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Apartmentstuck - Hs Fanfic (updated 2/21)


LeapYearKisses

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Sooo, this is my part of a trade with Dakoters: a semi-completed, unoriginally-named EriSol story! *applause* I'll be posting it in parts. As of this moment, I have a stopping point, but it doesn't feel like an ending, so I'll probably write more. If I can figure out what I'm doing. orz

 

A bit of background info: This is a humanstuck AU, so all the trolls are humans, and it takes place during their freshman year of college. Eridan originally looks like this, and Sollux like this, but my human headcanon for their appearances is closer to this lovely fanart. You don't have to be familiar with Homestuck to enjoy this fic! /shameless plug for readers

 

Warnings: There is bad language in this fic. Quite a bit of it. I was trying to be true to the source, and both of the characters are some of the more foul-mouthed in the comic. If it's too much, let me know and I will censor as best I can. Also, there is talk of mental illness in this fic, at times treated a bit cavalierly, so let me say, *ahem* the views and opinions expressed in this fanfiction do not necessarily represent those of the author. Thank you. biggrin.png

 

There's no sneezing yet, but there will be. God, I hope this is an appropriate trade offering. XD

 

----------

 

Your name is SOLLUX CAPTOR. You are apeshit bananas at computers and you know ALL THE CODES. All of them. You have a deep and abiding interest in BEES and BEEKEEPING even though you have never lived anywhere near a farm, nor do you much like to GO OUTSIDE. All of your friends recognize your unparalleled achievements as a MATH GENIUS, but you don’t think it’s much to be proud of. It’s one of the things you SORT OF BEAT YOURSELF UP ABOUT for NO VERY GOOD REASON during sporadic and debilitating BIPOLAR MOOD SWINGS which have not been improved much by your latest drug cocktail. You have a penchant for BIFURCATION, in logic and life. You look like a stereotypical math whiz of Asian descent except for your weird HETEROCHROMATIC EYES. Sometimes you have dreams of the planet’s looming annihilation, but you think this is a result of watching TOO MUCH TV.

 

Right now, you are playing WOW on your laptop and trying to pretend you don’t have a problem set for Bio 230 due the next day. It isn’t that it will take you very long, but if you start it, you just know your stupidly annoying lab partner is going to ring you up for a study group. She always does that. Some sort of sixth sense, you think, or maybe she’s just that lucky. You would turn her down on principle – you hate working with other people almost as much as you hate Nicki Minaj – but she recently got you out of a tough situation with her smooth talking and you grudgingly feel like you owe her one. If you wait until it’s late enough, you’re sure you can avoid her, and you barely sleep anyway, so it’s the perfect solution.

 

You’re just about to level your Troll rogue – your soon-to-be fourth level 85 – but your phone buzzes and in the time you’ve taken to glare at it, you’ve gone out of stealth and somehow managed to aggro a shit ton of- holy shit, what are your guildmates even doing? Sighing, you turn your back on your screen and fish your phone out of your bag. If it’s VK, you are going to flip your shit.

 

It’s not your lab partner, though. It’s worse than that. You frown at the number and reluctantly open the text message.

 

sol sol i think im dyin

 

You frown harder than you already were and spin back around in your chair. You ignore the carnage that your friends are falling prey to, sticking feet in mismatched socks up on top of the small dresser next to your desk and leaning back.

 

what iis iit now ed? you lose your favoriite liipstiick?

 

Once you’d thought the broken ‘i’ button on your phone’s keypad was cool since it was like a roman numeral two. Duality had been your thing all through middle and high school, and you’d played it up like the little shit you were, but you’d grown rather tired of it by the time your acceptance letters had come in the mail. You need a new phone, but hey, money doesn’t grow on trees. Not for you, anyway. Your phone buzzes again.

 

ha vvery funny sol no you know im done crossdressin til it gets wwarm again

 

You roll your eyes. A quick glance at your monitor tells you that you’ll be ready to make another attempt at the boss soon, so you decide to get to the root of the problem quickly.

 

ii don’t even want to know. really. just tell me what you want.

 

i already told you i feel like im dyin

 

thats stupiidly vague and you know iit. diid you and ff have another fiight?

 

no

 

You rub your forehead. It is not your job to mediate every time something goes wrong around here.

 

what exactly do you want me to do about iit? iive never been able to make her change her miind and anyway you were probably beiing a douche agaiin.

 

ED’s reply is a long time in coming and you’re paying more attention to your raid leader’s instructions than your phone when he finally texts back. You almost just leave it alone on your desk, but the last time you’d done that he’d flooded your inbox with song lyrics to piss you off. You scoop it up distractedly and glance at it.

 

come ovver

 

Oh hell no. You’re about to go off on him, but your guildmates are buffing up and ready to go. You type a hasty “iim busy” and toss your phone onto the rug, scanning the guildchat for anything you missed. Not much, which is a relief. Just some banter. You let a smile twist the corner of your lips and then you’re running into the boss chamber with the rest of your friends and that’s that.

 

---

 

You don’t remember you even have a phone until it’s nearly midnight and you’re logging at the inn, now level 85 and quite a bit richer than you were. You don’t feel tired at all – the opposite, actually – and you consider whether or not you want to also play Minecraft tonight. It’s a yes, you decide. You can do the problem set before class tomorrow. You’re going to need some snacks before you start, though, and you slide on your crappy house shoes in preparation of hitting up the basement vending machine. Monster and Twix are sounding really good about now. You’ve got your hand on the door, duct tape wallet shoved roughly into your back pocket, when you hear the familiar buzz of your phone vibrating against moth-eaten discount polyester. You take it with you.

 

You have seventeen unread text messages. You’re never so popular when you actually want to go out.

