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If there is anything in this world that is unequivocally true it is that your brother, Dave, is an idiot. An idiot of say, epic proportions. He is off the goddamn idiot charts.
And you yourself must be an idiot of a similar caliber, because you, due to an unknown lapse in judgement, decided to live with him. When faced with the decision ‘Rose, do you think it's a good idea to move in with your absolute fool of a twin brother’, you, for some reason, decided 'why yes, omniscient representation of my mistakes, that sounds like a fantastic idea!’. Maybe stupidity is hereditary.
You yank at your blankets forlornly, trying, in your desperation, to smother yourself in the fluffy duvet. Unfortunately, no matter how aggressive you are in encapsulating yourself, the sound remains — a distinct, unpleasant thumping, so close it must be happening directly against the (woefully thin, apparently) wall adjoining your room to Dave’s. It’s underscored by a discordant staccato of moans and grunts and uncouth swearing. Finding the duvet inadequate, you attempt to suffocate yourself with your pillow as well, but that is equally as futile. Dave and his boyfriend’s carnal embrace is so loud, so grating, you doubt you'll ever be able to get it out of your eardrums, let alone stop it before it can reach them.
Dave shouts “Karkat, yes!” in the throes of passion, and concurrently you decide, nope — fuck this — you're out. You writhe in your blankets, kicking them off of yourself and exposing your body to the chill air of your bedroom. Getting out of bed in the dead of night is an unpleasant experience to begin with, but your misery is exacerbated tenfold by the obvious lack of central heating in your room. Being a starving college student is taxing. You grab a sweatshirt from the floor and tug it over your head, pausing for a moment to consider your options. In theory, you could go knock on Dave’s door and shout at him to stop (this thought is punctuated by a particularly guttural groan from Dave) but you don't know if you're mentally or emotionally in a place to subject yourself to that right now. Not to mention, you might quite literally traumatize your brother, and despite the current predicament it's put you in, his relationship with Karkat has overall been a positive influence on him. With a sigh, you bend down and gather your blankets into a cumbersome heap, balled up in your arms awkwardly. Looks like you will have to find somewhere else to sleep.
You step out of your door and into the quiet of your living room — scratch that — you step out of your door and into the near quiet of your living room, if, of course, one could consider a space with the soundtrack of fornication flowing amplified betwixt it's walls ‘near quiet’. It's only louder here, like the horrible noise is flooding out from beneath Dave’s door and infecting the entire apartment. Wasting no time, you scurry to the other side of the room, nearly unbalancing yourself in the juggling act that is carrying your tangle of bedclothes. So, the couch is out, clearly. Could you feasibly sleep on the hall floor? You ponder this. Is avoiding Dave’s mammalian screeching worth the possibility of kidnap?
Yes. A thousand times yes.
Shifting your cargo to free your hand, you unlock your front door and slip into the hallway. The lights are glaring, and you know from experience that they stay on all night. Kidnapping you can put up with, but sleeping on the hard ground with the lights on? Maybe this plan is worse than you thought.
You’re about to acquiesce and return gloomily to your bedroom when you notice dim light drifting through the cracks of your neighbors door. Their living room light, obviously. Are they still awake?
While you and Dave had only recently moved to this building (and out of the suffocating embrace of your campus dorms) you did already have a budding relationship with said neighbor, thanks primarily to an exquisite tray of cookies Dave and yourself brought her as an introduction. She's quite the woman, tall and vivacious and adorned with swirling tattoos across her chest and biceps. She’s threatening in that odd sort of gentle way, with a dark mass of hair and pierced lips that curve up into a soft smile when pleased by something — such as a cookie. Almost your type, if she weren't just a decade too old, and probably taken. Still, generosity leaked from her pores, and she had offered to help if you ever needed it.
You do need it. So you muster up all your courage, and do your best to quash the part of your brain that's cursing you out for asking someone to help. You knock softly, three times. From the silent hallway you hear a muffled conversation, and then a handful of footsteps before the door swings open.
The woman who opens the door is not your neighbor, Porrim. It is, in fact, a woman around your age, who you could only describe as an actual physical wet dream brought to life. She looks at you quizzically, jade eyes half-hidden by questioning eyelids and impeccable eyeliner. Her dark hair is in a curled bob around her face, like an expensive frame on a priceless painting, and her black-painted lips tic up in the kindest of amused smiles at your prolonged silence. She's dressed flawlessly, in ironed, expensive looking clothing (turtleneck and pencil skirt, an excellent choice), and as you stare she places one soft, perfect hand on the curve of her hip. You think you’ve seen her around your campus, but only in fleeting, distracted, dream-like moments. Like a sexy shadow that only appeared when you didn’t have time to pay attention.
