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Summary
Kieren tugs at the end of his sleeves, rings the fabric around his knuckles as he walks through the aisles of unfamiliar brand names. The shirt is pretty clean, or as clean as he could hope for. There’s not much of his wardrobe that wasn’t dirt stained from his years of obsession, but the soiled patches of it are faded from a fresh wash in the hotel laundry. He’s clean. His clothes are clean, his skin is clean, his hair is clean, and it all feels wrong because he could be doing something to stop it…find somewhere to dig into the new unfamiliar soil and maybe that’s where he would finally find the fucking worm.
