Chapter Text
400 Days
You did something awful.
Kar told you not to, and Kan told you not to, and Fef told you not to, and maybe in the end it was their combined dissuasions that pushed you into the bony arms of Sollux Captor.
They all had different reasons (excuses, really) and in the grand scheme of things they boiled down to the same reason, not that it matters because you didn't care then and, upon further reflection, you realize that you do not care now. Karkat told you that the object of your fucked up affections/perpetual irritation (because what he really fails to understand is that you'd like him to fuck off just as badly as you'd like him to fuck you) is a moody, reclusive dick incapable of emotions beyond the scope of angry/hungry/tired. You said, "sounds hot." Kanaya told you that people living in close quarters should refrain from dangerous liaisons in order to avoid awkwardness at best, resentment at worst. It's pretty likely that she got this from her psuedo-psych-major girlfriend, or fuck buddy, or whatever the hell it is they are. And hell, you'd love to have some cruel intentions with Captor. It's practically your dream. So you told her "carpe diem". She rolled her eyes at you.
Feferi was something different, because she knows you way better than any of the other scrubs in Boston, MA. Feferi is your other half, the half who can rock a tank-top and not look like a sketchy weirdo, but who cannot pull off belts the way you can. Since childhood you've been convinced that the two of you are split from the same being. She is the good cop to your bad cop. She is the bitch when you don't have the energy to pull it off. You grew up with her, and when you both moved from Florida to Massachusetts upon getting accepted to Harvard (like the rich little overachievers you both are) you both ran into this strange, all-encompassing group of people who somehow all know each other and have a slurry of inside jokes and idiosyncrasies that the two of you remain loftily above when you're able to.
So yeah, you listen to Feferi, and you definitely read her frantic text message just as carefully as you'd listened to Karkat's phone call, just as conscientiously as you'd read Kanaya's email.
And you are sorry. You are.
But holy shit, did you laugh. You were in the damn library; that's not exactly kosher. It's hardly your fault. You'd been doing homework, leaning back in the ever-comfortable, harder than morning wood chair, and then you'd felt your phone go off. So you'd pulled it out of your pocket and read it.
And you'd laughed so damn hard that you'd fallen back onto the technicolor vomit carpeting.
She'd been pretty ballsy, implying what she had. As if she hadn't gotten strongarmed by the others. Basically, she'd called you out for going after one of her bisexual/bicurious/bilateral/bifurcated exes, of which she has probably a thousand, because Fef has a thing for bi guys, you don't know why, she just does. And in the message - it was the damndest thing, but she'd acted like you haven't dated at least eleven of those aforementioned exes. Or set her up with at least twelve of yours. The two of you share everything. You share toothbrushes, you share eyeliner, and you share boyfriends.
The idea of her getting suddenly indignant about this one specific case was pretty silly.
Underneath the abundance of affirmations that you should under no circumstances pursue your awful asshole hotter than a curling iron roommate was one indisputable fact of which your friends were convinced: Sollux does not find you attractive.
(*didn't)
That's exactly how you wrote it. One beautiful, autumn afternoon you'd been walking down Culver St., on your way home from your dystopian lit class, and Karkat had texted you that. Just that. "Sollux does not want you." Or something to that effect.
So you sent back a minor correction.
(*didn't )
Took the poor fuck six minutes on the dot to get it.
Probably the best part of the fact that you finally got it on with him, besides the fact that you've been wanting to for a good three months, is that you were both sober. You remember everything like the best of Kodak moments (probably gonna give you spank-bank material for weeks, as much as you hate to admit it) and you know he does, too. It also means it's real; he can't claim ignorance or inebriation. He wanted you.
(*wants)
Second best part: it started with a fight, and you hadn't even planned it.
The thing is, you two fight all the time. It's almost a running joke. In private, in public. Doesn't matter. It's gotten to a point where when anyone at all gets in a fight, someone else has to ask "who was the Eridan," which apparently means, "who screamed the loudest".
Your friends are assholes, especially when they're right.