Well, you’re paying attention now.
You become acutely aware of your skimpy, worn-out pajama shorts, frumpy-ass hoodie, and wild bed head. In vain, you try to push a few strands of the mangled blond hair out of your face, but you nearly drop your bundle of blankets in the process. God. This is a fucking disaster.
“'Naya?” You hear Porrim’s voice call from somewhere inside. “Who is it?” The woman at the door opens it wider and steps aside, allowing you a full line of sight into the apartment. Porrim is craning her neck to see the both of you from the couch, dressed to the nines in a skin tight black dress that leaves little to the imagination. Upon seeing you, she stands up, rushes toward the door, and leans into your face. “Rose, my beautiful flower, what brings you to my door at three in the morning?” Porrim raises a pierced eyebrow and gestures across the hall with her chin. “Have a spat with your brother?”
“Yes, you certainly could say that,” you say, your sleep-dry voice not coming out as smooth or intelligently as you wish. “However, I am not so participatory in this spat as I am an innocent victim to the hormonal cravings of the dumbass I reside with. And his partner.”
Porrim’s face lights up at this piece of hot goss’, and she ushers you inside, right past the other woman (who you reluctantly pull your eyes away from) and to the sofa where she had been sitting previously. “Sit! Sit! Kanaya, be a dear and grab Rose a glass of water?”
The woman — Kanaya — scampers off to the kitchen, and Porrim turns eager eyes on you.
“So? Tell me everything.”
“There's not much to tell, unfortunately. Simply that Dave and his committed boyfriend decided to loudly mate against the wall, and directly into my ear, whilst I was trying to get my beauty sleep. Needing an escape and seeing your light on, I wound up here, I suppose.”
“Did it sound like it was going well?” Porrim grabs a glass of ice water from Kanaya’s hand, and Kanaya hands you the other one. For a brief second, your fingers touch, and you think you feel your heart speed up. Odd, you're usually the collected one. Sometimes. Mostly. She's just so beautiful . She moves with grace, like a ghost floating above a graveyard, and her pin-straight posture is almost vampiric, making her appear as if she's upright in a coffin. It's attractive in a way you struggle to look away from. You contemplate trying to drown yourself in your ice water, but decide against it.
“As well as such a thing can go, yes. There was enough pleasured howling to wake me from my slumber with a start, fearing that my dear brother was being murdered. If only.”
“If only?”
“One cannot moan at such a volume if resigned to the land of the dead.”
Porrim laughs and pushes at your shoulder. “You shouldn't say that.” She stands and smoothes the wrinkles out of her dress, quickly taking her glass and yours to the kitchen and returning. “Well, Rose, you've earned your stay then. One raunchy story for one night at casa de Maryam. Sorry to chat and run, but I have to head off to work and I’m like, already late, so play nice with my sister here,” Porrim says, pausing with a look of realization and dragging Kanaya to her side. “I almost forgot to introduce you, oh my God. Rose, this is my younger sister Kanaya. Kanaya, this is my weird neighbor, Rose. Get along.” She kisses Kanaya’s cheek and winks at you. Then she gathers her bag and walks out the door. “Bye girls!”
The door closes with a snap. And now it's just you, your lumpy pile of a duvet, and Kanaya. You try not to fidget, tucking an errant strand of hair behind your ear as calmly as possible. “She calls me the weird neighbor, but she's the one interested in my brother’s sex life, is she not?” You smirk at Kanaya to signify this is a joke. It's a gamble, but you're one to take risks.
Unfortunately, Kanaya looks a little taken aback for a second. A couple emotions flit across her face — confusion, defensiveness, humor, defeat. She sighs affectionately. “That is just how she is. A wonderful sister, of course, but detrimentally addicted to the world of vulgarity. Although, she hasn’t shown up at anyone's doorstep, spinning tales of lovemaking. That does sound a bit strange to me.”
You almost laugh. She's right. “I'm not one to tell lies. If I am uprooted by unforeseen coitus, then I shall say so.”
“It is to my understanding that you consensually populate the same space as a one Dave Strider. If this is the case, I would say this coitus is far from unforeseen.” She sits down to your right, crossing her legs daintily beside yours. She’s just inches away, and up close she’s somehow even more perfect. Controlled in a way that doesn’t appear forced, and a nerdy smile playing at her lips everytime you speak, like she can’t help it at your words. Her hair curls neatly around the side of her head, and you think that it looks soft before you can stop yourself.
“You’re familiar with my brother?” You raise an eyebrow, and Kanaya’s eyes drift to the side. Why the fuck does Dave know everyone?
