Chapter Text
The sounds of fries sizzling blend in with the white noise, the smell permeating the stuffy air as a bell rings. The cook slides a tray of burgers and chips across the counter that Kian quickly scoops up, striding over to his table.
The garish red leather of the booths assault Kian’s vision, and a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his neck, his uniform sticking to his back. The aircon’s busted and the blonde feels like he’s gonna die of heat exhaustion if he has to deal with this any longer.
A group of early adults sit at the table he approaches, and Kian was quick to claim the table when they walked in; groups are always good for tips. He sets down the food with a faux grin as they keep talking amongst themselves. Christ , he needs a smoke.
He walks away from them and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, folding the tray under his arm as a customer calls him over and asks for more coke. Kian obliges, striding to the back and putting the tray on the counter as more waiters and waitresses bustle around him, he crouches next to the fridge for longer than necessary as he grabs the glass bottle and walks back to the table, setting it down for the man.
His shoulders are aching, his joints feeling like they’re about to combust, or dislocate, or both, which wouldn’t be preferable.
The clock strikes 3:00pm and Kian digs a hand into his pocket and takes out a pack before calling out to Steve that he’s taking a smoke break, and he shuffles to the back door, swinging it open with one hand.
Brick meets his back as Kian leans against the alley wall, taking out a lighter and expertly igniting the cig, taking a long drag as he unwinds. It probably isn’t smart, if anything it’ll make him hotter than he already is in this hellish temperature, fucking up his lungs, but his nerves calm down and his brain clears slightly so he really couldn’t care less right now.
Kian scratches the back of his head and moves his hair to his shoulder
Man, he hasn’t worked a normal job in a while. Not since… What? 7 years ago? Probably. But Rand’s still struggling to get a job and Rolan doesn’t get paid enough to provide for 3 people so ‘them’s the breaks’, he supposes.
Vehicles zoom past and Kian can hear people slamming car doors shut and chatting as they enter the diner, and he groans internally, shuffling a bit further into the alley to avoid being sighted by anybody that shouldn't see him.
A cricket stares at him from across the alley. Kian purses his lips and drops the half smoked cig to his feet before stomping it out, and Steve opens the door and calls him inside, ‘we need all hands on deck, Ki.’
Today’s gonna be a long day.
It’s been 6 months since bugpocalypse. 6 months since they left covered in blood in Rand’s ancient station wagon. Other people survived so it would make sense that the story would be everywhere , but Kian hadn’t seen hide nor hair of anything bug related on the news. To be honest, he probably just got too high with Rand and it was all just some bad dream, but bad dreams don’t explain Rolan’s scythe hand, nor does it explain the cacophony of scars on Kian’s body, or his sudden chronic pains.
“Kian!” Steve calls again.
“Yeah, yeah. Comin’ dude.”
— — — —
Kian sighs as he leans heavily on the doorframe of Rolan’s apartment, jingling the key into the lock and twisting.
Rand’s there when he steps in, leaning back on the couch facing the ceiling. He lolls his head to the side when he hears the door open and Kian shoots fingers guns his way as he closes the wood behind him.
“Heyy, Ki,” Rand mumbles.
“Heya, man, whassup?” He walks over to the couch. A pepperoni pizza sits in its box on the coffee table. “Oooh, nice, dude, you ordered pizza?”
Led Zeppelin’s coming out of the CD player, and Kian plops down on the couch, groaning loudly. Rand takes a drag of his blunt.
“Long day?” The brunette asks, offering the drug to Kian. He obliges.
Kian blows some hair out of his face, “Yeah, dude, it was stuffed at the diner today, it sucked major ass.” Rand hums sympathetically. Kian takes a drag, eyes moving over to the closed window, he should probably open that up.
Kian doesn’t move to get up as he grabs a slice.
The blonde continues, “Like, I swear to God , dude, I saw the same guy, like, twice today.” He hands the blunt back to Rand.
“Well, now y’know how the little guys feel ‘Mister Rockstar’.” Rand teases, and Kian shoves him playfully, scooting just a bit closer.
Man. Kian forgot the heat that Rand radiates when he’s high, or even just regularly when he’s sober. It’s not like the heat the steam from the dishwasher emits when it just finished its cycle, or the spiky feeling of alcohol in his veins, no. It’s like how a lizard would feel sitting on a rock under the dry, Summer sun.
