"I'm going out for a walk", Kit said absently to Jem.
"Make sure you come back", Jem answered dryly, but Kit was already out the door.
His mind has been clouded for the past few days, mostly of the Blackthorns. Specifically, Ty. He tried, unsuccessfully, to clear his mind of Ty, of his headphones, of the way his hand fluttered when he was nervous. Of his grey eyes which flashed when he had held Kit at knifepoint. I'm turning into an angst gay Herondale, he thought, Don't turn into an angst gay Herondale.
Kit could hear footsteps behind him. He had nothing but a small dagger in his pocket; he had not bothered with proper weapons in his haste to get out. He turned around to face - Ty. Kit was so shocked he actually staggered back.
Ty smiled. "Christopher", he said, "I've missed you".
Kit wanted to say something, anything, but his shock had rendered him speechless.
He finally managed to croak out a hi through his dry throat.
"What are you doing here?", he stammered, heart beating frantically. Something about Ty always threw him off, and this was no exception.
"My family is visiting Great Aunt Marjorie, and we thought we should come and say hi to you", he replied. "Would you come with me to say hello to the others?"
Kit took a step towards Ty. "I'll come".
As they walked through the city, Kit was aware of Ty brushing against his coat sleeve, and every time his skin came into contact with Ty's.
"I still miss her sometimes, you know. But her death was only a minor one compared to the others. It was for the greater good", Ty said suddenly, as if he was trying to break the awkwardness.
That was what triggered Kit. He maneuvered his body in front of Ty. "You're not Ty", he said, and plunged the knife he had been clutching this whole time, into his heart.
It gave a piercing scream as it turned back into its original form, an Eidolon demon, and folded in on itself as it disappeared back to the demon realms. A light spray of its ichor splattered onto Kit's coat.
It wasn't Ty, Kit told himself firmly. Ty didn't walk like that, talk like that, didn't call him Christopher. But his heart still felt like it was being held by an iron fist, squeezing slowly and painfully.
He walked slowly back to the house, shoulders hunched, head bent against the wind. His blond hair was tousled and could've house several sparrows when he got back.
