Archive of Our Own ^beta

Romance was fucking simple. Ridiculously simple. Even someone with half a thinkpan like Gamzee could get it, at least that’s what Karkat told himself. The screen flickered, some garbage tier romcom bleeding light into the too dark room. It was one of those movies that pretended to be clever but really just recycled the same idiotic plot trolls had been feeding themselves since the dawn of time.

Karkat sat there, half slouched on the couch, halfway through what he insisted was not a lecture but definitely sounded like one.

Okay. Okay, look at this. This right here, this is what I’m talking about—

He jabbed a finger at the glowing screen like it personally offended him.

This exact fucking moment. The hesitation. That’s how it works. You don’t just dive in for the kiss like a moron. You let it sit. You let the tension cook until it starts hurting.

He sounded pissed but he was in his element, running his mouth about something only he could care about this much. The movie’s violins swelled dramatically, trying to make the audience feel something, and Karkat’s voice bulldozed right over it.

Gamzee didn’t answer. He was sprawled sideways across the couch, head tilted against Karkat’s thigh, one arm slung lazily over his middle. His eyes were barely open, more of a sleepy half-lidded stare that might’ve been aimed at the TV, but more likely wasn’t. The only thing he was truly focused on was Karkat’s hand, which had ended up in his hair, absently ruffling through it.

Karkat gestured at the screen again, both hands flying everywhere.

This is where every dumbass in the galaxy fucks it up! That’s the secret sauce of this whole miserable cliché-ridden piece of garbage. It’s not about the damn kiss. It’s about the tension! About two idiots pretending they’re not in love until it physically eats them alive!

Gamzee blinked open one slow, sleepy eye at the sudden loss of Karkat’s hand, distracted by all the flailing above his face. He wasn’t processing a single word. Just watching the motion like a cat might follow a bug.

Karkat noticed and scowled, leaning down.

Honk! Gamzee yelped when Karkat grabbed one of his horns and twisted it, forcing him to face the screen again.

For fuck’s sake! Pay attention, you mucus drunk moron!

Man, sorry, motherfucker. Musta dozed off a lil bit...

Yeah, no shit. You’re hopeless. I could be doing literally anything else right now and I chose to educate a corpse with clown makeup.

He slumped back into the couch, exhaling through his nose that sharp, annoyed sound that was less about anger and more about how deeply, eternally done he was with existence. Without even realizing, his hand found its way back to Gamzee’s hair again. Some part of him refused to learn its lesson.

Is your fucking thinkpan even developed enough to comprehend all this?

He meant it as an insult, but it didn’t have much venom.

Gamzee made a faint yawning sound before mumbling something that barely qualified as words.

I don’t really get romance.

Karkat groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Of course he didn’t. Of course the one person he tried to lecture about emotional nuance would be the same guy who thought “romance” meant alternating between murder sprees and hugs.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to inhale before he exploded again. Gamzee tilted his head slightly, noticing the motion, probably waiting for Karkat to start yelling. It was practically routine by now.

First off, you’d get it if you were paying attention instead of snoring through my perfectly reasonable demonstration.

Second off, you’re the biggest—

He cut himself short when he saw that lazy grin spreading across Gamzee’s face—that slow, half-awake smirk that wasn’t mocking but somehow worse. He was impossible off sopor, like a sentient blanket with bad ideas. Karkat didn’t even know if he was doing it on purpose. Probably not. Gamzee didn’t have the coordination for malice.

Before Karkat could yell again, Gamzee shrugged.

I dunno, man. It just don’t make sense to me. Sometimes I don’t even get all this motherfuckin’ quadrant stuff neither.

How? The quadrants make perfect sense! They’re literally the easiest thing to understand about troll society!

Karkat perked up instantly, his brain shifting gears into the familiar rhythm of a rant. He was ready to dissect the entire system, break it down like a science lesson, but halfway through inhaling, he just... stopped. There was no point. Not with Gamzee. He let his head thunk back against the couch cushion with a weary groan.

You know what? I’m not even gonna fucking bother explaining. I refuse to waste my limited lifespan on this conversation.

