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i already told you that you can skip the first five steps of this conversation and just come over

its different this time

you didnt ask me a question

the implied question was "are you coming over and should i get out of bed" obviously

stop dancing around whatever you want to say

karkats gone

[

Ah.]

do you wanna come over or should i just send you cute pictures of ginger and puff

nah i wanna come over i just also dont because when i start talking about it to other people it means its really happening so i feel kind of glued to where i am which is on the kitchen floor for some reason
just seemed right
guess maybe because we spent the least amount of time here

would you rather i come over there and make you cookies

i mean you could also come over here and ill make you cookies but if you dont want to get up im not about to make you lying on the kitchen floor is probs healthier than what i did

[Which was, for the record, sail off the edge of the map four times trying to exit reality.]

you can come if you want
im not going anywhere right now though

i dont think i have it in me to go apeshit bananas right now anyway

[The messages come through with a tentative pace that is unlike the way he usually slams out responses, as if he's writing and backspacing his messages.

He's not sure why he feels guilty asking for company, but he does.]

yeah ill be there in like five minutes

[Then, more like seven minutes later, Connor comes waltzing into Dave's apartment with a bag full of shit. Does he have a key? Did he pick the lock? Unclear, because it's Connor. He sets the bag down on the counter.]

Hey. Move away from the oven, schnickelfritz.

[Not that it'll actually matter to Dave that Connor turns the oven on to preheat. He's a ruby. The heat doesn't matter to him. Without pause, Connor pulls a bowl out of the bag and dumps the contents of a mason jar into it. Then he dumps the contents of a smaller mason jar in and starts stirring.

Sometimes, because of weird personal reasons, you just keep cookie mix at hand.]

[Dave hears Connor enter and doesn't get up, he doesn't question how he gets in or why he has everything he needs to make cookies in a bag. He's learned by now that sometimes Connor just does stuff and there's no point questioning it.

He scoots out of the way but he doesn't get up off the floor, he slouches back against cupboard and watches Connor from down there.

It doesn't look like he's been crying, he's gone the opposite way and just absolutely shut all of that emotional shit down. He tucks his knees up and wraps his arms lightly around them.]

You ever see this happen before? Someone being here one day and they're gone the next?

[He pointedly doesn't ask if it's happened to you because he doesn't want to torture Connor with personal questions. He's just terribly confused.]

[He could say a lot of normal things. Yes, that's happened to him. Literally him, as it were. Everyone says he disappeared for like three months, once, but he doesn't remember it. It's also happened to people he knew. People he genuinely liked. Taako and Lup went away for a while, and he didn't see them around until later when he went to visit them in their own world. Connor's also met people who were the same, but not. It seemed like every time he saw Noctis, it was the first time they'd met.

None of that is especially comforting, so Connor falls back on the one thing he knows:]

That's how the story's written. [Is. Is that comforting to other people?] People come, people go. You'll see him again.

[Not here, maybe. Eventually, though.]

[It isn't particularly comforting. Not because Dave doesn't understand where he's coming from with it or the logic of it, but because there's such a firm barrier between himself and any hope of anything feeling better any time soon that it's hard to accept it.

His expression is kind of distant as he considers it, then he shrugs.]

Maybe. Maybe I'll be here forever. Maybe I won't get back before he gets old and dies.

[That old "I'm immortal and my time with my partner is finite because he's not" chestnut is one he thinks about a lot and even more so when he's not with him.]

It doesn't really work like that. [He says it with a weird amount of certainty.] I could explain it, but it won't make you feel better.

[Why does he also have a baking sheet? How much stuff is in this bag? Don't worry about it! There's also a silicone baking mat in there that he sets into the baking sheet before he starts portioning out cookie dough.]

Or, I guess... it didn't make me feel any better.

[It's entirely possible that he should have, at any point in time, explained the gap in the story that he's simply skipped over every time he talks to Dave. But he didn't and he doesn't want to explain that "home" and "where he's from" are two different places. The story is different now. It doesn't matter where he came from, only where he is.]

