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“What's going on right now?” Kip asks, brows creased in confused worry. “C'mon, babe, tell me what's wrong.” “Nothing's wrong,” he replies, swallowing the sour taste flooding his mouth along those words, because it's true, it is, nothing is wrong. Nothing is quite right either, but there is no way to articulate this, not in a way that won't make him sound like a whiny baby, or like he's finally lost his marbles. It still feels like a lie, and it makes the shapeless frustration turn more bitter and sharp with aimless anger. Still. “I'm fine, I promise.” I am fine, he tells himself, too, breathing deep, trying to wrestle all these uncalled-for combative feelings under control. But Kip's looking at him like he doesn't believe a single word out of his mouth. And worse, he looks at him like he's... scared. Why? “I'm fine,” Scott forces out through stiff lips. “Are you?” Kip asks, quiet and flat. “Then why are you crying?” “What? I'm not!” It's sharper than he'd like, but the ire's compounded by confusion now and too strong. He's shaking with it, he can feel that in his hand as he raises it to rub away the tickling sensation at his cheek. It comes away wet. Kip is right. He blinks, and he can feel the hot liquid seeping from his eyes now, leaving fast-drying, tacky trails all over his face. It makes him weep more, and growl as another wave of baseless anger swells in his chest. He doesn't know how to stop it, the anger or the tears, and they just keep feeding off each other, stealing his breath, darkening his vision. The growl turns into strangled whine, and Kip steps closer, cradling his clenched jaw, oh so careful and gentle. He still looks scared and unsure, lost on what to do, how to fix this. It makes the frustration burn brighter, makes his insides hurt and squirm. Makes the bile rise up his throat, sharp and sudden, and he finds himself stumbling to the bathroom in the next heartbeat.