“Undeniably. In truth, I’m actually quite close to the perpetrator of this entire predicament. Karkat can be a bit...inconsiderate, and I feel I am partly responsible for that, honestly. So my apologies for your loss of beauty sleep.”
Your laughter hits you so suddenly you barely have time to cover your mouth and dampen the sound. “We are both at fault, in that regard. We have created monsters, haven’t we?”
Kanaya grins shyly at you. “They are unbearable when they are together, but I imagine it is better than when they are apart.”
“Certainly.” You cant your body toward Kanaya, and she takes careful note of this, knocking her knees softly against yours. It sends a jolt of elation up your body. “Have I seen you around campus before?” you ask, and you feel distinctly like a frat boy that’s absolutely tanking at flirting. Thankfully, Kanaya doesn’t seem to notice.
“Of course, I attend the same college as you. Were we not operating under that conclusion? I believe just last week you witnessed me pummeling a Mr. Ampora.”
Now that she mentions it, you remember it vividly. You had been drifting through the student building like a zombie, trying to absorb as much information from your assigned novel as you could before your presentation, when you heard a commotion. Looking up, you saw dear, darling Kanaya smacking the shit out of one of your cohorts with what looked like a fairly beefy textbook. The both of you had made eye contact, her glancing at you as if daring you to intervene. You shrugged and kept walking, knowing the boy and knowing he certainly had said something to deserve it.
God Kanaya is so hot it should be illegal.
“I believe you could have hit him harder,” you say, and barely stifle a yawn. Kanaya takes note of your tired snuffle, and gives you a maternal, affectionate look, like you're a little mewling kitten.
“Unfortunately, we do not have an extra bed, as I am occupying it, but we do have an extra mattress. I can set it up on the floor of my bedroom, if you'd like. It is quite late,” Kanaya says, and you nod enthusiastically.
“Nothing quite like a slumber party with a stranger, hm?”
“Hardly a stranger. More like, a friend of a friend, yes?” she says before she trots off into the bowels of apartment, and you wait patiently on the couch for her return. When she comes back, several minutes later, distinctly empty-handed and flustered, you stand up.
“I cannot find the mattress,” she announces, frankly.
You shrug. “I am not above sleeping on a sofa.”
At this she looks offended, as if even the suggestion of that is horrifying to her.
“It is too small for you. I won’t allow it.”
“Are you going to banish me back to the sex dungeon then, Kanaya?”
You think she might look pleased to hear you say her name, and she even chuckles a bit. Interesting indeed.
“My bed is king sized,” she starts, and your heart stops in your chest. Oh my God. No way. Oh my God. “It is massive. I do not see why we cannot share it. Porrim is a touch over protective, so if she trusts you here, so do I.”
You think you may have just won the fucking lottery. There is only one thought left in your mind: please let the hot vampire lady be into you. Please .
Again, a woman of risks, you decide to test the waters. “Oh? Dear Kanaya, inviting a woman into your bed not an hour after meeting her?”
Kanaya blushes, her cheeks dusted lightly with the heat, and she adjusts the sleeves of her sweater.
“What else am I supposed to do, darling Rose? Let an innocent woman suffer?”
“I suppose not, you are far too noble for that.”
She nods. “Noble indeed.”
You’re giddy, and it’s strange. Talking to her makes you want to giggle and grin in ways you’re not often wont to do. She’s adorable, taking your banter in stride, almost as if she can’t hear the sarcastic bite in your tone. And she invited you into her bed . What a weird woman. What an intriguing woman.
“Well,” you say, your heart thumping hyperactively in your chest. “I cannot decline such a magnanimous offer.”
“Fine. Good. I shall prepare for bed then.”
“Yes, you do that, Kanaya.”
“I will.”
“Perfect.”
Looking a bit unsure, Kanaya nods to herself, and then disappears back into the apartment’s hall. You sit on the sofa and twiddle your thumbs, in a sort of restless state of excited exhaustion. When she returns, her hair is pinned up by an assortment of bobby pins. Rather than your style of ratty pajamas, she’s wearing some kind of expensive nightgown. The white material is just transparent enough to give you a vague outline of her black undergarments, and you look away quickly, your face heating. Does she know you’re into her? Should you tell her before this goes any further? Is it weird to tell someone you just met you can’t sleep in their bed because you’re into them?
“Um,” you start nervously, unsure where you’re going, or how you’re going to talk around and joke about the topic in order to get your point across. “Should I be concerned about my chastity?”
“Not at the moment,” she responds bluntly, her tone not even a little teasing or sarcastic. You think your heart is going to jump out of your chest.