So you'd come home with orange chicken, and then left to shower, and lo and FUCKING behold, the sneaky skinny bastard had inhaled every fucking piece while you were practicing decent hygiene. Whenever you two fight, you always raise your voice while he whisper-shouts at you, but this time, you were both raising your voices pretty loudly. You remember the floors shaking. That's the thing; you may be pretty fucking enamored with your roommate, but GOD ALMIGHTY does he piss you off proper. You may think he has a cute smile, but sometimes he pisses you off so bad that you want to punch it in. Such is life.
He had triumphantly announced that there was no way in hell that you were gonna get your orange chicken back, and you'd said that you could kill him, which you could, you're sure of it.
This is where it gets blurry. Right here.
Who initiated it, you do not know. You think it's pretty likely that you kissed him in a desperate attempt to shut him up or, hell, even to get back the taste of your goddamn orange chicken. You also think it's possible that he decided 'kiss' and 'kill' are sort of the same thing. But either way, you ended up attached at the mouth, parting only to say shit like
"I'll take off my clothes."
"I just bet you will."
"I'll take off yours."
"I dare you, you cocksucker."
"I'll do that, too."
Which, for the record, you did. It brought him to honest-to-God tears. He pulled your hair a lot. Big fan of talking dirty. Maybe someday you'll learn to be insulted by nasty things like "trashy, overdramatic attention whore", but it just turned you on under those specific circumstances, and honestly, it wasn't like you were in a prime position to be arguing back. As it stands you are something of an emotional masochist, which is probably what drew you to him in the first place.
Here and now, you’re all crashing at Karkat’s place, while his partner in abolishing crime stands snickering from the kitchen, sipping at her Big Red, looking at you over the rims of her “is my vision shit or am I just a douche” indoor shades. You tell her to take a picture ‘cause it’ll last longer.
“Not if you paid me to take it!” she says, interrupting her abrasive, obnoxious laughter to get in a jab at you. Such is Terezi.
“Back to the matter at hand,” says Kanaya, ever the mediator, “I believe we were previously discussing Eridan’s foolish attempts to woo the unwooable?” Feferi giggles at ‘unwooable’. You knew she would.
“The matter at hand?” Karkat asks. “No, how about this - how about the fact that this asshole - “ - he gestures to you in case there’s a shred of doubt as to who ‘this asshole’ could be - “- emotionally blackmailed my best friend into sleeping with him? That is not okay, dude. That’s fucking low.”
And at this point you’ve basically had enough, thanks ever so much.
“Look,” you say, holding out your hands palms-out. “I didn’t emotionally blackmail him. I didn’t do shit. Takes two to tango, and he wanted to fucking dance. What the hell do you want me to say?” You feel pretty confident that Karkat is not really accusing you of sexual assault. He’s just being overemotional, like usual. And a little dramatic. Honestly, that guy is so dramatic. Kind of a douche, too.
“It was a mutual thing,” you ascertain. “He can’t even lie about it. He can’t.”
“And that is where you’re wrong,” declares Karkat. “You are underestimating the depths of Sollux’s shame and sef-loathing. You have only scratched the tip of the outer layer of ice of the top of the tip of THAT iceberg, man.” He leans forward in his chair. Smacks his knees with his hands.
Oh boy.
“No, it’s not even an iceberg. It’s so much worse than that. It’s like - you know what? It’s like a pie. And you see the crust and go, okay, it’s a fucking pie, big deal. Let’s say the crust represents the way he’s a fucking douchebag. Which let’s face it, he is.”
“But then you slice the pie and the filling represents how he actually hates himself more than everyone else, right? Yeah, save your breath, Kar.”
“Not at all! Listen up, fuckface, and don’t fucking interrupt. I’m doing you a favor. So you have the inner layer, which does just so happen to represent his inner turmoil, of which there is a goddamn universe full of, rotting in that head of his. But what happens when you cut a pie? Hm? You want to interrupt, now?”
You don’t interrupt.
“You get more of the crust. More of the same “I hate everyone” bullshit. It’s the same thing. I promise you.” He shakes his head. “For fuck’s sake, Eridan, don’t you remember when he dated Feferi? No one knew about that for weeks, and he was pretty crazy about her.” Feferi looks away. “Hell, even Ar-”
The room goes quiet, and you and Feferi share a look. Because if two of you have learned anything about this group of scattered, vaguely broken people you’ve both grown to fit in with, it’s that you do not ask questions about the mysterious girl known as Aradia.