 

sol, says the first one. sol you are not busy wwhy wwould you be busy

 

you an i both knoww you havve no life

 

sol

 

sol

 

stop ignorin me you codsucker

 

hey this isnt funny i wwould come if you asked me

 

at least fuckin text me back wwould you

 

sol

 

sol…

 

It goes on like this. You delete the mess.

 

ed for jegus sake. could you get any neediier.

 

You don’t even know if he’s awake right now, but you hope that your text woke him up if he was. You push through the door to the basement and head to the machine in the corner. The room smells faintly of sour beer, but that doesn’t bother you. It’s February now and you’ve been used to it since October. At least there’s no one passed out on the couch tonight.

 

sol there you are fuck ivve been tryin to get you you knoww

 

You slip a bunch of coins into the slot and buy yourself a drink, popping it open and taking a swig.

 

ii know ed. you never shut up. what.

 

so are you goin to come ovver or wwhat

 

are you goiing to giive me a riide?

 

You don’t want to listen to his bullshit, but if you get the chance to catch a ride in his Mercedes, you’re going to take it. That thing is sleek as fuck. You wonder every time you see it why someone would bring a car like that to college with them, but you’re instantly answered every time when you slide onto the leather seats.

 

Because it is awesome.

 

i cant my cars in the shop some fuckin loser scraped it wwhen I wwas at the beach

 

You shake your head, actually a little angry now.

 

look ed. you liive all the way across town and the busses don’t run thiis late or not the cheap ones at least. how am ii supposed to get there iif your cars kaput?

 

He is so useless.

 

take a cab ill pay you back wwhen you get here

 

…You hadn’t thought of that. To be fair, you don’t often have enough cash on you for a cab, since you spend all your money on computers and games. Like you’d ever need to be anywhere. You check your wallet. It looks, surprisingly, like you might have enough to reach ED’s building. You bite your lip.

 

iit’s a school niight.

 

like that matters to you youre not sleepin anyway

 

ill drivve you to class tomorroww

 

my other car wwill be here in the mornin

 

You really want to murder him sometimes.

 

just chokiing on that siilver spoon arent you ed?

 

soooolll

 

calm your tiits. ii have to get dressed.

 

You finish your Monster and tuck your phone into your pocket, heading back to your room. You don’t know why, but you’re doing this. You’re making this happen.

 

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Soooooooo yeah. .___.

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EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

uh... so yeah, I've recently become a total Homestuck zombie... so... yeah...

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==>Be Dakoters

You can't be Dakoters right now because she is flipping out in anticipation for the next part O____O

Oh my god

I really envy your writing skills :'D

This is so

Yes

Perfect

Now Sollux, go take care of your Moirail. Shhhh.

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@pinknose: :D Welcome to the zombie horde. XD Glad you like it so far!

 

@Dakoters: Yay! I'm so happy you're enjoying it so far! I hope you continue to like it. I... don't ship them as moirails, I rather ship them as kismesises. Hope that's all right. ^^;

 

@NameTaken: Can't wait to provide you with more!

 

Here we go!

 

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You step out of the cab in front of the apartment building of ERIDAN AMPORA, who you, in your quirkiness, call ED. It is an expensive high-rise in a good neighborhood, quite close to the OCEAN, which is, as far as you guess, why ED picked it. He is from a tiny ISLAND somewhere near Ireland, if you remember correctly, and therefore has a stupid fascination with SWIMMING and WAVES and FISH. The last time you visited his apartment, the walls were mounted with LITERAL HARPOON GUNS. It’s worse because you think he’s actually PRETTY GOOD at DEEP-SEA FISHING. He’s on the swim team at your school and thinks he’s ALL THAT.

 

The only reason you know ED is because he’s the BEST FRIEND of your on-again off-again girlfriend FEFERI PEIXES. She told you that he and she had once tried to have a thing, but ED made it horrendously awkward with his EXAGGERATED EMOTIONAL THEATRICS and you believe her. You do not particularly like him. This does not explain why you have had, on more than one occasion, SATISFYING HATESEX with him. Your relationships are fucked up, man. This is the only reason why you allow ED, of all people, to know your cell phone number.

 

The security guard in the lobby recognizes you, which you feel is a sign that you have been here far too often, and sends you up to the 14th floor. You approach the door with some trepidation for the drama that lies on the other side and knock twice. You have to wait a minute before it opens, and ED catches you in the middle of checking your watch. He rolls his eyes, though that really ought to be your move because he’s dressed up like a wizard hipster, complete with scarf and ugly glasses, and is that a new cape?

 

“Finally,” he sneers. “Did you think I wwould be wwaitin’ up all night for your sorry ass?” His accent isn’t one you’ve encountered before or since meeting him, even though FF had lived on the same island as him for almost as long as he had. It sounds to you as if a posh kid had been given cement shoes and was still trying to make conversation before the inevitable drowning.

 

“It may thurprithe you, but I do have better thingth to do with my time than lithen to your thtupid voith,” you say without much malice. You shove past him into the room, dropping your coat into his arms and dropping your bookbag wherever. He sniffs, but hangs up your stuff in the closet while you head for the living room area next to the kitchenette. You almost forget to toe off your old sneakers before you hit the carpet, but you don’t want to hear again about how much steam-cleaning costs, so you kick them aside before settling onto his sinfully plush white couch. The apartment as a whole is pretty white, and a lot cleaner than your dorm room. He probably dusts it, too. What a weirdo. “Tho tell me what happened already.”

 

He’s still standing by the door, regarding you with an expression halfway between gratitude and disgust – which is hilarious – and fiddling with the edge of his violet cape. “Do you wwant anythin’ to drink?”

 

“Jegus, Ampora, thith ithn’t etiquette thchool. Get over here.” You put your feet up on the coffee table as an extra incentive, pushing aside a stack of books none too gently. He growls and hurries over, reaching out to save them from falling and moving them to the side table.

 

“Be careful wwith those! They wwere signed by J.K. Rowwling!”

