by K-lee Klein
By the time he reached the door—all of twenty feet or so of stepping over things that did not belong where he was stepping—he was angry at the person on the other side for interrupting his Canada Goose happily-ever-after moment and for not bringing him any cookies. Mostly for the latter.
He didn’t check the peephole to see who dared to shadow his stoop at ten o’clock on a Saturday night, just whipped the door open, a rude comment ready on his tongue. He ended up stumbling on his carefully put together words instead.
“Devon? What are you doing here?” Scott’s eyes grew wide, his jaw dropping to the floor when his mind wrapped around the fact it was Devon who stood on the step. He quickly blocked the doorway, widening his stance to make it appear he was more confident than he actually was. He peered closely at Devon. “What the hell happened to you? Were you in a fight?”
“Mild disagreement,” Devon growled the words but didn't make eye contact. But he added softer, “Couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.”
Well didn't that beat all. Scott didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to tamp down the shouting inside his head that told him what he was about to do was a very bad idea. So rather than wracking his mind for nonsense or even sense, he attempted to usher Devon inside. Blood covered one side of Devon’s thin t-shirt, the trail leading up to his nose and mouth.
Devon hesitated which was absolutely stupid. He'd shown up at Scott's, but he certainly wasn't going to beg him to come inside. “You sure?” he mumbled, also very out-of-character. Blood covered one side of his face, the trail leading from his nose and an open cut across his eyebrow. His eyes were bloodshot, one of them was already beginning to puff up and turn purple, his nose was red, and a still-oozing cut sliced through the left side of his bottom lip.
In short, he was a mess of massive proportions.
“You look like hell,” Scott said, after Devon finally stepped inside. He watched as Devon toed off his shoes then stood defeated, still not looking at Scott.
“Bet that feels good to say, huh?” Devon winced, bringing his index finger to his bottom lip.
“Pardon?” Scott glared at him.
“Nothin', sorry.” He threaded a hand over his hair which totally looked like it had been through a wind tunnel. What the heck had happened?
“Well, come into the kitchen. You need to get cleaned up.”
Devon trudged behind him, stumbling a little like he’d had a drink or six. Scott’s curiosity was amped to a ten. He motioned for Devon to sit while he poured a glass of water from the pitcher from the refrigerator. Devon threw himself into a chair, body leaned forward, hands rubbing at the sides of his head.
“I’m going to grab my first aid stuff,” Scott told him, placing the glass on the table in front of Devon.
He was back in under a minute, carrying a damp, cold facecloth and the emergency kit. He approached Devon with caution, like prey approaching a wounded lion or a Canada goose making friends with a fox. Dear nature channel. Get out of my head. “That cut on your eyebrow doesn't look like it's from a fist.”
“Might have whacked it when I fell. Geez. You’re acting like I’m going to bite you, Scott,” Devon said quietly to the floor. “You didn't have to let me in.”
“You have to admit it’s a little odd.”
Devon leaned back in his chair, head tipped back to meet Scott’s eyes. “What is?”
Scott huffed a laugh but there was no humor behind it. “Oh, I don't know. Everything.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Let’s not get into that right now. Hold still and let me get you cleaned up.”
He swiped the cloth over Devon's face, being extra careful around Devon’s nose, lips, and that ugly cut over his eye. Bright blood mixed with darker stained the cloth, but other than the cut nothing else seemed to be still bleeding. He held the rag gently against Devon’s eyebrow while using his other hand to feel along the contours of his skull.
“You’ve got a bit of a bump but it’s not huge. You might have a concussion.” He moved the cloth away, one hand on his hip again as he frowned down at Devon. “Are you dizzy?”
Devon shrugged with a sigh, indifferent. “A little.”
Not bothering to control an eyeroll that would undoubtedly rival even Eddie's, Scott chastised, “Yet you rode your bike here? Smart, Devon, real smart. You might need a few stitches on that.” He trailed a finger above the cut.
“Took a cab. I don't need a hospital.”
“Then let me disinfect it and put a few butterfly band aids on it, okay?”
“You don't have to.”.
