Chapter Text

Your name is Jane Crocker, and you, your younger brother, and your father are moving across the country from your home in Washington to a suburb of New York City. You’re eight years old - old enough that you’re leaving behind friends,but not really old enough to understand the complex reasons for your move. You don’t understand the town you were growing up in had started shrinking years ago, that the economic pressure toward urbanization, combined with increasing transportation costs caused by early responses to warming had hit exurbs hard in areas with limited investment in mass transportation. You just know Dad got a job somewhere else, and that he seemed relieved by that.

You are not relieved. Your life is uprooted, you are separated from your friends. You’ll admit you feel less out of place here in this place, you’re never the only kid in a classroom who isn’t white, but on the other hand, you had friends before, and your first year is very lonely, because you are an outsider in another sense.

It’s not until the next year that she enters your life.

“Today, we have a new student!” Your 4th grade teacher says with false brightness. That kind of annoys you; you’re not a little kid any more.

“Hi!” The new girl says, and she’s almost as excited as your teacher is pretending to be, except the girl seems actually that excited, “My name is Roxanne, but you all can call me Roxy!”

She sits down next to you, and you, swelling at pride with knowing this, say “You should have said ‘you can all call me Roxy!’”

She rolls her eyes.

“My name is Jane.” You say. You figure that now that you’ve shown how smart you are, she’ll want to be your friend right away.

Unsurprisingly, you are not fast friends.

You almost forget about her.

Four years later, toward the end the of the year, however, you watch of 8th graders making fun of her. They’re calling her “dyke”. That’s a word you recognize, but only as something the older boys call you when you show that you’re smarter than them. They’re calling her another word that rhymes with it, too. You don’t know what the word means, but she seems to take it harder than being called dyke.

She and you haven’t gotten along, but you can’t watch someone be bullied like this without responding. You resolve to prank each and every one of the boys, taking a picture of them on your cell phone. Your family is super into pranks, but you’ve gotten to the point where you understand that most people don’t like being pranked. You decide it’s the perfect revenge.

You sneak into the school that night, and set up a series of buckets, whip cream pies, and the like, so that you can set them off subtly but intentionally throughout the day. You actually only get three of them, but you show Roxy the pictures in your English class.

She laughs. It’s warm and melodic, and you have a fuzzy feeling you think must be real friendship. It looks kind of like she’s crying, too.

“Thank you.” She says, still laugh/crying. She throws her arms around you, it’s a warm hug, and you realize how much you’ve missed friendship and contact since you moved up here.

You and she are inseparable after that. She asks you to play fewer pranks in her defense and stand up for her more in the moment: She says she’s grateful, but it’s not what she needs. So you play fewer pranks, and stand up for her when you can. You start hanging out at each other’s houses - you learn of her mother’s alcoholism and mediocre parenting. She’s often absent but never quite neglectful, and sometimes present in the most embarrassing ways.

You meet her little sister, who is more smartass than you were at the same age, which, at this point, you realize is quite a feat. You learn what the other word meant, and why it stung more: neither of you knew quite what “dyke” meant when you were called it, but Roxy knows an antisemitic slur when she hears one.

You learn of her siblings in Texas, and their multimillionaire father. She seems not to have anything bad to say about him, but everything about her posture and tone when she speaks of him indicates that she hates him.

You learn that Roxy more than just bubbly, friendly personality and nice face. She’s a genius. You’ve always thought you were a smart kid - you tested into the part time Quest program when you were back in Washington, but Roxy is so smart she makes you feel a little insecure.

You maintain contact with a child of family friends. He’s technically, like, your fourth cousin or something, but you’re nowhere near close enough that your attraction to him feels even a little bit incesty.

You’re thirteen when you introduce him to Roxy and she introduces you to Dirk - over the internet, obviously, none of them are in New York. You’re fourteen when Dirk steals Jake out from under your nose. You’re also fourteen when Roxy starts drinking - it’s just a party thing at first, and she invites you to a couple of the parties and you can’t say that you never drink with her, although by the end of that year, she’s always drinking more than you.

You’re fifteen and a half when you realize that not everybody has wet dreams of their best friend, that that isn’t a normal heterosexual thing, or, if it is, it’s uncommon, not practically once a week. You’re terrified by this. Roxy is no longer your only friend, but she is unquestionably your closest friend, and besides, you’re straight. You had a crush on Jake for three years, and you maybe still do! It’s possible you could even make a move on it, since he and Dirk broke up.

But she’s so… she’s so amazing. She’s so pretty, and smart, and clever and she’s always, always one step ahead of you when she’s drunk and twelve steps ahead of you when she’s sober.

You are more fifteen going on sixteen and less fifteen and a half when Roxy invites you to another party. You haven’t gone to one with her in a couple months - it’s hard to watch her when she gets as drunk as she goes to most parties, and she seems to have caught on that you feel that way, but she still sometimes invites you, and this time, you have a hard time saying no.

When you show up, the music is loud enough that you can feel it in your feet, and you wish you brought earplugs to protect your hearing. When you walk in the door, the front room is packed, and it smells strongly of weed. You’re tempted to text Roxy and tell her you’re going home - you adore her, but if your dad catches you smelling like smoke, you’ll need a damn good explanation, and you’ll probably get grounded anyway.

Almost. But you haven’t seen her in a week, and you feel antsy if you haven’t seen her in a few days. A week is difficult to handle. So you walk in, and you look for her. It takes a moment to find her in the crowd, but find her you do, sitting at a table, talking to some boy. You feel jealousy roil in your gut, before it’s replaced by the hollow emptiness of knowing that she’s not yours to be jealous about.

When she sees you, though, her face lights up and the last, bitter tinges of envy are rooted out, and the emptiness is filled with butterflies.

“Hi!” She says. She’s got a red cup in her hand, but it looks like you got here early enough to catch her sober. You grab a beer off the table, avoiding the mixed drinks because you have no idea how strong they are, and you don’t strictly trust them, anyway: You don’t know the host, and you’ve been told to never take an open drink from someone you don’t know. Your dad might not approve of what you’re doing, but he’s made sure to teach you enough to be safe.

The beer has another advantage - it tastes vile enough that you won’t be tempted to get very drunk, because any amount of drinking will be unpleasant. You crack it open, and take a sip. You don’t want to stand out as not drinking at all, after all.

“Hi, Rolal.” You say. She smiles at the nickname, and then says, “Hey, Jane, I’d like you to meet my friend Dylan! He was just saying-”

“Hey, uh, I have something I need to go do.” He says, and scurries off.

Roxy laughs, “Lol, I’m so glad he’s gone.”

You hide a cringe at her using text speak out loud. This has always puzzled you - she is the smartest person you’ve ever met, and she disguises it in what is frankly an obnoxious tendency to speak as informally as she possibly can. Still, you laugh, both because you’re glad you don’t have a reason to be jealous, and because you’re glad you could help.

“Well, I’m glad I could help.” You say, stating your thoughts.