 

You can’t help but laugh at that. Apparently, when he was younger, ED had been the biggest Harry Potter nerd in the world. FF had told you stories about how he would run around their village with a broom pretending to fly, and how he’d caught an owl in the woods and tried to make it carry mail, and how he’d spent weeks after his eleventh birthday sitting in his bedroom and waiting for a letter that was never going to come… why does your brain insist on running along until things aren’t funny anymore?

 

You grab his wrist and pull him down onto the couch next to you. “Jutht calm down, would you? They’re fine.”

 

He scowls. From this distance you can see that his eyes are rimmed with red, a color that does not go well with his strange blue-violet irises or his pale, freckled face. Has he been crying? You’d thought that he and FF were getting along a lot better this semester, since she’d moved out and found her own apartment. What had they been fighting about?

 

“Oh, you knoww, this an’ that,” he says once you succeed in getting him on topic. He’s left off on his cape now and is playing with the end of his scarf. He looks uncomfortable. “She nevver listens to me, an’ all I try to do is help…”

 

“Ith thomething going on with her?” you ask, frowning. The last time you’d spoken, she’d seemed pretty perky, though that had been on Monday. Or maybe Sunday; you tend to lose track of time.

 

“Um, maybe.” Now he’s avoiding your gaze.

 

“…What did you do?”

 

He bristles. “I didn’t do anythin’, okay? You alwways think it’s my fault an’ this time it just isn’t!”

 

“Tho whothe fault ith it then?” you snap, dropping your feet to the carpet and wheeling on him. You wish you weren’t so quick to anger about this, but the last month of fall semester had been you trapped in a never-ending shitstorm of drama between the two of them. “The latht time I checked, FF wathn’t the one who’th the bitch. Were you hitting on her again? Becauthe Jeguth help me, I will-”

 

He shoves you away from him. “I wwasn’t fuckin’ hittin’ on her, Sol! Trust me, I knoww wwhen a ship has fuckin’ sailed an’ I wwas pretty coddamned convvinced wwhen she threww her keys at my face!”

 

You expect him to go on. He usually does, and he’s baring his teeth at you like he thinks it’s threatening, but then he just sits back. He absently runs a hand over his hair, checking almost unconsciously if it’s been messed up, and you hear a liquid sniffle.

 

“Good Lord,” you say, because you think he’s going to burst into tears, but he doesn’t do that either. Instead, he tugs his silly scarf up over his face and-

 

“Ehk-tsschuh!”

 

You just have to stare. You’ve never seen ED sneeze before and it’s… different than you thought it would be. You’d thought that if he did sneeze, it would be as overwrought as the rest of him, played up for dramatic effect to garner all the sympathy. All of it. Either that or it would be as small as he could possibly make it, pinched to the point of being unrecognizable. This is neither of those things. Instead, it’s just a sneeze.

 

It's so refreshing when he’s not being the world’s most massive dick.

 

You look just a little too long and he catches your eye, flushing a deep red that reaches the tips of his pierced ears. He slides the scarf back down as inconspicuously as possible and clears his throat.

 

“Aren’t you goin’ to bless me?” he asks, and you resist the urge to smack him.

 

“Are you thick?” The red eyes make more sense now, and when you listen close you can hear a quiet hitch in his lungs that speaks of congestion.

 

He shrugs halfheartedly and the fight goes out of him. “Probably.”

 

“FF wathn’t even here, wath she.” It dawns on you that he’s manipulated you out of your dorm room on a freezing Thursday night just so he can bitch at you about his cold. Somehow, that’s not as annoying a thought as it could be.

 

“She’s busy doin’ research.”

 

“You could have thaid thomething inthtead of letting me yell at you.”

 

“You wwouldn’t havve fuckin’ come ovver then,” he sniffs, somehow managing to sound disdainful through the snot, “an’ I told you wwe wweren’t fightin’ at the start.”

 

So he had. “I thought you were lying,” you say. He just sniffs again – the sneeze seems to have loosened everything – and pats his pockets, eventually pulling out an honest-to-god handkerchief. It’s purple, like pretty much everything else he owns, and he dabs at his nose with it self-consciously. “Do you have a fever?”

 

He shrugs again. “I don’t knoww. Fef took the thermometer wwith her wwhen she left.”

 

Your eyebrow shoots up. “You two shared a thermometer? That’th groth.”

 

“Wwe wwashed it in betwween, you lowwlife,” he spits, scandalized. Then his eyes go unfocused and he jams his face into the handkerchief. “Eh… Hehk-tschuuh!”

 

“Bleth you, you thtupid tool,” you intone, waiting until he’s dabbed his nose to reach out and feel his forehead. He squeaks at your touch but doesn’t try to pull away. It’s pretty clear, even mentally adjusting for your clammy hands, that he’s warmer than he should be. You sigh.

 

“You should be in bed, dipshit. Why’d you even want me over here? It’th too late for me to make you thoup or anything. Ath if I even would.”

 

He looks embarrassed, and hell, it’s kind of cute. “I don’t wwant you to fuckin’ wwait on me, Sol! If I wwanted a butler, I wwould havve one. I just wanted someone to-”

 

“Whatever.” You stand up. He doesn’t need to tell you he’s lonely; you got that. And maybe you’re an asshole, but hell if you’re going to make him say it out loud. “I thuppothe I can bother mythelf to put on thome tea, but don’t get uthed to it. Go take off your thtupid cothtume and put on thomething that doethn’t make my eyeth bleed.” You point him toward his bedroom rather imperiously, and, meekly, he obeys. You guess he must be feeling worse than he let on.

 

--------

 

Maybe I should wait a bit before posting more, since I write slowly...