Kian sighs and drops his head onto Rand’s shoulder, a headache blooming to life behind his eyes, and he slips them shut. He takes another drag, the pizza slice long forgotten in his hand.
He’s still in his work uniform, the scratchy fabric beginning to chafe at his sides. The sun’s already dipped under the horizon, the moon and stars becoming more and more visible as the last of the light disappears. Kian’s eyes split open long enough for him to see the time on the clock above the CRT TV.
8:05pm.
Kian sighs, closing his eyes again as Rand moves his hand around the blonde’s shoulders, effectively making Kian sink more into his side, but he finds that he doesn’t mind.
It’s been a long day, and Kian can fall asleep right there on the couch, but something pokes and prods at his mind, and he doesn’t stop himself from asking; “Where’s Rolan, by the way?”
Rand just hums, “No clue, man.”
Kian knows that Rolan got handed a case that’s been working him to the ground lately, but he didn’t know he’d have 12 hour days. He slips his eyes back shut, sighing quietly, his cheek squished against Rand’s denim jacket. There’s less blood on it now, but it’s still faded with age, and Kian doesn’t understand why he doesn’t just toss the old thing and buy a new one, it’ll be cleaner anyways. Though he understands why Rand keeps it still, personal branding and all that; Kian doesn’t know how long it’s been since he’s seen Rand without this jacket. Probably middle school.
Led Zeppelin’s still playing loudly in the background, the air growing more and more hazy as the minutes slug by. Kian and Rand go back and forth with the blunt before it’s reduced to a roach, and the brunette stumps it out on the ashtray.
Kian’s feeling great, pretty great , actually. His migraine stopped dead in its tracks, and the spikes in his brain dulled, the workday already disappearing from his memory. Everything’s sluggish, and a lopsided smile splits his face.
The door opens.
“Oh, Jesus Christ— Rand, what’ve I told y’about smokin’ inside—” Rolan’s voice sluices through Kian’s brain, and he immediately sits up.
“Heyyyyyyyyyy, Rolan! Whassup, man?” He drawls.
“Hey, man—” Rolan sets his briefcase on the dining table, the familiar beige suit and blue tie causing Kian’s grin to widen as he leans forward on the couch, Rand’s hand already fallen from his shoulder. “Christ, you two, you’re gonna get the cops called.”
“Oh, s’weed not legal in Chicago?” Rand asks.
“Wh— you know it isn’t! ” Rolan’s squacks. He sighs, pinching his nose bridge “At least open the window, man.”
“Chillax, dude,” Kian gets up, swaying slightly on his feet as he staggers over to the still closed window, fiddling with the latch. “M’openin’ it right now!” He pushes the window up, spinning around too fast with a proud grin on his face. The window falls shut again and Rolan groans.
“The neighbours are chill, man, don’ worry ‘bout it.” Rand offers, picking a slice from the pizza pie and taking a big bite.
Kian blinks tiredly. Weed’s always made him exhausted, acting better than melatonin most days, and, oh , he’s still in his work uniform. Right. He blinks again. Rolan and Rand are bickering, mostly one sided , and Kian turns his gaze back to the malfunctioning window. Why didn’t it stay up again?
It’s on the tip of his tongue, somethin’ about the hinges , and his eyes focus on the praying mantis on the potted plant on the cage-like window sill.
His heart rate picks up as it looks at him. It’s barely visible, mostly illuminated by the living room lights, but Kian feels as if his chest cavity is being torn open, the mantis’ mandibles tearing it apart. He looks down at his hands. Kian blinks, there’s blood on them. His breathing picks up. Half his fingers are gone, eaten bit by bit by moths.
A hand’s placed on his shoulder, and Kian jolts, turning his eyes to look up at Rolan’s baby blue ones.
“—good, man?” His mouth isn’t lining up with his words. Kian thinks he smoked too much. He blinks a few times. His smile’s gone.
“Huh?”
“You good, man?” Rolan’s voice is much clearer.
“I think my trip’s goin’ bad—” and Rolan sighs, sidestepping him and opening up the window, taking the small wooden board from beside the flower pot and setting it up vertically to stop the window from sliding down again.
“Take it easy, man.” He continues to hover around Kian as the blonde blinks himself back to reality, which is much easier said than done.
