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Your name is Dave Strider, and you're swiftly remembering why you shouldn't go out drinking with John.
You really didn't mean for this to happen tonight. You never do. Unfortunately, you're an impulsive dumbass with an equally irresponsible roommate shovelling substances down his gullet every chance he gets, and you're nothing if not down for the ride.
At present, you're beginning to regret letting him have a third shot. On top of the series of sugary sweet cocktails and two beers you choked before that when you still cared about looking cool, it means you're pretty well past tipsy at this point, and he is remarkably worse for wear. He might have half a foot on you but he can't handle his alcohol for shit, especially when it was more likely than not mixed with something else. You pretend not to notice how he sniffs a little too frequently and smacks his lips when he talks.
You mime at the bartender for more water when John isn't looking, and he's so drunk he doesn't even register that he doesn't have a proper beverage in his hand as you usher him away. He realises only when he goes in for a hearty gulp, and promptly makes a face at you.
"I don't want water, I want a double Titos and coke!!!"
"Tough shit man. Either you get water or the bouncer is gonna make you get the fuck outta here and I don't want to leave yet."
"Ughhhhhhhhhh."
You usher him over to a quiet spot and force him to drink. When the glass is empty, you swap it for your own and he groans even louder.
"Vriska would let me have it."
"Yeah, well, she's even more of an alcoholic than you are so of course she would."
"Whatever mom."
He finishes the water and pauses, swaying slightly from side to side as he stares down at you. His mouth opens and for one long, stupid moment you imagine him telling you that you're right, he's being stupid, you're both being stupid, and you're going to stop doing so many substances and kissing girls and kiss each other instead.
"M gonna be sick."
"Fucking hell dude, not on me. Come on."
Your brief drunken fantasy bursts like a popped balloon as you grab his arm and haul him straight to the bathrooms at the back of the club. He stumbles behind you like a lost puppy, gagging and groaning the entire way, then promptly falls face-first into an empty stall the second he has clearance. You dutifully clip the door shut behind him with the toe of your scuffed converse and give a cool-guy-nod at the equally drunk partygoers going about their business.
You don't particularly care to make small talk and if your eyes linger on the guys at the urinal someone might think you're trying to take a peek, so you stare at the door as you try not to regret your life decisions, listening to your long term unrequited crush vomiting noisily into the toilet.
Man. How did it come to this. You're hung up on a guy actively destroying his life, and fantasising about all the ways you can fix him if you baby his ass into getting better.
Maybe you'd be less hung up on him if he wasn't your literal first ever kiss with a dude. One you've been pining for since you were a literal stupid pre-teen and found out it was a possibility for boys to kiss boys when you caught your bro macking on with his long term "club buddy".
The second time was at one of Vriska's house parties with some tall ass, stupidly hot bear of a dude who'd also been dragged there by his roommate. You were both a bit too drunk and snuck out to split a joint in the back yard, then the next thing you remember you had your tongue in his mouth and his hands on your ass.
If you hadn't been so shitfaced, you'd probably have taken him home and finally gotten some action, but of course you had to ruin it. You're fortunate to have never seen him again, because you're pretty sure you ended up crying and also threw up all over his shoes.
There are a lot of reasons you don't drink that much any more, but that was definitely one of the biggest.
John evidently does not share your more recent attempts at self control.
He takes his sweet time getting it all out of his system, and the viceral nature of it is kind of disgusting, so you try to focus on other shit to keep your mind off things.
The thrum of heavy bass vibrates through the floor into your toes like a second heartbeat, and you wish desperately you were out there still, letting it rock through you as you got lost in the beat instead of listening to whatever kind of biohazard John was unleashing into the world through his mouth. That had been kind of your whole plan tonight actually, yet here you were playing babysitter. Again.
You'd do it a hundred times for him. Hell, after this point you probably already have. In the early days of your bro-ship you kind of did it together, before you realised getting that fucked up all the time was actually making your mental health bullshit worse, not better.
Rose would have absolutely told you so earlier if you'd ever decided to share, but like fuck would you listen to her psychotherapy babble if you could avoid it. She's already alluded to your glass closet more times than you're comfortable with, which is to say, once.
