The sound of an alarm going off makes Kit jolt up in bed. His hand collides with an unexpected surface and he recoils in horror. Looking over, he sees another person lying in bed next to him. A person who he had just struck square in the face. Like lightning striking from heaven, the events of last night come rushing back to mind.
"Ow." Baz groans as he rolls over, facing the wall and giving his back to Kit. "What the hell…" he mumbles groggily. Curling up into a tight ball, Baz pulls the pillow over his and goes back to sleep.
Kit only stares at him. Had Baz not realised where he was? Was he not bothered by any of this? Could he perhaps be used to it and his brain didn't find anything wrong with it? But what kind of life did he live that something like this could be normal to him?! And after giving Kit all that trouble yesterday, was he really not going to do anything except continue sleeping? He could at least have the decency to get out of bed! Just looking at Baz, sleeping so peacefully, so oblivious, it was pissing him off.
"Baz." No answer. Kit shakes Baz's shoulder. Nothing. Kit feels a muscle in his face twitch. Irritated, he hits Baz again, this time on the back of the head.
"Ow!" Baz's hand flies to the spot where Kit hit him, turning to look at Kit. "What— Ugh…" He covers his eyes with his hands, and he even looks a bit pale. "Ugh, my head… Why the hell did you have to do that…?"
"Baz."
"What? Yes, yes, I'm getting up, I–" Baz almost chokes on his own spit when his eyes focus on Kit. "Kit?! What– How– WHY?!"
Kit frowns. "What do you mean why? Who do you think saved your sorry ass from freezing to death last night?!"
"...Last night?" Baz is staring back at Kit with a confused look on his face. Could- Could it be that he doesn't remember anything?
Kit opens his mouth. Closes it again. "Ah… Well… You…" Now this was embarrassing… How to explain what happened last night? After a few brief seconds of debating with himself in his mind, Kit decides, he simply won't. Whatever conclusion Baz could come to could hardly be more embarrassing than the truth. "You were drunk," Kit simply tells him.
"Ah… I see," Baz says absentmindedly. He refuses to meet Kit's eye, falling silent.
'Say something, damnit!' Kit screams internally.
"Say, Kit…" Baz scratches the back of his head self-consciously, "did some—" Whatever it is Baz was going to say gets interrupted by loud knocking at the front door.
Both of them jump in place, as if someone had caught them doing something they shouldn't. Suddenly, the knocking starts again, this time with more intensity.
"Coming!" Kit calls out, fumbling with getting some shoes on and trying to get himself to look more presentable. Sleeping in the same clothes he had been wearing all day, having just woken up, he doesn't want to imagine what he looks like. Probably– definitely– not too well.
He opens the door a bit to see who had been knocking, and he finds himself surprised to see Margaret, one of his third floor neighbours. He opens the door wider.
"Oh. Um. Hello, Margaret…"
"Hello, dear." Margaret offers him a dazzling charming smile. (Probably learned from her days as the host of a local talk show when she was young.) "How are you doing?" Nothing about her tone or expression betray any thoughts or feelings; her smile remains perfect the whole time.
The other neighbours, after what happened last night must have been burning with curiosity, and they must have chosen Margaret to be the one to come and interrogate Kit since she was the one best versed in diplomacy. Margaret would later make sure to tell them all about it, Kit is sure of it. He had come to learn that trying to keep secrets in this building was like trying to change the seasons. It was futile.
Kit regards her suspiciously. She's sniffing around for information; he's sure of that, but they saw him bringing Baz over last night, so he can't lie either. Well, not completely.
"You've been very busy these past few days," Margaret is talking again, "we've barely seen you. Well, you hardly come home anymore. Surely, you must be under a lot of stress…"
Kit pinches the bridge of his nose. If she could only get to the point quickly…
"Well, of course, we all worry about you, and we were just talking…" she trails off suddenly, her eyes focused on a point beyond Kit's shoulder.
Kit turns around to follow her line of sight inside to see Baz has come out of the bedroom and is standing a couple of metres behind him. For some reason, Kit feels the urge to push Baz back into the bedroom, to keep him hidden.
"A-ah… I see…" Margaret says. Her tone, something about it, makes Kit want to run and hide. "So that is how it is…" she mutters under her breath.
"No!" Kit says it a little bit too loudly. "I mean– It's not– Uh…" Why the hell was he making excuses? There was nothing to hide!