You and she make small talk - one of your least favorite things about parties is that you always feel like someone could be listening in, and so you have a hard time talking about anything that feels remotely private. You hear somebody suggest party games, and someone else suggests seven minutes in heaven. You’d just as soon avoid the whole thing, but Roxy drags you along.

They’re choosing who goes into the closet by spinning a bottle. During the first round, the bottle lands on a boy and a girl, and the crowd oohs slightly. Seven minutes later, they walk out of the closest. You’re pretty sure nothing actually happened between them - neither of their hair looks notably different, nor do either of them seem to breathing heavily. You’re pretty sure you hear a sigh of disappointment - you find it unsurprising that the party goers are living vicariously through the folks in the closet.

The next time, the bottle lands on two boys, and largely, there's a chuckle through the boys in the crowd. You see a couple girls who seem to be very intrigued by this outcome, and you’re honestly not sure which of those you find more unnerving - the outward homophobia of the boys, or the fact that a few of the girls are clearly thinking of the two boys potential sexualities as something to consume - it’s the same homophobia, you suppose, just modified by whether or not the thing that makes the audience member uncomfortable is consumable.

Roxy seems put off by the laughter, which you suppose makes sense. She is openly bisexual, and she knows that, on some level, the laughter is about her. You suppose if you are attracted to her, the laughter is about you, as well. Nobody has dared make fun of her for being bi in years, not since you were all old enough to understand what sexuality was and not since she became cool and thus broadly protected from social mockery anway.

You still remember kids calling her a dyke, though, and you know she remembers better.

You put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and she smiles at you. You like that you can communicate like this. In the moments when you aren’t pretending you don’t have a crush, it’s moments like this you remember when you try to convince yourself to tell her. If you can communicate like this, express a world without a word, then you could make an amazing pair.

The boys come out, looking like they might have done something , since their hair is a little messed up, but you’re pretty sure that it wasn’t anything too intense. Neither of them is breathing heavily in the slightest.

Somebody spins the bottle, and after a few rotations, it lands on Roxy. You’re jealous/terrified, because that means that the bottle could land on someone else and she could hook up with them or it could land on you. You start drinking your beer faster, hoping nobody notices, as she spins the bottle.

The first time it passes you, you’re struck with a wave of anticipation and terror - if it’s you, that could be everything you want or it could be awful. Still, the bottle is moving fast enough that you know it won’t stop this rotation. The second rotation it passes you, and the anticipation and terror is stronger because it could actually land on you. It passes you by, and you’re struck with heartbreak/relief. It comes back around one last time, inches closer to you…

And it stops, pointing straight at you. There’s some hooting and hollering from a few of the boys in the crowd, and you roll your eyes, your irritation at them the only thing preventing you from broadcasting your terror to the assembled group.

Roxy leads you by the hand to the closet, closes the door, and apparently having noticed the terror on your face, says, in a quiet tone, “Look, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You nod, and you’re pretty sure she can’t see that, so you say aloud, “I know. Uh-”

And the words come out like a waterfall, exactly what you mean, at first, ‘I, uh, if you’re A-OK with it, I think I’d like to kiss you.” So far, so good, but you are Jane Crocker, and you are nothing if not adroit at sticking your foot in your mouth, and so you start rambling, “Obviously, if you’re OK with it! I’d like someone to practice kissing with” stupid stupid stupid gosh this is just like when you tried to confess to Jake, “So, uh, if you’d do this, because I think you’re really cute” nope nope nope nope that’s too honest and god you have to be confusing her so much, “So, uh, yeah.”

“Uh, totes?” She says. She sounds confused, which is fair, because you pretty much just no homo’d the fuck out of what was supposed to be a confession of your feelings, and then confessed your feelings after that, so…

So you lean in and kiss her, because she just said that was OK, and you’re not sure you have the ability to calm yourself enough to give her an actual explanation of what you meant.

Your lips meet hers, and at first, there are none of the fireworks you have been told to expect by every piece of literature you’ve ever read about love. It is awkward and sloppy, and not in the cute “bump noses” kind of way. It’s just not great - there’s no movement at first, because neither you really know what you’re doing, and then the movement is all wrong.

But then, she leans in more, and you lose yourself somewhat, and then you’re more excited than you are nervous, and then it’s awkward in a cute way. It’s not electrifying until she grazes your upper lip with her teeth. You’re not sure if it’s intentional or not, but it’s like her teeth are the points of a taser dart, and between them, you are electrified.

You lean in harder, pressing your teeth to her lips - if it worked on you, maybe it will work on her. She lets out a satisfying gasp, and you mentally note that, if you get a chance to do this again, that particularly is a thing you should do again.

She pushes you gently off her, and for a moment you think you’ve gone too far, before her lips start to trail down the side of your face, toward your neck. She nips gently at it, and you gasp loudly enough that you’re slightly worried that someone in the hall might hear you. After a moment, she begins kissing it roughly, and what she’s doing is thrilling enough that for a moment, you miss that she is pulling at the skin - that’s she’s giving you a hickey.

For a moment, you consider stopping her, but you don’t want her to stop as much as you’re a little worried what people will think. But then, everyone will know anyway: Your appearance will already be noticeably disturbed anyway.

Still, you push her after a few moments. Two can play at that game, and you pin her to the wall, pulling on the skin of her neck with your mouth. The noise she makes is nothing short of obscene, and you’re really into that. After a moment, her fingers start to slip down your front, toward your chest, and she asks “is this OK?”

You pull away from her. “I’m not sure-” You begin, not really sure how to phrase this. You want her, but there are a lot things you want to say first. To you, that feels like sex, and what you’re doing doesn’t, so you’re OK doing this once, but that…

You haven’t expressed your feelings. You haven’t told what you mean. You also imagine yourself as not the kind of person who has sex with a romantic partner the first time you kiss, but that’s less important here than the fact that you want to say what you mean before that happens.

She gets your intent is to reject her advance, at least, and pulls her hands away, “Alright, totally. Uh… what do you want to do from here?”

You release her, because this kind of feels like a situation where you want to be talking where nobody is pressing anyone against a wall.

“If you’d like, we can go back to kissing.” You suggest, hopefully.

She nods, and you do.

It’s probably half of the time until the door opens, and you’re, predictably, caught in the middle of making out. The room hoots and hollers, and then the bottle is spun and within a few minutes, everyone but you and Roxy have basically forgotten what happened.

You don’t talk anymore about it that that night, but Roxy holds your hand for quite some time after you leave the hallway closet, and that makes you hopeful.

You manage to hide the hickey from your dad by dressing cleverly and using makeup. On Monday, you’re wearing a scarf - you’re lucky it’s unseasonably cold, because otherwise, you would have to try to hide it with just makeup. That’s possible when you’re hiding a hickey from one person, but you’re relatively certain that without the advantage of always being conscious of the angles, you probably couldn’t hide it from a crowd.

Roxy wears hers openly. You’re not sure if that’s humiliating, or beautiful. You can’t help but feel proud to know you did that, but at the same time, everyone will know what you got up to, and you’re not super proud of how you handled the situation.

She looks somewhat displeased when she sees your scarf, and you wonder what she’s thinking.

