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Kelvin adjusts the Jeep’s rear-view mirror to get a look at the right side of his face. Normally there’s just a little sting, a tingly, vaguely hand-shaped warmth that lasts about five minutes or so - Daddy really has been worrying him lately, what with those lackluster slaps - but this one has an edge to it, something that’s lingered longer than the traditional handful of minutes. He bit his cheek during the back half of the impact, and when he pokes his tongue there he can still taste pennies.
Maybe Daddy’s doing just fine, if he’s still got some of these saved up in his arsenal against back-talking. His cheek is still red, borderline purple where his ring hit. He’s going to have to borrow Judy’s foundation if it doesn’t fade.
No sense worrying about it now. He drives from the main house out to his own home at the edge of the residences on the compound. Keefe’s beat up car is still in Kelvin’s drive; Kelvin pulls the Jeep in beside it and turns off the car, but he doesn’t get out just yet.
“Good news,” he practices, wincing when his smile drags the bite wound across his molars. “Good news,” he says again, with only a dash of his earlier enthusiasm. “Good news? No, that’s stupid.” Of course it’s good news. He didn’t stand proud as Daddy’s hand came barreling towards him because he’d lost .
He told Keefe he was welcome to anything; the kitchen, a movie, a game, but he finds him standing in the middle of the living room with his duffel bag still over one shoulder.
“Aw, buddy, you didn’t have to wait here for me. I said it would be okay.”
“I know, I remember,” Keefe nods a bit to himself, “but I was afraid I’d jinx things.”
“Well, you are many things, but a jinx is not one of them.” He smiles through the sting, because Keefe looks like he needs it, because Kelvin can’t help but smile when he gets to tell his friend some good news. “Daddy took a bit to warm up to the idea, but you, my friend, are approved to house sit.”
“You didn’t have to go through so much trouble. I would have managed.”
“Nonsense,” Kelvin admonishes him gently, and claps a hand over the strap of Keefe’s bag to encourage its landing on his living room floor. “I am not about to let you fall to temptation, not on my watch.”
The corner of Keefe’s mouth quirks up. “Thank you.”
“It is my pleasure.” And really, it’s downright irresponsible. Sending Keefe into solitude while Kelvin’s away is like, well Kelvin doesn’t have a good metaphor, but it’s like saving someone’s soul from the evils of the devil and letting it slip just because the church newsletter stopped mentioning the success. Definitely not approved by the big man upstairs. “Now, I’m not gonna be available much tonight. Gotta get all packed and ready, and the flight out is early,” he says this as he steers Keefe towards the viewing den, “but I do have a whole new library you can pick through. See if there’s something you want to watch.”
Keefe is far more focused on Kelvin than the new collection of Blu-rays occupying the leftmost shelf in his den, and it takes him a few seconds, he nearly asks, until a throb drags the state of his face back to the foreground. “Oh, well, I did say Daddy wasn’t too keen on the idea at first.”
“What?”
“It was my fault,” Kelvin says breezily. “Daddy’s never liked when we talk back. And I could have used more maturity in my arguments. Been a little less emotional, um, you alright bud?”
Somewhere between sweeping Keefe’s blatant concern under the rug and diving into the finer points of argument styles Keefe’s bundled Kelvin into a tight hug. It’s solid, as far as hugs go, some real grip strength. But they’re tilting away from ‘friendly bro hug’ and into something a lot more drawn out, and Kelvin hasn’t even returned the gesture. Or, he hadn’t, until just now. Turns out hugs are better when both parties are contributing.
“I’m sorry,” Keefe says. His chin digs into Kelvin’s shoulder. “I did not know.”
“Uh, well, you’re forgiven?” Normally he can follow Keefe’s logic, even when it meanders a bit, but there was a tangent or two he missed. “Wasn’t your fault though, Keefe. I offered to ask on your behalf.”
“You aren’t at fault. It’s Dr Gemstone doing the abusing.”