Anyway. The point is, you're used to this. Used to him getting fucked up and taking care of him and making sure he's kept safe and pretending you don't think about the one time over a year ago you when were both blasted enough to kiss each other - though of course you'd never admit that you were way closer to sober at the time.
You remember it way more vividly than he probably does - just like how your awkward second ever sloppy dudebro make-out partner could probably recount the details better than you. Except, that first time, with John, it wasn't even because he wanted you. He just doing it to try and get with that blonde chick, who'd agreed to make out with her friend if he made out with his.
You weren't bothered, obviously - you're the king of keeping your shit together - but you were remarkably more irritated than usual when you had to listen to him screwing her through the wall an hour later.
You try not to think about it. There isn't a whole lot else to pay attention to, beyond the disgusting noises he's making in there and the sound of dudes pissing in the urinal behind you, so you focus on the door directly in front of you instead. There's a large amount of graffiti scrawled into its cheap wood panelling; a mix of faded sharpie dicks and crude messages etched in with keys. You can imagine its much the same inside, though John seems far too distracted to notice.
Your eyes skim over the various sketched genitalia and reassurances that g-dawg waz here and find your vision landing on a small, half smeared message in fresh black lettering, so small you have to force your eyes to focus.
for a good tiime, call kv on-
The number is so small it's barely legible, with a weird uptick in the corner as if the writer was interrupted just after finishing their one-line advertisement.
Man. Was this for real? Is this what gay hookup culture has come to these days - scrawling names inside of bathrooms? This was the kind of shit your bro would pull, before he shacked up with his weird ass not-boyfriend in a desperate bid to fill the empty nest you left behind. It was more likely than not a joke - but you're drunk and bored enough to admit it pipques your curiosity.
You don't really give yourself time to think about how monumentally stupid you're being. You need a distraction from the brewing irritation stirring in your stomach, and so you lift your phone to punch in the number, filling the name in as written.
Maybe they weren't initials, but some sort of nickname? What could KV stand for? If you're about to hit up some lame ass white dude called Kevin, you'll have your (inapplicable) cool guy title ripped from you forever.
In all likelihood it was just a stupid prank. For a second you wonder how this mysterious KV would feel if his number was put here by someone else, and for a moment you feel just bad enough that you bring your hand up and start to scrub at it yourself. It doesn't do much beyond smear the lettering, but it at least makes it more illegible. You frown and scrub a little harder with your sleeve - and then nearly fall forwards into the cubicle as John barrels his way out and shoves past you.
"Dude. Flush," you sigh as you tuck your phone back away, shuffling past him to do what he seems incapable of in the moment. "And wash your fuckin' mouth out man," you call over your shoulder. He groans again, leaning over the sink to clean himself up as you simultaneously clean up the rest his mess.
He's gone by the time you've scrubbed your hands clean and you duck back out into the noise to spot him in the sea of people. You just manage to catch a glimpse of him being pulled away to the dancefloor by the back of a familiar head, and shake your own sadly in disappointment.
For not the first time, you wonder what the fuck you're even doing here.
You hesitate as you consider wriggling your way into the crowd around the bar and drowning your sorrows in a glass, but you shake it away just as fast as the thought occurs to you. It suddenly feels too loud in here; so hot and crowded you can feel it like a weight around your neck. Your skin crawls with risidual discomfort from the proximity of the contents of his stomach, and you decide then and there that you're done.
You pull out your phone and flick away from the newly added contact to pull up Jade's instead.
hey im gonna bounce
dont let him drink any more he just upchucked in the bathroom something narsty
seriously it was like a bombsite in there this place is lucky to have me here to clean that shit up
anyway
has his keys but i dont trust him in an uber right now so hes gonna need at least a few more waters before he goes
you okay to keep an eye?
yeah of course!!
we were going to head back to my dorm in a bit :) he can crash on my couch or something
alright bet that's your funeral ig
get him a bucket or smth though i'm not kidding
haha i'm sure i'll manage!
get home safe!! it was nice to see you
you too
later
You close the messages and push out into the fresh air, letting it blow away the combined mix of irritation and claustrophobia. You give a cool guy nod to the bouncer, who absolutely doesn't notice, too busy watching a handful of rowdy jocks push each other around in a way that was either a brewing fight or a homoerotic ritual you don't fully understand.