Gamzee’s grin faltered, his expression softening in a rare show of guilt. His eyes drooped a little lower.

Sorry, Karbro.

It’s not your fault you’re... well, you.

Karkat didn’t even look at him when he said it, but his hand moved anyway back into Gamzee’s hair, then down under his chin, a slow rub that made the taller troll tilt his head up slightly, leaning into it with a quiet noise that wasn’t quite a purr but close enough. The kind of noise that made Karkat’s throat tighten and his brain shut up for once.

I shouldn’t even bother trying to teach you any of this. My only job as your moirail is keeping you from going completely murder mode and decapitating everyone on this stupid rock. Which, by the way, nobody gives me nearly enough credit for. But yeah. There’s really no reason for you to understand anything.

He didn’t sound mad. More like resigned. The kind of tone someone uses when they’ve already lost the argument and decided to take moral victory instead.

The movie had become background noise—just light and sound filling the gaps between them. Two silhouettes caught in the blue glow of some fantasy about love neither of them fully understood.

Gamzee shifted. He sat up slowly. Karkat glanced at him, startled for half a second. Gamzee never moved during these sessions; he usually just stayed glued in place, blissfully zoned out while Karkat talked himself hoarse.

Now he was upright, hunched a little, eyes fixed on Karkat in a way that made him feel like he’d said something wrong. The glow from the TV caught the edges of Gamzee’s face, shadows tracing across his scars. His eyes looked darker in that light. Sharper.

What? What’s with that look? Did I not pap you hard enough or something?

Gamzee blinked slowly, lips twitching into something that wasn’t a smile but also wasn’t far from one.

I guess we aren’t really moirails, huh?

Karkat’s brow furrowed instantly. He sat up straighter, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in Gamzee’s voice. It wasn’t often he heard him speak without some lazy grin attached to the words.

Oh for the love of— for someone who claims not to get quadrants, you sure talk a lot of horseshit about them. You don’t even know what that fully means, do you?

His voice had the sharp edge of defense. Too fast. Too loud. He wanted to sound dismissive, but it came out nervous instead. He hated that.

I mean even you have to know how one-sided this whole thing is, right? But somehow, against every shred of logic in the goddamn universe, I still feel like it’s my personal job to keep your sorry ass alive.

Gamzee didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t do anything except look at him. And that was somehow worse than anything else he could’ve done. The silence stretched long enough for Karkat’s stomach to twist a little. He hated silence like this. It gave him too much room to think.

He could almost hear his own pulse. Or maybe that was the sound of the movie still playing somewhere behind them.

Shit. What did Gamzee mean by that? We aren’t really moirails. Was that supposed to be a joke? Was he about to lose it again?

Karkat’s whole body went tight with instinct. He didn’t think Gamzee would hurt him; he hadn’t in a long time but there was still something unpredictable in that look. Like a storm cloud deciding if it wanted to move closer or pass over.

I don’t think we motherfuckin’ fit into any part of the quadrant, brother. We’re like... something separate. Like a motherfuckin’ miracle.

Karkat stared at him. His brain stopped working for a second, trying to process the words that just left Gamzee’s mouth. Then he let out the most unimpressed groan in existence.

What.

Gamzee’s stupid grin returned in full, slow and lopsided, like he’d been waiting for Karkat to react exactly like that. His eyes glimmered faintly in the TV light, soft and unbothered, looking weirdly content with himself.

You’re a fucking idiot.

Karkat said it without heat, rubbing a hand down his face again. The worst part was that he didn’t even sound angry anymore. Just tired. Like yelling about it wouldn’t fix anything anyway.

Gamzee chuckled under his breath, the kind of sound that could mean anything from genuine amusement to mild confusion. Karkat didn’t even bother trying to decode it. Trying to understand Gamzee was like trying to punch fog no logic, no point.

Still, his bloodpusher hadn’t quite slowed down yet. He hated that too.