Scott dug through the kit. “Well, I'm not going to send you away like this.”
“Please don't send me away.” The statement was so soft Scott wasn't sure Devon had meant to say it out loud, so he didn't comment on it.
Instead, he turned back to the sink, rinsing out the cloth before handing it to Devon. “Your lip looks better, but you might want to hold this on it a bit longer while I take a stab at that cut. No pun intended.”
He couldn't see Devon's mouth with the cloth pressed to it but heard a muffled, “Thank you.”
Surprisingly, blood was one of only a few things that didn’t squick Scott. He'd taken every first aid course offered at work in case he ever needed to help anyone. This was his first opportunity. He tipped Devon's head back, keeping one hand over his eyes as he dripped antiseptic over the cut. Devon barely flinched.
“Who hit you?” Scott casually asked while he opened the box of bandages. He thought two or three would suffice so he set them on the table and closed the box. He'd recalled that he wasn't a total first aid virgin since he'd put one of these on Eddie after a soccer game. “Hold still.”
“Shadow.”
Scott wracked his brain for the name then pulled away from Devon. “The one whose…whose wife just died?”
The disgruntled sigh told Scott everything he needed to know, especially when Devon tried to hang his head again, eyes focused on his dirty socks.
“You had a fight with someone who just lost a loved one? What the hell, Devon?’
“I never said I fought back,” Devon insisted. At least he wasn't talking like a frightened mouse anymore. “I should probably go.” With a grunt, Devon attempted to rise from his chair.
Scott pushed him back down. “Sit. I'm trying to help. If I didn't want to, you'd still be standing on the steps.” He placed a calming hand on Devon's shoulder, feeling tiny vibrations running the length of his body. Funny how the tables had turned. “You're shaking, Dev. Drink that water for me, okay? Don't want you going into shock.”
“I'm not going into shock,” Devon scoffed. Scott used his best your mother is disappointed in you look on him and he did what he was told. Downing the whole thing in one shot like a parched animal. Scott refilled and waited until he was finished. He seemed calmer.
Neither of them spoke while Scott arranged the butterflies across the wound. He wouldn't win any awards for his work, but it was passable. Devon fingered the cut, nodding his thanks. “Why did you come, Dev?” Scott asked while he was tidying up his mess.
Devon stayed where he was, face still pointed at the ceiling, sad brown eyes gazing into Scott’s. “I missed you. I wanted to see if we could…if I could—”
Scott slid a hand down Devon’s arm, being careful to not linger. “I'm pretty sure that boat sailed, Dev. Well, sunk is more like it.”
“Then why did you come to see me last weekend?”
Fuck. Who was the snitch? Marshall? Charlene? Dammit, Scott thought he’d gotten away free and clear from his embarrassing visit to Devon. “I …it doesn't matter now.”
“You had a panic attack. I wanted to come over that night, but Shaun needed me, and he said you needed some time to chill.”
“Shadow was right. I'm really sorry for your friend's loss.”
Devon let out a rolling sob, wobbling forward in his chair. Scott grabbed his shoulder before he tipped to the floor.
“Be
th was really special, you know? She was my friend. It's not fair.”
Scott couldn't take the emotional upheaval circling his brain. He leaned down and hugged Devon to his chest. “It's not.”
“Mom, then Beth…” Devon trailed off, one arm slipping around Scott's waist. Scott could feel wetness soaking through his shirt. “Too many funerals. Too much death. Fucking cancer.”
Since he'd already come this far; letting Devon in, fixing him up, holding him while he cried, Scott felt strong in taking the next step. “Why don't you lie down for a bit, Dev?”
Devon barely nodded but Scott managed to get his partially boneless body to the bedroom before he collapsed. He didn't go so far as taking off his clothes but did tuck him under the crocheted blanket at the end of the bed. When Devon closed his eyes, tears still leaking from the corners, Scott laid a hand on his sweaty but clean forehead. He didn't seem to have a fever, but it was another precaution in Scott's repertoire of worrywart precautionary urges. Devon was no warmer than usual though.
