This movie is almost over; this movie suggestion you had to wheedle out of your hiveguest like it was the location of a top secret rebel base and you were an freelance interrogaterrorisor hired directly by the Empress because the guys on the Imperial payroll just weren’t cutting it. And now he’s full of home cooking, laid out across the arm of the couch, snoozing peacefully, all draped over in one of your favorite quilts...
You feel guilty for thinking he’s cute. Then you feel guilty for feeling guilty. You may very well have some sort of hitherto undiscovered Karkat complex.
You pull his quilt up a little more and layer yours over him as well. You were going to escort him to a guest block, but... you don’t want to wake him. He looks peaceful. You do lean in to adjust a cushion under his head, though; you’d hate him to wake up with a migraine. A deep breath and a whiff of that brand new but so familiar crimson blood, faint in the air... breathe out. You collect the dishes from the table and head over to the kitchenette to tidy up so there won’t be a mess to deal with in the evening.
You’ll probably sleep on the couch too, when all’s said and done. It’s easier if you’re not alone.