Chapter Text
"Can you tell me what this is, Karkat?"
In her hand, Aranea Serket, speech therapist, holds her white ceramic coffee mug. The edge of it is stained pink from where her lipsticked lips have pressed against it to take a sip of the black, caffeinated beverage. Karkat stares at the object, moving the word around on his tongue before saying it aloud.
"Cup."
Aranea nods, head bending down so she can write some notes on her clipboard. "Perfect," she responds, meeting Karkat's eyes again. "And this?" She shows him her writing utensil, rolling it between her two fingers.
"A pencil," Karkat answers, writing the word on his notepad in front of him to help him think. Again, Aranea jots down some notes, a smile pulling at the corners of her lips.
"And that?" She doesn't look up from her clipboard, still jotting down notes, as she points to the computer on her desk.
She hasn't been Karkat's therapist long. A few weeks at the most. However, Aranea is his third in six months. With the bit of knowledge she knows of his disability, she can deduce what happened. He woke up on a day of the appointment and forgot all about it and his therapist. Later, Karkat may have tried to call him or her, reschedule since surely they'd understand, but couldn't remember their name or number and by that time had given up anyway. To herself, Aranea wonders if Karkat has any hope for himself.
Karkat Vantas is rendered speechless. The word is in his head, can see it clearly, and he opens his mouth to try to vocalize it. He coughs, shuts his mouth, and concentrates. He knows this. He uses one everyday for college writing assignments and to put in job applications. Again he opens his mouth and tries to tell Aranea what the appliance is and again he cannot say it. The patient feels his frustration growing and he gives up, looking down at his scuffed up Vans.
"I," he says, hands fisting in the material of his pants, "I can't."
Once more, his therapist nods her head and writes a couple words on her clipboard. "Alright." Her voice is crisp, business like. "Let's move on to writing and reading."
---
Karkat has been living with Anomia and Broca's Aphasia for one year, eleven months, and six days. Not that he's counting. He's learned the reason why. Slight brain damage due to a seizure caused by a high temperature. Karkat remembers little of that week he was sick, his rising fever and aching body. He knows he slept most of the time. He knows he woke up in a hospital hooked up to wires. And he definitely knows that he had a hard time speaking since.
Speech aphasia are relatively interesting. Or, Karkat would think that, had he not became the victim of two. They are caused by damage to significant areas of the brain. Anomia, by far the worst of the two, manages to make Karkat forget names of people,places, things and sometimes he can't even remember someone's face or a date. It comes with Broca's aphasia as a package deal in his case.
Broca's is a bit more bare able. Though sometimes he can't vocalize the word in his head, he can see it in his mind's eye. Karkat is hardly ever seen without a small, pocket notepad and a pen, kept close for when this happens. He's found that sometimes writing the word can help him voice it as well. Other times, not being able to say the word yet know exactly what it is is more frustrating than not being able to remember it as a whole.
He knows stupid facts about his aphasia, as well, figuring he should know all he can. For example, he knows Broca's apahsia is caused from damage to the Broca's Area, located in the left parietal of his brain. Kankri, his brother, brings him medical journals to read sometimes, trying to help out as best as he can. And Karkat can only hope his apahsia get easier to live with.
----
It is six o'clock, the day after his appointment with Aranea, and Karkat is relaxing in his apartment, on his couch with the TV on, it's low volume creating a comforting white noise. He's already taken three ibuprofen, obliterating his substantial headache. His phone lays on the coffee table, ringer on just in case his brother or maybe even Sollux calls. In his lap his cat, Thisbe, lounges and in his hands he holds "Message in a Bottle" by Nicholas Sparks, his guilty reading pleasure.
This is how Karkat spends most of his days when he's not with his shrink or when Sollux and Gamzee decide to pop by. Karkat has always been comfortable in silence and with himself. Content with being alone. He almost prefers it, actually. It was better than listening to his brother drone on about a subject he didn't care about or raging over video games with Sollux. Being alone was nice. Staying in was nice. Going out, nowadays, was a hassle. He could count on one hand the amount of times he's went out with his friends since the incident.