Scott perched on the edge of the mattress, brushing his hand over Devon's back when he rolled to his side. He sobbed in fits and starts, his chest heaving, and body coiled into an S. With his free hand, Scott searched his phone for information on concussions just in case he'd missed something. Devon didn't seem to have any of the necessary symptoms but better safe than sorry.
Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how he looked at it, Scott knew a little about concussions as a bullied teen. He’d been laid out on the ground more than once, his nanny having to come and get him before shuffling him off to the hospital. Such wonderful childhood memories—not. One of the things he did know was there was nothing to be done for a concussion except watch the concussed person for any changing symptoms. That meant he needed to hold onto Devon a while longer.
But Devon didn't seem to have any of the listed symptoms except a bump on the head. The dizziness could be an entirely different thing since Devon was so distraught. Scott recognized grief when he saw it and Devon had been through it twice in less than a year.
“I should go,” Devon suddenly voiced, wary and sad. “I'm sorry for just showing up. I should've used my damn brain.”
“Or your phone.” Scott told him in hopes of lightening the mood. “But you did get knocked on the head and it’s not like my evening didn’t need some excitement. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks, haven’t you?”
“The roughest.”
“Then stay and decompress. I don't want you going home by yourself like this.” And it was true, no matter how much it hurt Scott to say it. He wanted Devon to stay indefinitely but that was exactly the wrong way to be thinking.
“Thank you, Scott.”
Rather than give in to the urge to snuggle up to Devon, Scott attempted to lighten the mood. “It's not like I was doing anything but watching bad television.”
“Nature channel?” Devon asked, corner of his mouth quirked.
“What else?” Scott teased. Mission accomplished, at least Devon looked more settled and wasn't thanking Scott anymore. “You thirsty again?”
Devon shook his head with a long sigh. He tugged the blanket tighter and closed his eyes. “She was Shadow's childhood sweetheart, you know? We both went to school with her. She had him wrapped around her little finger, both of us actually.” He let out a sad chuckle.
“She sounds like a contender.”
“She was a ballbuster when she needed to be. Shadow and I started the band, but she had her fingers in everything.” Devon paused, reaching for Scott's hand with a hopeful look. Scott hesitated but let Devon tangle their fingers together. Devon dragged both over his heart. “She was a shell by the end. It was painful watching her wither away like that. Just like…” Devon trailed off with a wet sigh.
“Your mom?” Scott offered quietly.
“Yeah,” Devon said, swallowing thickly. “And you know what. Beth was already sick at the same time as mom, but she was at her bedside almost every day in the end.”
“Oh Dev.”
All Scott's reservations sloughed away, likely along with his common sense, but he couldn't let Devon suffer. No matter the current situation, Scott loved him, and to see him in pain was too much. So, he crawled in beside Devon, dragged him flush to his chest while he enacted his best big spoon imitation. It was an interesting dynamic because when Devon stayed over—used to stay over—Scott had still been too tentative and always let Devon take the lead. Just another regret in a long line of them, he supposed. He'd treated his boyfriend like spun sugar or like he was going to run out the door with one wrong move from Scott, but now even under the horrible circumstances, it felt good to offer Devon comfort instead of the other way around.
“Hey, Dev?” Scott asked quietly. “Your mom and Beth? Were they the touchy-feely sort?” Devon grunted but didn't speak. “They encouraged you to talk about your feelings and junk like that, didn’t they?”
Devon looked thoughtful. “Was probably like working with a brick wall sometimes. No coddling, just Devon, how does that make you feel?” Devon's voice was sad but light with reflection. Scott kissed his shoulder.
“Then they'd be very proud of you, especially right now. I'm um, I'm proud of you too.”
Scott didn't so much hear as feel Devon weeping. He didn't comment on it, only held him until he was ready to talk, or not talk, or whatever. He was happy where he was, for now.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” Devon’s voice was low, wrought with heartbreaking emotion.