He looked down when he felt a hand on his knee. The long, gray fingers resting there were strangely steady for someone who rarely was. Karkat glanced back up, ready to yell, but the words didn’t come out. Gamzee had leaned closer not threateningly, not even intentionally, just... closer. The kind of closeness that made his chest tighten.

Or maybe we’re nothing, man.

Karkat’s mouth opened, but only noise came out. Then a frustrated sigh.

Mhm. Sure. Whatever you say.

Gamzee didn’t move at first. He just stared at Karkat with that half-lidded, unreadable look. The air between them felt heavier than the shitty romcom soundtrack blaring from the TV. Every second stretched out longer than it had any right to.

Karkat didn’t say anything either. He tried to ignore it by looking back at the screen, but even he could feel the heat creeping up his neck, the kind that refused to go away no matter how hard he pretended it wasn’t happening. The movie was a blur now, just light and noise completely drowned out by the pounding in his chest.

Gamzee leaned closer, slow and deliberate. Karkat stayed stubbornly facing forward, jaw tight, pretending to still be invested in the garbage plot unraveling on the TV. But his eyes weren’t tracking anything. His brain was static. Every inch Gamzee moved closer made it harder to breathe.

Karbro.

What the fuck are you doing?

Gamzee’s hand twitched on his knee again, fingers curling and uncurling like they weren’t sure they had permission to stay there.

You look like you’re about to explode, Karbro.

Karkat finally looked back at him and instantly jerked back like he’d been slapped. His mouth opened, ready to bite out something about personal space, or how maybe he didn’t want a face full of clown breath, but nothing came out. The words jammed up in his throat.

Gamzee didn’t move away.

He was close enough now that Karkat could see every scar cutting across his face, the ones you barely notice when he’s painted up like a damn carnival. His visible eye flicked between Karkat’s mouth and his eyes, like he couldn’t decide which mistake he wanted to make first.

Karkat pressed his palm to Gamzee’s chest. It wasn’t a shove. It wasn’t even enough pressure to move him. It was just… there. His face felt like it was on fire.

Don’t you fucking dare.

Gamzee tilted his head, and for a second his grin faded into something almost curious.

You motherfucking up and told me once, right? All that tension shit. The motherfucking build up.

He’d been ranting about it earlier like some pompous, self-proclaimed romance expert. Great. Now his own words were turning on him, weaponized by a barely functioning juggalo. Typical.

Oh, so you were fucking listening.

Gamzee's eyes were half lidded again, calm, like he knew exactly what he was doing and how much it was destroying Karkat’s composure. He moved another inch closer.

Karkat could smell whatever awful soda Gamzee had been drinking earlier. It was dizzying.

Gamzee’s hand left his knee, hesitated, then slid up slowly until it rested against the side of Karkat’s jaw. The touch was light, cautious, like he was waiting for permission. Karkat didn’t give it, but he didn’t stop him either.

The TV filled the silence with some saccharine romantic monologue, words neither of them heard. The light flickered across their faces.

And then Gamzee closed the last inch between them.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It wasn’t neat or practiced. It was clumsy, messy, desperate in a way that made Karkat’s stomach twist. Gamzee kissed him like he was afraid he’d vanish if he didn’t, and Karkat reacted before thinking, his hand gripping the front of Gamzee’s shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. Their fangs clicked and the whole world shrank down to that single, reckless moment.

When Gamzee finally pulled back, Karkat was still frozen in place. His hand stayed clutching the fabric at Gamzee’s chest, breath uneven.

The room dimmed as the movie credits started to roll, the flickering light of the TV washing over them. For a long second, neither of them said a word. Just breathing. Just sitting there, still half tangled up in each other.

Gamzee was the first to break the silence.

Uh oh. We missed most of your motherfucking movie.

Karkat blinked. Slowly. Like he was trying to process words that didn’t line up with the reality he was living in. Then it hit him: Gamzee, the absolute clown-brained bastard, was sitting there acting like nothing had just happened. No acknowledgement. Just casually pointing out that they’d missed a fucking romcom.

Something in Karkat’s thinkpan snapped clean in half.

He just had his first ever kiss with Gamzee.