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I... I... *faints*

Between Eridan's adorable sickyness and Sollux just being so... Sollux, I'm freaking in love with this. :love:

Dear gog if you could have Sollux catch Eridan's cold I would love you for eternity. *faints again*

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@pinknose: I think I'll have to have Sollux fall prey, now... Wouldn't want to disappoint! XD Plus, I need suggestions. :)

 

Welp, since it appears spacing out the updates isn't going to accrue more comments, I shall forge ahead! I'm enjoying writing this so much, anyway, I just want to shove it other people's faces regardless. :3 *dances*

 

Small warning: This part contains references to mental illness.

 

---------

 

A few minutes later, you’re both back on the couch, this time holding mugs of steaming tea. It’s some kind of expensive herbal blend, according to a rant that you largely didn’t listen to, but you can’t even taste it over how much honey you mixed in. You always have honey on your person; there’s nothing that can’t be improved by that shit. ED’s tea has honey in it too. He hadn’t asked for any, but you graciously shared some of your stash with him. You’d heard him coughing in the bedroom while he was getting changed.

 

He’s not wearing the cape anymore, which makes you happy. That thing is a nightmare. Instead, he’s wearing black sweatpants and a long-sleeved purple pajama top, silk by the look of it. You’d rolled your eyes when he’d come out in it, but he missed it, having left his glasses in the bedroom, too. Sometimes you forget that he actually needs them to see and doesn’t just wear them as a stupid statement. Which makes him even more hipster, you guess. This guy just has life so damn easy.

 

“Tho how long have you been like thith?” you ask, pretty much for the sole reason of breaking the awkward silence. His endless sniffing is grossing you out without some sort of distraction.

 

He draws his knees up under him and belligerently shrugs. “Wwhat’s it to you? You don’t wwanna listen to me. I’m a bitch, right?”

 

You grace him with a shrug of your own. “FF would kill me if you became a shiny, purple-clad corpthe when I could have prevented it. Lord knowth you’ve done a fantathtic job looking after yourthelf.”

 

He huffs at you and shoots you a squinty glare. “Oh please. Wwe both knoww that if either of us needs takin’ care of, it’s definitely you. You’re the one who’s fuckin’ clinical. Or did you not require remindin’ to showwer this wweek?”

 

You slowly lower your mug of tea and just look at him. He flushes and starts spluttering an apology.

 

“I- Oh, cod, Sol, I- I didn’t think it wwould sound so-”

 

You punch him in the shoulder – not as hard as you’d like, since you’re at an annoying angle, but hard enough that he grunts and almost slops tea onto his pristine couch. Then, while he’s still processing that, you tug him down to lean on your shoulder. He struggles against it for a moment or two, then gives up with a short cough.

 

“For your information, I showered thith morning,” you say, taking a sip of your tea like nothing happened.

 

There’s a long pause. Finally, in a small voice, he says “It’s a wwonder you evven talk to me…”

 

“Sure ith.” You pet his slightly-sweaty, slightly-gelled, repulsive hair soothingly. “You’re probably the least-thenthitive, needietht, and wortht-drethed athhole I have ever had the mithfortune to encounter. You have a litht of neurotheth ath long ath my leg, a baffling inferiority complekth, and a truly rage-induthing amount of money. Whenever I thee you outthide, I hope that you won’t notith me and hide behind random objectth like I’m in an epithode of Thcooby Doo and you’re Thcrappy.” You can feel him wilting beside you. You sigh. “You’re altho a thtrethed-out college thtudent with a tiny thupport network, no thocial intelligence, and a fever, tho I’ll cut you thome thlack, okay? Jeguth, ED, you think you’re the wortht perthon to comment about it? Wrong. I am the wortht. It’th me.”

 

There’s another pause. You finish your honey with tea and stick the mug on the coffee table. It’s a kitschy orca mug from SeaWorld. Who is this guy, honestly?

 

“…Howw are you, uh, doin’ these days, anywway?” he asks, setting his Mysterious Ticking Noise mug next to yours. You’re somewhat surprised when he returns to leaning against you, tucking his chin in the crook of your neck self-consciously. “Fef told me you wwere tryin’ somethin’ neww… Is it helpin’ at all?”

 

You can feel a headache starting behind your eyes. This topic is perhaps the last one you want to talk about at the moment. Or ever. Especially with him. “Thame old, thame old,” you mutter, hoping he’ll leave it at that. He doesn’t.

 

“Look, I knoww I just basically provved that I’m not the best guy for this, but if you need anythin’…” He trails off and you hope it’s because he’s somehow learned to read the mood in the past two seconds, but it isn’t so. Instead, he’s frowning, rubbing the tip of his sharp nose with his pale, jewelry-encrusted fingers. You raise an eyebrow. It’s pretty cute.

 

“Do you want your handkerchief?” you ask. He brought a clean one with him from his bedroom and it’s sitting on the table, folded into a neat triangle, right next to his Harry Potter books. Also purple.

 

“N- no,” he says, sniffing hard. “I’m fine.” He lets his hand fall back into his lap, but his eyelids are still fluttering. “Wwhat wwas I sayin’? R-right. I’m… hh… alwways here if you… heh. Nngh.” You can feel his breath against your collar bone and the heat of his body through his thin pajama shirt and it awakens an unwanted stirring in the pit of your stomach. “Cod, thih- th… This is annoyin’…”

 

You push him back to his side of the couch and nab his hankie, then hold it out to him. He has his hands up as if to pray and is staring into the middle distance with tired eyes. You take him by the wrist and place the square of cloth into his palm. He attempts to say something through the quick, hitching, breaths, but only ends up hastening the inevitable.

 

“Hh… Hehk-tschuuh! Heht-chuhh!” The handkerchief does little to muffle the sound, though he tries his best, turning pink again. All this blushing can’t be helping his fever, you think distractedly, as he pinches his nose and holds his breath. It doesn’t do any good, and he soon pitches forward again. “Tstchuuh!”