He crashes back on the couch next to Rand who’s looking down, a guilty expression marring his face. It’s faint, only a pinched brow and a light frown, but Kian picks up on it nonetheless.
Kian could go for a good nap right about now, but he keeps his head up as Rolan plops down next to him, sighing loudly.
Rand looks up to him from where he’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, peering over Kian to Rolan. “Had a long day, lawyer-boy?”
“Shut up, Rand.” Rolan sighs without any real bite.
Rand huffs and leans back on the couch again, Kian thinks he hears him whisper ‘dork’, and the blonde giggles.
Eventually Kian says his goodbye’s and he shuffles away and down the hall to their bedroom. If his uniform was more comfortable he would collapse on his mattress right then and there, but since he doesn’t want to wake up frazzled and uncomfortable in 2 hours, he stays awake just a few minutes longer to change into his pyjamas, which consist of a red singlet and baggy, black pants.
The sun’s fully set now, and Kian doesn’t have the energy to turn down the window blinds, and he flicks the light switch down and hobbles tiredly toward his mattress on the floor.
There’s only one actual bed in the room, which obviously belongs to Rolan as it’s his apartment. Kian remembers the first night after the bugpocalypse. Rolan didn’t have any spare mattresses, they had to buy some from the neighbours a week later , but Kian doesn’t really regret the sleeping arrangement; all of them squished together on the same bed. It was like a promise, a promise to stick together.
It was funny how much Kian missed them after 10 whole years. He sighs, pushing his face into his pillow. He just wishes their reunion ended under different circumstances. But if that never handed, would he even be here? Would they have even stayed in contact for long?
Kian’s brain is still foggy, sleep quickly taking over his mind.
He has the morning shift tomorrow, and Kian sighs. He’s parched, but he’s too tired to get up and get himself a glass of water.
Kian hooks a leg around his comforter, and goes to sleep.
— — — —
He opens his eyes. The world’s bleeding around him.
Kian blinks.
Becky’s in front of him, hands snaked around his shoulders, twirling a blonde strand around her finger. She’s saying something, something unintelligible. Kian has his hands around her waist, he furrows his brows.
He tries to ask her what’s happening, but he can’t hear himself, and she keeps mouthing something, ignoring him. Kian blinks. She’s a praying mantis, raptorial claws digging into his back, slicing off bits of his hair.
Becky’s face is no longer a face, but her eyes are fixed on him anyways, and she leans in closer, and Kian falls.
He’s 12 again, in a body that was never his own, riddled with hormones and insecurities. His hair’s brown, its natural colour, but nothing about Kelly Miller was ever natural –no– that’s why he made himself Kian Stone.
He’s at the dining table, his dad’s smoking and his mum’s yelling at him. He doesn’t listen, just stares at her, bored. Kian wants to run away from the table, but he knows that his mum’s anger would be directed at him if he did.
So he just sits there and eats his plate full of intestines.
Kian falls through the floor.
He’s not in his body again, trapped in that of a bug’s. He watches himself behead his best friends. Kian screams but he has no mouth.
Kian’s eyes snap open and he sits up, panting.
He goes back to bed an hour later.
— — — —
He awakes to the sound of clicking.
Logically, Kian knows it’s just Rolan, noises unconsciously spilling from his mouth along with his snores. But chills run up and down his spine anyway, his nerves pulling taut along with his muscles.
The clicks drag Kian back to his nightmare, and he gets up before he lets his mind linger on it.
Rand’s snores are also audible from where his head’s smooshed into his pillow, his hair completely obstructing his face. Kian’s sitting up, head turned to his left, looking at the brunette. He looks like he’s resting for once. Kian stands up and toes over to the connected bathroom.
It’s a simple yet elegant setup. A bathtub-shower combo with a black and white polka dot curtain. Kian saunters up to the smooth, stone counter where the sink lies, a mirror hanging above it.
His knees are aching, they haven’t stopped aching , and he braces himself against the sink’s edge, shoulders hunching up next to his ears as he looks at himself.
His roots are growing out, the dark brown stark against the bleached blonde he dyed it. Kian tugs at his hair, twirling it around his index finger. It’s gotten longer too, frizzy and unkempt. Kian’s eyes fall from his hair to his face, to the scars tracing up his lips , and he looks away, turning the tap all the way to the right and washing his face with freezing water.