[This time, Connor says that and Dave doesn't question it. Maybe he wants to believe it, maybe there's some certainty and some honesty in the way he delivers it.

He pulls himself up so he can lean on the counter while Connor goes about his business. Wordlessly he reaches out and takes a portion of the cookie dough, eating it and continuing to talk like he's done nothing wrong.]

Maybe it's for the best. [He doesn't sound like he really believes it, but..]

I don't think he really liked it here, anyway. It was a lot of bullshit we never really planned for because, like, how do you plan for this?

Five minutes for every time you swipe dough. [He says it absently, like he's not really thinking about it, and then looks up, searching for something in Dave's face.] Yes or no? Or... I could punish you some other way.

[Unclear what that means, actually, and because it's Connor he is simply just not gonna fucking explain. Dave can guide what's going on right now, because Connor drew an awfully clear line when they were tethered together, but everything's shifted enough that he's fine blurring it again if that's what Dave wants. What Dave needs.]

[For a moment, Dave imagines a world of endless possibilities. One where he looks Connor dead in the eyes and swipes more cookie dough and lets it play out from there. He imagines losing himself in kissing and heavy petting and he won't lie, he wants it.

But he wants better for Connor, too. Better than being a rebound fuck. He means way too much for Dave to go down that road.

So he licks his lips, hesitating for a moment before he just barely withdraws and looks down and away.]

You could punish me by making me watch another shitty teen musical.

Ten for disrespecting my culture.

[He doesn't specify what. They'll cross that bridge when they get there, which in this case definitely fucking means "whenever he decides what's happening." It's hard to use the things he knows from being on the other side on Dave because when people punish Connor it's almost entirely sexual. They're not watching a musical, though. That's not a punishment as far as he's concerned. It's just comforting! Like Dave's sitcoms.

Connor turns his attention back to portioning cookie dough.]

How do you feel about push-ups?

[Dave rolls his eyes behind his shades which is a totally cool way of shitting on something your friend likes. Just non-verbally denying that actually you do just want to watch something dumb and eat cookies and absorb Connor's bizarre joy for bad movies by osmosis.]

I feel terrible about push ups, but if it gets you off..

[He trails off as he pushes his sleeves up, seeming to realise at some point that he shouldn't have finished that sentence there.]

Off my back, I mean.

[And without further comment, he is crouching down to the ground in the limited space available in the kitchen. He successfully knocks out the first six quickly but the next ones are coming slower]

--Fuck, this is way harder than it looks.

Oh yeah. Men doing terrible push-ups is my fetish.

[Said in the same flat tone he says everything, but it's probably clear it's a joke to Dave. Absently, when Dave starts to struggle, Connor glances over and momentarily frowns.]

Switch to kneeling. I'm not trying to kill you. I'm trying to get you to feel something other than fucked up and sad.

[At least he's honest about his intentions?]

All push-ups are terrible push-ups. [He hisses.

He very pointedly ignores the out and, in fact, it coupled with the reasoning is the bitter, stubborn drive he needs to push through the last four before he flops to the ground and rolls to the side so he can look up at Connor from the floor.]

I feel less sad but I feel-- fuck, phew-- I feel more fucked up. Worth it.

[Connor waits ten full seconds before he says:]

You still have five from stealing the cookie dough.

[His voice has taken on the slight edge again, because well. Apparently that's where they're at right now? They're back at weird, platonic domming and at least that's, like, something he knows. That's easy to fall back on. Connor turns, opening the oven and shoving the baking sheet in there before shutting it again.]

[Connor's voice takes an edge and it's usually a coin flip as to whether Dave feels like complying or deliberately rebelling. Admittedly the stakes are slightly higher because if he does another five he might die.

He pulls himself off the floor so he can lean his hands on the counter and frown at Connor defiantly.]

You said ten. Not ten more. No dice.

text; sent at like 3am

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>> action

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i rolled a 14 so he can do it but he's not happy about it

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