Kai wipes his forehead, splinters and dust smearing across the sweat there as Kai blinks at the stinging moisture trying to creep into his eyes. His eyes, they burn; he's been awake longer than he wants to think about, longer than he really should, but still he carefully lifts the next piece of wood in place and shifts it precisely, lining it up perfectly with the pre-drilled holes in preparation for fastening it together. Several finished cabinets rest on the floor behind him, still unwrapped; he'll check them all, doing last touchups before packing them carefully, when he finishes the last ones. But for now he grabs his level, checking that the structure is even and square.
Kai's muscles ache, his hands near to cramping. He's thirsty, too, but he knows without looking that everyone in the house will be asleep, that if he goes in now he's liable to wake at least his father, which he doesn't want to do. He's already begged off two meals, pleading necessary speed to finish this project before the end of the week. In truth, he's far ahead of where he needs to be. But I can deliver them tomorrow, if I finish, he thinks, straightening tiredly before reaching for his driver, resting near him on the floor. They'll be happy to have them early. And then I can— can do something else. His mind stutters awkwardly over the what, clearing it uneasily and quickly sweeping it into a dark corner of his mind before he bends again over the cabinet, power tool whirring loudly.
Several hours later Kai straightens for the last time. His back is complaining at him, and his mouth is pasty-dry, sticky and sour with long-delayed thirst. The cabinets are all finished, double- and triple-checked, and made perfectly sound and perfectly level, each piece carefully and precisely slotted in place. Kai's hands are nicked and scraped, his arms dusted with curly wood shavings and grit, his forehead smeared with grease and his eyes tired but relieved that this task is done. He blinks and looks up at the sound of the door opening, eyes struggling to focus on the figure there. His heart skips a beat— but, "Dad," he says softly, his voice welcoming but with an oddly sad note, warming quickly so as to hide the betrayal. "Hi. Good morning, I guess." He looks over at the small windows; the light has indeed grown, and he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck tiredly, his sweat-stained shirt sticking to his body uncomfortably.
Dan's eyebrows go up at the sight of the finished cabinets, lined up pristine and tidy on the floor, every one finished. "Good morning," he says mildly, then, "Hungry?"
Kai shakes his head, not even taking time to think. "Not really." His stomach groans in protest, but he ignores it. "I just want to finish these, wrap them up so I can bring them over this morning."
Dan's eyebrows go down at that, and he looks at his son with a slight worried frown. "They're due?" he asks briefly, a real question in his voice. Kai winces at the mild reproof and answers after only a slight hesitation.
"Well, no, but, if I get them to them, they can install them faster, you know? And it's good to be moving, out and doing something." He rests a hand on the nearest cabinet, its surface smooth and even.
Dan watches his son with mixed compassion and worry shading slowly across his face, and he says quietly, "Come eat anyway. Keep me company."
Kai swallows a little sickly, but then forces his mouth into a smile that softens into a real one when he focuses on his dad. "Okay," he says softly, then, "Do you want me to clean up first?"
Dan looks at his son again with a hard-to-read expression, then says, "Sure. Take a little, I'll get coffee started." Kai nods with a stronger smile and straightens, his back popping and lungs expanding at the motion.
"Oof. Sounds good." He pauses next to his dad, wanting to pat his arm but stymied by his filthiness.
Dan has no such hesitation as he brings his own hand up to pat his son on the back. "Get clean. I'll see you."
Kai nods, then makes his way out of the detached garage and into the growing light. He notices with surprise that it's later than he thought—no longer the light of pre-dawn, but the vibrant gold of growing day. He clatters carelessly up the stairs and into the bathroom, stripping efficiently and turning on the stream of water. As it starts to steam, he looks at his reflection in the mirror: grimy face, serious and with notes of sadness around the eyes, restless expression, lines of tiredness tugging at the corners. Wreathing steam coils around him and grabs his attention, and he steps into the hot water thankfully, hissing at the heat and stinging and letting the water sluice away his thoughts and distractions.
As Kai comes down, his mind is refreshingly exhausted and blank. He flops down in a chair just as Dan pours the second cup of coffee, picking it up to hand to him as Kai murmurs an appreciative, "Thank you." The nutty-rich flavor floods over his tongue, scraping it clean of stickiness with its astringency, and landing in his stomach with a palpable thud. Dan's already put down a plate in front of him; Kai wants to protest, but it's just toast and jam, and with a suppressed queasy look he picks it up and nibbles. It soothes his stomach like a hand smoothing a rumpled comforter, and he sighs and relaxes, taking a larger bite and sipping coffee.