Margaret cracks a slightly teasing smile at Kit's flustered expression. "No, no, it's okay." She gives a small laugh. "Really, it should be me apologising for butting in like this. I'll leave you and your friend now." She waves, wiggling her fingers, closes the door behind her and leaves.
"No, no, wait–!" Kit tries to stop her from leaving, but it's already too late. Not having been able to clear up the misunderstanding, the rumour will now spread through the whole building, and the result of it… That's something he will not want to deal with. Not later, not ever. For a brief moment, Kit considers permanently moving into the office.
No, no, it's no use. He'll just have to live with it… Damn it! Damn it all to hell!
"Kit." Baz nudges Kit in the shoulder after about a minute of Kit staying unmoving, hiding his face in his hands.
Kit just groans. "Leave." The last person he wants to see right now is Baz. He doesn't think he has the face for it.
Baz doesn't say anything else, and goes to sit on the couch.
It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, Kit keeps repeating to himself.
Baz clears his throat.
Taking the risk, Kit peeks at Baz from between his fingers.
"So…" Baz clears his throat again. "Your… neighbour… She seems like a nice person."
"Shut up."
"Okay, okay. I won't mention it." He crosses his hands behind his back. "Just one thing. Shouldn't you–"
"NO!"
Baz laughs. "You didn't even know what I was going to ask."
"I know you well enough!"
"Haha, fair enough. But wouldn't you say your life is so much better for it?"
Kit glares at him. "Out. Out of my house!" He thumps Baz in the back repeatedly.
"Wait, wait!" Baz puts up his hands, trying to shield himself. "It was a joke!"
Kit hits him one last time. "Idiot!"
"Sorry, sorry," Baz says, trying to hold back laughter.
"Don't just sit there then!"
"What do you want me to do?!"
"Go clean yourself up!"
"..."
"What?"
"Well, about that…" Baz gestures at himself. His clothes, which are all dirty and torn in places, are pretty much beyond salvaging. At the very least, they need to be washed first. The problem is now obvious to Kit. He doesn't have any change of clothes.
Kit: "..."
Baz: "..."
"You… You can…" Kit grinds his teeth, every single cell in his body telling him not to finish the sentence. "You can borrow some of my clothes…" he mutters between clenched teeth.
~~~
Seeing Baz wearing his clothes should not be something that causes him so much emotional conflict. Yet…
"D-don't look at me like that!" Kit is trying to look anywhere except at Baz, freshly emerged from the shower and now wearing the last clean set of Kit's clothes. (He really, REALLY, needs to get around doing his laundry.) They're the same size, which means that unfortunately, Kit's clothes fit Baz perfectly.
'It's too much,' Kit thinks. 'Too… intimate.' Sharing a bed is one thing, but clothes? He feels like he might pass away at any minute from the amount of blood rushing to his head.
"Look at you like what?!" Baz says as he rolls up the sleeves of the white button down shirt Kit has lent him. "I'm just standing here."
Kit splutters. "You look weird in white!" It's true. He doesn't remember ever seeing Baz wearing white.
"Eh? You think it looks that bad?" Baz finishes adjusting his shirt. "It looked pretty good on you."
Kit feels his entire body flushing. "Go sit over there!" He points towards the kitchen; the one place where he will not be able to see Baz. "And don't do anything!" Stomping towards the bedroom, he shuts the door with a loud bang behind him, not bothering to check if Baz actually obeyed him.
Twenty minutes later, Kit has taken a quick shower, gotten dressed (picking the least wrinkled and cleanest looking clothes from the pile) and is back in the living room. Face to face with Baz again.
Kit can feel his throat going dry.
"So…" Baz balances himself on the balls of his feet.
"I should go to work," Kit cuts him off before he can say anything that might cause him to become even more embarrassed.
"Right." He goes back to standing normally.
Neither of them make a move.
"You…" Kit picks at a loose thread on his pants. "The Director will throw a fit if you never turn up again." You should come with me.
"Fluorite?" Baz lets out a humourless laugh. "I think she never wants to see me again in her life."
"...I see."
Baz cocks an eyebrow. "That's it? Not going to ask what happened?"
"No." Kit averts his gaze. "It's none of my business."
Surprised, Baz blinks a couple of times. "Okay."
"And, well… Baz." Kit has managed to pull the thread completely out. "You know… I… You should come back. We could use some extra help." It's been too lonely lately. He would never admit it out loud, but Kit misses his presence.
As if having read his thoughts, a slow smile, teasing in a knowing manner, spreads across Baz's face.
It really is a shame, that Baz knows him so well.