[Kavinsky is staring at the ceiling. He probably hasn't moved since they last texted: his phone is sitting on his chest. The house, like he said, is fucking quiet. Even Gerry's stupid fucking cat is gone.
He lolls his head when he realizes Derek is here. Kavinsky doesn't know why the hell he shows up, but every time he does, he feels himself sliding deeper and he fucking hates it. Because he knows that whatever the fuck he's feeling, he's probably alone. It's nothing new. In fact, it's kind of becoming his really pathetic M.O. Maybe even worse considering how many times Derek has suggested or threatened to kill him. Somehow he's still fucking alive.
Through no fault of his own.]
Hey.
[There's plenty of room on the bed. His cigarette case is sitting within reach, but it doesn't look like he's done much with it. He seems lucid enough, though. It's been a shitty few weeks and he is feeling kind of done with everything.
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He lolls his head when he realizes Derek is here. Kavinsky doesn't know why the hell he shows up, but every time he does, he feels himself sliding deeper and he fucking hates it. Because he knows that whatever the fuck he's feeling, he's probably alone. It's nothing new. In fact, it's kind of becoming his really pathetic M.O. Maybe even worse considering how many times Derek has suggested or threatened to kill him. Somehow he's still fucking alive.
Through no fault of his own.]
Hey.
[There's plenty of room on the bed. His cigarette case is sitting within reach, but it doesn't look like he's done much with it. He seems lucid enough, though. It's been a shitty few weeks and he is feeling kind of done with everything.
But Derek's here. And that's something.]
I've been here for two fucking years.