#hangxiety is truly the worst kind of whump

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Bad Things Happen Bingo – Tearful Smile @badthingshappenbingo ┆ Square #7

「✦」 OCs: Kay Edwards ⅋ Paris Elswood 「✧」 Content: Addiction ┆ Drug Use ┆ Memory Loss ┆ Subtle Manipulation ┆ Toxic Relationship ┆ Verbal Conflict 「✦」 Word Count: 1,797 「✧」 Relevant Links: Masterlist┆ .𖥔˚ ♫˚ 𖥔. ⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ❝ Love in my eyes, blinded by you; // Just to get a taste of heaven; // I'm on my knees; // I can't help it, I'm addicted; // But I can't stand the pain inflicted; // In the morning, you're not holding; // On to me. ❞ ⛧ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿⛧

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A dark feeling, imitating a deep guilt, tugged Paris’ heart into his stomach as he woke and the bedroom around him blurred into focus. The bed beside him was cold – empty. No surprise there. Kay was a simultaneous night owl and early riser. Probably already up.

A light spinning in his head emerged as he pulled himself from the bed, late afternoon light streaming in through the open blind. At least it wasn’t dark yet. He grabbed a hoodie on his way out into the living room and pulled it over his clothes from the night before, glancing around the living room for any sign of Kay.

But he did hear him. In the kitchen with the tap running. With the confidence of a stray animal, Paris went to lean in the doorway of the kitchen. The clean kitchen. Absent of the carnage from the last few days.

“I’m sorry,” words were out of his mouth before he had even processed them.

“For what?” Kay’s response was dull. Laced with exhaustion, which Paris thought would be clear on his face, if Kay had bothered to turn around and look at him.

“I –” Paris faltered, “I’m not sure. I just feel like I should be.”

“You got that one right,” Kay still didn’t turn to look at his boyfriend as he scrubbed at a saucepan in the sink. If he turned around, Paris’ inevitable puppy dog eyes about last night would tear at any of his remaining anger.

“I – it feels like I fucked up.”

“Mhm,” a mirror of Paris’ responses from the previous night. “You remember much from last night?”

And Paris had to admit, it was patchy. He vividly remembered being at the apartment, and meeting Cami, and getting home and falling asleep. The walk? Not so much, but he could piece that together.

“Most of it. I think,” Paris responded. “Maybe not all of it.”

“So you don’t actually remember what you’re apologising for?”

Kay put the saucepan to the side and started on a measuring jug, focusing more on the chipped spout and congealed sauce than Paris.

“No. Just – I know that I should be sorry.”

“Then it’s not really an apology, is it?” Kay worked the sponge into the jug, “I can remind you.”

“I know that you were home late last night. I think I heard you come in.”

“You think? You really don’t remember talking to me at all?”

“Only when you left for work. Not when you got home,” Paris responded. Surely it was a good sign that he could remember Kay leaving, right? If all he’d lost were patches of last night, that had to be a good thing. “Whatever I said, I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not really what you said,” Kay put the second dish down and picked up another, still pulling all of his visual focus to the chore in front of him. “It’s more what you did.”

The monotony of the task at hand was a distraction which Kay sorely needed. This conversation, much like the ones from the previous night, was not a one off. The same sentiment could only be portrayed in a limited number of ways. There were only so many words Kay could string together to get through to Paris. And he was running out of options.

“I really don’t remember talking to you last night. I – I didn’t hurt you or something, right?” Paris’ mind raced in an uncomfortable way. “I would remember that. I’m sure I would remember doing something like that.”

Kay sighed and moved to put the dish down, but aborted the action. An emotionally charged conversation would only become more so if he wasn’t able to keep together his carefully constructed disconnect.

“We’ve talked about it, Paris. The drinking. The drugs. We’ve talked about all of it. I don’t think we have a lot left. I don’t have much else to say to you.”

“How did you know?”

Not an apology. Far from it. To Kay, it sounded more like an accusation. That Paris would follow up with accusations of spying or mistrust.

“You left your phone on the table,” A simple answer to a simple question. “I guess I should be proud that you didn’t lick the damn thing clean.”

“You know about the coke…” Paris trailed off into silence.

Maybe it was better that Kay knew. That he didn’t need to weave a web of lies about why he didn’t remember last night. Not that getting high was an excuse Kay would accept for how Paris might have acted. And that was something Paris would back him on.

“That’s not what you said it was last night.”

“You knew about it,” Paris paused. “And you knew what it was because you tasted it.”

“It’s coming back to you now?” Kay was still dealing with the dishes in the sink, working on them slowly. An attempt to prolong the task for as long as he could.

