“Where the fuck have you been?” You attempt to sound angry, though the yawn escaping you at the same time ruins the effect. “I looked everywhere for you. The nurses said they let you go hours ago…”
Outside, he replies dismissively. Before you can say anything else, he throws the black book down on the bed. But that doesn’t matter now. We need to talk.
You let forth a nervous breath and put on your glasses. Then, you flick on the light. Honestly, you’re not in the mood to talk about much; and, you’re most definitely not in the mood to talk about the book. Perhaps you can reason with him–get him to delay the talk until morning. “Look… Dave… I’m sorry. It was out on the table and I read it. I didn’t get too far into it, though. I’m really sor–”
Dave sighs and puts his hand over your mouth, silencing you; and, a few moments later, he slowly withdraws his hand. Just shut up and let me talk, okay? After he’s finished his reply, he removes his shades. As per usual, he clips them to the collar of his shirt. I’m warning you now: this will take a while.
A nervous nod is your reply; and, as soon as Dave picks up on it, he launches into a lengthy explanation.
He gradually reveals to you everything he’s hidden, telling you of his past. Every now and then, he uses the book as reference; for the most part, though, the lecture is pulled from his memory. He retells the story of the crash you’d read about, and the effects of the accident. He speaks about his life after the botched surgery that took his voice, and of Bro nurturing him back to good health.
His recounting of the story is slow and, at times, fragmented; but, overall, he eventually manages to get the entire message across; and, by the time he’s done, it’s half past midnight. Somehow, he’s found his way beneath the covers of your bed. His head rests against your chest and, with every silent sob, his soft blonde hair brushes against your neck.
Though unsure of what to say you comfort him, your instincts prompt you to carefully wrap you arm around him and gently pull him closer to you. Then, wordlessly, you comfort him. You run your fingers gently through his hair, muttering reassurance in his ear from time to time. Bit by bit, he calms down. His shuddering sobs fade to increasingly steady breaths; and, little by little, he begins to drift to sleep.
Shortly after the clock strikes one, a final sob escapes him. He takes a moment to wearily regain his composure and, just before giving in to sleep’s allure, does something you never thought he’d do again. He talks. It’s barely audible, and most of the vowels are missing; but, you can manage to make out what he says.
“You’re welcome, Dave,” you reply quietly.
He repositions himself a bit, placing his head on your pillow and gently draping his arm around you, before managing to say one final thing for the night; and, once this is said, a weary smile crosses his face. His breathing slows to the steady, rhythmic beat indicative of slumber…
“I love you, too…” you yawn, mostly to yourself.
For all the chaos he can cause in your life…
For all the stupid raps and bottles of pissy apple juice he throws around…
For all the times his stupid shades annoy you…
For all the rad beats he mixes at three in the morning…
You love him.
You can’t deny that.
You–who once told Karkat you were “not a homosexual”–are hopelessly and unreasonably in love with him, Dave Strider; and, there’s no doubt in your–in anyone’s–mind that he loves you in return…
“I hope it stays that way forever…” You finish your statement with a weary grumble. The gentle rise and fall of Dave’s chest with each breath lulls you to sleep; and, unbeknownst to you, you end up falling asleep with a contented grin on your face.