“Ah,” you say, because you’re not sure you could get any other words out. She just nods, and waits for you to stand. Once you do (awkwardly, to your horror) she leads you to her bedroom. It’s messier than you expected. Several half sewn garments lay strewn about the floor and furniture. A couple of textbooks and folders lay open, their spines long past cracked. Unphased, Kanaya steps through the mess with an accustomed ease. You follow her lead, hovering anxiously above the bed while she tucks herself into the blankets. She, to her credit, doesn’t rush you, or even seem to notice at all, going so far as to turn off the lamp beside her and roll over on the pillow. You deposit your tangle of blankets beside the door, and then return to the bedside.
After a few more seconds of hesitation you slide into the other side of the bed. She was right when she said it was big — the thing is fucking massive. The mattress is plush and soft and feels like the kind you’d find in a high end hotel (you wonder, not for the first time, what Porrim’s job is, and if she can get you in the door in that business). You try, to the best of your ability, to get comfortable. It’s difficult, because you can hear Kanaya’s soft breathing not inches from your head, and all you can think about is her ethereal form from earlier, opening the apartment door and looking down on you, semi-amused, and also, for some reason in your imagination, half clothed. You think about the times you’ve seen her around campus, and the small, pleased smiles she had earlier when you would say something she liked. The image of her smacking Eridan Ampora across the face with her book drifts back into your mind, the determined scowl she had on her face as she did so. Now that you think about it, you can remember Dave and Karkat talking about her once in your presence — something about her using them as models for a final assignment. It’s endearing to imagine, her snapping at Dave to stand still as she pins one of the half-finished shirts on her floor on him, like some kind of a fashion drill sergeant. She shifts slightly and you feel the blanket shift similarly against your skin.
It may be harder to sleep here than it was in your room. Goddammit.
Somewhere there is a clock ticking, and you try to focus on that sound rather than the small space between you and Kanaya. You try to focus on it. You try so hard.
She rolls over, and the space between the both of you shrinks even more. God have mercy on your poor gay heart. In your periphery you can see her face. Her features are relaxed, as she is apparently already fast asleep. Now clean of makeup and up close, you can see her immaculate eyebrows and full lips in all of their glory. Her eyelashes are long and dark, and asleep like this she looks like the sort of goth dream girl you would have fantasized about in high school.
You make a show of looking away, rolling to face the opposite wall, and try to think of the most boring thing you can think of. It’s pi, as you were never one for math. You try to think of as many digits of the accursed number as you can. Three point one four one five...nine two six…five three...five…nine…
When you awaken, the first thing you become aware of is an incredibly pleasant warmth encompassing most of your body. It’s nice. It feels like you are being gently cradled by the sun. You lay there with your eyes shut for several minutes, enjoying the comfort. Just when you are about to drift back to sleep, you feel the warm mass stir, and you remember.
You remember everything.
Your eyes spring open, landing immediately on Kanaya’s shoulder, attached to her arm, which is softly holding your own. They drift over to her face, her eyes open and watching you in return. The both of you make eye contact for a long, silent moment. It’s a bit jarring to find her unabashedly gazing at you, but you guess that you’re cuddling each other, so it’s not like you’re not welcoming it. It’s just. You weren’t expecting to wake up in her arms. You’re definitely not complaining of course, you just were caught off guard.
Her skin is soft against your own, and the small bits of sunlight streaming in the window make her look like she is physically glowing . She smells faintly like soap and the strands of her hair that freed themselves from her pins during the night are fanned around her head like a halo. The urge to kiss her hits you like a bus.
“Good morning, Rose,” she says, and you curse her for sounding so put together when you’re still groggy and barely functioning.
“The same to you, Kanaya,” you say back, pulling away from her. She raises an eyebrow at that.
“I suppose Dave and Karkat are finished their business,” she says, as if explaining to herself why you’re leaving.
“Yes.” You sit on the edge of the bed, facing the door. “I suppose so.” For a minute you think you might stand up and walk away, forget any of this ever happened, and go try to move on with your life.
But just for a second.
“Kanaya, you’ve been so generous. I don’t think I can just leave without repaying you. Not without it weighing on my conscience, anyway.”
“No, no,” Kanaya says, and you can feel her sit up behind you. “It’s not even my apartment, remember? No need to worry.”
“I simply cannot help it. Perhaps I could, I don’t know, purchase you some breakfast, or something similar?” You turn to look at her, and she smiles brightly at you. She leans forward to kiss you on the side of the mouth. It’s brief, but heart stopping.
“Could we get crepes?” she asks.
“Of course. I’ll meet you in the hall in half an hour.”
And thus began your first date with Kanaya.
A date in which she gushed geekily about a series of vampire romance novels that you considered your own secret guilty pleasure. A date in which you promptly fell head over heels for her.