and almost as perfect as this moment.