Kit didn’t look anything like the photos he found years ago. He was worried for nothing. He was fine. He wasn’t upset.
The makeup remover was oily and unpleasant, but worked well. He scrubbed his forehead until the skin was pink, then used a new wet towel to get the remover off too. His face was clean, his hair sticking to his wet forehead. But there was still paint and gunk on his hands. Red under his fingernails.
Kit turned the faucet on again and slathered his hands with soap to scrub it off.
The water ran hotter than he expected. Pretty good plumbing for such a dump. Though Kit shouldn’t judge. He might be used to James’s cushy lifestyle now, but he’d lived in far shittier places.
Kit washed his hands until they were pink and clean, then just stood there, zoning out, with the water running over his left wrist. The heat was grounding. Something to focus on. Something to think about, so he didn’t have to think about anything else.
He stared at his face in the mirror and didn’t feel anything. Just the water’s distant heat.
Loud pounding broke Kit from his daze.
“You all right in there?” James called through the door.
Pain blazed up Kit’s arm. He yanked his arm away from the sink, and cold shock punched his stomach. A scalded patch stood out bright pink against his pale skin.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Yeah, just a second!” Kit yanked the knob over to the right. He tested the water every few seconds with his fingertips, and as soon as it was cold enough, shoved his wrist back under the stream. Too little too late to soothe the irritated skin.
Fuck. He hadn’t hurt himself without noticing in years.
“Note to self,” Kit muttered to his chalk-white reflection. “You’re still fucked up.”
Kit hadn’t been upset by posing for the photos—but that wasn’t a good thing. He’d been triggered back to the emotionless daze Bishop and James first found him in, when he’d been living one day to the next, trapped in Uncle Ed’s house by his own dead-hearted inertia.
Now, his terrified, pounding heart was a relief. Kit would rather be scared of himself than numb.
Exhaling harshly, Kit turned off the water and toweled off his face and hands. His arm barely hurt, thanks to James interrupting him, and he didn’t think his distress showed in his face. Probably. James and Darius were both starting to read him far too well.
That was okay. Kit had a pretty good idea of how to distract them. And if it made Kit feel better unbeknownst to them? Win-win.
When Kit opened the bathroom door, James was already right there, his hand raised and ready to knock.
“What took you so long?” James asked.
“I was contemplating the meaning of the wordprivacy.” Kit stepped into James’s space and tapped the center of his chest. James’s scent didn’t settle his nerves. Far from that. But it was a different sort of excitement. The exact distraction they both needed. “Do you know that word?”
“Never heard of it,” James said without missing a beat. “I was worried. What sort of devoted boyfriend would I be, if I didn’t check on you?”
“Devoted?” Kit stretched up on his toes and pulled James down by the neck. “Why don’t you prove that?” he breathed, before leaning into a kiss.
Kit really, really liked how easy James was. James didn’t ask questions, just grabbed Kit by the ass and hauled him off the ground to better angle the kiss. Kit’s legs wrapped around James as his back slammed against the wall.
He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t want to breathe. He just wanted this, the slick press of James’s tongue unraveling his anxiety. Each bite at his lips drove his heart rate higher with something entirely different than terror. The weight of James’s body and the solid wall behind him were comforting. Grounding.
Even the polite cough ten feet away couldn’t ruin the mood.
“Don’t mind me,” Darius said from down the hallway. “I just wanted to let you know that if you guys make a mess, I’m not doing the laundry again.”
Kit slumped against the wall, catching his breath, as James gave Darius a blinding smile.
“I don’t even know how to do laundry,” James said, so smoothly Kit wasn’t sure if he was lying or not. “I have housekeepers for that.”
Darius snorted. “That’s pathetic. What kind of man doesn’t know how to do laundry?”