You let your eyes wander to your phone screen again as your free hand sticks itself in your jacket pocket, contemplating grabbing an uber. This place isn't that far from yours, but it's late enough in the evening that the price is more than you're willing to cough up without being blackout. The fresh air feels good, though. Maybe the walk will sober you up all the way.
... You should probably text John. He sucks at checking pesterchum when he's wasted, but he'll see a text - probably. At the very least, you'll have the evidence that you at least tried to contact him, should he forget the conversation Jade has probably already explained to him. At least that way you won't get some kind of faux-lecture about how you're a bad friend for ditching.
You pull up the message thread and let your thumb hover over the keyboard. It hesitates for just a moment before it begins furiously typing.
hey man you really need to get your shit together. like seriously i think you have a problem and i know your dad died and thats so fucking sad and i feel for you but its been a year and im always cleaning up your messes and i know im supposed to be your best friend and i love you so much but I just can't fucking do this any more.
You blow out a deep breath and hold the backspace until the text box is clear, just like you always do. But it helps to have written it. Makes it easier to type out your actual message and hit send.
txt me in the morning, dont die, stay safe good luck etc
You swipe off and exhale again. It's a little easier the second time, the tension in your chest finally loosening enough to help you breathe.
You need to stop thinking about this - about him, before you go fucking crazy.
You pull up that new contact again.
It's stupid to call people out of the blue, especially when said people are mysterious strangers who end up with their numbers in random bar toilets. But hell, you've proven many times that you're a fucking idiot. And tonight you have an even more limp wristed grasp on your impulses than usual.
It connects halfway through the third ring, and your eyebrows raise into your hairline. The dude was prompt, you'll give him that.
"Hello? Who the fuck is this?"
Oh, man. Was he sleeping? Or did he just have a fuck-you voice by default? The deep baritone makes your skin prickle, swallowing awkwardly as you blurt out the first thing you can think of.
"Is your name Kevin?"
"What?"
"Your name," you repeat, like he's the one being dense. "Is it Kevin?"
"... Is this some kind of joke? Like, am I going to say yes, and you're going to make some kind of quip involving 'deez nuts' or whatever?"
"No." You pause, assessing the possibilities. "I don't think I've got one of those. Ken you vin these nuts in your... nah, that doesn't work. It was just a question dawg."
"Okay, well no, it's not. There's your fucking answer. Who is this?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," you drawl, grinning as you hear KV clicking his tongue irritatedly against the roof of his mouth.
"Yes, that's why I'm asking, asshole." His voice had a slight uptick in volume, but loses none of the gravel rolling around in the back of his throat. It seems vaguely familiar for some reason, but you can't quite place it. "Did Gamzee put you up to this?"
"Uhh? No? Never heard of him, man."
"Thank fuck. If you were one of his dealers you'd be shit out of luck," he mutters, before moving on before you can enquire further. "So what then? Seriously, I don't give my number out to people, and it's nearly two AM, so you're probably not trying to sell me insurance. Are you some kind of hookup I forgot about or what?"
You make another thrilled, unexpected mental note. Likes men. Apparently? You're pretty sure that's what he's insinuating here, though there's a note of sarcasm to his tone, so you're not a hundred percent on that.
"I wish dude, you sound hot as fuck," you blurt because you absolutely cannot shut up, and then quickly follow up with more when he chokes on nothing. "Nah. I found your number in a bathroom stall. It was written on the door to call KV for a good time, so I figured I would."
"You what?" You hear the creak of furniture and the rustle of fabric, and you picture your mystery man sitting straight up in bed. Maybe with some kind of incredulous furrow in his brow. "Are you serious? What bar was this?"
"Uhhh. Filthy Mike's?"
"Oh, that fucking son of a bitch."
There is a long pause as inhales a sharp breath through his teeth, holding it for a beat too long.
"Uh. Are you-?"
"SOLLUX!!!"'
