Karkat Vantas is wearing a t-shirt advertising the BBQ FUN RUN FOR THE CURE CROP WALK’N’DOG FAIR. The BBQ FUN RUN tee is a little warm and damp from the sweat of ten minutes ago: everything about Karkat is a little warm and damp, sort of like puppy breath. There is an adorable metaphor to be found here only your pupils keep crossing to either side of your eyeball.
You announce, “Kiss o’clock, dude!” only he tries to stick his fingers up your nose. This is the only self-defense he can muster to you being the unparalleled prince of romance. He squawks other unromantic things like, “Get off,” and “When did you become this goddamn heavy, John? Are you eating dark matter?” and, a little laughingly you swear, “You’re fucking asleep. Go to sleep.”
So you align noses. This is important. He is sort of flushed and happy and floppy, and considering that usually he walks around looking like the world’s angriest grey thumbtack or something it’s nice, it is like a secret only you get to keep! It is like he is your “National Treasure”. You tell him that he is your “National Treasure”. He butts his forehead very gently into yours.
“You are too stupid to live!” he says. “Do the next best thing and remove yourself from consciousness before you embarrass everybody.”
This can only be answered by trying to kiss him but you miss and hit his sternum instead. As you decide of your own free will to fall asleep on his chest, which is about 200% rib, you feel him very gently pet your hair.
You decide everybody should be married.