“Hey, uh, Roxy.” You say, trying to find the courage to confess, “Uh, about the time in the closet.”

“Yeah?” She asks.

“Would, uh, would you like to do that again sometime?” You feel proud for a moment, before you realize that you have communicated absolutely nothing you meant to communicate here. You meant to say, ‘oh, hey, that was really special, and it was something romantic to me!’ or maybe ask on a date, and instead, you’ve asked to make out with her again.

You feel like an idiot.

“Sure.” She says, and she looks confused, and you are drowning in your own embarrassment. Why won’t your mouth ever say what you mean?!

She comes over to your house that night, and you do, in fact, ‘do that again’. In between two kisses, you find a moment to breath, and almost tell her how you feel, but she kisses you again before you can get the words out.

Over the weeks, you go further than you stopped yourself from going at the party, but you continuously prevent the two of you from doing anything you would imagine being ‘all the way’. That way, you can save that for after you tell her what this is to you, even if you’re pretty sure that you’ve settled into an unfortunate friends-with benefits situation.

The situation has the upside that you see Roxy sober more. It’s not that she is sober more in total, but she tends to drink less when you’re around and more when you aren’t, largely because you’re much more awkward with doing… stuff… with her when she’s drunk, and she catches on to that fast.

You start dropping hints. You come out to your group of friends as bisexual - you hope that in so doing you’ll make her think that it’s reasonable to tell you how she feels, if she’s into you. You know that’s a silly thing to do, but you’re desperately afraid that if you tell her how you feel, she’ll stop what you have, and you…

You’re so scared.

At night, it’s sometimes hard to sleep, imagining the dates you’d take her on if she said yes to your confession. At the same time, you are ever more convinced that your attraction is one-sided: She is decisive where you indecisive - well spoken in the few times that you are not. You are sure that if she loved you, she would say.

One afternoon, her little sister walks in on you.

“I absolutely did not need to see that!” She says.

“Then you shoulda knocked, Rose.”

Rose slams the door and storms off.

You are mortified. Roxy looks at your blush, and frowns.

“Whoops, sorry.” She says.

“I... for what?”

“I know I am, well, this is kinda a dirty secret, and I guess that was probably mortifying, and I made it worse.”

You are more mortified to hear that. She thinks you think she’s a dirty secret?

“I’d never-” you begin

“But you did. It’s alright. I guess I don’t mind as much as I like what we do.”

“I… I didn’t mean to!” You say, “If that’s how it makes you feel, we should stop! I respect you deeply and I desperately don’t want to make you feel like a dirty secret of any kind! You are a central and important part of my life, and you’re my best friend!”

“Janey.” Roxy says, smiling gently, “You say you respect me. Do you?”

“Yes, of course!” You say.

“Then don’t stop this on my account. Let me make my own decisions. I’m a big girl.”

You agree, and after a little bit of just normal hanging out, you go back to making out.

You hug her super hard when she leaves that night. You hope that this will express how you really feel.

You also know that if you want to tell her, you have to use your words.

A week later, your maternal grandmother dies. Since your mother is dead, you are next in line to inherit everything she owned, and one of the things she owned was a massive baking company.

You don’t have to accept it, but it’s worth a huge amount of money, and even here in the New York suburbs, your father is struggling to keep the house. If you agree to take the company, you’ll have to move across the country, to South Carolina, to go to a private boarding school there to prepare for college, and then to a private college to prepare to inherit the company.

If you take it, your father will have one fewer mouth to feed, and you will have a substantial income of your own, even before you inherit the company, enough that your dad will definitely be able to keep the house. John will be able to avoid having to leave until he’s an adult, even if you will have to grow up a little faster. He’ll be able to go to a good college, he’ll have all the opportunities in the world.

You’ll have all the opportunities in the world. You’ll never have to worry about what you are going to do, never have to worry about not being able to protect the people you care about, because you’ll be able to give them all the things they need.

Your dad makes it clear that he will absolutely respect whatever decision you make, and that he doesn’t want to force you away from having a normal life. But for you, it’s not really a choice. You have to take it. You want to take it.

You wish you could stay as well, of course. You don’t want to leave Roxy behind. But she isn’t yours, and you aren’t hers. She clearly doesn’t love you, and you can’t make her love you. If all that’s true, then staying behind for her sake is even more unreasonable than it would be if you were in love, and you’re a sixteen year old. Turning down the best opportunity you’ll ever get because you love someone would be silly in the bets of cases. It’s just unreasonable to stay here for her.

You still want to. A part of you wants to believe she’ll say yes. For a while that evening, you consider calling her and asking her out, right now, and then making your decision based on that, but if she says no, and you leave, she’ll know why. Plus…

Plus, even if she says yes, you’re 16. Sure, you want to believe that every love you ever have will be the one , but you also know that realistically, a relationship you start at 16 won’t stick with you your whole life.

You don’t want to go. But every reasonable part of your brain says you have to.

The next day, you invite Roxy over to your house. You tell her you want to have a serious conversation with her. Her face is somewhere between hope and terror, and you have no idea how to interpret that.

“Can we take a walk?” You ask when she arrives, and she nods.

Once you get a few minutes away, you start with an apology. You’re not really sure how she feels about you - you’re pretty sure it’s not the same as you feel about her, but even so, you’re still about to break up with her.

“I’m sorry.” You say, “My grandmother died, and while I never knew her, I was first in line to inherit her company. I’m going to take the offer.”

You have to pause to breathe. You feel like the words are so much bigger than you, that all this is so much bigger than you and it’s like everything is falling apart and Roxy looks crushed by your words, but she nods.

You don’t want to say more. You can’t. But you have to! You have to explain, or she won’t understand why you’re doing this, “It’s wonderful for my family. You know what it’ll mean for John. And- And it’s a really good future for me, but it means I’m leaving for South Carolina. I’ll miss you, Roxy. I’ll miss you so much.”

Her voice breaks as she responds, “I… Yeah, ok, you don’t have to be sorry. Yeah, sure, I’ll miss you a lot, but we never established anything that means that I have any right to demand you stay, and even if we did, I’m not going to tell you not to take a great chance when you get one. Janey, I’m proud of you!”

She doesn’t look proud of you. She looks devastated.

For a moment, you’re sure that if you told her you loved her, she would reciprocate. Moreover, you have little to lose if she doesn’t - you’re leaving anyway, your… whatever is over, no matter what she says.

But that’s also the rub. No matter what she says, this is over. Her telling you she loves you now would only add insult to injury, it could not keep you here. You have to go. Your family needs it. Her telling you she doesn’t love you would hurt even if it didn’t end a relationship. This isn’t win win, it’s lose lose.

What you want to have done is told her months ago. To have told her that first night. Yes, it would have made this harder, but you feel like this is the end of childhood, and you desperately wish you’d had the chance to experience this relationship, or the closure to know that you didn’t miss anything.

But telling her now wouldn’t bring back what you missed out on.

“Rolal.” You almost-whisper, “I’m still sorry. It’s obvious this stings you, and I don’t want that. I don’t really have a choice, you know finances are tight. I want to stay so bad. I hate what this does to you.”