You hold the receiver away from your ear as the erruption of screaming catches you entirely off guard. You choke on a mixture of shock and laughter as a loud, angry stream of words you don't understand rip from his mouth in a torrent. You manage to pick up on coming for your pasty little ass before it devolves into a language you don't speak. Desi, maybe?
Oh shit.
Wait.
Sollux. You know that one. The name is weird enough to stick out to you, striking a nerve as you place him immediately. He's that gangly, skinny kid; part of Vriska's friend group, always at her shindigs. John got his ass kicked by his smash tournaments all the time.
And the mysterious KV lives with him? Most likely his roommate, which means...
Your face flushes as you stare a hole into the concrete, quite literally frozen in place as you listen to him yell in the distance, followed by the sound of laughter and clattering as they clash in an inevitable fistfight.
Karkat. That's what the K stands for.
Big, tall, burly Karkat, with his soft curly hair and his impossibly big muscles and his stupid hot voice.
The first - and last - time you'd set eyes on him, you'd snuck off together and ended up pinned against a wall, grinding against him like a man posessed.
And then you'd completely and utterly humiliated yourself by ruining it, and he was so fucking nice about cleaning you up and helping you get into an uber that you would've cried and kissed him all over again if your mouth didn't still stink of vomit.
You woke up in the morning barely remembering anything else, and avoided Vriska even more than usual until you stopped wanting to kill yourself from embarrassment.
This couldn't be real. He couldn't be the same guy - except he was, because you recognised that voice, didn't you? That husky, baritone growl was still enough to flip your stomach like a goddamn pavlovian response.
You should hang up - now - block his number, and nd never ever think about him again. Unfortunately, your tendency to freeze when caught completely off guard kicks you in the ass once again, because the phone rustles as he picks it up and brings it back to his ear with sharp, breathless pants of exertion.
"Okay. So, my roommate-"
"Did it as a prank, yeah, I figured." You swallow down the humiliation and force your legs to start moving again, eyes still trained down at the floor. Fuck your stupid baka life. "Don't worry dude. I erased it, so I'm pretty sure you're not gonna get any more creepy random phone calls."
"Aside from yours?" he scoffs, but there's no real bite to it. "Thanks I guess?"
You swallow down your unease and shift straight back into teasing, your mouth running on autopilot. "You sound unsure. Did you want me to leave it?"
"No. Obviously not." He sucks in a deep breath, and you prepare for the worst. However, this time it isn't followed by screaming. If anything he seems to have used it as a way to calm down. "Okay. Thank you. That feels... less weird than having it still out there. Though you could have probably just erased it and avoided calling me."
"But then how would I have known if you were actually looking for a good time?"
He makes an awkward choking noise, somewhere between a laugh and something else. "Not with anyone who drinks at Filthy Mike's. I have standards."
Not high enough if you'd make out with me, you think, and promptly push that vomit-tainted memory away.
"Fair enough. If it makes you feel any better I was only there because my roommate is an asshole and they're the one place near campus that hasn't picked up on that little factoid yet."
He chuckles, the sound of sheets rustling again as he lays back down in bed.
"I can relate. Sollux is such a prick sometimes. I only just dragged his ass home about a half hour ago."
"So you're saying you're too good to hook up with people from Filthy Mike's, but you were there too? Hypocrite much."
"Oh, fuck off," he snorts, but there's enough of a laugh in there that it feels like a victory.
So it was true. Karkat had been there tonight. Probably out on the dance floor somewhere, just like all those other packed bodies you wanted to be in the middle of, instead of making sure John wasn't walking around with a bunch of powder on his nose.
If you'd seen him, would you have run away again? Or would you have tried to strike up a conversation? Maybe you would have just danced with him, trying to repeat whatever pathetic mating ritual got him interested the first time.
It was definitely weird to think so hard about it. You made out with him once, several months ago at this point, and you're still worked up about it? What the fuck is wrong with you?
The lull in conversation stretched out for just a beat too long, and he shuffles again, getting comfortable. Even if he only just got back himself, it's late. You should hang up now.
"Hey. Um. So, I'll definitely delete your number after this, but can we hang out until I get home?"
He pauses to consider, clearing his voice slightly. "Depends. How far is home?"
"Like, fifteen more minutes."