Before Gamzee could finish turning his head, Karkat shifted his leg and kicked him in the balls as hard as he could from that position.

A perfect hit that could only have come from years of pent-up irritation, frustration, and a lifetime’s worth of being around this clown.

The sound that came out of Gamzee was indescribable: half a wheeze, half a HONK, like a deflating airhorn being stepped on. His whole body went stiff before he collapsed backward off the couch, hitting the floor with a dull thud and curling in on himself like a wounded grub.

He lay there, hands clutching at his crotch, face twisted in pain. The noise he made was somewhere between a moan and another weak, pitiful honk.

Karkat sat there for a second, breathing hard, still red in the face and trembling slightly, half from the residual adrenaline, half from sheer disbelief at what just happened. Then it hit him all at once, and he pointed down at the writhing heap of clown on the floor.

What the actual FUCK, Gamzee!

Gamzee wheezed something out. Between breaths and pained laughter, he managed to rasp out:

Holy shit, Karbro... you motherfucking... kicked me in the miracles...

Karkat’s face twitched. The part of him that wanted to feel guilty was buried under a mountain of embarrassment and rage.

You kissed me.

Gamzee, still on the floor, cracked one eye open through his grimace. His lip curled into the faintest hint of a grin, even as he winced through the pain.

Guess... I got caught up in the motherfucking tension, huh?

Karkat froze. For one horrible, fleeting second, he didn’t know if he wanted to strangle him or scream at him. Then he did neither. He just groaned, dragging both hands down his face until he could barely see through his fingers.

I hate you so fucking much.

Gamzee’s response was another pained honk, followed by a weak attempt at laughter that made him clutch harder at his stomach. Karkat didn’t move to help him. He just stared at him from above, still fuming, still red, still caught between wanting to kick him again and wanting to crawl out of his own skin.

Eventually, Gamzee managed to roll himself back onto the couch, sitting awkwardly from the pain and still somehow smiling through it. He looked like absolute shit: slouched, dazed, one hand protectively hovering near the damage but there it was, that same lazy grin plastered on his face like nothing happened.

Karkat hadn’t even moved. He was still in the same damn spot, arms crossed.

Are you okay?

Instant regret. Gamzee’s grin widened, that face was idiotic, smug, and somehow managing to look like he’d won something.

Karkat’s glare sharpened. Gamzee’s grin only got dumber. Karkat twitched his leg. Just a little. The grin evaporated instantly. Gamzee tensed and clutched his lap again.

That’s what I thought.

Karkat’s eyes flicked to the TV, not really seeing it. Just the reflection of the two of them sitting there, their shapes warped and stretched across the darkened screen. He noticed, faintly, the smudge of Gamzee's face paint on his lips.

His first instinct was to get angry and wipe it off, obviously. But he didn’t. He sat there instead, staring at the reflection until it started to blur.

Karkat shifted a little closer. It wasn’t a decision so much as a reflex, like a thought halfway between apology and surrender. Before he could overthink it, he leaned in and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss against Gamzee’s cheek.

Gamzee didn’t say anything. The grin didn’t come back right away, just a small curve at the corner of his mouth as he turned his head slightly, trying to catch Karkat’s eyes. Karkat didn’t let him. He was already facing the TV again, ears red.

Karkat let out a quiet breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He wasn’t sure what they were, and maybe that was okay. Maybe they were something, maybe they were nothing, and for the first time he didn’t feel the need to sort it out right now.

He shifted slightly, letting his shoulder brush against Gamzee’s side. Just a casual touch, the kind that could have meant nothing, but somehow it felt like everything. Gamzee didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned just enough, letting Karkat rest his head lightly against his shoulder.

He could feel the faint rhythm of Gamzee’s heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt, steady and oddly grounding.

Gamzee’s arm came up, resting around Karkat. Not tight, not possessive, just there.

They didn’t need to define themselves right now. Maybe they never would.

Something or nothing, he thought. He didn’t have to choose tonight. He just let himself exist in the space they’d carved together and for now, that was more than enough.