Dan sits down opposite to him and quietly starts eating his own breakfast, his eyes fixed on his son. Kai gets most of the way through his breakfast before belatedly wishing that the coffee in his hand was tea, green tea. It usually sits more smoothly on his insides, and he lifts his head, mouth open to ask— But then the memories flood back, all the memories he'd been hedging out with cabinets and plans and wrapping and deliveries, meticulous motions covering great force of distraction in his mind, now stripped away. He can't take another bite, another swallow, his throat suddenly clogged with tears, and he drops his head, lip trembling, trying to swallow the feelings away into silence. The silence echoes, and he realizes dully that Dan must have noticed, must have seen; but even that thought can't catch the tears that have already forced themselves out, dotting the plate and the table with betraying wetness.
Kai startles when his dad's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping gently but firmly, supportive. "'m sorry— Dad—" he forces out, but can't speak more. His father's response is to stand and come to his side, hugging him without reserve, without expectation. Kai leans against his dad in the hug, sobs crowding in his throat, but stuck, he refuses to release them. He swallows them, sick with effort, and scrubs the back of a wrist across his face. His dad's hold is calming, but the loneliness in his chest makes him feel like he's being torn into pieces. "'nks," he whispers, then more strongly, trying to stand. "I— I'll— I need to finish—" He'll go back out to the garage, bury himself in the project so deeply that he can't remember, won't remember, won't feel anything but satisfaction in his work. It's the only thing to do, but—
Dan's grip doesn't release him. "Kai," he says softly but with velvet-wrapped iron in his tone. "Go sleep. You have to sleep."
Kai wilts in his grip. "I, I'm not—" tired, but he is, he's nearly falling now that he's standing, head spinning. "I don't—" need it, but he does, he can barely think, and his hands are shaking, now. "I had c-coffee," he says, then looks up at his dad, trying to smile. Dan's expression is gentle but intent, and he shakes his head.
"Decaf. If I have to walk you there myself I will." He means it. Kai can see it in his eyes. But he can't face the thought of that bed, their bed, his bed, the empty bed, going in the room to see absolutely nothing unexpected there—
"I, I c-can't sleep there, Dad," he whispers, then lowers his face, ashamed. Dan's grip tightens, and Kai doesn't resist, but his father's hands are gentle as they come to turn him and propel him toward the room opposite.
"The couch is fine." Dan's voice is pragmatic, and Kai lets out his breath. The couch is a little better, they, they didn't, well, rarely slept there— He pauses in involuntary surprise as he sees that his dad has already laid down sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. His father's hands release him, and he turns his head to see his dad watching him with a worried look.
Kai finds he's really smiling, though once again his burning eyes are swimming, and he impulsively steps forward and hugs his father, voice thick. "Thank you," he mutters, then yawns helplessly, his jaw near to splitting. "W-wake me… in… not too long," he mumbles, sitting abruptly on the soft surface and fumbling his socks off, his feet delightfully cool as he swings them up under the soft sheet. "I haf'ta… d'liver those. Today."
Dan watches his son's eyes close, then gently tucks the blanket in and around him. "Don't fret," he says quietly, then brushes a gentle hand over his boy's smooth forehead where sleep has already wiped away his stress and sadness, relaxed into exhausted repose. Dan stands there a moment more, watching his eldest son freed of his efforts to flee his memories, then runs an absent hand through his hair, leaving it standing up every which way. As he goes out his eyes are thoughtful and sad, and he heads upstairs to sternly tell his younger sons not to trample around like elephants, for their brother's sake. It's hard to watch, this. He glances into Kai's room—it's quiet and empty, almost blank and deserted-feeling, and he sighs again, his eyebrows drawing together in worried determination before he knocks on his other sons' door.
Kai sleeps, and sleeps. He sleeps dreamlessly, which is a blessing, at least in the beginning; empty quiet, calm, healing. But as the light shifts angle and slants through the crack in the curtains, he begins to dream; strange worlds, weird sights, sounds and tastes unlike any on Earth. But there's always a constant, a flash of blue, or is it brown? Definitely brown, those eyes, and warm, and with eyelashes as soft and long as a wren's wing, and laughing lips and a face so alive, and when the eyes land on him and crinkle with delight Kai opens his mouth to laugh, joy filling him—
Kai opens his eyes, his expression amazed and delighted. But as consciousness seeps in, the color seeps out of his face, and he sags back against the couch and drags his sleeve over his eyes, trying not to cry. Alone. Still alone. Only alone… He's doing everything he can, but it's pulling him apart, piece by piece, until he doesn't have anything left. At least I can still work. I can, I can still build. I can make something…
Something that isn't a relationship, whispers his traitorous mind, and he chokes, not breathing for a moment before the tears start and he rolls to bury his face in the couch pillow, drowning again in the sadness and solitude, his hands empty. He has to push through. It's all he can do. He can't stay here like this; and God knows he can't go back, he can never go back… Kai swallows hard, then lets the tears flow for a while, his heart aching. I'll try. I'll keep trying. Just a little longer, and a little longer still. Things, things have to get better. They have to…
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