“Jane, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend that this was anything serious, lol.” She says ‘lol’, she doesn’t actually laugh, “I understand that this wasn’t like that for you. I’m OK with that, I didn’t expect it to be otherwise. I’m glad we got to do what we did.”

“I’m glad, too.” It’s true. You wish you could have done more, said everything you meant, dug in deep into what you wanted, but you can’t bring that back now. What you can do is more forward, and… and you’ll do your best.

The rest of the school year is weird. Roxy rubber bands between actively avoiding you and actively seeking you out, and you probably aren’t much less weird. The summer is entirely different - you both know you’re leaving come fall, and so you have a few months together, and neither of you wants to do anything else. Your arrangement, whatever it was, is over - that much is clear and mutual. If you are leaving, now is a better time to stop than later.

But, between the sleepovers, the getting coffee together, the spending every waking moment you can together, and the way that you are both comforting each other about your leaving, this feels more like you’re dating her than months of secretly making out with her ever did. There’s even a couple times when you go and watch a movie, and when she leans on you, it becomes like a date.

Whatever you were doing before was over. But that doesn’t mean your feelings are gone, and what you do those last few days really gives them roots, and lets them grow into something that much harder to kill than you expect.

The day you move, she helps you load up the boxes, and then she holds you for what must be minutes at a time before you get in the car.

“Love you, Janey”, she whispers in your ear. You don’t know how she means it, but it fills your chest with a futile hope. Maybe she feels like you do. Maybe. It just doesn’t matter either way. You’re about to be 500 miles away from her, and you will be very busy.

“Love you, too.” You say. It’s not really what you want to say, but what you want to say, that you love her like a girlfriend and not like a sister, like a lover, not just like a friend, isn’t a thing which saying will do any good.

So you get in the car: you’re driving yourself to the boarding school. You saw your dad off this morning, held him in your arms and cried, because he’s a wonderful man and you’re going to miss him. Your friends all have shitty or are missing parents (or, at least, ambiguous shitty, in the case of Dave and Dirk, since no one has told you what exactly Roxy hates about them), and that makes you value the man who raised you all the more. He’s not perfect, but he does his best, and that’s something.

You stop about midway through the drive - you’re only newly licensed and you haven’t driven this far before, and while most of the functions of the driving can be handled by the computer assist, you still have to do enough that you don’t want to be falling asleep at the wheel, and this drive would be hard on even an experienced driver.

You, however, have no shortage of money, so you stop in a hotel along the way. It’s not a super expensive one - you still have middle class sensibilities, even if you now have a more-than-middle-class income (and wildly more than mildly class net worth).

You text Roxy that night.

GG: Hello, Rolal.

GG: I’m safely at my hotel room.

GG: I already checked in with my father, since he’s likely more than a little nervous.

TG: hii jaeny!

TG: *hi *jany

TG: *janey

Ah, it’s one of those nights. Fine, fine. She’s drunk, that happens. She seems more drunk than you’re used to, but if you weren’t driving, you might be drunker than you usually get when you drink right now.

Although, for you, that would mean maybe two shots and beer. For her it means more like 5 shots, and two glasses of wine. Plus, you’re relatively convinced that she feels different from the way you do, so it’s still a little surprising.

GG: You’re wasted.

TG: shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh noboby knows

TG: *nobooby naield it

You can’t help but laugh softly at “nobooby”.

GG: Hoo hoo

GG: Anyway, I hope you’re well.

TG: nnot realy.

TG: *i giv uip

TG: u left and i miss you

TG: a lort

GG: I miss you, too

GG: Although I imagine it’s surely harder for you, since you haven’t been distracted driving all day

TG: and im not the one fuckin leving

TG: u shuldn’t act li,e ur the one being left behind here.

Is…

Is she mad at you for leaving?

GG: I thought you said you were proud of me.

GG: Are you angry at me? GG: For leaving?

TG: a little

TG: gbeing produ and mad arent’ mutuallty excklusive.

TG: im def proud of u jany

TG: but im kinda bitter too

TG: ur like muy best tfriend

TG: and ur eavling me

TG: *leaving

GG: It’s not about you, Roxy, it’s about me.

TG: wath a way to brteak up with a girl janey

TG: it’s not u it’s me

TG: clasisic

TG: ij a freinds way i mean

GG: I don’t know what you want me to say.

GG: I wish I could make all my decisions about you.

GG: But I can’t.

TG: butu coudl consider jyu feelings.

TG: u were minje

GG: I am my own person

TG: i nkow that

TG: but htat doesn’t eman you aren’t doin me werong.



You’re not really sure what’s going on, but she’s drunk off her ass, and you feel like she’s being kind of unfair here.

GG: Rolal.

GG: Text me when you’re sober again.

GG: I’ve just left behind everyone I loved and cared about, and all of my friends, to follow an opportunity.

GG: I hope you can support me in that.

GG: If you can’t, I’m not sure you were as good a friend as I thought you were.

GG: This really isn’t about you.

GG: And you shouldn’t make it about you.

GG: And you’re not the one who’s losing the most in all this.

GG: We can talk when you’re sober.

TG: wait

GG: Until then, leave me alone.

TG: wait!

GG: ttyl.

Your phone buzzes a couple more times, and you start properly crying for the third time today. You thought she was so good for you, but maybe she isn’t.

The next morning, you check your phone. The oldest messages are from last night, although a couple of the messages you already have are from this morning.

TG: wait

TG: im shory

TG: i didnt mean anuy of that

TG: i she urf beign a tightass

TG: well then fuck u

TG: alright upon waking up

TG: fuck

TG: i actually said all that

TG: alright

TG: i didn’t mean any of that

TG: well i guess i meant that i was bitter

TG: but i never meant for u to know that

TG: just got too drunk i guess

TG: and i definitely didn’t mean to berate you

TG: i know this is harder for you than for me

TG: and im sorry about what i said

TG: although to be totally honest i am laughing a little at ‘it’s not u it’s me’

TG: anyway pls get back to me when u read this

TG: sorry.

GG: I would say no worries, but I was actually really hurt.

GG: But I forgive you, I understand you’re having a hard time, too.

GG: Also, I know you were drunk, so I understand that you weren’t saying what you meant.

TG: i want to say i didn’t mean to hurt u

TG: but i dont remember that much TG: sorry

GG: I have to get on the road. No worries, alright, Rolal? We’re cool. :B

TG: aiight

TG: talk to u tonight?

GG: Of course!

You’re lying a little bit when you say it’s cool. You do forgive her, but you’re quite hurt. She’s never acted like that before - normally, when she gets more drunk than usual, she just becomes a little bit clingy. You suppose that this is clinginess too, but it’s…It’s possessive, and while you’re very OK with being clung to, you are not OK with this possessive bullshit. Still, she seems legitimately sorry, so you’ll let it go this time.

