It’s been a while since Tavros moved to Gamzee’s hive, after everything was sorted, and they were allowed their previous, amazingly boring, normal lives. Gamzee has lived up to his promises, his expectations, and Tavros can’t remember a time when he felt more relaxed, more peaceful, more self-confidant, believing of a future where he could be half a troll and still live all his dreams.
They’ve swum together, even if their sea-faring was cut short because of Gamzee’s lusus’ death. They’ve trekked the land and climbed mountains together, Tavros’ hand in Gamzee’s, should his robot legs falter on the rocky cliffs. Up there, Tavros could touch the lowest clouds and communicate with the rich fauna of Gamzee’s land, and he’d squeeze his matesprit’s arm and smile wide, a grin returned through the other’s mask of make-up.
At home, Gamzee would take his finally adjusted monocycle and would ride around Tavros, his movements elegant and coordinated, and in the meanwhile he’d juggle his many clubs up in the air, the motion and vibrant colors impressing the other. Sometimes he’d haphazardly pick Tavros up and place him on his shoulders, and for the ephemeral moments before they fell in such fashion, all was perfect. At the end of day, they’d watch the lights sink on an ocean of deep blue and they’d sing together, horribly dissonant yet pleasantly harmonious.
However, as night would fall and they’d sit side by side on their shared bed, they’d help each other out of their happy, worldy masks, and let all the vulnerable, dark imperfections show. With careful, slow movements, Gamzee would unhook the several mechanisms of Tavros’ robot legs, the metal cold and smooth, separating them from the rest of the troll’s body, warm and scarred. In the meanwhile, Tavros would hold a damp cloth and press it across Gamzee’s face, removing layers of white and deep purple, uncovering thick lines marring his face.
In their eyes, darkness would unavoidably show:
for Gamzee’s head would ache, his ancestor’s cruel words of hatred and bloodlust dull yet insistant, and it’d kill him to see Tavros’s dead body again because of him;
for Tavros’s heart would pang, painfully remembering that they’d always need Karkat to calm Gamzee down, drown these unwanted voices, and there was nothing he could do to help;
for Gamzee would feel useless, unable to make Tavros’ disability more comfortable, since he wasn’t a genius like Equius or Vriska, but just a junkie, lame from the lack of his drug;
for Tavros would hate himself and the clean stumps he had instead of legs, which held Gamzee back from a complete life…
But through the intimacy of uncovering each other’s flaws, they’d also pull each other into bed, and laying down, Gamzee would twine himself closely against Tavros, and he’d place tender, loving hands on the spot where the other’s legs ended, as he pressed kisses to his eyelids. Tavros himself would run his fingers across the mess of tangled strands that was Gamzee’s hair, and while his smiling lips traced the tender tendrils of skin scarring his face, he’d half-gasp and half-laugh, returning the feeling a hundred times over when Gamzee emphatically swore that he loved him, and that the two of them together were some sort of divine machination.
For the two of them might be broken, in many physical and psychological ways, but through their nightmares and imperfections they’d share mutual understanding, and they were unwilling to let go of the others hand in this strange, dark, beautiful life. They’d sink deeper into their mattress, a flurry of motions and sounds driving the heartache away.
They were both awkward and marked, but they’d still stumble together along this winding path, slowly but steadily, always hand in hand, and together they’d reach their glorious dreams, completion.
And, in such fashion, the night would pass.
And, in such fashion, everything would be alright.