Rolling his eyes—because if he was acting like himself, he would roll his eyes—Kit hopped onto the table where Dariusindicated. His lime sneakers swung above the floor, and a chill washed through him.
Kit was a hypocrite for demanding Darius’s hypothetical cosplay photos. Because photos of himself made Kit uneasy. Depending on the circumstances. Selfies were fine. Other people taking photos was okay if Kit could look at them first, and better if they were on Kit’s phone so he could delete them.
Today, Kit was about to break all his self-protective rules. He just had to trust Darius to use the photos correctly.
It was the best solution to the very real problem of someone ordering a hit on him. Kit had no grounds to refuse. He shouldn’t, couldn’t explain anyway. Explaining wasn’t smart. Revealing weaknesses meant people could use those weaknesses against him.
Even if Kit was stupid enough to explain, he couldn’t. His throat choked up at the thought of saying it out loud.
Whatever. He’d been okay recently, now that he had James and whatever was going on with all his other murdery BFFs. Kit should be fine as long as he didn’t look at the photos.
At least he had the distracting spice of Darius’s cologne. Warm fingertips touched Kit’s chin and turned his face back and forth.
“Why can’t you just edit a normal photo?” Kit asked, burying his nerves. “This isn’t the Dark Ages.”
Darius brushed Kit’s hair back from his forehead. His movements were careful, efficient. He didn’t linger like James would have. “Editing over practical effects is easier than starting from scratch. Especially since we’re not hiring out.”
Right. Kit would much rather not be here for this—but getting more people involved was objectively bad. Kit just needed it tohold his shit together until they were done. “So, how are you going to kill me?”
Darius tapped Kit’s forehead, just a hair right of center. “Normally, I’d shoot from behind. But it’s easier to mimic an entry wound.”
“Aw, I like it from behind.” Kit grinned and poked Darius’s thigh with his toe. “But fine, do me from the front.”
James leaned on Darius’s shoulder. “He’s not actually that picky. He likes it however I give it to him.”
Darius shoved James away. “Is that so?”
“No comment.” Kit shook a finger at James. “You’ve been awfully arrogant since I let you be my boyfriend.”
“No, he’s always been arrogant,” Darius said mildly.
“It’s true,” James said, unashamed.
Then Darius opened the fake skin goop and said, “Close your eyes, Kit.”
The wordsYes, sirhovered on the tip of Kit’s tongue. But flirting wasn’t as easy as usual, so instead, he just kept quiet and obeyed. Eyes closed, he tried to think of anything except a camera flash.
Darius’s intense focus was clear even with Kit’s eyes closed. There was something so reassuring about his competence, his careful movements. He smudged some liquid under Kit’s eyes, then around his mouth, rubbing gently, deliberately around his lips. He spent the longest time at Kit’s forehead, building up the wound with fake skin and layers of paint.
At least, Kit assumed Darius was competent. For all Kit knew, maybe he’d come out of this looking like a fucking clown. He thought about that, instead of all the other photos he’d seen of boys with dark hair and dead eyes.
The ones with dead eyes were easiest to remember.
By the time Darius was done, Kit found himself in an almost-meditative state. So much so that he didn’t hear the first time—
“Kit?” Darius asked.
Kit’s eyes opened. “Sorry. Are you done?”
James grimaced from across the kitchen. “You’re way too good at that, Darius. That’s nasty.”
“It’ll do,” Darius said. “All right, hop down. Time for your photo shoot.”
Kit expected his knees to give out when he jumped from the table—but he was steady. Maybe he was worried for nothing. This would be fine.
“Where’s the studio?” Kit asked. His forehead itched under the paint.
Darius pointed. “We’ll take a few up here, and a few in the basement. I’ll use whichever one works best with the lighting.”