It’s a long day on the road, but you make it to the school in one piece. You text Roxy that night, and it’s a much more pleasant conversation. She’s still drunk, but that’s nothing new - she’s been drunk every night you texted her for quite some time. The next weeks are exhausting - you meet a bunch of new people, but you feel out of place. You might be the most elite of the people here, on some level, but you were raised by a man who was by no means old money, and so you don’t have the kind of pedigree or behavior that the people here have.

You get a feeling a lot than when people are being kind to you, they’re sucking up. You can tell that people are making fun of you behind your back - they clearly see you as uncultured. On the other hand, some of them are smart enough that they understand you to be a powerful connection.

Every night during those first couple weeks, you text Roxy. The situation here is such that you feel isolated, and lonely. You don’t trust the people here. As a result, you don’t start drifting apart from Roxy, like you expected. You just drift closer, fall deeper into your crush.

After a couple weeks, you make an active effort to text Roxy less. You never manage to get below texting her one night in three - a crush is a powerful magnet, as is loneliness. You try for half a year to sever yourself from her, and it seems like she’s trying to do the same. You’re not quite sure why, and it hurts you a little, but on some level it’s convenient. You almost make a decent team.

The problem with your attempt to find the space to merely consider her a friend is that toward the end of those six months, the strategies you’re trying to use wind up backfiring. By avoiding each others messages for a while after they’re sent, you sometimes wind up responding in the middle of the day, and sometimes she responds then. This leads to running conversations throughout the day, which are maybe even more intimate than the midnight chats they replaced. Since you fail to get anywhere in killing your crush on her, you also find that you just get worse at avoiding her.

By the very end of the time that you are actively trying to avoid her, you are texting her more than you were when you started. At that point, you give up. You will either stop crushing on her eventually, or you will not, but this is not working. It’s only hurting you. You think you must have missed when she gave up on avoiding you.

The years wear on, and you don’t fall out of love. You do, however, pass your classes, and wind up closer to Dirk and Jake, as well Roxy. You form a tight-knit social group. Jake has moved up to the New York area, his family moving for a moderately better job, and a chance to get away from worsening climate change. Dirk is planning on “getting the fuck out of here” and to the same place. You will be the only one of your friends still stuck far away, and you hate that.

At 18, you graduate with honors, and with two years of college credit under your belt. You manage to make it up to New York to see Roxy graduate. She does not graduate with honors: She’s never been a very good student, even if she is probably the smartest of your friends. It’s wonderful to see her, and the three days you’re in the area, you spend with her. You have to leave after that, though - now that you’ve graduated highschool, you have a role to take at the company.

Roxy goes to a local community college - her grades are nowhere near good enough to get into a four year school. You go on to the elite college required of you by your contract. You take up your responsibilities at the company, and start to worry about her drinking as it gets more intense.

One night, after a rough day at school, you text her, looking for sympathy. You find her more fucked up than she’s ever been, but it’s not heavy typos. Rather, she types short, clipped messages, that don’t make full sense and take her forever to send. She eventually gets across that she’s doing acid with a friend, and you just stop texting her for the night.

The next morning, you have the following conversation

GG: Hey, Rolal.

GG: What in tarnation was up with you last night?

GG: Were you telling me the truth that you were doing hard drugs?

TG: >hard drugs

TG: that’s adoragble janey

TG: *adorable

TG: not even drunk just a normal po

TG: its perfectly safe

GG: It is a crime!

TG: i drink every night lol

TG: minor in possession?

TG: also a crime

TG: hey u know the night we kissed the first time

TG: and u were drunk

GG: I wasn’t drunk, I had half a beer!

TG: u committed mip that night too

TG: ur a criminal janey

GG: That is a completely different thing!

GG: Everyone drinks when they’re 16!

GG: Not everybody does hard drugs!

TG: one ur being a tightass

TG: two not everyone drinks when they’re sixteen

TG: three acid is only kinda a ‘hard drug’

TG: four its less worrisome than drinking because alcohol is an addictive substance

TG: five i was with a friend ill be fine

GG: Who was your “friend”?

GG: Dirk moved up two days ago, I doubt he’s tripping balls.

GG: Jake isn’t in town yet and unless someone convinced him that it was an ‘adventure’ he’s not really the type to use drugs anyway.

TG: none of ur business janey

TG: i want to get off jane’s judgement ride

GG: I’m just worried about you is all.

TG: ur just being a tightass chump is all.

TG: and it was a boy i met at a party a couple weeks ago

TG: he’s p hot

TG: not really my type romantically

TG: but he’s good in bed

You know instantly that what claws at your stomach and your throat isn’t worry but envy, but you’re still tempted to fret about her being thoughtless over the phone. You would have little room to talk- you literally had a friends with benefits relationship with her for months , but you want some way of expressing your jealousy, expressing the fact that she is hurting you with her decisions.

But they are her decisions, not yours. You don’t get to pretend that she’s yours. She’s not. You never asked her out. You never talked about exclusivity even when you had a relationship that wasn’t just a friendship, and now all you are is friends. You don’t even want exclusivity, you don’t care who else she’s fucking! You just want her, and someone else having her and you not having her is somehow worse than not having her in the first place.

GG: And you trust him?

TG: enough

TG: he’s kinda an asshole

TG: but he’s been super respectful about my boundaries and stuff

TG: so i don’t trust him to be a good person

TG: bc he’s not a good person

TG: but i do trust him not to be a bad person

GG: Well, I think he’s a bad influence, but I am your best friend, not your mother.

TG: im the one who bought the acid janey

TG: oh man i gotta stop typing things like that on unsecure channels

GG: Probably a better idea to stop doing acid altogether, but yes.

TG: w/e don’t be a tightass jane

GG: Don’t be a dumbass, Roxy.

You don’t talk for a couple days.

Eventually, you apologize. You say you were too judgemental, which is true. You say you’re still worried, which is true. You admit that you’re somewhat worried about her drinking. She tells you to lay off, and you tell her that you’re being honest, not trying to control her behavior. You tell her that she gets to make her own choices, and you understand that, which is true, if hard.

She tells you that you hurt her. She tells you that she forgives you. She tells you that she doesn’t want to talk about her drinking, and that she doesn’t think it’s a problem. She tells you that it feels like you’re judging her for not acting “normal.” She tells you that she thinks that’s really fucked up, and she reminds you that your friendship is built on mutual support not in the contexts where it was socially easy, but in standing up to the fucked up things the rest of the world thought.

You don’t bother her about her drinking for quite some time.

Things continue like that for a couple years. She drifts in and out of unsavory crowds. She uses some substances that you find unnerving, but she never picks up a habit of anything that isn’t alcohol. You don’t drink at all, you keep near perfect grades, you slowly pick up responsibility, although the advisory board that your grandmother left you keeps shrinking your powers because it’s not sure you’re ready to handle them.

It’s understandable at first: The original will provides far more power than a newly hired sixteen year old should ever have, and they can make some degree of amendment with you permission. As you get older, you realize that sometimes you’ve signed away more than you’ve meant to - expanding the amendment powers that the people who are supposed to advise you is a stupid mistake, but it should be fine. You’re pretty sure they’re on your side. You don’t even consider that signing away the explicit power to unilaterally supervise parts of the company might present a problem, because these folks seem to have your best interests at heart, and there’s no question that you’re still learning.