The scars weren’t there 6 months ago, nor were they self inflicted, and they curve around his skin where his muscles and joints are, giving him a strung together, Frankenstein’s monster look.
Kian’s breath is shaky, and he’s still trembling from the aftershocks of how he woke up in the middle of the night.
He doesn’t remember the first nightmare, all he remembers is waking up in a cold sweat, still high from earlier. It can’t have been that long after he fell asleep the first time, but Rolan and Rand were asleep and snoring loudly. Kian doesn’t know what he was doing, but he went to the living room and watched TV for about an hour until Rand stumbled onto the couch and they talked. It was nice. Kian really doesn’t wanna go to work today.
The blonde dries his face with the hand towel hanging off of a drawer’s handle. Should he even put on makeup today? Kian groans lightly. It’s become one of his oldest habits now, dating back to high school, but sometimes he still feels like going outside without it. Kian peeks at himself from behind the towel, covering most of his face. What time is it even? His heart rate slightly picks up at that; if he’s late again that could spell disaster.
Kian drops the towel and turns his back to the mirror, grabbing the hairbrush from a drawer and combing his hair as he closes the bathroom door carefully behind him, turning to the wardrobe where his uniform lies.
He takes out his buttoned creamy white shirt with red polka dots and pants of the same maroon shade. It goes well with his hair, and quite frankly, Kian looks great in it, but he feels like a mouldy sandwich while serving milkshakes and that’s the dealbreaker.
Kian sighs as he slips on the uniform, tying the red bowtie lazily and heading into the kitchen when his stomach growls.
Cereal is an easy choice, it’s what he has every day as long as he remembers, and he leans on the kitchen counter, eating his breakfast and counting down the minutes until he needs to leave the apartment and walk to work.
The kitchen, the dining table, and the living room are all in the same area, windows at the far wall and a hallway that leads to the bedroom, laundry room and pantry. From this angle, Kian can see the bedroom door opening, unsurprised to see Rolan walking out of the doorframe and closing the door quietly behind him so as to not wake Rand.
He’s wearing the same beige suit, and Kian waves lightly, spoon still in hand.
“Mornin’”
“Hey, Ki.” Rolan replies, bags under his eyes as he walks over to the kitchen, grabbing a bowl and pouring himself some cereal.
“Gettin’ ready for work?”
Rolan sighs deeply, head dropping between his shoulders. “Ugh, yeah.”
“Wha’s your case about, by the way?” Kian asks, head swivelled to look at Rolan’s side profile, and he takes a bite of his cereal. The blonde’s sure Rolan’s mentioned it at some point, but he can’t for the life of him remember.
“Some rich guy parked in the wrong spot and got his car towed, now he’s suing the tow truck company.” Rolan bites.
Kian hums in sympathy, “At least you have a workin’ aircon, dude, the one at my job’s totally busted— ” Rolan sucks in air through his teeth, “ Right, dude? I feel like I’m gonna melt every time I go in, it’s been like, 2 weeks! ”
Rolan leans against the counter next to Kian, “That sucks, man.”
“Could you, like, find any legal mumbo jumbo so we could sue the diner and get a fuck ton o’money?” Kian’s half joking.
Rolan chuckles, “I think that would make it harder for them to fix the aircon, man.”
Kian shrugs, digging his spoon into the cereal and fiddling with it, “S’whatever.”
They sit in silence for a bit longer before Rolan checks his watch, sighing and putting the bowl in the sink before grabbing his briefcase from the dining table. “Duty calls.” He states.
Kian salutes him as Rolan moves out the door.
He’s probably had a few more minutes until he needs to move out. Oh , right, he needs to get his dress shoes. Kian leans over to check the clock above the TV, pursing his lips and pushing it to the side when the clock nears 7:10.
The blonde quickly finishes his cereal, rinsing it in the sink, running a hand through his hair and brushing it over his shoulder as he walks back to the bedroom. Rand’s still snoring lightly, and Kian smiles. At least one of them can sleep in. He puts on his dress shoes, applies some eyeliner, and walks out the door.
— — — —
David Bowie’s playing through the tinny speakers of the convenience store as Kian flips through the latest fashion magazine. He hums along to the vaguely familiar tune as Rand walks around the aisles and picks up various things.
Kian’s legs are killing him , his back’s aching and his vision’s woozy, eyes still itchy from when he shed a few tears after that asshole yelled at him for giving him the wrong order. He chews his lips as he flips through a few pages.