"No promises, but. Sure. I guess we could hang out for a bit."
"Awesome."
Another silence - and you hate silences. You clear your throat, and latch onto the first question that pops into your mind.
"So what did you do to your roommate for him to try and hook you up with bathroom freaks?"
"It was my turn to pick for movie night and he refused to watch it, which is why we went out. Fucking philistine. He makes me watch his three hour sci-fi time travel movies all the time but he can't sit through how to lose a guy in ten days?"
Ohhh, he likes romcoms. Stop. That's too cute.
"Brutal. Sitting through dogwater movies is a sacred tradition of roommateship; he can't be out here breaking the contract like that."
"Exactly. Though you better take that back. It's a classic."
"Can't say I've seen it, so I can't judge. Besides, my roommate pretty much exclusively watches stoner comedies and Nic Cage flicks, so Sollux should know it could be a lot worse."
He pauses to hum a long, monotonous note, considering this. "I mean, that's not too bad. Some of his more recent stuff has been pretty good?"
"Hard agree, but he hates anything past, like, early 2000's. I'm pretty sure he had his first wet dream about Con Air."
"What the fuck is Con Air?"
"Oh my god. Okay. Strap in. Are you ready for this? Because this is the most middling of mid-tier movies in the world and if you don't tell me to shut up right now I will just vent about it for like, half an hour."
"Fine with me. We have time to kill."
You try not to feel literal butterflies, and fail miserably. "Point taken." You swallow, and let yourself smile. "Okay. So Nic Cage plays this ultimate wife guy with a bad southern accent..."
You launch into a retelling of the shit plot you've seen a hundred times, undercut by Karkat's increasingly incredulous commentary. It doesn't take you quite as long as you think it would, but you're most of the way home by the time you're done ripping it to pieces.
"What the fuck do you mean Steve Buscemi gets a happy ending? He's literally a serial killer??"
"Nah man, you don't get it, he made friends with that one random little white girl so obviously he's a good guy and he's totally reformed."
"That's complete and utter bullshit. It makes zero sense - and this is me coming hot off watching Tenet the other day."
"Ain't seen that either," you muse. "Do share."
"I mean, I can try. I'm going to be honest though I have absolutely no fucking idea what was happening for like, 60% of that thing."
"That'll make two of us, then."
He snorts out a laugh. "Okay then. I guess it is my turn or whatever. So, imagine the guy who wrote inception decided to do it again, but instead of dreams it was about bullshit time travel that makes no sense..."
He launches into a retelling of his own, and you are more than happy to hang on and listen. You let his voice wash over you, noting the way his voice shifts when he's particularly frustrated by the absolute nonsense of whatever happened on screen.
You feel an embarrassingly smitten smile spreading across your face as you walk the rest of the way home, more than happy to jump in with an agreement or a stupid quip here and there.
He talks almost as much as you do. It shouldn't give you butterflies this bad, but it absolutely does.
It carries on as you finally arrive home, and it just doesn't stop, even when he's done recounting the confusing shitshow you absolutely can't comprehend.
You put him on speaker while you wash your face and brush your teeth, and take him to bed with you, yapping while you change into your pyjamas and curl up under the covers.
The topic moves on to other movies (he really likes romcoms), then soundtracks (he's sick of shitty pop music taking over original scores), then music (he likes all kinds, but he had a big metal head phase and he used to be a drummer.)
"Dude. That's hot."
"Shut up," he laughs, voice thick with sleep. "We sucked ass. I'm pretty sure we spent more time fighting about our vibe than actually practicing."
"Just like Fleetwood Mac," you note dreamily, and he lets out a sleepy, adorable little laugh.
"Did you play any instruments growing up?"
"Not really. I was always more into music editing than playing traditional stuff. I DJ'd a lot though."
"For real?"
"Still do, actually. I usually do the earlier slot at Skaia on Fridays." You pause, your heart beating in your throat, and then try to choke out the next part without losing your nerve. You don't manage to sound as casual as you'd like, but you at least manage to get the words to leave your mouth. "It's free entry, if you ever feel like writing your roommate's number in the bathroom as revenge."