Roxy fails some classes, but makes some progress towards an associate’s degree. She’s a fantastic scientist, and continuously passes her science classes. Moreover, she makes a point of doing research on her own outside of class. She still somehow knows more than you, even though you go to an elite university and maintain a 4.0 and she barely manages a 1.7 at a community college. You have enough credits to graduate and only don’t because you’re not allowed to take over the company until you turn 22 anyway.

A little bit more than half a year after your twentieth birthday, she sends you a link to a website of conspiracy theories about the company you are to inherit.

TG: i know none of this is ur fault

TG: and that u don’t have a lot of power

TG: but this shit is really fucked up

GG: It would be.

GG: If it were true.

GG: Look at your source!

GG: It’s some left-wing rag!

GG: Obviously it’s anti corporate.

GG: It calls my maternal grandmother the fucking Batterwitch Rolal!

GG: You can’t take this seriously.



She sends you another seven links. None of them are terribly convincing, although a few are what you would call normal corporate misbehavior, and those are decently sourced.

GG: Rox.

GG: Check your freaking sources.

TG: i got cnn in there

GG: THE THIRD LINK CALLS ME THE BATTERWITCH JR ROXY

GG: HAVE YOU MADE OUT WITH “THE BATTERWITCH JR” RECENTLY?

GG: HAVE YOU PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE SHIRT OF “THE BATTERWITCH JR?”

TG: look i know it’s not ur fault

TG: but the things crockercorp has done are

TG: they’re p horrifying janey

TG: i also don’t really appreciate that the only time we talk about our past is when one of us is angry

TG: its kinda weird

TG: it’d probably be better if we either talked about it openly or didn’t talk about it at all

GG: I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU’RE FALLEN FOR THIS BULLSHIT PROPAGANDA.

GG: BUT IT’S BULLSHIT AND IT’S PROPAGANDA.

GG: AND I’M FRANKLY REALLY FUCKING MAD RIGHT NOW.

GG: SO TALK TO YOU LATER, FUCKASS.

The next time Roxy texts you is almost an entire month later.

TG: davey came up to NY today

TG: wouldn’t tell me exactly what happened

TG: only that he and bro had a huge fight

TG: i know we’re not on super good terms right now

TG: but i thought u might want to know

TG: and im sick of fighting

GG: I’m glad to hear that Dave is safely in New York.

GG: Sorry to hear he fought with Bro.

GG: I’m also sick of fighting

GG: I take it I don’t get an apology this time?

TG: correct

TG: i don’t think im wrong

TG: i think ur kinda not doing ur due diligence if im being honest

TG: and im sure u think im being overcredulous or some bullshit

TG: but i think maybe we can work past that?

GG: Maybe.

You say maybe, but it’s really a foregone conclusion. You do ultimately work past it. You’re kind of frustrated that you can’t not let her back in after she hurts you, but you really are helpless, and this isn’t even a crush anymore. It’s love. You love Roxy Lalonde.

On August 26th, you receive another message from Roxy. It’s a link to the New York Times. They’re reporting on a genocide, and your claiming that your company had, days previously, provided significant resources to the group responsible. According to the story, one of your subsidiaries in a developing nation tried to unionize, and one of your national employees put money into a local extremist group to punish them. Said extremist group was wildly more successful than your subsidiary imagined, and used that money to buy enough arms to take over a region that was largely populated by people of an ethnic group they didn’t like. There were a few weeks of relatively unorganized mass slaughter before the government regained control of the affected region.

She follows it up with:

TG: here's a times article about your company arming an extremist group to wipe out a town after an attack on a factory and that extremist group killing 40000 people in a regional minority enthic group. r u going to claim they're conspiracy theorists too

GG: Is it this again?

GG: We’re not talking about this.

TG: that’s a reliable source janey.

GG: Sure, but they’re definitely putting a heavy spin on this one.

GG: “Union Activists”. They did massive damage to our factory!

GG: They fucking tried to burn the place down, Roxy!

TG: holy shit r u defending this

TG: i am not sure we can be friends if ur defending this

GG: No, this wasn’t the ideal solution

GG: But acting like the people that we were fighting were some innocent group and not TERRORISTS is a little disingenuous.

TG: i think sabatoging the production lines of people who pay literally genocidal terrorists is probably justified janey

GG: The people targeted were terrorists, Roxy.

TG: alright yeah that’s quite enough

TG: ttyl fuck u

tipsyGnostalgic has ceased pestering gutsyGumshoe

GG: What the heck, Roxy.

You are Karkat Vantas, and today, Monday September 1, is a beautiful warm day. You are not outside. You are stuck in a small English 101 classroom, because your classes start ungodly early in the year. Moreover, you’ve gone over the syllabus, and your readings are kind of shit. You swear, the topic of “food” couldn’t be more boring (you like food, but it is hardly the most important thing to be reading about). Moreover, you’ve got two readings about people who aren’t heterosexual white people, but the professor has managed to cast those as “special readings” somehow in the syllabus. It’s stupid, preachy, and yet shockingly not diverse.

One of your classmates mutters ‘hot’ under his breath when you all get to the section about the the lesbian woman (relatively quietly, but you hear him because he’s behind you). A girl, you think she introduced herself as Rose, responds in a similarly quiet voice.

“That’s hilarious .” She says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I thought it was pretty funny.” The douchebag says. He thinks she’ll rise to the bait. He’s probably right, although he probably doesn’t realize that he’s the one who’s being judged.

“Yeah, it’s really funny that you think that girls exist only for you to get off to.” She says, “Dehumanizing people? Real fun.”

He rolls his eyes, obviously unconvinced.

You fail to hold back a quiet snicker. A different young man turns on you - you didn’t catch his name - because laughing at the girl in a fight with a homophobe was maybe not your best call. “Are you laughing at my sister?” He said, loud enough that the other two will be able to hear.

“No, it’s…” You say, putting your head in your hand, quiet enough that neither of the two having the original fight can hear you. The girl, at least, has the good sense to have thought through her words and your appearance and look appropriately mortified. Getting involved in her fight would just make things worse for her, and you sympathize deeply, “It’s just, dehumanizing.”

“Well, yeah, it’s fucked up.” He says, “People being treated like objects makes them not get treated as people.”

“Later.” You say, “I don’t want to make this about me.”

You hate it when Kankri makes things that are absolutely not about him into things that are completely about him, and much as you want to give Rose’s brother what for, you aren’t going to do that on the first day of class.

Rose’s brother turns to her, and she shrugs, as if to say yeah, let him explain it later.

She mouths Sorry to you after her brother turns back to his work.

You shrug. Whatever you mouth back. It was just kind of funny in context, that’s all.

The class returns to being incredibly boring - you know a thing or two about literature already, and the craft of writing is hardly unfamiliar to you, plus, you get through nothing but the syllabus until you get 50 minutes in.

There’s a 10 minute break, and Rose’s brother walks up to you.

