Chapter Text
The first time you ever realised there was something wrong with you, you were two sweeps old.
You still remember it like it was just yesterday. You were at the playground in your then-community, which you had long since moved from. You’d been playing ‘tag’ with some of the other young trolls, but had tripped and scraped your knees.
One of the other troll’s custodial guardians had noticed what had happened, and wandered over to make sure you were alright. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on her face when she picked you up and saw the mutant-red seeping through the knees of your pants.
Things spiralled downhill quickly after that. You’d never quite understood what was happening when you were young, but you’d known that you’d become an outcast. Other trolls around you started to avoid you. Sometimes they’d throw things at you – food, stones, anything that might hurt you. Other times, they’d call you names – mistake, mutant, freak.
You preferred when they tried to hurt you. At least then you could fight back.
You tried to keep it a secret, but of course your guardian, Kankri, managed to find out anyway. You suppose that shouldn’t have surprised you as much as it did; you were always coming home a mess after a day of bullshit. Either way, you moved after that, and you were more careful to make sure no one knew, and things weren’t too bad.
And then you met him.
Your name is Dave Strider, and you’re late to work. Again.
By the time you rush out of your apartment, it’s five to ten, meaning you have five minutes to get there. This is keeping in mind that it’s a ten minute drive, you don’t have a car, and you’re not finished getting dressed yet.
You’re fucked.
You kick your skateboard down the stairs, ignoring the yelp of surprise from someone further down. It didn’t sound like it’d hit them, so you’re sure they’re fine. Probably.
You pull your shirt on over your head as you run after it; well, as well as you can run, with your backpack between your legs.
Goddamn, you’re a hot mess.
You’ve just gotten your shirt over your head and onto your torso where it belongs when you bump into something. Or rather, someone. Specifically, the someone who had narrowly avoided your skateboard earlier.
Your hand shoots out before you even think, and you grab their wrist as the stumble back, stopping them from falling down the stairs. At the same time, you give a hard nod, jostling your shades down from their resting place on top of your head, and into place on your face, effectively concealing your eyes.
Just the way you like it.
Now that that’s out of the way, you direct your gaze to the person you’d just bumped into, your hand still firm on their wrist.
Looking at them, you’re somewhat surprised to see that it’s a troll. You know that quite a few of them live in this building, but most of them are alert and agile enough to avoid bumping into you like this. What’s more, you’re fairly certain you know all the trolls in this building, but you’ve never seen this guy before in your life.
You’re pretty sure it’s a guy, at least. He’s got a mess of thick black hair on his head, and when he stares at you with wide open eyes, you can see that they’re still dark grey, only the slightest flecks of colour in them. It looks like red, but you’re probably mistaken – you’ve met quite a few trolls with burgundy eyes before, but never the straight up bright red that his seem to be. Either way, it looks like his eyes are only just starting to change; he’s still fairly young, then, or a late bloomer.
Just by looking at him, he appears to be only a few years younger than you, maybe nineteen or twenty. He’s pretty scrawny, from what you can tell by holding his wrist; his arms and torso are swallowed completely by a huge sweater, and what you can see of his legs are hidden by baggy jeans. When you glance to the skateboard you noticed in his hands, you can see that his claws are painted with a chipped black polish. You’re temporarily confused by his apparent lack of horns, but then you spot them; two nubby little things almost completely hidden by his fluffy hair.
His wide eyes focus on you, and they narrow, his lips curling back to bare his crooked, dull looking fangs at you.
He is absolutely fucking adorable.
He jerks his arm away from you, the motion nearly sending him tumbling down the stairs once more. You grab his shoulders, but make sure to let go once he’s balanced to stop him from stumbling again. He doesn’t seem to particularly appreciate it.
You think he appreciates what you say next even less. “Hey babe, couldn’t help but notice you checking out my ride.”
He seems confused for a moment, then remembers the skateboard in his hands. He sneers and pushes the board into your chest; you have to hurry to grab it before it falls when he releases it.
“Your stupid fucking wheeled board nearly took my fucking leg off! How could you be so fucking irresponsible to just let it fly off down the stairs like that? You’re lucky I don’t break it over your fucking head.”
Wow, he’s loud. His voice is kinda grating too; a little high, kind of breaks every few words. It suits him, though. You think you could get used to it.
You shrug at his seemingly empty threat. “Yeah, sorry ‘bout that, dude. Didn’t think anyone’d be on the stairs all the way up here at ten o'clock at night.” You put your skateboard down and kick it, sending it rolling back down the stairs and earning you a growl from the troll boy in front of you.
You pick up your backpack from where you’d dropped it, noticing for the first time a suitcase lying on the ground behind the troll. “You just moving in?” You unzip your bag and grab your jacket from it as you speak, shrugging it on.
The troll seems to suddenly remember what he’d been doing and turns to snatch up his suitcase, muttering angrily before turning to snap at you. “What the fuck does it look like, you whimsical bulgescratching poopflinging fuckbagging shitspewing sparklefuck razzmatazz of go fuck yourself in the ass?!”
You blink, speechless. Finally, the barest trace of a smile graces your face. “Angry little fucker, aren’t you.”
He glowers at you. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
“Oh, shit.”
You push past him, earning an indignant “Hey!” You pause briefly, turning slightly to lower your shades and wink at him, then they’re on your face again, and you’re out the door.
It’s easy to hop onto your skateboard and navigate the streets to the club you dj at. You’re definitely late now; you were supposed to be there ten minutes ago. Shit, your boss is going to be pissed. You should probably start making an effort to wake up before nine thirty.
Your mind quickly wanders to other things as you manoeuvre through the streets, easily weaving through crowds and swerving around corners. You’ve travelled this route a million times already or something, probably.