There was an awkward pause from his end immediately afterwards. Or maybe it wasn't awkward? Maybe you just felt awkward, and you were projecting or something. That's what Rose would say.
No, wait. That was a yawn.
"Skaia's clientelle is too good for him," Karkat grumbled, followed by more rustling. "... But I'll try and make it down sometime."
Fuck. Yes.
"Cool." You shuffle too, trying to ignore how hard your heart is pounding. You hear another rustle, a click and a quiet curse.
"Shit, how have we been talking for three hours?"
"Haha. That's crazy." Your heart is still trying to vibrate out your chest, even though you're so, so tired. You're barely hanging onto consciousness here. You just don't want it to be over. "Sorry for keeping you up so late. You're just a lot of fun to talk to. I should probably hang up now and let you get some sleep."
"It's fine. I had a good time too." The last part comes out a little muffled, as if stifling another yawn. He takes in another careful breath, and you remember all too late that you promised to lose his number. Maybe thats why you didn't want the conversation to end.
There is a lapse of silence as you consider this, and you let it stretch out.
"Um. Cool. Great. Uh. I guess I should say goodnight? And thanks for keeping me company."
He doesn't reply.
"So. Yeah. Good-"
"Can I call you again?" He blurts, and you feel a heat immediately spread over your face. "I mean, we don't have to. We can just hang up if it's weird. But I really liked talking to you, and. I dunno. Sorry-"
"Yeah! Yes. Absolutely. We can talk more," you agree, so quickly and eagerly its absolutely embarrassing. You cup a palm over your face and let it soak up the heat flooding it thoroughly.
"Okay. Okay! Cool. Great." You can hear him smiling. Fuck. He's so, so cute.
"Great," you laugh. "Tomorrow maybe?"
"Tomorrow," he agrees. "Cool."
"Cool."
"Goodnight then."
"Goodnight."
"Sweet dreams."
"You too."
He sucks in a deep breath like he's thought of something else to say, and after a long moment, hangs up the call.
You press your phone to your forehead and try not to scream into your pillow like a teenage girl. And then you do squeak, when a text buzzes its way into your inbox from the no-longer-elusive "KV."
I CANT BELIEVE I DIDNT ASK EARLIER BUT WHATS YOUR NAME BTW?
FOR THE CONTACT LIST.
IGNORE THE CAPS. MY PHONE KEYBOARD IS BROKEN.
haha its cool. im dave
WHATS YOUR SURNAME?
so you can stalk me on social media? okay lmao
jk im just rustling your jimmies
its strider.
The bubbles to show he's typing pop up and disappear again. You blink sluggishly at your phone, too tired to process your mistake until the next line of text fills your heart with dread.
AS IN THE DAVE STRIDER THAT THREW UP ON MY SHOES AT VRISKA'S PARTY?
Fuck. Your. Life.
um
shit
yeah i guess so
sorry about that dude
okay haha feel free to just delete my number actually
after sending me the receipt for dry cleaning or new shoes or whatever obviously i probably owe you that much
You're going to lie here in bed until you die of shame and count yourself lucky you got one fun phonecall before the end. You almost don't want to check you phone when the next message buzzes through.
I'M GOOD.
YOU'RE LUCKY YOU'RE CUTE.
... Okay, scratch that. You're definitely going to kick your legs and squeal into your pillow now.
haha okay
but am super sorry about that i was just kinda going through it at the time and i promise i don't get fucked up like that any more
I RECALL YEAH.
YOU WEREN'T THAT BAD. GOOD FOR YOU ON GETTING YOUR LIFE TOGETHER THOUGH.
thanks man i try
like if we made out again I definitely wouldn't barf this time and that's a strider guarantee
You're stupid. You're so fucking stupid.
More typing. The bubbles pop up and back away, and you try not to kick yourself.
BUY ME A COFFEE SOMETIME AND WE CAN TEST THAT THEORY.
I'LL CALL YOU TOMORROW?
You're so lucky he's whatever the opposite of a Sapiosexual is. You actually, legitimately feel yourself swoon as you cradle your phone and lay out your thanks to Sollux, God and the Universe for letting this happen.
tomorrow sounds good
gnight
GOODNIGHT BARF BOY
<3
<3