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i'm flunking out, i'm flunking out - i'm gone, i'm just gone
WHERE: their house.
WHEN: evening of the 4th of january.
WARNINGS: feelings and problems.
SUMMARY: ruka stages an intervention.
FORMAT: prose to start then whatever olesia wants.
Karkat's head hurt, and for the moment, he tried to focus on that -- the least of his problems -- rather than dwell on everything else that had happened earlier that day. Still, while he could choose not to think about it, blocking out what he felt about it was another story. He entertained the fleeting idea of going someplace crowded, immersing himself in other people's problems rather than deal with his own, but dismissed it quickly as he stepped over the threshold to Ruka's house. The thought of trading in his own for other people's misery was a tempting one, but his empathy didn't work like that. He wouldn't be blocking out his own feelings, only compounding them with everyone else's.
Hoping no one was home, he stumped his way into the kitchen, yanking opening the fridge and scanning its contents absently, not really paying attention until his gaze came to rest on a bottle of bright red Faygo. Karkat's knuckles whitened on the fridge handle, his teeth ground together. Everything he'd been attempting to subdue since meeting Eridan slammed into him again with a vengeance -- the sickening loneliness of knowing he was and would always be a freak, that it was more than his blood color that made him so, the fury at being forced to feel and confront his isolation, at the ultimate insult of having exactly what he wanted paraded in front of him while aware that it couldn't ever be what he wanted. All of it serving as fuel for his self loathing, that and more, it wasn't like he was short on reasons to hate himself -- and he hated himself so much. He wanted to be sick with it, wanted to scream, wanted to be someone else if only to escape the outrage of enduring himself another moment. Why did he have to be Karkat Vantas? Why did he have to be shackled with the unending personal fucking torture that is being Karkat Vantas? It wasn't fair. He would give anything, anything to be someone else. Anyone else.
He really was a freak, he thought, slamming the fridge door with all too much force, storming out of the kitchen -- he hadn't argued with his past or future self in nearly half a sweep, but if anything, he only hated him more. You didn't get much more fucked up than being caliginous for yourself.