“Yeah. Kind of. I – you woke me up. Yelled at me for – I guess for the coke – and I was probably an ass about it.”

“No probably about it. You were dismissive and you lied to me. Maybe I wasn’t exactly helpful –” He had called Paris a ‘fucking junkie’, beyond unhelpful, “And I’m sorry I didn’t handle it well enough. But you outright lied to me about it.”

“Yeah. Sounds like me.”

“Not just sounds like. It was you.”

“I’m sorry. I was just –”

“Stop there,” Kay interrupted. “We don’t have to do this again. It’s not worth a fight now, right?”

“It’s not.” Paris could concede that Kay was right. What was done, was done. There wasn’t any way that he could undo his lies from last night. But he could get his shit together. “I am done, though. I know that sounds like –”

“Bullshit?”

“Yeah. I’m quitting. Everything. Cold turkey, I swear.”

“Hm,” Kay only mumbled an acknowledgement as he put together a better response. “I’ll believe that when you prove it. Until then, we keep playing happy families and you keep it out of the apartment.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Kay put the last dish on the draining board and finally turned to face Paris. Even the brief eye contact made Paris’ stomach churn. The leftovers from the night before were still sitting in the DVD case. But it wasn’t as if Kay would ever end up stumbling upon them.

And really? Them even being there was a good sign. It was a sign he hadn’t caved. Given into the desire to numb himself further. Not doing that was a show of strength. Paris had had the strength to stop last night – he could stop whenever he wanted.

“Good. You understand that I’m not like this out of spite, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yeah – definitely. You’re looking out for me.”

“So we can drop it?” Kay didn’t leave a pause for Paris to respond. “There’s a risotto bake in the oven. Probably another ten minutes or something.”

“You cooked?” Paris asked, gaze darting to the oven and then back at Kay. The weight of just how badly he’d screwed up only now truly landing itself on his shoulders. “Like, for us?”

“Yeah,” Kay nodded and allowed some of the tension to leave his posture as he leant against the kitchen cabinets. He offered a slight smile across to Paris. “Couldn’t let you poison yourself with those god awful fries in there, could I?”

Paris opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. No semblance of a sentence passed his lips. And he hadn’t even noticed the tears before Kay had breached the distance between them and placed his hand ever so lightly on Paris’ cheek, wiping one away. Pushing it off of Paris’ cheek.

“I know we fight, but I love you. I just want you to be safe. And happy. I’m just scared for you. That’s all,” Kay spoke slowly, finally allowing some emotion to flower through. Obscuring some of his carefully placed thorns from earlier with something more inviting.

“I’m going to do better, I swear,” Paris could only manage a whisper. “I really am.”

With Kay breaking the ice of physical contact first, Paris wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him into a tight hug. He hardly noticed Kay’s sharp intake of breath or his barely concealed grimace. As if the physical contact might come even an inch closer to solving their problems. It only took Kay a moment to return the gesture, allowing Paris to melt into his grip. Allow Paris to cry into his shirt. Leave dark patches on the gray fabric. Quietly whisper that he really was done. Really would do better. That Kay didn’t need to be worried – scared – for him.

And they just stood, for several minutes. Kay would stand there as long as Paris needed him for support. That was his role, and it probably would be for some time. After a while of silence, which felt like an eternity of Kay gently rubbing Paris’ back and supporting some of his weight, Paris finally pulled away slightly and put together a sentence, bringing his tear stained gaze to Kay’s face while he spoke.

“Thank you,” he still spoke only at a whisper. “You haven’t been called in to work tonight, right?”

“No, not tonight. And I’ll say no if they ask me tomorrow,” Kay tangled a hand through Paris’ hair and kissed his forehead. “I can cut some of my hours, I think. If you need me here? Maybe stay home and focus on studying.”

“Please,” Paris exhaled slowly, offering up as much of a smile as he could muster to Kay. Giving his boyfriend every ounce of positivity he had left with the one look. “I can handle money. You know that you don’t have to worry.”

But it wasn’t the money that held the anxiety for Kay. It was every other implication that cutting hours might have. If he made a mess of it – if Kay handled the situation with too little grace, that alone could kill Paris. Forget drugs. Forget recklessness. If Kay gave anything but the perfect story to his employer, it would be risking everything he had built for himself here.

Paris didn’t know that he wasn’t the only one at risk of completely devastating their relationship with one wrong move – and Kay was planning on doing everything in his power to prevent him from finding out.

“I know,” Kay kissed Paris again. “I know. How about we focus on right now, though? We’ll eat, I’ll go to the store and grab popcorn or something, and then we can put on a movie and just…” he paused to find the right words. “We can just exist for a while. No pressure.”

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