You find yourself thinking about that troll boy you’d bumped into. You should try to get his number. Oh fuck, you didn’t even know his name. Well, if he really was moving into your apartment building, you’d have plenty of time to remedy that.
Probably.
You power slide to a stop outside of Heat and Clockwork, the club you’ve been working at for the last four years, ever since you’d dropped out of college when you were nineteen. Cringing at the memory of those awkward years, you grab your skateboard and cram it into your bag, though of course it didn’t entirely fit.
You sling your bag over your shoulder and push your way into the club. The name definitely suits it. There are warm lights flashing red, yellow, orange. There are clocks inked onto the wall with red spraypaint. Supposedly, the dancefloor used to be a screen that would display a gear any time someone stepped on it, but years of heavy feet and alcohol spills had destroyed it, so now the cracked screen only shot out random bursts of bright lights.
You elbow your way a writhing crowd of glitter-covered girls and half-dressed boys, all sweating from the proximity of so many other bodies, grabbing and grinding to the beat of the music which pulses through the room. One girl manages to catch your eye and wink at you. You smirk and blow a kiss in her direction in response. You can’t hear her laugh over the noise.
Finally, you make it to the front of the club. Hopping into the dj’s booth, you flash an apologetic smile to the girl who’d been covering for you – this troll named Aradia with these wicked curly ram horns. She purses her lips at you, but can’t seem to maintain a straight face, laughing and shaking her head.
“You’re lucky Her Imperial Condescension isn’t here yet. What is this, the seventh time you’ve been late this month? Dave, it’s only the eighteenth.”
You make a face, waving her aside and stepping into the dj booth. “And that’s better than I did last month. I’m making progress, let me live.” The ‘Condescension’ thing is an inside joke for the people who work here. Your boss’ name is Candace, but she insists that everyone call her Candy. You do, to her face, but behind her back, you all refer to her as Her Imperial Condescension – a reference to her ‘I’m better than you’ attitude.
“What about Meenah, she around?”
“I saw her come in earlier, yeah. She’s out on the dancefloor somewhere, I think.”
You scan the floor as you plug in your headphones. Sure enough, Meenah’s out on the floor, tearing it up. Despite having all the curve of a perfect square, she carries herself like Nicki Minaj or something. Like mother like daughter, you suppose.
You slowly change the song playing, nodding along with the beat of the music. You can see the crowd before you shift their movements to match the time of the new song. Aradia sighs, wishes you good luck on your shift, and wonders off. It’s just you, them, and the music.
The girl who’d winked at you earlier catches your eye from halfway across the room. She’s moved off the dancefloor to get a drink now, but she’s still watching you. You’re pretty sure you know what that means.
Hours later, you’re stumbling back into your room, and you’re not alone. The girl from the club’s with you. You’re pretty sure her name’s Anabelle or Mary-Lou or some other sickly-sweet southern name like that.
You’re both laughing against each other’s mouths as you hold her hips and help her back up to your bed, the two of you toppling onto it. You only move your lips off of hers to trail sloppy kisses down her neck. You’re not drunk – you don’t screw drunk, ever – but you’ll admit you’re a bit less sober than usual.
Maybe-Annabelle moans beneath you as you suck a row of hickies onto her neck. You shift so that the two of you are on the bed properly, then move to straddle her hips. She moans again in appreciation, her fingers slipping under your shirt and splaying against your skin. When you grind down against her, she gasps and arches her back. Moments later, she’s tugging off your shirt. You’re grinning down at her when you return the favour and strip her out of the thin shirt she’d been wearing. She grabs your hair, tugging you back down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one to trail hot lips along your neck, nipping and sucking as she goes. You groan, hands moving down to push her tight skirt up, and –
And you freeze. Someone’s banging on your door. Maybe-Mary-Lou whines, tugging lightly at your hair and trying to regain your attention. You barely have time to roll your hips against hers once more, however, before the banging starts up again, louder.
You groan loudly, rolling out of bed, and huffing when the girl’s hand slides off of your body. So much for that. You’ll have to wrap this up quickly so you can back to her.
You move to the door and pull it open. Standing on the other side is a small, grey-eyed, familiar troll.
His face is already slightly pink, but it goes red when he sees the girl in your bed, then to you, shirt off, and puts the pieces together. You smirk. Somehow, you’re not exactly surprised to see him. “Hey there babe. ‘Fraid I’m a bit busy at the moment. If you want to wait for a bit, I’ll come out and talk to you after?”
He glowers at you, clearly somewhere between annoyed and flustered. He’s way too easy to read for someone you barely know. “No need. I’ll make this fast. I just moved in next door, and I’m trying to unpack, and it’s help if I could hear myself think over all the moaning and groaning coming from over here.”
Shit. You’d almost forgotten about how thin the walls here were. But the room to your left is occupied to an old guy who turns off his hearing aid whenever he’s home. And the room on your right’s been empty since before you moved…
Oh.
You’re tempted to laugh. You almost do. So this guy’s your new neighbour? As in, next door neighbour?
Well.
Goddamn.
You offer your hand instead, a sly grin on your face. “The name’s Dave Strider. Nice to meet you, neighbour.”
The troll studies your hand almost suspiciously, then reluctantly shakes it. His grip is pretty weak, but his hand is more calloused than you’d expected, and you’re quite aware of the feeling of his painted claws pressing into your skin.
“…Karkat Vantas. Keep it down, will you?” Without waiting for a response, he withdraws and ducks down the hall, towards his own room.
You close the door and return to bed, struggling to get your face under control. You hadn’t even realized you’d still been smiling. Annabelle-Lou drapes herself over your shoulders, but you roll them back and dislodge her. Somehow, you think you’ve lost interest.