ki ki ki rah

art | ao3 | edits | ko-fi

“Oh my God,” Daniel groans as the stove clicks on. “That reminds me. I was listening to this true crime podcast yesterday? And you know how, like, a lot of serial killers have this pattern of animal cruelty and whatever before they ever kill anybody? Well, there was this guy in Russia that would, like, cut off swan necks and drink the blood. Just broad daylight. Middle of the park—”

Max is beginning to feel sick again. “Please, Daniel,” he snaps. “Please, I don’t want to talk about this.”

Never before has Daniel gone so quiet so quickly. “Yeah,” he finally agrees. “Yeah, gross. Sorry.”

Daniel does not reply in kind. Instead, he knits together his brows and looks Max over once, twice. “You all right?” he questions even as he reaches past him for the tank top on the top of the laundry pile. “You look tired.”

“Yeah, I was up very early,” he tells him. He can already feel himself using the same tone he does in interviews. Quite funny. He has never needed it here before. He has never needed it around Daniel at all, before.

This, at least, Daniel accepts with a nod of his head, turning the shirt in his hands over and over as he seems to search for someplace for his gaze to safely land. “Well,” he says. Then, as if the thought has suddenly occurred to him, he holds out the shirt to Max. “Wear this. I just decided I actually don’t need it.”