Scott didn't even flinch at the endearment but in that moment, he admitted to himself that he'd missed it. He'd missed feeling like he was Devon's whole world when he said it and looked at Scott. This was definitely not a good idea. “You know what they wouldn't be proud of though?” Scott asked. Devon cocked his head, listening. “Your current level of cleanliness.” Yes, Scott's OCD was oftentimes useful. “Your shirt's pretty rank. Do you want to take it off?”
“Wanna have your wicked way with me?” The words were a little slurred, a little slow and sleepy, but Scott didn't have to see Devon's face to know he had that mischievous little boy smirk on his lips.
Scott bumped his head to Devon's but tightened his hold. He could handle the smell for a while since he wasn’t the epitome of cleanliness himself at the moment. “Behave. I only meant I'd give you something less fragrant to wear.”
The hum of the air purifier was the only noise for a while and Scott let himself revel in having Devon in his bed. It didn't matter what the circumstances were, and sex had never been his true motivator when it came to Devon, so it was fulfilling to be able to help him. It was okay for his own heartbreak to take a backseat to Devon's for now.
Devon let out a gurgled sigh, his body relaxing against Scott, breaths evening out. “Mmm. God, I love you.”
The gasp that started in Scott's heart and pushed up his throat was quickly swallowed back down. The words were obviously the confused babblings of someone experiencing great loss. And everyone knew that starting a sentence with God always meant it was an unintentional statement, wasn't it? Or something like that.
He was able to tamp down his excitement, and confusion, and the new mantra running through his brain—did he mean it?, no he didn't mean it, he couldn't have meant it, he didn't mean it, did he mean it? no he didn't mean it—but may have pressed closer to Devon, almost like some natural instinct to be nearer to his mate, and how darn ridiculous was that? They weren't mates. Humans didn't have soulmates or any other absurd nonsense.
It was nothing more than the ramblings of a guy who'd lost someone important, who'd been in a fight with a best friend, and possibly had a concussion. Those things could cause hallucinations and really weird behavior. And Scott's reaction? He knew better.
Use your brain Scott. Not your damn heart. Logic was always his friend. He needed to approach the situation that way, not trust the stupid thumping muscle in his chest. That thing had let him down too many times for him to have any faith in it.
<
br /> Ghosting his fingers over the knotted mess of Devon's hair, Scott recalled how beautiful he’d been on stage, strong and charming with his childlike energy pumping the whole crowd into a frenzy. Once he'd gotten past his initial shock, he'd had to appreciate all that Devon was, all that he'd accomplished. Scott couldn't imagine doing what he did, standing in front of that many people to be judged every night, to be forced to have his personal and professional life separate from each other. Devon was a born entertainer, a man meant to have an audience, yet he also seemed to thrive in the company of only Scott. Was it possible the two worlds could mesh into one extraordinary life? For Scott?
But there had been that kiss in the dressing room.
He was still heavy into his contemplations when warm fingers wrapped around his wrist and Devon's body vibrated in the throes of a big sigh. Scott brought his attention back to him as they faced each other. The tears were gone but his eyes were glossy and bloodshot, matching the chapped redness of his lips. Yet Scott could never see anything other than perfection.
“Sorry. Guess I nodded off.”
“Crying is exhausting.”
Devon huffed out a breath. He cleared his throat. “Yeah. I uh, sorry—”
“Stop apologizing,” Scott said. “You should probably watch what you say when you're half-asleep too.”
Devon stared at Scott like he'd grown a second head. His eyes weren't completely in focus, but they showed his confusion. “Shit. What did I say? Something stupid, right?” He huffed and shoved errant strands of hair out of his eyes. “Shouldn't talk when I'm…well apparently I shouldn't talk a whole lot, period. I hope you didn't listen to me.” He spoke with a sheepish look.
“Definitely not,” Scott replied with an exaggerated shake of his head. The threads around his heart quivered. “How about another glass of water, huh?” He was happy to sweep the whole I love you under the proverbial rug, no matter how much it hurt him to do so. It was silly and it wasn't like Scott thought Devon came to him to make up. They were friend-zoned—isn't that what the kids called it nowadays? Could he be friends with Devon? Or would that hurt worse? He squirmed involuntarily but Devon managed to glomp onto him.
