Sunday night, 8 p.m. sharp you're there with your face pressed against Equius' sweaty bitch tits as he holds you like the baby.

6 months back, Equius lost both of his testicles and since then he lost his wife, Aradia, and daughter, Nepeta. You only remebered their names because thats all he talks about. Well that and his glory days as a fucking juice head, you mean "competitive body builder." However, unlike other bodybuilders Equius' has tits. Hormone therapy came along with a side of high testosterone and because of that, his body had to kick up the estrogen to maintain balance.

Equius' big arms looped you right inside him, but you didn't push back. You pulled in, right in his musk and sweat and buried your face into his tits. Motor boat him while you're at it.

"If you wish to cry, go ahead." He drone as he pat down your wild licks of jet. "It will be alright."

It will be alright, you chanted. Instantly, a set of dominos were set off. One by one from the core of your useless piece of shit of a body, chemicals started to react and soon enough you further dug your nose into his chest. You let go.

Crying is what you need. The release from your shitty job, your shitty boss and his shitty accent, from your shitty harelquin filled life. No one understands but most of all no one listens to your bucktooth ass. Your mouth agape, tongue readying and willing to lash out to those who put your ass down. Then again who are you really trying to face? Staring at your mirror, staring at your baggy, colbalt glare of purest form of isolation. Even you don't listen to your mind, body or soul, and thus is why you have an insomina.

Which is why you're here, for two years and 6 months you've been attending support groups. It's only when you have an invisible gun to your head is when someone actually leads an ear. Actually make you feel like you're beloved. It feels nice to be cared for, after you've been rejected by the ones you loved. Makes a whole lot easier to cry too.

This is how you meet Karkat Vantas.

Equius gives a jerking sob. Up with the shoulder blade, down with his articulation of breath. Huff, huff, puff, puff. Big bad Equius is going to blow down your house. Though, that doesn't bother you one bit. This is the closet you will get to sleep, and you will get your sleep because you fucking earn it by those hours you pull.

"Only the strong will survive," Equius remarked.

Peaking your cerulean open, you see the other men in the Remaining Men circle. All hugging and crying, it warms you up until you saw him.

His face contorted to one side while he pulls a long drag from his lips, blowing into your circle as a man cry his burdens into the crook of his neck. His eyes meet yours.
Lier.
Lier.
Pants on fucking fire.

He just rubs you the wrong way, he wasn't even trying to fake it. Short matte black hair, half-lidden amber eyes that fell endlessly against the porcelain flesh that barely covered bone. Maybe he is sick, in the fucking head because he's always in yours tuberculosis group on Friday. Around Wednesday night, he's staring at you with that same drag in his mouth at your melanoma round table. Monday night he's attending the lukiemia rap group. What a fucking joy, oh wait, he also goes to your brain parasite group on Thursdays.

It annoys you, it infuriates you to know he's there. You need to this, you need to relax and let go of all the stress thats blocking your chi.

This is your vacation.

-

The first time you ever step foot into a support group, it was right after your doctors appointment for your insomnia. You don't know why you have it, but you do know it's killing you. Albeit, your doctor refuses to see the murderous aspect. Only telling you to chew valerian root, get excrise and just listen to your body. When all you really want is the red-and-blue pill.

"If you wish to see true torture, I suggest witnessing First Eucharist on Tuesday night, Brain Parasites on Thursday," Doctor Maryam kept listening more and more, by the end of it all.

You went.

You never gave out your real name when it came to introductions: This is Andrew, this is Jack, this is Droogs. All force smiles and greetings.

"Hello, Hey, Hi," we all get it.

Making her way towards the front, Aranea took center stage. No doubt she was captivating, the way her hips pop with each click of her heel. Too bad you lost all effort and energy to prove your heterosexuality back in high school. Still, you'll admit when you see an attractive female. Especially how smoothly her words flow like velvet, leaving tracks of bumps along your forearm.

She instructs you with a tug of her frames up her nose to close your eyes and just follow her voice. Follow her through the red curtains, green curtains and pass a man with a cue ball.

You wake up again. Eyes flown open to nothing but the sky. Body stretch across fields upon endless fields of shade, soon enough you pop on your elbows and took a glance around.

"Watch out," with a snap, you gaze at a lone figure to the north. Hesitantly, you began your journey. Closer and closer, louder and louder they warned," watch out."

For what? You differ. Shoving a wristful into your slacks by the time you reach the yellow salamader.

"Friendship stairs."

You wake up and you're up on the first floor. Equius and other men file out the building, while you just stood there. Bewildered and unresponsive. Until push came to shove.

"Move bitch, get out of the way."

His boney fingers sunk into your linen pressed dress shirt, allowing him to shimmy right pass you. A trail of toxin following every whip of his heel.

You will get Karkat Vantas back, if you could you would throw that painters bucket at his face. Just to watch him squirm on the floor where he belongs.

You need some fucking sleep.