“Why was it funny?” He looks like might still be upset with you, although he lacks the appearance that he might become violent if you keep poking, something you’ve come to expect from angry human men, so you’re not fully sure.

“ Dehumanizing. Why was it funny?” You’re somewhat surprised that he hasn’t figured it out in the fifty minute first half of the class period. He looks puzzled.

“I… don’t see what you see, or what Rose sees.” He says.

“Alright, fuckwit.” You say, and wow apparently you’re shouting, “I’m gonna break this down for you. Why am I objecting to the world ‘dehumanizing’. I want you to take a look at me, and think about the word.” You’re pretty sure you hear an ‘oh’, but you continue, because once you’ve started a rant, there’s an inertia that makes it pretty hard to stop, “Dehumanizing, verb, present tense. Root word? Fucking HUMAN . As in, you know, homo sapien . As in, you know, not some of the people in that very classroom. It wasn’t a big deal because she was angry and had good reason to be, and fuck, I’m ranting, so no one can accuse me of being careful with my words when I’m angry, but holy shit, how can you be so dense to not realize why I might think the word choice was at least a little funny?”

The boy looks… actually, he looks kind of guilty, “Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to-”

You shrug. The anger passes easily, because you were frustrated about him being dumb , not because you actually felt excluded, “It’s nothing. Just don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“Yeah, of course, sorry.” He agrees.

He wanders off, muttering to himself about something . He doesn’t sound angry, just like he’s thinking, so you shrug it off as him being a weird kid. Nothing illegal about being a weird kid, at least not yet.

You suppose you’re not really a kid anymore, and he isn’t one, either. That’s a weird, big thought, one that you don’t want to deal with, so you choose not to. You certainly don’t feel like an adult, now, even though highschool is over and you’re in college. Well, kind of college - you’re spending these two years at a local community college because money has always been kind of tight, between your three parents and their six kids. Psi brought in a real income, but neither “former revolutionary” nor “former revolutionary's disciple” bring in a lot of money if “former revolutionary” becomes “intergalactic refugee.”

You have to walk back into the classroom, with your ten minutes up, and your absolute worst fear is realized. The word ICEBREAKERS! Is written on the board, and you pinch your cheek. It’s real. The icebreakers are real. When you get back to your desk, there’s a piece of paper on your desk.

It has four questions listed on it, “What’s your name?”, “What is your ideal vacation?”, “what animal would you be, and why?”, and “Two truths and a lie about you.” Well, the last one isn’t a question, just a prompt, but you figure it’s close enough for this count.

The teac- professor, you mentally correct, the professor comes back in and pairs you off with another classmate. You go through the icebreakers, which are still awkward, but less awkward than you expect, and then most of the time slip into pointless small talk. Eventually, you wind up paired up with Rose’s brother.

“What’s your name?” You’re tempted to make a joke about his sunglasses, but you decide not to. No need to be a dick, plus, he could have a real reason for needing them.

“Dave Strider.” He says, “Yours?”

“Karkat Vantas. These questions are dumb, do you just want to skip to the part where we make small talk?” You say.

“Nah, man, I want an excuse to tell you about why crows are great.” Dave laughs - you note, idly, that it’s a nice laugh, “Besides, it’s not like the small talk is more fun than the activity.”

“Fine. Ideal vacation?”

“My ideal vacation is a chance to go back to Houston. I haven’t been able to go back since I left, and I miss some friends down there.”

That’s a surprisingly good answer.

“It would be nice to see a less garbage country” You offer. It’s not a great answer, but it’s true enough.

“Where?” Dave asks. You shrug - you’re not entirely sure that not garbage countries exist, when you’re being honest.

“Anywhere, since all countries are garbage as far as I can tell.”

He laughs again, “That’s a cop out, but fine, favorite animal.”

“Tardigrade.”

“What?” Dave asks, “What the fuck is a tardigrade?”

“The microscopic water bears that can survive in space and at basically any temperature.” You explain, “They can survive any pressure on earth, and temperatures from fucking hot as shit to nearly as cold as anything can possibly be.”

“Wait, are those real? Are we allowed to choose fictional animals?”

“They’re real!” You say indignantly, and pull out your phone. You stare at the search bar for a few moments, and it opens the speech to text interface. The eye-tracking on this device is pretty mediocre, because it’s a few years old at this point, but you suppose it’s good enough. You can always use the touch screen if you need to. You’re actually considering turning off the eye tracking - it’s kind of convenient, but on the other hand, the information it gives in terms of personalizing ads is terrifying.

“Tardigrade.” You say. Up opens a Wikipedia page, and you hand him the phone.

“Holy fuck they’re real.” He says, quietly, “Wow, you blew mine out of the water. I was just going to tell you about crows.”

“Well, I still want to hear about crows.” You say.

“Dude, crows are so fucking cool, you don’t have any idea. Crows use tools - they fucking make tools in the right conditions. There are crows in Israel that have learned to fish using breadcrumbs, and there are crows in the Pacific that fucking take branches and break and bend them for their own use.They remember faces, people who have hurt them, and they communicate that. Moreover, they can communicate about things that aren’t currently there, which is actually super rare.”

“That’s really fucking cool.” You whisper.

“I know, right?” He says.

“The last one is two truths and a lie, right?” You ask.

He looks down at the sheet, “Yeah, looks like it. Do you want to start, or should I?”

“I’ll start.” You say, “Alright, 1) I am a space alien. 2) I have three parents. 3) I have two family members who could be called my aunts.”

You suppose “I have two aunts” would only be bait to someone who knew something about trolls in the first place. After all, having an aunt also implies having a grandparent, and almost no trolls on Alternia had parents. The implication, then was that you were among the “second generation” of trolls born on earth. (You don’t strictly have generations, but having adopted human familial structures meant you effectively did.) However, you were way too young for that. Anyone who knew that wouldn’t fall for the bait, of course, so it’s poor bait, you realize.

“Two aunts.” Dave says.

“Wait, what?” You say. Wow, you were wrong about how that one was going to turn out.

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious. You’re obviously a space alien, and I don’t know shit about how your families work, so three parents is obvious bait, so then ‘two aunts’, which sounds perfectly reasonable, must be false.”

“Ok, but you are incorrect.” You smirk.

“Two parents?” He asks.

“No, dumbass. I was hatched here. I’m not from space, nor am I an alien.”

Dave facepalms, “Yeah, you’re right. That was good. You got me.”

“It’s actually kind of speciesist to say that I’m a space alien, you know.” You smirk. It’s true, but you also literally invited it, even played on knowing what his assumption would be to play a game, so you’re not actually offended. Still, making humans squirm about being speciesist is always pretty fun when you think they’ll take it relatively well.

“Yeah, sorry. I’m kind of an asshole sometimes.” Dave admits, and you feel kind of guilty, because he kind of was an asshole, but he looks like you’ve tripped an existing insecurity more than made fun of him for a shitty assumption about you.

“It’s fine. I baited you into making a garbage assumption on purpose.” You shrug, “I said it because I knew you were thinking it, and now you know that it’s not cool, so you learned something.”

He shrugs, “Doesn’t make it OK.”