Not that he went out with them much before. No, usually he spent his time just like he was today, with the exception of Saturday. Saturday, Sollux would pick him up in a crowded, loud, car occupied with Gamzee, Aradia, and Terezi, and they'd go out to a local restaurant that served beer and burgers and had the best onion rings Karkat had ever tasted. Karkat would always order one beer and drink half of it. Terezi drank four or five. Sollux kept it steady at two. Aradia ordered water. And Gamzee? Well, usually the waiter was forced to cut him off.
Every week Karkat looked forward to those Saturdays and those onion rings and the laughs him and his best, closest, loyalest friends would share.
He hasn't been on a Saturday outing for one year, eleven months, and six days.
Convincing himself he didn't miss it was hard, and sometimes on Saturdays Karkat would find himself staring at his phone, willing it to ring. And sometimes, very seldom now, it did. But Karkat always found himself saying no, maybe next time, and hanging up before whichever one called could talk him into it.
He's more than vaguely aware that today is, in fact, Saturday. The clock in the kitchen reads 6:47 and he knows the others are getting ready to go out. Karkat knows their routines and schedules almost as well as he knows his own. That's what being friends since high school does.
At 7:03, according to his wall clock, there's a knock on his apartment door, followed by, "Kark, you better open the door." Karkat recognizes the voice as Aradia's, and as he pads over to the door, he screws his face up, trying to put up the annoyed charade at her sudden appearance. He's more than a little curious about what she's doing here, though. It's Saturday, after all.
The door swings open to reveal those previously mentioned four best, closest, loyalest friends, dressed casually save for Aradia, who wore a red dress and matching heels. They're all smiling at him (though Terezi was gazing a bit to the left of him).
"Honestly, KK," Sollux lisps, shaking his head. "Put some shoes on, come on. We don't have all floggin' night."
Karkat blinks in response, taking a moment to collect his words in his mind before answering, rather intelligently, "...huh?"
"Uuuugh!" Terezi says, pushing past the other and grabbing onto Karkat's arm. "It's obvious, Karkat! We're taking you out!" She drags him back into his apartment, others following. "Get your shoes and your wallet and let's go!"
Now he gets it. They're forcing him to go out. Jesus, he thinks, he'll just have to make up some excuse why he can't go. Say Kankri's coming over or something. Or, better yet, say Kankri is coming over to take him clothes shopping. "Look," he starts, pulling his arm free of Terezi. "I can't, not tonight. I. . .," and just like that, he'd forgotten what he was going to say.
Sollux sighs and nudges Gamzee. "Told you he was going to try to get out of it. He had an excuse all lined up for us." Karkat watches as he takes off his glasses and cleans them. "Let's just go."
"Come on, Karkat," Aradia says in her melodic voice. "Friends and onion rings. What more could you ask for?"
"It's tradition," Gamzee adds, his arm winding around Terezi's waist while her own hands fold together in a praying gesture and her lower lip sticks out in a pout. "And beer, brother. Best motherfuckin' beer here."
In the end, Karkat isn't sure why he pulls on his shoes and shoves his wallet in his pocket. It just seems right.
Familiar.
--
There are times when Dave Strider wishes he could speak, so others would hear his tone when he says, "Fuck off," and know he's serious as a fruitcake in the winter.
Tonight is one of those times. His sister and best friend sit across from him, sipping their beer and Sprite, and Dave just knows they're holding hands under the table. Next to Dave is Jade, John's little sister. Rose's hair is set in place by a headband and John's eyes look especially blue. As if they were sparkling.
Dave has a hard time not staring at John. The two had been inseparable since fourth grade, when Dave stopped John and made him give Dave a ride home on his bike's handlebars. "Why should I?" John had asked, arms crossing over his chest in what would have been defiance if his eyes hadn't been darting around looking for someone to save him from Dave Strider.
"Two reasons," said Dave, raising two fingers. "One, I have an xBox at home and I'll let you play it. And two. Two is I won't make fun of your beaver teeth again."