“It’s, I wouldn’t,” Kelvin bites off his response. This has his gut getting all twisted up. One of Keefe’s hands slides up his back real slow, and then back down his spine. Up, down, real nice and soothing. His inhale is more clogged up than he realises and turns into a wet sniffle. “It ain’t like it’s all the time.” Kelvin pushes back a bit, disengaging enough to tell Keefe proper that his Daddy isn’t an abuser. Tonight was supposed to be happy, but Keefe, sweet as honey but as socially adept as vinegar, had to go extrapolating off some lousy data.
But Keefe doesn’t look like he’ll be convinced of anything Kelvin says in defense of his Daddy. He tugs up the collar of his tee-shirt and wipes at eyes Kelvin didn’t even know were crying until he saw the evidence first hand. He doesn’t get it, how someone can cry without letting the whole world know.
“I could pick a movie,” Keefe says softly, without the wibble Kelvin knows he’d have if he tries to respond. “Something light-hearted. I can’t watch sad things when I’m sad.”
“I sh-” Kelvin sucks in a wet breath when he feels his words getting drowned out by the emotions threatening to pour out of him. He nods, and Keefe gives his arm a squeeze before he goes to kneel in front of Kelvin’s library.
-
One movie becomes two, and then a third. Keefe checks to make sure Kelvin thinks this is okay every time he gets up off the lounging couch to put in another. But he assures Keefe this is fine, and smart, really, because his flight is early but it’s also very long. And it would be best if he can manage to sleep on the plane, because by the time they arrive it’ll be morning in China, and he’ll adjust to the time zone faster if he’s not dead tired on their first day.
“But you can always sleep,” Kelvin whispers. Somewhere between the title card and the second half of the movie Kelvin found his way towards the middle of the couch, and lo and behold Keefe was already there. His shoulder makes a mighty fine resting place for Kelvin’s weary head.
Keefe shakes his head. Some of his hair rustles against Kelvin’s cheek. “I don’t want you to miss your flight. If you’d like, you can sleep, and I’ll watch over you.”
“A shepherd over his flock,” Kelvin mumbles. The verse he’s looking for floats just out of reach. “Always looking out for me.”
He doesn’t drift so much as he dives headlong into unconsciousness. And far too early there’s an angry buzzing in his ears and a hand on his back, easing him upright before his eyes are even open.
“Five more,” he groans, head leaning until it hits the first solid surface. Opening his eyes confirms it to be Keefe’s chest, which is missing his shirt from yesterday. He sits up with a start. “Time?”
“Five,” Keefe says. “Got yourself a little nap, amigo. I bet you’ll be out like a light on the plane.”
“Maybe. Hope so. You know, it’s got the fancy Wifi,” Kelvin explains, “and big ol’ chairs and food.”
“I think most planes got that these days.” Keefe smiles. “Sounds nice.”
“I’ll message you the second we land,” Kelvin says.
“I’d like that.”
“And if I have some down time I’ll email, or FaceTime if you’re awake.”
“I’d like that, too.”
“Yeah, same here. Me too.” Kelvin butt scoots until he’s at the edge of the couch and stretches out his back. Keefe does the same. “And uh, thanks. Thank you. I don’t think I would have liked being alone last night.”
Keefe nods. “I understand.”
And Kelvin nods, because Keefe does understand, probably better than most. He wouldn’t be house sitting if he didn’t. “If it’ll help you can use my bed.”
“Oh.”
“I mean it,” Kelvin insists. “Familiarity’s good for you. Keeps you grounded in the now.”
“Right, the now.” Keefe stands and offers Kelvin a hand; Kelvin accepts. “Thank you.”
“Anytime, I mean it.” Kelvin pitches forwards and initiates one of those good, lengthy hugs Keefe kept offering him last night. “I’ll miss you buddy. We’ll need to have a game marathon when I get back.”
Keefe nods, chin to Kelvin’s shoulder, hands rubbing his back; Kelvin sighs and tilts towards Keefe. His hands roam, mapping out Keefe’s back. The corner of his mouth brushes against Keefe’s pulse point on his neck.
And then they’re apart, abruptly so, trying to pull themselves together after... something. Kelvin doesn’t know what, but his chest feels tingly in a way that is very different from the way his cheek felt after yesterday's slap.
“When I uh,” Keefe’s eyes are wide, and just a little scared, “we’ll talk, when I get back.”