Work Text:
The door closes with a short, clean click. Scott doesn't look at it when he walks to his bedroom to take off the shoes and the suit and hopefully everything else that's settled on his shoulders as well. Putting everything on its hanger, back in its proper place soothes him somewhat, strongholds order into his crumbling surroundings. His throat gives out for a second, a small sound and a quiver escape from it, he ignores it and takes it all into the shower.
Warm water, long gentle caress over his body, playing with his hair. It's frightening how easily his mind always turns the sensation into a mother's touch and now into an echo of Kips hands on his body, wide and roughened up by work. Despite the trajectory of his thoughts, the shower does exactly what it's supposed to do; it washes everything away and what's left he can scrub at with soap, he can claw at it with his nails. His teeth are clenched together, every muscle on his face is tight and rigid, he can tell the pace of his breathing isn't following the rhythm it's supposed to, but he can still pretend he doesn't notice any of it, even when something salty becomes mixed with the rainfall coming from the shower head.
Kip's fabric softener is on every clean towel, he breathes it in and keeps it to his nose until he catches his reflection doing it in the mirror.
He tidies up everything rushing through his mind, he picks up a book and opens it at the introduction to look at the words while he sorts out every thought in his head; they are few and disconnected, easy to ignore and cage up. The idea of following Kip home comes and goes within the intake and the release of a breath, the need to eat comes to him as a revelation that he has no intention to act upon, drinking while the buzz of the champagne is still rushing through his body doesn't strike him as particularly wise. He ends up doing nothing except continue reading, the words in the book are taking shape and holding meaning, taking up space and suppressing the urge to think.
Experience tells Scott he'll be over it soon, eventually his heart will stop painfully shedding Kip like a layer of fresh skin and he'll be back to normal.
The book introduction goes by fast, but it's one of his books about horrible people doing horrible things that make him feel normal, so soon enough he's left alone in his apartment reading about innocent people being targeted. Instead of reveling in the distance and all the things that make him different from the murderers, his brain starts drawing parallels. The way he approached Kip, what he's asked of him, all the ways in which he let him down. Too selfish, too self-centered, manipulative, criminal, too intense. The book hits his coffee table with a loud thud, he stands off his couch and in his sleeping clothes and a pair of slippers he walks out, skipping the stairs down to the garage.
The heaving is sort of back, breathing calmly is a struggle again. He should go to him just to see, just to make sure he hasn't been more… Hasn't been too…
Vocalizing the words is too much, even in his head, it makes them too real, but it also forces him to pause and realize what he's doing. The need to check is there still, but he takes it back up the stairs and inside his apartment, he tries to close it in an airtight corner of his bedroom, but he obviously doesn't succeed and it continues to leak and swallow everything until he's too tired to keep his eyes open.
He wakes up again at three in the morning, then again at four and one final time at five. The bed is warm and soft, feels strangely large despite being the bed he's slept in alone for years. Scott's stomach grumbles, the sound travels embarrassingly far in the silence, so he gets up and starts on his day. He's feeling better, he can tell it won't last, but he's used to that at as well, the familiarity is comforting, being aware of the way time will mend things for him.
Two eggs make it miraculously into a frying pan, Scott watches them firm up and change color until he can turn off the stove again and walk to the fridge. Blueberries in their pretty plastic cups greet him all in a line, right where Kip left them the day before. He hears his voice in the quiet apartment and his skin raises with chills, almost painful. It's cold and he needs a shower, he decides, and if salty tears mix with the water again he's sure he won't notice.