The person ringing the doorbell is insistent.
“Yes, fuck,” Credence says, pulling up his underwear before slinging his bathrobe over his shoulder. He’d been soaking. He likes to soak. He wouldn’t have moved if the guy desperate to talk about Jesus had had any fucking sense, but no such luck.
Credence doesn’t want to talk about Jesus anymore.
“Yes, alright, alright,” he says as what could also be an overzealous Fed-Ex employee presses the bell yet another time. “Wha –”
That gaze that hits him like a train. The set jaw.
He flinches, looks down, looks back.
Percy tilts his head. As Credence moves to close the door, he gives an almost imperceptibly little shake.
Percy walks in, forcing him to retreat further, waiting for Credence to close the door behind him.
They stare at each other. Credence swallows.
He shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be –”
Credence looks down, clenches a fist. “No,” he says. “No, Percy, you shouldn’t be here, what are you doing here?"
(Warning: dark themes, heed the tags!)