Fidgeting with the hem of your hoodie and munching anxiously at your nails had become your sacred pattern for the past eighty-three hours. Fuck, had it been that long? It'd been a constant nagging that had yet to recede into the recesses of your mind like a docile issue and now drove you to quailed lunacy. Or so you'd deemed it.

It was something like madness, honestly, not knowing if something wicked this way came, indeed. Now you had the fortune of two homicidal lunatics out for your blood. But your father alone could do worse than come find you. It was beyond question your brother had told him were you'd been hiding; if he could remember.

Your brother? No doubt he'd returned once his petty sentence was over. You wished he'd rot in jail with those convenient domestic charges. Psh, more like premeditated murder, you scoffed. Not that they had taken you too seriously seeing how you'd pleaded self-defense. But Gamzee? At least he hadn't been high when they'd taken his statement at reasonable length after taking one look at your brother's head.

That and the fact that the both of you had rushed out of the station when your fathers looming presence was requested. You may have been kin but there was no way in hell you planned on helping either of their sorry asses out. It wasn't as if they could convict you of anything and you hadn't even told them about the beatings your father or brother had given you. Or the…other things they'd done.

Besides, the bruises where gone now; faded from black to purple to blue to yellow. Now your only sign of domestic dispute was the slightly irritated skin of your throat from when you'd been strangled. It seemed to you that once one bruise healed another would come just as quickly.

It wasn't exactly fair, you'd concluded, that your only living family hated you so much. It made you miss your mother. It made your fist clench tighter around the photograph that would bring tears to your eyes with one glance. You'd taken it from your old apartment the day you and Gamzee had snuck back in to grab a few of your possessions.

The sight of your father—the last time you'd ever see him—still burned fresh in your mind; beady eyes focusing on you and muscles tensing while you took the picture from the frame. It had been the only photo of your mother in the apartment and what you'd sought after most when you'd told Gamz you wanted to go back. You didn't think that there would ever be another chance.

"Kar-bro…?" that voice, graveled and deep, interrupted your despondent thoughts tentatively. Closing your eyes and pursing your lips you felt his arms snake around your waist and pull you back into him. His lips pressed softly to the flesh of your throat and warmed your whole being. He just had that effect on you; making everything negative seem better.

Your quivering hand slowly closes over his as he knots his in the fabric of your hoodie. Your fingers interlace and he squeezes them reassuringly and your lungs fill with the sweet smell of him. The goose bumps that bristle against your flesh causes a satisfied smile to light his lips as he explores your throat and finds that hallow at your ear. God, he makes you shiver.

"I-I'm not in the mood…" you say through your teeth as wonderfully curious hands move farther around your abdomen, pulling the zipper of your hoodie down with them. Swallowing you stare down at your own T-shirt as his slim fingers hook in your belt loops. The sharp intake of breath that comes from your throat is caused by that fucking juggalo too.

His teeth had grazed the sensitive flesh at your collarbone once he'd nuzzled your jacket away and now he left sweet nips along the exposed area. You noticed he had been behaving like that lately; gentle and tentative with you as if your bones were glass. He'd barely kissed you much less slept with you for the duration of your anxiety fueled paranoia over your father and brother.

It was infuriating in a way. He wasn't treating you the same as he used too. No hot surprises or steamy tricks to put you off your guard nor sudden chaos to spark your anger. It almost made you sick, watching him restrain himself like this and all for what he thought your injured state needed. Or maybe he thought you'd be scared of him what with how he'd…handled your brother.

"Gamz…?" you ask with a dark leer tinting your voice that had him slowing down instantly. When you shift on your feet, his arms loosen and allow you to leisurely spin around to face him. While your fists ball up in the fabric of his sweater he slips his hands into your back pockets and pulls you closer against him.

Leaning into his warmth and burying your face into the hallow of his neck was comfortable when his steady heartbeat thrummed low in your ears with his deep breathing. As your eyes fluttered closed, you realized the silence was bliss between you too. Too bad it was merely temporary.