 

“Bleth you,” you say. “Blow your nothe.” You just know he is going to try that Victorian shit again and pretend he’s never heard of the concept of “mucus.” As soon as you disabuse him of the notion that you think he’s always clean and perfect, the happier you will both be. He gives you a weary, scandalized look, but complies, turning away from you and managing a few soft, gurgling blows. That will have to do, you suppose. You stand up.

 

“Wwhere are you goin’?” he asks, quickly, squinting up at your face. “Are you leavvin’?”

 

You laugh. “Nope. It’th almotht two; KK will be back in the room by now and I’ll jutht wake him up if I go back. I’m going to get you thome medithine. You have Tylenol, at leatht, don’t you?”

 

“…Yeah, I think so.”

 

---

 

He takes the cough syrup without a fuss, which is a relief. The Monster you had before coming over is definitely starting to wear off and you don’t want to fight with him right now. Luckily, he seems to be fading faster than you, and heads for the bedroom shortly after you pull out your biology problem set.

 

You don’t realize he’s waiting at the threshold until he sneezes again, and then you just turn to regard him with irritation. “Jeguth, ED, jutht go, would you?”

 

He taps a finger against the door frame nervously. “I’m goin’, I’m goin’. I wwas just, wwell, wwonderin’… wwhere are you goin’ to sleep?”

 

You look at him blankly. “Here?”

 

“Oh.” He pauses. “Because you could share wwith me. If you wwanted to.”

 

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, I really want to thpend the night in that germ factory. Thankth for the offer, ED.” You look back at your problem set and start sketching the circulatory system with as little effort as you can get away with. He must leave soon after that, since when you look up at the end of the page, he’s gone and the bedroom door is closed.

 

You wait until you’re sure he’s asleep before joining him, nudging him carefully toward the wall so you can press your back to his. It’s too warm in the room and he’s snoring, but you don’t really care. You fall asleep almost as soon as you close your eyes.

 

-------

 

I don't actually have enough written past this point to constitute another update, so you might have to wait a week or so. I will try to write fast, but I just bought Pokemon for my DS. XD It'll be a wonder if the world ever sees me again!

 

Again, any suggestions are welcome. I really like to hear them, even if they don't make their way in. Anyone other troll/kid you want to meet in this college universe? :)

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Oh. My. asduhkfhsfuhuf *spazzes*

Okay, okay. I'll probably try leaving a more sane comment when my brain begins to function again, but... yes. Just yes. Yes times infinity.

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@pinknose: You are too kind! biggrin.png

 

Okay, so I was fooling around late a couple of nights ago, and I ended up making a blueprint for Eridan's apartment. I like it, so I'm posting it here! I'm sure it conflicts with facts in the story, since I only made it now, but shhhh.... Just ignore that. XD

 

Eridan's Apartment

 

Here's the next part!

 

----

 

You wake to the sound of an acoustic guitar and blearily look around for the source before remembering that ED’s alarm is across the room. Yep, there it is, on top of the desk next to the silver swordfish letter opener and the sheet music for his a cappella group. You debate for a second about turning it off, but your bedmate is still completely zonked out and doesn’t really look like he ought to be getting up yet. Or any time today. You work his arms away from your hips – since when were you two spooning? – and scrabble out of the bed, pressing a button and restoring silence. Until your stomach rumbles. You need food.

 

You’ve just put on a pot of coffee and are looking through the cabinets for a cereal bowl when there’s a soft knock at the door. You glance at the clock above the stove, which informs you that it’s just past 7:30. Strange… You’d stripped your jeans off the night before, but you don’t really feel like going back to get them, so you stride to the door in your boxers and T-shirt. You peek through the peephole and see an incredibly cheery face smiling back at you.

 

Outside in the hallway is FEFERI PEIXES, who you have dated a couple of times since fall semester. She is the HEIRESS APPARENT for the environmental activist organization BC CORP, currently run by her mother, who everyone refers to as THE IMPERIAL CONDESCENSION behind her back. Feferi, however, is not as stuck up as her family, and is instead a very CHARMING if constantly EXCITED young lady, even though she has a BIT OF A TEMPER sometimes. You know she has dreams of becoming a MARINE BIOLOGIST, or, failing that, opening some sort of AQUATIC RESCUE AGENCY. She loves animals of all kinds, but especially HORSES and CUTTLEFISH.

 

She’s wearing the starfish earrings you bought her for New Year’s and it makes you smile.

 

You unlock the door and swing it open to greet her with the best “good morning” you can muster. She looks adorable, as always, wrapped up in a puffy pink jacket and a white scarf. Her long, dark hair spills out from under her knit cap in a veritable waterfall of curls. You go to kiss her and she meets you halfway, giggling. It’s shorter than you’d like, but she obviously didn’t come here to make out with you in the hallway. You step aside and let her in.

 

“What are you doing here, Sollux?” she asks, cheerfully, stomping water off her boots in the hall. Her full skirt swishes around her legs as she does so and you kind of want to spin her around. She does that to you. “Are you here for a project or somefin?”

 

“Nope. ED and I don’t have any clatheth together thith semethter, thank God. He jutht wanted someone to whine to, and ath we all know, he only hath two friendth.” You hold out a hand for her scarf and coat, but she shakes her head, starfish sparkling.

 

“I can’t stay too long; I don’t have much time to krill before my lecture this morning. I just came by to drop off Eridan’s car keys. He called me yesterday morning saying someone had scratched Melissa and asked me to bring by his Prius.”

 

“Tho that’th what he named it,” you say. You guess it fits. You’re not really into the habit of naming your technology.

 

“Yep! I was, of course, happy to oblige. He was letting me borrow it for my research, but since we’ve moved back into the lab, I can take the bus. That way, I’m saving energy, too!” She fishes around in her pocket before pulling out a key ring and handing it to you. “Could you just drop that in the dish by the sink? Thanks!”

