right where you need to be || kit;paris jb blitz

So many things fall out of place so quickly that Kit can't hold onto them anymore. His hands are empty when his knees hit the stage and he doesn't feel the wooden boards beneath them. Vibrations run through him, footsteps creeping across the floor, hands reaching for him and wrapping around his arms. The square is a silent film and people mill about, getting ready to leave. Kit makes eye-contact with his dads and looks away sharply, the pain on their faces far too much to bear.

How could he do this to them again?

He blinks hard as if to hold in all the tears that threaten to fall and they do him a favour and stay put. Where grief should be is just an empty hole in his chest, he's cried all he could for Sam already and over the past months the only thing he's felt for himself is disgust. Kit's weak and he knows it, this is just.

Paris.

The thought of him hits him hard and for a moment he forgets to breathe. In all of this, what will happen to the kid he rescued from the basement months ago? Kit told him not to come today, that he'd get caught and dragged back to his shackles. What would he do when Kit never came home? Would he understand?

The hands drag him down the stage's stairs so quickly that he almost loses his footing. Where a moment before he was calm with shock, worry now strides through his system with as much purpose as a teacher in a school hallway with a clipboard. What the hell would happen to Paris?

He sits in the room they leave him, the way the room shakes when they slam the door of the little room adding punctuation to a hopeless situation. Kit leans against the wall and slides down it, eyes on the door. His fathers will come to see him for sure and then he can beg them to take care of Paris, even after he was gone.

the thought slides in one ear and out the other, a surreal concept that Kit has already begun to accept.

He tries not to focus on it but it lives there in the room with him, a ghoul in the shadows. Tears pool in the corners of his eyes and he thumbs them away hastily, not wanting to be crying when his dads come to see him.

But when the door opens, it isn't his fathers but a lanky boy with dark hair and eyes that cry without tears.

Paris.