Pulling away you pushed lightly against his chest to urge him to release you from his embrace, however serene. With the guilt on your shoulders, the intimacy felt forced. Something hadn't been right within you for some time since your brother had found you; had tried to end your ineffectual existence. It was that thing that had been nagging at you without cease.

"Did you go after my fucking brother? I know I never told you where I lived. But you drove right too it like you'd been there before and you thought of bringing the knife for the gog damned window." You hated saying it and ground it out through tight lips. Maybe you'd just been brooding over this too long and had progressively overreacted.

But where had he gone those days when staying with the Gemini downstairs seemed like a simple compromise for boredom? Was he out tracking your brother on some dubious high? Maybe your paranoia had led you to believe these things or create your own lies. And maybe you had imagined the way his body tensed against yours and face fell like a child caught red handed.

"Did you?!" you ask again, forcing yourself to stay controlled yet knowing your temper was rising. It felt like something ethereal that was swiftly transcending to something wholly wordly. It was the way he was staring at you; as if he expected you not to call him out over this even if you'd figured it out. His mouth pressed into a hard line and stayed that way even as you shrugged his hands from your shoulders. Gog, what was happening?

"Just—fuck—if you were trying to protect me or some shit…" you wished he would say something to make you stop and reassure you that everything was in fact just plain fucking dandy. You wanted it to be; in fact if your false confidence wasn't fueled by anger then you just may have given up on outing him. You left it to him to tell you that you were crazy. Except he wasn't. Turning your face away and stepping out of his reach was agonizing, but watching him allow you to walk away was far worse.

"You wouldn't tell me how that heartless motherfucker hurt you." he says just when your eyes were starting to sting and face beginning to heat. He'd said as if you'd completely understand his justification. True, he'd asked, but at the time you hadn't wanted to tell him. It was…mortifying and made you feel like trash, thinking about your own treatment. That was how you had been treated; like trash. If it weren't for his therapeutic coddling you'd have firmly deemed yourself nothing more than trash weeks ago.

"I just wasn't ready…" the words scarcely escape your lips before he takes a step toward you quietly, hesitantly as if not to spook a frightened animal. It took all your residual strength to quickly move back out of his reach when he'd reached for you; the frightened animal recoiling. The pain etched into your features was something he couldn't stand to see yet his false solace was something you couldn't bare to hear.

"Karkat, just hear me out—" he moved to grasp your forearm but you'd pulled away once more. Your movements weren't as fluid as his and seemed erratic—panicked. When you felt the small of your back hit the countertop behind you a gasp escaped your tightening throat and for slightest second fear lit in your crimson flecked eyes. Had he seen it?

"Don't do this. Please don't do this." he begs eliminating the distance between the two of you and placing his slender hands on either side of your face. His pleading was as weighted as the resolve that settled within you. It was something akin to confessing, you realized, when he not asked too much of you; begged you to forgive him for a transgression that you found wholly incriminating.

With your features marring into a disagreeing grimace, he then pulls his own face level with yours and forces you to look up at him. To gaze upon his sculpted nose and the smooth plains of his cheeks you'd seen hallowed when his supple lips closed around a cigarette. To bask in the glory that was this juggalo's confession to objectifying your privacy and blast open the confines of your less than savory home endearment.

It left you raw within, knowing that he had searched through your salvaged things for a means to meet his end. Somehow, it distanced you from him as if you were being suspended above him to watch dust collect on your relationship from afar. Frankly, one might call this feeling anger however personally, you might call this feeling betrayal.

Swallowing back your hot, angry tears you moved your hands to secure a firm hold on his forearms as if grasping him as tightly as he gripped you would persuade him to release you. Almost desperately, you wished he would release you and take it back. You could lie to yourself—you'd done it for years when it concerned your welfare—and convince yourself that he acted in your, honest to god, best interest.

"The bruises…I couldn't just all up and let someone get away with that shit." He was standing up for you and trying to protect what he loved, you told yourself. It was out of sincere concern for your safety and he hadn't known your brother would follow him back here. How could he? That naivety hadn't been his fault and certainly couldn't have been his intentions.