 

While you’re over there, you pour yourself and FF a cup of coffee and bring them back with you. She takes hers gratefully and takes a sip. “So what’s up with Eridan?” she asks. “Is he fretting about his concert? I told him to stop worrying about it, since it’s still weeks away! Silly guppy.”

 

You shrug. “He didn’t thay anything about it. I think he jutht wanted thomeone to complain to about hith cold. Though we ended up talking about me, moreth the pity.” You down half your coffee in one go, practiced in the art of caffeine intake. It’s hot, but not so hot that it burns. Not hot enough, then. “He had a fever latht night and we were up pretty late, tho he’th thtill thleeping.”

 

Feferi frowns. “That’s too bad. I hope he feels better soon.” She finishes her drink and looks at her watch. “I was hoping to say hi to him before I went, but I don’t want to wake him up.”

 

“I’ll path on your regardth,” you tell her, taking her empty mug.

 

She gives you a mischievous look. “Make sure you do, buster! I won’t be pleased if you disobey me!”

 

“Yeth, printheth.” You smirk and kiss her again, then take the coffee mugs to the counters. She looks unhappy again when you come back to give her a proper goodbye, though.

 

“I’m sure he’ll be all right, won’t he?” She’s absently petting her scarf. “I mean, I could get the lecture notes from Tavros and stay here…”

 

You roll your eyes. “FF, no, come on. He’th a grown man. He doethn’t need you coddling him. Bethideth, you shouldn’t skip clath.”

 

“I know, I know…” She lets you scoop her into your arms. “I just have a hard time seaing him as anything otter than that little boy I met on the island, I guess. Sometimes I just want to cuttle him like I used to.”

 

“Your punth are getting worthe,” you say, burying your face in her hair. “Are you really that contherned?”

 

“No… Whale… I don’t know!” She drops back to her feet. “I’ll stop by this afternoon. I’ll be late if I stay any longer.”

 

“Have fun,” you tell her, and you see her out the door, only retreating back inside when she’s in the elevator and out of your sight. You go back to your search for breakfast, finally finding a bowl and settling at the table with Cheerios. You put honey in them and start reading an old issue of the paper that’s lying around.

 

At 8:30, after you’ve dumped your dishes in the sink, you go back to the bedroom and peer inside. Eridan hasn’t stirred, but he’s curled up in the blankets, head underneath his pillow. You walk over and get your jeans off the floor, then tug the comforter tighter over his shoulder. He still feels warm when you brush a hand over his neck, and you shrug. He can afford to take a day off. You, on the other hand, have to get to Biology.

 

Only, when you’re making sure you shoved the whole problem set into your bag beside your laptop, you suddenly don’t feel like going. It’s not like you really need to go. You don’t have a lab today, and it’s your only Friday class. You can just email your problem set to your professor. And this way you can avoid VK. It’s win-win. You can use the time gained to check all your message boards.

 

This.

Is.

Stupid.

 

There’s no possible reason why you should stay with the annoying fishy hipster. FF is overreacting. You are overreacting because she is. He’s never going to appreciate it. He’ll probably just bitch at you about not waking him up. He’s incapable of showing gratitude to other people, especially you.

 

You drop your bag and go to fuck with his computer for revenge. But you stay.

 

---

 

==> Be Eridan Ampora.

 

You cannot be Eridan Ampora, because he is sleeping. You would only succeed in laying there uncomfortably in the semi-darkness afforded by the thick curtains drawn across the window. You would be dreaming of something both peculiar and boring in the way that fever dreams can be. You wouldn’t be able to feel the raw ache in your throat, but you would be suffering from an unfortunate amount of congestion that would be making it difficult to breathe. You might let out a rather heartrending sleepy noise of distress every now and then, but these would go unheard by your immensely irritating best-friend’s-boyfriend-with-benefits. You really hate that guy. You hate his stupid lisp. You hate his creepy mismatched eyes. You hate his superior attitude, the one he sports even though he comes from nothing and is going nowhere. Unlike you.

 

You really hate his face. Damn, that face gets you every time…

 

Your name is Eridan Ampora and you have drifted into wakefulness over the course of the preceding paragraph. You immediately wish that you hadn’t, because now that you are conscious, you are plagued with the many unfortunate symptoms of a bad head cold. Some, like the congestion, you were already suffering from. Others, like your burning throat and wheezy breathing, are delightful new developments. You try to groan and end up hacking into your pillow. Jegus, that hurts.

 

You want to lie in bed forever. You want to forget your Envi seminar and the afternoon shift at the bookstore and just shiver here until you shiver yourself out. You want someone to drape a cold cloth over the back of your neck and whisper to you soothingly. You want herbal tea and hot soup and a movie with someone who cares about you. Even some memories of times like those would be grand, but you have never really had anyone to do that for you. You don’t get very sick very often, and the only one who really took an interest in your well being when you were a child was your father’s grumpy aide. Even that was probably only because the man couldn’t be bothered himself.

 

An image of Fef springs to mind, but you push it reluctantly away. You don’t want her catching this. She’s doing a lot of important things in the lab right now, and she really can’t afford to miss anything. Not to mention the fact that you never want to see her unhappy ever again. God…

 

There’s suddenly a knock on your bedroom door. For a terrifying split-second, you are afraid that it’s Feferi, sprung from your thoughts, wanting to hold your hand and kiss your forehead. You’re really not sure you could deal with that right now. Then the door swings unceremoniously open and you know it can’t be her.

 

“Hey!” You try for rightfully indignant but you should be happy you got the word out at all. You didn’t realize how hoarse you were.

 

The intruder halts their approach and slouches against the doorframe. “Oh, you’re up. Thweet. ”

 

“Sol?” You frown. “Wwhat the fuck are you still doin’ here?” You push yourself up into a sitting position and gain a headache for your trouble. This is turning out to be an amazing morning. After groping for your glasses on the bedside table and sliding them on, his angular frame comes into focus. The bastard is grinning at you.