“Remember how I said ‘Don’t make a big deal about it’ earlier?”

He nods.

“Yeah, don’t fucking do it. It’s not fun to be constantly on the defensive, it feels like fucking garbage and it makes me want to rip my gander bulbs out.”

“Yeah, OK, sorry.”

“I think it’s your turn.” You point out.

“Oh, yeah!” He laughs. Then, he pauses for a moment, and says, “Well, I suppose my normal one wouldn’t work, so 1) I have 600 subscribers on YouTube 2)I grew up with Rose and 3) I know all the lyrics to My Beautiful Twisted Fantasy by Kanye West.”

“I…. alright, I’m tempted to go with the claim about My Beautiful Twisted Fantasy , because that’s old as shit, but I’m going with the thing about Rose, because you’ve made the mistake of placing two completely bullshit things around one that sounds unbullshit.”

“Damn.” He says, “Yeah, you got me. Rose and I grew up in different families - I grew up with… ‘Bro’ in Houston - he’s not actually my Bro, he’s my father, but whatever, and she grew up with Mom in Rainbow Falls.”

“Then why are you here?” You ask. He flinches.

“I do not want to talk about that.” He says.

You nod. You’ve got your fair share of things you don’t want to talk about - if he asked you about your blood, you’d certainly refuse to answer. He looks genuinely surprised by your response, as if he was expecting you to press. The professor says to shuffle to the next person. You do.

It’s another stream of pointless bullshit, until you eventually get Rose. She is pretty psyched about your favorite animal, since she’d heard of them but didn’t know that much about them, and you learn that her favorite animal is the octopus. (“They’re wonderfully strange - it’s as if they came from another planet, but of course they didn’t.” is part of her explanation.)

Eventually, you wind up with Kanaya, which, since you’re close friends and she’s kind of your aunt, makes the icebreaker particularly pointless.

“I noticed you got in a fight earlier. Is it alright if I inquire why ?” She asks. She sounds amused by that.

“It wasn’t a fight!” You protest.

“You seemed quite upset. Are you sure it was not a fight?”

“I mean, I kinda flipped my shit, but that’s not the same thing as a fight.” Now you’re just being defensive, because you really don’t want to have been in a fight on your first day of college.

“I suppose it does take two people to have a fight.” She agrees, “I take it he was not interested in fighting.”

“Because I was right!” You say, and wow, you’re really close to flipping your shit about having flipped your shit, and moreover, about to flip your shit at the person on whose behalf you were basically flipping your shit (after all, the lesbian non-human in the room was not you) the first time. This is a stupid, stupid cycle.

You thought she looked amused before, but now you’re sure she’s getting a kick out of this, “If you say so. I’d still like to know what happened , though.”

“One of the girls in the back got in a fight with some homophobic douchebag, she used the word ‘dehumanizing’. I laughed but didn’t say anything because on one hand the word itself kind of assumes that we don’t matter but also I didn’t say anything because the fucking pettiest thing on earth and also the douchebag needed taking to task. Her brother apparently overheard me laughing, got pissy about it, I told him I didn’t want to talk about it then, because then the class douchebag would have something to seize on, and so he asked me during break. I think he saw Rose mouth an apology when she caught on what was happening, because apparently she at least knew what had happened, anyway, he asked me during break and was dense about it, and I got upset. He caught on, and that was pretty much that.”

You are not making her think this is any less funny by telling her more.

Eventually, the icebreaker exercise ends, and you finally get to leave. You still have a math class after this, a precalculus class that you have every day. Luckily, it being daily also makes it blessedly short - only fifty minutes. That means you only have to go over the syllabus. You notice that you share this class with Dave, as well, which, given how many precalc and English 101 options you had, must be one hell of a coincidence.

Either way, he sits down next to you, presumably because you are a familiar face now, in a classroom full of people he’s never met before. That’s all fine and well - you’re certainly grateful to have made an acquaintance, if not yet a friend, on your first day. What’s less fine and well is the fact that he quietly talks to himself during class. Well, he mutters, at least. He doesn’t seem to be saying anything interesting, or really all that distracting, except him muttering is just generally distracting.

It’s really frustrating.

“Can you not?” You whisper.

“Huh?” Dave asks. He’s clearly not aware of it.

"You’re muttering.”

“Oh.” He says, but he honestly looks a little frustrated that you asked him not to. A defensive part of you thinks it’s fucking bullshit that he’s entitled to distract you, and you almost let the defensive part of you glare at him, but if he’s not aware that he’s doing it, then you suppose he probably has every right to be upset, since he literally couldn’t not.

“If it’s not too much of a hassle.” You say. You still sound defensive.

“I’d like to pay attention to class, so it is kind of a hassle, and I can’t pay attention to that and the muttering, so.” He mutters.

“Fine.” You reply. You’re faintly aware that you’re kind of being a jerk, but you get like that when you’re angry.

Either way, he storms off after class and you feel even more like a jerk than you did before. You can almost hear Kankri yelling at you. Most of the time, you want to tell the Kankri voice in your head to fuck off, because mostly, he’s a self-important prick, but you’re relatively certain he wouldn’t have pissed off his maybe-could-have-been friend in the way you just did.

“Karkat?” You’re on the bus back home with Kanaya, who lives pretty close to you. You’ve been uncharacteristically glum, and it’s pretty obvious she can tell, “Are you feeling alright?”

And… you’re shouting. You hate how predictable you are, “I hate Dave Strider, and I hate myself more for hating Dave Strider, because the reason I hate Dave is because I’m a fucking waste pile and fucking pointed out ‘Oh, hey, you’re muttering’, and apparently he didn’t know he was doing it and couldn’t stop, but I was a self-righteous trash can and decided that being defensive about it afterwards was a good idea, and he fucking stormed off and didn’t talk to me, so I’m pretty sure any friendship I was developing with him is gone, and I’m pretty sure he hates me, which is fine because hating me is probably the reasonable response to me.”

Kanaya frowns, “It does sound like you made a fairly meaningful mistake, but I do think you are being overly hard on yourself; you did not know that he could not stop, and if you were distracted, asking him to stop was quite reasonable if you did not know that he could not stop. You should not have been defensive about it, but I’m quite sure if you apologize to him the next time that you see him, he will probably forgive you.”

“But he doesn’t even know me! That’s possibly the worst first impression you can possibly make!”

Kanaya sighs, “It is hard to imagine a much worse first impression, yes.”

You get home in the early afternoon. You have some review to do for math, which is almost a welcome relief from thinking about the fact that you are a total jerk. Still, there’s not really much review to do, and once you’re done with it, you’re back to where you were. Sollux still isn’t home yet - it was his first day of class, too, you have no desire to talk to Kankri (you’re pretty sure he’d find some reason to be a self-righteous prick, and you’re relatively certain you’d flip your shit), and you’re really not sure you could put up with Nepeta's antics.

You consider trying to find Dave on Facebook and send him an apology, but that’s 1) kinda creepy, 2) not particularly likely to work and 3) you tend toward stewing on hating yourself than actually acting on the things that upset you.