The clerk clears his throat loudly and Kian turns around to stare at him through his peripheral vision. The balding man points at the sign above the magazine rack, and Kian sighs. ‘You read ‘em you buy ‘em’. Kian chucks a few on the counter before walking over to Rand who’s weighing between two types of laundry detergents.
“Yo.” The blonde leans against the aisle next to him, partly because it looks cool but mostly because his knees are hurting.
“Hey.” Rand responds absentmindedly.
Kian’s gaze flits between the two contending detergents. “So what’s the hold up, dude?”
“Okay, so, this one—” He holds up a pink one, “—is cheaper than this one—” He holds up the other, blue one, “—but the pink one smells like lavender and I hate lavender.”
Kian frowns, “Why would they make lavender based laundry detergent pink and not purple.”
Rand frowns and squints behind his glasses, “That’s not the point , man.”
“‘Should be.”
“Whatever.” Rand grumbles. He holds up the detergents, “So which one?”
“Ooo, ‘beauty over substance’, the ultimate question.” Kian thinks for a second, “Blue one.”
Rand shrugs, putting the pink detergent back. “Alright.”
Kian internally groans as he pushes himself off of the aisle, and he and Rand continue walking down the store.
“So, tough day at work?” Rand asks. Kian purses his lips and frowns.
“What makes ya say that?”
“Your makeup’s smudged.” Rand says simply.
Damn.
He pushes his lips to the side, “It was fine, kinda slow. I cried outta boredom more than anythin’.” Sprinkle in just a little bit of truth to make the lie seem believable. Rand gives him a look out of the corner of his eye and Kian returns it. He says nothing.
Rand puts the laundry detergent on the counter as well as a few snacks and a bottle of hair bleach. The clerk puts down his newspaper and starts scanning the items. “Hey, couldja add a few pack’s o’camels with that?” Rand asks. The clerk sighs and grabs the cigarettes from the rack behind him.
“That’ll be $7.54.” He grumbles
Rand grumbles as he pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, sliding a note and a few coins over the counter. The clerk counts them and announces, disgruntled; “Thank you for shopping at Gary’s. Have a good day.”
Kian stuffs his hands in Rolan’s jeans’ pockets as Rand scoops the items into a bag. His hips creak and groan as he walks with the brunette out the store.
“Remind me why y’wanted me t’come with ya out here?” Kian calls as they walk down the street.
He knows why, obviously he knows why, last time he went out alone he apparently had a breakdown, an old lady escorted him home , but it wouldn't be like Kian to not be sassy, and being normal is the most important thing right now.
The sun’s already starting to set behind the skyscrapers, the few clouds hanging around being painted a charming pink. Kian’s hands are still in his pockets, fiddling with themselves as he tries to walk casually behind Rand. His black, heeled boots click against the pavement.
Rand’s still wearing the same old jean jacket. Kian had sighed through his nose when the brunette wore it the day after Galloway. It was covered in blood and horrifically dirty, it took far too much soap to clean it, and even still, it’s still smudged red in the seams.
The blonde’s looking at the back of Rand’s head, sees it swivelling around before he pivots and walks into an alley.
Okay?
Kian cocks a brown and follows him.
“Uh, hey, man, the apartment isn’t this way.”
Rand doesn’t look him in the eyes, and he leans against the brick wall. Kian frowns and he runs a hand through his low ponytail and moves it over his shoulder. “You good, dude?”
A woman comes down the alley. What the shit?
“Y’got the stuff?” She asks, almost frantic, her red bob swishing past her ear as she looks behind her.
“Yeah.” Rand says, pushing himself off of the wall and digging a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small baggie filled with green. Kian’s brows shoot up into his fringe as he witnesses the exchange.
The lady hands Rand a small wad of cash and Rand hands her the baggie, then they split ways.
Rand still doesn’t look Kian in the eyes as he pockets the money and leans back against the wall.
Kian’s speechless.
“You’re dealin’ weed dude? In Chicago? ” Kian asks, incredulous.
“ Shh! Keep it down, man!” Rand shushes, looking over Kian onto the open, yet empty, street.
“ Rand , Rolan could get fired for this—”
“—Which is why we won’t mention it to Rolan .”