 

“You pretty much told me to thleep over, athhat, or have you not deigned to remember?”

 

Oh, right. You scrub a hand over your jaw, feeling stubble scrape at your palm. You don’t really want to shave, but if you have company… “You better not’a messed up my couch. That shit was expensivve.”

 

He hesitates, then smirks harder. “You are thuch a fucking diva, ED, my god.” Something feels like it’s changed, but hell if you can tell what it is. People, as everyone is keen to remind you, are not your strong suit. Not your problem. You stand up and clear your throat. He rolls his eyes but gets out of your door. You can hear him dicking around with his laptop while you trudge to the bathroom for your morning routine. Only, you think you might skip the hair gel today. You don’t really feel up to primping.

 

Being sick sucks.

 

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EDIT: Forgot to clarify: Envi is short for environmental science!

 

I'll have more up pretty soon! Still taking suggestions, as well!

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Eeeee this is really cute so far ! ;w;

Keep up the good work ~

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  • 2 months later...

Yeah, so I'm totally being that jerk that bumps the topic just to whine about how much I miss this story, but I just reread this entire thing in a fit of Homestuck-craving-induced insanity. (Where is that update, Hussie?! TT_TT)

I know not a lot of people are giving this much attention, but I'd really appreciate it if you kept this going. There is not nearly enough HS stuff on this forum. :(

If you have any plans at all to continue this, could you please say so? *fingers crossed*

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  • 3 weeks later...

Yeah, so I'm totally being that jerk that bumps the topic just to whine about how much I miss this story, but I just reread this entire thing in a fit of Homestuck-craving-induced insanity. (Where is that update, Hussie?! TT_TT)

I know not a lot of people are giving this much attention, but I'd really appreciate it if you kept this going. There is not nearly enough HS stuff on this forum. sadsmiley.gif

If you have any plans at all to continue this, could you please say so? *fingers crossed*

I...... kind of forgot about this! Whoops! /shot :D I think I have a little more written past this, but it's not really enough for another whole part update. I kind of lost track of where I was going, and certain things that happened in the comic kind of killed my Erisol feels (mainly, Eridan and Sollux haven't been around for two+ months...). If you have any sort of idea of what you'd like to see from this, I might get inspired to work on it again, but I don't have any concrete plans to write more right now....

Sorry if that's an unsatisfying answer. I'm really horrible about finishing things. :P

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I will mourn the loss of canon!Erisol with you. :'(

If you're looking for suggestions, I'd really like to see some of the other trolls, and I'd probably pass out from pure love if Sollux could somehow catch Eridan's cold. Honestly I'd just be overjoyed to see any more of this story. There is not nearly enough Homestuck on the forum and your writing is just so good! :3

(p.s. Homestuck update! Hallelujah!!)

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Yeah, I'm so glad it's updating again! But I wish it would go back to a daily schedule. I need constant reinforcement. XD

In any case, I'll see what I can do. No promises! But since I know you'd like to see more, if I get bored I'll try and think of this first. :)

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  • 5 months later...

Are you still doing this? I have just recently gotten into Homestuck and I am loving this!! <3

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I was thinking that maybe Eridan's fever gets worse to the point of horrible dreams and the inability to get out of bed so that Sollux has to take care of him. (Holy shit so much stereotype angst XD)

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...Okay. So. This is the leftover I had, plus a teeny bit to make a chapter end out of it. I have two more chapters planned. No, I do not know when I will get to them. I have lots of stuff going on right now, and worse is that I get all lazy and limp when my work is done and want to tumble my life away instead of being creative. But! Since there's been some renewed interest, I give you the dubious gift of hope (and some more sneezes)...

 

---

 

You leave your pajamas on the floor in a heap and mince back and forth from cold foot to cold foot on the tile while you wait for the shower to heat up. You only step in once it’s good and steamy in the room, dropping your glasses absently by the sink. The water feels nice against your sweaty skin and you sigh. This is a far cry from your usual wake-up ice water plunge and you plan to enjoy it; every bit of you seems to throb with your pulse and you really just need to relax right now.

 

Your nose starts running as you’re washing your hair. Well, you’ve been done with your hair for a while actually. Right now, you’re sort of standing with your head under the stream and feeling sorry for yourself. With all the ambient moisture you’re pretty sure you wouldn’t have noticed, let alone cared, except it tickles something awful. You pinch your nose shut, but it doesn’t seem to help. You try rubbing.

 

“Hh… Heh…” You scrunch up your face, but the urge to sneeze just comes back stronger than ever. “Heh… Hhk-ttschuh!” You clamp your hand around your face even though you’re in the shower and end up with a messy palm. Ewww… You scrub it off as fast as you can even as you’re bending in another harsh expulsion, this time half-assedly aimed at your shoulder. “Ekt-tschuu!” This one sets your throat to aching. You could just die with exhausted frustration. You really don’t want to go to class now. What if you had to sneeze in the middle of the discussion? You can feel your stomach sink just contemplating it.

 

You give yourself another five minutes in the shower before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a fluffy indigo towel. Whatever relief you found under the water is fading quickly, your sinuses thickening and your head growing heavy. You sniff miserably and try to dry quickly to avoid a chill, but you keep interrupting yourself. “Hh- Hektsch!” Ow. “Ehh… Ehktsch!” Fuck. It seems to take forever to finish up, and you try to save on time-without-clothes by foregoing your dressing gown and just striding into the hall with your towel slung around your hips.

 

“Hey, ED, are you finally out or what?” calls Sol from the couch.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” you return, “I wwas not in there that fuckin’ long.” You hate how your words come out coarse and blunted with congestion. Best option: escape to your bedroom. You’re almost safely enclosed when you hear him sigh long-sufferingly.

 

“Right, ‘cauthe I only open my mouth to inthult you. I jutht wanted to know if you wanted lunch, thinthe you’re the douche who thlept patht noon.”