You'd never had someone do that for you; feel that for you. It made the bruises, cigarette burns, and healed bones hurt less. That unconditional love was a foreign feeling that you thought you'd never have the fortune of having again. As if you were cut off and undeserving of such, as it were. Your mother used to make you feel this way; like the mean bullies at school that were so much bigger than you weren't quite so formidable when she held you.

Her love was something you knew few experienced yet resolved yourself to never finding such adoration again. Could you relate the love you felt for her to the love you'd felt for him? Honestly, you knew Gamzee was always genuine if not forthright. That was admirable. The solace felt mutual and nostalgia overcame you.

He honestly loves you, doesn't he?

"I just wish you would have told me, fuckass." You grumble, averting your eyes and wanting him to look away too so you could wildly blush like a naïve schoolgirl in private. Embarrassment could be just as strong of a catalyst for blushing as please or anger. But unexpectedly, you felt his breath against your cheek and swiftly found yourself almost welcoming the lips that softly pressed against yours. Almost welcoming. He had yet to stop treating you like you'd shatter any moment.

Without his notice, one of your hands slipped from his forearm and smacked his face hard enough to leave an angry red handprint. The sound of it all was almost as angry as you had previously felt. He pulls away startled and wide eyed to put his fingertips to his cheek delicately. You narrowed your eyes and watched him open his slack jaw mouth to attempt to form words out of his confusion.

"Stop treating me like I'm fucking glass, jackass." You spit smacking his remaining hand from your face—although not as harshly as you'd struck his face—and crossing your arms over your chest defiantly. You had to admit that slapping him had felt damn good and the expression plastered to his features was priceless. It wasn't the retribution you insanely craved, but it did offer some sort of compensation.

"You're one cute as hell motherfucker, you know that?" he says, instantly jogging your memory. The first thing he'd said to you weeks ago when a space heater and bowl of Raymen's was your highest priority. Standing outside his door and praying to whatever gods were out there that he'd let you in, no matter if he was a seemingly drug addicted stranger.

It made your cheeks light with the same scarlet that it had back then and heart skip a beat just the same. Fuck, you hadn't know a single thing about him back then and thought he was little more than perverted lunatic with a clown fetish. He was a calamity that wouldn't wait to unfold and your will to survive had blinded your concerns for becoming collateral.

But now? Now you'd grown accustomed to the outlandish paint and precariously placed horns around the apartment. Perhaps the territorial and protective tendencies were as much a part of him as the paint. You didn't mind the fact that his spacey attitude was a direct cause from whatever he earned his high from. Somehow, you'd yet to see him smoke or use whatever the loving fuck it was he took to adopt the cloud nine gaze. Maybe he was just like this?

Maybe you'd just adjusted to waking up past noon with him and going out for take out meals. His work hours no longer bothered you either even if he woke you up at those shy hours past midnight when the bar closed. However he always made sure to make those early morning snooze interruptions worth your while. He wasn't too bad now was he, you'd concluded.

"Oh, fuck off, Makara." You chide sarcastically as his hands move to rub your sides soothingly. You relished the deep reverberations of his sigh deep within his chest. Your eyes move to search his face as your blush dies down. Why did you always find yourself blushing around him anyhow?

"I'm sorry…" he says moving he face forward till he rested his chin against your clavicle. You didn't particularly mind how he would bend to your height to bury his face there. You could feel his eyes close as his eyelashes brushed softly against the sensitive flesh of your throat. Sequentially, his arms rap around your waist and pull you against him thoughtfully.

"What are we supposed to do about my dad and brother? Fuck I mean, my best friend lives in Houston h-he might let us…" he'd pulled away lazily to turn a just as languid indigo gaze on you. His eyes held resolution and fierce determination. It was straightforwardly reassuring somehow. As if without words he was firmly promising he'd protect you. Conveying what words failed to that you needed fear your family anymore and that, furthermore, they weren't your family anymore. He was your family now. Wholly, lovingly your family.

"I love you, remember?"