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“What are you doing?”
TK winced, head bowing further under the spray of water, a tremble in his arms where they braced against the slippery tiles. He was naked, his clothes left in a messy pile by the toilet – it wasn’t like they were salvageable, and he tried to ignore the way Carlos’ voice made his stomach twist.
“TK.”
He sounded angry – no, that wasn’t quite right…he sounded raw, and it left him leaden with guilt, “this isn’t what you think,” TK murmured, lungs squeezing where they struggled to draw in breath. It was true, he knew he must look a mess, blood still circling in the drain at his feet, the steam clogging the air enough to leave him feeling suffocated and light-headed.
Carlos stood next to him, wide-eyed and uncertain, hands twitching where they hung at his sides. TK knew he wanted to reach inside and twist off the water, knew he was fighting every instinct to drag him out of its scorching heat, but Carlos knew how much he detested being manhandled, “turn it off.”
Grimacing, he shook his head, “it doesn’t hurt,” he muttered instead. “I’m not hurting myself – I can’t feel anything.”
That wasn’t strictly true, it was more that he couldn’t feel enough.
It was a bad day, he’d known it the moment he’d woken up that morning with his skin crawling and his heart beating like a drum inside his chest. His father sometimes talked about having a sixth sense for trouble, when things were going to take a turn and he probably should have listened to his own.
“TK, turn it off,” this time, the command was laced with an almost imperceptible tremble. “Please, just turn it off.”
His hands were moving before he even really thought about it, unable to stand the idea of Carlos being upset with him over something as stupid as this. The water had run clear at his feet, and he figured he must at least be clean now, if nothing else.
The moment the water stopped, a hollowness filled his chest in the absence of the noise and TK found himself squeezing his eyes closed against it, the sensation unbearable. Cool air wafted against his reddened skin, making him shiver from the sensitivity and suddenly Carlos was there, his voice low and soothing.
“Thank you,” a hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged him out of the shower, prompting him to glance at him. Carlos had grabbed a towel, his eyes watching him and dripping underserved concern. “I’ve got you TK.”
It should be comforting, the way he’s pulled into Carlos’ arms, should let the tension seep from his body, and his mind quiet down – but not tonight, not when the crash is still playing like a horror reel inside his head.
A pile up, thirteen cars and one transport, the metal twisted, glass shattered, blood drenching leather and plastic like a fucking slasher movie and all because of one driver who overdosed in the middle of the highway – he was apparently on his way to pick-up his son from school. Now, he couldn’t seem to turn it off, found himself remembering how they moved from wreck to wreck, Tommy shouting orders behind them, his fingers pressed to neck after neck – not many survived.
Carlos had been there – controlling the traffic and making sure nobody else slammed into the emergency vehicles. He’d seen him briefly, his face contorted into disbelief, worry as he scanned the scene and TK didn’t have it in him to talk, to stick around – there had been too many people in need of saving.
His palm sat heavy on his nape and TK let himself be guided until his face was buried in the crook of Carlos’ neck, the scent of him invading his senses. He was sweaty, it’s been a long day, but there was also the undefinable smell of home – the mix of sweat, cologne, and sandalwood.
They stood there for a long time, the steam from the shower slowly billowing out into the rest of the condo until it wasn’t quite so suffocating. Carlos was patient, a hand rubbing at his back in gentle circles, a solid presence.
“I don’t like when you hurt yourself.”
He flinched, an involuntary reaction to the voice low in his ear and TK can’t breathe again, doesn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about hurting himself, not really, “it wasn’t like that,” he murmured instead. “I just-” The words get stuck in his throat on the way out, wasn’t entirely sure how he intended to finish the sentence. Still Carlos deserved more then that, deserved something. “It was too much, I needed to drown it out. I’m sorry.”
Carlos’ arms tightened around him, “Not like this, okay? Come to me, your dad, somebody, I don’t care. Just don’t do this.”
It’s a lot to ask, but Carlos must know that because he was on the receiving end of TK’s tendency to run away from his problems, to hide away until he could find his own way out again, until he could banish the numbness.
TK wasn’t hurting himself. He’d readily admit that the water had been scorching on his skin, the steam suffocating, but he wouldn’t be irreparably hurt by it. Still – he knows what Carlos means – after all, he was the one who’d processed him after the bar fight, the one who’d accused him of doing something so suicidal just to get rid of the emptiness.
Burying his face further into Carlos’ neck, he finally let his arms snake around his partner’s waist. He felt him release a heavy breath, the sound dripping with relief and the guilt is still there, the disappointment in himself - for making Carlos worry.
“I’m sorry. The crash today – I’ve seen worse but this…” he trailed off.
Lips were pressed into his damp hair, a thumb rubbing soothingly against his nape, “I know. It was different.”
It was.
A man’s poor decision had imploded the world of so many others, changed it in a way that meant it would never be the same and TK – well when he pressed his fingers to the man’s neck, had checked for a pulse and found him still and dead – for just a second, he thought he’d seen himself.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“It’s alright, I’ve got you.”