Chapter Text
I'm home.
Darkness engulfs my vision, but I can still make out the faint outlines of furniture inside as moonlight slips through the windows. My hand feels along the wall until I find the light switch.
Click.
I take off my shoes and step onto the floor, feeling the cold biting at my feet. I lock the door behind me.
Clank.
A heavy sigh escapes my lips. God, what a day. How long have I been holding that?
I look around—my bedroom is just a few steps away. It looks so fucking good to throw my goddamn self onto it. Oh, yeah... It's calling my name right now. "Dave! We're meant to be together, Dave!" So I head into my bedroom and drop my bag on the side table. Then... shit! I hear splashing water. Sounds refreshing. It echoes like it’s talking to me like this: "David, wash your ass before bed—you smell like hell! Don't you love the clean, fresh fabrics instead of ones that are drenched in your sweat?"
Whoops, you got me. You're right, buddy. Thank you for the—
—splashing water?
Echoes?
Before I left, I was pretty sure that I had turned the shower off right after I finished bathing. I locked the door and the windows too, but still...
...Is someone taking a bath in my bathroom?!?
What the fuuuck?! Why would someone break into my house just to clean themselves? Don't people usually have their own bathrooms? Is the water in my house some kind of holy fucking artifact??
...Okay.
I changed my mind—I won't sleep. Sorry, my mattress! I'd love to be on you right now, but I'd be an irresponsible owner if I ignored the weird shit that I heard in my house.
I know I should hide instead of attack if there's, really, a burglar. But I'm not imagining things, right? Splashing sounds? Echoes? Someone must be in my bathroom. I'll go there—let's hope nothing's wrong. Just in case, I'll look for anything that I can use to defend myself. My eyes land on an empty plastic trash can.
A trash. Can. Seriously, Dave, what has gotten into you?
Eh... It's better than empty-handed. Getting smacked with that would still hurt. I lift it above my head, dash down the hall, and, finally, kick the bathroom door open.
BAM!
"ALRIGHT! WHO THE HELL IS IN MY BATHROOM?!"
My voice echoes around the tiles. Hearing my voice, the fog inside greets me and sends chills down my spine. When I exhale, my breath mimics it, as if replying. Yeah—the fog's definitely coming from the shower. So I wasn't imagining it. Someone's actually in here, but my vision can't catch who it is given the situation right now. And it's not helping when I squint... wait. Why did the splashing sounds stop? Did this dude seriously freeze the second I came in??
I grip the trash can harder, channeling my energy into it so I'm ready to strike if they attack. "If you are really a burglar, don't you dare jump to the window, put your fucking hands up—"
The fog melts like a curtain being drawn down.
It reveals a hint of blond locks slipping across a face.
Someone I know has hair like that... hey. I can't think like that in situations like this! Stop, stop, stop! But with long hair like that, I can only think of...
"...Taylor?"
I call out his name. Taylor, the motherfucking Hawkins, my brother from another mother. "Taylor. Is that you?"
Did that motherfucker seriously find a way to sneak inside and crash my place without telling me? Like, did I leave a window open or some shit? It's highly questionable why he'd even do that in the first place, but man, I could cry right now. We could, what, share late-night laughs like some kind of sitcom siblings?
Kidding.
Geez... what have I done? Calling the stranger in front of you by the name of your best friend without looking closely? I might be wrong. Super wrong—because I might be fooled. Back to business, Dave. Let's hear this guy's answer.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
...Aw. Come on. Say anything, dude. The fog in this bathroom is making my brain think weird shit; it... it thinks my bathroom is giving me a free gay show! How the hell is this room making me feel like I’m starring in one? The steamy one, to be exact. But I might be wrong about the answer. With the room drowning in the sound of dripping water, the mist thins out until I can see what the guy is actually doing.
Let's try again.
He's curled up in the bathtub, letting the shower pour over his blond locks. It's as if he's shivering, or crying, and the water hugging him doesn't make it any better. Or... this guy is sick. He looks pale. Too pale. If that's the case, he should be showering in warm water right now. But the air is chilly here...
"M'not."
He speaks—wait, he actually speaks. Although I'll be honest, I can't really make out what he said since he's murmuring. I thought I was going to star in a bathroom gay show for real. Good thing I haven't rehearsed my lines yet! Thanks for saving me, Taylo... r. Seems that's not him. Taylor is tan and loud. This guy is pale enough to pass out.
Alright, Dave, you have another long, blond-haired pal with those features?
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Is it what I think it is?
Let's ask him again.
"Sorry? Can you... repeat it?" I have to make sure I can hear him clearly, and the same goes for the other way around.
"M'not a burglar. And m'not... what's the name again?"
Yep. Not Taylor, and not a burglar for now. How can he be? His voice is too... soothing, to be one. I'm not sure if that's the right word, since his voice has this distinct, beautiful roughness to it. My arms are locked tight, keeping the trash can aimed right at him, though... ow! Do I still need this anyway? My arm's getting sore, so I lower it to my side.
His hand reaches up to brush back his blond locks. God, even his hands are lanky. Yet his face stays half-hidden behind the vapor...
He turns to me, his eyes darting until they lock right onto mine.
...Holy shit.
If this is a prank, don't—don't do that. Don't do this to me...
"Taylor? Who's that, anyway?"
Those blue eyes pierce me.
I know who those belong to.
I know him.
"...Kurt?"