The deal was made that easily, and John had played Dave's xBox for a good hour and a half before he said he "really had to go" and that his Dad was expecting him home a hour and a half ago. But that was all it took to form a great friendship.
Sadly enough for Dave, a friendship wasn't the only thing he wanted from John. In high school, he had hard core feels for his best bro, resulting in Dave confessing Sophomore year and John agreeing to date him as an "experiment".
And Dave remembers that quick, experimental relationship even though he's now twenty three. He remembers their first kiss, laying on John's bed with National Treasure playing on the television. He remembers holding hands with John when they walked the short distance of Dave's room to the kitchen. A month and three days, Dave had John. A month and three days they were together before John said he wasn't feeling it, he didn't think he liked Dave like that and he hoped Dave would understand.
What else could Dave do but say he understood completely?
Years passed and Dave tried with all his might to get over John. But it was so hard. The way John would throw his arm around Dave's shoulder and laugh. The way he said, "Love you, man" when Dave did something funny. Those feelings were still there, laying dormant underneath. Even when John started dating Dave's sister.
"So," Rose started now, tucking a piece of her blonde hair behind her ear and giving a slight smile. "You both are probably wondering why John and I brought you out to eat today."
If Dave could still talk, he'd make some smart ass comment about how obviously Rose couldn't go a day without seeing her darling brother. But he couldn't speak anymore, and he left his phone in the car (idiot boy). And signing sarcasm just wasn't as funny. So his response was an folding his hands neatly together on the table and raising an eyebrow so that it ached up over the rims of his sunglasses.
Next to him, Jade gasped, hand flying to her mouth. "No! Oh, congratu--"
"Shh, Jade," John said to his sister, beaming almost proudly. "We want to be the ones to announce it." He looked at Rose, as if waiting for a signal.
On cue, Rose nodded, smile growing. John continued. "We wanted the two of you to be the first to know, considering you're our siblings and our best friends."
"John and I are getting married next fall," Rose finished, matter-of-factly, a pink blush dusting her pale cheeks.
Jade erupted in squeals. Dave stared in disbelief. Not for the first time, or last, for that matter, Dave was thankful for his shades. Behind them, red eyes showed hurt and sadness and a realization that no matter how much Dave fantasized about him and John finally getting back together, it wasn't going to happen.
Ever.
Dave's hands made the signs for "Congratulations. I'm happy for you." He wasn't happy in the slightest. "I need fresh air," he signed again, and got up from the table, heading outside.
---
"My name is Nepeta and I'll be your server this evening. Can I get you guys some drinks to start with?"
Karkat's group all placed drink orders as they settled into their seats, shrugging off coats and jackets. As usual, Terezi sat between him and Gamzee on one side, Aradia and Sollux on the other. The two couples leaned into each other and as they did so, Karkat couldn't help a small pang of jealousy. He hadn't dated anyone since Eridan Ampora, and that relationship had been far from healthy. Arguments that lead to throwing things, which merged into makeup sex that was meaningless since ten minutes or so afterwards, Eridan would bring up whatever started the fight in the first place and they were back to square one.
Needless to say, Karkat yearned for a relationship like Gamzee and Terezi's, or Sollux and Aradia's. The two sets had been together since high school and had never made any inclinations to wanting anything different.
He turned his attention away from the pair of lovebirds, focusing more on people watching. His gaze lingered on a table of four, two blondes, two with black hair. He figured they were, also, a pair of couples and he wondered if they were as happy as Sollux and Aradia, or Terezi and Gamzee. One blonde, the boy, kept the majority of Karkat's attention. He was wearing sunglasses (inside? Karkat thought, raising an eyebrow. Was that honestly necessary?), and using sign language to talk to his companions. It was enough the peak Karkat's curiosity. Was he deaf? He continued to watch the blonde, up until the point that he rose from his seat and walked right on out of the restaurant.
On the blonde's feet, Karkat noted, were the rattiest pair of red converse he'd ever laid eyes on.