(KAI) So. L/K. Again.
This is for Timoteo. I heart you.
This may or may not be a trend...
But like WIM (Bakura/Ryou), this story is ShorT ChapterS OuT OF ControL. (c)
Sah...
Gad, don't mind me.
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Rain Down
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Kurt watched with sleepy, half-open eyes. His reflection watched him back with sleepy, half-open eyes; gold. Then he reached up and pulled his hair, tugging it behind his ear. Pointy. And the rain beat so steadily, soothing; Kurt leaned his forehead against the glass, curled on the window seat like a cat. His tail wrapped around his cold, sockless, feet, but provided nothing. And he sighed, pursed his lips. Boredom. The storm outside ignored him, struck lightning flashily, and occasionally rumbled contentedly.
The mutant in blue could not sleep, and could not close his eyes, and was not tired, but exhausted, and he sighed, worrying at his bottom lip in agitation. Something was bothering him, something important, but what? His heart sped. It should have been nothing, it should have been nothing at all.
But he bit his lip the harder as his memories wavered and touched at his mind mercilessly. No, elf, like this.
He rubbed his arms where the strong hands had glid. And there they had stayed, brought his arms up, leveled them. One under, the other over, or, in, sort of.
Blushing. Again, the boy pressed his forehead into his knees and hid his face, anxious excitement bubbling into his chest. Logan's hands had steadied on his, and they had pointed the gun at the center target, gently squeezing the trigger point, and firing. Off by four inches. And Kurt's face had been so red, so red, red, red. He disappeared.
And when he reappeared, he cried and cried and cried and no, he wouldn't say why, Rogue, and leave him alone, Kitty, and no, Scott...
Logan was gone. Before the storm had come, when the grey had still been making its slow way across the twilit sky, Kurt had watched with large, watery golden eyes, a man swagger from the garages, mount a Harley, and gun away. He had cried a bit more after that, and was glad that no one bothered him this time, because he was Kurt Wagner, and Kurt Wagner was not a crybaby.
Misery welled in him again, and his tail flicked without his permission. Why had Logan left? Was he mad? Upset? (Was he ever not mad or upset?) Tail flicked again, and this time, Kurt grabbed it, held it in long, pale fingers, and worried the tip as well as his lips. Come back, come back, come back...
He was sorry. He regretted what he had done and thought to how uncomfortable it must have made his instructor feel to have his student vanish in the middle of target practice. What had Scott and Jean done? What did Logan do after?
Clearly he had gone. Kurt winced, regret and self-pity washing over him like a salt-bath.
He felt so unlike himself. Like so much had changed, but what really had? He focused on his reflection, willing himself to be recognized. His eyes were puffy from crying, and his chest was sore from not knowing why. Logan's chest had been so broad and strong. So hot.
And there was the anxiety.