“We’ll get sent t’jail, dude!” Kian tries
“Then we’ll need to be extra careful!”
“Rand—” The brunette looks like he’s about to pop, shoulders hunched as he bites his lip.
“I know , man!” Rand shouts, looking slightly up at Kian, hands deep in his jean jacket’s pockets. His eyes are frantic behind his sunglasses. “I know! But there isn't a place ‘round here sorry enough to hire me.”
Kian frowns, shifting on his feet. Well, shit.
Kian knows, Kian knows damn well how jobs and Rand don’t mix, he’s known it since high school and he should’ve known it now. But still, after bugpocalypse happened and they all moved into Rolan's apartment, Kian hoped that Rand would’ve buckled down and found something .
Well, this sure is something, isn’t it.
He purses his lips as Rand looks at him with slight terror mingling with his expression. Drug dealing was a whole lot easier back in Galloway, when the cops didn’t care and there we far less people to tattle, not that anyone would seeing as they were all addicted to drugs some way or another, but out here, in Chicago, it’s a whole lot easier to get caught, which is the main problem. Rolan would get either fired or arrested if his roommate was found to be dealing drugs, and if he would somehow, miraculously, keep his job, he would have a god awful reputation as an accomplice.
But Kian knows that Rand doesn’t want that to happen, wouldn’t let it happen, sneaky like a fox, and besides, everyone practically knows that at least one person’s smoking weed in the apartment complex, and the cop’s haven’t been called yet. Also, it would be incredibly hypocritical of Kian to put a stop to Rand selling weed when they both smoke it, and the extra cash could never hurt.
The blonde sighs, “Okay, but neither of us let Rolan know, m’kay?”
Rand sighs and practically doubles over, “I don’t know why I thought you’d snitch, man.”
Kian huffs, “What? You think my time in Hollywood made me soft, dude?”
Rand throws him a playful smile as he straightens back out, “Wouldn’t’ve dreamt of it.”
— — — —
“Yo, yo, yo! Guess who got groceries!? ” Kian announces as he enters the apartment, a plastic bag in hand as he fires finger guns into the air. Rand closes the door behind him.
Rolan’s doing paperwork at the dining table, still in his work uniform but his beige blazer has been taken off and hangs around the chair he sits at. Rolan gives them a little applause, pen in hand, “Wow, guys, you didn’t die, good job.” Kian runs a hand through his hair.
“Why thank you.”
“Is that dodgy black car still out there?” Rand asks.
“Oh, you betcha.”
“Damn.I got you a coke.” Rand adds, grabbing the grocery bag from Kian and taking out the red can, walking up to and placing it beside Rolan.
“Oh, thanks man.”
“Yeah, no prob.”
Kian looks between them. “So,” He drawls, “I got some bleach, and my roots r’growin’ out, so who wants t’help me dye it again?”
Rolan’s back to looking at his paperwork, and Rand’s moved over to the couch and slumps down. “Can’t, I gotta finish this case.” Rolan replies.
Kian hums in understanding, ignoring the slight pang in his chest as he turns his gaze over to his second roommate, “I can help ya with it later, Ki.” Rand says simply.
The blonde frowns slightly, “K.”
He takes the bottle of bleach and his magazines and heads into his room, taking off his boots. Kian’s knees and hips ache, almost giving out below him as he puts the bottle in the bathroom and unties his hair. The aircon’s turned on, giving the room an instant chill that makes Kian grab the first jacket he sees in the closet. It doesn’t quite fit him, but it’s comforting nonetheless. He collapses onto Rolan’s bed, magazines splayed out beside him.
His leg’s dangling off of the side, swaying idly as he grabs a magazine and starts flipping through it, mentally marking some pages for later.
Kian doesn’t know how long he laid there, but it was enough for Rolan to enter the scene, clearly exhausted. He scrubs a hand over his face as he looks over to the blonde, untying his shoes as he asks; “Is that my jacket?”
Kian glances over at him, eyelids beginning to droop lightly. It takes him a few seconds to process the question, but when he does he glances down to his jacket-clad shoulder, then back to Rolan.
“Yeah, d’you mind?”
Rolan frowns and shakes his head, “Not really, no.”
“Rad.” Kian turns his face back up and he starts flipping through the magazine again. It’s getting harder to read it in the ever darkening lighting, but he doesn’t have the energy to deal with a lit up room right now.
