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"Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness." _ _

-Virginia Woolf_ _

18. Don't Look

Keurin lifted himself heavily, shakily to his hands and knees, elbows quivering, eyes wide, crazy, back heaving as each breath ripped through him, haggard and hoarse, and the weirdness, the strangeness he felt, deep within his mind, how fuckin' weird this all felt and looked, the corners of the room dark, shadows flitting here and there, like little, grasping hands reaching for him.

His chest hurt, but more than that, a coldness filled him, right below the fur, right below the skin, as if he were freezing from the inside out. His fingers grasped at the wooden floor. His tail lay flatly on the ground behind him.

He looked up from the floor to his surroundings. Yes, everything was still there, the sofa, television, the bookcase. To his left he saw the door to the kitchen, to his right the hallway to his bedroom and bathroom.

“But why does this feel so… weird?" he whispered to himself and the shadows in the room. His body felt uncomfortable. Not that he himself was uncomfortable, but there was an eerie, strange sensation that being here, right there in the living room, a sobbing, snotty mess…

It just felt so fuckin' weird.

“I don't know how else to explain it," he continued talking to himself, the shadows in the room, and fuck it, the sofa and television too, “This doesn't feel real."

He patted the floor with a hand. No, that was definitely the floor all right. And there, right there between both of his hands was a growing number of splattered tear drops.

Keurin sat upright, swaying from left to right for a moment. Blinking the mist from his vision, and then wiping it away with a sleeve. He drew his knees up and rest his chin on them, wrapping his arms around his legs, holding himself. He shut his eyes for a moment before images of Aderrian choking Marc out caused him to recoil suddenly.

“It's all my fault," he said. “All I had to do was not fuck this up."

One hand drifted down into his hoodie pocket and fished out his pack of cigarettes and lighter and he lit one up, taking a long drag. The weirdness fell away and left him simply feeling cold, inside and out, from his feet to his horns.

“I don't know what to do. I don't even know if there is anything I can do at this point." The cigarette burned his fingers and so he snuffed it out on the side of his shoe.

He stared forward, past the sofa and television, to the window and beyond. It was still midday and the blue sky was clear and pristine. A singular propeller airplane flew past in the far distance, dragging behind it a large banner: _ GREAT DEALS AT THE GAY DOLPHIN _.

What the fuck is a gay dolphin, he thought.

Keurin slowly rose to his feet, still swaying left to right just a bit. He stumbled into the kitchen and stood in the archway. The fridge kicked on with a low whirring. Above the sink, a single night light shed its orange hue onto the chrome faucet and a halo of tiles spread out along the wall. He placed his hands on his hips, furrowing his brow.

Why am I in here?_ _

Opening a cupboard, he scanned over the various canned vegetables, packages of instant noodles, packs of snack crackers, a half-full bottle of vinegar. He shrugged and turned towards the fridge, opening it and bending down, placing a hand on his knee as he peered inside vacantly, half-lidded eyes slowly drifting from one thing to the next, half-acknowledging it before moving on, as one usually does when they aren't hungry but for some reason are compelled to look inside their fridge.

He stood there, transfixed on a pack of cheese apparently, lit by a tiny defiant bulb as it seemed to dim and brighten out of anger, shut the damn door you idiot, it seemed to say, but he remained there, frigid air leaking out and pooling around his ankles, look at that bottle of ketchup, that's nice, and hello to your husband mustard, secret affair partner mayonnaise.

Keurin snorted as a chuckle left him and he shut the door. He shrugged and walked around the perimeter of the kitchen, absently letting his hand slide across the laminate counter top, every now and then catching with a quick squeak.

Until suddenly his hand fell onto a handle, fingers curling around it, the drawer opening as he came to a stop, that weird sensation filling him again, straight up the center of his back along his spine, spreading out, not all at once but in small, almost deliberate streams around his his chest, torso, sliding down the insides and outsides of his legs, as though the coils of an icy serpent were gathering around him. His shoulders dropped as he opened the drawer, the tiniest clanking of stainless steel flatware shifting around inside filling the room.

“I… I don't want to look," he said softly, focusing on the night light above the kitchen sink, the image growing foggy, misty. His shoulders shook. He felt his head slowly turning but he stopped himself, clenching his teeth.

Look.