 

You freeze. “Wwhat?” You stalk out to the living room, still damp, clinging to your towel. “You had better be fuckin’ wwith me, Sol, or so help me-”

 

He looks up at you from his slouch and shrugs. “Look at a clock, ED. It’th nearing one.”

 

Your eyes shoot to the clock above the kitchen sink, which unfortunately corroborates his statement. Well, that’s just fantastic. “Wwhy didn’t my alarm go off?” you ask, and you’re maybe freaking out the smallest bit. You haven’t missed class yet this year, and you weren’t planning to. Your grades are excellent. Is this going to affect your GPA? “Wwhy the fuck didn’t you wwake me up, Sol?” You round on him. Really, if he’s been here since you called him last night, he has no excuse. Freeloading son of a bitch.

 

He doesn’t answer you right away. It doesn’t even seem like he’s paying attention to you- then you realize that he is, just not to what you’re saying. His eyes are fixed on your abdomen, and the smirk has completely left his face. Oh, right. You guess he’s never seen your scar before. Welp.

 

“What the fuck ith that?” he asks, and he even lowers his shades to peer at it with his freaky eyes.

 

You’re torn between actually trying to give him an answer and just going back to bed. It’s an easy fucking choice, isn’t it? After all, you still hate Sollux Captor more than you hate anyone else. That never stopped being a thing that was true. And now that you’ve missed class, there’s not a lot you can do about it. Why even bother yelling? Especially since your head hurts so much. AND it was his fault. You turn around and head back to your room.

 

“Thtop, ED! I’m talking to you.”

 

He can’t leave well enough alone, can he? You obviously refuse to acknowledge him, at least until he jogs in front of you, completely blocking the hallway. You stop walking.

 

“What the fuck ith that?” he repeats, now pointing as well as staring. You can feel angry heat creeping into your face. It had been a long time since anyone looked at you like that.

 

“None a your fuckin’ business, is wwhat,” you snap. “It’s just a fuckin’ scar. That fuckin’ happens to people sometimes.”

 

Now he decides to look at your face. You scowl, really hoping he’ll drop it. Surprise, surprise; he doesn’t. Maybe if was a remnant of an appendectomy or some other surgery he would have stopped asking, but the scar in question is a lot bigger than that. It almost bisects you, slicing down from just below your left pectoral and ending above your right hip. It’s the ugliest thing about you and reminds you of a lot of things you’d prefer to forget. You try not to look at it. Ever.

 

“That’th one bigath thcar,” Sol remarks intelligently. “When did you get it? How come I haven’t theen it before?”

 

Your apartment is fucking freezing and your nose is running again, and holy shit, you just want to smother yourself in blankets and never wake up again.

 

“Wwell, Sol, it’s probably because you’ve nevver bothered looking higher than my dick.” Even when he was pushing you to the shitty mattress in his dorm room after the Christmas rave party, both of you drunk and wanting, you’d only lost your pants. You remember, since you’d gotten sick on your shirt the next morning when he left you sobbing in hungover agony in the dorm’s tiny bathroom.

 

He rolls his eyes at you. “It ith my favorite part of you. It can’t talk.”

 

You have had enough of this, you decide, and you shove past him and into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you. None too soon, since your nose has started to act up again. You bury your face in your towel, leaning back against the door. “Ehk-tschmp! Heh…. Hh… Heht-tchunmp!” You try to stifle them as best you can, but it takes too much effort. You blow your nose – or try to – in the corner of your towel. It’s kind of gross, but you’re a swimmer. Towel abuse is nothing new to you.

 

“You’re being thtupid,” comes Sollux’s voice through the door. “Come on, get over yourthelf and tell me.”

 

“Oh, fuck you.” You push away from the door and stalk over to your dresser, pulling out the drawers and pawing through your wardrobe for something comfortable. You settle on a sweater and a worn pair of jeans.

 

“Theriouthly, ED. I’m athking becauthe I am genuinely curiouth.”

 

You pull the sweater over your head and yank it down to cover your belly. “The only thing fuckin’ genuine about you is that you are genuinely hh- an assheh- asshole. Hehk-tchuss!” You slip into a pair of purple boxers and then pull on your jeans. “Wwhy don’t you go back home? I think you’vve ovverstayed your fuckin’ wwelcome.” Your voice breaks on the last word and you try painfully to clear your throat.

 

He heaves a long sigh in the hallway and then you hear his footsteps padding back across the hardwood in the direction of the kitchen. Good. You hope he’s collecting his things. In the meantime, you wind a scarf around your neck and pull on some socks. You’re still cold, though. You suspect that you might still have a fever.

 

After a few minutes of rubbing heat into your arms and skulking about waiting for Sollux to leave, you cautiously exit your room and look around. You want to grab some medicine and maybe some toast, then crash on the couch until your shift at Barrow’s Books. If you’re lucky, Say Yes to the Dress will be on and you can just zone out watching that. Beats trying to find something with a plot. Though you’re really a sucker for a good mermaid dress, you’re not even going to lie.

 

The backpack is gone from your coffee table and his beat-up shoes and coat are gone from your hallway. Good. And good riddance. You never should have called him here in the first place. You don’t even know what you wanted from him, given that all he ever does is piss you off. In a nice kind of way. Yeah, it doesn’t make sense to you either.

 

Two cups of tea and a plate of toast later, you are passed out on the couch, no longer listening while Randy tells this week’s lucky bride to stick it to her mom and follow what her heart tells her.

 

---

 

Does the scar have a point? It's so mysterious!

 

That's a lie. Mainly, it's a canon reference with self-indulgent AU origins, which you will hear if and when I finish this sucker.

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oh yeah, you finally continued this (i was secretly reading in the dark)

this is soooo adorable, i really enjoy reading this, especially cause eridan is my favorite

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