Rolan walks over to the bed, his blue striped pyjamas on. Kian raises an eyebrow. It’s only 9pm, yet Rolan looks like he’s about to go to bed.
The scene is ripe for teasing, and Kian smirks lightly. “What, you’re goin’ t’bed now?
Rolan groans and rolls over Kian, much to the blonde’s dismay. “I’m so tired, Ki, you’ve got no idea.” He says, voice muffled as he’s speaking into his pillow.
Kian, who’s trying to ignore the flair of pain caused by being rolled over by his beloved friend, turns on his side to face Rolan, his hip aching slightly at the pressure.
“I think I have a clue, man.” The blonde states, putting a hand under his cheek to gaze down at Rolan.
Rolan turns his head slightly to stare at Kian out of the corner of his eye, then shoves his face back into his pillow, deflating.
Kian frowns, is he okay? You know it’s a tough job, but he’s not overworking himself, is he? He got given a hard case, is it really that terrible? Oh God, did Kian really not ask him– the blonde’s brows crinkle together as his breathing hitches, ribs coiling around his lungs, and he lets his eyes trace around Rolan’s body.
He’s shaking.
Rolan’s shaking like a leaf, how hasn’t Kian noticed this?
Come to think of it, Kian hadn’t really seen Rolan go bug mode for a good few days, knows it freaks out Rand, knows Rand tries to suppress his fear. Kian’s frown deepens.
He’s supposed to be the mediator, the peacemaker, he’s the one who needs to make everyone okay, he promised them after– Rachel going missing him leaving he left Rand he left both of them but you came back and people went crazy Becca killed him he died people died Rolan turned into a literal bug and Rand lost his mind but you’re all out of that why can’t things go back to normal oh God why–
Kian hadn’t noticed his spastic breathing until a hand touches his own, the one on his face, cradling his cheek through his own hand.
“All good, Ki?” Rolan breathes.
Kian inhales deeply before letting out the air slowly, deflating a bit and letting his hand and head drop down to the bed. Rolan’s hand is still on his face, smooshed between the blonde and the mattress. “Yeah, man. Uhm, just– jus’ thinkin ‘bout stuff, y’know?”
Rolan exhales a laugh, a small smile on his face, “Oh, I know far too much.”
Butterflies spring to life in Kian’s stomach, hasn’t really felt those since he had a fling with Jesse back in 11th grade , and he sits up, crossing his legs, to avoid doing anything stupid. He mourns the loss of the hand cupping his cheek but he doesn’t get to dwell on it before Kian opens his mouth to speak.
“You know you can, like, go buggy, right?” Rolan tenses at that. Jackpot.
He avoids meeting Kian’s gaze, and Rolan starts fiddling with his fingers. His eyes turn black as he blinks, compounded scleras shining in the dim light, and Kian feels a sense of relief as his heart falls in tandem. But Rolan blinks again and suddenly, his eyes are the same baby blue.
“I– I can’t.”
Kian cocks a brow, “Why not, dude? You know me and Rand don’t mind.” That’s a lie, but Kian would rather die than have Rolan be uncomfortable in his own skin, buggy or not. He puts a hand on Rolan’s shoulder and shakes him, “It’s been, like, 6 months, man. Let yourself relax a bit.” Kian says, hoping his words stick through Rolan’s thick head.
A few clicks radiate from Rolan’s chest, and Kian smiles, “Atta boy.” He watches a grin unfurl on Rolan’s lips and his heart sings.
“Uh–” Rolan says, pushing himself up with his elbow, threading a hand through Kian’s hair, “D’you want help dyin’ it again? I, uhm, I finished up with work an hour ago.” The blonde blinks and turns his head to the digital clock on the nightstand. 23:54. Huh.
Kian has his day off tomorrow, so what’s the harm? He turns his head back to Rolan. “Alright.” He starts to get up and his legs pop dramatically as he unfurls them. “I already put the bleach in the bathroom.” Kian stands up, a bit woozy as he steadies himself and starts walking to the connected washroom, glancing at Rolan from over his shoulder.
The taller man’s limbs start dislocating– or, relocating? It’s definitely not where his bones should align if he were human, but he isn’t one, so.
Honestly, it’s quite metal.
“Oh, uh– hold on, I gotta get gloves.” Rolan says, rushing out the bedroom as Kian just sits on the bathtub.
