[His words weren't meant to be overheard. In fact, Kit hadn't thought that Vincent was paying close enough attention to him to even be aware he'd spoken. He'd been mistaken, a realization that was curious enough on its own, but not nearly as interesting as the blind rage which had been written upon Vincent's face as a result of what he'd heard.
What pain might Kit's guest have visited upon him if he hadn't put his bedroom door between them? He had all the time in the world to wonder, and very little inclination. He'd suffered enough at Vincent's hands already that night, and very unnecessarily, too...but he didn't have the luxury of resting yet.
As he listened to the other boy throw a tantrum, Kit stripped off his pastel pink sweater and proceeded to the bathroom. It was there that he saw in the mirror how his cheekbone had already begun to discolor. Within a few hours he'd have a glaring shiner if it wasn't iced, but going out into the common room so soon wasn't an option. Not even to wash the blood out of his shirt. Instead, he settled for using his sink, vigorously washing and ringing, and then washing and ringing again until no traces of rusty red remained on the fabric. It was hung to dry over the tub, and after Kit tended to the blood on his face and chest.
How often did he find himself doing just that, he wondered? Standing before his bathroom mirror, regarding his scars or some new injury, and cleaning up. It was a regular thing that his first-aid kit was often left out on the counter top where it could be reached easily in case of emergency. He'd even sewn up some more serious injuries in the past, times when he hadn't wanted to trouble Kiran with fixing them or he'd simply been too far away to justify the trip.
He kept meaning to be more careful, to walk a more moral path, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more frequently he wound up exactly here...
With a sigh, Kit finished washing up, wiped down the counter and sink, and then returned to his bedroom to finish changing, opting to throw on a loose-fitting pair of cotton pants and a half-buttoned plaid shirt.
It would be some time before he bothered to emerge from his room at all, giving his guest (and himself) at least two hours of time alone before he finally decided to venture to the kitchen to procure an ice pack from the freezer.]
no subject
What pain might Kit's guest have visited upon him if he hadn't put his bedroom door between them? He had all the time in the world to wonder, and very little inclination. He'd suffered enough at Vincent's hands already that night, and very unnecessarily, too...but he didn't have the luxury of resting yet.
As he listened to the other boy throw a tantrum, Kit stripped off his pastel pink sweater and proceeded to the bathroom. It was there that he saw in the mirror how his cheekbone had already begun to discolor. Within a few hours he'd have a glaring shiner if it wasn't iced, but going out into the common room so soon wasn't an option. Not even to wash the blood out of his shirt. Instead, he settled for using his sink, vigorously washing and ringing, and then washing and ringing again until no traces of rusty red remained on the fabric. It was hung to dry over the tub, and after Kit tended to the blood on his face and chest.
How often did he find himself doing just that, he wondered? Standing before his bathroom mirror, regarding his scars or some new injury, and cleaning up. It was a regular thing that his first-aid kit was often left out on the counter top where it could be reached easily in case of emergency. He'd even sewn up some more serious injuries in the past, times when he hadn't wanted to trouble Kiran with fixing them or he'd simply been too far away to justify the trip.
He kept meaning to be more careful, to walk a more moral path, but it seemed the harder he tried, the more frequently he wound up exactly here...
With a sigh, Kit finished washing up, wiped down the counter and sink, and then returned to his bedroom to finish changing, opting to throw on a loose-fitting pair of cotton pants and a half-buttoned plaid shirt.
It would be some time before he bothered to emerge from his room at all, giving his guest (and himself) at least two hours of time alone before he finally decided to venture to the kitchen to procure an ice pack from the freezer.]