He shook his head, shutting his eyes tight, his hand still holding the drawer handle. Slowly, he released it and his hand slipped upwards and over the rim, fingers brushing against something oblong and plastic inside. It wasn't anything special, just, you know, every kitchen has one, for whatever reason, even if you don't do any serious home cooking, you always have one of these, right? It felt hefty, solid in his hand.

You buy these just to buy them right? What kind of kitchen doesn't have at least one or two? They're great for opening things, those weird plastic packages they put around shit like headphones, or computer mice, or whatever, hell even tightly tied grocery bags,

Just one shhhhp and - voilà! - it's open!

Roasts, vegetables, a pie, oh, or a cake, carving a pumpkin, dicing an onion, filleting a piece of meat, skinning a fish, deboning a chicken, cracking the head of a lobster open, slitting open your-

Keurin shuddered suddenly, violently, as something cold, colder than he himself felt, slid across his wrist. He stood there, sucking in large, gasping breaths, trembling, ears flat against his head. His eyes darted every which way except downwards, afraid to look, afraid that if he saw it, actually saw it, it would become real, more real than it felt right now, the weirdest sensation so far.

His heart throbbed in his chest, and for a moment he thought it might burst right through his ribcage and flee, flee from this moment, this room, this darkness.

But you don't have the luxury of running away.

The shadows of the room hung around him, as though it was a living entity, ready to strike, consume, watching him with hateful eyes. He shriveled a bit, trying to hide from this gaze he was so sure was upon him. His wrist stung. The fingers on his other hand ached, knuckles tight and sore. It would be so easy, he could just, boom, twitch wrong and it'd be over - well, not over, but on its way to being over. And yet… nothing. Why? Something roiled within his chest, churning. It felt warm and familiar, yet sad and broken at the same time, a memory, perhaps.

What if…?

I can't do it. His knife-clenched hand fell to his side and he dropped his head, gaze lowering to the ground, as though he was a child being scolded. He sobbed violently, his entire body trembling.

What if Aderrian was the one who ended up finding me?_ _

He took a few slow steps forward, wiping his nose with his sleeve as he dropped the knife into the kitchen sink. It clanged against the steel basin and lay there, shimmering in the night light's glow. He looked at it for a long moment and could swear the pair of eyes looking back at him weren't his, amber and glittering with tears, but instead were blue and sad - Aderrian's. Keurin squeezed the edge of the sink, sucked in a sharp breath, turned, and left.

***

He stumbled to his bedroom, lifting his hoodie as he went and tossing it onto the back of his computer chair. Then off came the shirt, then shoes and jeans. He sat down on his bed and fell backwards, crossing his arms behind his head. This all still felt weird, but the weirdness was fading more and more, and in its place: emptiness and longing, even now.

A barely audible click managed to find his ears, but he ignored it.

“Do I apologize again? How many times can I say I'm sorry before Aderrian tells me to go fuck myself? Would he even believe me at this point? Fuck, I wouldn't believe me at this point. I'd have been done with my shit years ago."

“I guess that makes me better than you, huh?"

Keurin shot forward at the sound of that voice, familiar and warm, spoken with amusement and a bit of tease, you could hear the smirk with each word. His face contorted as the floodgates opened again and he sat there, shuddering with each sniffle, sobbing.

Aderrian crossed the room silently and descended upon the weeping dragon, pulling him close.

“There is nothing in this universe that would make me stop loving you," he said softly, cradling Keurin's head against his chest.

“I'm s-," the dragon sniffed, “Sorry, I'm so sorry, everything just… I'm sorry."

The orca softly hushed the dragon, caressing the back of his head, rocking him back and forth slowly. Keurin grabbed a hold of Aderrian, two tight fist-fulls of his shirt, and tugged himself closer.

“I'm here, just like Christmas, just like the other day, I'm here, Keurin. Things are going to be okay."

“How did you even know where I was?" the dragon managed to sputter out between sobs.

“I figured you went home… Or I had hoped you did, I'm glad I was right." Aderrian chuckled. He slipped a hand into his pocket. “You left this at the diner," he said as he fished out Keurin's debit card. He set it on the nightstand. “Why?"

Keurin said nothing and simply shook his head.

Because I wasn't sure I'd be around to need it, Keurin thought, shoving his face into Aderrian's chest. The slow rhythm of the orca's heart was soothing. The warmth of his body felt good, really good.

“That's okay, you don't have to say anything," Aderrian whispered, resting his chin atop Keurin's head. “I'm here, regardless."