Kian waits there for a bit, he hears a muffled shout of surprise from the living room and chuckles slightly, assuming it to be Rand. His smile falls not long after the thought.
Christ. Are they ever gonna escape this mess? Escape what happened to them? Sometimes Kian wishes he came earlier to the town just so they could’ve escaped before the flesh forcefield came up. But it’s not his fault, no, it can’t be, it wasn’t anybody’s fault. Yes it was, you got yourself killed the first time, knew the warnings, knew she was a monster, but you let your guard down anyways, then you came back, you came back, your flesh reanimating, but you were no help with defeating Rachel.
No. Not Rachel, the Queen . That thing was not Rachel, it couldn’t’ve been, that alien was not the same girl who watched Star Trek on Friday’s and butted into their DND sessions, begging to play, that’s just impossible.
Kian feels his breathing pick up, antsy to talk to someone, for someone to be in his presence, anyone – maybe that’s why he started bringing home people after he moved here–
“Sorry that took so long, Rand put the gloves in the pantry for whatever reason.” Rolan says, stumbling into the bathroom. Relief flushes through Kian as a breath actually reaches his lungs.
“S’all good, man.”
Rolan makes his way across the tiles, keeping the door open for ventilation, Kian likes to think of it as an invitation for Rand.
“So, uh–” Rolan starts, presumably fitting on the rubber gloves, Kian doesn’t look behind him as shivers skitter up and down his spine. Should he change his shirt? He looks down and pulls at the fabric below his collar. His lip twitches. Nah. “Tell me about your day, Ki.” Oh, yeah. Rolan was talking.
Kian frowns, grateful Rolan can’t see his face. There really isn’t much to say, nothing he wants to admit .
Rolan knows how shitty customer service is, he worked in Galloway , but Kian’s heart clenches at the thought of spilling his guts to him.
Maybe he should. His therapist said that he should trust people close to him more readily, but– stinger down your throat, you waited for her, you loved her, you– a hesitant hand taps at his shoulder and Kian jolts.
“You, uh, you good, man?” Rolan asks.
Kian blinks, holding onto the edge of the bathtub he sits on. He looks over his shoulder.
Rolan’s eyes are black, mouth contorted to inhuman proportions. His hair thinned, antennae poking out from above his brows, and parts of his exoskeleton poke at his white button-up. He looks otherworldly, Kian thinks. He looks like he belongs on an album cover, and Kian grins at the connection, itching for Rolan to be closer.
Kian smiles over his shoulder, and Rolan visibly untenses, “Yeah, I’m all good man.” He looks back at the tiled wall in front of him. “How was your day?” He adds.
“Oh, y’know.” Rolan meanders , Kian can sense him fumbling, “Pretty bad. It’s a– uhm. It’s a losing case.”
Kian frowns, “Shit. Sorry, man.”
“No, don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault.” Rolan sighs. “Okay, so like, I just put it on your roots?”
“You’ve done this before, dude.” Kian chuckles.
Rolan snorts, nervous. “I just wanna be sure–”
“Ah, Rolan. Ever the overthinker.” Rand states, entering the bathroom. Kian’s heart soars, and he looks over his shoulder again.
Rolan shoots him a dirty look. Or a look as dirty as his bug face allows him. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.”
Rand grins lazily, “I am.”
Rolan’s half-nose scrunches up, “Didja smoke?”
“Yep.” Rand pops the ‘p’.
Kian smiles, content.
Rolan starts applying the bleach to Kian’s roots, hands gentle. Rand gives him directions and they bicker throughout the process lightheartedly.
At some point, Kian’s sleepiness really hits him, and he starts drifting off. His head must droop because a moment later he feels a warm, rough hand lifting up his head by his chin, reaching over his shoulder. Kian groans and the hand chuckles.
An unknown amount of time passes. Kian’s almost asleep by the time Rolan covers his roots in foil, shoulder pressing into the blonde’s back, and Kian takes the opportunity to lean against him, his bones aching.
His consciousness drifts, and he settles into a muddled sleep. That is until Rolan snaps his fingers next to Kian’s ear and jolts him out of his slumber. Kian groans petulantly and Rolan chuckles.
“Come on, man, you still gotta wash your hair after this.” Kian frowns comically, and blinks himself awake every time he notices himself drifting off.
It can get better. Surely.