As far as you know, anything could have happened. Neither of you are really sure. Every time her name is mentioned people go quiet and look around awkwardly and it’s even worse if she’s brought up in conjunction with Sollux. If he’s in the room, he gets up and leaves. Just like that. Comes back with a beer and acts like everything’s fine, but still, people don’t just up and leave when things are fine, they just don’t. But yeah, you and Feferi don’t have a clue. Every time you ask you’re given nasty looks, and Feferi doesn’t have the nerve. All the same the two of you do get a sick pleasure (or at least entertainment) out of bouncing ideas off each other. Did she dump Sollux in a tragic awful way? Did she go to prison? Is she Mafia? Is she lamia?
You and Feferi really do have a good time speculating. It’s a lot of fun, especially since you both sort of suffer from overactive imaginations. You don’t have the heart to tell her that you suspect she might have died. (People don’t look that somber and quiet over snake monster ladies or even Italians, for that matter.) Although it is how you’d like to go (smart, young, handsome, rich) it still sucks for everyone else, you imagine.
If you ever do tell her, you suspect you’ll both guess how she kicked the bucket, but that will just have to wait.
“He wasn’t ashamed of Aradia,” Karkat says, and you know, you don’t even have the nerve to ask the obvious, unspoken question.
It’s not as if you don’t already know that he regrets it, really.
“Maybe I just wanted to see somethin’ that wasn’t there,” you say, and with this you decide to excuse yourself. “I’m out. Later.”
“I just don’t want him getting hurt,” Karkat says, and since it’s not peppered with long, winding, profanity-filled metaphors, you realize that he might be genuine.
Well, shit.
“Maybe I’m capable’a bein’ hurt, too. Did you ever think of that?”
You leave unceremoniously and you ignore Kanaya’s rapid-fire urging, Feferi’s rushed rationalizing, and Karkat’s silence.
You hear Terezi laughing her ass off from inside but you can’t be bothered to care.
+++
So what choice do you have? You go home. “Home” isn’t the dorms (what a fucking joke) - it’s an apartment, which you mostly pay for because Sollux, bless the place where his heart should be, is a scholarship kid. Of course, you’re also a scholarship kid, but your father also donated an obscene amount of money to the public park located near Harvard University. He was polite enough to not name it after himself, saving you social starvation or even outright rejection. Good bragging rights, but it’s damn unlikely anyone would stand to be around you if you had a little piece of Boston called “Ampora Square”, or some other such pretentious bullshit.
Home is in a relatively nice part of town. The thing is that you’ve known Karkat for way longer than you’ve known anyone else, save of course for Feferi. You met him on a World of Warcraft raid and ended up talking to him on Skype. You’ve known him since almost-forever, and when you moved here, he bribed Sollux into being your roommate because supposedly he thought you’d get along.
Oh, how you loathed each other.
Except you don’t really loathe him that bad anymore.
You get home and he’s on his headset so you get the hell out of the living room. Fuck that noise. Fuck that noise with a cleaver. You instead retreat to your bedroom, where you spend the next half hour attempting a variety of artistic pursuits. Painting, photography, screenplay writing, flipping idly through cookbooks. You’re not really good at any of them. You’re adequate at all of them, but you aren’t really good. You’re the best at cooking, because you’re Italian and you had a Nonna to make sure you could grow up and cook. But your paintings remain average and gloomy, your photography is still unfocused and commonplace, and your screenplay writing is schmaltzy crap.
As it so happens, you’re writing a monologue for the dastardly Marchioness (a character in a play you’re working on that’s entitled “drowning”, all lowercase, even though nobody drowns, because everyone knows it’s cool to title your stories vague words in all lowercase) when you hear your door open.
You pull out an earbud and arch your eyebrow reproachfully.
“What are you doing here?” You pause and decide to quote Buffy the Vampire Slayer. That’s a bad habit of yours. You watch something, anything, and it becomes yours. “Five words or less.”
Sollux ponders this, and his eyes light up. He really does love a challenge. He holds up two fingers like a peace sign.
“Wanna fuck?”
You’re too impressed to say no.
(One night stand? You don't fucking think so.)