he’s bone tired. today has been the day that never ends --- much like his weeks, months and life in general, more’s the pity --- and he’s been up far too many hours now to even pretend to be anything short of exhausted and quiet. quiet in a way he usually chooses to be alone, or with a very select few people in his presence. one of those people just so happens to be crouching on the sofa beside him, up on his feet like he never learned how to park his ass in a seat before. kian barely pays it any mind after witnessing it so many times; he’s used to kai’s mannerisms by now (though the sleeping schedule is something this insomniac will never come to terms with). he’s almost tempted to lean his head on kai’s knee, but he isn’t quite that far along in the evening just yet. it isn’t that he’s particularly opposed to physical affection --- it’d be hard to be kai’s friend if he were --- but he’s not very good at it, instead preferring to mimic statues; cold and made of stone, where his counterpart is warm and soft in ways kian can’t imagine being.
maybe he was once upon a time, when his soul matched the colour of kai’s aura (who cares if his soul is as grey as kian’s? the kid radiates gold from within), but those days are long since passed. it’s okay though. kai knows, to some extent. at the very least he understands. they have a routine for this sort of thing. “when’s our next gig? i’m not saying i’ll remember, but i should probably try so i can book the night off work,” he’d like to book every night off work, but then how would he get the free booze? and afford the not-free booze? | @lcncasters.
